The Psychology of Immature Femininity

In a previous post, we explored the masculine archetypes, looking at both their positive, integrated or mature aspects and negative, shadow, or immature sides. Now, we’ll take a look at feminine archetypes.

Table of contents

Introduction

Alchemical illustration – Aurora Consurgens

It is important to note that Carl Jung did not aim to create a systematic list of all the archetypes, because there are as many archetypes as there are typical situations in life. However, certain Jungians have built on his model, offering templates to visualise both the masculine and the feminine psyche. While not exhaustive, these can be valuable for understanding oneself and others.

Unresolved issues, when unaddressed, turn into complexes—emotionally charged clusters of ideas or images that can hinder us. They belong to the personal unconscious and are gathered through one’s experiences in life. Behind complexes, are the archetypes of the collective unconscious— primordial images or patterns of behaviour that we inherit at birth.

Everybody knows that people “have complexes”, what is not so well known is that complexes can have us. These semi-autonomous elements interfere with our will. The fact that these experiences are painful is no proof of pathological disturbance. Suffering is not an illness; it is the normal counterpart to happiness. A complex is only pathological when we’re unaware of it, letting it control us unconsciously. Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.

To access the positive aspects of any archetype, it’s essential to ask not if the shadow side appears in our lives, but how it manifests. If you feel “possessed” by an impulse and later regret your actions, you’re likely encountering the shadow—the unknown part of your personality, rooted in the personal unconscious and considered a complex (although there’s also a collective or archetypal shadow, representing the unconscious and repressed side of society).

When we turn away from some part of our psyche, the shadow runs after us, but we run away from it. The unconscious shows the face we show it. If we reject something within us, then it becomes destructive to us. We should, rather, confront it and ask it what it wants, as it holds insights essential for healing our fragmented selves. The challenge of shadow-work is recognising when the shadow takes over and acknowledging it, instead of being overpowered by it. The shadow is an ally who helps us find “the medicine in the wound” or “the cure in the poison”. Too much poison kills; a little poison cures.

Goddesses in Everywoman

In her 1984 book, Goddesses in Everywoman: Powerful Archetypes in Women’s Lives, psychiatrist and Jungian analyst Jean Shinoda Bolen delves into seven feminine archetypes within woman’s psyche, based on the goddesses of ancient Greece, whose names and mythologies have endured for more than three thousand years. Myths are not mere fictitious stories or fantasies of the human mind, but perennially recurring patterns that describe fundamental concerns of the human condition.

What fulfils one woman may mean little to another, depending on which feminine archetype is constellated (or activated). Knowledge of the feminine archetypes provides women with vital information about their psychological difficulties, allowing them not just to understand themselves, but also their relationship with others. They also explain some of the difficulties and affinities women have with men. Knowledge of the “goddesses” provides useful information for men too. Men who want to understand women better can use feminine archetypes to learn that there are different types of women and what to expect from them.

The Seven Feminine Archetypes

From top left to bottom right: 1. Artemis, 2. Athena, 3. Hestia, 4. Hera, 5. Demeter, 6. Aphrodite, 7. Persephone

When you recognise the forces influencing you, you move closer to fulfilling the age-old maxim, “know thyself.” If you can learn about your own patterns of being, you can save yourself from some suffering. The Greek gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus have different personalities, and as a whole, they include the full spectrum of human attributes. The twelve Olympians included six gods and six goddesses. Bolen explores six of these goddesses—Artemis, Athena, Hestia, Hera, Demeter, Aphrodite—and Persephone, Demeter’s daughter.

These seven feminine archetypes are divided into three categories: the virgin goddesses (Artemis, Athena, Hestia), the vulnerable goddesses (Hera, Demeter, Persephone), and the transformative goddess (Aphrodite). All three types of goddesses must be expressed in a woman’s life for her to work meaningfully, love deeply, and be creative and procreative.Every woman holds the potential of each goddess within her, but in each individual, certain patterns are constellated while others remain dormant.

Identification and Integration of Archetypes

It is important to note that archetypes do not look out for the best interests of us mortals. They usually exist outside the concerns of human values and are amoral forces similar to instincts. Just as they can teach us about ourselves, we can also teach them about human morality, rather than completely submitting to them.

Identification with an archetype can make us lose our humanity, lead to ego-inflation and grandiose delusions. You are not an archetype; it is a force beyond your conscious control. This is very different from the integration ofan archetype, whereby you acknowledge its independence and acquire insights from it in order to help you with the struggles of your daily life.

The Virgin Goddesses: Artemis, Athena, Hestia

The Virgin Goddeses: Artemis, Athena, Hestia

The virgin goddesses—Artemis, Athena, and Hestia—embody independence and non-relationship aspects of femininity. They resist emotional attachments, prioritising personal meaning over social expectations. Artemis and Athena are achievement-oriented, while Hestia turns inward to her spiritual centre.

The virgin goddess aspect is a pure essence of who the woman is and of what she values. The term “virgin” means undefiled, pure, and untouched, indicating that a significant part of a woman is psychologically virginal, rather than strictly referring to physical virginity.

Focused consciousness typifies the virgin goddesses. They have the ability to concentrate their attention on what matters to them, and become absorbed in what they are doing. Focused consciousness is like an intense beam of light that illuminates only what is focused on, leaving everything outside its radius in the darkness. In its most concentrated form, it can be like a laser beam, so piercing or dissecting in its ability to analyse that it can be incredibly precise or destructive—depending on what it is focused.

Artemis: Goddess of the Hunt and Moon

Artemis. Louvre Museum, in Paris, France

Artemis, known to the Romans as Diana, is the goddess of the hunt and moon. As a child, she sat on her father Zeus’s lap, who promised to grant her every wish. She requested a bow and arrows, a pack of hunting hounds, nymphs as companions, the wilderness as her domain, and eternal chastity—all of which Zeus granted. Since then, Artemis has roamed the wilderness with her nymphs, minor deities of mountains, woods, and streams, whom she leads as a protective “Big Sister.” Armed with a silver bow and unerring aim, she is the skilled archer of the wild.

As the goddess of wildlife, Artemis is associated with many undomesticated animals that symbolised her qualities. She is the first-born twin sister of Apollo, God of the Sun. Their mother, Leto, was a nature deity, the daughter of two Titans (the pre-Olympian gods); their father was Zeus, chief god of Olympus. As soon as she was born, Artemis helped her mother through the difficult labour of Apollo, earning her a role as goddess of childbirth. Women addressed her as “helper in pain, whom no pain touches.” It is also noteworthy that Artemis repeatedly came to her mother’s aid. No other goddess is known for this.

As the goddess of the moon, Artemis was at home in the night, roaming her wilderness domain by moonlight or torchlight. Her male counterpart, Apollo, represented the city, while she symbolised the wilderness; he was associated with the sun, and she with the moon; he tended domesticated flocks, while she connected with wild, untamed animals.

In mythology, Artemis swiftly protected those who sought her help and punished those who offended her. When the hunter Actaeon stumbled upon her bathing, she transformed him into a stag in anger, and he was torn apart by his own hounds. This shows her mercilessness. She tends to judge actions in black and white, viewing them as either wholly good or wholly bad, along with the individuals behind them.

Artemis also inadvertently killed her beloved Orion, provoked by her brother Apollo, who challenged her to hit a distant target without revealing it was Orion. This tragedy highlights how the one man she loved fell victim to her competitive nature.

Psychologically, Artemis is the archetype of the independent, achievement-oriented feminine spirit. This archetype is present in women who are capable of focusing intensely on whatever is important to her and to be undistracted from her course. An Artemis type is not averse to competition, if anything, it heightens the excitement of “the chase.”

Many supportive fathers are like Zeus, in providing the “gifts” that will help their daughters to pursue their ambitions. However, problems arise when parents criticise or reject an Artemis daughter for not being the girl they expect her to be, accusing her of being “too masculine.” Typically, the daughter outwardly adopts a defiant pose while feeling wounded inside. This creates inner conflict about her competence, leading to self-sabotage—her own doubts are her worst enemies. She incorporates her father’s critical attitude into her psyche. Deep down, she struggles with feelings that she is not good enough, hesitates when new opportunities are offered, achieves less than she is capable of, and, when she succeeds, still feels inadequate.

A common mother-daughter difficulty that Artemis types have is with mothers whom they view as passive, weak or immature. Determined not to resemble their mothers, they avoid expressing vulnerability and usually find themselves rejecting what is considered feminine—softness, receptivity, and stirrings towards marriage and motherhood.

As the archetypal sister, Artemis women are usually supporting younger women. However, such a woman often prioritises her career, creative project or cause over a loving relationship. She usually lacks interest in long-term relationships, and when she does have one, her mate is often a colleague or competitor. If she is unable to keep the competitive element out of the relationship, it usually kills it. When the Artemis woman is in conflict with men, it usually mirrors the early father-daughter dynamics.

The Shadow of Artemis

Artemis and Orion from the Emilian School, c. 1625-1650, Museum of Fine Arts in Budapest

The shadow side of Artemis is associated with her ability to hurt others. She has a contempt for vulnerability and dependence, as it shows signs of “weakness”. An Artemis woman may have a series of relationships that go well only as long as the man keeps some emotional distance and is not always available. One moment she may be present, and the next she disappears. As a consequence of her inattentiveness, people who care about her feel insignificant and excluded, and become hurt or angry at her. The coldness and heartlessness of the Moon Goddess may appeal to some men partly because of her indifference and impersonal eroticism.

The goddess Artemis has a destructive aspect symbolised by the Calydonian boar, a monstrous creature with eyes that glow with blood and fire, driving flocks into chaos. Her rage, only surpassed by the goddess Hera, is typically directed at men, while Hera’s is aimed at other women. The heroine Atalanta ultimately slayed the boar by throwing a spear through its only vulnerable spot. The destructive rage of an Artemis woman can only be quelled by confronting her own destructiveness, as Atalanta did. She must recognise this aspect of herself before it consumes her and damages her relationships. Facing the inner boar takes courage, as it requires acknowledging the harm she has caused to herself and others. Humility is the lesson that returns her humanity—she becomes all too aware that she, too, is human, all too human; and not an avenging goddess.

Athena: Goddess of Wisdom and Crafts

Athena—known as Minerva to the Romans—is the goddess of wisdom and crafts. She is the warrior goddess, protector of numerous heroes and the patron goddess of Athens, a city named in her honour. Athena is the only Olympian goddess potrayed wearing armour, and typically holds a spear or shield. Her major symbols are the olive tree, the owl, and the snake. She is also the goddess of various crafts, including weaving, goldsmithing, and pottery.

Athena’s entrance into the company of the Olympians was dramatic. It was foretold that Metis, the first wife of Zeus, would give birth to a daughter equal to Zeus in courage and wisdom. When she became pregnant, Zeus swallowed her. He then suffered a painful headache and Athena was born out of his forehead, fully grown and wearing gold armour, emitting a mighty war cry.

Athena values rational thinking and stands for the domination of will and intellect over instinct and nature. Her spirit is found in the city; for Athena, the wilderness is to be tamed and subdued. The Athena archetype is followed by a woman who is ruled by her head rather than her heart. Unlike Artemis whose mode of adaptation was separation from men, Athena seeks identification with men. She enjoys being in the midst of powerful men who have authority, without feeling emotional intimacy and becoming his “right-hand woman.” She is the archetypal “father’s daughter” and is a defender of patriarchy “the rule of the father.” Being born as a fully grown adult, the Athena archetype represents an older, more mature, version of a virgin goddess than does Artemis. Her pragmatic attitude and lack of romanticism or idealism make her the epitome of the “sensible adult.”

As a strategist whose tactics brought many victories for the Greeks, the Athena archetype is present in those women who excel in male-dominated fields such as science, the military, and engineering, where she feels quite comfortable being one of the few women in her field. Such a woman may use her ability to think strategically to further her own projects, or as companion-advisor to an ambitious man on the rise.

Athena is invulnerable and unmoved by irrational or overwhelming emotion. Her intellectual armour defends her from emotional turmoil, as she coolly assesses what is happening, and what she will do next. Athena lives for her work. She is also spared the despair and suffering that may follow bonding with others or needing them. Thus, she cuts herself from empathising with anyone else’s deep feelings, and typically lacks jealousy and rage.

The Athena woman is no puella aeterna (eternal girl); she doesn’t play Cinderella or wait for rescue through marriage. The idea of “Someday my prince will come” is entirely foreign to her. Youth or beauty is not essential for an Athena woman. For her, growing older is not a loss, on the contrary because she is more powerful, useful or influential in her middle years than as a young adult, her confidence and well-being may even be enhanced during those years, when other women area anxious about looking older and becoming less desirable.

Learning objective facts, thinking clearly, and taking the exams themselves are all exercises that evoke this archetype. Work has a similar effect. To behave “professionally” implies that a woman is objective, impersonal, and skilful. A woman who feels deeply for others may enter medicine or nursing, for example, and find that she needs to learn dispassionate observation, and logical thinking.

The Shadow of Athena

One of the shadow aspects of Athena can be described as the “Medusa effect”. On her breastplate, Athena wore a symbol of her power—the aegis, a goatskin decorated with the head of Medusa, whose terrifying appearance turned to stone anyone who gazed at her. When an Athena woman is in a position of authority, she is unempathetic and critical of any weakness, which intimidates and petrifies others. However, she is unconscious of her behaviour. She is merely doing her job well, focusing on facts over feelings. Athena is less concerned with questions of fairness or morality; her primary focus is on whether a strategy is effective. Women who embody this mindset reflect the darker side of Athena.

Bolen describes a patient who was entirely intellectual, recounting her life in a detached, factual way, devoid of emotion. This lifelessness immediately had a numbing effect on Bolen, who realised that this “turning to stone” sensation was an issue the patient carried into all her relationships.

One of the archetypes hidden in Athena’s shadow is the Inner Child. The goddess Athena was never a child; she was born as an adult. This metaphor is not far removed from the Athena woman’s actual experience. Such women were pushed out of the childhood world too soon, they have lost the positive and magical aspect of the puella aeterna. The woman must discover the child that she never was. This can be done through play. Athena, as the goddess of crafts finds non-work play that creates a tangible result more fulfilling, such as weaving and sewing. In fact, all the crafts offer Athena women an inner balance to an outer-world focus.

Another archetype hidden in Athena’s shadow is the Great Mother. Athena was unaware of her mother Metis, whom Zeus had swallowed. So too, metaphorically, Athena women are born “motherless.”

Hestia: Goddess of the Hearth

Hestia Giustiniani, Torlonia Collection, Rome.

Hestia or Vesta is the goddess of the hearth, and is the least known of the Olympians. She was rarely depicted in human form. Instead, she was felt to be present in the living fire at the centre of the home, temple, and city. Entry to her temple was permitted only to her priestesses, the Vestal virgins. Their vow of chastity was considered vital to the survival of Rome, and any violation led to the severe punishment of being entombed alive. Hestia is the sacred fire that provides light, warmth, and heat for cooking. As such, she was greatly honoured, receiving the best offerings made by mortals.

Hestia was the first-born child of Rhea and Cronos, the divine descendants of the primordial Gaia (Mother Earth) and Uranus (Father Sky). She is the elder sister of the first generation of Olympians, and symbolises the archetype of the wise old woman.

In order for a house to become a home, Hestia’s presence was required. Hestia women find that their home is a sacred place and putting things in order is a meaningful activity rather than a chore. For her, cleaning a room is no trivial matter. By organising the chaos from the outside, she attains inner harmony—reflecting the microcosm-macrocosm relationship. By becoming absorbed in doing her tasks, she replaces the ordinary chatter of the mind into a pervasive inner quiet.

Visitors to a Hestia woman’s home sense an immediate harmony between her personality, and the essence of the Goddess of the Hearth. An intangible quality gives the home a feeling of a serene sanctuary.

Hestia was the first one of her siblings to be swallowed up by Cronos and the last one to be regurgitated, spending the longest time captive in his dark bowels—and the only one to be there alone. This isolation is psychologically significant. The saying “Still waters run deep” fits a Hestia woman—reserved and quiet, yet possessing intense, hidden emotions.

A Hestia girl often feels as alienated or isolated from her siblings as she does from her parents—and she truly is different from them. Such a girl conveys an “old soul” quality about her. When faced with difficulties, she is likely to withdraw emotionally, retreating inward for solace. As a child, she is often helped to “get over her shyness or timidity”—which is how others often label her inwardness. Moreover, she is absent from social dramas, resembling the goddess Hestia who took no part in the romantic pursuits or the wars that occupied the other Olympians.

For a Hestia woman, time is not so much quantitative (chronos) as qualitative (kairos). She doesn’t seek to “kill time”, but rather participates in qualitative time, where everything feels perfectly aligned with the right moment—leading to a flow state.

Because her self-identity is anchored to her inner self, a Hestia woman does not become devastated by external circumstance. She also does not need a man to feel emotionally fulfilled. Without him, her life would not lose its meaning or purpose. Her ego is aligned with the Self, embodying what the ancient Greeks called apatheia—a serene state where one is unshaken by emotional turbulence.

Hestia’s apatheia provides the other archetypes with wisdom and balance, following the “middle-path”, the point between excess and deficiency. She represents, in fact, the archetype of the Self—her round hearth with a sacred fire at the centre resembles a mandala, a symbol of wholeness.

The Shadow of Hestia

Statue of Hestia, Rome, Museo Comunale, Antiquarium

The two major emotional crises that face women are the empty nest and widowhood. But although Hestia women can be wives and mothers, they don’t have a strong need to be in either role. Instead, coping with the outer world is their true challenge—representing Hestia’s shadow.

A Hestia woman lacks ambition and drive; she neither seeks recognition nor values power, and strategies to get ahead are foreign to her. As a result, achievers who measure worth by tangible standards often overlook or undervalue her. Additionally, her warmth can seem too impersonal and detached. She must learn to express her deep inner feelings outwardly to others.

A Hestia woman is by nature uninterested in making a good impression on others and in wearing a persona, the mask of social adaptation that a person presents to the world. She presents herself as too naked—she reveals too much, is too honest, allowing people to see what others would keep covered up in the same situation. In large gatherings, she frequently feels inadequate, awkward, and shy, as if she has “nothing to wear.”

The Vulnerable Goddesses

Moving on to the vulnerable goddesses—Hera, Demeter, and Persephone—they represent the wife, mother, and daughter archetypes, respectively. Their identities centre on relationships, reflecting women’s needs for affiliation and bonding.

The quality of consciousness associated with the vulnerable goddess archetypes is called diffuse consciousness, like the warm glow of a lamp illuminating everything within its range. This receptive, diffuse kind of consciousness can take in the whole or “gestalt” of a situation—unlike focused consciousness, which zeroes in on a single element.

When a relationship-oriented woman returns to focusing on her studies, one inevitable source of conflict between her and those who live with her—are their interruptions when she studies. Her receptive, diffuse awareness makes her easily distracted, while the man in her life may unconsciously feel her focused consciousness on work as a rival taking her away from him. It is as if an unseen warm light has been turned off, making him vaguely anxious and insecure—sensing that something is wrong. His “unnecessary” interruptions often irritate her, reinforcing his sense of rejection. As soon as the man does not take personally her change from diffuse awareness to focused consciousness, the tension dissolves.

Hera: Goddess of Marriage

Hera, also called Juno in Roman mythology, is the goddess of marriage, queen of the Olympians, and both sister and wife to Zeus. One of her symbols is the cow, an image long associated with the Great Mother archetype as a provider of nourishment. The Milky Way—our galaxy, named from the Greek gala, meaning “milk”—originates from the myth of the Great Goddess, whose milk created it. This then became a part of Hera’s mythology, when milk spilled from her breasts, the Milky Way was formed.

The Hera archetype first and foremost represents a woman’s yearning to be a wife, with the absence of a man causing deep grief. Bolen describes a divorced 32-year-old nurse who said, “I feel like I have a big hole in my psyche, or maybe it’s a wound that never quite heals.” Women who move through a series of brief relationships, leaving when challenges arise or the initial magic fades, or those who feel disconnected from their spouse, can benefit from integrating the Hera archetype. When the instinct to bond as a partner is weak, it must be consciously developed. This is possible only if a woman recognises the importance of commitment and has the determination to maintain it.

A Hera woman needs the prestige, respect, and honour that marriage connotes for her, and she wants to be recognised as “Mrs. Somebody.” Without a husband, she feels purposeless, making her unlikely to seek divorce, even under poor treatment. She finds fulfilment in making her husband the centre of her life. Her first serious breakup can be a significant emotional wound, and as she ages, being unmarried often deepens her inner emptiness, intensified by social expectations. For her, work and education are secondary aspects of life.

A Hera woman considers her wedding day the most significant in her life. She now becomes the wife, which fulfils a drive she has felt as long as she can remember. Marriage is an archetypal experience for her—in her mind, she will always be the wife—even after a divorce has occurred.

Beyond fulfilling the inner need for partnership and the outer recognition of husband and wife, Hera as the marriage archetype also represents a mystical striving for wholeness through a hieros gamos (sacred marriage). Just as marriage involves a physical union, it also encompasses a spiritual connection, where man and woman become one flesh, achieving a greater sense of wholeness than they would alone. In alchemy, it is represented as the union of King and Queen (the central masculine and feminine archetypes), and is known as the coniunctio, the final stage in which the philosophers’ stone is created.

The Shadow of Hera

Hera’s shadow lies in unconsciously identifying with her husband, losing her self-identity and allowing him to decide how she will spend her life. A Hera woman’s happiness depends on her husband’s devotion to her, on the importance he places on their marriage, and on his appreciation of her as his wife. If these are lacking, she is devastated. Such a woman can avoid a lot of grief by not allowing herself to be propelled unwisely and prematurely into marriage.

A Hera woman may project the image of an idealised husband onto a man and then feel betrayed when he doesn’t meet her expectations. With very little provocation, she suspects infidelity and feels humiliated in public by her husband’s inattention. When he is away, she is frequently left at the mercy of the jealous demons that torment her imagination. To mask her insecurities, she reacts with rage, rather than depression. This makes her feel more powerful and in control.

In Greek mythology, the goddess Hera did not express her anger at Zeus for his infidelities but directed it toward the other woman instead. Such a woman’s tendency is to channel the pain of rejection and humiliation into vindictive rage toward other women. The shadow side of the Hera archetype predisposes women to displace blame from her man—on whom she is emotionally dependent—onto others. Even if her children reveal the abuse of her husband, she will say, “You have no right to talk to your father that way!” Her loyalty is always with her husband. She also seeks to damage the other woman’s reputation with lies or even resorting to physical harm.

When a woman is overwhelmed by Hera’s shadow, one possible solution is suggested by the myth of Hera’s son Hephaestus—known as Vulcan to the Romans—the God of the Forge. According to one account, Hera abandoned him at birth due to his lameness. He symbolises a potential inner strength, which the goddess herself rejected but which is still available. In contrast, Hera favoured her other son, Ares, God of War, whose uncontrolled rage on the battlefield mirrored her own vindictiveness. Hephaestus had his forge inside a volcano. Symbolically, he represents the possibility that volcanic rage can be contained and channelled into creative energy to make armour and weapons as works of art, used by the great heroes of ancient Greece. Work of any kind, mental or manual, can serve as a means of sublimating rage—a much healthier option than letting rage slowly consume you.

Demeter: Goddess of Grain

Demeter, goddess of grain, presided over bountiful harvests. The Romans knew her as Ceres—to which our word cereal is related. She was the fourth wife of Zeus, also her brother. She had one only child, her daughter Persephone, whom she is linked with in her mythology.

The Homeric Hymn to Demeter describes Persephone gathering flowers when she is suddenly abducted by Hades, the God of the Underworld. Her mother, Demeter, hears her cries and rushes to find her. She searches for nine days and nine nights, neglecting her duties as the goddess of agriculture, causing a great famine that threatens to destroy all life. Concerned for humanity, Zeus sends Hermes to the Underworld to negotiate Persephone’s release. Hades agrees, but before she leaves, he gives her some pomegranate seeds, which she eats. Upon seeing her daughter, Demeter rejoices, restoring fertility and growth to the earth. However, because Persephone had eaten food from the Underworld, she became symbolically bound to it and had to spend some time with Hades. Thus, Persephone spends one-third of the year in the Underworld, causing winter as Demeter mourns her absence, and returns in spring for the remaining time of the year, bringing life and growth.

This myth explains the natural seasons and serves as an allegory for the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. It became the basis for the Eleusinian Mysteries, the most sacred and important religious rituals of ancient Greece for over two thousand years. Through these mysteries, people would experience a symbolic death and rebirth, and no longer fear death. If you die before you die, then when you die, you don’t die.

The mother archetype is represented by Demeter, whose most important relationship was with her daughter. And although other goddesses are mothers, Demeter is the most nurturing of the goddesses. She represents the maternal instinct fulfilled through pregnancy and physical, psychological or spiritual nourishment. If a Demeter woman’s need to nurture is rejected, it can lead to depression. Many Demeter women resent feminists for devaluing the role of motherhood; they want to be full-time mothers and now feel pressured to work outside the home.

The Shadow of Demeter

Melancholy – Louis Jean François Lagrenée

When Demeter grieved, nothing would grow and famine threatened to destroy humankind. Similarly, a Demeter woman’s shadow is expressed by withholding emotional or physical contact from her child, as well as needed nutrition. She also experiences her child’s growing autonomy as an emotional loss for herself. Her children usually remain Mother’s little girls or Mama’s boys well into adulthood.

Such a mother is frequently overcontrolling, believing that “Mother knows best”, which can stifle her children’s self-confidence, and increases her own workload. If she feels overburdened, she becomes resentful but usually doesn’t express it directly. Instead, she is likely to suppress her feelings and to work harder at getting everything done. Eventually, her true feelings are expressed, and she begins to show passive-aggressive behaviour. To refuse to do what someone else expects you to do, and state why, is a clear message; a passive-aggressive action is a muddled message encoded in a hostile act.

Later in life, if her grown children live far away or are emotionally distant, a Demeter woman may develop “empty-nest depression”, a deep sense of loss and purposelessness when children, who were central to their lives, grow up and move away. Moreover, when her daughter goes out with another man, she frequently feels as if Hades is abducting her Persephone.

A Demeter woman might stay with a man just because she feels sorry for him. He may be a puer aeternus or eternal boy, an immature self-absorbed boy who avoids responsibility and has a sense of specialness. Demeter women, however, can be highly agreeable and do not see this as an issue. As far as she is concerned, the world is unkind to him. His thoughtlessness often hurts and angers her—but if he then tells her how she’s the only person in his life that really cares about him, all is again forgiven.

Persephone: Maiden and Queen of the Underworld

Statue of Isis-Persephone holding a sistrum. Archaeological Museum in Herakleion

The goddess Persephone—whom the Romans called Proserpina—was worshipped in two ways, as the Kore (Maiden), a young goddess associated with grain and spring, and as queen of the underworld, a mature goddess who reigns over the dead souls. Although Persephone was not one of the twelve Olympians, she was the central figure in the Eleusinian Mysteries, where the Greeks experienced the renewal of life after death through Persephone’s annual return from the underworld.

Though Persephone was first taken to the underworld as a captive, she later becomes its Queen, symbolising her growth and transformation. Symbolically, the underworld represents deeper layers of the psyche. Schizophrenic patients who lose their anchor in reality and are submerged into the dark depths of the collective unconscious mirror Persephone’s abduction. Women who emerge from the dark night of the soul having gained insight about life, can help guide others through the underworld or archetypal reality of the psyche. Only the wounded healer heals.

After Persephone emerged from the underworld, Hecate was her constant companion. Hecate, goddess of the dark moon and the crossroads, ruled over the uncanny realms of ghosts and demons, sorcery and magic. This companion is a symbol of having survived the other world.

The Shadow of Persephone

Persephone’s shadow expresses a woman’s tendency toward passivity, naivety, and a need to please and be wanted by others. She is the puella aeterna who doesn’t commit herself to anything or anyone (be it work, education or a relationship), because making a definite choice eliminates other possibilities. Persephone’s shadow is embodied in the woman who is so indecisive that she waits for something or someone to transform her life, like a girl waiting for her prince to come and be eternally in love and live happily ever after. If she finds him, however, she is quickly disappointed and finds that reality is nothing like her fantasy.

In her book, The Way of All Women, Jungian analyst Esther Harding describes this type as the “anima woman”, who receives the projection of a man’s anima and conforms to the image. She “adapts herself to her man’s wishes, makes herself beautiful in his eyes, charms him, pleases him.” She is “generally unselfconscious, she doesn’t analyse herself or her motives; she just is; and for the most part she is inarticulate.” In other words, it is her pattern to unconsciously conform to what a man wants her to be.

With a Persephone, a man feels he can be perceived as powerful, dominant and not have his authority or ideas challenged. He also feels that he can be innocent, inexperienced, or incompetent, and not be criticised.Such a woman may stay a daughter who thinks of her mother as a “real mother” and of herself as merely playing at the role. On the other hand, the daughter of a Persephone mother may think, “I didn’t have a mother—I was the mother.”

Narcissism is yet another pitfall for some Persephone women. They may become so anxiously fixated on themselves that they lose their capacity to relate to others. They spend hours in front of mirrors. People exist only to give them feedback, to provide them with reflecting surfaces in which to see themselves.

As the Maiden grows up and reaches midlife, realistic barriers now arise that make her aware that dreams she once entertained as possibilities are now beyond reach. She avoids the inevitable responsibilities of adulthood and dreads old age. Since change is inevitable, she is reluctantly dragged along in life, like a prisoner in shackles. Whenever the real world seems too difficult, she retreats into her fantasy world. At some point, however, what was once a sanctuary becomes a prison. She may become confined in her inner world and be unable to come back to ordinary reality. Withdrawing gradually from reality, some Persephone women seem to slip into psychosis. They live in a world full of symbolic imagery, and have distorted perceptions of themselves. Others simply avoid what is really happening by staying in this fantasy realm when reality is too overwhelming.

A Persephone woman must make a commitment and stay with it. If she does this, she may gradually transform from an eternal girl to a mature woman. If in the course of her life a Persephone woman has evolved from Maiden to Queen, she may gain the presence of a wise elder who knows the mysteries that make life and death meaningful. She has had inner experiences that dispels her fears about growing old and dying.

The Transformative Goddess

Aphrodite K10.5 – Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty is in a third category all her own as the transformative goddess. In Greek mythology, Aphrodite caused mortals and deities (with the exception of the virgin goddesses) to fall in love and conceive new life. She valued emotional experience with others more than either independence from others (which motivated the virgin goddesses), or permanent bonds to others (which characterised the vulnerable goddesses).

The consciousness associated with Aphrodite is unique. Unlike the diffuse awareness of the vulnerable goddesses, Aphrodite’s focus is intense yet receptive, more attuned to its subject than the single-minded concentration of the virgin goddesses. This “Aphrodite consciousness” resembles stage lighting that highlights the scene, drawing our attention effortlessly to what is in the “limelight” and inviting a relaxed, yet absorbing, concentration.

In her psychotherapeutic work, Bolen observed that she was fully absorbed in listening to her patient while her mind remained actively engaged, making mental associations with what she heard. If she became too receptive, she lost objectivity; if she became too distant, she risked losing empathy. Thus, analysis requires a balance of receptivity and emotional distance, as both the conscious and unconscious of doctor and patient are involved in a process in which both are deeply affected.

Aphrodite: Goddess of Love and Beauty

Aphrodite, known to the Romans as Venus, is the most beautiful of the goddesses. “Golden” was the most frequent epithet used by the Greeks to describe Aphrodite. Her mythological origins vary: in Homer’s version, she is the daughter of Zeus and the sea nymph Dione. In Hesiod’s version, however, Aphrodite’s birth is more dramatic—Cronos cut off the genitals of his father Uranus and cast them into the sea, from which Aphrodite emerged as a fully grown goddess.

Aphrodite chose Hephaestus, the lame God of the Forge, as her husband, making Hera’s rejected son her lover—though he was frequently cuckolded by her (she had relationships with various gods and mortal men). Their marriage represents the union of beauty and craft, out of which art is born.

Aphrodite represents the archetype of the Lover. When two people fall in love, each sees the other in a “golden light” and is drawn toward the other’s beauty. There is magic in the air; a state of enchantment or infatuation is evoked. Each feels more beautiful, more godlike or goddesslike than their ordinary selves. Aphrodite represents not only the procreative instinct that ensures the continuation of the species, but also the creative impulse, the birth of inspiring ideas, and of new creations. She is the femme inspiratrice or muse, bringing the spark that keeps creative endeavours from becoming overly rational and stale.

The Shadow of Aphrodite

The shadow of Aphrodite is the inevitability of aging, a devastating reality for the Aphrodite woman if her attractiveness has been her chief source of gratification. However, the middle years are less difficult for Aphrodite women who are engaged in creative work. As they have more experience to draw inspiration from, and more highly developed skills with which to express themselves.

Aphrodite women tend to live in the immediate present, taking life in as if it were nothing more than a sensory experience. She responds as if there would be no future consequences to her actions. Emotional priorities will continue to carry more weight than practical considerations. She falls in love very easily, each time sincerely convinced that she has found the perfect man. In the magic of the moment, the man may feel himself a god in love with a goddess, only to be dropped and replaced. As a consequence, she leaves in her wake a series of wounded, rejected, depressed, or angry men who feel used and discarded. To end this pattern, she must learn to love someone who is an imperfect human rather than a god, freeing herself of grandiose delusions and of short-lived romantic interest.

We may distinguish between two shadow patterns of Aphrodite. In the first, a woman clings to a man who mistreats or belittles her, sacrificing everything for fleeting attention. Though unhappy, she feels trapped by the relationship’s addictive hold. In the second, a woman chases after a man who openly rejects her, resorting to obsessive or disruptive behaviours. She might call him constantly, follow him to another city, or even get arrested for breaking into his house. To break free from Aphrodite’s “curse”, she must recognise the destructiveness of the attachment and choose to let go.

Conclusion

The twelve Olympian Gods and the signs. Illustration from Derek & Julia Parker’s “History of Astrology”

To give a brief overview of the feminine archetypes: Artemis personifies the independent, achievement-oriented feminine spirit; Athena is the self-assured woman who is ruled by her head rather than her heart; Hestia embodies patience, steadiness, and a love for solitude; Hera’s focus is on finding a husband and being married; Demeter represents a woman’s drive to provide physical and spiritual sustenance for her children; Persephone expresses a woman’s tendency towards compliancy and passivity, and finally, Aphrodite impels women to fulfil both creative and procreative functions. Each speaks for an aspect of the woman’s psyche (her total personality).

What goes on in our heads can be thought of as being like a committee of different personalities—male and female, young and old, some loud and others quiet. Ideally, a healthy ego chairs this committee, deciding who should speak and maintaining order by being observant and effective. When there is too much conflict—the inner equivalent of an Olympian war can occur—and if a woman’s ego cannot keep order, one goddess archetype may intervene and take over the personality. Then, symbolically, that archetype rules the mortal. If the ego doesn’t restore order, it can lead to a mental breakdown or psychosis. More frequently, however, it leads to moodiness or depression, which can be seen as censored or unlived aspects of the archetypes.

When the ego is aware of the archetypes and their different needs and motivations, the tension is resolved. But, if the ego has a bias and only recognises some archetypes while neglecting others, it eventually leads to disorder. Since we do not care about them, they do not care about us.

It is not just what happens to us that shapes who we are, but what happens in us that makes the difference. How we feel and how we react inwardly and outwardly determine who we become, much more than the degree of adversity we encounter. The true cost of anything is what we give up in order to have it. Courage is not being fearless, but taking action in spite of fear. This is the quality of the heroine. She does not let herself be victimised. She understands life’s obstacles as a rite of passage. To take the responsibility of making the choice is crucial and what defines the heroine is that she does it.

The Psychology of Immature Femininity

In her 1984 book, Goddesses in Everywoman: Powerful Archetypes in Women’s Lives, psychiatrist and Jungian analyst Jean Shinoda Bolen delves into seven feminine archetypes within woman’s psyche, based on the goddesses of ancient Greece, whose names and mythologies have endured for more than three thousand years. Myths are not mere fictitious stories or fantasies of the human mind, but perennially recurring patterns that describe fundamental concerns of the human condition.

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The Psychology of Immature Masculinity

We face a profound crisis in masculine identity, evident in the breakdown of the traditional family structure. But what lies at the heart of this crisis? In King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculine, Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette point to two important factors: the absence of meaningful rituals and the concept of patriarchy.

Table of contents

Absence of Rituals

Arthur in the Gruesome Glen – Henry Clarence Whaite

Tribal societies use rituals to guide boys into manhood, often in sacred, secluded spaces. Initiates undergo physically and psychologically challenging trials, learning to submit to life’s difficulties and gaining access to the secret wisdom of nature, typically guided by a shaman or ritual elder (the archetype of the Wise Old Man). Through a spiritual death and rebirth, the boy’s ego “dies”, allowing a new, mature self to emerge. This is a process that can take years. The essence of life can be described as the journey from a lower state of awareness to a higher level of consciousness, evolving from a fragmented self to a more unified identity.

Over time, ancient initiation rituals in the West have devolved into “pseudo-initiations” like gang initiation, activist groups, and hazing in universities or the military. Without true initiation, men remain in what Moore and Gillette call “Boy psychology” or immature masculinity, which is frequently marked by violence and passivity, leading to cycles of abuse and weakness. While military initiation may be an exception, most modern rituals produce a distorted and stunted masculinity that harms both oneself and others. Many men remain boys not because they want to, but because no one has shown them the way towards manhood.

Patriarchy

Napoleon Crossing the Alps – Jacques-Louis David

The second factor is patriarchy. meaning “the rule of the father”, which has shaped Western society and much of the world since at least 2000 BC.

Feminists point out that patriarchy has been oppressive and abusive of the feminine qualities. This is because patriarchy is the expression of immature masculinity. It is not just an attack on the fullness of femininity but also on mature masculinity. Those caught up in patriarchal structures seek to dominate not only women but men as well. Patriarchy is based on fear—the immature masculine’s fear—of women, to be sure, but also of men. Boys fear women. They also fear real men. Modern movements like the “Red Pill” community, “Men Going Their Own Way”, and Incels, reveal the widespread presence of “Boy psychology”.

Radical feminism concludes that masculinity in its roots is essentially abusive, and that qualities like love, relatedness, and gentleness—associated with “eros”—come only from the feminine side of human nature. However, this is a misinterpretation. Truly deep and rooted masculinity is not abusive.

“The more beautiful, competent, and creative we become, the more we seem to invite the hostility of our superiors, or even of our peers. What we are really being attacked by is the immaturity in human beings who are terrified of our advances on the road toward masculine or feminine fullness of being.”

Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette, King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

The Crisis in Mature Masculinity

Self Portrait in Mirror – Léon Spilliaert

The crisis in mature masculinity is very much upon us. With the lack of ritual process in our society capable of initiating us into manhood, and with a scarcity in our culture of mature men, it goes without saying that ritual elders are in desperately short supply. Men feel anxious, on the verge of feeling impotent, helpless, frustrated, unloved, unappreciated, and often ashamed of being masculine. Something vital is missing in the many lives of men. We do not need, as some claim, less masculine power. We need more. But we need more of mature masculinity, or what Moore and Gillette call “Man psychology”, which is nurturing and empowering, unlike the destructive “Boy psychology”.

For students of mythology and Jungian psychology, there is hope. The external deficiencies we face—absent fathers, immature role models, a lack of meaningful rituals, and the scarcity of ritual elders—can be overcome if we look within ourselves, and turn towards the archetypes of the mature masculine within our unconscious.

Although those in the outer world may not live up to the positive qualities of the archetypes, they remain nonetheless present. Archetypes are universal and primordial images that reside in the collective unconscious and represent fundamental human experiences and emotions that shape our behaviour. Endless repetition has engraved these experiences in our psyche. They serve as templates for understanding human behaviour and personality.

We often mistake our actual parents for the ideal patterns and potentials within us. If our parents were “good enough”, then we can access these inner patterns positively. Sadly, many of us, perhaps the majority, did not receive good enough parenting, and we often mistake controlling, hostile behaviour for strength, when it actually reveals the vulnerability of a wounded boy.

In a previous video we have explored the archetype of the puer aeternus or eternal boy, which can either infuse adulthood with the energy and creativity of childhood or hinder self-realisation, trapping us in unrealistic fantasies and experiencing life as a prison. Now we will delve deeper into the immature masculine archetypes.

The Immature Masculine Archetypes

1. Nativity of Jesus – Lorenzo Lotto. 2. Imhotep statuette, 3. Detail of ancient fresco in which Oedipus solves the riddle of the Sphinx. Egyptian Museum. 4. The Fight: St. George kills the Dragon – Edward Burne Jones

Before exploring the archetypes of mature masculinity (King, Warrior, Magician, and Lover), it is essential to first examine the immature masculine archetypes we encounter early in life. The first one is the Divine Child, followed by the Precocious Child and the Oedipal Child, and the last stage of boyhood is governed by the Hero. Of course, human development isn’t always linear, and these archetypes influence each other throughout life. Each archetype of Boy psychology gives rise to its mature counterpart: the Divine Child to the King, the Precocious Child to the Magician, the Oedipal Child to the Lover, and the Hero to the Warrior.

Archetypes do not disappear; instead, the mature man transcends the masculine powers of boyhood by building upon them rather than trying to demolish them. It is important not to identify oneself with an archetype, but rather acknowledge that there are forces in our psyche that have their own existence and are beyond our control.

Accessing The Archetype in its Fullness

The Shadow – Image from Carl Jung’s Red Book

To access the archetype in its fullness, we must ask ourselves two questions. The first one is not if the shadow sides of the archetypes are showing up in our lives, but rather how they are manifesting. The key to maturity is to become humble, which consists of knowing our limitations and getting the help we need. The second one is how we are honouring or failing to honour the archetype. If we’re not feeling its presence in our personal lives or work, we must reflect on how we might be blocking it.

The Divine Child

The Divine Child represents the most primal immature masculine archetype. He is both all-powerful, the centre of the universe, and at the same time totally helpless and weak. In fact, this is the actual experience of infants. The motif of the miraculous birth of the Divine Child is a common theme in mythology and religion.

The Egyptian god Horus was conceived by the goddess Isis after the death of her husband, Osiris, who was revived briefly through magic for this purpose, giving the conception a mystical quality. Similarly, Jesus was conceived by Mary through the Holy Spirit, paralleling the biological concept of parthenogenesis (meaning, “virgin creation”), a natural form of asexual reproduction where an offspring develops directly from an egg without fertilisation.

As soon as baby Jesus is born, King Herod immediately seeks to kill him. The infant Moses, who was born to be the deliverer of his people, was placed in a basket and set adrift on the Nile, a theme also seen in the infancy of the Mesopotamian king Sargon of Akkad. In Hindu mythology, Krishna, prophesied to defeat the tyrant king Kamsa. To prevent this, Kamsa imprisoned Krishna’s parents and killed their first six children. When Krishna was born, celestial light filled the prison, his father’s chains were loosened, and he was carried to safety across a raging river.

The Divine Child archetype symbolises the miraculous yet fragile nature of new life. Dreams of a newborn child often signal the emergence of creative and innocent aspects within oneself, indicating a new phase of life. However, this new life can attract internal and external threats, akin to the tyrant king’s pursuit of the divine child. When we feel this new energy manifesting within us, we need to move to protect it, because it is going to be attacked. For instance, a man in therapy might say, “I may actually be getting better!” And right away, be answered by an inner voice that says, “Oh no, you’re not. You know you can never be well.”

Some schools of psychology criticise the Divine Child archetype as infantile and pathological, aiming to disconnect patients from it. Others see the inner child as a source of wholeness and well-being. Both views are valid: the former addresses the shadow side, while the latter emphasises the positive and integrated side.

The Shadow Side of The Divine Child

Let us now turn to the shadow side of the Divine Child. Moore and Gillette describe the shadow as bipolar in nature, consisting both of an active and passive pole.

The active pole of the Divine Child’s shadow is the High Chair Tyrant, illustrated by Little Lord Fauntleroy in his high chair, demanding attention and throwing food that doesn’t meet his expectations. Characteristics of the High Chair Tyrant include arrogance, negative childishness, and irresponsibility, reflecting pathological narcissism. This figure must learn that he is not the centre of the universe and that the universe does not exist to fulfil his endless needs or pretensions of godhood. The High Chair Tyrant lives in a delusion expecting perfection and no mistakes. When his high ideals cannot be brought into reality, he manifests as a malignant sociopath. The ancient Greeks emphasised that hubris is always followed by nemesis or retribution, which is also found in the biblical motif, “Pride comes before a fall.”

The other side of the Divine Child’s shadow is the Weakling Prince, which takes a passive role. This boy demands constant coddling, manipulating those around him with his whining and complaining helplessness. The family revolves around his comfort, as he convinces his parents that he is a helpless victim of life and that others are picking on him, so that when a controversy arises between him and a sibling, his parents tend to punish the sibling and excuse him.

As is the case with bipolar disorders, the ego possessed by one pole will, from time to time, jump over to the other pole. Thus, the boy caught in the bipolar shadow of the Divine Child will alternate between tyrannical outbursts and passive depression or shift from explosive rage to feigned weakness. This kind of oscillation between the active and passive poles of the archetype’s shadow is characteristic of these dysfunctional systems.

