The Double Refuge ☯️ Herr Jung
Ciao, Carlo!
Introduction - Locke’s Return - Tschüss, Carl!
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Introduction
In this chapter I continue my holiday in Guanajuato, yet I also shift from exploring Locke’s rational empiricism to exploring Jung’s archetypal psychology. In 🇲🇽 Señor Locke I focused on the way sense impressions can sometimes seem like a mental trap, especially when you’ve had traumatic experiences that you can't shake. In ☯️ Herr Jung I argue that sometimes we need to look deep into our minds, in order to recognize and deal with traumas and issues that are rooted in memory yet which are of a difficult or disturbing nature (both experientially and philosophically, both ontologically and epistemologically). I agree with Jung’s notion that we should pay attention to our dreaming mind, yet I have deep reservations about his method, especially when he urges us to see personifications and archetypes within our dreams.
My point about Jung’s archetypes follows in some ways from the points I made about Locke’s sense impressions: in 🇲🇽 Señor Locke I suggested ways in which empiricism can limit or trap us through the determinism of sense and experience; in ☯️ Herr Jung I suggest that this same empiricism can liberate us from thinking about our dreams in terms of archetypal figures and scenarios.
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Locke’s Return
Based largely on my own experience, I find it counter-productive to see the inner workings of the minds in terms of character types and quasi-mythic figures (like the Anima and Shadow). For people who are deeply troubled, I imagine that it may be therapeutic to see their dreams in terms of figures like the Shadow, Anima, Jester, Sage, or Magician. And for people of a very adventurous and unflappable nature, I imagine that such an exploration may be exciting. Yet for people who are mentally stable, or who are looking for peace of mind (like me), it seems more like a mistake.
I would argue that in general it may not be in our best interest to try to see people in our dreams in terms of personified figures and scenarios. I suggest that we don’t try to shape the surreal sketches of our dreams into coherent meanings or dramas, as if the globe of our dreaming mind was Shakespeare’s Globe, and as if the action within our dreaming mind could be fixed into a structure, plot, and meaning. Plays and novels can be structured and analyzed in this way, and we can see aspects of our dreaming in dramatic terms, yet it doesn’t make sense to interpret the workings of our dreams in light of the coherence we find in dramatic literature.
Because dreams rework the sensory input and traumas of our waking lives, it can be counter-productive to see this reworking in terms of personifications. In following Jung, we run the risk of imprinting dramatic scenarios — and the quasi-mythic and legendary figures within these scenarios — into the neurological structure of our brains. These figures and scenarios can run counter to our already-established neurological patterns, to our interests, and to our peace of mind. Instead of using personifications such as the Shadow or Anima, I suggest that we go back to Locke’s empirical way of looking at the mind.
In dealing with mysterious forces in the universe — whether these be in our dreams or in our waking lives — I suggest that we avoid analyzing ourselves like a mystic psychiatrist, and instead combine empirical doubt with open, positive belief. We’re better off seeing our dreams as working out the sensory input of the day, not as working out mystical actions, occult motives, or metaphysical scenarios.
If in our dreams or deepest thoughts we find things we can’t deal with rationally, we can always appeal to paradigms of literature or religion — but in a general and positive way, not in a way that constructs in our mind specific scenarios of symbolic meaning, or specific figures of good, evil, occult knowledge, etc.
When confronted with nightmarish dreams and thoughts we can always appeal to figures such as Mary, Saraswati, Guanyin, or Jesus, and we may even even find forgiveness, grace, and salvation in a benevolent God. This is very different than the method we find in Jung, where slippery personified figures operate on the stage of the mind, without a clear script or direction.
If we see our minds as populated by archetypes and metaphysical events — animas & shadows, revelations & tragic falls, angels & demons, miracles & possessions, wise men & tricksters, etc. — we run the risk of fabricating dramas and integrated meanings from the chemical and neurological firings of the brain, that is, from the apparently random, yet biologically essential reworking of the day’s sensory input and internal processing. Jung’s focus on personification and dramatic structuring may even lead to a division in our minds between waking and dreaming realities. We might get to the point of fearing our dreams, and of confusing our waking reality with the ‘meanings’ we extract and narrate from our dreams.
Jung’s use of dramatic figures and scenarios — the Shadow, the Anima, alchemical union of male and female, synchronicity, etc. — may be helpful for patients in need, that is, for people who are divided within their own minds, and who can’t reconcile different parts of themselves in any other way (apart from medication). But for people who are merely having disturbing dreams or thoughts, reenacting archetypal dramas populated with personified figures isn’t necessarily helpful. It may in fact be divisive and traumatic, thus inducing the very things that Jung is attempting to correct.
I don’t say any of this as an expert on the workings of the mind. I’ve never even taken a course in psychology. I should note, however, that most courses in psychology don’t cover Jungian Analysis, largely because Jung’s system has too much archetypal myth, and not enough empirical verification and behavioural analysis.
