Now, we move forward in the book. The next series of passages concern Jung’s relationship to
his soul. He tells us that he had
wandered far from his soul work, and now he returned. He asserts that he came
to recognize that he was an expression and symbol of the soul. The spirit of the time spins an
illusion that the attainments of the ego – wealth, power, recognition, success
– are one’s true purpose and identity. But the truth comes from the spirit of
the depths, But, in actuality,
each of us is a servant – Jung uses the term serf – to the larger underlying
process.
Jung felt the soul beckoning him, compelling him to enter
more deeply into the unconscious. He held back, apprehensive, sensing that what
he might well find there will seem chaotic to his rational mind. But he came to
see that the soul is an entity with whom relationship is necessary, and if he
held back, the relationship would fail.
In his words, “This fear testifies against me! It is true, it testifies
against you. It kills the holy
trust between you and me.” (p.
235) And even further: “You open the gates of the soul to let
the dark flood of chaos flow into your order and meaning. If you marry the
ordered and the chaos you produce the divine child, the supreme meaning beyond
meaning and meaninglessness.”
And so, Jung let go.
Through active imagination, he followed his soul, and where did it lead
him? A vast internal desert,
seemingly lifeless. This is the
internal world that reflected the state that Jung found himself in at this
time. He had followed the spirit of the times, and that meant it was necessary
to endure the torment of an internal desert in order to re-find his soul and,
through her, fully experience the spirit of the depths. He soon learned that impatience would
get him nowhere in this desert. He
had to wait, to courageously face the torment, and recognize that he, like most
of us, throw ourselves into “things, men, and thoughts” as if those things were
enough. But they are not. The work is to transform the desert
into a garden, and then one can befriend things, men, and thoughts without
becoming their slave.
Jung continued in this active imagination, going farther and
farther into the desert, longing for the cool breath and animating force of his
soul. But she simply criticized
him for his impatience. He wandered this way for 25 days, all the while his
soul interacting him as a sort of shadowy figure, without form. And then, she took a form, and Jung
became fully convinced that she was a separate being, not some construction of
his own. For a man of thought like
Jung, her next messages were harsh but necessary: cleverness may well lead you to a mastery of the outer
world, but if you want to approach the soul, you must cultivate a sort of
simplemindedness. In the words of the soul-figure: “Take on the poverty of the spirit in order to partake of
the soul.” (p. 237) At this
moment, Jung began to doubt the utility and purpose of thinking, at least the
thinking he had become accustomed to.
Is it possible that his thinking might have led him away from his
soul? With this awakening, Jung
leaves the desert, but not for a kinder place. He descended into hell, a
horrific place of shadows, grey stone, the dead, red sun, and rivers of
blood. Jung recognized that his
next stage was to succumb to what the world would label as madness. But this is
divine madness, a necessary stage.
Jung then goes on to muse on the events of life? Are they just a distraction from the
real work, the internal work? Jung
has been accused of this – of dismissing the outer world as just an
illusion. But here in the Red Book
we see his position is more sophisticated than that. He writes,
Life does not come from events, but
from us. Everything that happens outside has already been. . . . That which you
need comes from yourself, namely the meaning of the event. . . The meaning of events is the way of
salvation that you create. The meaning of events comes from the possibility of
life in this world that you create. It is the mastery of this world and the
assertion of your soul in this world.
This meaning of events is the supreme meaning, that is not in events,
and not in the soul, but is the God standing between events and the soul, the
mediator of life, the way, the bridge and the going across. (p. 239)
At this, Jung sunk deeply into despair. It seemed to him that the world was
insane, full of horror and pain, and he could not see how it could bring him to
meaning, much less to God. The further conversations with his soul bring no
comfort. She remarks that all of
the horrors that Jung descries being inflicted on one brother by another
brother he has, in fact, inflicted on himself. In our encounters with a conflicted world, we become
painfully aware of our own incapacity. Rather than condemn it, we cannot rise
above it. We must, as Jung says,
learn to live with our own incapacity and give it life. Through our incapacity, we learn to
value the smallest things, we learn about wise limitation. When we believe ourselves to be so
heroic and mightly, we sin against our incapacity. Jung says, “No one should deny
it, find fault with it, or shout it down.” (p. 240)
Now the soul has some sympathy for the suffering Jung. It tells him to calm himself, to see
how the darkness that she leads Jung into is, in fact, a path of light. The
problem is with how Jung interprets what he is being shown, with his thoughts
and words. Jung rages at her. She
has sent him all these torments, when what he always wanted to do was find
something worthy of worship, even if it was just a mask of the true God. Now all he has is devils to wrestle
with. At that, he finds himself
back again in the desert. He
meets a murderous assassin, and he feels himself transform into a rapacious
beast. He recognized in himself
the capacity to murder, to destroy, the source of war in the world.