Connection with the Divine Child keeps us from feeling washed up, bored, and unable recognise the abundance of human potential around us. We live in an age under the curse of normalcy, characterised by the elevation of the mediocre. It seems likely that therapists who persistently depreciate the “shining” in their patients are themselves split off from their own Divine Child. They are envying the beauty and freshness, the creativity and vitality, of the Child in their patients.

The Precocious Child

A statuette of the ancient Egyptian magician Imhotep as a boy portrays the archetype of the Precocious Child. Seated on a throne, reading a scroll, his face reflects grace, poise, and concentration, with eyes reverently focused on the words. This archetype embodies a curious, eager-to-learn boy, who wants to know the “why” of everything, and is often a talented and reflective introvert, able to see hidden connections. He is the source of so-called child prodigies. Though introverted, he often experiences a powerful urge to help others with his knowledge, and friends come to him for advice. This archetype keeps our sense of wonder and curiousity alive, stimulating our intellect, and moving toward the path of the mature magician.

The Shadow Side of The Precocious Child

Loki with a fishing net (per Reginsmál) as depicted on an 18th-century Icelandic manuscript (SÁM 66)

The active shadow side of the Precocious Child is the Know-It-All Trickster, representing manipulation and deception. He creates illusions, tricks others into trusting him, and then betrays them for amusement. A man possessed by this archetype enjoys intimidation and intellectual showmanship, often making enemies through arrogance and verbal abuse.

Despite his destructiveness, the Trickster can expose lies and deflate inflated egos, reminding us of our human limitations. However, if it is left unchecked, this energy becomes toxic, blocking creativity and denying one’s true potential. The Know-It-All Trickster’s underlying motivation comes from envy, often activated by emotional abuse or a lack of validation in childhood. The absence of self-worth drives him to belittle others, reflecting his own unresolved insecurities. He has no heroes, because to have heroes is to admire others. He feels disconnected from his own uniqueness.

The passive shadow side of the Precocious Child is the naïve Dummy. Like the Weakling Prince, he lacks personality, vigour, and creativity. He seems unresponsive and dull. He is frequently labelled as a slow learner. The Dummy’s ineptitude, however, is often deceptive. His seemingly clueless behaviour can mask a hidden sense of grandiosity, feeling too important (as well as too vulnerable) to fully engage with the world. In this way, the Dummy is closed linked to the Trickster, concealing a secret Know-It-All within.

The Oedipal Child

Detail of ancient fresco in which Oedipus solves the riddle of the Sphinx. Egyptian Museum, 2nd c. CE

All the immature masculine energies are overly tied, one way or another, to the Mother. The Oedipal Child in his fullness is able to access positive qualities such as a deep appreciation for connectedness with his inner depths, with others, and with all things. His sense of the mystic oneness of all things comes out of his deep yearning for the infinitely nurturing, infinitely good, and infinitely beautiful Mother. This, of course, is not his real mother, who cannot meet these infinite needs, but rather the archetype of the Great Mother. A young man in analysis realised this during an argument with his mother when he accidentally said, “God, All-Mother, Mighty!” It was a Freudian slip. He had meant to say, “God Almighty, Mother!” Both were embarrassed and laughed nervously, because they realised the significance of this statement.

From that moment on, he began to direct his spiritual sense toward the Great Mother, who he realised was the Mother of his own mortal mother. By withdrawing his projections of this archetype from his mother and other women, he relieved them of the burden of god-like expectations, which improved both his relationships and spiritual depth.

The Shadow Side of The Oedipal Child

The Mama’s boy represents the active shadow side of the Oedipal child, where a boy fantasises about marrying his mother, especially in the absence of a strong father figure. Freud’s concept of the Oedipus complex is rooted in the myth of Oedipus, who kills his father, the king, and marries his mother. Later, this awful truth was discovered and he was cast down. Oedipus was unconsciously inflated and destroyed for the inflation of his unconscious pretension to godhood. For every child, Mother is the goddess and Father is the god.

The Mama’s boy, seeking the immortal Goddess, can never be satisfied with a real woman and endlessly seeks one woman after another (the Don Juan syndrome). He avoids responsibility and intimate relationships. Moreover, he is what is called autoerotic, seeking sexual gratification from his own body without the involvement of a partner.

The passive shadow side of the Oedipal Child is the Dreamer, who retreats into passive fantasy, causing him to feel isolated from the world and cut off from all human relationships. Underlying his depression is his grandiosity in seeking to possess the archetypal Mother. He appears withdrawn and unproductive, with dreams that are either idealistic or melancholic. This is the boy who seeks to escape reality, much like Peter Pan, retreating to Neverland—a place where people never grow up and remain forever young.

The Hero

The Fight: St George kills the Dragon – Edward Burne Jones

The Hero represents an advanced stage of boy psychology—the pinnacle of masculine energy in adolescence, explored in-depth in Joseph Campbell’s work, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, where he popularised the concept of the Hero’s Journey. It is an archetype that exists in our psyche as part of our personal development towards independence and responsibility, breaking away from the Devouring Mother and facing the challenges of adulthood. By establishing his identity, the Hero defends himself against the overpowering feminine unconscious.

“Against enormous odds, the Hero picks up his sword and charges into the heart of the abyss, into the mouth of the dragon.”

Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette, King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

Society often diminishes the hero within men. Those who strive to stand out, to rise above the ordinary, are frequently pulled back down by their uninspired and self-proclaimed “peers.” We need a great rebirth of the heroic in our world. Only the heroic consciousness, exerting all its might, will be able to pull us out of unconscious chaos.

There is much confusion about the archetype of the Hero. Many believe the heroic approach to life is the highest ideal, but this is only partly accurate. According to Moore and Gillette, the Hero archetype remains immature. If it dominates a man’s life into adulthood, it prevents him from reaching full maturity. In the medieval legends about heroes, we are seldom told what happens once the hero has slain the dragon and married the princess. Once the Hero’s adventure is finished, he does not know what to do with the princess (the anima or female soul within man). Although he has successfully evaded the overwhelming influence of the feminine, he has yet to learn how to integrate it into his life.

As the Hero’s journey culminates in a symbolic “death”, he confronts his limitations and acknowledges that the enemy has always been himself, his dark, unheroic side. He has escaped the grasp of the feminine unconscious and realised his incapacity to integrate his anima. This leads to true humility, marking the transition from Boy psychology to Man psychology.

The Shadow Side of The Hero

The Hero’s downfall lies in his inability to acknowledge his limitations and mortality. The active pole of the Hero’s shadow is the Grandstander Bully who seeks to impress others and dominate, viewing centre stage as his birthright. The Hero’s inflated sense of self-importance and belief in his invulnerability leads him to resort to verbal and physical attacks against those who challenge him, masking his underlying cowardice. He overcomes his mother by asserting his masculinity, and ultimately risks self-destruction through his arrogance.

The boy possessed by the Coward, the passive pole of the Hero’s bipolar shadow, shows an extreme reluctance to stand up for himself in physical or psychological confrontations. The Coward will usually run away from conflict. He will tend to allow himself to be bullied emotionally and intellectually as well. When he has had enough of this, however, the hidden grandiosity of the Grandstander Bully within him will erupt and launch a violent verbal and/or physical assault upon his “enemy”, an assault for which the other is totally unprepared.

The Mature Masculine Archetypes

1. The Old King – Georges Rouault. 2. Emperor Charles V at Muhlberg – Titian. 3. Old Bear, a Medicine Man – George Catlin. 4. Two Lovers – Reza Abbasi

We now turn to the mature masculine archetypes, built upon the foundations of boyhood. We have to take responsibility for what we’re not responsible for. While we are not responsible for the events that stunted our growth in our early years leading to immature levels of masculinity in adulthood, rebelling against society and leaving things at that does us no good. Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you. The goal of individuation is for us to become an individual, fulfilling our inner essence or soul, which represents the meaning and purpose of our life.

The King

Crowned King on Throne from Musaeum Hermeticum

The King is the fundamental archetype of masculinity, serving as the foundation for the other mature masculine archetypes: Warrior, Magician and Lover. It is considered “the central archetype” around which the psyche is organised, also known as what Jung calls the archetype of the Self.

The King has two functions that make the transition from Boy psychology to Man psychology possible. The first one is ordering, and the second is fertility and blessing.

The King represents the order that arises from chaos, a theme prevalent in many mythologies and religions. He symbolises the Sun, the king of the gods in many cultures, a supreme symbol of the light of masculine consciousness, that triumphs over the darkness of unconsciousness. Historically, kings were seen as sacred figures because they embodied this ordering principle. The mortal king embodied King energy; when he lived it fully, the kingdom thrived in harmony. If he had sexual vigour, the land would flourish; if he remained healthy and mentally alert, crops would grow, livestock would reproduce, merchants would prosper, and more children would be born. This is an old form of magic known as sympathetic magic, where like affects like. It also mirrors the microcosm-macrocosm of the law of correspondence: as above, so below; as within, so without.

On the contrary, when the King grew old, became sick, weak or impotent, the kingdom suffered. Crops failed to grow, the people did not reproduce, and chaos ensued. Similarly, in families where there is an immature, a weak, or an absent father and the King energy is not sufficiently present, the family is very often given over to chaos. Thus, in many alchemical manuscripts we see the old King being ritually killed, as his ability to live out the King archetype began to fail.

Apart from fertility there is blessing. The good king always affirmed those who deserved it, delighting in noticing and promoting good men to positions of responsibility in his kingdom. He held audience, primarily, not to be seen (although this was important to the extent that he carried the people’s own projected inner King energy), but to see, admire, and delight in his people, rewarding them and bestowing honours upon them.

Being blessed has significant psychological consequences for us. Young men today yearn for recognition and validation from older male figures, seeking the King’s blessing to bring order to their chaotic lives. However, many ancient kings like many contemporary leaders, often fell short of embodying the King archetype.

The unfortunate reality is that the positive energy of the King is often missing in most men’s lives, leaving them to confront the bipolar shadow side of the archetype.

The Shadow of The King

The active shadow side of the King is the Tyrant. As seen with King Herod’s attempt to kill the newborn Christ, the Tyrant attacks whenever new life emerges, viewing fresh vitality as a threat to his fragile kingship. He embodies destructive behaviour, often manifesting in fathers who supress their children’s joy and talents through criticism, neglect, or abuse. The Tyrant is common among narcissistic individuals who seek constant attention and admiration, reacting negatively to criticism and exhibiting pride, arrogance, and a lack of empathy. But under the rage is a sense of worthlessness, and vulnerability, for behind the Tyrant lies the other pole of the King’s shadow, the Weakling. The man controlled by this passive pole seeks admiration from others. When this need is unmet, it leads to angry outbursts toward those he sees as weak, projecting his own inner Weakling. He lacks inner calm and security, often becoming paranoid.

The Tyrant has no transpersonal commitment. He considers himself as God. It is the mythological rebellion in heaven (the usurpation syndrome). The Weakling, on the other hand, has lost touch with the life-giving King altogether, and depends on others, projecting the King energy onto some person (the abdication syndrome).

Accessing The King

The King in his fullness has a transpersonal devotion and a spirituality based on the truth, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God [“the King”] with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And thy neighbour as thyself.”

The King energy is the calm and reassuring force that stays composed when others panic. It is the clear, decisive voice that brings order in chaos, striving for peace, stability, and growth for all, including nature.

The Warrior

Destruction. The Course of Empire paintings – Thomas Cole

Today, people are often uncomfortable with the Warrior form of masculine energy, associating it with violence and aggression—for good reasons, as many have suffered from its shadow side. However, like all archetypes, the Warrior persists despite our conscious discomfort. When repressed, it goes underground and eventually resurfaces in neurotic forms.

A man accessing the Warrior archetype knows what level of aggressiveness is appropriate by maintaining discipline, focus, and purpose. His actions are guided by a clear sense of duty and ethics, ensuring his aggressiveness is in service to a higher cause, not driven by impulsive or destructive instincts. The Warrior destroys only what is necessary—corruption, tyranny, oppression, injustice—so that something new, fresh, and more virtuous can emerge.

The characteristics of the Warrior in his fullness amount to a total way of life, what the samurai called do (the way). The Japanese warrior tradition claimed that there is only one position in which to face the battle of life: frontally. And it also proclaimed that there was only one direction: forward.

“He knows through clarity of thinking, through discernment. The warrior is always alert. He is always awake. He is never sleeping through life. He knows how to focus his mind and his body. He is what the samurai called “mindful.””

Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette, King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

The Warrior differs from the Hero in that he knows his limits and realistically assesses his capacities, while the Hero is romantically unaware of his own vulnerability. The Warrior, aware of life’s fragility, acts decisively, with each deed performed as if it were his last. Samurai were taught to live with death as “their eternal companion”, allowing no room for hesitation. This sense of death’s imminence drives the Warrior to act without overthinking, as doubt leads to hesitation. His actions, refined through self-discipline, become second nature.

The Warrior avoids dramatic displays or wasted energy. His control is, first of all, over his mind and his attitudes; if these are right, the body will follow. His characteristics include: courage, decisiveness, clarity, taking responsibility for his actions, self-discipline, strength, and skill.

The Hero’s loyalty is to himself, while the Warrior’s loyalty is to something greater—his master, nation, or God, even unto death. This transpersonal commitment aligns the ego with the Self, the centre of the personality. Unlike most, the Warrior lives not to gratify personal desires but to refine himself into a spiritual force, trained to endure in service of a higher goal. The founders of Christianity and Buddhism were spiritual warriors, with Jesus resisting Satan’s temptations and the Buddha facing his under the Bo Tree.

Following the way of the Warrior requires emotional detachment. Samurai training taught a psychological exercise: instead of saying, “I am afraid” or “I am despairing”, say “There is someone who is afraid, or “There is someone who is despairing. What can he do about it?” This practice helps us “step back” from situations to gain perspective and not be paralysed by emotion, but act effectively.

When the Warrior is operating on his own, unrelated to the other archetypes, the results can be disastrous. As he is, in his pure form, emotionally detached. The Warrior’s loved ones often feel alienated and rejected, competing hopelessly with his “true love”: his work.

The Shadow of The Warrior

Workers On Their Way Home – Edvard Munch

The active pole of the Warrior’s shadow is the Sadist, who derives pleasure from inflicting pain. While detachment isn’t inherently bad, it can lead to cruelty—either without passion or with passion. Those who became the killing machines in death camps were trained in unfeeling sadism, viewing themselves as “the good guys.” Often, we become what we hate. Revolutionaries may eventually become the new tyrants. The Sadist brings the Bully of boyhood into adulthood, fighting against everything deemed “soft” or relational.

The passive pole of the Warrior’s shadow is the Masochist, who exhibits self-punishing behaviours and projects Warrior energy onto others, causing himself to feel powerless. This archetype carries the Coward of boyhood into adulthood. If we are under the power of the cowardly Masochist, we will take too much abuse for far too long and then explode in a sadistic outburst of verbal and physical violence.

Compulsive personalities are particularly vulnerable to the Shadow Warrior. Workaholics often endure pain and achieve a lot, but their relentless drive stems from deep anxiety. If you neglect your mental and physical well-being, you are probably under the Shadow Warrior’s influence. Lacking self-security, you might rely on external achievements for confidence. The man obsessed with “succeeding” has already failed, he falls into compulsive work patterns, leading to inner fatigue and burnout.

Accessing the Warrior

Thor’s Fight with the Giants – Marten Eskil Winge

If we are accessing the Warrior in the right way, we will, at the same time that we are “detached”, be warm, compassionate, and generative. We will care for ourselves and others. We will fight good fights in order to make the world a better and more fulfilling place for everyone and everything. Our war-making will be for the creation of the new, the just, and the free.

Magician

King Uther Pendragon, talks to the enchanter Merlin, illuminated manuscript painting by Peter of Langtoft, 1307-1327

The Magician is an initiate of esoteric knowledge. Knowledge requiring special training belongs to the Magician archetype. If you have invested considerable time, energy, and money to gain access to secret powers, you become like the apprentice shaman in tribal societies, where people turn to you for guidance on their problems and ailments of the body and mind.

The Magician archetype sees through denial and exercises discernment. In ancient times, when a king was consumed by anger and sought to punish others unjustly, the magician would calmly awaken the king’s conscience, helping him regain control. Essentially, the court magician served as the king’s psychotherapist. As the archetype of insight and thoughtfulness, the Magician is closely related to the Wise Old Man archetype.

The Magician is the “ritual elder” who guides others through transformation by entering a sacred space. He knows how to handle the raw archetypal power within that space, using hymns, prayer, invocations, and blessings to invoke the numinous or divine power, while shielding initiates from its intensity, granting them access to it. The concept of containment and sacred space is illustrated by the Ark of the Covenant in the Bible, representing God’s presence among the Israelites. When the oxen pulling the cart stumbled, a soldier tried to steady the Ark and was immediately killed. Only the priests, as trained magicians in divine knowledge, could touch it.

A similar phenomenon occurs in psychotherapy. A therapist who is not adequately trained or skilled—essentially still an “apprentice”—can trigger powerful emotions in the patient that neither of them can contain, resulting in disastrous outcomes. This theme is echoed in Goethe’s sorcerer apprentice archetype and the Greek myth of Pandora’s box.

The Shadow of The Magician

Dark Magician – Shar’ya Ardat (ArtStation)

The active pole of the Shadow Magician is the Manipulator. These men use their secret knowledge for their own purposes, usually for power over others. In psychotherapy, sometimes the therapist will withhold information that the patient needs in order to get better, subtly conveying the message, “I possess the great wisdom you require to get better. Seek it from me, and don’t forget to leave your payment with my secretary on the way out.”

Whenever we are detached, unrelated, and withhold knowledge that could help others, whenever we use our knowledge as a weapon to belittle or control others for our own status or wealth, we are identified with the Shadow Magician as Manipulator, a carryover from childhood into adulthood of the Know-It-All Trickster.

The passive pole of the Magician’s Shadow is called the Naïve or “Innocent” One. This man desires the power and status typically associated with a magician but is unwilling to accept the responsibilities that come with being a true magician. The man embodying the “Innocent One” feels envious of life and fears that others will uncover his lack of vitality, and throw him off his shaky pedestal.

Accessing The Magician

Moore and Gillette describe a young man who accessed his inner Magician after being terrorised by dreams of tornadoes, symbolising his repressed rage from growing up with alcoholic parents and enduring physical abuse. This turmoil disrupted his life and led to deep depression. His therapist encouraged him to draw the tornadoes inside a lead-shielded container. Then, he was to illustrate power lines and transformers connecting the container to streetlights, houses, and factories, symbolising the harnessing of that energy.

As he brought his unconscious contents into consciousness through his drawing, his life began to transform. He found the courage to quit his job and pursue his dream of working in children’s theatre, and soon, job offers in that field started coming in. The “black magic” of his chaotic anger was transformed into the “white magic” of electricity, illuminating his new path, allowing him to channel his primal emotions.

The Lover

Jerusalem. The Emanation of the Giant Albion Plate 53 – William Blake

The Lover archetype is what keeps us alive and passionate. There are many forms of love. The ancient Greeks described agape as the highest form of love, embodying a profound sacrificial love for God and others. They also identified philia (friendship), storge (familial love), and eros (romantic love).

Jung viewed libido as encompassing more than sexual desire; it includes all psychic energy and bodily needs like hunger, thirst, sleep, and sex, along with various emotional states. The Lover embodies the sensation function, focused on sensory experiences—colours, sounds, tastes, smells and tactile sensations.

The Lover engages in play, healthy embodiment, and has a deep connection with the physical world. He sees the “World in a Grain of Sand”, as William Blake puts it. The Lover’s connectedness is not through intellect but rather feeling. This archetype is the source of what we call spirituality or mysticism which is present in all the world’s religions. As a mystic, the Lover intuits the ultimate Oneness of all existence and seeks to experience it in daily life. The Lover feels the joy and satisfaction of the animal and plant world, along with their pain and suffering. He must endure the painfulness of being alive—for himself and others. Here we have the image of Jesus weeping for humanity as the “man of sorrows, one acquainted with grief,” as the Bible states.

The Lover is primarily present in the artist, whose personal life is often stormy, messy, and labyrinthine—full of ups and downs, failed marriages, and substance abuse. Artists live close to the fiery power of the creative unconscious. As Jung wrote, “A person must pay dearly for the divine gift of creative fire.”

Many men literally live for the thrill of “falling in love”—that is, falling into the power of the Lover.

The Shadow of The Lover

The active pole of the shadow Lover is the Addicted Lover, who asks, “Why should I impose limits on my sensual and sexual experiences in a world of endless pleasures?” The Addict lives only for the pleasure of the moment, trapped in a cycle of pleasure and pain. This state prevents us from “coming to ourselves”, making it difficult to detach and gain distance on our feelings. When we find ourselves in an addictive relationship, it often signals that we have fallen victim to the shadow Lover.

The Addicted Lover is eternally restless, always seeking for something he cannot define. This behaviour carries over from boyhood into adulthood, stemming from the dependency on the Mother seen in the Mama’s Boy. What the Addict is unconsciously seeking is the ultimate and continuous “high”. He struggles with “boundary issues” as he does not want to be limited. However, what he needs most is self-control, creating boundaries with heroic effort.

When we are out of touch with the Lover in his fullness, we are possessed by the passive pole, the Impotent Lover. This goes beyond having “performance issues”. One feels a general lack of enthusiasm and aliveness, resulting in boredom and listlessness. Getting up in the morning or falling asleep can become difficult, and our speech may turn monotone. Everything may begin to feel like the passage in Ecclesiastes which declares, “All is vanity, and a chasing after the wind”, and “There is nothing new under the sun.”

People possessed by the Impotent Lover are often chronically depressed. A therapist may notice something trying to express itself in the patient’s expression or body language, yet when asked about their feelings, the client might say, “I don’t know. There’s just this fog. Everything is hazy.” When we are depressed, we just don’t have the motivation to do the things we either want to do or have to do.

Many have repressed their inner Lover so much that it becomes difficult to feel passionate about anything. The issue for most is not feeling too much passion, but rather feeling little to none at all. We struggle to experience joy and often find it hard to live the lives we envisioned when we began our journeys.

Accessing the Lover

Supporting Each Other in Pursuit of Something Greater – Cynthia Christine

When we appropriately access the Lover, we feel connected, alive, enthusiastic, compassionate, energised, and romantic about our lives, work, goals, and achievements. The Lover provides a sense of meaning and keeps the other mature masculine archetypes humane and connected to the struggles of life. Without the Lover, these archetypes risk becoming detached from love and purpose.

Conversely, the Lover needs the other archetypes. The chaotic Lover requires the King to set boundaries, providing structure and order. The Lover needs the Warrior to act decisively and break free from immobilising sensuality, and he needs the Magician to gain objectivity and distance from overwhelming emotions.

1. Emperor Charlemagne – Albrecht Durer. 2. The Sea Warriors – English School. 3 Gandalf Middle Earth Art – Unknown

Techniques

Paul the Apostle wrote, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.” In psychological terms, we are possessed by a complex, behind which is the archetypal shadow. It is important to confront these negative energy forms before they lead us to actions, we might regret. Since we don’t care about them, they do not care about us.

There are a few techniques that can help us to integrate our mature masculine archetypes. The first one is what Jung calls active imagination, where one actively engages with one’s inner figures, which manifest themselves in either their negative or positive side. In these inner dialogues, we frequently see that all these forces really want is to be noticed, taken seriously, and honoured. And they have a right to be. Once they are honoured, and their feelings validated, they no longer need to act out through our lives. Thus, a figure who started out as an inner persecutor may become a lifelong friend.

A second technique is known as invocation. This time we access the masculine archetypes in their fullness as positive energy forms. If active imagination dialogue is a conscious, focused way of interacting with your inner figures, invocation is a conscious, focused way of calling up the images you want to see. For this, it is often useful to spend some time looking for images of the King, the Warrior, the Magician, and the Lover. Use these images in your invocations, and as you relax and stick with the image, realise that you, as an ego, are different from the figure.

A third technique is acting “as if” you are embodying the qualities of the archetype, much like portraying a character on stage. If you are playing a King, act as the calm leader of his people, if you need to access the Lover, go out and really look at a sunset, even if it doesn’t initially interest you—act as if you appreciate its colours and beauty. If you need the access the Warrior. Get up with courage, and get things done. For the Magician, act as if you have something insightful to say. Embrace the silence, taking a moment to reflect, and then share the depth of your life experiences and wisdom. We all possess more of this than we often realise.

Conclusion

There may never have been a time when mature masculine or feminine archetypes truly dominated human life. Instead, we seem to live under the curse of infantilism, thus patriarchy becomes “puerarchy”—the rule of boys. It is clear that the world is overpopulated with not only immature men but also tyrannical and abusive women who pretend to be mature. The real enemy for both sexes lies not in each other but in the shadow forms of their archetypes.

Historically, structures and rituals helped evoke a higher level of masculine maturity, but today’s anti-ritual world emphasises personal wealth and self-aggrandisement. Yet, our world urgently needs mature masculine energies more than ever. How effectively we transition from Boy psychology to Man psychology will significantly impact not only ourselves, but also others and the world. Mature men need not to resent other men, but admire them. A changed inner world will greatly enhance our capacity to deal with difficult circumstances. The much-touted concept of positive thinking has more depth than we might realise.

Let us then nurture and welcome great individuals—those who will, with the benevolence of kings, the courage of ancient warriors, the wisdom of magicians, and the passion of lovers, serve as beacons of light in these dark and chaotic times.

The Psychology of Immature Masculinity

The crisis in mature masculinity is very much upon us. Men feel anxious, on the verge of feeling impotent, helpless, frustrated, unloved, unappreciated, and often ashamed of being masculine. Something vital is missing in the many lives of men.

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Artwork used in the video

The Labyrinth: A Journey Through Inner Chaos

“Not all those who wander are lost.”

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Confusion, wandering, isolation, darkness, disorientation—all evoke the labyrinth, a complex network of paths in which it is difficult to find one’s way out. Or do they? Today, the term “labyrinth” is used as a synonym for “maze”, which is technically incorrect. As we’ll see, the labyrinth’s original meaning has been entirely distorted, which is only to be expected from such a perplexing symbol.

Table of contents

Introduction

Labyrinth petroglyphs. 1) Mogor, Galicia, 2) Chan do Lagoa, Galicia, 3) Lucillo, León, 4) Naquane Italy, 5) Tomb of Sardinia, 6) Camonica Valley

The labyrinth is an archetype, a primordial image that dates back to the Bronze Age (around 2500 to 2000 BC), making it one of the oldest symbols. The earliest labyrinths are found in petroglyphs of prehistoric origin, mostly around Europe. In the Spanish province of Galicia many labyrinths appear, some with carvings of deer and other wild animals, perhaps magical symbols for the hunt. In Castilla y León two great rocks are seen with three bizarre labyrinths each. In Naquane, Italy, a labyrinth from the Iron Age is surrounded by crowds of warriors, in the Tomb of Sardinia we find a labyrinth located in a tomb, suggesting that it could have been a symbol of rebirth or the afterlife, and in a labyrinth of Camonica Valley a man is depicted standing with his arms raised in prayer. These, among many others, can be considered as the first prototypes. Labyrinths are also found constructed from stone and boulders especially in the Nordic countries and Russia, most of which date back to the late Middle Ages (from AD 1300 to 1500).

The Labyrinth as The Path of Life

Today, the labyrinth is found everywhere: in architecture, art, books, movies, and games. The archetypal image of the labyrinth fundamentally expresses the path of life, full of dark corners and unexpected turns. If we overcome them, we are transformed and enlightened – if not, we become disoriented and find life meaningless and Kafkaesque. This reflects the age-old quest for self-realisation.

In the cosmology of the O’odham people, a Native American tribe, the creator god I’itoi is depicted as the figure known as the “Man in the Maze.” This labyrinth, which he enters through magical means, serves as protection from enemies while still allowing him to come out to help his people in times of great need. The labyrinth represents life itself, with its twists and turns. Upon reaching the centre, we can look back on the path we had taken. That is when the Sun God comes to bless you and say you have made it, that is when you die and pass into the next world.

From within the labyrinth, the view is extremely restricted and confusing, while from above one discovers a supreme artistry and order. The labyrinth is a paradox that simultaneously incorporates chaos and order. This is one of the reasons why it has been misunderstood.

The Classical or Archetypal Labyrinth

The labyrinth is most commonly associated with the Minoan civilisation, a Bronze Age culture in the island of Crete, now part of Greece. The classical or archetypal pattern of the labyrinth consists of a single pathway that loops back and forth to form seven circuits. It is also known as the Cretan labyrinth. The earliest example of this is found in an inscribed clay tablet from the Mycenaean palace at Pylos in southern Greece. Accidently preserved by the fire that destroyed the palace around 1200 BC. On the back of the tablet is written, “One jar of honey to all the gods, one jar of honey to the Mistress of the Labyrinth” (possibly referring to Ariadne). This seven-course pattern is shown in the labyrinth-decorated coins from Knossos.

Labyrinth of Egypt

Reconstruction of the Labyrinth in Hawara, Egypt by the occultist Athanasius Kricher (17th century)

The word labyrinth comes from the Greek labyrinthos. The earliest known application of this term refers to an enormous structure in Egypt. The 5^th century BC Greek historian Herodotus had visited the labyrinth and claimed that it surpassed even the pyramids. He employs the term, as though it were a generic concept, to describe a large, awe-inspiring, skillfully built, stone complex. The Labyrinth of Egypt, as it is known, was counted among the wonders of the world, and made up a funerary temple that once stood near the foot of the pyramid of the pharaoh Amenemhet III, who ruled around 1800 BC.

The Labyrinth and The Maze

It was only through later historians that a connection was made between the Egyptian “labyrinth” and the maze motif, albeit a modest precursor of the maze. The 1^st century BC historian Diodorus of Sicily wrote that “a man who enters the labyrinth cannot easily find his way out”, and a century later, Pliny the Elder called it a “bewildering maze of passages”, and stated the Cretan labyrinth was but an imitation of the Egyptian labyrinth, “one hundred times smaller.” Thus, for the first time, the labyrinth was compared with the confusing passageways associated with a maze. The descriptions of these later authors of such paths are not accounts of personal experiences but reflect the development of ideas now linked to the labyrinth concept.

In Plato’s dialogue Euthydemus, written around 400 BC, the labyrinth is used as a metaphor in a matter-of-fact way: “then we got into a labyrinth, and when we thought we were at the end, came out again at the beginning, having still to seek as much as ever.” This metaphor is based on how one moves in a classical labyrinth, which has a single course (unicursal) guaranteeing an unobstructed progress, albeit often by the most complex and winding of routes. But there are no wrong turns possible, and by following the path, you eventually reach the centre. This is the labyrinth in its true and original form, with the earliest prototypes dating back to the Bronze Age.

Mazes, on the other hand, date back to the late medieval period, and have multiple courses (multicursal). They confuse us with multiple choices, dead ends and the threat of getting lost. The word maze likely derives from the Old English word mæs “confusion or bewilderment” which in turn comes from the Old Norse word mása. This is where our word “amazement” comes from. The earliest maze designs were apparently used as defensive structures, for military purposes. Similarly, in the Hindu epic Mahabharata, the longest poem ever written, the chakra-vyūha (wheel formation) is a labyrinthine military formation of multiple defensive walls, it has seven layers of soldiers who rapidly move clockwise and anticlockwise so that all enemies are confused and trapped within this deadly spinning machine. The outer layers are manned by ordinary soldiers, while the inner layers contain elite warriors and at the centre is the commander-in-chief. Designed for defense, it also has offensive elements. During the great battle, Abhimanyu, Arjuna’s son, learned how to penetrate this battle formation, but did not know how to find his way out again. Despite fighting bravely and reaching the centre, he was overwhelmed by the enemy on all sides and killed. One must not tackle an initiation test for which one is not yet prepared.

Abhimanyu entering the Chakra–vyuha. Hoysaleswara Temple, India

The labyrinth is associated with order, and the maze with chaos. This makes them opposites. The experience of navigating a labyrinth is predictable, as there is no possibility of getting lost, only a single journey from start to finish. The maze challenges the navigator to find the correct route among many possible ones, creating a disorienting experience that evokes a feeling of being trapped, and there being no exit – a typical motif in our zeitgeist.

For instance, in the immensely popular 2009 dystopian novel The Maze Runner, a boy wakes up in the Maze with no memory and must escape it. The Maze is described as a massive structure with high, imposing stone walls covered with thick ivy that stretch as far as the eye can see. It is not only filled with long dark corridors and dead ends, but also with deadly creatures, and its walls change every night, making it nearly impossible to memorise or map.

Depiction of The Maze in *The Maze Runner* novel – Unknown artist

Anxiety is the Dizziness of Freedom

The maze embodies the timeless motif of getting lost and not knowing which way to go. “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom”, writes Søren Kierkegaard in his book The Concept of Anxiety. He gives us an analogy by imagining a man standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the yawning abyss. The man experiences anxiety of freedom in the form of the possibility of falling. The greater the freedom, the more he is seized by the feeling of dread. As Friedrich Nietzsche stated, “When you stare for a long time into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you.” This existential anxiety is not a fear of specific things, but rather an abstract and profound sense of disorientation.

You have the potential to choose from a sea of infinite possibilities; the problem is what to choose from. For Kierkegaard, we either lose ourselves in the finite, leading to anxiety through a sense of emptiness from focusing solely on immediate pleasures and concerns, or we lose ourselves in the infinite, where anxiety arises from escaping into spiritual aspirations while neglecting our daily responsibilities and duties. The human being is a synthesis of the finite and the infinite, and thus must balance both.

To quote Nietzsche again, “He who has a why to live for can bear with almost any how.” To choose a path in life requires responsibility, which can be a heavy weight to bear. As long as you go with your heart, however, you are doing something meaningful and intended by fate. We may think that a certain outcome is bad, but as the Stoics emphasise, our perceptions of good and bad are limited. Something that we consider bad, might end up being good, and vice versa. Thus, as Seneca writes in Letters from a Stoic, “we suffer more in imagination than in reality.”

Time is a Labyrinth

Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges is renowned for his frequent use of the labyrinth symbol. In his novel The Garden of Forking Paths, Borges goes further in the idea of freedom and choice, by exploring the concept of the bifurcating path. Every path you walk in life subsequently divides into two other paths, ad infinitum. But these do not just follow a linear divergent path, but are also convergent and parallel. All possible outcomes of decisions and events exist simultaneously in a complex branching network of alternate timelines. In other words, the paths that you didn’t walk will not just go on their own course for infinity, but eventually converge with your path. Time itself is a labyrinth. It is the metaphysical world in which we are all embedded in. There’s no need to build a labyrinth when the entire universe is one.

The Labyrinth and The Minotaur

The Minotaur on an Attic kylix tondo from c. 515 BC

To better understand the enigmatic symbol of the labyrinth, we must look into its origins in Greek mythology.

King Minos of Crete prayed to the sea god Poseidon for a divine sign to prove his right to rule. Poseidon sent a magnificent white bull from the sea, which Minos was supposed to sacrifice in honour of the god. Enchanted by the bull’s beauty, Minos decided to keep it and sacrifice a different bull instead. This act of defiance angered Poseidon. To punish Minos for his deceit, Poseidon caused his wife, Queen Pasiphae, to fall madly in love with the bull. Pasiphae’s desire was so strong that she enlisted the help of Daedalus, the archetypal master craftsman, to construct a wooden cow for her, allowing her to mate with the bull. The union between Pasiphae and the bull resulted in the birth of Asterius, the Minotaur (literally, “the bull of Minos”), a creature half man and half bull. In classical art it is depicted with the body of a man and the head of a bull, in later developments it is shown with a man’s head and torso on a bull’s body, reminiscent of a centaur. As the Minotaur grew up, the terrifying beast became increasingly violent and started to devour people. This served as a constant reminder of Minos disobeying the gods. Psychologically, the Minotaur represents the shadow (the unknown, repressed qualities).

Afraid and ashamed of his stepson, Minos asked Daedalus to build a tremendous labyrinth, in which to hide the thing away. So intricate was the invention, that Daedalus himself, when he had finished it, was scarcely able to find his way back to the entrance. This served the king well, enabling him to dispose of his enemies while also hiding and feeding the Minotaur – who would now only eat humans.

When Minos’s eldest son came of age, he travelled to Athens to partake in the so-called Panathenaic Games. Somehow, he died, and Minos blamed Athens for his loss. In reparation, he required that King Aegeus pay him a tribute, every nine years, of seven youths and seven maidens. These unfortunates, drawn by lots, would be sent to Crete in a ship with black sails, paraded before the people, and cast into the Labyrinth.

When the third payment was approaching, the hero Theseus, took the place of one of the youths and volunteered to slay the Minotaur. He set off with a black sail, promising to his father, that if successful he would return with a white sail. In Crete, Minos’ daughter Ariadne fell in love with Theseus and, on the advice of Daedalus, gave him a clew (a ball of thread or yarn). He tied it at the entrance of the labyrinth, so that he could later escape by following the clew. This gives us the modern word “clue” (that which points the way), and “clueless”. Ever since, Ariadne’s thread has become the archetypal image for helping one navigate through a confusing or complicated situation. The way out of the labyrinth is to follow the thread of one’s soul. In Jungian terms, Ariadne is the guiding power of the anima (the female soul in man), who helps the hero in his katabasis (descent to the underworld), similar to the role of Beatrice in Dante’s Divine Comedy.

After Theseus kills the Minotaur, he leads the Athenians out of the labyrinth, and they sail away from Crete. Before reaching home, Theseus and the rescued victims celebrate on the islands by performing a peculiar dance called the “Crane Dance”, in which they went through the motions of threading the labyrinth. Theseus abandons Ariadne on the island of Naxos, and Dionysus marries her. In one of Nietzsche’s last letters before his mental collapse, he wrote to Cosima Wagner: “Ariadne, I love you!” Signed: Dionysus.

Theseus entirely forgets to replace the black sail with the promised white sail, and King Aegeus sees the black-sailed ship approach. Presuming his son dead, he jumps into the sea that is since named after him. His death secured the throne for Theseus.

Minos suspects that Daedalus had revealed the labyrinth’s secrets to Theseus and imprisons him and his son Icarus in the labyrinth. Daedalus constructed wings for them to escape, and warned Icarus not to fly too close to the sun, or the heat would melt the wax. He ignored his father’s instructions, and fell from the sky, plummeting into the sea, and drowned.

The Origins of The Mythical Labyrinth

Tell El Dab’a Minoan fresco. Bull-jumping ritual. Bull in labyrinthine pattern (detail).

Whether this mythical labyrinth actually existed is unknown. For the original inspiration of this myth, most scholars point to the ruins of the vast palace complex at Knossos, which was central to the Minoan civilisation, discovered by British archaeologist Sir Arthur Evans in the 19^th century. The labyrinthine layout, with its many rooms and corridors, was by design rather than accident. The Central Court was regarded as the ‘final destination’ of the people, and likely served as a setting for communal ceremonies. Reaching it required navigating the symbolic palatial space, a journey that echoes the rebirth experienced at the centre of a labyrinth. In this context, altered states of consciousness were shaped by the environment, not just by inner cognitive processes.

A fragment of a fresco with a labyrinth design was discovered in the palace, dating back from 1700 to 1600 BC. Moreover, the figure of the bull was crucial to the Minoans, the “horns of consecration” symbol is ubiquitous, and it is known that bull-leaping was one of the key rituals in their religion.

Though the word labyrinthos remains of unknown origin, scholars have linked it to the Mycenaean Greek term da-pu-ri-to, which traces back to the Minoan word du-pu-re. This term is associated with Mount Ida, known as “the Mountain of the Goddess”, and is connected to sacred caverns, particularly those of Gortyna on Crete. It has been suggested that caverns were the original inspiration for the mythical labyrinth, though they are maze-like. The French botanist J.P. de Tournefort writes about visiting this subterranean passage by an inconspicuous hole in the rock in a steep part of Mount Ida, and finding himself in an intricately winding passage. The same place is visited by C.R. Cockerell, who writes in his journal, “The clearly intentional intricacy and apparently endless number of galleries impressed me with a sense of horror and fascination I cannot describe. At every ten steps one was arrested, and had to turn to right or left, sometimes to choose one of three or four roads.”

Archetypal Symbolism of The Labyrinth

Theseus and the Minotaur in the Labyrinth – Edward Burne-Jones

The myth of the Minotaur has given us the first inklings of labyrinth symbolism. However, while myths reflect fundamental patterns of the human psyche, they still incorporate cultural elements that can obscure the deeper archetypal symbolism.

As we have seen, caves have been considered as the inspiration for the mythical labyrinth. In his book, Labyrinth: Studies on an Archetype, Gaetano Cipolla supports this idea by highlighting that caves and labyrinths partake of the same symbolism. Caves, the original homes of early humans, not only served as protective places, but also as sacred spaces for magical rituals and rites of initiation. As the burial sites for their deceased ancestors, caves were closely associated with the underworld or the afterlife. Crossing the threshold into these chthonic realms symbolised a mystical return to Mother Earth, from whose womb all things originate.

Jungian analyst Joseph Henderson writes:

“In all cultures, the labyrinth has the meaning of an entangling and confusing representation of the world of matriarchal consciousness; it can be traversed only by those who are ready for a special initiation into the mysterious world of the collective unconscious.”

Man and His Symbols. Part II: Joseph L. Henderson

The labyrinth is connected with birth. Spirals and meanders, precursors to the labyrinth, have been found among the cave paintings of prehistoric peoples, often incised on or near goddess figurines and carved animals. These labyrinthine spirals indicate the symbolic passageway from the visible realm of the human into the invisible dimension of the divine, retracing the journey souls of the dead would have taken to re-enter the womb of the mother on their way to rebirth. It is no accident that in India, the labyrinth or yantra has traditionally been used as a magical practice to ease the pain of childbirth. For the Hopi native Americans, the labyrinth is a symbol for the Great Mother, birth and reincarnation.

It is possible that the term labyrinth originally denoted a dance whose path was determined by the classical labyrinth pattern, as Hungarian scholar Karl Kerenyi emphasises in his book Labyrinth Studies. This would connect with the Crane Dance. Bodily movement being the primal, most direct form of expression. This recalls the Nataraja, a depiction of Shiva as the divine cosmic dancer, the dance of life itself, which includes creation, preservation, and the destruction of the universe.

The labyrinth is also one of the oldest apotropaic symbols. Almost all Roman mosaic labyrinths depict a fortified city and were often placed near the entrance of a house to ward off evil. Underlying this is the notion that evil spirits can fly only in a straight line, they are not able to find their way through a labyrinth’s twists and turns. In India, the labyrinth’s magically defensive function is traced to the chakra-vyūha.

The labyrinth is the perfect embodiment of initiation rites, which are common in secret societies. The purpose of the labyrinth’s frequent inclusion in initiatory rites is to temporarily disturb one’s rational consciousness or linear frame of orientation, allowing the non-rational, the instinctual, and the numinous, to guide one’s path to the truth.

The interior space is filled with the maximum number of twists and turns possible. The experience of repeatedly approaching the goal, only to be led away from it, causes psychological strain. Since there are no choices to be made on the path to the centre, those who can stand this strain will inevitably reach their goal. It is often when you are on the verge of giving up, that you are actually nearing a breakthrough. In a labyrinth, one does not lose oneself, one finds oneself.

In reaching the centre, one experiences a symbolic death and rebirth, so that the initiate is born into a new existence. This is expressed in the labyrinth’s serpentine pattern, the continual change of direction from left (the opposite direction in which the sun travels, i.e., toward death or unconsciousness) to right (the direction in which the sun travels, i.e., life or consciousness).

The Labyrinth: Descent into Hell

Book of the Dead spells 144 and 145 or 146 from the Papyrus of Ani (detail).

Psychologically, the labyrinth is symbolic of a descent into hell. Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung writes:

“The labyrinth is indeed a primordial image which one encounters in psychology mostly in the form of the fantasy of a descent to the underworld. In most cases, however, the topography of the unconscious is not expressed in the concentrated form of the labyrinth but in the false trails, deceptions and perils of an underworld journey.”

C.G. Jung Letters, Vol. 1 (1906-1950)

This description recalls the Egyptian representation of the underworld. In the Book of Gates, an ancient Egyptian funerary text, the deceased soul has to pass through a mazelike structure with a series of gates and encounter various obstacles, terrifying entities, and trials. The Book of the Dead contains spells and instructions to help the deceased navigate through this realm. Dante’s portrayal of Hell, on the other hand, consists of nine concentric circles, each becoming increasingly torturous as one descends, with Satan residing at the centre.

“Midway in the journey of our life, I awoke to find myself alone and lost in a dark wood, having wandered from the straight path.”

Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

These are the famous words of Dante in The Divine Comedy, before he enters the Gates of Hell, above which is inscribed, “Abandon all hope ye who enter.” Note that Dante says it is “the journey of our life”, that is, it is an archetypal pattern that is shared by all of us. The journey to a dark realm in search of wisdom is universal. Jung’s own dark night of the soul is depicted in The Red Book. While it may seem that we are alone in this journey outwardly, in the unconscious manifestations, we are always accompanied by other figures, Joseph Campbell writes:

“And so it happens that if anyone—in whatever society—undertakes for himself the perilous journey into the darkness by descending, either intentionally or unintentionally, into the crooked lanes of his own spiritual labyrinth, he soon finds himself in a landscape of symbolical figures.”

Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces

Paradoxically, you find yourself when you become lost, because that is when most of us turn within for help. The unconscious knows more about us than we know about ourselves. It is the ultimate source of wisdom and the master pattern of our life. Jung writes:

“When no answer comes from within to the problems and complexities of life, they ultimately mean very little. Outward circumstances are no substitute for inner experience. Therefore, my life has been singularly poor in outward happenings. I cannot tell much about them, for it would strike me as hollow and insubstantial. I can understand myself only in the light of inner happenings. It is these that make up the singularity of my life.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

The Labyrinth and Alchemy

The Lapis Sanctuary, also a labyrinth, surrounded by the planetary orbits – Van Vreeswyck, De Groene Leeuw (1672)

When we are without a sense of direction, the world seems like a giant labyrinth. The way out of this massa confusa or inner entanglement, as the alchemists put it, is to reach the centre, the symbol of wholeness par excellence. The path, however, is never straight but rather serpentine. Jung writes:

“[The art requires the whole person] exclaims an old alchemist. It is just this homo totus [whole person] whom we seek… But the right way to wholeness is made up, unfortunately, of fateful detours and wrong turnings. It is the longissima via [longest path], not straight but snakelike, a path that unites the opposites in the manner of the guiding caduceus, a path whose labyrinthine twists and turns are not lacking in terrors. It is on this longissima via that we meet with those experiences which are said to be “inaccessible.” Their inaccessibility really consists in the fact that they cost us an enormous amount of effort: they demand the very thing we most fear, namely the “wholeness” which we talk about so glibly and which lends itself to endless theorising, though in actual life we give it the widest possible berth.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 12: Psychology and Alchemy

Though we all desire and talk about wholeness, we simultaneously will do anything, no matter how absurd, to avoid facing our own soul. We seek light, only to fall into darkness. We idealise perfection, but life calls for completeness, and, as Jung says, “for this the ‘thorn in the flesh’ is needed, the suffering of defects without which there is no progress and no ascent.”

In the 1672 alchemical work, The Green Lion or The Light of the Philosophers a labyrinth appears as a sanctuary for the philosophers’ stone. Various elements appear, the most important being the sun and moon above the sanctuary, the classical planetary spheres, along with the alchemical symbols for salt, mercury and sulphur (body, spirit, and soul). The planets also stand for metals. The correspondences between occurrences in the sky and those on earth are seen in a relationship of microcosm-macrocosm. In the foreground is an angel with the thread of Ariadne by which he endeavours to lead the couple into the labyrinth.

Here, the labyrinth is a symbol of the difficulties of the “Great Work” of alchemical transmutation. The alchemists emphasised that the miracle of the stone could only happen Deo concedente (God willing).

The Journey to The Centre (The Self)

Labyrinth in Johannes Stabius’s Figura Labyrinthi (1504)

The centre has always been considered a sacred space. It is where one enters the “special world” and receives new insights about oneself, others, and the world. We move from the profane to the sacred, as Mircea Eliade puts it. This is where we find the “treasure hard to attain”, “the philosophers’ stone”, the “elixir of life”, “the diamond body”, etc., symbols of what Jung calls the Self (the God-image or total personality). As many mystics have pointed out, “He who knows himself knows God”. The centre is a place of the numinous, it is what Rudolf Otto calls mysterium tremendum et fascinans, a mystery that is at once terrifying and fascinating. It is awe-inspiring.

Many people think that to reach the centre is the end goal of self-realisation. But it is in fact only half the journey. Afterwards, one must escape the labyrinth by returning to the beginning, back to the “ordinary world”, but this time as a transformed person, seeing the world with “new eyes”. It is a spiritual death and rebirth. T.S. Eliot wrote, “And the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” This is of course, a lifelong cyclical process. The path to individuation is like a labyrinthine spiral, it follows the process of circumambulation, where one moves in a series of concentric circles, that is, circles that share the same centre.

From Earth to Heaven to Earth

An imaginative 17th-century depiction of the Emerald Tablet – Heinrich Khunrath (1606)

Hermes Trismegistus writes in the Emerald Tablet:

“True it is, without falsehood, certain and most true. That which is below is like that which is above, and that which is above is like that which is below, to accomplish the miracle of one only thing… It ascends from the earth to the heaven, and descends again to the earth, and receives the power of the above and below. Thus you will have the glory of the whole world. Therefore all darkness will flee from you.”

Hermes Trismegistus, Emerald Tablet. Translation by Steele & Singer (1928)

The journey to the centre of the labyrinth is the transition from earth to heaven, and the return is bringing the heavenly into the earthly. Through the principle of correspondence, you bring the material to the spiritual and the spiritual back again to the material, imbuing your life with divine significance. The same idea exists in the hero’s journey, where after leaving the “ordinary world” and entering the “special world”, one must return with the elixir to the former. The elixir is something for the hero to share with others, or something with the power to heal: wisdom, love or simply the experience of surviving the special world. Similarly, Kierkegaard’s knight of faith does not renounce to the world, but returns to it with full engagement by making a double movement: from finitude to infinity and back again to finitude, so that at every step he makes the movement of infinity. He possesses an extraordinary faith in God that transcends the world.

The Medieval Labyrinth: Spiritual Journey

By the Middle Ages, labyrinths were taken as a symbol of the path to redemption or the path to God. Many were created in churches and cathedrals as architectural features, and a dramatic upsurge of interest surged during the so-called Gothic Revival. Perhaps the most popular medieval labyrinth is the one in Chartres Cathedral in France, which is seen as a substitute for going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Here, the labyrinth becomes a symbolic path for a spiritual journey, the twists and turns are the obstacles of the journey toward salvation. During the walk, some describe experiencing time and space differently. It is as if the labyrinth becomes a liminal space, blurring the boundary between the inner world and the outer world, which metaphysically are the two sides of the same coin (the unus mundus or “one world”).

The Labyrinth as The Pilgrim’s Journey

Labyrinth emblem in Pia desideria – Herman Hugo (1628)

This “inner journey” has commonly been depicted as a pilgrim on a spiritual quest. In the hugely influential 17^th century religious emblem book Pia Desideria (Pious Desires), Herman Hugo depicts a pilgrim standing at the centre of a labyrinth. He seeks the exit in the background, which leads to the “castle of heaven”, above which an angel is guiding the pilgrim with Ariadne’s thread, symbolising God’s Word. What is unique to this design is that the labyrinth walls are in fact the path, upon which the pilgrim must tread. Hence, the danger lies in the possibility of falling off; and, indeed, two figures are shown doing just that, whereas the blind man with his dog – an image of trusting one’s instincts – finds his way. The beacon on the castle of heaven guides ships at sea; two wanderers are shown attempting to climb the mountain of heaven, one of which is falling down it. Below the engraving appears the motto, “O that my ways were directed to keep thy statutes”.

In Matteo Silvaggi’s 1542 woodcut, Labyrinth of Earthly Love, appears Pluto “King of the Underworld” in the flames of Mt. Etna, with a banderole pointing to the entrance of the labyrinth that reads “first gate”, in the other banderoles is inscribed “lust is burning”, and “self-love”. The centre bears the inscription: “Up unto the face of God.” Changing the scene from hell to heaven, the Labyrinth of Divine Love, emphasises the love of God, and complete absorption in God.

Matteo Silvaggi’s woodcuts: Labyrinth of Earthly Love (left), Labyrinth of Divine Love (right)

In his 1623 book Labyrinth of the World and Paradise of the Heart, Czech writer John Amos Comenius depicts an allegory of a Pilgrim’s journey through a city which represents “the Labyrinth of the World”. The protagonist, referred to as the Pilgrim, seeks understanding and meaning in life, in a society plagued with confusion and moral corruption. Guided by Mr. Ubiquitous and Mr. Delusion, symbols of curiosity and deception, the Pilgrim encounters people consumed by vanity, greed, and moral corruption. As he witnesses the pursuit of power and status at the cost of integrity, he becomes disillusioned. Then, Christ appears to the Pilgrim so that he may be a light in the world and guide others. The Pilgrim discovers that true peace is found within, in the “paradise of the heart”, and while the world is indeed a labyrinth, the heart can be a paradise when it is aligned with God.

Similarly, John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, published in 1678, follows Christian, a pilgrim weighed down by a heavy burden (symbolising sin), who leaves everything behind to seek salvation. Directed to the narrow gate, he is pursued by Obstinate and Pliable, who intend to bring him back, but he refuses to return to the “City of Destruction”. Obstinate leaves, deeming Christian mad, while Pliable joins him, hoping to partake of the treasures of the “Celestial City.” On their journey, they fall into the Slough of Despond, a deep bog in which Christian continues to sink, for his burden is heavy. Pliable manages to get himself out and abandons him. But Pliable is ridiculed by his fellow countrymen for retreating after facing the first difficulty. Christian is rescued by Help and continues his journey. Surprisingly, his burdens are quickly lifted early in the novel. He continues his path to Paradise, facing various challenges such as the Hill Difficulty, the Valley of Humiliation, the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and the River of Death.

Conclusion

The First Book of Urizen Plate 17 – William Blake

The archetype of the labyrinth encompasses various images: the path of life, the Earth Mother, birth, dance, warding off evil, initiation, liminality, the descent into the underworld, symbolic death and rebirth, the journey to the Self, the alchemical Great Work and the pilgrim’s spiritual journey. When we realise that the labyrinthine twists and turns of our life is part of something greater, we can find meaning in them. By realising that it is within that we must seek for happiness, it will also reflect without. And if you do your duty, you’ll be satisfied; if not, you will be miserable.

The way to truth is a solitary journey, but as Jung quoted from an old alchemist, “No matter how isolated you are and how lonely you feel, if you do your work truly and conscientiously, unknown friends will come and seek you.” By realising the essence of our soul, we simultaneously become connected with all living beings, nature, and the cosmos; in other words, with God, who makes the crooked paths straight.

Through the Labyrinth: A Guide to Navigating Chaos

Confusion, wandering, isolation, darkness, disorientation—all evoke the labyrinth, a complex network of paths in which it is difficult to find one’s way out. Or do they? The labyrinth’s original meaning has been entirely distorted, which is only to be expected from such a perplexing symbol.

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Artwork used in the video

A labyrinth at the Bolshoi Zayatsky Island

The Psychology of Animals

Animals have been an integral part of human existence since our earliest origins. They are deeply ingrained within us and play a crucial role in the unconscious.

Our ancestors created prehistoric cave paintings of animals in the dark with limited visibility, making the earliest art and reflecting early consciousness. This act of “naming the animals” parallels Adam’s task given by God in the Garden of Eden. The human dominion over the animal kingdom is found in the ancient motif of The Master of Animals, which shows a human taming wildlife.

In the Middle Ages, bestiaries were popular medieval books featuring animals and mythical creatures like dragons, unicorns, and phoenixes. Each was given a symbolic meaning in the context of Christianity. For example, the pelican was associated with self-sacrifice. Young pelicans strike their mother with their beaks, and she strikes back, killing them. After mourning for three days, she wounds herself in the breast, sprinkling the dead birds with blood, and thus reviving them.

Table of contents

Introduction

Adam naming the animals (detail). From the 12th century Aberdeen Bestiary

The word animal was hardly used before the 1600s and then mostly by scholars. Animals were called “beasts”, “creatures”, etc. The word animal derives from the Latin word anima (breath or soul). The animal is any living being which breathes, that includes human beings, although it is colloquially used to refer to non-human animals.

Animals were and are our prey, predators, helpers, and companions. Today, many of us have animal pets as members of our family, and their presence have been noted to have therapeutic effects. American psychologist James Hillman writes:

“The animals must have known Adam as well… We too display a psychic image… We are each an open book to the animal eye. Especially to our household pets, who can call you on your state of soul before you have any notion of it… Not only are pets part of the larger family, but they are intimately familiar observers of your unconscious presentation in everyday household life. They were the first psychoanalysts. Is that the psychological reason for the domestication of dogs and cats, of birds, pigs, cows, elephants, goats? The animals could make us aware of ourselves… When we are present to the animal Adam is there, and Eve, and we are in the Garden from which the animals, unlike us, were never ejected.”

Animal Presences: Uniform Edition of the Writings of James Hillman, Vol. 9

Animals: The Divine Side of The Human Psyche

Animals have a special relationship with the divine. The Ainu shamans of Japan consider animals as gods in disguise, who live in their own god-worlds, invisible to human eyes, but who also share a common territory with humans. Many primitive tribes wear animal masks in their sacred ceremonies, and have animal totems, where a certain animal can act as a spiritual guide to the person or the community. In Native American culture, a neophyte is accompanied by animal spirits during his or her initiation to become a shaman. These act as psychopomps, guiding one’s soul through the untamed lands.

Swiss psychiatrist and psychologist Carl Jung frequently remarked that animals embodied the divine aspect of the human psyche. Animals are deeply connected to a “secret” order within nature itself and the absolute knowledge of the unconscious, living according to their own inner laws beyond human notions of good and evil. And herein lies the superiority of the animal.

Jung writes:

“We forget that the animal is the most pious thing that exists, the one thing besides plants that really fulfills its destiny… the will of God. We are of the devil because we are always deviating, always living something of our own. Animals live exactly as they were meant to live.”

Carl Jung, Visions Seminar, Vol. 1 (5 November 1930)

Animals accept their fate with resilience: losing a leg, they adapt; becoming blind, they continue despite the hardship, and will probably starve. In contrast, our greater consciousness allows us to question and rebel against fate, leading to deeper suffering as we struggle with the meaning of our trials and ask, “Why has this happened to me?” This awareness can make suffering feel more profound.

Perhaps animals are enlightened because they live fully in the moment, grasping a sense of wholeness instinctively rather than intellectually. In that way they might be “closer” to God. Animals also evoke child-like joy in us, constellating the divine child archetype. When we fulfil our true purpose, this sense of completeness can return in old age. As quite an old man, speaking of the limitations of age, Jung confesses:

“Yet there is so much that fills me: plants, animals, clouds, day and night, and the eternal in man. The more uncertain I have felt about myself, the more there has grown up in me a feeling of kinship with all things.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

With animals the continual succession of generations brings no change. They appear to share the fundamental nature of creation: its repetitious, rhythmic stability. Animals are eternal forms walking around. In other words, the origin of the species is outside historical, empirical knowledge. They are themselves the origins, the revelations of eternal forms, hence why they have always been considered sacred and close to God.

In Christianity, God has His animal, the dove, Jesus had his, the lamb, and the four evangelists were associated with man, lion, ox or bull, and eagle; just as the four sons of Horus were man, jackal, baboon, and falcon. Jung stated, “over the animal is the god; with the god, is the god’s animal.”

In various religions, animals are revered as gods. In Egyptian mythology, the falcon represents Horus, the ibis or baboon symbolises Thoth, and the jackal is linked to Anubis, the guide to the underworld. In Hinduism, deities have animal mounts: Shiva has a bull, Ganesha a mouse, and Durga a tiger or lion. The animal is also a messenger of the gods and people recognised that the divine being was present within the animal.

The reason we must give so much attention to animals in our unconscious is that they represent forms of life that are still in touch with a form of absolute knowledge. They are the ones who can lead us to this source of natural life. Theriomorphic symbols, that is, gods or beings in animal form, are very common in dreams and unconscious manifestations. This symbolism arises out of the primal, chthonic aspect of nature – that deep source in the unconscious that was reduced to an aberration by Christianity yet set at the centre of a process of redemption by the alchemists.

Animals in the Unconscious

Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat – Simon de Myle

When animals appear in our unconscious, they typically symbolise our instincts. Though it is more complicated than that, as each animal has a different instinctual impulse, which is based on biological survival, but also on instinctual images or archetypes. It is the latter that provide us with the symbolic patterns of the collective unconscious – and help us to understand our own psyche.

We belong to the animal kingdom, and knowing this is part of the individuation process, the journey towards wholeness. Yet, we seem to have forgotten our roots. Each of us is like an ark, a microcosm containing the animals. The 3^rd century Christian scholar Origen writes:

“Understand that you have within yourself herds of cattle… flocks of sheep and flocks of goats… and the birds of the air also are within you. Do not be surprised if we say that these are within you, but understand that you are another little world.”

Patricia Cox, Origen on the Bestial Soul

Our Animal Instincts and Symbolic Animals

According to Jungian analyst Marie-Louise von Franz, animal stories seem to represent the deepest and most ancient form of archetypal tales. We anthropomorphise animals because they reveal certain emotions in us, that is, our animal instincts. What is out there displays our inner self, so the study of animals affords great self-knowledge.

From a psychological standpoint, animals appearing in stories are symbolic animals, for the animal is the carrier of the projection of human psychic factors. It is important to emphasise that projection occurs unconsciously, an idea that is frequently overlooked. Each animal appears with a certain quality, such as: the cunning fox, the dangerous wolf, the magical and transformative frog, the noble lion, the intelligent crow, the wise owl, the protecting bear, etc. The 6^th century BC Greek story teller, Aesop, is credited with a collection of fables featuring anthropomorphic animal characters.

Symbolic animals are recurring characters in fairy tales, which von Franz considers the purest and simplest expression of collective unconscious psychic processes. These animals often appear as symbols of the Self. She writes:

“From the fact that the Self appears in animal form in the dreams and visions of medicine men and creative individuals, it is clear that it is first perceived as a purely instinctive unconscious force, greater and more powerful than the ego but entirely unconscious. It embodies the complete wisdom of nature yet does not possess the light of human consciousness.”

Marie Louise von Franz, Archetypal Patterns in Fairy Tales

Our unconscious projection of animals onto the stars reflects their deep wisdom and profound connection to the human psyche.

Symbolic animals are, of course, an application of human terms projected onto an animal that is simply being itself and follows its own laws. We do not pretend to study animals just as they are. In our case, it is much more important for us to realise the impression each animal makes on the human being. Therefore, we are primarily concerned with the animal’s psychological meaning. However, the biological facts must also be correctly considered, such as if the animal belongs to a warm or cold-blooded species, if they are vertebrates like mammals, birds, reptiles, fish – who possess a cerebrospinal system (the brain and the spinal cord), or invertebrates such as insects, crustaceans, snails, worms, jellyfish, etc.

For instance, a lizard, who is cold-blooded, represents the deeper layers of our psyche, a sort of completely unconscious soul.

Thus, the study of animal biology is important for the analysis of our own unconscious. It is an ancient idea that we are, in a mysterious way, connected with nature, animals, and other human beings by the anima mundi or world soul. The more we understand nature and all life, the more we understand ourselves.

The Helpful Animal Motif

The Conversion of Holy Hubertus – Wilhelm Räuber

The helpful animal motif is typical in fairy tales. When all seems lost for the hero, an animal appears that shows him something very self-evident which he has not seen. That is the function of the instinct, which helps in situations where nothing else helps. So, people who can follow their instincts are much better protected than by all the wisdom of the world. If we learn to trust our own experience, it will, according to the natural law, lead us to a state of completeness, to what we really are. Therefore, it is an important question for the psychologist whether a series of emotions is in accordance with the instincts – represented by the animals.

Friedrich Nietzsche writes:

“And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend: for it kept itself coiled round the eagle’s neck. ‘They are mine animals’, said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart. ‘The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the sun… They want to know where Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I still live? More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in dangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!’”

Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

In Grimm’s fairy tale The Two Travellers, a shoemaker blinds a tailor and abandons him. After the tailor’s sight is restored, he is terribly hungry but spares each animal that begs for its life. At the King’s Court, the shoemaker sets the tailor impossible tasks, but the spared animals help him succeed. The tailor is rewarded for his kindness, while the shoemaker is punished for his cruelty.

If we treat our instincts well, they will always help us in difficult times, while repression can turn them into threatening forces. This often appears in nightmares as a wild beast chasing or attacking us. The animal reflects our neglect of our true nature. The Self mirrors the ego’s attitude towards it. Jung writes:

“We know that the mask of the unconscious is not rigid—it reflects the face we turn towards it. Hostility lends it a threatening aspect; friendliness softens its features.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 12: Psychology and Alchemy

In all of her years studying fairy tales, von Franz observed one unfailing rule: anyone who earns the gratitude of animals invariably wins out. A strange twist in fairy tales involves the animal instructing the hero to kill it after providing aid. And the hero must trust his animal instinct so wholly that he is willing to do so. Once one has fully embraced one’s animal instincts, they must be sacrificed for the true self, the whole person, to emerge.

Instincts give life meaning and harmony, but overindulgence can lead to losing consciousness, which implies possession by the animal. The greatest consciousness is not a regression to the animal level, but a return to it on a higher level.

“It is the animal who knows the way, the way home. It is the animal within us, the primitive, the dark brother, the shadow soul, who is the guide.”

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Child and the Shadow

The Archetypal Symbolism of Animals

Medieval Bestiary. Helmingham, Suffolk, ca. 1500

Certain animals may appear more frequently and hold special significance for us. However, it is above all the animals that appear in unconscious manifestations (dreams, active imagination, visions, etc.) that interest the psychologist, which usually point to an important insight.

Jung writes of a synchronicity:

“I walk with a woman patient in a wood. She tells me about the first dream in her life that had made an everlasting impression upon her. She had seen a spectral fox coming down the stairs in her parental home. At this moment a real fox comes out of the trees not 40 yards away and walks quietly on the path ahead of us for several minutes. The animal behaves as if it were a partner in the human situation.”

Letters of C.G. Jung Vol. 1 (1906 – 1950)

In her book, The Archetypal Symbolism of Animals, Jungian analyst Barbara Hannah explores the symbolic meaning of some domestic and wild animals. While it’s tempting to classify animals for easy reference when they appear in dreams, each animal has multiple meanings based on personal context.

Jung differentiates between “Big Dreams,” which stem from archetypes in the collective unconscious, and “Little Dreams,” which arise from complexes in the personal unconscious. The latter are the most common, although dreams can also contain elements from both sources.

When an animal appears in a dream, start by exploring your personal associations and how the animal relates to your current attitude or situation in life. For example, a starved horse might symbolise the “unlived life”, neglect of what truly matters. Afterwards, use amplification by examining the animal’s biological facts, its role in myths, and fairy tales. This process amplifies the personal content to a collective level for deeper understanding.

We’ll now explore the archetypal symbolism of animals discussed in Hannah’s book: the cat, dog, horse, bull, cow, lion, and serpent, to understand their role in the unconscious. For more animal symbolism, consider reading The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images by the publisher Taschen, it is a treasure trove of symbolism.

The Psychology of The Cat

Starting with the archetypal symbolism of the cat, it is considered the least domesticated of our household pets. Archaeological evidence shows a burial ground in Cyprus of a child buried with a cat approximately 9500 years ago. The domestication of cats likely began in the Near East, in the region known as the Fertile Crescent. The development of agriculture led to surplus grain storage, attracting vermin; cats helped control these pests and reduce disease.

Domestic cats were highly revered in ancient Egypt, dating back 4,000 years. Many prayers or charms were exclusively for the protection and well-being of cats. They were practically household gods. Countless mummified cats have been discovered in archaeological excavations, as well as cat-shaped amulets, and sculptures. In the city of Bubastis was the temple of Bastet, the cat goddess of fertility and protection, and cats were her earthly embodiments. One of the most popular celebrations in ancient Egypt was dedicated in honour to this goddess, rituals were performed, people danced and played music and more wine was consumed on that day than was the case throughout the year.

It was a grave sin in ancient Egypt to hit a cat, and a serious crime to kill one. The historian Diodorus of Sicily reports the prompt death of a Roman soldier after he accidently slew a cat while stationed in Egypt. In H.P. Lovecraft’s short story The Cats of Ulthar, it became a law that in the city of Ulthar, no man may kill a cat. The story emphasises the mystical and enigmatic nature of cats, attributing them with supernatural powers.

Cats are almost universally associated with magic and witches. The hook for this projection onto cats is probably the way that they, like serpents, can cast a sort of spell on their prey. A bird, for instance, is sometimes totally unable to fly away if it is caught in the spell of a cat’s eyes. Cats are stealthy and can strike with lightning speed and use surprise tactics in an unpredictable fashion.

The domestic cat is only one branch of a large family of felines which includes lions, tigers, leopards, panthers, and so on. Members of the cat family hunt in an extraordinarily clever way, pretending, for instance, to be asleep or remain motionless for long periods, so as to deceive their prey into thinking them harmless. Here they demonstrate strategic deception, and control of hunger and greed.

Bastet was originally a fierce lioness, and is related to Sekhmet, a lioness and warrior goddess, the vengeful manifestation of Ra’s power, whose fiery breath was connected with the hot wind from the desert. She is believed to have caused plagues, and was also invoked to ward off disease.

Hannah compares this wild and raging aspect of the cat instinct with the following example:

“An Englishman with a very pronounced cat anima [the feminine soul in man] used to go to bed feeling quite pleasant and then wake up in the night in such a Sekhmet mood, after which everything went wrong. His state usually began by his being furious with someone; he then tormented himself with negative thoughts about every friend and everything in his life… Once when he went back to sleep after such a bad mood, he dreamed that he was an adolescent boy and was tying a tin can onto the tail of a cat. Evidently the trouble began with his provoking or even torturing his anima cat, and she responded with a Sekhmet mood of an utterly negative and destructive character.”

Barbara Hannah, The Archetypal Symbolism of Animals

Compared to other animals, it took a lot more time for the cat to become domesticated because domesticity does not seem to be fully compatible to its character. Generally speaking, the cat’s innate sense of attachment is more oriented toward a specific location rather than an individual person.

Lack of responsibility is a leading characteristic of cats. If someone broke into your house, the average cat would let its owner be killed and would settle down in the same house with the killer, provided it was well treated. If a cat notices that you are in a bad mood, it may just disappear.

Cats teach us about emotional detachment. Therefore, the non-identification with emotion is important in the cat instinct. Jung remarked that one should never use emotion unless one can just as well not use it, for otherwise one is possessed by it.

If you can say: “Yes, I am in an awful rage”, then you are no longer identical with your emotion; you see your own rage with a certain objectivity. But if you cannot do this, then you are its prey; you become a wild animal dissolved in unconsciousness. It is the move from ego to Self. Awareness of the Self is the protection par excellence against the danger of being swept away and possessed by moods and emotions.

Cats are symbols of coziness, laziness and relaxation. We might even call cats somewhat Epicurean, choosing the deliberate, continually renewed choice of relaxation and serenity. The integration of the cat archetype is important for those who are workaholics and take life too seriously. A cat is a model for taking life as it comes, keeping calm about it, and finding the coziest places to stretch out and rest. If a lazy person dreams of a sleeping cat, you may be pretty sure the dream will in some way end rather badly. This is a complete paradox, for relaxation is one of the most desirable things in life, but laziness can lead straight to the devil. The meaning would be quite different if someone who was too tense had the same dream.

Unlike many animals, a cat can support itself alone for years. The cat – of all domestic animals – is the one that we can understand as a symbol of fierce independence and self-reliance, an archetypal image that can help us most in regaining touch with this aspect.

The association of cats with women and dogs with men is practically universal. In her book, The Cat: A Tale of Feminine Redemption, von Franz explores the cat archetype in a German fairy tale where a princess is transformed into a cat, symbolising the feminine psyche. The prince represents the animus (the masculine soul in woman), who aids in her transformation, illustrating that both masculine and feminine elements are essential for psychic wholeness.

Finally, one can hardly overemphasise the importance of the playful element in the cat instinct. Lovecraft writes:

“The superior imaginative inner life of the cat, resulting in superior self-possession, is well known… A cat… is never without the potentialities of contentment. Like a superior man, he knows how to be alone and happy. Once he looks about and finds no one to amuse him, he settles down to the task of amusing himself.”

H.P. Lovecraft, On Cats and Dogs

The Psychology of The Dog

Anubis from the Tomb of Nefertari (Valley of the Queens, Egypt)

Moving now to the dog, it was likely domesticated between 30,000 to 40,000 years ago. The ancient wolves, now extinct, are the common ancestors of modern grey wolves and domestic dogs – who diverged from their ancestor through different evolutionary paths. Some wolves remained in the wild, and others became less aggressive and more sociable with humans as they shared mutual benefits, wolves would help humans with hunting, and in exchange receive a consistent and reliable food source from left-overs, as well as shelter.

The dog is much more domesticated and dependent on us, and is thus easier to train or educate than the cat. Since dogs have become so humanised, they are by no means a purely animal instinct.

It is not easy to say anything about the original psychic qualities of dogs because of the extreme degree of training. They have been trained to be unusually brave and even fierce, but their innate quality at the bottom of their whole development with man is their docility, responsiveness and willingness to learn. They can be trained to retrieve, hunt, protect, guard, search, lead the blind, perform all sorts of tricks, used to draw sledges, etc.

The dog is, above all, a loyal friend, man’s best friend. A poignant example is Hachikō, a Japanese dog who was accustomed to meet his master at the train station every day. One day, the master did not appear. He had died unexpectedly. The dog, who did not know of his death, continued to await his masters’ return, appearing precisely when the train was due at the station. This lasted for almost a decade. On his death, a monument was erected in his honour, being a worldwide example of utmost loyalty.

It is interesting to see then, as Hannah points out, that many creation myths in Asia and Eastern Europe claim it was a dog that first led man to the devil.

This myth not only shows the dangers of temptation, but also the betrayal of man at the beginning of his history by his later most loyal friend, the dog. Myths, of course, represent archetypal motifs in the collective psyche. This myth reverses the story of the Garden of Eden, where, although the serpent or Devil is present, it was man who ultimately betrayed God. He was the troublemaker. Here, it is the instinct that disobeys God, and thus betrays man. Both versions, to be sure, have the devil element. Psychologically, the development of human consciousness requires a form of Promethean disobedience.

In Native American folklore, fire was stolen and given to humans by a coyote as a gift for mankind. The coyote, however, also appears as a promiscuous, cunning, shape-shifting trickster, often engaging in mischief and using his powers for his own amusement. The coyote, dog, wolf, jackal, as well as the fox (a typical trickster figure in Eurasia), all belong to the same genus, the Canidae, which comes from the Latin word canis (dog).

While wild animals have no conflict between their natural urges and an “ought” (every inner urge is “good”), this seems to differ in domestic animals. Dogs, for instance, show a bad conscience.

Jung wrote a bold and unusual statement for a thinker of his era:

“Even domestic animals, to whom we erroneously deny a conscience, have complexes and moral reactions.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 10: Civilisation in Transition

In Man Meets Dog, Austrian zoologist Konrad Lorenz explores the link between animal behaviour and moral sense, suggesting morality is rooted in the instincts. He recounts how his bulldog, Bully, was jealous of when a second dog arrived, and fought with him. During the altercation, Bully accidently bit Lorenz’s hand, and upon seeing the blood, he entered into shock and showed deep guilt, refusing to eat and suffering for weeks, despite Lorenz’s immediate forgiveness and the absence of prior fear of punishment.

Dogs will be loyal so long as they have a strong feeling tie to us. This is the decisive urge. They are loyal because the original elastic band to their home is attached to us; we are the centre of their lives. As their well-being depends on their masters’ survival, they would readily risk their life to save their master.

The dog also appears as a symbol of the guide of souls due to its presence in both the living and the dead realms. As natural scavengers, dogs have historically fed on corpses from battlefields or those who perished from famine and disease. This association with the dead made them, in a sense, vessels for the departed. In psychological situations, such as those symbolised by the night sea journey, the dog is widely regarded as the one who knows how to guide us through the darkness of our inner conflict.

The Egyptian canine-headed god Anubis, guides souls to the afterlife and determines their fate based on the weight of their hearts. Upuaut, the brother of Anubis, is a wolf deity whose name literally means “opener of the ways”, that is, opening the ways to the Underworld for the souls to pass. In the Videvdat, a Zoroastrian collection of texts, the souls must cross the Chinvat Bridge upon death, which is guarded by a woman with two four-eyed dogs, while Yama, the Hindu god of death, has two-four eyed dogs who track down those who are about to die, and guard the path to Yamaloka, the Hindu equivalent of hell, in order to be rendered judgment by their master.

It seems that while on earth the dog is more or less the possession of man, in myth he practically decides man’s fate after death.

In Greek mythology, the three-headed dog Cerberus guards the gates of Hades. Psychologically, this aspect of the dog symbolises the repression of instincts, which then become a fierce barrier to our unconscious, manifesting in dreams as angry animals. That is the Cerberus aspect, the instincts become an angry watchdog preventing access to the unconscious until the underlying anger is addressed. Those with such emotional blocks often have neglected something crucial.

The dog is also a healing symbol. In ancient Greece, dogs, along with snakes, were associated with the healing temples dedicated to Asclepius, the god of healing. Patients in these sanctuaries often reported dreams of Asclepius, either in human form applying ointment to their wounds or theriomorphically as a dog or snake licking and healing them. These experiences, known as theophanies, were personal encounters with the deity. The Epidaurian Miracle Inscriptions provide examples of this healing, such as one noting that a blind child was cured by a temple dog, and another stating that a sacred dog healed a child’s head tumour.

The inscriptions show that the role of the dogs in the cult of Asclepius goes beyond that of the watchdog. Like serpents, they actually played a part in the healing ceremonies and were, so to speak, the living vehicle for the healing power of God. Psychologically, this healing is to be found in ourselves, but it often needs great humility to reach this, just as it would to submit to being licked by a dog.

The Psychology of The Horse

Cave painting of horse at Lascaux (Montignac, France)

The horse, an ancient animal predating human history symbolises more than just energy and libido—despite its association with horsepower. The energy symbolised by the horse is more specific. Its natural reaction is always instantaneous flight. It gallops off if anything frightens it, or if anything is uncanny. That the horse has largely overcome this natural tendency reflects its remarkable ability to transform and adapt. One need only think of the battlefield and the amazing courage of cavalry horses. No animal has ever worked quite like the horse, nor stood by, helped, and even fought at the side of man for millennia. It is the obedient worker par excellence. We take pride in comparing ourselves with horses with expressions such as “he works like a horse”, or “she is a workhorse.” The horse is indeed a helper, but also a victim, with millions having died in combat, harsh conditions, and from overwork.

In Tschiffely’s Ride, the author recounts his journey of ten thousand miles with two remarkably intelligent horses. In one instance, one of the horses slipped down a precipice and by sheer luck caught on a tree. Despite the danger and the natural instinct to panic, the horse remained perfectly still, allowing the man to remove the saddle packs and safely drag it back onto the path.

Horses have an acute sensitivity to human emotions. For instance, they can become agitated if their rider is anxious, guide lost wanderers, or sense when a ride is imminent even before any visible preparation starts.

In his book The Other Side, Alfred Kubin depicts an almost starved and maddened horse galloping around in wild panic as it is imprisoned in the catacombs beneath a town. This horse, lost in the labyrinth of the collective unconscious, never finds its way out and goes mad. Although an extreme example, it vividly illustrates the great danger of being disconnected from our horse instinct, which becomes a frenzied and wild horse imprisoned deep within our unconscious, desperately seeking an escape but finding none.

Plato famously describes the soul as the charioteer driving two horses. The white horse represents reason and obedience, leading towards the divine, while the black horse symbolises appetite, it is wild and unruly, pulling downward. This is a marvelous image of the opposites in our soul that lead to our greatest difficulties.

Hannah relates a Turkestan fairy tale called The Magic Horse. In it, the horse becomes a symbol of the Self in which the whole process of individuation takes place. After a djinn succeeds in taking the princess and intends to eat her, a magic horse appears and defeats it. Hannah writes:

“The horse then commands the princess to kill it and put its head on one side, its legs in the four directions of the compass, and throw away its entrails. She is then to sit with her children under the ribs. After she mustered the courage and carried out the task, the legs then turn into beautiful golden poplars with emerald leaves, the entrails become villages and fields, the ribs a beautiful golden castle, and the head a silvery stream of water. After a long time, the king finds her and they live together in this mandala kingdom that originally was the horse.”

Barbara Hannah, The Archetypal Symbolism of Animals

The Psychology of The Bull and Cow

The god Mithras slaying the Bull. 2nd century Rome. From the Vatican (left). Kamadhenu the sacred cow and Trimurti (right).

The bull, the cow, and the ox represent the very foundations upon which our cultures were built. The domestication of cattle marked a monumental advance for humanity.

The bull, symbolising male generative power, was sacred to the Egyptians. It was worshipped as Apis, a fertility god who later became associated with Ptah, the creator god. The motif of bull sacrifice is widespread throughout the world. Mithraism, a mystery religion with esoteric rites, was popular in the Roman Empire from the 1^st to the 4^th century AD. However, it was suppressed and largely eradicated after Christianity became the official religion.

Mithraism featured the tauroctony, where Mithras slays a bull, symbolic of a fertility rite. The bull’s sacrifice was seen as creating new life, richer and more fertile than before. From the bull’s body sprang all the useful herbs and plants. From its spinal cord came wheat that gives us our bread, and from its blood the vine that produces the sacred drink of the Mysteries. Only through the sacrifice of the bull could a new spiritual world come forth.

The cow is a quintessential symbol of motherhood. The Egyptian goddesses Nut and Hathor are associated with the cow. In India, the cow is revered as Kamadhenu, a goddess who embodies various deities and can fulfill any desire. These are all representations of the divine mother archetype. The products of the cow belong to the most invaluable treasures of humankind, symbolising its life-giving and nurturing aspects.

The cow’s maternal nature is deeply embedded in the archetypal feminine. It strives to protect everything weak and growing; it is more interested in the helpless than the strong. Its care is directed towards the future, for it is the young growing calf that it protects so passionately.

While cows continually provide for us, they are often killed at our convenience. We see the complete acceptance of fate that the cow represents. Yet this profound docility is one of the strongest forces in the universe. It is like water that never resists and yet can carve stone and find its way past all obstacles at sea.

Cats, dogs, horses, bulls and cows are all domesticated animals, each representing instincts that we can, to a certain extent, integrate more easily. As domestic animals they represent aspects for which we hold responsibility. Conversely, if we meet a starving wild animal in a dream, it does not imply that we are responsible for its lack of food.

We will now turn our focus to the wild animals.

The Psychology of The Lion

The Green Lion Devouring the Sun from Viridarium chymicum – Daniel Stolcius

The lion is the king of the beasts and is associated with the sun. Leo is the zodiacal sign for the hottest time of the year, when the power of the sun god, is at its height. The lion’s roar powerfully asserts its dominance over other animals, yet in its natural habitat it fails to fulfill our grand projection of the royal king of beasts, being lazy and relying on females for hunting and caregiving. Nevertheless, the lion is considered royal because it has been projected on him across cultures. Thus, in analysing the lion in the unconscious, it should generally be interpreted as the king of the beasts.

The lion expressing the idea of power is the oldest form of the symbol, and hence has been associated with royalty. The lion embodies the king theriomorphically, reflecting its representation in the unconscious. The kings of Babylon and Assyria were represented as lion-killers, an act reserved only for royalty, and wore lion skins. Moreover, many primitive tribes called the chief the lion of the tribe; Hercules’ first labour is to defeat a lion, lions are shown in the shields of medieval knights, in the coat of arms of many countries, and so on.

In Genesis, Jacob blesses his son Judah, comparing him to a lion. In Revelation, Christ is called the Lion of the tribe of Judah, signifying His triumph. The lion is a pre-form, as it were, of Christ.

Lions are also protectors and guardians. They have an apotropaic role, warding off evil. In the Forbidden City of China, a pair of lions guard the place, deterring evildoers from approaching the temple and its treasures. Similarly, the Lion Gate at Mycenae in Greece serves as a guardian at the entrance, and Egyptian sphinxes, with lion bodies, guarded sacred sites. The deity Aker appears as a pair of twin lions, protecting the sun-disk, the gate to the Beyond, which is also the unconscious, ensuring only the worthy access hidden treasures, for one must beware of unearned wisdom.

Over the centuries, the myth Hercules overcoming the lion, that is, conquering his own ferocity, has undergone a change. In the fairytale The King’s Son Who Knew No Fear, wild animals guard the garden with the Tree of Life. When the hero finds the garden, the animals are asleep. So, he enters the garden, and in the tree, there is a ring which he puts his hand right through, and plucks the apple. The ring fastens tightly around his arm and he feels a mighty strength surge through his body. As he bursts open the main gate, the lion, previously sleeping, awakens not in rage but as if recognising its master.

Here, the lion shifts from being an enemy to a protector and ally – the hero and lion become faithful friends. But we must not think that the theme of conquering the lion is now today outlived. It is as pertinent as ever. However, more self-realised individuals are called not just to overcome their emotions, but to integrate and cooperate with them for a greater purpose.

Jung pointed out one great danger when meeting the unconscious: not the contents themselves but the panic that can arise. Thus, we need to integrate the archetype of “the hero without fear” present in many tales, to effectively engage with the unconscious.

It is psychologically significant that the hero approaches the lion from within, instead of from the outside as previous invaders had attempted. By obtaining the apple and ring (aspects of the Self), the hero can walk through the closely guarded front door from the inside. This could be compared with the Cerberus aspect of the fierce watchdog, employed to keep out intruders. Behind this violent emotional complex is a great treasure, which is needed to face the complex. The hero’s subsequent challenge involves freeing the princess (the integration of the anima), which is a more difficult challenge.

We can contrast this psychological process with the alchemical symbol of the green lion devouring the sun. This symbol represents the warm-blooded form of the devouring, predatory monster who first appears as the cold-blooded dragon or serpent. Usually the lion-form succeeds the dragon’s death (which is followed by the eagle). The lion devouring the sun is reminiscent of the black sun or the nigredo, the confrontation with the shadow – a difficult but necessary stage. This is followed by the albedo stage, the integration of the anima or animus, and culminates in the rubedo, the integration of the Self archetype, which is a lifelong process.

The Psychology of The Serpent

Illustration for Milton’s Paradise Lost – Gustave Doré

Saving the best for last, the serpent is the most frequently depicted animal in mythology and religion, and is the most referenced in Jung’s work. One of the serpent’s best-known attributes is its ability to shed its skin, symbolising renewal. Moreover, they live relatively long lives, indeed, it was once thought that they only shed their skin and never die. This contributed to their association with the eternal cycle of Oneness, as seen in the ouroboros, one of the oldest symbols in alchemy.

In his seminar on Dream Analysis, Jung recounts a case where a man raised a python, a seemingly harmless creature he fed by hand. Despite the belief that the snake recognised him as its caretaker, it suddenly coiled around him and nearly killed him, requiring another person to intervene and kill the snake to save him. This is a typical example of the inherent danger and untrustworthiness of such creatures. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded animals have been adversaries for millions of years.

The cold-blooded animal represents an extremely archaic psychology of the cold-blooded quality in us. There are people who, under certain circumstances, would be capable of things which they simply could not admit. It is frightening, we are shocked out of our wits and cannot accept it. These cold-blooded relics are in a way uncanny powers because they symbolise the fundamental factors of our instinctive life, dating from Paleozoic times. Primates raised in captivity, who have never encountered snakes, still exhibit a strong fear response to both real and snake-like objects, often backing away and staring in awe. Despite their danger, snakes have a hypnotic, almost magical allure.

Jung says that a terrible fear or an organic threat of disease is often expressed in dreams by a snake. For example, he had an acquaintance who told him that whenever she dreamed of snakes it meant diseases. She dreamt of an enormous serpent that killed many people. A few days later, the second wave of the Spanish flu broke out and killed many, and she herself almost died. So, whenever life means business, you are likely to find a saurian on the way.

There are twelve physical characteristics that seem to be the main reasons for the almost universally occurrence of the serpent symbol in mythology and religion: inability to regulate body heat internally, orientation by sympathetic nervous system (which creates the fight-or-flight response), relative invisibility, simplicity of form, large prey swallowing, self-renewal through shedding, hypnotic lidless eyes, apparent unawareness of surroundings, extraordinary mobility, long lifespan, venomous quality, and solitary behaviour, though they form “snake balls” during mating.

The most famous serpent story is in Genesis, where it is described as “more subtle than any other beast of the field which the Lord God had made.” It deceives Adam and Eve, leading to their fall and its own punishment by God. In Revelation, the devil appears as a great dragon, and is described as that old serpent who deceives the whole world.

In Clavis Artis, an alchemical text attributed to Zoroaster, a dragon and serpent devour each other’s tails, forming the ouroboros. The dragon, a mythological form of the serpent, shares its name with the Greek drakon, meaning serpent, derived from the Proto-Indo-European root derk (to see). Perhaps the literal sense is “the one with the deadly glance or paralysing sight” – which refers to the serpent’s hypnotic gaze. This is the famous attribute of the basilisk, another mythological form of the serpent.

The serpent as an antagonist appears much earlier in ancient Egypt as Apophis, who resides in Duat, the underworld, and embodies darkness and chaos. He is the archenemy of the sun-god Ra, and his role is to attempt to prevent the sun from rising each day by attacking Ra’s solar barque as it travels through the underworld during the night. Every night, Ra transforms into a tomcat and cuts the serpent’s head off with a knife.

It is noteworthy that the evil force reserves the form of the serpent for itself as its most favourite and privileged shape. The serpent’s numerous physical advantages contribute to its symbolic role as a powerful antagonist.

