The Double Refuge ☯️ Herr Jung
Ciao, Carlo!
Introduction - Locke’s Return - Confrontation - Tschüss, Carl!
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Introduction
In this chapter I continue my holiday in Guanajuato, yet I shift my focus — 🔹 from travel & the trauma of sense impressions 🔹 to dreams & the trauma of nightmares. While in 🇲🇽 Señor Locke I focused on the persuasive theory of John Locke’s empiricism, in which sense-impressions determine how our minds work, in ☯️ Herr Jung I focus on the unconvincing theory of Carl Jung’s analytical psychology, in which dreams are interpreted in terms of personifications, patterns, and meanings.
My reservations about Jung follow 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, and from getting trapped in negative scenarios of interpretation.
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In 🇲🇽 Señor Locke I focused on Locke’s empirical theory of sense impressions, and on how these 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 in coping with nightmares — which are the result (perhaps even the revenge!) of sense impressions — it can be counter-productive to dig too deeply into our minds and to impose an interpretive theory and methodology. We need to remember that the mind has evolved over a million years. The way it operates neurologically doesn’t necessarily fit with culturally constructed notions — especially the Jungian notion that we can find specific personas within our dreaming selves. I agree with Jung’s notion that we should pay attention to our dreams, and that we should pay attention to the relation between our waking and dreaming minds, yet I have deep reservations about both his theory and his method. In particular, I have a problem with his idea that we should try to identify, and interact with, personifications and archetypes within our dreams.
In some ways I’m attempting to turn Jung’s method on its ear. First, I argue that his archetypal approach isn’t suited to the modern mind. To illustrate this, I use Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Hamlet, Dickens’ Bleak House, and Fuentes’ Aura. I then take two of Jung’s personifications — the Anima and the Shadow — and play around with them, not so much to mock them as to show why they don’t really help us to unify our psyche or attain peace of mind.
Finally, I argue that Jung’s archetypes might be replaced by the much simpler and less taxing figure of the Gatekeeper. In my version of simplified types, the Gatekeeper is whatever it is in this world or the next that 🔹 opens the gates of dreaming, 🔹 ushers in particular dreams, and 🔹 leads us toward darkness or light, confusion or peace of mind. In other words, the Gatekeeper is God or Mother Nature operating between our waking and dreaming selves. By seeing the operation of dreams in this positive light, we direct our minds to positive outcomes. We also don’t allow our minds to fracture into different personifications.
We might understand the Gatekeeper in a religious sense as a spiritual force (God, the Dao, Jesus, Saraswati, Guanyin, Mary, etc.) or as a material force (Mother nature, the constructive will within us, Nature’s evolutionary drive toward order, wholeness, happiness, etc.). In this version of simplified types, the Gatekeeper employs two subsidiary or secondary figures, yet both operate within the unified order of the Gatekeeper: the Blue Fairy is any force or principle that crops up or acts unexpectedly for the good; the Travelling Friend is any ally we meet along the way. I use the term the way with a purpose here: in Daoism the invisible and incomprehensible Force which benefits all life is referred to as the Dao, or the Way.
Other figures are incidental and superfluous. Why imagine negative figures (like the Shadow or the Anima) when positive ones (like the Blue Fairy or the Travelling Friend) by their very nature neutralize or dissolve their negative influence? Why create a solid identity for negative sensations and neural pathways when we might solidify positive ones into a stronger current? Thinking figuratively in a positive way, the Blue Fairy and the Travelling Friend pop up here and there in our dreams, while the Gatekeeper controls the larger ebb and flow.
For people who are deeply troubled, it may be therapeutic to see their dreams in terms of figures like a Shadow, Anima, Jester, Mother, Father, Maiden, Wise Old Man, or Magician. This may be a way for them to identify that other inside them, and bring that other back into their identity. And for people of a very adventurous and unflappable nature, I imagine that confronting a Shadow or Anima might be exciting. Yet for people who are mentally stable, or who are looking for peace of mind, it may be a mistake. Perhaps under the guidance of a Jungian psychiatrist it might all work out, yet to try Jung’s method on your own, as I have done, appears to me a dangerous business.
For the average person who has disturbing dreams yet isn’t under the care of a psychiatrist, I think it’s a bad idea to follow Jung in trying to see the people and situations in our dreams in terms of personified figures and scenarios. I suggest that we don’t attempt 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 understood in terms of archetype, plot, or structured meaning. Plays and novels can be seen in this way, and we can see some 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 myth and drama.
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Locke’s Return
Because dreams rework the sensory input and trauma 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 combine the open doubt of Locke’s empiricism with an imaginative, positive dose of open theism.
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. And 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 — in general and positive ways, not in ways that construct in our minds specific scenarios of symbolic meaning, or specific figures of good & evil, wisdom & delusion, etc. 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.
When confronted with disturbing dreams, we can always appeal to figures such as Mary, Saraswati, Guanyin, or Jesus, or to the general sense of a benevolent God or Universal Mind. We might even see in disturbing dreams our impotence — especially in relation to 🔹 sleep, 🔹 the afterlife, and 🔹 the universe beyond our little planet. In this sense a scary dream doesn’t have to be interpreted in terms of the specifics of the dream, and it certainly doesn’t have to be seen in terms of recurrent personifications or scenarios. Indeed, it doesn’t have to be interpreted at all. Rather, it can be seen as a reminder that 🔹 we’re very small in the universe, 🔹 we have no idea about life after death, just as 🔹 we have no idea what our nightly dreamworld will bring us.
Learning about our impotence from the disorientation of our dreams might even lead to a religious appreciation of our situation. In this context, Bryan Ferry’s version of “Amazing Grace” may be apropos:
’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
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). And in themselves, ideas such as the union of male and female are fascinating and worth exploring in detail. Yet for people who are merely having disturbing dreams, 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 delve into 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 figures such as the Shadow and Anima, in the end I found it more helpful to use empirical doubt and open theism. In an empirical light, we see nightmares as manifestations of neurological regeneration, not as realities of a mythic, mystic, or metaphysical type. We see nightmares as sketches or brief scenes that are fragmentary, arbitrary, and surreal, not as organized or coherent scenarios acted out by personified figures. Dreams remind us that we have minds that need rest, and that this rest reworks the many layers of our physiology and psychology. We can see all of these layers as functions of Mother Narture or God, and we can appeal to these higher powers at any time, yet we shouldn’t confuse the neurological working of our brains with figures and scenarios from literature, myth, or religion.
Instead of lending a sort of coherent epistemological reality to the chaotic ontology of our dreams, we might see them with a critical distance, much as we do in literary criticism. 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.
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Confrontation
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 devil inside me! can be traumatic.
On the basis of my personal experience, I suggest not running with such a scenario. It would be wiser 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 control the Shadow and the Anima
(even if we cared to)
but instead strengthens the notions of them
and turns 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