My expertise lies in literature, and my point of view is coloured by my own experience. Having attempted to see my own disturbing dreams in terms of such figures as the Shadow and Anima, I found it more helpful to use empirical doubt and open theism. I think it’s more helpful to see nightmares as fragmentary and surreal literary scenarios rather than as realities of a mythic, mystic, or metaphysical type.
Instead of lending a sort of coherent epistemological reality to the chaotic ontology of our dreams, we might see them with an eye that’s more skeptical, critical, and at times literary. We might see them as fleeting skits or sketches 🔹 that always change, 🔹 that don’t correspond in any exact way to the real world, and 🔹 that are largely working out the experiences, stresses, fears, etc. that naturally reside inside our sleeping brains. While it may be helpful to use some of the terminology of psychoanalysis to understand our dreams, I find it best to avoid seeing dreams as actually containing archetypal figures, integrated scenarios, or coherent meanings.
I don’t mean to argue that Jung’s ideas are wrong for everyone. Other people may benefit from his daring confrontation with the unconscious and his diverse use of personified figures and scenarios. What I have a problem with is his suggestion that we should try to see obscure quasi-occult forces and motivations within our own minds. To be fair, Jung mostly argues that these forces and motivations are our own, and that we must dig into our inner state and come to terms with what’s inside us so that the mind can finally be unified. This is a very worthwhile project, yet the part that can be dangerous is to separate ourselves from these forces to the point where we see parts of ourselves as personalities or identities that we need to assimilate. Ourselves can too easily become our selves.
In “Confrontation with the Unconscious,” Jung writes:
The essential thing is to differentiate oneself from these unconscious contents by personifying them, and at the same time to bring them into relationship with consciousness. That is the technique for stripping them of their power. It is not too difficult to personify them, as they always possess a certain degree of autonomy, a separate identity of their own. Their autonomy is a most uncomfortable thing to reconcile oneself to, and yet the very fact that the unconscious presents itself in that way gives us the best means of handling it.
Jung admits that acknowledging the autonomy of these personifications within us “is a most uncomfortable thing to reconcile oneself to.” This may be something of an understatement, especially when dealing with nightmarish scenarios where it is very difficult to see what is what, let alone what is who!
From an empirical viewpoint, the danger in creating scenarios that explain mysterious forces (whatever they are and wherever they come from) is that we may be inadvertently integrating pathways about them into the neural network of our minds. We may be assigning too much importance to such forces. Imagine, for instance, elaborating and developing within our minds the figure of the Shadow: he operates in dark corners, is ready to pounce, is full of bad intentions. Maybe at some point this figure can be understood, tamed, and integrated, but in the initial stages he takes on the role of an alien sprite, a trickster, an assassin, or even a demon. And since trauma often results from initial impact, this stage of I’ve got a malevolent being inside me! can be traumatic.
Perhaps it would be wise not to run with such a Shadow scenario. And perhaps it would be wise to remember the notion which is almost a neurological truism: neurons that fire together wire together. Likewise, scenarios that fire together, wire together. This firing and wiring can create understandings and deep-seated interpretations that are scary and traumatizing. They can also be psychologically divisive, given that they are at odds with 1. the seemingly arbitrary neurological re-arrangement that occurs during sleep, and 2. the neurological patterns of our waking mind, that is, the very patterns that we use to make sense of our lives.
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Tschüss, Carl!
1.
for me, the Jungian project is over
because the Shadow and the Anima always change
there's no consistency in the scenes
and there's no sense
in one dream the Shadow’s a drug addict in shabby clothes
brandishing a knife
and in the next he’s a talking meringue
in either case, the Jungian method creates an other
inside an otherwise unified self
this strategy doesn't help us
to know the Shadow and the Anima
but instead strengthens the notions of them
turning them into mythic figures
inside the globe of our beleaguered unconscious
gathering them in a strong current
that flows against the natural currents in our brain
2.
I’ve had it with this psycho drama
where feelings take on savage or angelic masks
and we struggle against our selves
3.
instead of fretting and strutting on this stage
I’ll wander among the flowers of Saint Francis
and join Camus in the absinthe fields of Tipasa
if I have to dive, I’ll dive with the swallows
over the sun-drenched coast of Oran
In the middle of the day, when the heavens open their fountains of light into the vast, resounding space, the headlands along the coast have the air of a flotilla lifting anchor. These heavy galleons of rock and light tremble on their keels as if they were preparing to sail to the islands of the sun. Ah, the morning in Oran! From high on the plateaus, the swallows plunge downward into the immense vat of seething air. The whole coast is ready for departure; a quiver of excitement runs along it. Tomorrow, perhaps, we will set sail together.
— Camus, Summer, 1938
4.
I've wasted enough time
and life is short
the next time I press my red ink
into that thin mesh of pulverized wood
it won't be to write a Red Book
but to celebrate the blooming of a rose
a mouthful of absinthe
a drop of soma on the lips of an invisible apsara
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Next: ☯️ Into the Forest