In the Epic of Gilgamesh, the hero Gilgamesh goes on a quest for immorality. In one of the crucial scenes, he finds a plant of life that is said to restore youth. But while he stops to take a bath in the cold waters, a serpent smells the flower and steals it, subsequently shedding its skin, and thereby rejuvenating itself.

In the Babylonian epic Enuma Elish, Tiamat, associated with the primordial sea, is depicted as a monstrous figure with horns and a tail, resembling a giant sea serpent or dragon. In Norse mythology, the World Serpent encircles Midgard by biting its tail and will fight the gods during Ragnarök, the end of the world. There is also the dragon Níðhöggr, who gnaws at the roots of Yggdrasil, the World Tree.

In contrast to Western cultures, Chinese dragons are typically seen as benevolent. They are symbols of imperial power, protection, wisdom, and good fortune, and are commonly featured in art and festivals to celebrate their auspicious qualities, reflecting the harmony and balance of Chinese values.

The serpent is not just a symbol of evil, it also embodies light and wisdom. The paradoxical and subtle nature of the serpent appears when we consider Christ’s injunction to be “wise as serpents and harmless as doves.”

When God appeared to Moses in the burning bush, his staff was transformed into a snake, and Moses fled in fear, but God told him to pick it up again by the tail, whereupon it became a staff. It is thereafter referred to as the Staff of God, and is used to perform miracles.

Moses led the Israelites through the wilderness, but the people turned against God because of the hardships along the way. Then God sends fiery serpents among the people and many of them died. The people repented and Moses prayed for them, and the Lord said unto Moses, “Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole; and it shall come to pass that every one who is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live.” This shows the paradoxical nature of the snake, being capable of poison and cure. Christ likened himself to this brazen serpent, saying, “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be lifted up.”

A staff with a snake wrapped around it was the doctors’ symbol, which is held by Asclepius. As we have mentioned with the dog, snakes played a vital role in the healing sanctuaries of ancient Greece.

According to Saint Hippolytus of Rome, serpent-worshipping cults had been in existence before Christianity, but had no written doctrines. The Aztecs, for example, worshipped the feathered serpent Quetzalcoatl, a creator god who used his blood to create humans after gathering ancient bones from the underworld. He also brought knowledge to humankind.

In Asian religious traditions, Nagas are semi-divine beings with a half-human, half-serpent form, residing in Nagaloka, a subterranean realm filled with jewels and lakes. They guard treasure and knowledge. In Hinduism, the most prominent of the nagarajas (king of the Nagas) is Shesha, the thousand-headed Naga who holds the universe on his hoods, and praises Vishnu from all his mouths. This cosmic serpent floats in the ocean of milk as a primordial form of Vishnu rests on it, dreaming the universe into reality.

Another nagaraja, Vasuki, is used as a rope to churn the ocean of milk in search of the nectar of immortality, sought by both Devas and Asuras (gods and demons). During this process, a deadly poison emerges which threatens to destroy the entire universe. Shiva intervenes by consuming the poison, turning his neck blue. The Devas triumph and receive the elixir of life. Vasuki is seen coiled around Shiva’s neck.

The snake also symbolises the feminine cosmic energy or Shakti of the kundalini. This energy, lying dormant like a coiled serpent at the base of the spine, can progressively ascend, through meditation to unite with the crown chakra, leading to ecstasy and transcendence.

The serpent symbolises secret wisdom and the revelation of hidden knowledge and insight. It represents gnosis, or inner revelation from one’s spirit, which is overwhelming and profound.

In many Gnostic sects like the Perates and the Ophites, the serpent is the symbol for Christ. Yaldabaoth is the malevolent lion-headed serpent demiurge who created the material world in order to imprison souls in physical bodies. Some Gnostics compare him with Yahweh. The greatest trick the Devil ever played was to convince the world that he is God. Jung writes:

“[A]ccording to the old tradition, the creator of the world, the Demiurgos, was a blind demon who thought he had made human beings as unconscious as possible in order that they should not see the imperfection. But the god of the spiritual world was quite different, he never made material creations because that was beneath his dignity, only demons could work with dirt, and he saw the misery of those blind human beings, and sent his son in the form of the serpent in paradise to tell them they ought to change, they ought to eat the forbidden fruit in order to become conscious and see the difference between good and bad – knowing good and evil, as the text says. So, the son of God made his first appearance on earth in the form of the snake in paradise, giving good advice to the first parents.”

Carl Jung, Visions Seminar, Vol. 2 (6 December 1933)

For certain Gnostics then, the serpent is equated with Christ, a positive messenger from God bringing illumination to man. It is associated with a spiritual death out of which new life is born. Thus, the serpent becomes a symbol of rebirth and gnosis. At the very least, the serpent points to the problem of evil which, although outside the Trinity, is yet somehow connected with the work of redemption.

Saint Ignatius of Loyola had a vision of a serpent, the sight of which filled him with the greatest delight. The more frequently he saw it, the greater was the consolation he derived from it, and when it disappeared, his soul was filled with sorrow. Later, however, he decided that it was an evil spirit and drove it away with a stick: the original light bringer is dogmatically repressed and becomes the devil.

In the Gnostic text Pistis Sophia, the outer darkness is depicted as a massive dragon encircling and guarding the Light-kingdom. Inside the dragon are twelve dungeons, each ruled by a figure with an animal head—crocodile, cat, dog, serpent, black bull, wild boar, bear, vulture, and basilisk. The last three dungeons have rulers with multiple heads: seven dragon heads, seven cat heads, and seven dog heads, respectively.

Conclusion

Adam Naming the Animals, from The Story of Adam and Eve – Jan Brueghel the Younger

Whatever animal the unconscious may send you, there’s an important message being delivered. When we are not aligned with our instinctual force, we often become sick and neurotic.

“In the beginning of life one should trust the animal, one’s instincts, to guide one into life, and this is just as true at the time of death. One must trust one’s instincts to guide one out of life. Our instincts can teach us how to die properly. These are animal instincts; therefore, if we trust the animal, if we trust our body, then we are led out of life as harmoniously as we were led into it.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, Archetypal Patterns in Fairy Tales

Understanding the deepest instincts of animals is crucial for both comprehending them and our own animal instincts. The cat’s independence and self-reliance, the dog’s loyalty, the horse’s adaptability, the bull’s sacrificial nature, the cow’s nurturing quality and docility, the lion’s power and protection, and the serpent’s paradoxical nature, are all but a few examples of how the dream animal can be interpreted.

“In the last analysis, most of our difficulties come from losing contact with our instincts, with the age-old unforgotten wisdom stored up in us. And where do we make contact with this old man in us? In our dreams, they are the clear manifestations of our unconscious mind… In our sleep we consult the 2,000,000-year-old man which each of us represents.”

C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters

The Psychology of Animals

Animals have been an integral part of human existence since our earliest origins. They are deeply ingrained within us and play a crucial role in the unconscious. In various religions, animals are revered as gods.

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Carl Jung on UFOs: A Modern Myth of Hope and Fear

Strange sightings have been reported in the sky throughout history. After the Second World War, however, the appearance of flying saucers, UFOs or UAPs (unidentified anomalous phenomena) – or whatever one wants to call them – became prominent in culture, and recently this phenomenon has gained more public exposure and sparked intense interest – constituting an important cornerstone for our current zeitgeist.

Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Carl Jung had studied this phenomenon for more than a decade until his death in 1961. He writes:

“From the very beginning the UFO reports interested me as being, very possibly, symbolical rumours, and since 1947 I have collected all the books I could get hold of on the subject.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

Table of contents

Introduction

While Jung was unable to form a definite opinion concerning the physical nature of UFOs, the evidence available to him was convincing enough to arouse a continuous and fervent interest. He wrote down his thoughts in Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies, which is part of the Collected Works, vol. 10: Civilisation in Transition. His views on UFOs, however, have commonly been misinterpreted – even by the press during his time. Jung makes it clear that he is focused on the psychic aspect of UFOs as a modern myth, that is to say, as a narrative from the collective unconscious that expresses a fundamental human experience, providing insight into our inherited patterns of behaviour or archetypes and the nature of human existence.

Jung could not commit himself on the question of the physical reality or unreality of them, since he did not possess sufficient evidence either for or against. His position can be summarised in the following sentence: “Something is seen, but it isn’t known what.” Something material could be seen, or something psychic could be seen. Both are realities, but of different kinds.

Jung himself had never seen a UFO but knew four people who had or said they did. Jung did not know whether the entities controlling these crafts were extraterrestrial or not, as some reports show these objects rising out of the sea – it may well be that they are not from outer space, but have rather been among us for millennia. Thus, it is more appropriate to call these beings non-human intelligences (NHIs), in which we may include aliens, angels, demons, elemental beings, etc. Perhaps the aliens seen in the UFOs are forms of technologies artificially created by higher beings whose form we cannot comprehend or perceive.

Jung does not reduce the UFO phenomenon to purely psychological grounds, for a large number of observations point to a natural phenomenon or even a physical one (anti-gravity field, signs of intelligent guidance, radar signals, etc). But since he could not contribute to their physical reality, he dealt almost exclusively with their psychic aspect. Jung’s field of interest is the human reaction to the phenomena, an effort to understand the complex working of our interior life, as this is revealed through the UFO phenomenon.

UFOs as Visionary Rumours and Collective Visions

Contrary to the ordinary rumours which are told all over the world, Jung described UFOs as visionary rumours, as they are expressed in visions, or perhaps owed their existence to visions in the first place and are now kept alive by them. Thus, they are closely akin to collective visions, such as the so-called Miracle of the Sun in Fátima, Portugal which occurred in 1917.

After a day of heavy rain, the clouds parted and revealed the sun, which started spinning, dancing or zigzagging across the sky, it also emitted radiant colours. Others describe seeing not the sun but instead a “disc of dull silver” or “wheel of fire” which did not hurt the eyes when stared at. Individual descriptions vary in detail and emphasis, some people reported seeing nothing out of the ordinary. At one point, there was a cry of anguish from the crowd as the sun appeared to rapidly descend towards the earth, people were terrified as they thought the sun was going to fall upon them. They started praying and confessing their sins, when at last the sun stopped moving. Around 30,000 to 100,000 people witnessed this phenomenon, which lasted approximately ten minutes. After the event, the ground and the clothing of those present were reported to have dried completely.

There are cases of collective visions where one or more persons see something that others cannot see. That is not to say that they are hallucinations, but rather, for some reason, these visions only appear in the consciousness of certain people, whilst they remain invisible to others. Jung experienced this in a spiritualistic séance where four of the five people present saw an object like a moon floating above the abdomen of the medium. They showed Jung, the firth person present, exactly where it was, and it was absolutely incomprehensible to them that he could see nothing of the sort. Even people who are entirely of “sound mind” and in full possession of their senses can sometimes see things that “do not exist”. In addition, things can be seen by many people independently of one another, or even simultaneously, which are not of a physical nature, but a psychic one. All of these factors must be considered with regards to UFOs.

UFOs as Collective Distress and Mass Hysteria

Illustration by Frank R. Paul of Nikola Tesla’s vision of war. In Science and Invention, Experimenter Publishing Co.

Though visionary rumours may be caused or accompanied by all manner of outward circumstances, they are based essentially on an omnipresent emotional foundation, a psychological situation common to all mankind (the collective unconscious). The basis for this kind of rumour is an emotional tension having its cause in a situation of collective distress or danger, or in a vital psychic need – shedding light on the psychic compensation of the collective fear weighing on our hearts.

There’s a personal unconscious which is concerned with our own problems and complexes, but also a collective unconscious that concerns the whole human race. When the world is divided, it brings about confusion, aimlessness, and disorientation, as well as a meaning crisis. This “mass hysteria” arising from common causes, can affect vast groups of people, who are under tension from the same archetypal pressure, which is of tremendous intensity.

Should something extraordinary or impressive then occur in the outside world, be it a human personality, a thing, or an idea, the unconscious content can project itself upon it, thereby investing the projection carrier (which acts like a hook on which the projection hangs) with numinous and mythical powers. Thanks to this, the projection carrier has a highly suggestive effect and grows into a saviour myth whose basic features have been repeated countless times in history.

UFOs as Saviour Myth

In an interview, Jung was asked if our preoccupation with psychology and UFOs can be traced back to a decline of the belief in God, as though this left a void which the unconscious had to fill. He stated:

“In our world miracles do not happen anymore, and we feel that something simply must happen which will provide an answer or show a way out. So now these UFOs are appearing in the skies. Although they have always been observed they didn’t signify anything. Now, suddenly, they seem to portend something because that something has been projected on them—a hope, an expectation… it is of course the expectation of a saviour. But that is only one aspect. There is another aspect, a mythological one. The UFO can be a ship of death, which means that ships of death are coming to fetch the living or bring souls. Either those souls will fall into birth, or many people are going to die and will be fetched by fleets of these ships of death. These are important archetypal ideas, because they can also be predictions. If an atomic war were to break out, an infinite multitude of souls would be carried away from the earth.”

C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters

When we are threatened with disaster, and mysterious vehicles start appearing in the skies, we unconsciously project on them the figure of a saviour. We assume that these beings of superior intelligence are peaceful, and have come to save us – even though they might not do so. Thus, they gain an almost messianic or godlike status. In the case of ancient mythology, gods are men, plus have more intelligence, power, or authority. Each god represents an archetypal image. It seems that, as Heidegger declared, “only a God can save us.”

For Jung, it is thus no surprise that sightings of UFOs were reported much more frequently after the Second World War and the threat of totalitarianism and nuclear annihilation – the inner expectations of the people (the desire for a saviour symbolised by the UFOs) appeared in the outer world in a non-causal but meaningful way, a phenomenon Jung calls synchronicity. Because of our modern rationalism, we interpreted such visions of longing and deliverance not as heavenly, other-worldly angels, but mechanical, other-worldly spaceships, or “technological angels.”

UFOs as Living Myth

The UFO has the value of a living symbol, that is, a dynamic factor which, because of the general ignorance and lack of understanding, has to confine itself to producing a visionary rumour. The fact that there is a numinous quality about all archetypal images is responsible not only for the spread of the visionary rumour but also for its persistence.

One thing is certain, UFOs have become a living myth for modern man, and Jung states that we have the golden opportunity of seeing how a legend is formed, and how in a difficult and dark time for humanity a miraculous tale grows up of an attempted intervention by superior or “heavenly” beings. If they are a case of psychological projection, there must be a psychic cause for it. One can hardly suppose that anything of such worldwide incidence is purely fortuitous and of no importance whatever. The cause must strike at the roots of our existence if it is to explain such an extraordinary phenomenon as the UFOs.

Though UFOs were popularised towards the end of the Second World War, the phenomenon itself was known long before. There are countless reports in literature. Jung spares himself from this task and gives us two examples.

The first one is the Basel broadsheet of August 7, 1566 in which it is reported that at the time of sunrise, “many large black globes were seen in the air, moving before the sun with great speed, and turning against each other as if fighting. Some of them became red and fiery and afterwards faded and went out.”

The second example is the Nuremberg Broadsheet of April 14, 1561 where numerous people saw a frightful spectacle at sunrise, in which “globes” of blood-red, bluish or black colour or “plates” in large numbers appeared near the sun, along with crosses and large tubes. They all began to fight one another, and this went on for about an hour. They then all fell down to the earth. Underneath the globes was a long object, “shaped like a great black spear.” Naturally this “spectacle” was interpreted as a divine warning. These tubes are analogous to the cylindrical objects in UFO reports known as the “mother-ships” which are said to carry the smaller lens-shaped UFOs for long distances.

Folklore and UFOs

Detail. Fresco Cruxifixion of Jesus. Decani Monastery Serbia

As we have mentioned, strange objects in the skies have been witnessed for thousands of years. In his book, Passport to Magonia, Jacques Vallée, who could be dubbed the father of the modern study of UFOs, argues that similar patterns could be observed in folklore, religious tradition, and modern UFO events.

A constant feature of one class of legends involving supernatural creatures is that the beings come to our world to steal our products, our animals, and even human beings. As well as their “sample-gathering” behaviour and their request for terrestrial products. There are also alleged miraculous cures after people describe having a religious experience. Similarly, people encountering UFOs find that they are suddenly cured of their wounds, and chronic illnesses.

Vallée challenges the so-called extraterrestrial hypothesis, and the view that UFOs are scientific devices having nothing to do with the mystico-religious context of medieval apparitions. He suggests that similar phenomena have always occurred in human history, and proposes the psychosocial hypothesis, in which psychological and social factors are indispensable for explaining the UFO phenomenon. To study the recurring themes and motifs, he presents a comprehensive catalogue detailing all the pertinent facts of some 900 sightings of UFOs from 1868 to 1968.

It is important to note the continuum of beliefs which leads directly from primitive magic, through mystical experience, the fairy-faith, and religion, to modern UFOs. The mechanisms that have generated these various beliefs are identical. Their human context and their effect on humans are constant. It has little to do with the problem of knowing whether UFOs are physical objects or not.

There are many old reports of witnesses describing seeing various objects in the sky across the world, which include: strange flying machines before the invention of flight, multiple suns and moons, discs, cigar-shaped objects, crosses, spheres of fire, wheels, flying earthenware, etc. At this time, people unconsciously projected these aerial phenomena as portents or omens, or that God wanted to induce people to amend their lives and make penance. In fact, panics, riots and disruptive social movements were often linked to celestial apparitions. What matters here is the link between certain unusual phenomena—observed or imagined—and the alteration of the witnesses’ behaviour.

For Vallée, folklore is indispensable for understanding the phenomenon of visitation, from the very earliest days to the present. His book aims to document a recurrent myth, namely, the myth of contact between mankind and an intelligent race endowed with apparently supernatural powers. He writes:

“Of considerable interest to the psychologist is the fact that the entities are endowed with the same fugitiveness and behave with the same ignorance of logical or physical laws as the reflection of a dream, the monsters of our nightmares… if a superior race does in fact generate what we are now observing as the UFO phenomenon, is it not precisely with the purpose of changing the course of human destiny by presenting us with evidence of our limitations in the technical, as well as the mental, realm? … Children of the Unknown – if they are not real, should we see these rumours as a sign that something in the human imagination has changed, bringing into a new light uncharted areas of our “collective unconscious?” … In any case, it is important to understand what need these images fulfill, why this knowledge is both so exciting and so distressing to us.”

Jacques Vallée, Passport to Magonia

Collective Dream

Illumination of Fortune in Le livre de bonnes meurs, by Jacque Legrand, c. 1430

It is interesting that Vallée compares the UFO phenomenon with a dream. When we are confronted with a mystery, either individually or collectively, our reaction tells us a great deal about ourselves. And all we can ever read into anything is ourselves. Our responses are like a Rorschach test. In the case of UFOs, the phenomenon becomes a kind of collective dream, not merely a personal dream, but an archetypal dream that reveals the needs of humanity’s inner life. This dream, like any other dream, is capable of analysis, and in the analysis of it, we gain far more insight into ourselves, life, nature, and being – than we gain by attempting to solve the actual mystery of these phenomena.

Messengers of Deception

Mystery airship illustrated in The St. Paul Globe, April 13, 1897

Vallée observes that the UFO sightings have a chameleon-like character: the shapes of the objects, the appearances of their occupants, their reported statements, vary as a function of the cultural environment into which they are projected. This makes the study of such objects infinitely broader than the simple investigation of a new phenomenon: for if the appearance and behaviour of the objects are functions of our interpretation at any particular time in the development of our culture, then what chances can we have of ever knowing the truth?

Human actions are based on imagination, belief, and faith, not on objective observation. And to control human imagination is to shape mankind’s collective destiny, provided the source of this control is not identifiable by the public.

During 1896 and 1897, an airship with beings was seen throughout the United States by multiple witnesses. The airship, though it was believable to the witnesses of 1897, is no longer credible to us. UFOs appear to keep pace with human technology. In fact, one of these beings told a witness, “Soon the invention will be given to the public.” Perhaps the airship, like the fairy tricks, the flying saucers, was a lie, so well engineered that its image in human consciousness could sink very deep indeed and then be forgotten. In his book, Messengers of Deception, Vallée states that UFOs could be physical devices used to affect human consciousness. Their purpose may be to achieve social changes on this planet, through a belief system that uses systematic manipulation of witnesses and contactees. The witnesses of the airship, far from witnessing by chance the manoeuvres of interplanetary visitors, may have been deliberately exposed to a scene designed to be recorded by them and transmitted to us.

Religion and UFOs

The Madonna with Saint Giovannino (15th century) – Domenico Ghirlandaio

In her book, American Cosmic: UFOs, Religion, Technology, Diana Pasulka suggests that UFO experiences are similar to religious experiences reported throughout history. As such, they are modern vehicles for spiritual experiences. She writes:

“Nobody wants to be known as the person who has seen a UFO, so, if they see something anomalous, they usually choose the least unlikely explanation and leave it at that. The same is true of religious experiences. People who have reported experiences that are ultimately deemed religious have at first been confused by what they see or hear. It is not immediately clear to them that they are having a religious experience.”

Diana Pasulka, American Cosmic: UFOs, Religion, Technology

Ontological Shock and the Absurd

In many cases, such experiences can cause ontological shock, a profound disruption in one’s understanding of existence. Nevertheless, since they are impossible to verify objectively, one fears public ridicule, ostracisation, or the loss of one’s job or credibility. It may change one’s life and being inwardly, but outwardly everything goes on as before, one still needs to attend to one’s duties and obligations, which seem to be prosaic.

The contrast between an extraordinary event and ordinary everyday life creates a sense of the absurd, which can be profoundly alienating. It is perhaps best depicted in Kafka’s novella The Metamorphosis, where the protagonist wakes up transformed into a giant insect and is preoccupied with ordinary concerns such as being late for work.

Psychic Aspects of UFOs

Fireball in the sky, detail. Nachdencklich-dreyfaches Wunder-Zeichen, Copper Engraving (1697)

Whether the UFOs have a physical reality or not, they are in any case psychic realities. Even if there is nothing physically tangible about these phenomena, the rumour of the existence of such objects is an incontestable fact. Whether the rumour corresponds to a physical reality or not makes little difference to Jung, as a psychologist. For him the interesting thing is to know why the human mind creates such products, because that throws particular light on the activity of our unconscious.

So, what are the psychic aspects of the UFOs? What as a rule is seen is a body of round shape, disk-like or spherical, glowing or shining fierily in different colours, or more seldom, a cigar-shaped or cylindrical figure of various sizes. The round bodies in particular are figures such as the unconscious produces in dreams, visions, etc. Jung writes:

“In this case they are to be regarded as symbols representing, in visual form, some thought that was not thought consciously, but is merely potentially present in the unconscious in invisible form and attains visibility only through the process of becoming conscious. The visible form, however, expresses the meaning of the unconscious content only approximately. In practice the meaning has to be completed by amplificatory interpretation.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

The figures in visionary rumours can be subjected to the same principle of dream interpretation. Namely, by means of amplification, that is, using mythological, historical, and cultural parallels in order to “amplify” the symbols present in the unconscious. UFOs express the symbol of totality represented by the mandala. In so far as the mandala encompasses, protects, and defends the psychic totality against outside influences and seeks to unite the inner opposites, it is at the same time a distinct individuation symbol. The soul too is supposed to have the form of a sphere, on the analogy of Plato’s world-soul. This symbol leads us to the heavenly spheres, to Plato’s “supra-celestial place” where the “Ideas” of all things are stored up. The alchemists called it a rotundum, which expresses the totality of the individual. Jung defines it as the archetype of the Self, that is, the totality composed of the conscious and the unconscious.

Jung, in fact, had a dream of a UFO which he associates with the problem of the Self. He writes:

“In one dream, which I had in October 1958, I caught sight from my house of two lens-shaped metallically gleaming disks… They were two UFOs… Then another body came flying directly toward me. It was a perfectly circular lens… At a distance of four to five hundred yards it stood still for a moment, and then flew off. Immediately afterward, another came speeding through the air: a lens with a metallic extension which led to a box – a magic lantern. At a distance of sixty or seventy yards it stood still in the air, pointing straight at me. I awoke with a feeling of astonishment. Still half in the dream, the thought passed through my head: “We always think that the UFOs are projections of ours. Now it turns out that we are their projections. I am projected by the magic lantern as C.G. Jung. But who manipulates the apparatus?””

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

Jung compares this dream to another similar one in which he entered a chapel and saw a yogi in lotus posture, in deep meditation. When he looked at him more closely, he realised that he had his face. He became frightened and awoke with the thought: “Aha, so he is the one who is meditating me. He has a dream, and I am it.” He knew that when he awakened, he would no longer be. Jung’s Self retires into meditation and meditates his earthly form: it assumes human shape in order to enter three-dimensional existence, and by greater awareness can take a further step toward realisation. The figure of the yogi represents Jung’s unconscious prenatal wholeness. Like the magic lantern, the yogi’s meditation “projects” his empirical reality.

Since UFOs have become for many people a symbol of the Self, a redemptive or destructive manifestation of the divine, either the salvation or destruction of our planet is expected from them.

Circular symbols have played an important role in every age, which are not only soul symbols but God-images. As the old saying goes, “God is a sphere whose centre is everywhere and the circumference nowhere.” The chief role of the archetype of the Self or God-image is in uniting apparently irreconcilable opposites and is therefore best suited to compensate the split-mindedness of our age. It brings order and regulation to chaotic states.

Undeterred by rationalistic criticism, the unconscious thrusts itself to the forefront in the form of a symbolic rumour, accompanied and reinforced by the appropriate visions, and thus activates an archetype that has always expressed order, deliverance, salvation, and wholeness. It is characteristic of our time that the archetype, in contrast to its previous manifestations, should now take on the form of an object, a technological construction, in order to avoid the odiousness of mythological personification.

From the psychological point of view, the plurality of UFOs would correspond to the projection of a plurality of human individuals, the spherical symbol indicating that the content of the projection is not the actual people themselves, but rather their ideal psychic totality. Jung writes:

“The plurality of UFOs, then, is a projection of a number of psychic images of wholeness which appear in the sky because on the one hand they represent archetypes charged with energy and on the other hand are not recognised as psychic factors. The reason for this is that our present-day consciousness possesses no conceptual categories by means of which it could apprehend the nature of psychic totality… Moreover, it is so trained that it must think of such images not as forms inherent in the psyche, but as existing somewhere in extra-psychic, metaphysical space, or else as historical facts. When, therefore, the archetype receives from the conditions of the time and from the general psychic situation an additional charge of energy, it cannot, for the reasons I have described, be integrated directly into consciousness, but is forced to manifest itself indirectly in the form of spontaneous projections. The projected image then appears as an ostensibly physical fact independent of the individual psyche and its nature. In other words, the rounded wholeness of the mandala becomes a space ship controlled by an intelligent being.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

The message which the UFO brings is a time problem that concerns us all. The signs appear in the heavens so that everyone shall see them. They bid each one of us to remember our soul and our own wholeness.

Unus Mundus: Psyche and Matter

The opposition between the physical world and the spiritual or “higher” world is not absolute; the two are only relatively incommensurable, for the bridge between them is not entirely lacking. That there is something beyond the borderline, beyond the frontiers of knowledge, is shown by what Jung calls the psychoid – a term that refers to the irrepresentable nature of all archetypes, which do not fully belong in the psyche, nor in matter, but rather transcends both and yet provides a bridge to them as the unifying element. This connection is most clear, according to Jung, in the archetype of number, which this side of the border are quantities but on the other side are autonomous psychic entities, capable of making qualitative statements which manifest themselves in a priori patterns of order.

This brings us a little nearer to understanding the mystery of psychophysical parallelism, for we now know that a factor exists which mediates between the apparent incommensurability of body and psyche, giving matter a kind of “psychic” faculty and the psyche a kind of “materiality”, by means of which the one can work on the other. For Jung, both views, the materialistic as well as the spiritualistic, are metaphysical prejudices. It accords better with experience to suppose that living matter has a psychic aspect, and the psyche a physical aspect.

If we give due consideration to the facts of parapsychology, then the hypothesis of the psychic aspect must be extended beyond the sphere of biochemical processes to matter in general. In that case all reality would be grounded on an as yet unknown substrate possessing material and at the same time psychic qualities (the unus mundusor “one world”). The acausal correspondences between mutually independent psychic and physical events, in other words, synchronistic phenomena, and in particular extrasensory perception, would then become more understandable.

Crop Circles and Archetypal Feminine

Another important phenomenon that is typically associated with UFOs are crop circles, which have appeared relatively recent in history.

In his book, Crop Circles, Jung, and the Reemergence of the Archetypal Feminine, Gary S. Bobroff analyses the psychological meaning behind crop circles. We typically categorise phenomena because it offers the illusion of understanding and thus reduces anxiety. In the Middle Ages, crop circles inspired fear and were seen as Witches’ rings or as being reaped by a “Mowing Devil”. In the Enlightenment period they emphasised the possibility of natural causation of the phenomenon by weather or wind. And in the contemporary period, the predominant response is that it is a hoax, and to dismiss it altogether. Generally speaking, our theories that we have about the new and unknown say more about us than they do about the phenomena.

We live in a time where we are disconnected from the body, from nature, and from the unconscious. Instead, we have become too focused on rationalism, literalism and materialism. We do not want to remain content with the mystery, but want to know everything there is about it. By cutting off a part of who we are, the psyche seeks to restore our balance. In other words, we have lost our relationship with the archetypal feminine – which crop circles exemplify as they are formed in the grain.

Grain has been a part of our diet since prehistoric times, and flourished in the agricultural revolution. It corresponds to the archetypal concept of life, death, and rebirth. Cultures around the world that have produced crops have worshipped the divinities whom they believed protected and sustained their crops, providing abundance and nourishment – which Bobroff states has been predominantly directed in goddesses of life and vegetation. He writes:

“As early farmers planted and waited, watching for their seeds to grow, and as they watched and saw their bellies grow fat with children, they felt the source of life inside themselves and knew the association between the land’s fertility and their own. And, as they, in their natural love for their children, nourished and cared for them, so too did they see, in the endless generosity of Nature, an expression of its love for us.”

Gary S. Bobroff: Crop Circles, Jung, and the Reemergence of the Archetypal Feminine

Modern culture no longer gives thanks for what we receive from the earth; no longer do we see something divine our daily bread, and lost to us is the miracle of life, the miracle of our own life. In other words, we live in a world where the consciousness of the Feminine has gone underground, and whatever remains unconscious, behaves in neurotic ways.

The mystery of the female body is the mystery of birth, which is also the mystery of the unmanifest becoming manifest in the whole world of nature, and the mystery of life itself. It is in this way that the archetype of the Feminine exists within us, it is the most potent association to the symbol of grain in our psyche, and the possibility of “dead” matter giving birth to the new.

In Latin, mother is “mater”, which is related to the word “materia” or “matter”. Thus, as a “mother” is the source which gives material shape to her children, so too does matter constitute the building blocks from which all materials in the physical world arise. The mother is the matrix or womb from which things originate. Our separation from the archetypal feminine is expressed compulsively and unconsciously as one-sided materialism, a shadow expression of the feminine.

The circle, on the other hand, is a symbol of the Self. It expresses the totality of the psyche in all its aspects including the relationship between humanity and the whole of nature. Visually, the emergence of the crop circle phenomenon from the initial circular form seen throughout history around the world into the diverse concentric complexity of the mandala mirrors the form of the Self archetype’s evolution in the psyche.

The depth of the mystery that we witness in crop circles, UFOs, etc., does not lie in our ability to construct complex theories about it; its mystery is present simply in its existence. This encounter with the “Other” has occurred since time immemorial.

The Physical Existence of UFOs

Jung was aware that we could not remain satisfied with just the psychological explanation of UFOs – as he says that these have not only been seen visually but have also been picked up on the radar screen and have left traces on the photographic plate (which preceded photographic film). He writes:

“It boils down to nothing less than this: that either psychic projections throw back a radar echo, or else the appearance of real objects affords an opportunity for mythological projections. Here I must remark that even if the UFOs are physically real, the corresponding psychic projections are not actually caused, but are only occasioned, by them. Mythical statements of this kind have always occurred, whether UFOs exist or not. These statements depend in the first place on the peculiar nature of the psychic background, the collective unconscious, and for this reason have always been projected in some form. At various times all sorts of other projections have appeared in the heavens beside the saucers… The alternative hypothesis that UFOs are something psychic that is endowed with physical properties seem even less probable, for where should such a thing come from? If weightlessness is a hard proposition to swallow, then the notion of a materialised psychism opens a bottomless void under our feet.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

For Jung, there is also a third possibility: that UFOs are real material phenomena of an unknown nature, either coming from outer space or have always been on earth.

The Case of Orfeo

Illustration of Orfeo Angelucci’s encounter with NHI – Unknown author

After Jung completed his manuscript, a book fell into his hands which captured his attention, and which he included in the epilogue.

It is The Secret of the Saucers by Orfeo M. Angelucci published in 1955. Orfeo was an Italian mechanic working in the United States. Jung describes his book as a naïve production which for that very reason reveals all the more clearly the unconscious background of the UFO phenomenon and therefore comes like a gift to the psychologist.

After his encounter with NHIs, Orfeo made his living by preaching the gospel revealed to him by them. His career as a prophet began with the sighting of a supposedly authentic UFO on August 4, 1946. At night, he felt unwell and had a “prickling” sensation in the upper half of his body. As he was driving home in his car, he saw a faintly red-glowing, oval-shaped object hovering over the horizon, which nobody else seemed to see. Suddenly it shot upwards with great speed but before it vanished, it released two balls of green fire from which he heard a voice say: “Don’t be afraid, Orfeo, we are friends!” As he got out of the car, he watched the two “pulsating” disks hovering a short distance in front of him.

The voice explained to him that he was in direct communication with “friends from another world.” They asked him to drink from a crystal cup which he described as “the most delicious beverage I had ever tasted.” He felt refreshed and strengthened. Suddenly the area between the twin disks began to glow with a soft green light which gradually formed into a three-dimensional screen. In it there appeared a man and a woman, “being the ultimate of perfection.” They had large shining eyes and seemed strangely familiar to him. It seemed to him that he was in telepathic communication with them. Then the voice said:

“We see the individuals of Earth as each one really is, Orfeo, and not as perceived by the limited senses of man. The people of your planet have been under observation for centuries, but have only recently been re-surveyed. Every point of progress in your society is registered with us. We know you as you do not know yourselves. Every man, woman, and child is recorded in vital statistics by means of our recording crystal disks. Each of you is infinitely more important to us than to your fellow Earthlings because you are not aware of the true mystery of your being… We feel a deep sense of brotherhood toward Earth’s inhabitants because of an ancient kinship of our planet with Earth. In you we can look far back in time and recreate certain aspects of our former world. With deep compassion and understanding we have watched your world going through its ‘growing pains.’ We ask that you look upon us simply as older brothers.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

Orfeo was also informed that as “etheric” entities they needed the UFOs only in order to manifest themselves materially to man. The heavenly visitors were harmless and filled with the best intentions. “Cosmic law” forbade spectacular landings on earth. The earth was at present threatened by greater dangers than was realised.

After these revelations Orfeo felt exalted and strengthened. It was, as he states, “as though momentarily I had transcended mortality, and was somehow related to these superior beings.” When the lights disappeared, it seemed to him that the everyday world had lost its reality and became an abode of shadows.

At another time, Orfeo was feeling unwell and had a dulling of consciousness he had noted on that other occasion. Jung describes this as the awareness of an abaissement du niveau mental (lowering of the mental level), a state which is a very important precondition for the occurrence of spontaneous psychic phenomena. Suddenly, he saw a luminous object which visibly increased in solidity, as if its vibrational frequency were lowered (just as the blades of a propeller are invisible at high speeds, but visible at low speeds). He saw a doorway leading into a brightly lit interior and he stepped inside. The walls were made of some “ethereal mother-of-pearl stuff”. Facing him was a comfortable reclining chair consisting of the same translucent, shimmering substance. He sat down and it was as if the chair moulded itself to the shape of his body of its own accord.

The UFO carried him away and he saw the earth. Orfeo wept with emotion and the voice said: “Weep Orfeo… we weep with you for earth and her children. For all its apparent beauty earth is a purgatorial world among the planets evolving intelligent life. Hate, selfishness, and cruelty rise from many parts of it like a dark mist.” The voice informed him that every being on earth was divinely created. Orfeo had spiritual gifts, and that was why the higher beings could enter into communication with him. The voice entertained him with more explanations concerning the attitude of the higher beings to mankind:

“Man had not kept pace morally and psychologically with his technological development, and therefore the inhabitants of other planets were trying to instil into the earth dwellers a better understanding of their present predicament and to help them particularly in the art of healing. They also wanted to put Orfeo right about Jesus Christ. Jesus, so they said, was called allegorically the son of God. In reality he was the “Lord of the Flame”, “an infinite entity of the Sun”, and not of earthly origin. “As the Sun spirit who sacrificed Himself for the children of woe he has become a part of the oversoul of mankind and the world spirit. In this he differs from all other cosmic teachers.” Everyone on earth has a “spiritual, unknown self which transcends the material world and consciousness and dwells eternally outside of the Time dimension in spiritual perfection within the unity of the oversoul.” The sole purpose of human existence on earth is to attain reunion with the “immortal consciousness” … Orfeo felt like a “crawling worm – unclean, filled with error and sin. He wept… to the accompaniment of the appropriate music. The voice spoke and said: “Beloved friend of Earth, we baptise you now in the true light of the worlds eternal.” A white flash of lightning blazed forth: his life lay clear before his eyes, and the remembrance of all his previous existences came back to him. He understood “the mystery of life.” He thought he was going to die, for he knew that at this moment he was wafted into “eternity, into a timeless sea of bliss.””

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

After this illuminative experience, Orfeo came to himself again. He noticed that he had an inflamed circle with a dot in the middle on his chest. Psychologically, this is the symbol of the Self, of absolute wholeness, or in religious language, God. The centre is frequently symbolised by an eye: the ever-open eye of the fish in alchemy (the fish is also a symbol for Christ and the age of Pisces).

UFOs: The Age of Aquarius

For Jung, the UFO phenomenon is part of the new approaching astrological age, the age of Aquarius, estimated to fall between AD 2000 and 2200. In Western astrology, the completion of a full cycle of the sun through the zodiac, called a Great Year, takes approximately 26,000 years. An astrological age, or “Platonic month”, is one twelfth of a Great Year, corresponding with the one zodiacal sign, therefore lasting approximately 2200 years. Every age has left a secret to be discovered. Jung writes:

“These rumours [UFOs] … seem to me so significant that I feel myself compelled… to sound a note of warning… they are manifestations of psychic changes which always appear at the end of one Platonic month and at the beginning of another. Apparently, they are changes in the constellation of psychic dominants of the archetypes, or “gods” as they used to be called, which bring about, or accompany, long-lasting transformations of the collective psyche. This transformation started in the historical era and left its traces first in the passing of the aeon of Taurus into that of Aries, and then of Aries into Pisces, whose beginning coincides with the rise of Christianity. We are now nearing that great change which may be expected when the spring-point enters Aquarius. It would be frivolous of me to try to conceal from the reader that such reflections are not only exceedingly unpopular but even come perilously close to those turbid fantasies which becloud the minds of world-reformers and other interpreters of “signs and portents.” But I must take this risk, even if it means putting my hard-won reputation for truthfulness, reliability and capacity for scientific judgment in jeopardy. I can assure my readers that I do not do this with a light heart.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

In an interview conducted two years before his death, Jung stated:

“What comes next? Aquarius, the Water-pourer… In our era the fish is the content [Pisces]; with the Water-pourer, he becomes the container. It’s a very strange symbol. I don’t dare to interpret it. So far as one can tell, it is the image of a great man approaching.”

C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters

Pisces has water as an element, Aquarius, on the other hand, despite alluding to water, is classified as an air sign. The atmospheric mystery, the mystery of air, must become increasingly psychologically dominant for a period of more than 2,000 years to come. In his lecture on Jung’s flying saucer book, Manly P. Hall states that the “water of life” of Aquarius is an etheric, electric or magnetic substance moving in the air. It is fluidic in nature, but energising in quality. It represents the transmission of waves and energy in space. On this basis, we are dealing with an air sign with a curiously fluid symbol almost resembling water. We may refer to Genesis where it is written, “And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament.” The waters above the firmament have a relationship to this symbol. Therefore, the phenomenon of the UFOs – which interestingly have been described as being both in air and under water – have become more important for humankind as we are nearing the Aquarian Age.

The circular form of the UFOs is also the circle of the zodiac, the wheel of life which depicts the astrological ages in which humanity eternally moves around – circumambulating the circle through the aeons – which is also the Self. As T.S. Eliot wrote, “And the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” This mysterious cyclic symbol is related to the creation of the wheel, which led to transportation, the ability to move from one place to another, an appropriate symbol of motion and progress.

Conclusion

Emblem 21 (Michael Maier, Atalanta Fugiens, 1617)

On his final thoughts on the subject of UFOs, Jung writes:

“Unfortunately, after more than ten years’ study of the problem I have not managed to collect a sufficient number of observations from which more reliable conclusions could be drawn. I must therefore content myself with having sketched out a few lines for future research.”

Carl Jung, Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Skies

And finally, Jung writes:

“Two or three more centuries will go by before the new era I spoke of [the Age of Aquarius] in connection with the flying saucers. A lot will still have to happen to mankind. Many things will have to change before the new style comes to birth, the new formula for the realisation of humanity.”

C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters

The UFO phenomenon is a crisis in the Platonic month, a crisis in which human beings, moving from one pattern of archetypal symbolism to another, are confronted with an entirely new way of life – and this confusion is solved by the ageless and perennial task of individuation, the integration of the two parts of our nature, the conscious and the unconscious, which aligns us to the Self, establishing our interior totality.

The Psychology of UFOs

Strange sightings have been reported in the sky throughout history. After the Second World War, however, the appearance of UFOs became prominent in culture. Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Carl Jung studied the UFO phenomenon for more than a decade until his death in 1961, and saw them as a living myth for modern man, stating that we have the golden opportunity of seeing how a legend is formed, and how in a difficult and dark time for humanity a miraculous tale grows up of an attempted intervention by superior or “heavenly” beings.

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Artwork used in the video

6th century reliquary box from Sancta Sanctorum of St John Lateran (now in Museo Cristiano, Vatican City)

The Psychology of The Paranormal – Carl Jung

Since early childhood, Carl Jung experienced paranormal phenomena, that is, phenomena that are beyond the scope of scientific understanding. As a child, he continually heard stories of uncanny happenings such as “dreams which foresaw the death of a certain person, clocks which stopped at the moment of death, glasses which shattered at the critical moment.” The reality of these events, he says, was “taken for granted in the world of my childhood.”

Jung’s personal experiences with the paranormal would set him on a quest to find an explanation of these events with his theory of analytical psychology, as well as sparking his interest in parapsychology, the study of psychic or paranormal phenomena, especially regarding extrasensory perception or ESP (precognition, clairvoyance, telepathy, intuition, etc).

Table of contents

The Paranormal in Jung’s Family

Paranormal experiences were virtually commonplace in Jung’s family. His maternal grandfather, Rev. Samuel Preiswerk, who had learned Hebrew because he believed it was spoken in heaven, found himself continually surrounded by ghosts and would devote one day every week to conversing with the spirit of his deceased first wife, keeping a chair for her in his study – much to the dismay of his second wife Augusta Preiswerk (Jung’s maternal grandmother). Augusta was clairvoyant and a spirit-seer. This gift is traced back to an event that she had at the age of 20, where she fell into a coma for 36 hours. She would sometimes see apparitions of persons unknown to her, but whose historical existence was later proved. Augusta is credited with bringing “the Occult strain” into the family.

Jung’s mother, Emilie Preiswerk, also experienced “strange occurrences” with sufficient regularity to write a diary exclusively dedicated to them. Her father, Samuel, insisted that she sit behind him when he was writing his sermons, as spirits were disturbing him. Emilie spent much of the time in her own separate bedroom, enthralled by the spirits that she said visited her at night.

Jung described his mother as having two personalities. At day she was a loving mother, but at night she seemed mysterious and terrified Jung. Unlike Jung’s father, who was more predictable. Both his mother and father were the 13^th children of their families.

Jung writes of a childhood experience:

“From the door to my mother’s room came frightening influences. At night Mother was strange and mysterious. One night I saw coming from her door a faintly luminous, indefinite figure whose head detached itself from the neck and floated along in front of it, in the air, like a little moon. Immediately another head was produced and again detached itself. This process was repeated six or seven times.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

As a young assistant physician at Burghölzli in Zürich, Jung was working on his word association experiments. One day, his mother came to visit him, and looked at the whole room which was plastered with graphs. She looked confused and asked him what it was about. Jung replied that they were they for his experiments. Then she said with her “second” voice, “Well, do you think it could be something?” Jung stated:

“My mother rarely spoke in this tone – but when she did, she would intuitively and unexpectedly say something of great significance… Her question affected me so much that I could not lift a pen for the next three weeks. Her words had unflinchingly exposed my own doubts about the importance of my undertaking, and now I asked myself in all seriousness whether what I was doing really made sense.”

Reflections on the Life and Dreams of C.G. Jung by Aniela Jaffé

Just like his mother and grandmother, Jung had also described himself as having a dual personality, which he called personality No. 1 (aimed at social integration), and personality No.2, which was ancient, deeply knowledgeable, and “close to nature, to the night, to dreams, and to whatever God worked directly in him.”

When Jung was studying at home one morning in 1898, he was surprised by a sudden loud crack. He found that a heavy walnut table that had been in his family for generations had split right across. Two weeks later, he heard another sound. This time he saw that inside the cupboard, the bread knife which had been used just an hour ago had been broken into four pieces for no apparent reason. Jung decided to keep these as a reminder of the powerful forces of the unseen realm. They are still in the possession of the Jung family.

Séances and Occult Phenomena

Emblem 10 (Johann Daniel Mylius, Philosophia Reformata, 1622)

Jung’s own account presents these incidents as connected with séances (an attempt to communicate with spirits) which he claims he started attending a few weeks later, but which in fact he had already been attending for several years. The table had been used in these sessions, in his own home, the medium was his cousin Helene Preiswerk, and his participants, members of his own family. In addition, a number of spirits with which the medium was in communication with, were none other than Jung’s ancestors.

When he was an undergraduate, Jung discussed the occult and the esoteric in a student club (known as the Zofingia lectures), including the existence of the soul, the reality of spirits, psychokinesis, messages from the dead, hypnotism, clairvoyance and precognitive dreams. A scientific explanation of these is doomed to failure so long as it is based on the principle of causality. After all, how can an event in the future be the cause of a dream that is taking place in the present, so that it reflects itself and is anticipated in it? How can a man dying in New York cause a person somewhere in Europe to have a premonition of his death, let alone cause a clock to stop or a glass to shatter?

For the thinking of Western man, it is insuperably difficult to give up the principle of causality – and to accept the reality of acausal connections, as has been done in the East for millennia, with, for example, the ancient Chinese oracle of the I Ching – which Jung was greatly fascinated by. Jung used the I Ching in critical situations of his life and his patients, finding a great deal of meaningful answers and unusual psychological insights from it. He could write all 64 hexagrams from memory and considered them as readable archetypes.

Jung continued to attend séances and conducted a series of experiments with mediums in which he witnessed materialisation, the creation or appearance of matter from unknown sources, as well as dematerialisation. Jung stated, “I have seen enough of this phenomenon to convince me entirely of its existence.” He also witnessed levitation on several occasions. He writes:

“The most striking cases of levitation which I have witnessed have been with Mr. Home. On three separate occasions have I seen him raised completely from the floor of the room. Once sitting in an easy chair, once kneeling on his chair, and once standing up. On each occasion I had full opportunity of watching the occurrence as it was taking place. There are at least a hundred recorded instances of Mr. Home’s rising from the ground, in the presence of as many separate persons… To reject the recorded evidence on this subject is to reject all human testimony whatever.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 18: The Symbolic Life

At one séance, four of the five people present saw an object like a small moon floating above the abdomen of the medium. It was absolutely incomprehensible to them that Jung, the fifth person, could see nothing of the sort, although they repeatedly pointed out to him exactly where it was. From this, Jung inferred the possibility of collective visions on such and other occasions – for instance, the sightings of flying saucers.

Jung’s observations at these séances formed the basis of his doctoral dissertation published in 1902, entitled On the Psychology and Pathology of So-Called Occult Phenomena, which is included in in Volume 1 of the Collected Works, Psychiatric Studies. The desire to present his findings in an objective light is undoubtedly why this as well as his various subsequent accounts all conceal to various degrees the full extent of his personal involvement. Jung always considered himself first and foremost as an empiricist. He was also fully aware that the spiritualistic scene was populated with charlatans.

Jung admits that his period of the séances with his medium cousin contained the origin of all his ideas. He had discovered some objective facts about the human psyche. Jung was intrigued by how she manifested a completely different personality than her own while in the trance. This ability to manifest a variety of seemingly autonomous personalities would contribute to Jung’s formulation of complexes and archetypes. From then on, Jung got his first glimpse of the fact that there was another world (the unconscious) which had a life of its own quite apart from the life of consciousness.

In a letter, Jung writes about the troubles of understanding ghostly communication:

“Unfortunately, there are no cases on record where spirits had the good grace to present themselves as test-persons. Whatever else we can produce as spirit voices are those of mediums, and there the great trouble is to establish whether the communicated contents derive from the ghosts or from unconscious fantasies of the medium or of any other member of the circle. I would not go so far as to deny the possibility that a medium can transmit a ghostly communication, but I don’t know in which way one can prove it, as such a proof is outside of our human possibility… This whole question of so-called “occult phenomena” is nothing one could be naïve about. It is an awful challenge for the human mind.”

C.G. Jung, Letters Vol. 2 (1951-1961)

When Jung became a follower of Freud, he continued to study the paranormal. Freud rejected the subject and was dismissive, for he wanted to make the sexual theory “a dogma, an unshakable bulwark against the black tide of mud of occultism.” Later, however, Freud wrote in a letter to Jung “In matters of occultism, I have grown humble… my hubris has been shattered.” Still, he did not want to expose the full extent of his interest publicly.

On one occasion in 1909, Jung was having an argument about paranormal phenomena with Freud. Earlier in the evening Freud had formally adopted Jung as an eldest son, anointing him as his successor and crown prince. During the talk, Jung had a strange sensation, as if his diaphragm were made of iron and were becoming red-hot, and then suddenly there came a loud noise from the bookcase. Jung said that here was an example of a “catalytic exteriorisation phenomenon,” or psychokinesis. Freud dismissed this as “sheer bosh,” to which Jung replied that there would soon be a sequel, whereupon there was another loud noise from the same direction. Freud only stared aghast at Jung.

In 1961, the year of his death, Jung wrote in a letter:

“I have seen objects moving that were not directly touched, and moreover under absolutely satisfactory scientific conditions. One could describe these movements as levitation, if one assumes that the objects moved by themselves. But this does not seem to be the case, since all the objects that apparently moved by themselves moved as though lifted, shaken, or thrown by a hand. In this series of experiments, I, together with other observers, saw a hand and felt its pressure – apparently the hand that caused all the other phenomena of this kind. The phenomena have nothing to do with the “will,” since they occurred only when the medium was in a trance and precisely not in control of his will. They seem to fall into the category of poltergeist manifestations.”

C.G. Jung, Letters Vol. 2 (1951-1961)

Confrontation with The Unconscious and Synchronicity

Jung’s disagreements with Freud on the paranormal would contribute to their split. During this time, Jung entered the period of his “confrontation with the unconscious”, where he would have visionary or altered states of consciousness and communicate with his inner figures—forming the basis of his personal journals, the Black Books, and subsequently, the Red Book.

One of these figures was Philemon, a pagan with an Egypto-Hellenistic atmosphere and a Gnostic appearance, who represented “superior insight”, and communicated that there are things in the psyche which one does not produce, but which produce themselves and have their own life. One of the earliest experiences Jung mentions of a synchronicity or meaningful coincidence concerns this figure: Philemon had appeared in his dreams with kingfisher’s wings, and Jung, in order to understand the image better, did a painting of it. While engaged on this, he happened to find in his garden, for the first and only time, a dead kingfisher.

It was Einstein, who was Jung’s guest on several occasions at dinner, who started him off thinking about a possible relativity of time as well as space, and them being conditioned by the psyche. For Jung, parapsychology shows that the psyche has an aspect of a relative-temporal and relative-spatial character. This led, decades later, to Jung’s relation with the Nobel prize-winning physicist Wolfgang Pauli and to Jung’s theory of synchronicity.

In investigating quantum mechanics, physics has also been confronted with the problem of acausality and the relativity of spacetime. This is analogous to synchronicity. Jung writes:

“[Synchronicity] ascribes to the moving body a certain psychoid property [psychic and physical in nature] which, like space, time and causality, forms a criterion of its behaviour. We must completely give up the idea of the psyche’s being somehow connected with the brain, and remember instead the “meaningful” or “intelligent” behaviour of the lower organisms, which are without a brain. Here we find ourselves much closer to the formal factor which, as I have said, has nothing to do with brain activity.”

Carl Jung, Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle

As the statement reveals, Jung would have thought little of the focus on neurology and the brain for explaining psycho-physical realities.

ESP appears as a manifestation of the collective unconscious, which is the same everywhere and at all times. It manifests itself therefore not only in human beings, but also at the same time in animals and even in physical events through synchronicity. Psyche exists in matter and matter exists in psyche. In essence, the unconscious pervades the environment all around us and is not an encapsulated realm located exclusively within an individual, as we tend to assume. There is a microcosm-macrocosm relationship. To paraphrase the Emerald Tablet, “As above, so below”. This idea is known by many names: the unus mundus, the One, the pleroma, anima mundi, sympatheia or cosmic sympathy, animism, and so on.

There are people, however, that seem to possess a supernatural faculty and are able to make use of it at will. But, for Jung, this consists in their already being in, or voluntarily putting themselves into, a state corresponding to an archetypal constellation. Similarly, the religious attitude consists in surrendering oneself to God, which psychologically corresponds to a subordination of the ego to the Self or God-image.

Visions and Altered States

Prior to the outbreak of the First World War, Jung had apocalyptic visions of terrible destruction visiting Europe and rivers of blood; although he did not know what to make of them at the time, he realised it had been a premonition when the war broke out. Similarly, towards the end of his life, he had a disturbing vision of the last fifty years of mankind, which was never published and only exists in the notes of his daughter. His colleague Marie Louise von Franz tells us that he had another deathbed vision in which he stated, “I see enormous stretches devastated, enormous stretches of the earth. But, thank God not the whole planet.”

During the Second World War, when Jung was returning from Bollingen by train, he was overpowered by the image of someone drowning. When he walked home, his daughter’s children told him that the youngest of the boys had almost drowned, but his older brother had fished him out. This had taken place at exactly the time Jung had been assailed by that memory in the train.

Jung had another similar experience before a death in his wife’s family. He dreamt that his wife’s bed was a deep pit with stone walls. It was a grave. Then he heard a deep sigh, as if she took her last breath. A figure sat up in the pit and floated upward, wearing a white gown with black symbols. Jung woke up at three o’clock in the morning and checked on his wife. At seven o’clock came the news that a cousin of his wife had died at three o’clock in the morning.

When he visited Ravenna in Italy, Jung experienced a peculiar vision or mystical experience. The first time, in 1913, he found the tomb of Roman empress Galla Placidia significant and fascinating. The second time, twenty years later, Jung had the same feeling. Once more he fell into a strange mood in the tomb and was deeply stirred. He was there with an acquaintance, and they went directly from the tomb into the Baptistery of the Orthodox. Jung writes:

“Here, what struck me first was the mild blue light that filled the room; yet I did not wonder about this at all. I did not try to account for its source, and so the wonder of this light without any visible source did not trouble me. I was somewhat amazed because, in place of the windows I remembered having seen on my first visit, there were now four great mosaic frescoes of incredible beauty which, it seemed, I had entirely forgotten… The fourth mosaic… was the most impressive of all. We looked at this one last. It represented Christ holding out his hand to Peter, who was sinking beneath the waves. We stopped in front of this mosaic for at least twenty minutes and discussed the original ritual of baptism… Such initiations were often connected with the peril of death and so served to express the archetypal idea of death and rebirth… I retained the most distinct memory of the mosaic of Peter sinking, and to this day can see every detail before my eyes… I went to Alinari to buy photographs of the mosaics, but could not find any… When I was back home, I asked an acquaintance who was going to Ravenna to obtain the pictures for me. He could not locate them, for he discovered that the mosaics I had described did not exist… The lady [Toni Wolff] who had been there with me long refused to believe that what she had “seen with her own eyes” had not existed… I was able to ascertain that at least the main features of what we both saw had been the same. This experience in Ravenna is among the most curious events in my life.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

In 1944, Jung achieved a glimpse behind the veil and had a near-death experience. He further reflected on the afterlife after the death of Toni Wolff and Emma Jung. Just before his death, Jung said that Toni had supplied the “fragrance” of his life, while his wife, Emma, had supplied “the foundation”.

Jung felt that Toni’s natural tendency was very down-to-earth, but she became very intellectual and neglected this part of her life. Jung contemplated on the theory of reincarnation. If one believes in the possibility of it, the idea logically follows that those people who are reincarnated did not complete something in their life that they were meant to do. Jung narrates a dream he had of Toni where she had returned to life, and was a farmer in the Umbrian countryside in Italy, working the land. She was tanned from the sun and had a tremendous vitality, which she never had in reality. He felt that Toni was closer to the earth, and she could manifest herself better to him in the sphere of three-dimensional experience.

With his wife Emma, on the other hand, he had a different impression. He had dreams after her death in which she was working on her studies of the Holy Grail. She seemed to be further along the spiritual path, and Jung felt a great detachment or distance from her, as if she was on another level where he couldn’t reach her.

The Seven Sermons of the Dead

In 1916, Jung felt compelled from within to formulate and express what might have been said by Philemon. This gave birth to the Septem Sermones ad Mortuos (Seven Sermons of the Dead), a collection of seven mystical or “Gnostic” texts which Jung published under the pseudonym Basilides, an early Christian Gnostic teacher. It all began with a restlessness, and an ominous atmosphere surrounded him. Then his house began to be haunted, and Jung’s 12-year-old daughter Agathe, who had inherited her grandmother’s psychic abilities, would see ghosts.

Jung writes:

“Around five o’clock in the afternoon on Sunday the front door-bell began ringing frantically. It was a bright summer day… Everyone immediately looked to see who was there, but there was no one in sight. I was sitting near the doorbell, and not only heard it but saw it moving. We all simply stared at one another. The atmosphere was thick, believe me! Then I knew that something had to happen. The whole house was filled as if there were a crowd present, crammed full of spirits. They were packed deep right up to the door, and the air was so thick it was scarcely possible to breathe. As for myself, I was all a-quiver with the question: “For God’s sake, what in the world is this? Then they cried out in chorus, “We have come back from Jerusalem where we found not what we sought.” That is the beginning of the Septem Sermones. Then it began to flow out of me, and in the course of three evenings the thing was written. As soon as I took up the pen, the whole ghostly assemblage evaporated. The room quieted and the atmosphere cleared. The haunting was over.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

Jung stated that the discussion with the dead in the Seven Sermons formed the prelude to what he would subsequently communicate to the world, expressing in germinal form Jung’s most important ideas: the nature of the unconscious, individuation, archetypes, the problem of opposites, and the Self.

Jung’s First Mandala: Systema Munditotius

Carl Jung’s Systema Munditotius (Seven Sermons to the Dead)

After his encounter with the ghosts, Jung sketched in his journal the outlines of his first mandala, the Systema Munditotius, which forms a pictorial cosmology of the vision conveyed in the Sermons. It was published anonymously and shown at the Eranos conferences. The mandala portrays the antimonies of the microcosm within the macrocosm. The figure of Abraxas, the Great Archon in Gnosticism, is depicted here, who represents the dark antithesis in the depths, the builder of the physical universe, a world-creator of an ambivalent nature. Sprouting from him we see the tree of life. The lower world of Abraxas is characterised by five, the number of natural man (the twice-five rays of his star). The accompanying animals of the natural world are a devilish monster and a larva, which signifies death and rebirth.

Jung stated that, “From that time on, the dead have become ever more distinct for me as the voices of the Unanswered, Unresolved and Unredeemed.”

The Voice of the Dead

The Young Duke – Federic Auguste and Goulding Frederick

One element that astonished Jung was the fact that the dead appeared to know no more than they did when they died, while the traditional view is that the dead are the possessors of great knowledge. Apparently, the dead were waiting for the answers of the living.

Jung writes:

“What is vital here is not just a conviction of the survival of bodily death, but a view of the significance of human life, conceived as a process of the development of consciousness that does not stop at the grave—moreover, a process in which the further development of the dead is dependent on the increase of consciousness of the living. Within this conception, through our terrestrial development, we are in fact aiding the postmortem development of the dead.”

Carl Jung, The Boundless Expanse: Jung’s Reflections on Death and Life by Sonu Shamdasani

When Jung went on a bicycle trip through Italy with a friend in 1911, he had a dream in which he was in an assemblage of distinguished spirits of earlier centuries. The conversation was conducted in Latin. A gentleman with a long, curly wig addressed Jung and asked a difficult question, the gist of which he could no longer recall after he woke up. Jung understood him, but did not have a sufficient command of the language to answer him in Latin. Jung felt so profoundly humiliated by this that the emotion awakened him. At the very moment of awakening, he thought of the book he was then working on, Psychology of the Unconscious (later known as Symbols of Transformation). Jung had such intense inferiority feelings about the unanswered question that he abandoned the trip and immediately took the train home in order to get back to work. Jung writes:

“Not until years later did I understand the dream and my reaction. The bewigged gentleman was a kind of ancestral spirit, or spirit of the dead, who had addressed questions to me—in vain! It was still too soon, I had not yet come so far, but I had an obscure feeling that by working on my book I would be answering the question that had been asked. It had been asked by, as it were, my spiritual forefathers, in the hope and expectation that they would learn what they had not been able to find out during their time on earth, since the answer had first to be created in the centuries that followed.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

Jung’s Paranormal and Parapsychological Experiences

In a foreword to Fanny Moser’s book, Ghost: False Belief or True? Jung writes:

“In this vast and shadowy region, where everything seems possible and nothing believable, one must oneself have observed many strange happenings and in addition heard, read; and if possible, tested many stories by examining their witnesses in order to form an even moderately sure judgment… It looks as thought Kant will be proved right for a long time to come when he wrote… “Stories of this kind will have at any time only secret believers, while publicly they are rejected by the prevalent fashion of disbelief.” He himself reserved judgment in the following words: “The same ignorance makes me so bold as to absolutely deny the truth of the various ghost stories, and yet with the common, although queer, reservation that while I doubt any of them, still I have a certain faith in the whole of them taken together.” One could wish that very many of our bigots would take note of this wise position adopted by a great thinker.”

Jung’s Foreword to Fanny Moser’s Ghost: False Belief or True? (C.W. Vol. 18)

In this book, appears Jung’s own contribution. In the summer of 1920, Jung went to England to give some lectures. He stayed at a cottage at a very low price for several weekends. At night, the air would become stuffy and there would be an unpleasant smell in the room. He heard the noise of water dripping, though there was no running water in the room. Every night got worse. Things would now brush along the walls, there were knocking sounds, rustling like the roaring of a storm, and Jung had a feeling that an animal, about the size of a dog, was rushing in the room in a panic. All of these activities would cease with the first streak of sunlight. Jung noticed that the maids never stayed in the house past sunset. When he asked them whether there was something wrong with the house, they told him, “It is haunted, didn’t you know?”

On one particular night, Jung had the feeling that there was something near his bed, and he opened his eyes. There, beside him on the pillow, he saw the head of an old woman, and the right eye, wide open, glared at him. The left half of the face was missing below the eye. The sight of it was so sudden and unexpected that he leapt out of bed, lit the candle, and spent the rest of the night in an armchair. Jung’s friend “Dr. X” was sceptical, so Jung convinced him to spend the weekend in the house. And he had similar experiences and was too afraid to go back, so he slept in the garden. Shortly afterwards, the house was torn down.

In the spring of 1924, Jung was alone in the Bollingen Tower. He awoke to the sound of soft footsteps going around the Tower. Distant music sounded, and he heard voices laughing and talking. When he looked out the window, there was nothing. Apparently, he had only been dreaming. Then he fell asleep again and at once the same dream began. At the same time, he had a visual image of several hundred dark-clad figures who had come down from the mountains and were pouring in around the Tower. Once again Jung jumped out, looked out the window and it was a deathly still moonlit night.

In this sort of dream, as opposed to ordinary dreams, the unconscious seems bent on conveying a powerful impression of reality to the dreamer, an impression which is emphasised by repetition. Never again did Jung experience or dream anything similar. Later, Jung read in a 17^thcentury chronicle about a man who was alone in the mountains and was disturbed one night by a procession of men close to his hut, who played music and sang. The man inquired about this to a local shepherd and he was told that they were Wotan’s army of departed souls, who would sometimes appear to lonesome travellers. Jung is also reminded of another historical parallel, the Reislaüfer, a mercenary army of young Swiss men who usually gathered each spring before marching from central Switzerland to Italy, with singing and jolly bidding farewell to their native land. Jung thought he might have witnessed one of these past gatherings, hinting at synchronicity as a possible explanation.

Jung recalls an incident where he recounted the life of a man at a dinner, without knowing him. He unwittingly gave an exemplary account of an imaginary criminal, which happened to be the exact description of the life of the man sitting opposite him. Jung writes:

“I too have this archaic nature, and in me it is linked with the gift—not always pleasant—of seeing people and things as they are. I can let myself be deceived from here to Tipperary when I don’t want to recognise something, and yet at bottom I know quite well how matters really stand. In this I am like a dog – he can be tricked but he always smells it out in the end. This ‘insight’ is based on instinct, or on a participation mystique with others. It is as if the ‘eyes of the background’ do the seeing in an impersonal act of perception.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

In 1927, Jung’s friend H. died. Half a year before, Jung dreamt that he was travelling with him by car in the direction of Luxor on the East bank of the river Nile. On the opposite side, is the Theban Necropolis, the City of the Dead. A few weeks later after the death of H. – Jung had another dream: they were now in Luxor in a restaurant. H. told him with great emotion, “You know that I’m alive. There’s no need for you to imagine I am dead. I am as alive as you!” He then got threateningly close and Jung was overwhelmed by the smell of rotting cadaver, and he kept himself at a distance with a machete.

After the funeral, Jung saw a vision in which H. was standing at the foot of his bed and wanted Jung to follow him. H. then led him to his study and pointed to several books with red covers on a high bookshelf. A few days later, Jung asked H’s widow if he could look in his study, and he saw a book entitled The Legacy of the Dead.

Jung tells the case of a man whom he pulled out of a depression. But his wife was jealous because of Jung’s influence over him. Jung had an uneasy feeling about her. Nevertheless, the man went back home and married, but his wife did not care for him and placed a tremendous burden which he was incapable of coping with. After a year, he relapsed into a new depression. Jung had told the man to get in touch with him if his condition worsened. But he did not do so, because of his wife’s influence. After delivering a lecture, Jung returned to his hotel around midnight. He woke up at around two o’clock, with the feeling that someone had come into the room. But there was nobody. Then he realised that he had a dull pain, on his forehead and the back of his skull. The following day, he got the news that his patient had shot himself, the bullet had come to rest in the back of the skull. This experience was a genuine synchronistic phenomenon such as is quite often observed in connection with an archetypal situation — in this case, death.

Archetypes can also appear as a real outer object which behaves as if it were motivated or evoked by, or as if it were expressing, a thought corresponding to the archetype. Such as Jung’s famous synchronicity involving a scarab beetle. Jung had a hard time with his patient who was extremely rational and did not believe anything about the unconscious. At the moment his patient was telling him about her golden scarab dream, a real scarab tried to get into the room, as if it had understood that it must play its mythological role as a symbol of rebirth. When he handed it over to her, it finally broke the ice of her intellectual resistance, and helped her get in touch with her inner world. It is as if the unconscious knew about this imbalance and sought to compensate her behaviour with a real-life event through a meaningful coincidence.

The language of religion calls these happenings “God’s will” quite correctly. Jung writes:

“The situation may be indicative of illness or danger to life, for instance. Consciousness feels such a situation to be overwhelming in so far as it knows no way of meeting with it effectively. In this predicament, even people who can boast of no particular religious belief find themselves compelled by fear to utter a fervent prayer: the archetype of a ‘helpful divine being’ is being constellated by their submission and may actually intervene… producing at the last moment a turn in the threatening situation which is felt to be miraculous. Such crises have occurred countless times in human history.”

C.G. Jung, Letters Vol. 2 (1951-1961)

In many situations we must call on instinct because our reason fails. Instinct appears in myths and in dreams as the motif of the helpful animal, the guardian spirit, the good angel, the helper in need, the saint, saviour, etc. God is nearest where the need is greatest.

Thus, synchronistic phenomena occur for the most part in emotional situations; for instance, in cases of death, sickness, accidents, and so on. During psychotherapy, one observes them relatively frequently at moments of heightened emotional tension, such as fear, anger, sorrow, etc. (patterns which appear as archetypal motifs in dreams). The majority of synchronistic phenomena thus occur in archetypal situations and they manifest themselves in the form of telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, and so on.

In 1960, a year prior to his death, Jung writes:

“Paranormal psychic phenomena have interested me all my life. Usually, as I have said, they occur in acute psychological states (emotionality, depression, shock, etc.), or, more frequently, with individuals characterised by a peculiar or pathological personality structure, where the threshold to the collective unconscious is habitually lowered. People with a creative genius also belong to this type.”

C.G. Jung, Letters Vol. 2 (1951-1961)

It is clear that Jung was himself such a creative person with a lower threshold to the collective unconscious.

Rationalism and Superstition

The Attributes-of Science -Jean Baptiste Simeon Chardin

If we look back into the past history of mankind, we find a universal belief in the existence of phantoms or ethereal beings who dwell among us and exercise an invisible yet powerful influence upon us. These beings are generally supposed to be the spirits or the souls of the dead. In the West, however, belief in spirits has been counteracted by the Age of Enlightenment, so that among the majority of educated people it has been supressed along with other metaphysical beliefs. Jung noticed, however, that in this age of materialism—the inevitable consequence of rationalistic enlightenment—there has been a revival of the belief in spirits, but this time on a higher level. It is not a relapse into the darkness of superstition, but an intense scientific interest in the spiritual.

Jung writes:

“Rationalism and superstition are complementary. It is a psychological rule that the brighter the light, the blacker the shadow; in other words, the more rationalistic we are in our conscious minds, the more alive becomes the spectral world of the unconscious. And it is indeed obvious that rationality is in large measure an apotropaic defence against superstition, which is ever-present and unavoidable.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 18: The Symbolic Life

Many supernatural phenomena cannot be explained scientifically, which does not imply that they are false or nonsense. Only a prejudiced and one-sided materialistic mind would think so. They are simply unknown. This is one of the running themes in Jung’s work, the problematic nature of the modern materialistic zeitgeist, which prides itself in having overcome irrationalism whilst being totally unaware of the irrationalism of a blind faith in absolute reason.

The Psychological Foundations of Belief in Spirits

Medicine Man, alias Grandfather – Susan Seddon Boulet

In The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche, Jung writes about the psychological foundations of belief in spirits. He explains how primitive man refers to loss of soul as a sickness, both mental and physical, while the influence of spirits is seen as uncanny or dangerous, and one is greatly relieved when they are banished.

“Thus, for the primitive, the soul is something that seems normally to belong to him, but spirits seem to be something that normally should not be near him. He avoids places haunted by spirits, or visits them only with fear, for religious or magical purposes.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche

It is important to note that Jung has an entirely positive understanding of “primitive man”, who is still in touch with the forces of nature that Western (urban) man has lost, primarily as a result of processes of modernisation.

Primitive man recognises two causes of illness: loss of soul, and possession by a spirit. Jung calls the former soul-complexes which belong to the ego and the loss of them appears pathological. The opposite is true of spirit-complexes: their association with the ego causes illness, and their dissociation from it brings recovery. These correspond exactly to Jung’s conception of the unconscious. The soul is explained in terms of complexes of the personal unconscious, while seemingly autonomous spirits are explained in terms of complexes of the collective unconscious (or archetypes). The reintegration of a complex is often healing, whereas the invasion of an archetype is a dangerous phenomenon.

Jung had studied a wide range of spiritualistic literature popular in his time and had come to the conclusion that spiritualism as a collective phenomenon pursues the same goals of analytical psychology. The psychotherapeutic endeavours of the spirits are aimed at the living either directly, or indirectly through the deceased person, in order to make them more conscious. Thus, the teachings of the spirits are characteristic of the nature of the collective unconscious.

Science is simply a matter of intellect, which is one among several fundamental psychic functions and therefore does not suffice to give a complete picture of the world. For this another function—feeling—is needed too. Feeling often arrives at convictions that are different from those of the intellect, and which are not necessarily inferior. So, we have every reason to grant our intellect only a limited validity. But when we work with the intellect, we must proceed scientifically until one is presented with irrefutable evidence.

On The Reality of Spirits

Epifania Del Candore – Alessandro Sicioldr

During the first half of his career, Jung was not as interested in the question “do ghosts really exist?” but rather, “who is it that sees a ghost?” “Under what psychic conditions does one see it?” “What does a ghost signify when examined for its content as a symbol?” To Jung, what mattered was the reality of the experience, and in this, he took his patients very seriously.

Jung described spirits as “the exteriorised effects of unconscious complexes”, and stated, “I see no proof whatever of the existence of real spirits, and until such proof is forthcoming, I must regard this whole territory as an appendix of psychology.” Many years later, however, Jung’s opinion changed. He writes:

“After collecting psychological experiences from many people and many countries for fifty years, I no longer feel as certain as I did in 1919, when I wrote this sentence. To put it bluntly, I doubt whether an exclusively psychological approach can do justice to the phenomena in question. Not only the findings of parapsychology, but my own theoretical reflections, outlined in “On the Nature of the Psyche”, have led me to certain postulates which touch on the realm of nuclear physics and the conception of the space-time continuum. This opens up the whole question of the transpsychic reality immediately underlying the psyche.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche

Though often used interchangeably, we may draw a subtle difference between ghosts and spirits. Ghosts can be seen as imprints of energy or after-images tied to a space. They seem to have unfinished business on earth, hence their strong ties to a certain place. Often times they are not aware that they are dead, and their death is usually a tragic or violent one. A ghost is a lingering presence of a dead person, and is associated with hauntings. Spirits, on the other hand, can be described as souls of humans and other sentient beings like animals who have died and have moved on to a spiritual realm. They are conscious and active.

In a foreword to Stewart Edward White’s The Unobstructed Universe, Jung writes:

“[O]ur world of consciousness and the “Beyond” together form a single cosmos, with the result that the dead are not in a different place from the living. There is only a difference in their “frequencies”, which might be likened to the revolutions of a propeller: at low speeds the blades are visible, but at high speeds they disappear. In psychological terms this would mean that the conscious and the unconscious psyche are one, but are separated by different amounts of energy… the “Beyond” is this same cosmos but without the limitations imposed on mortal man by space and time. Hence it is called “the unobstructed universe.” Our world is contained in this higher order and owes its existence principally to the fact that the corporeal man has a low “frequency”, thanks to which the limiting factors of space and time become operative. The world without limitations is called “Orthos”, which means the “right” or “true” world… though it must be emphasised that this does not imply a devaluation of our world… this limited life should be lived as fully as possibly, because the attainment of maximum consciousness while in this world is an essential condition for the coming life in “Orthos” … [this is in agreement with Plato] who regarded philosophy as a preparation for death.”

Jung’s Foreword of The Unobstructed Universe by Stewart Edward White (C.W. Vol. 18)

Even though our critical arguments may cast doubt on every single case, there is not a single argument that could prove that spirits do not exist. In this regard, therefore, we must rest content with the mystery. Jung writes:

“Those who are not convinced should beware of naively assuming that the whole question of spirits and ghosts has been settled and that all manifestations of this kind are meaningless swindles. This is not so at all. These phenomena exist in their own right, regardless of the way they are interpreted, and it is beyond all doubt that they are genuine manifestations of the unconscious. The communications of “spirits” are statements about the unconscious psyche, provided that they are really spontaneous and are not cooked up by the conscious mind.”

Jung’s Foreword of The Unobstructed Universe by Stewart Edward White (C.W. Vol. 18)

Conclusion

Having considered the phenomenon of the paranormal from different angles, Jung did not reach a resolution of his analysis of the subject. Towards the end of his life, he wrote:

“I myself cannot brag about any original research in this field, but declare without hesitation that I was able to witness enough of these phenomena to be wholly convinced that they are real. However, I cannot explain them, and hence cannot decide on any of the usual interpretations.”

Aniela Jaffé, From the Life and Work of C.G. Jung

At the end, Jung also admits that paranormal phenomena could be better explained by the hypothesis of spirits than by the qualities and peculiarities of the unconscious. So, they are likely both spiritual and physic in nature.

The statements and incidents scattered throughout his work show that the paranormal was deeply linked to his overall worldview and understanding of the psyche. For Jung, things were complex because he remained open to ideas that challenged the scientific views of his time. For them, the question was resolved; for Jung, it was not, and he laboured continually to navigate around conflicting worldviews—a true alchemical work of uniting the opposites.

Jung’s confrontation with the unconscious was difficult to overcome, but this experience was the most important of his life. Indeed, he felt that it was enough for several lifetimes. As Jung stated when asked if he believed in God: “I don’t need to believe, I know.” He experienced gnosis. It is the inner visions and images that made him truly whole, and give him the foundation to share his gifts to the world.

“Belief is no adequate substitute for inner experience.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 10: Civilization in Transition

The Psychology of The Paranormal – Carl Jung

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David Delivered out of Many Waters – William Blake

How Dreams Can Anticipate Death and Point to the Afterlife

Death is one of the greatest mysteries of human existence, the inevitable fate that unites us all. Whenever man is confronted with something mysterious and unknown such as the origin of the world, death, the afterlife, etc., the unconscious produces symbolic representations. Thus, in all religions a doctrine of the afterlife is handed down as a myth (a perennially recurring pattern that symbolises a fundamental concern of the human condition). Life after death is a mythologem, a universal idea or myth motif that belongs to the structural elements of the psyche, which is essentially real, and on which all religions are ultimately based on. Psychologically, we would say we are dealing with an archetype or primordial image, an inherited pattern of behaviour of humanity.

Table of contents

Introduction

Religion, myths, fairy tales, fantasies and dreams, are indispensable for understanding what the unconscious, that is to say, our instinctive world, says about the fact of the proximity of death. While elaborate mythological material necessarily goes through a layer of cultural material, which may obfuscate the original unconscious material; dreams, on the other hand, are spontaneous, unprejudiced expressions of the unconscious, and as such, a dream may be our most “objective” criterion by which to judge the true nature of death.

In Jungian psychology it is known that dreams cannot be manipulated (except in rare cases of lucid dreamers), as they are in a way the voice of nature in us. Dreams are not invented by human beings, they just “happen”. They are not superfluous and only tell us what we need to know, and are not there to satisfy our intellectual curiosity. Dreams are the purest products of the unconscious. Instead of doing dream theories as each different psychological school does, Carl Jung got the idea of amplification, that is to say, using mythological, historical, and cultural parallels, in order to “amplify” or “turn up the volume” of the dream material, to understand it clearer. So, if there is a bird, one would ask, “what symbolic role does the bird play in the fantasies, religions, myths, etc., throughout all humanity?

Death Is Not The End

Much of the literature on the subject of death deals with the development of the personality in the face of death, describing primarily those processes of consciousness which are externally observable and can be articulated. Events which take place in the depths of the unconscious, however, are seldom talked about. So, what do dreams tell us about death? This question led Jungian analyst Marie-Louise von Franz to write her groundbreaking book On Dreams and Death, where she explores what the unconscious tells us about death and if there is indeed life after death.

After the first publication of this book, she and her colleague initiated a research project (“The Alchemy of Death”) on the question of post-mortal existence, having collected about 2,500 dreams. In all of these dreams, not a single one points to a final end, but rather always to a great change or transformation. From her work with older patients, von Franz came to recognise how the dreams of older people produce these insights, she writes:

“It is in fact true, as Jung has emphasised, that the unconscious psyche pays very little attention to the abrupt end of bodily life and behaves as if the psychic life of the individual, that is, the individuation process, will simple continue… The unconscious “believes” quite obviously in a life after death.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, On Dreams and Death

Dreams show us that death is not an end, but a transition into another kind of existence. Death is indeed the end of our bodily existence, however—most of us are so strongly identified with our body and are therefore inclined to think that when the body is dead, everything is finished.

“The greatest difficulty we have in imagining our own life after death… may well be accounted for by the fact that while still living we identify almost completely with the body.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, On Dreams and Death

In Hinduism the goal is to detach oneself from the Ahamkara (ego or everyday self) and “know that one is the Atman” (true self or essence that transcends one’s physical body). It is the veil of Maya which conceals the true character of spiritual reality, creating the cosmic illusion that our body and the phenomenal world is real. To transcend this, one must understand that the Atman is identical to Brahman or ultimate reality.

Near-Death-Experiences (NDEs)

The Ascent of the Blessed. Detail – Hieronymus Bosch

American psychiatrist Raymond Moody coined the term near-death-experience or NDE in his 1975 book Life after Life, where he identifies a common set of experiences of those who come back from death, including seeing one’s own body lying dead on the bed while one hovers above or besides it, an overwhelming feeling of peace and well-being, freedom from pain, floating or drifting through darkness or a tunnel, encountering beings of light, having a rapid succession of visual images of one’s past, a feeling of finally being “back home”, or being in a realm “more real than reality itself”, among others. Since then, much more scientific research has been done on NDEs, which seem to confirm that consciousness is non-local, that is to say, consciousness somehow continues even after being declared “clinically dead”, suggesting that the brain is not the generator of consciousness but merely acts as a receiver.

In many NDEs, the subject has had distinct feelings of reluctance to return to everyday reality. Patients report hearing a voice say, “You must go back.” There appears to be a further threshold from which apparently there would be no return. Such was the case of Jung who experienced an NDE in 1944 after a heart attack, which ended with his doctor telling him that he had to return to earth. Upon which his vision ceased. He felt profoundly disappointed and reality seemed to have been artificially built up. He thought, “Now I must return to the box system again.”

Our brain seems to tune down the intensity of the psyche until it becomes bound to lower frequencies which confines the individual once again to the realities of spacetime. That is why, when Jung returned after his visions, he felt imprisoned in that “intolerable grey world with its box system which is only a segment of existence.” The body, which had been “irrealised”, as Jung puts it, can once again be felt. It seems that from all this, one could say that all material phenomena, including our body, lie below a definite threshold of energy-intensity. The unconscious, however, is not bound to matter and spacetime and therefore there is no reason that it should be affected by death.

During the day, Jung felt depressed. In the night, however, he had profound visions, of which he writes:

“It is impossible to convey the beauty and intensity of emotion during those visions…We shy away from the word “eternal”, but I can describe the experience only as the ecstasy of a non-temporal state in which present, past, and future are one. Everything that happens in time had been brought together into a concrete whole… The only thing that feeling could grasp would be a sum, an iridescent whole, containing all at once expectation of a beginning, surprise at what is now happening, and satisfaction or disappointment with the result of what has happened. One is interwoven into an indescribable whole and yet observes it with complete objectivity.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

NDEs: Ego and Self

In many accounts of NDEs the survivor’s everyday ego is confronted with a “voice” or with an “inner friend”, who would be interpreted as a personification of what Jung calls the Self (the total personality). In some instances, the ego also seems to merge partially with this image of the Self. Moody cites the case of a man in a deep coma who met with a being of light. A hand, reaching out to him, invited him to come along so that he himself floated aloft and then moved with the light being in the hospital room. The man says, “Now, immediately, when I had joined him and had become a spirit myself, in a way we had been fused into one. We were two separate ones, too, of course. Yet he had full control of everything that was going on as far as I was concerned.” An intimate association between ego and Self is described here but not a complete merging of the two.

In another report the everyday ego is so greatly altered that it closely resembles the Self:

“My new ego was no longer the old familiar ego, but rather a sublimate of it, as it were, even if it did seem to me somehow familiar, like something I had always known but which had been deeply buried under a superstructure of fears, hopes, wishes, and desires. This ego had nothing to do with the ego of this world. It was a spirit, absolute, unchangeable, indivisible, indestructible. Although absolutely unique, as individual as a fingerprint, it was at the same time part of an infinite, well-ordered whole.”

Johann Christoph Hampe, To Die is Gain: The Experience of One’s Own Death

The two aspects, ego and Self, are almost completely united here, but the ego remains part of a large whole; it is not the whole itself. Another of Moody’s patients had a heart attack and described seeing himself as a little sphere on the inside of a round ball. It is just this relation between ego and Self which Jungian psychology attempts to establish in every person during his or her lifetime, through the process of individuation (the journey towards wholeness). For if the ego identifies with the Self, then it suffers an inflation. If it goes too far from the Self, then life seems meaningless.

Death Dreams

A small number of the 2,500 dreams compiled by von Franz, are death dreams, which are not just dreams surrounding the archetype of death, but dreams of people who subsequently died. Therefore, they are of a precognitive nature, as they can anticipate the death of someone. These are the types of dreams the book deals with. In death dreams, the end of physical life is represented in a symbolic way, but almost always accompanied by manifestations that allude to the continuation of the person’s life.

A psychologist should not begin by telling a patient facing death, “You have to believe in an afterlife”, but rather simply emphasise the individual’s dream and what the dream means for him or her. It is up to the patient to believe in it or not. The voice of nature or instinct which is the dream helps one to die in peace and in harmony with oneself, living right into one’s death. This is a great advantage, since one does not continue to fight with oneself, one is no stranger to oneself. That is why, generally speaking, interpreting the dreams of those who are moving towards death gives them great consolation and calms them down.

A sceptic might insist that dreams are merely wish fulfillments, against which the following can be said: it is not at all consistent with general experience that dreams only reflect unconscious wishes. On the contrary, they most often depict a completely objective psychic “natural event”, uninfluenced by the wishes of the ego. In cases where the dreamer has illusions about the approaching death or is not aware of its proximity, dreams arise that show it with total brutality and without compassion. It is as if the unconscious wants to convey an urgent message to rid oneself of all self-deception.

Such is the case of a woman who had cancer and dreamt that her wrist watch was damaged. She brought it to the watchmaker, who told her that it was beyond repair. Two days later, she dreamt that her favourite tree fell down the ground. It was all too clear for her what the dreams meant. It was a terrible shock for her but she had accepted her fate. After this realisation, however, she continued to dream normally and lived for many more years.

Thus, we must make an important distinction. Having dreams about death does not necessarily mean that death is imminent. There are death dreams that indicate one’s death, and dreams about death that occur to people in order to have them face death, and can be interpreted more as a memento mori (meditation on one’s mortality). Whether that person would get a salutary shock and continue to live, or if it actually means that one will die, that one is never quite sure of until the end has come.

Von Franz points out, however, that there is sometimes a kind of uncanny feeling that a certain dream forebodes death, but that is more of a parapsychological feeling, scientifically one couldn’t give any reasons why one dream means actual death and another means only the problem of death. Sometimes, one gets a gruesome shiver when people tell one a dream about death, as if one’s nervous sympathetic system would say “Watch out, this really means death!”

One of von Franz’s old colleagues had a very severe illness and had a dream that said, “You can go on living if you want.” He made a great effort and he recovered. We are free to choose. Other times the dream says, “it is your destiny to die.” There is destiny and freedom at the same time.

Death Dreams in Second Half of Life

One of the functions of dreams is a preparation for some approaching phase or threshold in life. Death is such a threshold, for which the unconscious wants to prepare us. While people of all ages can dream of death, they are more frequent in the second half of life. This is because during midlife, when most people have reached the top of their external life, physically, biologically, and sociologically, the psyche starts a natural preparation process towards death, in order to attain inner maturation. This shows that death is not just something that happens at the end of our life, it’s an opus magnum, a great work, and the effort that we make, the conscious realisation is completely essential. We can thus say that, since midlife, we are starting to live towards this eternalisation.

Death Dreams at a Young Age

In some cases, death dreams can appear at a young age. In Man and His Symbols, Jung writes about a case in which he was approached by a psychiatrist who had received a booklet of a series of twelve dreams as a Christmas present by his ten-year-old daughter, written when she was eight. They were some of the weirdest series of dreams Jung had seen, nine of which centred on the archetypal themes of destruction and restoration. The girl had dreams one would expect in an aging person who is approaching death. Indeed, they were confirmed to be death dreams, as one year later, she died on Christmas of an infectious disease.

Dreams About Someone Else’s Death

Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette – Vincent van Gogh

There are also cases in which someone dreams about the death of some other person, usually one that is close to him or her. A colleague of Jung’s was suffering from a deadly gangrenous fever. A former patient of his, who had no knowledge of the nature of his doctor’s illness, dreamt that the doctor died in a great fire. At that time the doctor had just entered a hospital and the disease was only beginning. Three weeks later, he died.

Just before Jung’s death, his friend Laurens van der Post, who was on a voyage from Africa to Europe, had a dream of Jung waving and calling out, “I’ll be seeing you.” On that very day, nature joined the event and lightning struck Jung’s favourite tree in the garden.

Birth is Death, Death is Birth

Compendium alchymst – Johann Michael Faust

“This spectacle of old age would be unendurable did we not know that our psyche reaches into a region held captive neither by change in time nor by limitation of place. In that form of being our birth is a death and our death a birth. The scales of the whole hang balanced.”

C.G. Jung, Letters Vol. 1 (1906-1950)

It is very important for the unconscious that we accept our mortality, for one has the chance to experience in death the “birth” of one’s soul-substance, the Self, the great work which is the completion of one’s inner wholeness. The realisation of the Self means a restoration of one’s relation to God. In the most vital moment of self-realisation, God unites, as it were, with us. This would mean that through the realisation of the Self, we assist at the same time in God’s incarnation, God’s completeness. Self-knowledge is a reunion of the soul with God. The state of wholeness is inseparable from the experience of God.

Individuation—the process of psychic and spiritual growth—is actually a preparation for death, the most essential transformation of our whole being. It is as if it were the goal and sole purpose of our life, and all that is important to the unconscious. As such, individuation is much more important than death itself. This may explain why people who have the feeling that they have completed their life’s task do not fear death. For they have done their best to attain wholeness. In the final stage of individuation, we finally become our uniqueness or essence, and also, paradoxically, one with all other souls.

The symbols that manifest in death dreams are images that also appear during the individuation process. It is as if this process manifests itself abruptly before death, if it had not been consciously experienced up to that moment.

Metapsychic Dreams

Hamlet and the Ghost – Frederic James Shields

Von Franz noted that it sometimes happened that in dreams actual dead people came to visit the still-living person. This special category of dreams is known as “metapsychic” or otherworldly dreams, which usually have an intense emotional impact on the dreamer and are characterised furthermore by a unique, indescribable feeling—a touch of eternity.

In metapsychic dreams, the dead person is interpreted on the objective level. Therefore, some dreams deal really with the dead, and others with their subjective image that is within the personal unconscious. This distinction is very subtle, and one treads on uncertain ground. In psychotherapy one generally attributes these dreams to a mother complex or a father complex, and rarely take into account the “objective dead”. These objective dreams are more frequent in the first weeks or months after the event of death, though they can appear years later too.

Six weeks after Jung’s father had died, he appeared to him in a dream saying that he made a good recovery and was now coming home. Two days later, the dream was repeated. This was an unforgettable experience that forced Jung to think for the first time about life after death.

Jung had several dreams of his late wife. In one of them, she was continuing to work on the grail legend, which she had left unfinished when she died. Jung also reports that it is told in dreams that the dead were eager to learn from the newcomers from Earth what they brought over to them as if they had no direct information of what was happening on Earth.

Von Franz also experienced metapsychic dreams. Three weeks after the death of her father, she dreamt that her father visited her and she asked him, how he was doing and if he was happy. He replied that he was happy and studying at the music academy. Then he went into the guest-room instead of his former bedroom. For he said, “now I am only a guest.” Von Franz then thought she had forgotten to put out the electric stove and that there was a danger of fire. At that moment she woke up, feeling terribly hot and sweating.

Jung interpreted this dream on the objective level, that is, as a dream concerning her real father. He loved music but never had time to perfect this gift; apparently he was then catching up with something he had neglected in this life—as a form of compensation. In Jung’s dreams, however, the dead person continues to work on what they couldn’t finish.

Jung said that the end motif of feeling terribly hot is caused by being in touch with the “coldness” of the world of ghosts, which produces a strong physical counterreaction as a defense against the chill of death. This “coldness” may be accounted for by the fact that apparitions take energy away from the living in order to make themselves visible. It is reported that witnesses who touched phantoms received a kind of electrical vibration. At any rate, it is emphasised that the world of the living and the world of the dead should not come too close to each other, for they are somehow dangerous for each other.

Metapsychic dreams seem to indicate that what we take with us into the Beyond is whatever substance of the Self we have extracted from the unconscious and integrated in our whole being. It would mean that the more we become conscious of the Self during our lifetime, the less we might have to go through it upon death, and who knows, perhaps even after death. The attainment of maximum consciousness and psychic wholeness while still in this world seems to be an essential condition for the coming life in the Beyond.

Death Dreams: Vegetation

Depiction of Aaru (Egyptian Paradise) – Dayr al-Madīnah

We will now turn to some cases of death dreams and explore their archetypal motifs.

A 52-year-old man had to go to the hospital for an operation of bladder cancer. He was uncertain and worried about the outcome. He dreamt that an ambulance came to take him to the hospital (in reality he was still well enough to be able to go by taxi). The driver got out of the ambulance, and with a cynical grin, opened the backdoor, and there lay a white coffin. The man woke up with a terrible shock. In fact, he did not leave the hospital alive, but died there after several weeks of great suffering.

However, as soon as he accepted the bitter fact that the operation would not help, he began to have dreams about life after death. He dreamt that he was going through a forest in winter. It was cold and misty. He shivered. From a distance he could hear the noise of a chainsaw and from time to time, the thundering crash of a big tree falling to the ground. Suddenly, the scene changed, and it was summertime. The sun shone through the leaves, making a speckled design of light in the green moss on the ground. The dreamer’s father (who, in reality, had died long before) walked toward him and said, “Look, here is forest again. Don’t pay any attention to what happens further down there” (he meant the fall of the trees in the lower forest).

The cutting down of trees probably alludes to the brutal operation that the dreamer was going to have, and which did not save his life. The same dream, however, continues on a “higher level” where there is life once again. In that place the dead continue to live. The dead father advises his son not to worry about what is happening “down there”. The unconscious wants to detach the dreamer psychically from the physical terminal event.

It is not by chance that the unconscious chose the image of a forest when it tried to describe the destruction of the mortal body. Vegetation is a form of life that directly grows out and feeds on organic and inorganic matter. This is an image that the unconscious often uses about death, as if to say, the disappearance of the person in death is not total. There is something that remains “underground”, and from there life returns. Plants disappear during autumn and then grow back from the roots in the spring again.

A man in his forties visited von Franz for a single consultation. He had received a terminal medical diagnosis and could not accept it. The night after he received his diagnosis, he dreamt the following:

“He saw a green, half-high, not-yet-ripe wheatfield. A herd of cattle had broken into the field and trampled down and destroyed everything in it. Then a voice from above called out: Everything seems to be destroyed, but from the roots under the earth the wheat will grow again.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, On Dreams and Death

In this dream von Franz saw a hint that life somehow continues after death, but the dreamer did not want to accept this interpretation. He was an atheist materialist and did not believe in an afterlife. Shortly afterward he died without having become reconciled with his fate. This dream reminds us of John 12:24: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

Death is often represented as an old man with a sickle or scythe, the instrument of the harvest god Saturn, who reaps the corn and man is like the wheat he cuts down. The Egyptian god Osiris, with whom every person became identical to after death, was simply called “wheat”. The grain which is put in the ground is the dead Osiris, and the grain which has germinated is the Osiris who has once again renewed his life. The Egyptian paradise is the Field of Reeds, a fertile land where wheat and barley grow much higher than in our world. Egyptians would put wheat grains and flower bulbs inside the mummy bandages or in a container near the dead body and pour water over them. If they germinated, it was taken as a sign of a completed resurrection.

It is a widely spread archetypal concept that the dead, like vegetation, come back to life. Vegetation represents the psychic mystery of death and resurrection. For this reason, the image of vegetation appears repeatedly in the dreams of terminally ill people. Flowers, too, are a widespread archetypal image for life after death, or for the eternal within us. The mandala structure of the flower points to the Self. Buddha “the enlightened one” not only sits on a lotus, but also in a lotus position.

A patient and friend of von Franz had the following vision during active imagination before she died:

“The mystery of the flower is within me. I am it and it is me. It has entered me and has been transformed into a human being… I am this radiant flower, from which a spring has burst forth… Am I this? From now on, when I go to the flower, I know that I go into myself… I look at the flower. As I meditate on it, I am transformed into a flower, fully rooted, radiantly eternal. Thus I take the shape of eternity. This makes me quite whole… As flower, as centre, no one can harm me. I am protected in this way. For the greater part of the time I will have to return to human form, but again and again it will be possible for me to become the flower. I am happy about this, for until recently I did not know it was possible. I only knew the flower as an object. Now I know that I can also be it.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, On Dreams and Death

Our rich offerings of flowers and wreaths of flowers at a burial not only symbolise our feelings of sympathy but also, unconsciously, a “resurrection magic”, a symbol for the return of the departed to a new life.

Death Dreams: Fire and The Philosophers’ Stone

Another motif that appears in death dreams is fire as the regeneration of the dead. Fire is often seen as a destructive element, but it is also purifying. The fire which either “punishes” (hell) or purges (purgatory) was, for a long time, not precisely differentiated. Origin of Alexandria (who died in 253 AD) was an early advocate of the purgatory idea. Hell, for Origen, is only a temporal place of limited punishment; he rejects the idea of eternal damnation. But purgatory serves as a catharsis. Only for those who cannot be taught is purgatory a punishment.

In the Egyptian underworld, one has to pass through a lake of fire which can destroy or save one. In one of the funerary spells of the so-called Coffin Texts (dating back to 2100 BC), it is written: “I am the shapeless one in midst of the fire, I enter the flames and come out of the flames, the shining flames do not sting me, they do not burn me.” Fire burns away everything which is superfluous and untruthful, so that when one has gone through the fire, only that which is eternal remains.

The Apostle Paul refers to Christ as the eternal foundation upon which each one builds his work:

“Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble—each man’s work will become manifest; for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done… Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s spirit dwells in you?”

1 Corinthians 3:10-13; 6:19

The man mentioned earlier where the dream informed him that life would continue in the upper forest, now became more peacefully prepared for death, but he could not rid himself of a certain bitterness that he must die so relatively young, for there were many more things he still wanted to do in this life. Then he had a dream:

“He saw a wood which was green, not yet autumnal. A fire was raging, which destroyed it completely. It was a terrible sight. Afterwards, he was walking through the burned-up area. Everything was turned into black coal and ashes, but in the midst lay a big round boulder of red stone. It showed no trace of the fire, and the dreamer thought: That one the fire has not touched or even blackened!”

Marie-Louise von Franz, On Dreams and Death

The fire destroys all vegetation, but when it is over something indestructible remains. This is the lapis philosophorum (philosophers’ stone)of the alchemists, a symbol of the Self. Many alchemical texts explicitly state that the stone is able to withstand fire.

From the very beginning of alchemy, the making of the lapis was linked with the idea of death. The prima materia or basic material necessary to create the stone must go through the stage of the nigredo or blackening, which is related to the alchemical operations of mortification and putrefaction seen in the decomposition of bodies, and in nature, where nutrients are recycled back to the earth. After this comes the second stage, the albedo or whitening, which purifies the soul. And finally, the third stage, the rubedo or reddening, where the opposites of sun and moon are united and where the lapis is created, putting an end to the Great Work.

The man had to die by a catastrophe, but his innermost core, the red stone, would remain untouched. Thus, the lapis is a symbol of that form of the dreamer’s existence which will continue to exist after death.

The philosophers’ stone was conceived as the immortal body of the dead, which is associated with the mummification process of the ancient Egyptians, who would bathe the corpse in natron, a naturally occurring salt. The roots of the word natron come from the Egyptian word ntr, meaning “god”. Thus, the corpse was literally bathed in God liquid in order to become deified and eternalised.

Jung’s last dream he was able to communicate before his death also involved an alchemical symbol of wholeness:

“He saw a great round stone in a high place, a barren square, and on it were engraved the words: “And this shall be a sign unto you of Wholeness and Oneness.” Then he saw many vessels to the right in an open square and a quadrangle of trees whose roots reached around the earth and enveloped him and among the roots golden threads were glittering.”

M.L. von Franz, C.G. Jung: His Myth in Our Time

The motif of the stone also appears in the death experience of a man killed in the war. In a state of unconsciousness, from which he awakened only briefly, he saw his mother and father, then wandered with them in the mountains through a blossoming landscape:

“I found a large stone and turned it over; it was weightless. On the back of it there was a large number of the most beautiful mountain crystals. They were arranged together to form something resembling a cathedral. I felt happy about it.”

Johann Christoph Hampe, To Die is Gain: The Experience of One’s Own Death

Death Dreams: The Fruit

Original image from Valentin Weigel’s universal studium. Modified cover as seen in the book Hermes in the Alchemy – W. Hanegraaff, et al.

The image of the fruit is another motif that appears in death dreams. At the end of life there remains a fruit that will be preserved for eternity.

A dying eighty-year-old man dreamt, “A sick old plum tree unexpectedly bears a lot of fruit on one of its branches. At the edge of one bough there are even two golden plums. Full of joy, I show this miracle to my daughter and to my son.”

The Gnostic philosopher Simon Magus taught that the universe consists of fire of which one half creates the visible world, the other remains invisible. He compares this to the tree of life, whose visible part are the leaves, branches, trunk, etc., which will be destroyed by fire in the end. But the fruit of the tree which is an image of God in the human soul, survives after death, and is stored in a “heavenly barn”.

Hinduism and Buddhism teaches that our experiences and actions are transformed into “grain” which represents the “fruit of our deeds” (karma). In the Book of Matthew it is written, “by their fruits you shall know them.” If any man shall eat of the fruit, he shall live without hunger. This is similar to the water that grants one eternal life described by Christ.

Psychologically, the fruit is the result of our efforts towards conscious realisation, which seems capable of continuing to have effects after death. Thus, a man who had suffered a great deal in his professional life dreamt that a voice told him, “Your work and your life, which you have endured consciously, have redeemed hundreds in your generation and will have an illuminating influence upon hundreds of generations to come.”

According to this dream, there exists an invisible compensation. Suffering and pain which are consciously lived seem to have their own rewards—their fruit—but often only in the Beyond, as is indeed emphasised in Christianity. Thus, consciously lived suffering has a redeeming effect on the past and on the future of humanity, an effect which is exerted invisibly from the Beyond or the collective unconscious. This fruit is often described as the gold fruit, the philosophers’ stone, the diamond body, etc., symbolic of a unique quintessence—the goal and completion of existence.

This is a remarkable take on suffering, for there is nothing worse than meaningless suffering. Von Franz was once consulted by a woman who had a schizophrenic episode and was in an awful state, she told von Franz: “What is the meaning of my life? I am ruined. Even the medication isn’t helping me anymore. What meaning can you give to my life.” Von Franz replied: “You are suffering for God.” And she fully understood and she said, “Thank you, now I can live.”

It is the meaning of life that keeps us alive against even very unfavourable conditions. If one continues to suffer and consciously accepts this suffering, and understands that one is doing something for the eternal in oneself, then one has made a conscious realisation that is essential. And then, when one dies, there will be a fruit. Perhaps this is what the Book of Job points to.

When the Second World War broke out, and von Franz was living in a civil defense shelter, she had to think about the possibility of immediate death. However, she wasn’t afraid to die, but rather afraid of not finishing her work. At that moment, she saw very clearly that it is to accomplish one’s task that is important, not so much one’s personal life. The feeling that she would not die before she finished her task remained with her until she reached old age. In her 70s, she finished most of her work and was at peace with dying. She died at the age of 83.

Jungian analyst Edward Edinger reports the following death dream from a patient:

“I have been set a task nearly too difficult for me. A log of hard and heavy wood lies covered in the forest. I must uncover it, saw or hew from it a circular piece, and then carve through the piece a design. The result is to be preserved at all cost, as representing something no longer recurring and in danger of being lost. At the same time, a tape recording is to be made describing in detail what it is, what it represents, its whole meaning. At the end, the thing itself and the tape are to be given to the public library.”

Edward Edinger, Ego and Archetype

This unique quintessence is to be stored in a collective library as a kind of “spirit treasury’, which resembles Simon Magus’ idea of a “heavenly barn” into which the “fruit” is brought.

Death Dreams: Death as a Cure

Illustrations to Robert Blair’s The Grave. Object 9. The Soul Hovering over the Body – WIlliam Blake

A colleague of von Franz, once analysed a 29-year-old woman who was terminally ill. The cancer spread into the brain and she became unconscious. Her analyst continued visiting her and sat silently by her side. One day, she suddenly opened her eyes and was fully conscious and told the analyst that she had dreamt of standing beside the hospital bed and the sun was shining into the room, she was feeling extremely well, as she had never felt for years. The doctor came in and said, “Yes, you are cured, you can put your clothes on and leave the hospital.” Then she looked back at her bed and she saw herself lying with closed eyes, dead. One day later, she died.

Here death is represented as a cure. This dream reminds one of Socrates’ enigmatic last words, “Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius. Pay it and do not neglect it.” Socrates invokes the only god known to revive the dead, thanking him for healing him of the sickness of life by the cure of death. The dream of the young woman conveys a similar point of view, as if it was saying that she would now at last be well and alive again. But it also tells her, unmistakenly, that her body would also be dead.

Death Dreams: Dark Tunnel

The image of a dark tunnel also belongs among those archetypal motifs which anticipate the course of death. In NDEs many describe their experience as one of being in a very happy state, but quite often some of them had first to go through something resembling a dark tunnel before they could arrive at a new state of existence. When obliged to return to life by medical treatment, some of these patients report that they had to come back through the same passage by which they departed.

The dark passage is represented in dreams as a journey to the West, to the place of the setting sun. According to von Franz, the image of the journey in dreams is the most frequent occurring symbol of impending death. We find the motif of the journey most extensively in the Egyptian mythology, where the souls complete their journey with the sun god Ra in his solar barque. The journey to the Beyond follows the path of the sun, beginning with a descent into the underworld, and leads to the East, where the deceased return to life. The directional burial orientation of numerous ancient and still existing cultures also points to this idea, that the resurrection is at the same time something like a new sunrise.

Psychologically, the sun is a symbol of the source of awareness. The longing for light is the longing for consciousness. The meaning of light also lies behind the widespread customs of lighting candles (in antiquity, torches) and letting them burn in mortuary rooms, tombs and graves. This is a form of analogy magic, through which new life and an awakening to new consciousness is granted to the deceased.

Death Dreams: Spirit of Discouragement

Death is described in dreams sometimes not as a tunnel passage but as a heavy dark spot which spreads out and hangs over the dreamer, or as a cloud which completely obliterates all view of the outer world.

In the last dream of the woman who saw the flower in her active imagination, she had a black spot in her eye. This black spot was death, which “darkens” the eyes, and puts an end forever to all sight of the outer world. The spirit of discouragement is related to the fact that the ego still looks too much toward the outside, at the visible world, and does not yet sufficiently see the “reality of the soul.”

A young woman, before dying unexpectedly during a surgical operation, dreamt that she saw a black bird in the depths of the lake, it was dead and she felt great sympathy and wanted to dive in to save it. Her husband told her not to do it, for it is right this way. Then she saw that the eye of the bird was a diamond that shone brightly.

The initial darkness in the Beyond is a state of profound depression and a feeling of complete meaninglessness. This spirit of discouragement appears in many people facing death. It may serve to detach the consciousness of the dying person from the outer world, which is experienced as meaningless, futile, and unreal.

This gloomy image reminds one of some of the experiences reported by Moody, in which his witnesses are said to have spent some time in a kind of “in-between” region or limbo where shadowy spirits of the dead wander about mindlessly. He writes:

“What you would think of as their head was bent downward; they had sad, depressed looks; they seemed to shuffle… They looked washed out, dull, grey. And they seemed to be forever shuffling and moving around, not knowing where they were going, not knowing who to follow, or what to look for… They seemed to be… very bewildered; not knowing who they are or what they are.”

Raymond Moody, Reflections on Life after Life

Death Dreams: The Sinister Other

Another type of dreams that occur when approaching death is being visited by a stranger or burglar, that is, by someone unfamiliar which unexpectedly enters one’s life. A businessman in his mid-fifties had the following first dream during analysis:

“He awakens in the middle of the night in bed, in a dark room halfway under the earth. A bright gleam of light streams in through the window. Suddenly he sees a stranger in the room, someone who fills him with such an inhuman, terrible fear that he awakens, bathed in sweat.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, On Dreams and Death

A year later, he was about to die from cancer of the spinal cord. A similar dream is reported from a man who died soon thereafter:

“I come home and close the apartment door. As I enter, I have the feeling that something is there… I look into my room and see an old man over sixty whom I have observed occasionally on the tram; he looks like death. He has come into the house as a burglar. Horrified, I run out of the house but I cannot lock the door from the outside so I knock at the neighbour’s door and call for help. But there is no one to be seen there and no one opens the door for me. I am all alone. I go back to my apartment where the sinister man is still in my room.”

Joachim E. Meyer, Death and Neurosis

Death also appears as a wolf or dog in dreams. In Egyptian mythology, Anubis is the canine-headed god of the underworld, and among the Aztecs, Xolotl is a dog-headed god of fire, lightning, death, and misfortune, and also a psychopomp. In Greek Mythology, the three-headed hound Cerberus guards the gates of Hades.

The night Jung’s mother died, an event of which he was not yet aware, he dreamt:

“I was in a dense, gloomy forest… It was a heroic, primeval landscape. Suddenly I heard a piercing whistle… My knees shook. Then there were crashings in the underbrush, and a gigantic wolfhound with a fearful, gaping maw burst forth… It tore past me, and I suddenly knew: the Wild Huntsman had commanded it to carry away a human soul… The next morning I received the news of my mother’s passing.”

Carl Jung: Memories, Dreams, Reflections

Von Franz states that the terror-filled uncanny aspect of the “other” appears especially when the dreamer has yet no relation to death or does not expect it. It is actually God who brings death to man and the less familiar one is with this dark side of the divine, the more negative one’s experience of it will be. But the great religions have always known that death and life are a part of the same divine mystery which lies behind our physical existence.

Death Dreams: The Threshold

The threshold is a typical motif in death dreams. An old woman dreamt the following:

“She sees a candle lit on the window sill of the hospital room and finds that the candle suddenly goes out. Fear and anxiety ensue as the darkness envelops her. Suddenly, the candle lights on the other side of the window and she awakens.”

Millie Kelly Fortier, Dreams and Preparation for Death

The dream here contains an element of momentary fear and anxiety when the light is extinguished. Then, the candle dematerialises and materialises again on the other side of the window, as if it had crossed a threshold of solid glass, suggesting that life would indeed continue in the Beyond. The woman did not know why but felt at complete peace, four hours later, she died.

Von Franz compares this threshold to the event horizon in astrophysics, an invisible boundary surrounding a black hole, nothing inside this can be observed from the outside, because nothing inside that surface, even light, can escape beyond it. Thus, everything which happens within the event horizon becomes unobservable. This natural phenomenon can be used as a simile for the threshold between life and death. The dead go over into another form of existence which we cannot perceive any longer, even though they might still be present in reality just as before, they are in the event horizon, and are no longer observable. Although some people get, from to time, amazing glimpses of it.

Death Dreams: Light

The image of light appears more often than any other image in death dreams and NDEs. It has been described as unusually bright and yet does not hurt one’s eyes, or as a beautiful colour unknown to us. When Jung had his profound visions after his NDE, his nurse told him, “It was as if you were surrounded by a bright glow.” That was a phenomenon she had sometimes observed in the dying, she added.

This presence of luminosity is like the indication of a light that exists somewhere else. Light has always been the symbol of conscious realisation. That is why, when we understand something, “it dawns on us”, we are illuminated, and we see clearly. The alchemist Gerhard Dorn describes such light as a window into eternity, a window which opens itself for the adept as a result of his dedication to his opus.

A man who was considered to have been clinically dead for twenty-three minutes experienced the following:

“I was moving very quickly toward a bright shining net which vibrated with a remarkable cold energy at the intersecting points of its radiant strands. The net was like a lattice which I did not want to break through. For a brief moment my forward moment seemed to slow down, but then I was in the lattice. As I came in touch with it, the light flickering increased to such an intensity that it consumed and, at the same time, transformed me. I felt no pain. The feeling was neither agreeable nor disagreeable, but it filled me completely. From then on everything was different—this can be described only very incompletely. The whole thing was like a transformer, an energy-transformer, which transported me into a formlessness beyond time and space. I was not in another place—for spatial dimensions had been abolished—but rather in another state of being.”

Johann Christoph Hampe, To Die is Gain: The Experience of One’s Own Death

Beyond Space and Time

Emblem 19 from Philosophia Reformata – Johann Daniel Mylius

At a certain threshold in the increase of frequency, the psychic functions which produce our perception of time and space seem to cease functioning. Jung never got tired of stressing the fact that a certain part of the psyche is not bound to the space-time category. On this subject he writes:

“[I]n the deeper layers of the psyche which we call the unconscious there are things that cast doubt on the indispensable categories of our conscious world, namely time and space. The existence of telepathy in time and space is still denied only by positive ignoramuses. It is clear that timeless and spaceless perceptions are possible only because the perceiving psyche is similarly constituted. Timelessness and spacelessness must therefore be somehow inherent in its nature, and this in itself permits us to doubt the exclusive temporality of the soul… It is sufficiently clear that timelessness and spacelessness can never be grasped through the medium of our intelligence, so we must rest content with the borderline concept. Nevertheless we know that a door exists to a quite different order of things from the one we encounter in our empirical world of consciousness.”

C.G. Jung, Letters Vol. 1 (1906-1950)

The Final Decision

In his book, The Mystery of Death: Awakening to Eternal Life, the Christian theologian Ladislaus Boros presents a final decision hypothesis, according to which, each human being, at the moment of death, has to pronounce one’s final decision: to be in favour or against God. What is decided here subsists before eternity, since now the act becomes being, the decision becomes state, and time becomes eternity. Thus, one either rejects God’s divine love (hell) or accepts it (heaven). In other words, death is a kind of judgment day, but it is we who pass judgment on ourselves.

On the contrary, according to alchemical symbolism, opposites are reconciled at the last moment and remain united.

Conclusion

Image from Utriusque cosmi maioris scilicet et minoris metaphysica – Robert Fludd

All of the dreams of people who are facing death indicate that the unconscious prepares consciousness not for a definite end but for a profound transformation and for a kind of continuation of the life process which, however, is unimaginable to everyday consciousness.

Von Franz’s work answers only a few questions; it raises anew many old ones and suggests many new ones. Does survival after death continue for only a limited period of time or longer? What is meant by a timeless existence? How do the dead relate to each other? Are there any traces of the reincarnation hypothesis? Etc, etc.

With the death dreams she has been able to collect, von Franz concludes that they point to something of our individuality remaining after death. Thus, our sense of individual identity that we have acquired during our lives seems to continue after death. Though we don’t know if it’s going to continue for long. But that is one of the essential questions. What we know for sure is that the physical body is destroyed. And we also know that it seems likely that the “everyday me or ego” that is concerned with relatively trivial matters and the occupation with external facts disappears in death. But there is an “essential or purified me” that seems to be preserved, something eternal, and that is identical to the Self.

Conscious realisation is the great mystery of human life, and the meaning of life. We are here on this earth to become aware, to attain a higher level of consciousness through the experience of suffering and duality. And what seems to be preserved, is all our great conscious realisations that have illuminated us, and will continue to live on after our disappearance, for the common good of the human species.

It seems that there is an indivisibility of the psychophysical universe, and, in this sense, every small step that we make towards awareness has a completely universal effect. If someone solves his or her problem completely inwardly and invisibly, there is a change in the universe. And that is our task.

How Dreams Can Anticipate Death and Point to the Afterlife

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The Psychology of The Villain

The villain is the most captivating and intriguing of all archetypes. Much is known about the self-sacrificing nature of the hero archetype, and his courage to accept the call to adventure in order to overcome his worst fears. The hero—as a depiction of perseverance and righteousness, always acquires the spotlight in a story. However, he would not exist without his necessary counterpart, the villain, who remains in the dark and appropriately represents the hero’s shadow (the unknown, repressed or hidden qualities). The villain reflects aspects of ourselves that we do not dare to acknowledge or confront, but which are present within all of us.

Table of contents

Introduction

Beyond the Realm – Æthelwulf_Art (ArtStation)

There are people with heroic capacities that tragically lose in the battle with their inner demons, this is the fallen hero or corrupted hero, who may become a villain. The reluctant hero, on the other hand, is one who possesses heroic capacity but is doubtful of himself or herself, and a tragic hero is one who is attempting to do something good yet fails through human error or sheer bad luck.

Aristotle conceived tragedy as poetic mimesis, an imitation of things as they could be, not as they are. The aim of a tragic play, is to bring about catharsis or purification in the audience, through the vicarious experience of intense emotions in fictional characters. By creating the feelings of loss and dread in the audience, the tragic play can then purge these emotions from the audience—serving a therapeutic purpose. The same effect can happen with the portrayal of villains, who, as representations of the darkness that exists within the human psyche, can help us to confront our own fears.

The Meaning of Villain

Peasant Wedding (detail) – Pieter Bruegel the Elder

The word “villain” derives from the Medieval Latin word “villanus” (farmhand or peasant), which was associated with someone of low birth or social status, often related with rural life. The word evolved through Old French (vilain) and retained the original meaning but also began to acquire negative connotations related to moral character. Eventually, villain came to signify the antagonist of the main character in a story and represents the obstacles and conflicts that the hero must overcome to attain his goals. It is said that a story is only as good as its villain, because a strong enemy forces a hero to rise to the challenge. Thus, the absence of the villain, makes a story seem dull and lifeless. Villains are always worthy and formidable opponents often times as powerful if not more powerful than the hero.

The Oldest Form of The Villain

Mesopotamian god Ninurta and the divine monster Anzû (Austen Henry Layard Monuments of Nineveh, 2nd Series, 1853)

Villains come in all shapes and sizes. The oldest predecessor of the villain may be described as a purely instinctual, dark and chaotic force of evil that produces mayhem and destruction without any regard for morality. This hostile force challenges the order of society. Frequently, we see this instinctual force portrayed in stories as monsters, dragons, beasts, and even certain animals. These lack what Sigmund Freud calls the super-ego, the conventional rules and morality humans must follow, which controls our sense of right and wrong, helping us fit into society.

The Villain Archetype in Literature

Ancient Assyrian statue currently in the Louvre, possibly representing Gilgamesh

The Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the earliest known works of literature, based on older Sumerian tales, is thought to date from 2100-2000 BC. In the story, the legendary hero Gilgamesh is depicted as a proud and tyrannical ruler. The gods send the wild man Enkidu, to counterbalance Gilgamesh and humble him, and then they eventually become friends. Gilgamesh and his companion confront Humbaba, a monstrous and fearsome guardian of the Cedar Forest, a sacred and remote place where the gods reside. After they clash and defeat him, the gods are angered. Afterwards, they slay the Bull of Heaven, who has been sent to attack them by Ishtar, the goddess of love, war, and fertility. The slaying of the bull results in the gods condemning Enkidu to death, representing the mighty hero who dies early. This creates an inconsolable grief in Gilgamesh and becomes the catalyst for his own fear of death, which starts his search for immortality.

In Homer’s ancient Greek epic poem, The Odyssey, written in the 8^th century BC, Odysseus and his men enter the cave of the cyclops Polyphemus, and helped themselves to the cyclops’ food while he is away. Instead of leaving however, Odysseus decides to stay and wait for the cyclops, as he might give them gifts as a sign of goodwill—for such is the right of strangers. When the cyclops returns, he is angered, and eats some of his men. Odysseus devises an escape plan, in which he blinds the cyclops and identifies himself as “Nobody”, when Polyphemus cries out for help, he says that “Nobody” is harming him, allowing Odysseus and his men to escape. However, as he is about to leave with his men, Odysseus taunts the cyclops and boastfully reveals his real name, an act of hubris that would lead him to be cursed by Poseidon.

In these ancient tales, emphasis is placed on the hero and his journey, rather than his characteristics, or those of the individuals that the hero comes across. While there might not be any clear villain figure, the hero is portrayed as a complex character with both positive and negative traits.

In other stories, villains are antagonists. For instance, in the Old English epic poem, Beowulf, composed between 700 and 1000 AD, the troll-like monster Grendel has been attacking and devouring the inhabitants of the mead hall of Heorot every night for twelve years, as he cannot bear their sounds of joy and celebration and is seized with hateful jealousy. Beowulf arrives and slays the monster with his bare hands. Grendel is described as a descendant of Cain, the firstborn of Adam and Eve, and the first murderer according to the Old Testament, who, in a fit of anger and jealousy, killed his brother Abel. In punishment, Cain was condemned to a life of wandering.

In Othello written in the beginning of the 15^th century, Shakespeare delves deep into the workings of the villain in the character Iago. He is Othello’s right-hand man, who plots his downfall by using his intimate knowledge of his friend’s fear to engineer his demise. He is a master manipulator and deceiver, who plants seeds of doubt and jealousy, leading to the tragic death of several characters.

Perhaps the greatest villain archetype of all is Lucifer, the brightest and most loved of the angels, who rebelled against God and was thrown out of Heaven, becoming the Devil, the personification of absolute evil. He appears as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, who tempts the first humans to commit an act of pride, leading to the first act of disobedience and the fall from Paradise.

In Paradise Lost, published in 1667, John Milton depicts Satan as an ambivalent character whose rebellion against God is driven by a desire for independence and a refusal to submit to what he perceives as tyranny. He famously declares, “Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.”

In Goethe’s Faust published in the early 19^th century, the villain is Mephistopheles, a demon who appears to Faust in his most desperate moment. He offers Faust a blood pact by which he will show him the pleasures of life in exchange for his soul. Faust, doubtful of this promise, accepts the contract, symbolising the seductive nature of evil. Faust, however, focused on virtue and improving the lives of the people around him. While he does experience a moment of bliss, his soul is ultimately saved by his actions. Interestingly, the villain’s persistence to tempt Faust, and Faust’s unwillingness to give in, leads to his salvation.

Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein portrays the mad scientist Victor Frankenstein creating a sentient creature through reanimating dead tissue, only to be horrified by the consequences of his actions and abandoning the creature. The creature compares himself with Lucifer, the fallen angel as depicted in Paradise Lost. He does not understand why he was disowned and alienated from society, and why people are afraid of him and despise him. When he sees his reflection in a pool, he realises his appearance is hideous, and it horrified him as much as it horrified humans. The creature grew fond of a poor family and secretly performed tasks to help them. Eventually, he approached the family in hopes of befriending them, but he was attacked and had to flee. He becomes enraged by the way he is being treated and loses all hope of ever being accepted by humans, which starts his killing spree. This is the tragic villain.

Bram Stoker’s Gothic horror novel Dracula published in 1897portrays a classic literary villain. Dracula is a vampire with supernatural powers who preys on innocent people, transforming others into vampires through a bite and the exchange of blood. Professor Van Helsing and his group travel to Transylvania in search of Dracula, who is ultimately defeated.

In Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, published in the mid-20^th century,Frodo Baggins, the hero, faces a moral dilemma related to the character Gollum, who is portrayed as a villain throughout much of the story. Once known as Sméagol, he became corrupted by the powers of the One Ring an embodiment of the Dark Lord Sauron’s power and will, experiencing its destructive power and its ability to corrupt the hearts of those who possess it. His entire existence now revolves around his precious ring, which is symbolic of all our potential for corruption, greed, power, selfishness, etc.

Frodo, on his quest to destroy the Ring and save Middle-earth, is accompanied by Gollum. As they reach the precipice of Mount Doom, where the Ring must be destroyed, Frodo hesitates to destroy it. He recognises the parallels between Gollum’s journey and his own. Both are burdened by the Ring and its corrupting influence. His decision not to kill Gollum reflects his desire to avoid becoming like him and succumbing to the same darkness. Frodo then claims the Ring for himself. Gollum, however, swiftly bites his finger off and steals the ring but, in the act, loses his balance and falls into the fiery chasm of Mount Doom. His unintentional role in the Ring’s destruction contributes to the overall defeat of the dark power. The tragic villain becomes the hero. This is perhaps the best example of a eucatastrophe (good catastrophe), a word coined by Tolkien to describe a sudden turn of events in which the protagonist is saved from what seems like an inevitable doom, creating a far more powerful and poignant effect of joy.

The Superhero

With the popular rise of the superhero comic book genre in the mid-20^th century, fantastical figures of mythology found their way into American culture. However, unlike the epic heroes of the past, who despite being role models for generations occupied a grey area in terms of morality, American superheroes became absolute pillars of justice, righteousness and goodness, while supervillains became not superhuman but by absence of sympathy, conscience, loyalty and good will, inhuman. Perhaps this is the consequence of a world devastated by war, poverty, and injustice. Superheroes came to represent the triumph of good over evil. Hope, optimism and fearlessness became the guiding lights of humankind. During this time, the hero’s adventures became less important, and emphasis was put on the character’s personality.

“In a secular, scientific rational culture lacking in any convincing spiritual leadership, superhero stories speak loudly and boldly to our greatest fears, deepest longings, and highest aspirations. They’re not afraid to be hopeful, not embarrassed to be optimistic, and utterly fearless in the dark. They exist to solve problems of all kinds and can always be counted on to find a way to save the day. At their best, they help us to confront and resolve even the deepest existential crisis.”

Grant Morrison, Supergods

Sympathy for the Villain

Theatre Masks Comedy and Tragedy – Martha Bennett

With the passing of time, villains slowly acquired a more complex and multi-layered personality. Just as the hero could help resolve our existential crises, the same might be said for the villain. Not all villains are sinners and all heroes saints. Many characters go beyond this narrow classification. In recent times, villains can even become sympathetic, and possess redeeming qualities, making some of them oddly likeable despite their malicious intent and immoral actions, thus challenging our traditional notions of good and evil. This type of villain has never existed to the degree it exists in the 21^st century, symbolising a major change in the collective unconscious—which speaks to a psychological experience that is common to us all. This figure is called the antihero.

The Antihero

Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment. Illustration by D. Shmarinov

The antihero is more of a morally ambiguous character than the villain, with the difference that he may actually be the protagonist of a story. The antihero behaves much like a conventional hero, but is usually a misfit, nonconformist, lacks courage, has a touch of cynicism or a wounded quality. He can be an outcast or villain from the point of view of society, but whom the audience or reader may sympathise with. We have all felt like outsiders at one time or another. The antihero desperately wants to belong, and tends to be motivated by a desire to be accepted, to be loved, to be part of a group. He also usually has some redeeming qualities that makes him relatable.

The Russian writer Fyodor Dostoevsky is a master at portraying anti-heroes. In Crime and Punishment, published in 1866, the anti-hero Raskolnikov is a sickly and poor former student unable to pay for his studies and take care of his family. He goes through mental anguish and moral dilemmas. Since he believes that God is dead, he must become God himself, which aligns with his idea of being an extraordinary man who can trespass the moral boundaries without a guilty conscience. He decides to kill a wicked and wealthy old woman who takes advantage of others, as he does so, however, her half-sister walks in, and Raskolnikov, shocked, kills her as well. The rest of the novel enters into the psychology of what a murder entails. The anti-hero enters periods of delirium and has a series of disturbing dreams. Along with the murder, he has also killed a part of himself.

The Modern Villain

The World’s Wound (1953) – Peter Birkhäuser

The modern villain typically has some sort of physical or psychological trait that sets him apart: a unique appearance, a menacing laugh, a sinister smile, a tragic backstory, etc. Villains typically have scars, which are not just physical wounds, but also an ever-present reminder of their difficult upbringing, and psychological pain and trauma they had to go through and must learn to live with, an inner division in one’s soul. It’s hard to feel anything, when one has only known pain. This may lead them to believe that only by exerting control over others can they find a sense of security and redemption.

Villain characters can cause one to experience an emotional rollercoaster ride, one may despise them and later come to sympathise with them as the story progresses. We have all, at one time or another, grown happy, sad, fearful, or even angry at a character based on his or her choices and actions. Such emotions can become powerful and convincing enough to make us feel as though we, ourselves, were the ones partaking in the story.

The Joker and Hyper-Sanity

Image from Batman The Killing Joke Comic by Alan Moore

One of the most well-known villains in popular culture is the Joker, who embodies humour and chaotic fun, albeit in a maniacal fashion. Recent interest in this figure, however, has changed the spotlight from the typical hero’s journey. In Alan Moore’s Batman: The Killing Joke, the Joker – before becoming the Joker – is a stand-up comedian struggling to provide for his pregnant wife. He blames himself for his inability to financially support his family, and participates in a robbery as the Red Hood. When faced with difficulty in life, one is forced to make a certain choice, that might go against social norms and morality. When Batman arrives, the terrified comedian falls into a tank of chemical waste, disfiguring him. This, along with his pregnant wife’s accidental death, results in the birth of the mentally unstable Joker.

Many times, people choose comedy as a defence mechanism to remove suppressed feelings of rage and aggression—this is the sad clown paradox. Victims of mistreatment may use comedic expression to cope with trauma and mental problems. The Joker tells Batman:

“I’ve demonstrated there’s no difference between me and everyone else! All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That’s how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day… you had a bad day once, am I right? I know I am. I can tell you had a bad day, and everything changed! Why else would you dress up like a flying rat? … You have to keep pretending that life makes sense, that there’s some point to all this struggling.”

Alan Moore, The Joker in Batman: The Killing Joke

The Joker wants to transform the world in his image, he seeks to make the world comprehensible by transforming it into a twisted parody of himself. Perhaps he doesn’t realise, however, that he is the twisted parody of the world, and unconsciously projects his own experiences onto everybody else, especially Batman—to whom he points out that he too exhibits “crazy” behaviour that must have been brought about by one bad day, and that Batman too, surely has lost somebody important—both of the remarks happen to be true. Batman, witnessing the murder of his parents, swore to rid Gotham City of crime.

Batman offers a way out of the life of crime Joker has been living and tells him that it may be the last chance, or their antagonism would lead to the death of both of them. The Joker refuses, and offers an analogy in the form of a joke to explain why he cannot stop himself from doing what he does. He tells of two lunatics in an asylum who break out and try to jump across the rooftops to escape. The first inmate makes the jump, while the second one is too afraid to cross. So then, the first guy has an idea, he says that he’ll shine his flashlight across the gap between the buildings, and that he can walk along the beam of light to join him. The second guy just shakes his head, and says, “What do you think I am? Crazy? You’d turn it off when I was half way across.”

In this beautifully bittersweet moment, the Joker and Batman finally connect when they both realise their relative insanities and share a laugh at the tragic inevitability of their downward spiral together. Here lies the Joker’s key trait: hyper-sanity. Rather than being insane, as commonly thought, the Joker has a heightened awareness of reality—which is nevertheless still regarded as a mental defect. The Joker exists to solve what he deems a wide-spread social problem – the lack of awareness of the grand joke of life, and he thereby turns reality upside down and challenges the conventional notions of good and evil.

“You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain.”

Harvey Dent/Two-Face, The Dark Knight (2008)

Villains and The Dark Side

Villains are often associated with the dark: the Dark Lord Sauron in the Lord of the Rings, the Dark Lord Voldemort in the Harry Potter series, and Darth Vader in Star Wars who masters the Dark Side of the Force. These villains all hold something in common: destruction, domination, and the search for power. There is something fascinating and alluring about the dark side which takes complete control of one’s mind.

We may see Sauron as a representation of evil incarnate. Sauron is the archetype of a dark and malevolent force. Tolkien, while denying that pure evil could exist, stated that Sauron came as near to it as possible. While Sauron is not a constant physical presence, his force and influence is always felt. This is symbolised by the Eye, which is not a physical but a metaphysical representation of Sauron.

Voldemort is marked by a lack of empathy and a lust for power since childhood. He was born out of a manufactured love induced by a love potion, and ended up in an orphanage—which could explain his inability to feel love.

Darth Vader, on the other hand, is a more complex villain. Originally known as the Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, his fall from grace is fueled by an attachment and fear of losing his loved ones, by the manipulation of Emperor Palpatine, the Dark Lord of the Sith, by a desire for power, by anger and frustration, and by losing in a duel with his former mentor and friend Obi-wan Kenobi which severely injures him. With these combined factors, he succumbs to the Dark Side of The Force. Darth Vader is a tragic villain, as is later seen when he decides to save his son by defeating his master, leaving him with mortal wounds.

The Villain’s Journey

The Hero’s Journey – QuarkBlast (DeviantArt)

Just as we have the hero’s journey which was popularised by American writer Joseph Campbell, so do we have the villain’s journey. Both heroes and villains experience a significant trigger event, encounter obstacles, receive help from sidekicks, and experience success and setbacks during their quests. The villain’s journey usually begins with an estrangement from one’s community, which creates an emotional wound. Throughout a series of trials, the villain chooses self over community, betrayal and cruelty instead of friendship and heroism. From his point of view, the villain is the hero of his own myth or story.

A villain may speed up the hero’s acceptance of the call to adventure by threatening or harming someone close to the hero, sweeping aside all hesitation to leave the comfort of the Ordinary World and enter into the Special World, which is surrounded with traps, obstacles and checkpoints. How the hero deals with them is part of the testing. Thus, the villain is not only the danger that exists outside the hero, but also the danger that exists within the hero, in the unconscious. When fighting the villain, the hero is, in turn, overcoming his or her darkest fear. The villain gives the hero a reason to enter into a journey with the goal of attaining a psychological death and rebirth, gaining new insights about oneself, other people and the world.

The Villain and The Hero

The Prophet Balaam and the Angel – John Linnell

Heroes and villains represent our virtues and vices respectively. While Superman uses his superhuman abilities to serve others, Lex Luthor uses his genius and wealth to arrogantly serve his own ego. While Sherlock Holmes uses his extraordinary deductive reasoning to solve complex criminal cases, Moriarty uses his genius to orchestrate and organise criminal activities, and while Luke Skywalker uses the Force to protect the galaxy, Darth Vader uses the Force to dominate the galaxy.

Though hero and villain are external characters, representations of good versus evil, in a deeper sense, they are archetypes, deposits of the constantly repeated experiences of humanity. That is to say, inherited patterns of behaviour of the collective unconscious.

Psychologically, the villain is not a force to be defeated, but rather an integral part of the hero’s existence, one cannot live without the other. Despite their disdain for each other, they unconsciously understand that their antagonism gives them purpose. The concept of Otherness, of the quality of being different, is important to be integrated. The self and the Other are to be simultaneously accepted, which unveils the monster as none other than oneself.

When the hero bases his entire identity and reason of being as hunting down the villain, once this objective is achieved through the death of the villain, the hero may experience a loss of purpose and a crisis of identity, resulting in disquieting feelings of fragmentation and worthlessness. Thus, when the hero has a chance to defeat the villain, he hesitates—contradicting his desire to kill the villain until this point. The hero’s greatest desire is not to defeat the villain, but for the villain to be redeemed—leading to the integration of the villain archetype.

We all have the potential to become either heroes or villains. The very same experiences that create a hero can also create a villain. In fact, heroes and villains endure the same journey and the same trials. So, what is the main difference between them? The hero is selfless and the villain is selfish. This is brilliantly portrayed in the third episode of the Star Wars films, where Anakin has a conversation with Palpatine:

“Palpatine: The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power.

Anakin: The Sith rely on their passion for their strength. They think inwards, only about themselves.

Palpatine: And the Jedi don’t?

Anakin: The Jedi are selfless. They only care about others.”

Dialogue from Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith

When faced with temptation, a hero will reject it, while a villain will succumb to it. This voice of temptation is as old as humanity itself, represented by the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

The villain is hurt by the world and hurts it back—perpetuating the cycle. “Since the world is messed up”, he says, “it might as well burn.” Just as a cracked mirror will make things appear distorted and fragmented, so those who are broken inside see the world as broken. It is important to heal this wound within.

The hero, on the other hand, is hurt by the world but never wishes pain upon others, he or she transforms suffering into healing, becoming a wounded healer.

In the Harry Potter fantasy novels, both Harry and Voldemort were lonely orphans who did not receive much affection or comfort—thus, they longed to be discovered and recognised for their true value—both developed their own distinct ways of dealing with this, and became polar opposites. In a game of chess, someone has to take the black pieces. Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.

“We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.”

Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture

It is also often true that the world is ripe with unfairness, and many times it is not nature but nurture that makes a person become evil. In this case, villains are not born, they are made. They are products of a decayed and corrupt society. That is why we sometimes secretly admire or relate to these characters, because they are archetypal rebels thumbing their noses at an unjust society, breaking social norms and challenging authority. Some of these are disillusioned by society’s corruption, and have become outlaws, operating in the shadow of law and order.

It is wise to understand someone’s motivations rather than judge his or her actions. We can do this by putting ourselves in their shoes and imagine what they had to suffer to commit atrocious acts. Every villain’s redemption arc begins with their origin story. Often times, when we look at troubled people’s past histories, we see someone who is lonely, hurting, and scared. When we see life through a lens of pain, we see enemies everywhere. Villains help us to examine our psyche and decide what we would have done in their place.

Despite how much one may be influenced by others in a negative way, one may say that one’s greatest enemy has always been oneself, and until one conquers that, one can go no further. That is the journey of self-discovery.

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”

Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Villain: Mirror of The Dark Aspects of Humanity

The villain is often a mirror of the dark aspects of humanity, embodying qualities that are evil, harmful, greedy, selfish, and destructive. Many of us read the stories of villains with great interest, and we find them both terrifying and fascinating. That is because they represent certain contents of our unconscious.

It is much easier to project evil on others and deny our capacity for evil. It is common for a person or group of people to believe that they are the good guys and project evil unto others, nullifying any non-aggression by the opponent. The other is necessarily the enemy or villain, who must be defeated through whatever means. This, of course, is too one-sided, as psychologically, we have both good and evil qualities. The Russian writer Aleksander Solzhenitsyn states:

“The line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

Aleksander Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago

Evil cannot be killed; it cannot be destroyed. For it is nothing more than that which lies within each and every one of us. Duality is a characteristic of human nature; thus, one-sidedness is a form of dehumanisation. The simple fact is that we are all capable of evil, but most of us choose not to do evil. In the villain, however, evil, dehumanisation, and unilateralism complete and enable each other. This would explain his characteristics for power, pride, selfishness, etc. Similarly, a one-sided view of heroic characteristics (courage, compassion, humility, etc.), does not signify the whole spectrum of human experience. Our goal is to balance these dualities within ourselves.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde portrays the duality of human nature, showing the two sides of the same man. Those people that appear outwardly good sometimes have a shockingly evil nature. Dr. Jekyll, a well-mannered man, has spent his entire life putting on a persona (social mask) and repressing evil urges that are frowned upon by society. He creates a potion in an attempt to eliminate this hidden evil from himself. However, in doing so, he transforms into Mr. Hyde, a personification of all of his evil urges. Eventually, this dark side of his psyche becomes so strong and overpowering that Dr. Jekyll must rely on the potion to regain the awareness of his conscious self. Mr. Hyde represents the villain or shadow archetype within all of us. He states:

“I am not evil. I am no more evil than you. We are the same.”

Robert Louis Stevenson, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

While Mr. Hyde represents the villain or personal shadow, the personification of absolute evil is the collective shadow or the Devil. Swiss psychiatrist and psychologist Carl Jung writes:

“With a little self-criticism one can see through the shadow—so far as its nature is personal… it is quite within the bounds of possibility for a man to recognise the relative evil of his nature, but it is a rare and shattering experience for him to gaze into the face of absolute evil.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 9.2: Aion

Integrating our personal shadow can lead us to become conscious of the collective shadow and not fall prey to it. However, one must be careful. Nietzsche writes in Beyond Good and Evil, “Whoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become one himself. And when you stare for a long time into an abyss, the abyss stares back into you.”

Every light casts a shadow, and every hero has a villain. In Ursula’s K. Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earth Sea this idea is made literal by the young wizard Ged having to fight a shadow that was brought into the world by him, a product of his darker, uncontrolled side. The shadow attacks him and scars his face, until it is driven away. This scar hurts whenever the shadow is near him, just as Harry Potter’s scar from Voldemort. Ged rejects the shadow and spends most of his adventure running from it, instead of learning from it. Eventually, however, he confronts his shadow, and acknowledges it as a part of himself. By doing so, he merges with it, heals and becomes whole. It is a clear literary example of how the integration of the shadow marks the first step towards individuation, the path towards psychological maturation and wholeness.

The Villain Redemption Arc

Zuko Character in Avatar: The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra

There is perhaps nothing more satisfying than a redeemed villain, one who is damaged by life and consequently hurts others, but eventually undergoes a change of heart and transforms into a better person. The villain redemption arc is not just a captivating storytelling device, but also shows us what is possible within ourselves, allowing us to visualise our ultimate potential.

The Dark Triad

Villains often show their attractive side before their repulsive one. They are capable of mirroring what is seen as most charming in society in order to win people over and accomplish their goals. The psychology of the villain can best be explored in the so-called Dark Triad traits: narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy.

The term narcissism originates from Narcissus, a figure in Greek mythology known for his beauty. Upon looking at his reflection in a pond, he fell in love with his own image. Narcissism is a personality disorder which includes an inflated sense of self-importance. Such people feel themselves superior to everyone else, are preoccupied by grandiose fantasies, and typically exaggerate their achievements and talents. Narcissists need constant attention and admiration from others, and react negatively to criticism. They are prideful, arrogant, and have a lack of empathy.

A Machiavellian is one who uses clever but often dishonest methods to gain power or control. If there is one defining characteristic of this personality, it is manipulation. This psychological trait was named after Niccolò Machiavelli, one of the great villains of history, who is best known for his political treatise The Prince, which suggests that immoral acts are justified if they can help achieve political glory. Those who are Machiavellian are not just characterised by manipulation, but also an indifference to morality, a lack of empathy, and a strategic focus on self-interest.

For Machiavelli, an effective ruler should not strive for goodness and justice, but rather on maintaining his power. It is the strong person who imposes his will on others, and that is the definition of justice. He famously states that one should be feared and loved; but if one had to choose, it is safer to be feared than loved. What one must avoid at all costs, however, is to be hated, as that would lead to being overthrown by the people, thereby losing one’s power or leading to death. Thus, Machiavelli tells us that one must appear to be good to people. Behind closed doors, however, one may construct all sorts of machinations, backstab or deceive others.

The closest thing in real life approximating an ideal villain would probably be a psychopathic criminal. Psychopathy is the most recent of the dark triads, and includes high impulsivity and thrill-seeking along with low empathy and anxiety. Psychopaths are characterised by antisocial behaviour, selfishness, and remorselessness. They do not have true love nor friends, as they lack empathy and are cold.

Despite their diverse origins, the personalities composing the Dark Triad overlap. All three entail a socially malevolent character with behaviour tendencies toward self-promotion, emotional coldness, duplicity or deceptiveness, and aggressiveness.

Now we will look at some of the most common archetypal images of the villain.

The Tyrant

The Tyrant is a cruel, unjust and authoritarian leader who has an insatiable appetite for power, which can appear in any person but is exemplified in dictators, cult leaders, crime lords, religious fanatics, corrupt politicians, etc. The problem is that power is insatiable, it is an unquenchable thirst. No matter how much power one gets, one will always be dissatisfied and want more.

The Tyrant’s people are but pawns to him, and he ruthlessly conquers and crushes his enemies. He is the opposite of the humble or benevolent leader. The despot’s strength is goal-orientation, whatever he aims for, he will achieve. He stays focused and is decisive, and can solve a dilemma within minutes. However, this also causes stubbornness. Sometimes he is so focused on the mission before him that he loses track of when a cause is lost. Even when a battle is over, he may continue to fight. Thus, quick decisions without reflection can lead to his downfall.

The Tyrant is unsympathetic and does not care about people’s woes. He is irritated when decisions are not made the right way. A blow to his pride can lead him to irrational conduct. Pride is a mask for self-loathing, the Tyrant says, “If I don’t achieve it, I deserve to suffer.”. He is motivated by a secret fear—the fear of losing control over his rulership, which may also manifest as a determination to control everyone around him. His thirst for power may be a compensation for his inferiority complex.

Failure is a part of life. The hero accepts it with dignity, the tyrant fights against it. Without humility, one quickly becomes arrogant. Self-love and humility go hand in hand. The hero is self-sacrificing, a quality which the tyrant lacks. The refusal to this selfless submission is what makes tyrants. Joseph Campbell writes:

“The hero of yesterday becomes the tyrant of tomorrow, unless he crucifies himself today.”

Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces

The Resentful One

Another type of villain is the Resentful One, whose main characteristic is that he burns with resentment, and longs for revenge. Sometimes he is an older sibling of a child more loved by his parents. He is jealous and envious of the affection shown by his parents to his sibling, and darkly schemes to show his parents that he is worth more. Perhaps he was the black sheep of the family, The favourite child was born lucky, is smart, pretty, and receives all the attention. The other, was “lucky to be born.” This may be because of intergenerational trauma, whereby the dysfunctional family dynamics are passed from one generation to the next.

Dysfunctional families and the lack of positive role models or supportive relationships can fuel villainous tendencies. The Resentful One likely comes from a house of abuse, neglect or rejection—and develops trauma or a negative complex (an emotionally charged group of ideas or images). He may also have experienced the loss of a loved one or personal betrayal.

These negative experiences can create deep-seated unresolved emotions that ignite feelings of anger and a desire for revenge. A person’s villainy becomes an outlet for one’s unresolved emotions, a way to externalise one’s inner turmoil onto the external world.

The Resentful One proudly announces his rebellious dealings against the unfairness of life. He is independent, bold, and has a strong conviction in his beliefs and values. He never forgets and though only resentment remains, he carries his grudge with pride—a desperate attempt to gain a sense of importance in a world that has failed him. He can be tough and mean but also charismatic, and is usually street smart. His vulnerabilities are his pessimism, bitterness, volatility, and especially, his jealousy.

The Traitor

Othtello and Iago – Solomon Alexander Hart

The Traitor is the villain who betrays those who trust him most. He is a manipulator or Machiavellian figure. Despite supportive smiles and sympathetic ears, he plots the destruction of his friends. No one suspects the evil that lurks in his heart. That actually helps him succeed. He can also fake being empathetic, listening to others and seemingly caring about them, making others like him. The Traitor’s greatest asset is the trust people place on him, as he seems trustworthy. His vulnerabilities are his loneliness, remorsefulness, self-doubt, paranoia and emotional turmoil.

Sometimes a mentor turns into a villain or betrays the hero. In Norse mythology, the dwarf and blacksmith Reginn adopts Sigurd, who would later become a legendary hero and dragon-slayer. Reginn helps his foster son to reforge his broken sword and convinces him to kill the dangerous dragon Fafnir. When the dragon is slain, however, Sigurd learns of Reginn’s intentions to betray him and keep the treasure for himself. One shouldn’t blindly follow all the teachings of one’s mentor, it is healthy to question a mentor’s motives.

The Sadist

Quasimodo and Claude Frollo illustrated by Yon et Perrichon

There is perhaps no worse villain than the Sadist, who enjoys cruelty for its own sake, and is amused by or takes pleasure in, the psychological or physical suffering of others (including animals). He or she uses violence and aggression to control and dominate others, and enjoys instilling fear, or shame in people. The Sadist humiliates people in the presence of others, treats someone under his control harshly, and lies for the purpose of inflicting pain on others.

The Criminal Mastermind

The Criminal Mastermind or Evil Genius loves to show off his superior intelligence. Those who are intellectually inferior are contemptible to him, which includes almost everyone. He makes elaborate puzzles, traps, and experiments—the game is always rigged in his favour.

The Mastermind is analytical. He does not rush things, but thinks before he acts, and methodically solves every piece of the puzzle. The main motivation of his actions is to prove that he is smarter than everyone else, that everyone is wrong and that he is right—and that he is the best at a particular skill or talent. Perhaps this is because his genius is unappreciated by others, laughed at by his colleagues, or because he was the class nerd that everyone picked on.

Serial killers are often criminal masterminds, finding a thrill in not being caught and getting away with murder. Such as seen in the case of Jack the Ripper. The archenemy of Sherlock Holmes, Professor James Moriarty is a criminal mastermind. He does not commit the crimes himself, instead, he uses his intelligence and resources to provide criminals with crime strategies and protection from the law, in exchange for a fee.

Another cunning mastermind is Hannibal Lecter in the Silence of the Lambs. He is a brilliant psychiatrist, charmful, and highly sophisticated, with refined tastes in art, music, and cuisine—who also happens to be a cannibalistic serial killer.

The Mad Scientist

Mad Scientist – Ddhauntedhorror (DeviantArt)

The Mad Scientist is a similar figure to the Mastermind, as both are intellectually brilliant. The Mad Scientist’s motivation, however, is different—it is his thirst for knowledge and experimentation that drives him, and often leads him to violate ethical boundaries or ignore the potential consequences of his actions. He may either construct destructive technologies, or conduct experiments whose results terrify him, as is portrayed in Frankenstein.

The Jester or Trickster

Loki with a fishing net (per Reginsmál) as depicted on an 18th-century Icelandic manuscript

The Jester or Trickster thrives on chaos and mischief. Loki in Norse mythology is known for his deception and trickery. His ability to shapeshift allows him to achieve his goals. He causes the death of Baldur, the most beloved of all the gods, and plays a significant role in bringing about the events of Ragnarök, the downfall of the gods and the destruction of the entire cosmos.

The Terrible or Devouring Mother

Hansel, Gretel and the witch, from Hansel and Gretel published by Blackie & Son Limited, c.1940 – Frank Adams

Stepmothers are frequently portrayed as villains in fairy tales, as well as witches—who depict the Terrible or Devouring Mother archetype (Hansel and Gretel, Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel, etc.). In Greek mythology, Medea is known for killing her own children as an act of revenge against her husband. This villain is the opposite of the nurturing mother. She is abusive, controlling, avaricious, has no empathy, and is usually open about her need for power.

The Femme Fatale

Mythical Sirens Seducing Sailors – David Parkers

One of the most popular female villains is the femme fatale (literally, “fatal or deadly woman”). She is akin to a black widow spider who lures her victims to mate in her web and then consumes them, or as in the Lorelei in German myth, a beautiful water spirit or siren who sings to seduce and lure men to their death. This villain tries to get the ideal man as her lover, and does not care about the noble qualities of the hero, but rather superficial needs that can distract and divert her, and give her a false sense of worthiness. Whenever she is bored, she moves on to her next victim.

In the Old Testament, Delilah seduced Samson, and managed to cut his hair, thereby depriving him of his strength, and leading to his downfall. Another figure is Salome, who dances so beautifully that she is granted a wish by the king, upon which she asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter. The femme fatale uses seduction and manipulation to get what she wants.

Conclusion

While we should not completely excuse villains, we should not completely ignore them either. Rather, we should consider villains simultaneously with heroes. Not as foils or dichotomies, but as two sides of the same coin. The villain represents the yin which is a necessary counterbalance to the yang. Wholeness is achieved by the union of opposites.

The villain archetype expresses our shadow side, and can serve a cathartic or therapeutic purpose. The redemption of the villain within is inevitably linked with the integration of our shadow, which constitutes the essential first step towards self-realisation, and may be why the villain redemption arc is so powerful, as it expresses our ultimate potential for wholeness. Seeing ourselves as purely good and ignoring our capacity for evil, will, as Solzhenitsyn puts it, “destroy a piece of our own heart.” When people strive for perfection, they base their whole worldview on a lie. When we accept the reality that we are all flawed, and accept both the good and the bad that life has to offer, we are able to fully experience what it is to be human, and become whole.

The Psychology of The Villain

The villain is the most captivating and intriguing of all archetypes. The hero would not exist without his darker counterpart, which reflects aspects of ourselves that we do not dare to acknowledge or confront, but which are present within all of us.

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The Number of the Beast is 666 – William Blake

The Psychology of the Magician

“To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour.”

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

The Magician is the most mysterious and fascinating of all archetypes. That the Magician has fascinated human consciousness since ancient times is evident by taking a cursory glance at all the myths, legends, literature, movies, and video games in which he appears. In literature he often appears as a Wise Old Man, a seer, a hermit, or a madman living far away from civilisation and in contact with nature, animals, and the numinous.

Table of contents

Introduction

The Magician is a person who has gained access to esoteric or occult (hidden) knowledge, bringing the spiritual to the material. He has what the English visionary artist William Blake calls fourfold vision. It is a glimpse of eternity, whereby the smallest things in the world holds a cosmic significance. Thus, the Magician has a deep relationship with the unseen realm which coexists with us; but on a different level of reality or consciousness.

The Magician is the mentor or guide to his people, and even to the king. In older times, when a king became possessed by his anger and wanted to punish others unjustly, the Magician, with measured and reasoned thinking, would reawaken the king’s conscience and good sense by releasing him from his tempestuous mood. The court magician, in effect, was the king’s psychotherapist. Those rulers who failed to take the counsel of the Magician were more likely to become tyrannical dictators, leading to the fall of their empire.

The Magician has become ever-present in our collective consciousness: Professor Dumbledore in Harry Potter; Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings; the Jedi-masters Yoda and Obi-wan Kenobi in Star Wars, etc. Early in the Hero’s Journey, the young hero receives assistance from his mentors who have magical powers, so that he may gain knowledge and practical skills to overcome his dragon and gather the gold and share it with his people; allowing the hero to mature into manhood.

“The Magician is an initiate of secret and hidden knowledge of all kinds… All knowledge that takes special training to acquire is the province of the Magician energy.”

Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette: King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

Merlin

The most popular Magician archetype is Merlin of the Arthurian legend (which inspired our modern popular fiction). He is a Sage with gifts of clairvoyance, prophecy, and magic powers. He forms part of the literary genre of chivalric romance, which evokes magic, heroic knights, dragons, and distressed damsels. Merlin is the advisor of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table who embark on a quest in search of the Holy Grail.

Though Merlin remains for the most part hidden in the background, his presence is felt. The archetype of the Magician stands out as an uncanny, mysterious, distant, and sometimes even a disturbing figure.

Merlin was begotten by an incubus and born of an innocent virgin. He is a child prodigy, a product of the terrestrial and the supernatural. Merlin is a prophet sent from hell, the Antichrist, whose birth is intended to reverse the effect of Christ’s Harrowing of Hell. The light side of his mother, however, ultimately triumphs, and Merlin becomes the embodiment of the whole man (the Self), a figure that holds the union of opposites (light and dark) in one being. This struggle of opposites also arises when Merlin tells the king that there is a red dragon and a white dragon fighting underneath the kingdom, which is the reason the walls of his tower kept collapsing. This is something that people were unconscious of, but which they felt nonetheless. Merlin possesses the ability to see into the depths and to diagnose the roots of a problem that cannot or will not be seen on the surface.

Before the Arthurian legend, however, Merlin had roots in Welsh mythology as the bard Myrddin the Wild, who had gone mad after being involved in a war and fled civilisation to become a wild man of the woods—a reference, perhaps, to the Roman invasion of the druids in ancient Celtic cultures. After Merlin vanished from the world into the forest, people still hear his cries, so the legend runs, but they cannot understand or interpret them.

The figure of Merlin arises from the tension between paganism and Christianity. The Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Carl Jung writes:

“The magician has preserved in himself a trace of primitive paganism; he possesses a nature that is still unaffected by the Christian dichotomy and is in touch with the still pagan unconscious, where the opposites lie side by side in their original naïve state, beyond the reach of “sinfulness” but liable, if assimilated into conscious life, to beget evil as well as good with the same daemonic energy… Therefore, he is a destroyer as well as a saviour. This figure is therefore pre-eminently suited to become the symbol carrier for an attempt at unification.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 6: Psychological Types

Hermes Trismegistus

Along with Merlin, the other great archetype of the magician is Thoth, the ancient Egyptian god of wisdom, magic and writing—who later became syncretised with Hermes, the Greek messenger of the gods and psychopomp, resulting in Hermes Trismegistus, the Sage and Magician to whom all truth-seekers dedicated the discoveries of their wisdom, including the Emerald Tablet, and various works known as the Hermetica, related on the one hand, to astrology, medicine, botany, alchemy and magic, and on the other, to religious, spiritual, or mystical teachings.

Hermetic writings contain a great deal of magic, as is seen in the Greek Magical Papyri, which shows a collection of hundreds of spells, formulae, rituals, and hymns that span nearly every situation imaginable, and the Cyranides, which illustrates the secret forces of nature and how they can be learned and magically used to ensure success, protection, and healing. While classical scholars have denigrated these magical texts as merely superstitious, others see them as a collection of great religious literature.

Magic: The Shadow of Religion

The Hermit from Leigh McCloskey’s Tarot ReVisioned (2003)

Practitioners of magic have had a long history of persecution, for magic was considered heresy, an unwelcome and improper expression of religion—the religion of the “other”. This brought about an intensive period of witch-hunts, especially in early modern Europe. Magic is, in fact, the shadow of religion, representing its unknown, repressed and hidden qualities. Astrology became astronomy, and alchemy became not only chemistry, but also, according to Jung, the forerunner of our modern psychology of the unconscious. In this sense, magic is also called the “mother of science.”

Despite the persecution of the Magicians, they could not, of course, be cast out; none of the archetypes of the collective unconscious can be. Jungian analyst Marie-Louise von Franz writes:

“Magic is probably one of the oldest of man’s spiritual activities. Whenever a new conscious attitude arises, the old knowledge, the previous attitude, sinks onto the level of magic. Magic is therefore the older form of spiritual and religious knowledge and activity which has been superseded by a new spiritual religious attitude, and therefore has sunk back into a more unconscious condition.”

M.L. von Franz, Shadow and Evil in Fairy Tales

Sympathetic Magic

Paleolithic Cave Painting in Altamira Cave, Spain

One of the most ancient forms of magic were fertility rituals—used to propitiate the gods in order to ensure plentiful crops and fertile women. This works through sympathetic magic, which is based on the principle of correspondence. It proposes that one can influence something based on its resemblance to another thing (“like affects like”), such that forces of nature are to be influenced by the act carried out in the ritual. For example, Paleolithic cave paintings were associated with the magic of the hunt. Perhaps these paintings were made to act out a hunt before it began, or to consecrate the animal to be killed. Humans have had magico-religious impulses through all of recorded history and presumably before. The Sorcerer is the name for an enigmatic painting found in a French cavern known as “The Sanctuary”, it was made around 13,000 BC, and seems to be some kind of great spirit or master of animals.

Magic in Ancient Times

Akkadian cylinder seal dating to c. 2300 BC, depicting the deities Inanna, Utu, Enki, and Isimud

In ancient Mesopotamia, magical incantations were inscribed on cuneiform clay tablets. Rituals were performed by the ašipu, who were well-versed in the magical arts, but also likely in medicine, priesthood, and scholarship. Magicians used to serve as advisors to kings and great leaders, and apotropaic magic was used as a defence against evil sorcerers and for banishing the effect of evil influences, such as a curse or evil eye, with the help of good luck charms, amulets, talismans, certain gestures, etc. Today we still knock on wood to ward off bad luck. Apotropaic magic became widespread in ancient Greece.

The Sumerian god Enki was associated with magic, and regarded as the ultimate source of all arcane knowledge. For the ancient Mesopotamians and ancient Egyptians, magic was a way of life. They did not distinguish between rational science and magic. The Egyptians deified magic in the form of the god Heka. The main principle centred on the power of words to bring things into being. We may compare this idea with the magical word “abracadabra” which appeared in late Greek writings and was used as an amulet inscription, primarily to vanquish illness, and is possibly related to the Gnostic god Abraxas. Though the meaning of the word is uncertain, some have translated it as “I will create as I speak”. This also runs parallel to the creation of the world in Genesis, “And God said, let there be light: and there was light.” Another popular magical word of today is “hocus pocus”, which may derive from the words “hoc est corpus” in the Latin mass “this is the body” (of Christ).

For the Egyptians, magic was present in one’s birth, life, death and afterlife. In the afterlife, each individual would undergo a weighing of the heart, where one’s heart would be weighed on a scale against a feather. Those who had pure hearts and led a life of virtue would balance the scales, and begin their long and arduous journey to Aaru or the Field of Reeds (paradise in Egyptian mythology). The deceased would face various challenges and obstacles, and magical spells were believed to provide protection and guidance. These can be found in the Egyptian Book of the Dead, and are intended to assist a dead person’s journey through the underworld.

Grimoires and King Solomon

Magicians often have ancient tomes called grimoires or “book of spells”. The Ghāyat al-Ḥakīm (translated as “the Aim of the Sage”), also known as the Picatrix, is a 400-page book written around the 10^th or 11^th century, that summarises older works on magic and astrology, and draws on Hermetic and Neoplatonic philosophical ideas.

In biblical canon, King Solomon is a figure known for his wisdom and piety. However, in the apocryphal works he is not just associated with wisdom, but also with magic and the occult. In the Testament of Solomon, he has conversations with demons. By means of a magical ring, the Seal of Solomon, he learns to control and command demons to speed up the construction of his temple.

The Key of Solomon is a grimoire that describes the necessary preparations for certain magical operations. It provides instructions for the creation and consecration of magical tools for invoking spirits, often to gain knowledge, power, or assistance in various endeavours, as well as the appropriate materials, astrological time, and magical symbols. Before the invocation, however, one must purify oneself, create a magic circle and pray for God’s protection.

Necronomicon

Perhaps the most famous fictional grimoire is the Necronomicon written by the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred, which appears in the works of horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. The title appeared to him in a dream. Not much is known of its contents, other than a rhyming couplet, “That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.” Alhazred worshipped cosmic entities known as the Great Old Ones and Outer Gods, before his mysterious death.

Lovecraftian characters are entranced by the pursuit of forbidden knowledge, and end up descending into madness or death by the revelation of it. Lovecraft reveals a deep human desire, that we would risk our lives for gaining access to occult knowledge. However, one must beware of unearned wisdom. There are no shortcuts to enlightenment.

The Archetype of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice

Illustration of Der Zauberlehrling 1882, drawing by Ferdinand Barth (Künstler) (1842–1892)

One of the leading archetypes of our time is the sorcerer’s apprentice. This archetype is depicted by Goethe. As a sorcerer departs his workshop, he leaves his apprentice to work on chores. The apprentice gets tired and enchants a broom to do the work for him by infusing it with summoned spirits. Things start to get out of control, and the apprentice does not know how to undo his spell. The sorcerer returns and quickly breaks the spell, dispelling the spirits before they could do more damage. The story concludes with the old sorcerer’s statement that only a master should invoke powerful spirits. As Goethe famously states:

“The spirits that I summoned

I now cannot rid myself of again.”

Goethe, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

This is Pandora’s box, a source of great and unexpected trouble. Once opened, there’s no turning back. The archetype of the sorcerer’s apprentice portrays the zeitgeist of the 21^st century: nuclear energy, genetic engineering, cloning, virtual reality, artificial intelligence, etc. We are entering a posthuman era, posing new existential challenges to the human condition. We have built a system which we cannot live without, and yet the individual within the system can be done away with.

As time moves on, technological inventions may become extensions and replacements of our muscles, our nervous system, our brain, our eyes and ears, and even our reproductive organs, to such an extent that the boundaries between biology and mechanical contraptions have all but disappeared. Materialistic science, in its effort to gain knowledge about the world of matter and to control it, has engendered a monster that threatens the very survival of human existence.

Moreover, the stress and excessive demands of modern life, alienation, and loss of meaning in life and of spiritual values has engendered in many people a consuming need to escape and seek pleasure and oblivion. People are slowly being alienated from their bodies, from each other, and from nature.

As we’ll see later, the integration of the Magician archetype is essential for us to tackle these problems.

Renaissance Magic

Dr Faustus in a Magic Circle, frontispiece of Gents translation of Dr Faustus (1648)

In his work on English literature in the 16^th century, British writer C.S. Lewis highlights how in medieval stories magic had a fantastical and fairy-like quality, while in the Renaissance, it became tied to the idea of hidden knowledge that could be explored through books and rituals. Scholars immersed themselves in mysterious books, pronouncing terrible words, and souls were endangered. Magic became a potentially dangerous pursuit.

The German magician, alchemist and astrologer Johann Georg Faust appears as the archetypal adept of Renaissance Magic in the 15^th and 16^th centuries, becoming the subject of folk legend after his death. In works of fiction, Dr. Faust appears as a man who grows weary of human knowledge and concludes that only magic is worth learning. He signs a blood pact and sells his soul to the Devil, in exchange for magical powers for a number of set years. At the end of the contract, however, he is carried off to hell.

Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s views on magic were revolutionary in this period, and in his Three Books of Occult Philosophy, he explores the powers of magic and its relationship with religion, rejecting forbidden forms of sorcery. His work is inspired by the Cabalistic and Hermetic magic of Marsilio Ficino and Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, where the Magician’s task is to explore the secrets of nature to reveal the wonder of God’s work and to inspire a more ardent love of the Creator. The Swiss alchemist and physician Paracelsus combined medicine with magic, and led a medical revolution. He introduced elemental beings and viewed the cosmos as interconnected, assigning spiritual significance to natural elements.

John Dee was an English mathematician, astronomer and magician who served as advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. He amassed one of England’s biggest libraries, which attracted many scholars. Together with Sir Edward Kelley, an occultist and scryer or crystal-gazer, they created the Angelical or Enochian language, supposed to have been revealed to them by angels during their mystical interactions.

Alchemy found a resurgence in this period as well. According to legend, Nicholas Flamel, a French scribe, had discovered the philosophers’ stone and attained immortality. A notable work is The Twelve Keys, attributed to Basil Valentine, likely a pseudonym used by one or more German authors, and published by Johann Thölde in 1599. It presents an allegorical description of twelve steps by which the philosophers’ stone may be created, allowing one to turn base metals into gold.

Mercury, the Roman counterpart of Hermes, is another figure of wholeness who is crucial in alchemy, as he represents the philosophers’ stone. Jung writes:

“Mercurius stands at the beginning and end of the work… He is metallic yet liquid, matter yet spirit, cold yet fiery, poison and yet healing draught—a symbol uniting all the opposites.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol 12: Psychology and Alchemy

Low Magic and High Magic

Magic Circle by John William Waterhouse (left), The Vision of Hermes Trismegistus by Johfra Bosschart (right)

Historians have distinguished between low magic and high magic. Low magic is folk magic, often associated with simple spells, charms, and witchcraft. It is also called Goetia, and was seen as fraudulent or deceptive magic, as opposed to high magic or theurgy, which was regarded as divine magic.

White Magic and Black Magic

Prometheus by Jean Delville (left), Dark Magician by Shar’ya Ardat ArtStation (right)

We may also distinguish between white magic and black magic. White magic is the use of the powers of nature and of the mind for the service of good. It is selfless and virtuous. All white magic must be backed by a strong moral character which results in greater interior enlightenment, a prerequisite for performing heroic services for mankind.

The white magician does not identify himself as the holder of magical power, but rather as a conduit for the divine power which makes this service possible. The end of all wisdom is to understand the deep relationship between the human being and his Creator, and this relationship is agape, the highest form of love, which is selfless and sacrificial, committed to the well-being of others.

As soon as one enters into moral decay, and uses magic for egotistical purposes, it becomes black magic, a source of fear and dread. The black magician abuses his power for his own selfish gain, in order to control others or inflict harm on others.

Thus, when a thing is done to help someone, it is white magic, when it is done for harmful purposes, it is black magic.

Jung writes:

“Magic exercises a compulsion that prevails over the conscious mind and will of the victim: an alien will rises up in the bewitched and proves stronger than his ego. The only comparable effect capable of psychological verification is that exerted by unconscious contents, which by their compelling power demonstrate their affinity with or dependence on man’s totality.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 9.2: Aion

Archetypal Images of the Magician

The Chief Druid from Mona Antiqua Restaurata, 1723 (left), Forest King – Andrey Shishkin (centre), Sorcery – Anne Gardner (Right)

Magician, wizard, and sorcerer are often used as synonyms, though there are subtle differences between them. Generally speaking, a magician refers to anyone who practices magic. A wizard is typically a Wise Old Man that has studied the magical arts over a long period of time, and a sorcerer either has an innate gift with magic, or has gained magical power through making pacts with supernatural entities, which is usually associated with witchcraft and voodoo.

Enchanters are known for their ability to cast spells, often involving magical objects, charms, and talismans, while necromancers use magic for communicating with the dead and summoning their spirits for the purpose of foretelling future events or discovering hidden knowledge.

The mysterious druids in ancient Celtic cultures left no written accounts, though the earliest known reference to them date to the 4^th century BC. The 1^st century BC Greek scholar Alexander Polyhistor referred to the druids as philosophers who were inspired by Pythagoras, the immortality of the soul, and metempsychosis, the transmigration of the soul, especially its reincarnation after death.

Mystics and gnostics engaged in meditation, prayer and rituals in order to attain gnosis (personal knowledge or direct experience of the divine), to reach oneness with the centre that lies deep within, by uniting their will with the will of God (“thy will be done”).

The shaman is widely present in certain Siberian and native American tribes. He owes his powers to mystical communion with the world of spirits, making him, as Mircea Eliade puts it, a technician of the sacred. The shamanic call involves some kind of illness or psychic crisis. After going through this ordeal and curing himself, the shaman is capable of healing others.

If we are able to go through the dark night of the soul, we are illuminated by an inextinguishable spark, the fount of all light. All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.

The shaman is not only a medicine-man who picks the right herbs and ingredients to make a healing concoction for curing physical illness, but also guards his community from loss of soul. Shamanism can be seen as the oldest system of healing known in the world. von Franz writes:

“The roots of both priesthood and psychotherapy lie in the primitive phenomenon of shamanism and the existence of medicine men.”

Marie-Louise von Franz, Psychotherapy

Priests often serve as spiritual leaders within their religious ceremonies and are responsible for conducting rituals within their faith tradition, as well as acting as intercessors between the human and the divine. Their rites of exorcism, doctrine of transubstantiation, access to holy water and blessed herbs, could be conceived as magical practices.

The analytical psychologist is like a modern shaman, who seeks to heal a patient and teach him or her about the importance of dreams, which are the essential guides in bringing our unconscious contents into consciousness, in order to progress towards the Self (the total personality). The Self is represented by the sacred symbol of the mandala, a magic circle which is found all over the world. It appears in connection with chaotic states of disorientation and has the purpose of reducing the confusion to order, as it expresses balance and wholeness. Patients often emphasise the beneficial or soothing effect of such pictures, as if they possessed a magical significance.

The Archetype of the Miracle

Jesus and Peter on the Water – Gustave Brion (1863)

All magic, miracles, and parapsychological happenings seem to have one theme in common, namely, an attitude of hopeful expectancy on the part of the participants. This is also known as the archetype of the miracle or the archetype of the magic effect. Many of the founders of the great religions often performed miracles. Jesus would make the person whom he healed a participant in the healing, “your faith has healed you.” One might say that miracles can only happen in a response to a need transcending the ego. For example, in the Bible, Moses strikes water from a rock to quench the thirst of his people. This miracle is not a prideful trick or ego trip from the Magician, but rather a compassionate act.

There are many cases of people avoiding terrible accidents by hearing a voice out of nowhere, for example, telling one to get off the road, only for there to be a major accident shortly after—as if one was warned by one’s guardian angel. We have no explanation for such events, but they affect us profoundly.

The Magician is responsible for these seemingly miraculous eruptions into our everyday world of space and time, cause and effect (which Jung calls synchronicity). The Magician gives us unexpected glimpses of the transcendent world, offering a numinous experience that temporarily suspends our rational beliefs, and our superfluous worries.

Magician: The Archetype of Transformation

Large engraving of the polarities in the macrocosm and the microcosm, from J.D. Mylius Opus medico-chymicum

Psychologically, the Magician is the archetype of transformation, transforming old realities into new ones. He is capable of transforming reality by changing consciousness. He is the archetype of self-realisation par excellence. The Magician aids us in our lifelong task of attaining a higher level of consciousness, and of recognising that higher power which is greater than ourselves.

We are always in a process of transforming ourselves, others, and the objects and the world around us. For the Magician, matter is energy and energy is matter. As the law of conservation of energy states, “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; it can only be transformed from one form to another.” The same might be applied to the eternal and immortal soul.

Often everyday people unknowingly use the basic principles of magic and never think they are doing magic. We have all probably known people who emanate caring and peace, and sometimes we can feel better just by standing next to them. Conversely, we all know people whose inner world is chaotic and desperate, and that inner state affects people around them.

The Magician has control over the mystical laws, which are mirror reflections of the physical laws. As the Emerald Tablet teaches us, “As above, so below, and as below, so above, to accomplish the marvels of the One work.”

The Magician realises that at a fundamental level, there exists a transcendent unitary world where inner and outer reality coexist, known as the unus mundus “the one world.”

The magical and sacred plane is not something that is above us and is inaccessible. On the contrary, it is immanent in ourselves, others and the cosmos. The Magician archetype provides a sense of connectedness with the whole and an understanding that what is within us contains all that is outside ourselves. The microcosm and macrocosm mirror one another. Sometimes, the simplest of things contain the greatest magical effect. Our world is full of magic and wonder, for those with eyes to see, and it is up to us to awaken ourselves to the true beauty of life.

The order that we establish in our inner world corresponds to order in the external world. Thus, if we want a peaceful world, we must start with becoming peaceful ourselves. As we ourselves become healthier and more alive, each of us sets in motion a ripple effect in others. This expresses a fundamental truth that is shared by almost all the world religions. It is the golden rule, “do to others as you would have them do unto you.” Love thy neighbour as thyself. In the ancient Sanskrit epic poem, the Mahabharata, it is written:

“One should never do that to another which one regards as injurious to one’s own self. This, in brief, is the rule of dharma.”

Vyasa, The Mahabharata

While dharma expresses a virtuous life, the principle of karma supposes a relationship of cause and effect, whereby people’s actions or deeds influence their future as well as their rebirth. There appears to be a fundamental law of universal equilibrium in nature so that what you do to others will come back to you. That is the divine energy inherent in every human being. As Newton’s Third Law states, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

We are not only made to live in harmony with each other, but are also interconnected with each other in a metaphysical sense. The Stoic philosopher and Emperor Marcus Aurelius states, “What injures the hive injures the bee.” When a man does wrong to another man, they are hurting themselves. What you do to others will come back to you. And this may go beyond our physical existence.

In Hindu and Buddhist cosmology, Indra’s net is an infinite cosmic net which contains a single glittering jewel in each “eye” of the net, and since the net itself is infinite in dimension, the jewels are infinite in number. Moreover, if we were to inspect and closely look at one of these jewels, we will discover that in its polished surface there are reflected all the other jewels in the net, infinite in number. Not only that, but each of the jewels reflected in this one jewel is also reflecting all the other jewels, ad infinitum.

Mana Personality

Philosophia Reformata Emblem 1 – Johann Daniel Mylius

The shamans perceive the world as a vast web of energy, to which all living beings are connected (the Anima Mundi), and the Melanesian and Polynesian cultures speak of mana, which is the extraordinary and compelling supernatural power which emanates from certain individuals, objects, action and events, as well as from inhabitants of the spirit world. This concept has been popularised in role-playing games, representing energy used to perform magical abilities. Jung writes:

“[T]he mana-personality is a dominant of the collective unconscious, the well-known archetype of the mighty man in the form of hero, chief, magician, medicine-man, saint, the ruler of men and spirits, the friend of God. So whatever else the magician archetype might be, it is clear that it is one instance of a mana-personality.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 7: Two Essays on Analytical Psychology

The Shadow Magician

As a practitioner of black magic, the Shadow Magician has no interest in helping others, but rather controls or manipulates others for his own benefit.

“Whenever we are detached, unrelated, and withholding what we know could help others, whenever we use our knowledge as a weapon to belittle and control others or to bolster our status or wealth at others’ expense, we are identified with the Shadow Magician as Manipulator.”

Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette: King, Warrior, Magician, Lover

The dark Magician’s esoteric knowledge on his craft causes his ego to become inflated and he takes advantage of others who have limited knowledge. As Lord Acton stated, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

The shadow Magician also has an Asclepius complex, a common form of inflation that comes from identifying with the healer archetype. He has no need for any personal relationship with the wounded. Taking on an archetype eliminates one’s humanity, resulting in grandiose beliefs, megalomania, or a messiah complex. This is typical of charlatans, false prophets or cult leaders. The dark Magician believes that he is a god because he has the power to heal, and falls into hubris (considered as the worst of the seven deadly sins).

Because the power of the Magician in each of us is so potentially great, integrating the shadow is essential so that we do not consciously use our power for evil purposes. If we do not integrate our repressed content, they take on a monstruous form and possess us like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

The Magician and The Trickster

The trickster figure Reynard the Fox as depicted in an 1869 children’s book by Michel Rodange

Perhaps because of the expression “magic tricks”, the archetype of the Trickster comes immediately to mind when one thinks of the Magician. In fact, Mercury and Hermes are both gods of tricksters, thieves and magicians. When they are in their shadow side, they become illusionists, convincing others of overnight success or a magic pill to solve all problems, usually at high prices. This method of diverting people from their personal journeys to mindless consumerism is a major force of evil sorcery in our time.

On the other hand, the prankishness of the Trickster can serve to deflate an all-too-serious Magician’s personality. Both can shapeshift, create illusions, and confuse us with their sleight of hand. By making objects disappear, they can dramatise the simple truth that every object, everything, is but an appearance of reality.

The underlying essence of the magical art is revelation. The Magician has the power to reveal the basic structure underlying all appearance, by stripping away the unnecessary details. Behind the “ten thousand things”, all is One. It is as if the Trickster conceals this fundamental reality from us, until we do the necessary inner work to realise the illusion of appearances. This is the veil of maya which conceals the true character of spiritual reality, creating the cosmic illusion that the phenomenal world is real.

In Hinduism, we are part of the Supreme Being’s leela (divine play). All of reality is the outcome of the divine play of the Supreme Being, revealing the interconnectedness of all existence. The goal is to understand our role in this cosmic game, while realising that the Ātman (true self or essence) is identical to Brahman (unchanging and supreme reality).

The Magician in Tarot

The Magician Tarot Card. Marseilles Deck (left), Rider-Waite Deck (right)

In Tarot, the Magician is assigned the number one, and comes just after the Fool who has the number zero. In the Marseilles deck, the Magician is called the juggler. He appears as a young street performer holding a golden wand and wearing motley, the traditional costume of the court jester, trickster or fool. The brim of his hat resembles a figure eight lying on its side, the mathematical sign for infinity. In the Rider-Waite deck, the Magician appears as a holy priest—discarding the aspects of the Trickster. The hat has been replaced by the symbol for infinity, encompassing creation, preservation, and destruction; the cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth. This may be a hint about the endlessness of the powers of magic.

The number one symbolises undifferentiated totality, out of which comes the two (the opposites), a necessary conflict for the possibility of consciousness which defines the human being. Elevation, however, is motion toward unity. The Magician’s task is to unite with the One source, from where we all come from and will return, when the time is right. In Kabbalah, the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet (aleph), symbolises the oneness of God.

The Magician points one hand with the wand to the sky and the other hand to the earth. As above, so below. Or as Jesus said in the Lord’s Prayer: “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” The sky—inspiration, dreaming, vision—is grounded in the facts of everyday existence; both are equally important. Real power comes from recognising our dependence on the earth, on other people, and on our spiritual source. Thus, many traditional shamans begin their work by consciously connecting with and thanking the earth, the four directions, the people they love most (including their teacher), and finally the spiritual power they serve.

The Magician in Jung’s Red Book

In the Red Book, Jung dedicates a chapter to the Magician. He meets Philemon, his inner Wise Old Man and Magician. When Jung talks to him about what magic is, Philemon replies that magic happens to be precisely everything that eludes comprehension. One cannot understand magic. One can only understand what accords with reason. Magic accords with unreason, which one cannot understand. Jung writes:

“The practice of magic consists in making what is not understood understandable in an incomprehensible manner.”

Carl Jung, The Red Book

Magic will never be lost to humanity, since it is reborn with each and every one of us. We need magic to be able to receive or invoke the messenger and the communication of the incomprehensible. We must accept that the world comprises reason and unreason, and that magic remains a mystery, until one attains gnosis. Then one might say, as Jung did when asked if he believed in God, “I don’t need to believe, I know.”

Jung writes:

“This magical power allows itself to be neither taught nor learned. Either one has it or does not have it. Now I know your final mystery: you are a lover. You have succeeded in uniting what has been sundered, that is, binding together the Above and Below. Have we not known this for a long time? Yes, we knew it, no, we did not know it. It has always been this way, and yet it has never been thus… Why did I have to wander such long roads before I came to Philemon, if he was going to teach me what has been common knowledge for ages? Alas, we have known everything since time immemorial and yet we will never know it until it has been accomplished. Who exhausts the mystery of love?”

Carl Jung, Red Book

The Integration of the Magician Archetype

Gandalf overlooking The Shire Middle Earth Art

If we listen to our inner voice, conscience or intuition—despite our awareness that others might think what we are doing is crazy—we awaken the inner Magician. The Magician’s path is a lonely one.

By delving into one’s own psyche and inner images, one can bring the unknown into the known, the unconscious into consciousness. That is magic, and that is the purpose of Jungian psychology.

When we dedicate time, energy and resources to something (cooking, music, painting, writing, etc.), we are working on integrating the Magician archetype, which is part of the individuation process. The Magician not only works on perfecting his art for practical purposes, but also has extensive knowledge about it, and its connection with one’s way of life.

Much of our inner negativity results from repression. The issue is not to get rid of it, but to transform it by allowing it to resurface, be acknowledged, and take on a new form. It is possible to learn to transform emotional energy once we learn to feel our feelings fully. We can see this in our personal relationships when we talk through our pain or anger and come out the other side feeling more intimate and loving than before. When a person opens to feel with another person’s pain, and move through it with the other person, it is often the case that both feel better in the end. The power of words is evident in psychoanalysis, “the talking cure”.

We know the problems in our outer life reflect our inner state, but it can be very painful when we are incapable of healing ourselves. The highest form of healing is the balance between body, soul, and spirit. Good nutrition and exercise, a connection with our innermost self, and staying true to our spiritual source.

Often magic is as simple as prayer. Many Magicians simply ask for what is needed—health, forgiveness, transformation, resources. As long as it is reasonable and within the humanly possible, one can attain it. The answer comes from the wisdom of a power greater than one’s own. Hence the saying in Mathew 7:7:

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

Matthew 7:7

Interestingly, the number seven is considered the most mystical of all numbers (symbolising fullness and completion, as it is the day God finished his work, blessed it, and rested). It is the most repeated number in the Bible.

All of the great inventions and wonders of the world first existed as images in the unconscious. As we paid attention to them, we brought them into consciousness and solidified them into the external world. The Magician brings the realm of fantasy and imagination into reality. By visualising it, he creates it. In numerology, this corresponds to the master number 22 (master builder) who is the most capable of all in making his or her dreams come to fruition. To some extent, thoughts create reality. Belief is not trivial; it has tangible results. The power of the mind can even heal sickness as is seen in placebo-controlled studies.

In New Age thought, the Law of Attraction supposes that positive thoughts bring positive results, and negative thoughts bring negative outcomes. Psychologically, however, it is too one-sided. We must not impose our will on reality, but surrender to both the positive and the negative, which must coexist, for that is the fundamental reality of the human condition. It is their synthesis, not the repression of the negativity, that brings about the fullness of being, of psychic wholeness, balance and harmony.

Positive thinking should never be used to avoid responsibility for the harm you do to yourself or others. When we do harm, we need to ask for forgiveness. When we can do so honestly, we should also make amends in some way. The Magician always practices some kind of ritual.

Rituals express a change in commitment and help us experience a sense of connectedness, and rituals repeated over time connect us with our historical ancestors. Individuals and traditions differ on the details of such practices (meditation, active imagination, prayer, entheogens, etc.). Psychologically, the idea is to align your consciousness with your unconscious, so that your unique story may be unfolded in life. Like fruits and flowers, our life experiences are products of nature. They grow spontaneously in our garden, awaiting discovery—for the nourishment of our soul.

The Magician journeys to another world, through altered states of consciousness. We all enter these altered states, but most of us choose not to become very conscious of them. These, however, open us to a deeper wisdom and a connection with the transpersonal that greatly improves the quality of the rest of our lives. One way to awaken the Magician within is simply to become conscious as we enter these other planes of reality. Synchronicities become more frequent, inner images suddenly materialise in our outer reality, without any causal connection, just as if we had conjured them forth, or as if the synchronistic event must hold a special message for us. How one goes about decoding the meaning of such an event is part of the integration of the Magician archetype.

Many people attempt to meditate and implant favourable images in the unconscious by self-hypnosis or other techniques. However, one cannot manipulate the activities of the unconscious by will power. The unconscious is, by definition, unconscious. A more useful technique, as has been practiced since ancient times, is to simply observe one’s inner thoughts, feelings, and images—and allow whatever pictures to appear in the mind’s eye. The inner Magician can help us become aware of the visions of power that exist within us, so that we can bring them into reality—or transform the repressed contents into something beautiful—for the Magician can turn the ordinary into something extraordinary.

Our inner images yearn to be born, struggling against our indifference to free themselves from the unconscious. Like a stone held “captive” waiting to be released by the sculpturer. Some artists in this medium say that they do not create their figures. Instead, they simply chisel away all superfluous material so that the image already implicit in the unconscious can stand free in the stone. Similarly, when we are in a state of massa confusa, of inner chaos, we can delve into the eternal guide within, to find the source of our confusion and clear up conflicting urges.

“If the spectator could enter into these images in his imagination, approaching them on the fiery chariot of his contemplative thought… [If he] could make a friend and a companion of one of these images of wonder… then would he arise from his grave, then would he meet the Lord in the air, and then he would be happy.”

William Blake, A Vision of the Last Judgement

The Psychology of The Magician

The Magician is the most mysterious and fascinating of all archetypes. He is a person who has gained access to esoteric or occult (hidden) knowledge, bringing the spiritual to the material.

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Artwork used in the video

Book of Urizen Object 22 – William Blake

Depiction of Aaru within a work of ancient Egyptian art, from Dayr al-Madīnah

Illumination of a 15th-century manuscript of Historia Regum Britanniae showing king of the Britons Vortigern and Ambros watching the fight between two dragons

Nyarlathotep and the Horror of the Necronomicon – EccedentesiArt

Tenth Key. The Twelve Keys of Basil Valentine – Johann Thölde

The Chief Druid from Mona Antiqua Restaurata, 1723

Two Human Beings (The Lonely Ones) – Edvard Munch

The Psychology of Numbers

We often take for granted the fundamental role that numbers play in our lives. In modern times we have been so busy in manipulating numbers for the sake of counting and calculating, that many of us are unaware that they also contain a symbolic meaning. Numbers do not merely have a quantitative nature, but also a qualitative one.

Several philosophers, alchemists and mystics throughout history have associated religious or mystical ideas to numbers. Perhaps the most important one of all is the 6^th century BC philosopher and mathematician Pythagoras, who saw numbers as the arche or fundamental underlying substance of reality. He thought that they had divine properties, and as such, that they were tools for communicating with the Supreme Being. Thus, a proper understanding of numbers could lead to an understanding of the basic structural principle of the universe, a notion that influenced the field of sacred geometry, which studies the geometric patterns and forms present in the world, for they are considered sacred and are believed to convey a sense of harmony and order in the universe.

Table of contents

Isopsephy, Gematria, Numerology

Unknown illustration, possibly by Karl von Eckartshausen

Languages such as ancient Greek and Hebrew, did not have the Arabic numerical system, and used the letters from their alphabets as numbers. The ancient Greeks practiced isopsephy, in which the numerical values of the letters in a word or name are added together and then reduced to a single digit. Those that reduced to the same digit were compared and analysed for deeper meaning. This goes back to the Pythagorean tradition. The Hebrews did the same through a practice called gematria, in which they assigned mystical meaning to words and names based on their numerical values, particularly in Kabbalah.

In China, numbers are associated to the sounds they make when said out loud. Some numbers are believed to be auspicious or inauspicious. For example, 4 is related to death, and 8 is related to wealth. Similar practices exist across the world, which reflects the human tendency to find symbolic meaning and patterns in numbers and language.

Today, this practice is known as numerology, popularised in the early 20^th century. Pythagoras is considered the father of numerology, because of his interest in the mystical properties of numbers. The resurgence of this practice added a new layer, namely, using numbers to understand oneself. A practice that is prevalent in esoteric circles. Numbers in themselves possess psychological values and meanings, and from their combination, particularly of name and date of birth, the characterological pattern is interpreted. Thus, numerologists, astrologists, and psychologists all have their unique approaches, but their goal is fundamentally the same, it is the age-old maxim, “know thyself.”

Number as the Archetype of Order

Tavole di Rutilio – Design by Ottavio Beltrano in Almanacco perpetuo di Rutilio Benincasa

The Swiss psychiatrist and psychologist Carl Jung stated that mathematics ruined the experience of school for him. Given this distaste, one might expect that Jung would have ignored or dismissed numbers and anything linked to the subject. But not so, Jung had a long fascination for numbers, and came to see them as archetypes (instinctual patterns of behaviour of mankind). He was interested in what the collective unconscious had expressed from time immemorial about each natural number. In his study of alchemy, Jung noticed that many authors associated mystical ideas to numbers. This, he believed, were the first attempts to outline the total order of the collective unconscious, as the sum of the archetypes.

Numbers have existed from eternity, predating humanity itself, and is carried in the heritage of animals and insects, which although they may not possess the same level of abstract mathematical understanding as humans, they often use basic numerical skills for survival, navigation, and communication. Thus, numbers seem to be the simplest and most elementary of all archetypes, being the very matrix of all others, and consequently, they are primordial images which reach farther into the depths of the unconscious than any other archetype.

Jung defines number as the archetype of order which has become conscious. Number helps more than anything else to bring order into the chaos of appearances. That they are archetypes emerges from the psychological fact that natural numbers, given the chance, amplify themselves immediately and freely through mythological and symbolic statements.

For some reason, we intuitively feel that some numbers, like 7, make us feel good, while others, like 13, terrify us. It is as if numbers were linking our soul to that which is beyond ourselves. Even numbers are appealing as they create symmetry, odd numbers, oddly, cause interest.

The Role of Numbers in Dreams

A Tibetan Mystic Tablet containing the Eight Trigrams on top of a large tortoise

While we consciously use numbers quantitatively, the unconscious uses numbers qualitatively. Dreams speak the language of nature, which is expressed in symbols. Although numbers can appear in dreams explicitly, it is more frequent that they appear implicitly. Instead of dreaming of a specific number, you might dream, for example, of being in the second floor of a building, inside a room with three people, or in a circular garden, etc. Paying attention to these small details can allow one to further amplify the meaning of dreams, and better understand their contents.

Numbers as the Archetype of Wholeness (Self)

From decades of work with patients, Jung came to see that numbers play an exceedingly important role in dreams, for they are frequent images used by the psyche for expressing the coming to consciousness of the Self, the total personality of an individual, which includes one’s conscious and unconscious contents. The Self is the archetype of wholeness, or what Jung calls a God-image. Numbers are the structural characteristics of the Self symbol, and as such, are crucial for individuation, the lifelong path towards psychic wholeness. It is not a linear process, but rather a circular one, which works through a circumambulation (circling around) of the Self.

Numbers as Autonomous Entities

Tavole di Rutilio Illustration – Design by Ottavio Beltrano in Almanacco perpetuo di Rutilio Benincasa

It is generally believed that numbers were invented by man, and are therefore nothing but concepts of quantities, containing nothing that was not previously put into them by the human intellect. But, for Jung, it is equally possible that numbers were found or discovered. In that case they are not only concepts but something more—autonomous entities which not only contain quantities, but also certain qualities. Numbers have life, they are not just symbols on paper.

As archetypes, numbers have the quality of being pre-existent to consciousness, and hence, of conditioning it rather than being conditioned by it. They are discovered inasmuch as one did not know of their unconscious autonomous existence, and they are invented or devised insofar as they are brought into human consciousness, with their presence being inferred from similar representational structures. People don’t have ideas; ideas have people.

Numbers, Psychoid, Unus Mundus

Jung writes:

“[W]hole numbers possess that characteristic of the psychoid archetype in classical form—namely, that they are as much inside as outside. Thus, one can never make out whether they have been devised or discovered; as numbers they are inside and as quantity, they are outside… I therefore believe that from the psychological point of view at least, the sought-after borderland between physics and psychology lies in the secret of the number. Hence the saying, fittingly enough, that man made mathematics, but God made the whole numbers.”

Atom and Archetype: The Pauli/Jung Letters (1932-1958)

Psychoid (soul-like) is a term coined by Jung that refers to the irrepresentable nature of all archetypes, which do not fully belong in the psyche, nor in matter, but rather transcends both and yet provides a bridge to them as the unifying element. This is known as the unus mundus (the one world), which is the transcendental unity of existence that underlies the duality of psyche and matter. As the most primitive archetypes, numbers become vital in understanding this connection.

Numbers belong to both worlds, the real and the imaginary, the world of matter and psyche, it is visible as well as invisible, quantitative as well as qualitative. In this connection, Jung writes:

“I always come upon the enigma of the natural number. I have a distinct feeling that Number is a key to the mystery.”

Jung’s Letter to Stephen Abrams – 21 Oct 1957. Letters Vol. 2 (1951-1961)

Numbers are autonomous entities that exist independently of human influence. It is with these inherent truths, that man made all the complex and advanced mathematical concepts and theories. Numbers had their significance before men used them as instruments, however, in the instant that they are used as mere instruments for calculation, they become dry and lose their symbolic meaning. Jung writes:

“To the former [the mathematician], number is a means of counting; to the latter [the psychologist], it is a discovered entity capable of making individual statements if it is given a chance. In other words: in the former case number is a servant, in the latter case an autonomous being.”

Jung’s Letter to Philip Wylie – 22 Dec 1957. Letters Vol. 2 (1951-1961)

Numbers and Synchronicity

Jung coined the term synchronicity to explain how an inner image (dream, thought, vision, mood, premonition, etc.) can appear in the outer world, as if the boundaries between psyche and matter were to collapse.

For instance, you might dream of an important person in your life that you have not talked to for many years, and still have unfinished business with. Then you wake up to find a call from an unknown number, which you later find out is from that person, who could have appeared in subsequent dreams, but instead appeared in reality. That is a synchronicity. One’s inner image, somehow, “appeared” in the outer world. Synchronicity is not based on causality, but rather on a meaningful correspondence of events.

Synchronicity can also appear directly in the outside world, through seeing a particular number or set of numbers appearing in your life over and over, as if there is a message being sent to you. The number 11:11 is a common series of numbers people see. You might also find multiplies of 11, like 22, 3:33, 444, etc. These repeating digit numbers are referred to as angel numbers.

There is something peculiar about numbers that seem to be related to synchronicity, as both share numinosity and mystery as their common characteristics. However, whereas the properties of natural numbers have existed from eternity, synchronistic events are acts of creation in time. That is to say, they appear to be linked up with an individual’s inner development and is in some way dependent on it. Jung calls synchronicity the parapsychological equivalent of the unus mundus.

Numbers: Link between Psyche and Matter

Image from Utriusque cosmi maioris scilicet et minoris metaphysica – Robert Fludd (1617-18)

As Jung grew older, he became increasingly interested in understanding how each number has an individual personality, and wanted to take a further step into the realisation of the unity of psyche and matter through research into the archetypes of natural numbers, especially the first four, which occur with the greatest frequency and have the widest incidence.

Jung began writing notes on the first five natural numbers. Two years before his death, however, he was too old to continue this project and handed his notes over to one of his closest colleagues, Marie-Louise von Franz. After Jung’s death, she was devastated and felt that she couldn’t continue this project anymore. But her conscience would not let her rest, so she eventually picked up the topic and wrote her book, Number and Time: Reflections Leading toward a Unification of Depth Psychology and Physics. A notoriously difficult work, which von Franz herself called “unreadable”.

Despite its difficulty, it is a major elucidation and elaboration of Jung’s work. Von Franz delves into the archetypal and symbolic meanings associated with the numbers 1 to 4. She postulates that representations of this quaternio of archetypes provides the dynamical patterns which underlie all processes of perception and symbol formation in the psyche and account for the structure and transformations of matter and energy in the physical world.

Von Franz was struck, particularly since the discovery of quantum physics in the early 20^th century, that just as the psyche has a numerical characteristic “built in” to its very being, so does nature. She explores how the realms of mind and matter—psyche and physis—are both numerically structured, hinting at how the inner world and outer world are united as if they were one, which is what makes synchronicity possible.

Von Franz’s general hypothesis is that all mental and physical phenomena are complementary aspects of the same unitary, transcendental reality. At the basis of all physical and mental phenomena there exist certain fundamental patterns of behaviour called archetypes.

The world outside is somehow contained within our minds, while at the same time our minds are contained within the world. As above, so below; as within, so without. Therefore, as one delves deeper within the unconscious, one gets a better understanding of the world as well, because we are a microcosm existing within a macrocosm.

The Psychology of the Number 1

We will now move on to interpreting the psychological and symbolic meaning of the most primal numbers (1 to 4), using the works of Jung and von Franz, Pythagoras and his followers, and other works such as Theology of Arithmetic by Iamblichus, and The Three Books of Occult Philosophy: Book II by Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa.

Psychologically, the number 1 refers to primal unconsciousness. It is a state of non-differentiation, in which we are not yet aware of our potential, which lies undiscovered and undeveloped. As such, it symbolises the principle of individuation in the state of unrealised potential.

One is no number, hen to pan (one is all). This is expressed in the ancient symbol of the ouroboros, depicting a snake eating its own tail. Jung writes:

“One, as the first numeral, is unity. But it is also “the unity”, the One, All-Oneness, individuality and non-duality—not a numeral, but a philosophical concept, an archetype and attribute of God, the monad.”

Carl Jung. Memories, Dreams, Reflections

It is not surprising that the number 1 or monad is generally treated as a symbol of unity and the origin of all things. The Pythagoreans used a circled dot to symbolise the monad, an infinite circle whose centre is everywhere and circumference nowhere, a symbol of the unus mundus.

One of the suggested origins of the word “religion” comes from the Latin “religare” (to bind again). The task is to reunite our fragmented dual nature with the One. Likewise, the word “yoga” comes from the ancient Sanskrit word “yuj” (yoke or union). It is the union of the material with the spiritual, the individual self with the supreme self. Totality is superior to the parts. As beings of a dual nature, elevation is motion toward unity.

The Pythagoreans did not consider 1 to be a number at all, because number means plurality, and 1 is singular. The One is the origin of all numbers. All other numbers can be created from 1 by adding enough copies of it. Interestingly, multiplying 111,111,111 times itself equals to: 12345678987654321. Therefore, the monad runs through all the number series, through the one-continuum. With its retrograde relationship to the primal monad each number “reaches across” to its successor. This hen-to-pan aspect is specific to all numbers.

While in the threshold of consciousness numbers appear to be individual entities, in the unconscious they interpenetrate and overlap (as do all the other archetypes).

The unity is itself the active principle, and number is the passive one. For when the One is multiplied it produces no other number than itself. The Unity is the beginning and end of all numbers. It is the source of all things.

The Psychology of the Number 2

God Separates Light from Darkness Paintings in the Loggia of Raphael

Out of the monad, comes the dyad, which Pythagoras associated with “audacity”, because of its boldness of separation from the one, and “anguish” because there is still a sense of tension of a desire to return to oneness. It is also associated with matter, and seen as evil.

Two is actually the first number, as it is the source of polarity, light and darkness, order and chaos, which alone makes existence possible. In the Book of Genesis, God praised all the seven days of creation stating that “it was good”, except the second day, the origin of division in creation. The alchemist Gerhard Dorn says that the number two belonged to Eve. For this reason, the devil first tempted her. A secret relationship thus arose between the number two, the devil, and woman.

This devilish principle of duality sought to build a creation in opposition to God. Thus, it is the number of discord, confusion, and misfortune. It is also, however, the number of charity, marriage, mutual love, and society. As it is said by the Lord, two shall be one flesh. It is better that two be together then one, for if one shall fall, he shall be supported by the other.

Since antiquity, both in the West and the East, even numbers have been regarded as feminine and odd numbers as masculine. It is also present in alchemy. Two is the first even number and also the female principle.

In practically all cultures and religions of the world two identical demons or divine figures are found acting as the guardians of the entrance to the Beyond, in psychological terms, the collective unconscious. For example, in Hindu mythology, Jaya and Vijaya are the two gatekeepers of the abode of Vishnu, known as Vaikuntha (the place of eternal bliss). In Egyptian mythology, the deity Aker appears as a pair of twin lions, guarding the sun-disk, the gate to the Beyond, and the Lamassu are Assyrian protective deities depicted as winged bulls or lions with human heads that were placed at the entrance to palaces or cities to ward off evil forces.

Identical duplications of figures or objects in dreams or in myths, point to the fact that a content is just beginning to reach the threshold of consciousness as a recognisable entity, taking the first step toward manifestation. Whenever a latent unconscious content pushes up into consciousness, it appears first as a twofold oneness. For this reason, nearly all cosmogonies begin their tales of the emergence of world-consciousness with a duality: creator twins, a god and his “helper”, or, as in Genesis, the earth “without form and void”, over which the Spirit of God moved.

Psychologically, the number 2 represents a conflict being generated for the purpose of bringing our inner potential to consciousness. The unconscious has a compensatory role, insofar as it compensates the one-sided tendency of one’s conscious attitude.

Jung writes:

“[M]an’s real life consists of a complex of inexorable opposites—day and night, birth and death, happiness and misery, good and evil. We are not even sure that one will prevail against the other, that good will overcome evil, or joy defeat pain. Life is a battle ground. It always has been, and always will be; and if it were not so, existence would come to an end.”

Carl Jung, Man and His Symbols. Part I: Approaching the Unconscious

Every human being is born in a paradisiacal state, in original wholeness—whereby the infant is completely submerged in the unconscious, without a developed ego. This is the state of non-differentiation, where one naively participates in one’s surroundings in a state of uncritical unconsciousness, submitting to things as they are. The infant’s individuality is in complete identification with the mother, who provides protection, comfort and nourishment. As the infant grows up and adapts to the world, he develops an ego (a sense of “I”), which slowly emerges out of the Self, and thus begins the disintegration process necessary for selfhood.

This natural process is described in the Garden of Eden myth with the eating of the forbidden fruit. Another version is the Prometheus myth described by the Greek epic poet Hesiod. Prometheus’s mischief angers Zeus, who decides to hid fire from humans. Prometheus steals the fire back and gives it to mankind, this enrages Zeus and Prometheus is punished. Zeus sends the first woman to live with man, Pandora (literally “all gifts”), who carries a jar with her from which were released sorrow, disease and death; only one thing was left behind—hope, outlining the end of the Golden Age.

Plato describes our prior existence as immortal souls in a state of unity, before our souls descend into the body after drinking from the River of Forgetfulness. We innately know we have come from wholeness, but we come to forget what we once knew. Thus, we spend our lives in search of that which will enable us to remember the wholeness we once knew. A similar idea is found in the Buddhist cycle of birth, death, and rebirth—known as samsara. The process involves the forgetting of past lives and experiences with each new incarnation. The goal is to break free from this cycle through enlightenment (nirvana).

In short, we are born integrated, we disintegrate, and we have to reintegrate. The task of life is to become whole again, but on a higher level of consciousness. This is the sine qua non of all self-realisation.

The primary relationship in all of our lives is that of the dual relationship between ego and Self, what Jungian analyst Erich Neumann has called the ego-Self axis, further elaborated by Jungian analysts Edward Edinger and Michael Fordham. The ego cannot exist without the support of the Self, and the Self needs the ego to realise it. They are necessarily connected, and together provide a vital link to human consciousness.

The ego is like the boat which carries you in the vast ocean of the unconscious. Without it, one would stand no chance against the amoral unconscious forces, which are expressions of nature—they are not as concerned, as we are, with human values and ethics, but belong to a realm closer to the instincts, which Jung calls the images of the archetypes.

Generally speaking, the priority of the first half of life consists in building the ego: education, relationships, work, etc (ego-Self separation), and in the second half of life one turns to one’s inner life: dreams, meditation, contemplation, etc (ego-Self union). However, this may be an oversimplification, as the process of alteration between ego-Self separation and ego-Self union is not a linear process, but seems to occur in a circular process throughout life, both in childhood and in maturity. This connection which provides life vitality may be severed through childhood trauma, or if one spends one’s life focused solely on ego-consciousness.

But how are our conflicts in life resolved? Jung writes:

“[E]very tension of opposites culminates in a release, out of which comes the “third”. In the third, the tension is resolved and the lost unity is restored.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 11: Psychology and Religion

The Psychology of the Number 3

18th century engraving based on the work of Basil Valentine

Out of one comes two, but from the pairing of these two comes the third. This third element or triad is what Jung calls the transcendent function, which arises from the union of conscious and unconscious contents. If we can endure the conflict that is assaulting us, something happens: it is resolved or reconciled. Three is the synthesis to the thesis and antithesis, and thus provides a healing function. Three symbolises the resolution of our human conflict through that which is higher and beyond our will, but which we provoke to come into existence by facing our conflict, which is what wanted to come into consciousness in the first place. The alchemists called it tertium quid (“third thing”), an unidentified and mystical essence that emerged from the union of two known opposing elements.

In China, the progression of numbers correspond to the cosmic rhythms of Yin and Yang, wherein any extreme is opposed in order to restore balance, and is united in the indescribable and nameless Tao. This leads to the paradox that the powers confront one another, but they are not in conflict—as they are held together by a third element. Similarly, Heraclitus believed that the fundamental principle of the universe is change and that opposing forces end up coming together to form a harmonious unity.

Thus, we may say that three consists of what unites the opposites. Three serves as a symbol of a dynamic process, and is the formula of all creation. The belief or hope that the third attempt at something will be successful is expressed in the saying, “third time’s the charm.”

It is relevant that three is the first odd number and male principle. The poet Virgil sings, “God delights in an odd number”, and Shakespeare says, “There is divinity in odd numbers.”

Jung observed that the idea of a religious trinity is quite old. He writes:

“Triads of gods appear very early, at a primitive level. The archaic triads in the religions of antiquity and of the East are too numerous to be mentioned here. Arrangement in triads is an archetype in the history of religion, which in all probability formed the basis of the Christian Trinity… I would mention as an example the Babylonian triads, of which the most important is Anu, Bel, and Ea.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 11: Psychology and Religion

These triadic structures of gods and mythological figures appear in different ways, such as one main figure flanked by two companions, which represents the realisation of the unity of its inner opposites, and the emergence of the One in consciousness. For example, in the Roman mystery religion of Mithraism, the god Mithras is accompanied by two figures: Cautes and Cautopates, the first one holds a torch pointing upward, and the second one holds a torch pointing downward.

The triadic structure can also appear with three equally important and identical figures, which represents a preconscious or older form of the archetype. For example, in ancient Greek and Roman mythology, the Fates are three sisters who control the destiny of both human beings and gods. One spins the thread of life, another one measures the thread allotted to each person, and the final one cuts the thread of life when a person’s time has come. In Norse mythology, they are called the Norns. The motif of triple goddesses was widespread in ancient Europe.

The triadic structure we are most familiar with, however, appears as three different deities of equal importance. In the Egyptian myth of creation, there are three deities: Isis, the goddess of magic, motherhood and fertility, Osiris, the ruler of the underworld who is a symbol of rebirth, and Horus, the falcon-headed son of Isis and Osiris, associated with the sky, light, and divine kingship.

Christianity has the Trinity, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Hinduism has the Trimūrti, Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. The most sacred Hindu symbol is “Om” or “Aum”. The latter carries the theme of creation, preservation, and destruction.

Thus, though a plurality is accomplished by the number three, in many respects it clearly maintains its oneness. This “three-oneness” is the rediscovery of unity on a higher level.

Three is seen as a symbol of perfection and completion. The soul, the body, and the spirit; the beginning, the middle, and the end; birth, life, and death; past, present and future.

Three is also a symbol of wisdom, harmony, and piety. In the Hermetic tradition, the syncretism of the Greek god Hermes and the Egyptian god Thoth has the epithet “Trismegistus” (Thrice Great). By three the world is perfected. He is the archetype of the Wise Old Man, and author of the Emerald Tablet, which is supposed to contain all the knowledge and mysteries of the world, in just a few lines.

The illusion of separateness is the root of ignorance. There are two types of ignorance: the ignorance of not knowing (which must be elevated), and the ignorance of wrong knowing (which must be dissipated). Wisdom is equidistant from all extremities; it consists of reconciling the divided parts. Aristotle spoke of the golden mean, in which the greatest virtue lies between a deficiency and an excess of a trait, such as confidence between self-deprecation and vanity.

Earth is the middle place between heaven and hell. Dante’s Divine Comedy has three parts: Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise; with Purgatory being the place of purification of the soul, where imperfections are burned away; for only truth survives the fire.

The shamanic cosmos has three worlds: The Middle World, the Underworld, and the Sky Realm. These are linked together by a central world axis, the Axis Mundi, at the centre of which is a tree, pillar or mountain; sacred symbols of the Self. Perhaps the most popular image is that of the World Tree. It is a Tree of Life and also a source of the wisdom of the ages. In Norse mythology, it is called Yggdrasil. This mighty and sacred ash tree is at the centre of the cosmos, and around it exists all else, including the Nine Worlds. When the tree trembles, it signals the arrival of Ragnarök, the destruction of the gods and of the world.

Plato speaks of the tripartite nature of the human soul. Thumos (roughly translated as “spiritedness”) is the middle region between reason and appetite. In the allegory of the chariot, Plato depicts the human being as a charioteer (who represents thumos). He is being pushed by two winged horses: a mortal dark horse that descends (appetite), and an immortal white horse that ascends (reason). The charioteer must direct these two conflicting forces in order to follow the path of the Good.

The triune, “the Good, the True, and the Beautiful” is rooted in philosophical and theological traditions. The three theological virtues are faith, hope, and charity (love). There is a popular saying that, “good things come in threes”. The threefold path of Asha is considered the core maxim of Zoroastrianism: good thoughts, good words, and good deeds.

In Japanese mythology, there are Three Sacred Treasures: the sword, the mirror, and the jewel, which symbolise valour, wisdom, and benevolence, respectively. Similarly, The Three Treasures or Jewels are the basic virtues in Taoism. Laozi states:

“There are three jewels that I cherish: compassion, moderation, and humility. With compassion, you will be able to be brave. With moderation, you will be able to give to others. With humility, you will be able to become a great leader.”

Laozi, Tao Te Ching, 67. Translation by John H. McDonald

A central concept in Buddhism is the Triratna (Three Jewels), which reminds disciples of the three core teachings: Buddha (the Awakened One), Dharma (the teachings), and Sangha (the spiritual community).

Three were the gifts of the Magi to Christ: Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, which are symbolic of Christ’s roles as a king, priest or mediator between humanity and the divine, and of a sacrificial saviour.

Fairy tales, which for Von Franz represent the purest and simplest expression of collective unconscious psychic processes, often contain the number 3: three brothers or sisters, three animals, three items, three quests, three wishes granted by a genie, etc. Therefore, one should pay attention to number symbolism in fairy tales, and the part it plays.

Three may also be seen a number of rebirth. Christ was resurrected after three days. Jonah spent three days in the belly of a great fish.

When two circles overlap, the resulting shape is called the vesica piscis (literally, “the bladder of a fish”). It resembles the ichthys, a fish symbol associated with Jesus. This almond-shaped segment is also called a mandorla, in which we can often see Christ in its centre. This is the hypostatic union that describes Christ as both perfectly divine and perfectly human, having two complete and distinct natures at once (a reconciliation of opposites).

The Psychology of the Number 4

Three is a symbol of perfection. However, Jung was not concerned with perfection, but rather wholeness, and for that imperfection is needed.

“Life calls not for perfection but for completeness; and for this the “thorn in the flesh” is needed, the suffering of defects without which there is no progress and no ascent.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 12: Psychology and Alchemy

Jung devoted practically the whole of his life’s work to demonstrating the vast psychological significance of the number 4, the symbol for becoming conscious of wholeness.

In his book, Answer to Job, Jung states that the Christian trinity lacks a fourth element, namely, the dark side of God as a compensation to the light side of God, as well as the feminine (Virgin Mary), the earth, and the body.

Von Franz states that “trinitarian thinking” lacks a further dimension. She writes:

“[I]t is flat, intellectual, and consequently encourages intolerant and absolute declarations. It is erroneous to evaluate our insights by naively attributing eternal validity to them. When an individual becomes aware of this differentiation, a transformation of consciousness results, in which the ego no longer identifies its insights with an “eternal” verity, but distances itself and becomes capable of comprehending the insight as only one of many possible revelations contained within the unknown psychic and universal background of existence.”

M.L. von Franz, Number and Time

Three enables the symbol of wholeness to manifest itself, which cannot be attained if the ego is seen as the centre of the total personality, or if we deny the shadow, the unknown and hidden qualities of ourselves. This would cause a psychic imbalance. A proper relationship is expressed in the ego-Self axis, where equal value is put in one’s inner life and outer life. In this way, a new and unique chapter in our life’s story can be realised and lived consciously and humanly in time and space.

Four is a symbol of the Self, represented by the mandala. The psychic images of wholeness which are produced spontaneously by the unconscious are as a rule quaternities, or their multiples (8, 12, 16, etc). The mandala is an image of the unity of life. It is typically used as an instrument of meditation on the sacred wholeness of the world. It contains a mathematical structure, a detail which made Jung realise that the unconscious somehow avails itself of the properties of whole numbers. He writes:

“The mandala symbolises, by its central points, the ultimate unity of all archetypes as well as of the multiplicity of the phenomenal world, and is therefore the empirical equivalent of the metaphysical concept of the unus mundus.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 14: Mysterium Coniunctionis

These structures not only express order, they also create it. That is why they generally appear in times of psychic disorientation in order to compensate a chaotic state or as formulations of numinous experiences.

Just as the three comes out of a pairing of one and two, so is four related to the prior numbers. This is expressed in the ancient alchemical axiom of Maria Prophetissa, “One becomes two, two becomes three, and out of the third comes the one as the fourth.”

This means that the number three, taken as a unity related back to the primal one, becomes the fourth. This four is understood not so much to have “originated” progressively, but to have retrospectively existed from the very beginning.

We can compare this with the Tetragrammaton, the name of God in the Hebrew Bible, which contains four letters: yod, he, waw, he (transliterated as YHWH – Yahweh). There are three different letters, with the fourth being a repetition of the second. To that extent, the essential name is a triad. But since the letter “he” is doubled, the name is also a quaternity.

A similar notion is found in Taoism:

“The Tao gave birth to One,

The One gave birth to Two,

The Two gave birth to Three,

The Three gave birth to all of creation.”

Laozi, Tao Te Ching, 42. Translation by John H. McDonald

Thus, we begin at one, and end up at one again. As T.S. Eliot stated, “The end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” We have need of the word, but number is a much more important thing. In essence, number is sacred.

“The quaternity, above all, is an essential archetype. The square, the cross. The squaring of the circle by the alchemists. The cross in the circle, or, for the Christians, Christ in ‘glory.’”

C.G. Jung Speaking: Encounters and Interviews

The squaring of the circle is a symbol of the philosophers’ stone, where all the principles of alchemy take place. In the image, we first have the outer circle, a representation of wholeness. Within it, is a triangle, representing salt, sulphur and mercury. Then we have a square (the four elements). When all these are brought together, we get once again the circle of totality. This can be repeated ad infinitum.

Hippocrates, considered as the father of medicine, formulated humourism, in which four bodily fluids affect human personality traits. This proto-psychological theory indicates four personality types: phlegmatic, melancholic, sanguine, and choleric, which can be compared to Jung’s four basic psychological functions: thinking, feeling, sensation, and intuition, that are identical to the four elements: air, water, earth, and fire. The Swiss physician and alchemist Paracelsus compared the elements to four nature spirits: slyphs, undines, gnomes, and salamanders.

Jung writes:

“[A]s soon as the unconscious content enters the sphere of consciousness it has already split into “four”, that is to say, it can become an object of experience only by virtue of the four basic functions of consciousness. It is perceived as something that exists (sensation); it is recognised as this and distinguished from that (thinking); it is evaluated as pleasant or unpleasant, etc. (feeling); and finally, intuition tells us where it came from and where it is going.”

Carl Jung, C.W. Vol. 10: Civilisation in Transition

Jung uses the equation “3 + 1 = 4” to express the psychological fact of our 3 differentiated functions, plus 1 that is undifferentiated, called “the inferior function”. The number 4 represents the totality of the personality—this is why in the psychology of religion, the “4” represents to Jung the necessary complement to the Christian Trinity, as the “dark”, feminine element completing the Trinity to the Quaternity as a totality.

However, because of its contamination with the collective unconscious, the inferior function is very difficult to confront, as it is archaic, mystical and primitive, the complete opposite of our “dominant function.” For example, the inferior function of a thinking type would be feeling. It is where you are likely to encounter the shadow, which also contains the “treasure hard to attain”.

The alchemists thought that all nature consisted of four elements, and that the quintessence was the common substance of these, so that the four elements go back to their oneness in the fifth essence or aether, the material that fills the region of the universe. Similarly, Plato compared these five elements to the five platonic solids, the fifth of which “the god used for arranging the constellations on the whole heaven.”

One of the most important teachings in Buddhism are the Four Noble Truths, which represent the awakening and liberation of the Buddha, and the potential for his followers to reach the same liberation as him.

The English visionary artist William Blake speaks of four types of vision, each with increasing intensity. The ultimate one is fourfold vision, a glimpse of eternity, whereby the smallest things in the world hold the cosmic truth for those with eyes to see. He writes: “To see a world in a grain of sand, and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.”

Classical philosophy and Christian theology speak of the cardinal virtues: prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance.

The four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John are associated with the cherubim, winged chimeras that have four faces, usually described as that of a lion, an ox, a human, and an eagle. This association is known as the tetramorph. The cherubim are the moving forces of the ophanim, the wheels of God’s fiery chariot, which appear as four wheels within wheels in constant motion, and covered with eyes.

In the Book of Revelation, four angels stand on the four corners of the earth, holding back the four winds of the earth. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse also appear, often identified as personifications of Death, Famine, War and Conquest. According to the Prose Edda in Norse mythology, four dwarfs hold up the sky, supporting the world after it was made by the gods.

There are four seasons (Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter), and four cardinal points (East, West, North, and South). In various mythologies and cultures, the “four winds” are associated with specific deities representing the cardinal directions. The Mesopotamians identified them as four-winged beings, three of which are male and one female. In China there are the Four Symbols, the Azure Dragon of the East, the White Tiger of the West, the Black Tortoise of the North, the Vermilion Bird of the South.

The Roman poet Ovid speaks of the Four Ages: The Golden Age (justice, peace, happiness, and abundance of resources), the Silver Age (agriculture, architecture, the emergence of seasons, competition, and social organisation), the Bronze Age (a decline in morality and increase in violence), and the Iron Age (the lowest point in human history: impiety, greed, crime, moral decay). The same theme is found in the four yugas or world ages of Vedic astrology.

Four is called the tetrad and early Pythagoreanism associates it with justice. The sum of the first four numbers equals to ten (the decad), which Pythagoras considered as the most holy number of all. All things spring from ten, which symbolises unity arising from multiplicity. This is present in the Tetractys, a sacred Pythagorean symbol, which initiates were required to swear a secret oath to, as it is what contains the source and root of eternal nature. It is a triangular figure consisting of ten points in four rows. The first row or single point is God, the second row is duality, the third row is the union of matter and spirit, and the fourth row represents the quadrivium “the four ways” (arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy).

Esoteric Meaning of Numbers (5-10)

God rests on the seventh day – Unknown author

Here ends the psychological exploration of numbers. We’ll now look at some esoteric and symbolic meaning of the numbers 5 to 10.

The number five is the sum of the first even and odd numbers (2 and 3). In alchemy, it represents the holy marriage (hieros gamos) of male and female, the sun and the moon, King and Queen, the anima and the animus. This leads to the union of opposites and the creation of the philosophers’ stone or the Self. The Pythagoreans call the pentad “lack of strife”, and it is linked to life and vitality. There are five senses (sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch).

Five is a holy number in Christianity, as Christ suffered five wounds during his crucifixion: the nails on his hands and feet and the wound from the Holy Lance which pierced His side. These wounds have been the focus of prayer and contemplation, “by his wounds we are healed.”

Six is considered the first perfect number, since it is both the sum and the multiplication of the first three numbers. The perfection of six is shown in the six days of creation in Genesis, where God saw that all the things which he had made were very good. This is cosmic order and harmony. On the sixth day, man was created in the image of God.

Seven is considered the most mystical of all numbers. It symbolises fullness and completion, as it is the day God finished his work, blessed it, and rested. Thus, it is known as the Sabbath, the day of rest. Seven is the most repeated number in the Bible. Of the unclean animals, God tells Noah to take one pair, male and female, into the ark. But of the clean animals and birds, Noah was to take seven pairs. It is a number of purification (“Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored to you, and you shall be clean”), of divine praise (“Seven times a day do I praise thee because of thy righteous judgments”), and of divine planning, seven people were named before their birth by the angels or God.

There are seven colours, seven days of the week named after the seven classical planets, associated with the seven Roman gods. In Mithraism, there were seven degrees of initiation, connected to the seven planetary spheres, through which the soul rose to paradise.

There are seven archangels, seven sacraments, seven deadly sins (and virtues), seven chakras, seven enlightened sages in ancient India, etc. In Judaism and Islam there are seven heavens.

The number eight is often associated with infinity, given its shape. Its symmetry suggests balance and harmony, and it is a multiple of 4 (symbol of wholeness). The Chinese consider it the luckiest number, as its pronunciation, bā, sounds similar to fā (wealth or prosperity). In Buddhism, the Noble Eightfold Path is a fundamental teaching, consisting of eight steps that lead to enlightenment.

Nine is the highest single-digit number and represents the ultimate achievement and completion of a cycle. It is a symbol of spiritual attainment and the return to the divine. In Dante’s Paradise, the ninth celestial sphere is the Primum Mobile (the First Mover), it is the last sphere of the universe, moved directly by God, and the abode of angels. From here, Dante ascends to the Empyrean, the abode of God, where he experiences the ineffable and union with God.

Plotinus, the founder of Neoplatonism, is known for his book, The Enneads, compiled by his student in six groups of nine treatises. For the Neoplatonist, the highest task of life is union with what they call “the One”, attained through theurgy (working with God).

Nine is dedicated to the Nine Muses, the inspirational Greek goddesses. There are also nine choirs of angels arranged in a hierarchy based on their proximity to God.

Finally, ten is the universal number, complete, and signifying the full course of life. There are ten commandments in the Bible, and in Jewish mysticism, the Kabbalistic Tree of Life is composed of ten sephiroth or spheres, which are emanations of Ein Sof (The Infinite).

As we have mentioned, Pythagoras considered the decad to be the holiest number. It flows back into a unity, from whence it came so everything that is flowing is returned back to that from which it had the beginning of its flux. Water returns to the sea, the body returns to the earth, time returns into eternity, the spirit returns to God. The decad is the limit of all number: for they run their course by wheeling and turning around it. The sum of the parts of any number until it is reduced to one single digit is always between 1 and 9.

Conclusion

Alexander Pushkin at the Seashore, 1896 – Leonid Osipovic Pasternak

This concludes the brief exploration of the numbers 5 to 10. Now, it may be good to revisit the prior main themes. We started by emphasising the importance of numbers as having not just quantitative properties but also qualitative ones (for Pythagoras they were divine). We mentioned how in ancient times people associated mystical meaning to words and names based on their numerical value, which became the basis for 20^th century numerology that seeks to understand personality through numbers. Then we looked at how number is the most primitive archetype (the archetype of order), and provides a vital link between matter and psyche (united by the unus mundus), which explains synchronicity.

Our main focus, however, was on the psychological exploration of the first four numbers which form the basis for all the rest of the numbers, and as such it is not surprising that they are the most recurring ones in the psyche: 1 being a state of unity, non-differentiation and potential; 2 the origin of a conflict for bringing the potential to consciousness; 3 the resolution of that conflict through a synthesis, and 4 the integration of the unconscious insight into human consciousness, in order to progress towards wholeness—a return to unity on a higher level of consciousness—which remarkably symbolises the human creation myth and the purpose of life.

To paraphrase Pythagoras, “Number rules the universe.”

The Psychology of Numbers

Numbers do not merely have a quantitative nature, but also a qualitative one (for Pythagoras they were divine). Numbers have life, they are not just symbols on paper. Several philosophers, alchemists and mystics throughout history have associated religious or mystical ideas to numbers.

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