Jung now has a vision in which he and a youth slay the
Germanic god Siegfried. He felt
great torment at having done this. Was this not a mighty hero? Has he not done a monstrous thing? A voice comes from the spirit of the
depths, saying: “The highest truth is one and the same with the absurd.” Jung does not grasp the full meaning of
this, but it brings him some comfort. The further words from the spirit of the
depths are even more mysterious:
This is the bitterest for mortal
men: our Gods want to be overcome, since they require renewal. If men kill
their princes, they do so because they cannot kill their Gods, and because they
do not know that they should kill their Gods in themselves.
if the God grows old, he becomes
shadow, nonsense, and he goes down. The greatest truth becomes the greatest
lie, the brightest day becomes darkest night.
As day requires night and night
requires day, so meaning requires absurdity
and absurdity requires meaning.
Day does not exist through itself,
night does not exist through itself. The reality that exists through itself is
day and night.
So the reality is meaning and
absurdity.
Noon is a moment, midnight is a
moment, morning comes from night, evening turns into night. but evening comes
from the day and morning turns into day.
So meaning is a moment and a
transition from absurdity to absurdity, and absurdity only a moment and a
transition from meaning to meaning."
(p. 242)
What is the meaning of the death of the hero? Sanford Drob offers four
interpretations, all of which might be true at the same time. The hero might represent Jung
narcissistic investment in his dominant thinking function, his own power and
pride and ambition. Or, the hero
might represent the existential quest to construct our own projects, meanings,
and identity; we must be willing to sacrifice ourselves for this to occur. Or,
the hero might represent the spirit of the times, which must be brought down by
the spirit of the depths. Or, this might represent Jung’s recent troubled
breakup with Freud.
Now the active imagination moves to the conception of God. A
new God is about to be born, the spirit of the depths said. This God will not be one-sided, will not
be purely good and beautiful, but will dwell in ambiguity and relativity. He will be known by holding the
tension of the opposites and seeing, ultimately, what will emerge.
Now Jung’s active imagination takes him to a fateful
encounter. He meets Elijah the
Prophet and Solome, who was the step-daughter of King Herod who demanded the head
of John the Baptist. What these
figures tell Jung both surprises and horrifies him. Elijah insists that, from eternity, Elijah and Salome have
been one, that Jung must come to love her, and that she actually loved John.
Jung objects, asking what these figures symbolize, and they reply, “we are real
and are not symbols.” In this, they attempt to keep Jung from escaping the
actual experience of them by analyzing them as symbols. In his commentary on this passage, Jung
himself recognizes that these figures made a tremendous demand of him, namely,
to fully experience the tension of many opposites: the archetypes of the wise old man and the anima, the sacred
and the profane. And, further,
that he must come to love the shadow and feminine aspects of himself.
Jung makes more inquiry of these entities. Salome explains that Elijah is Jung’s
father and that she is his sister.
Their mother is the Virgin Mary. Jung rebels at this:
Is it a hellish dream? Mary, our
mother? What madness Irks in your words? The mother of our Savior, our mother?
when 1 crossed your threshold today. I foresaw calamity Alas! It as come. Are
you out of your senses, Salome? Elijah, protector f the divine law, speak: is
this a devilish spell cast by the rejected? low can she say such a thing? Or
are both of you out of your senses. You are symbols and Mary is a symbol. I am
simply too confused to see through you now."
"You may call us symbols for
the same reason that you can lso call your fellow men symbols, if you wish to.
But we are just as real as your fellow men. You invalidate nothing and solve
nothing by calling us symbols."
"You plunge me into a terrible
confusion. Do you wish to e real?"
"We are certainly what you
call real. Here we are, and you are to accept us. The choice is
yours." (p. 249)
At this, Elijah becomes dwarflike and invites Jung to join
him down a crevice, down to the wellsprings, from which those who drink become
wise. But Jung does not have the courage to follow. Elijah chastises him:
“You wanted to come here far too much. . . You deceived yourself.
. . You overreached yourself.”
Jung is now flooded with images: the boot of a marauding giant, a divine child, the cross, a
stream of blood, Christ in his crucifixion torment. He shrinks from the horror of it, and Salmone pronounces,
“You are Christ.” And, in that
moment, Jung stands with outreached arms, as if crucified, only he is being
squeezed by a giant serpent, his blood streaming out. Salome is told by Elijah that her work is done and will be
finished by others. Elijah transforms into a brilliant flame. The serpent releases Jung and he kneels
before the prophet. He has an
insight: this brightness is love.
Before he can ascend to this love, he must do the arduous work of finding
meaning.
Great is he who is in love, since
love is the present act of the 'at creator, the present moment of the becoming
and lapsing or ~ world. Mighty is he who loves. Bur whoever distances himself
from love, feels himself powerful.
. . .
To whoever is in love, form is a
trifling., but his field of vision ends with the form given to him. Whoever is
in thinking, form is unsurpassable and the height Heaven. But at night he sees
the diversity of the innumerable worlds and their never-ending cycles. Whoever
is in love is full and overflowing vessel, and awaits the giving. Whoever is
forethinking is deep and hollow and awaits fulfillment.
Love and forethinking are in one
and the same place. Love cannot he without forethinking, and forethinking
cannot be without love. Man is always too much in one or the other. This comes
with human nature. Animals and plants seem to have enough in every way, only
man staggers between too much and a little. He wavers, he is uncertain how much
he must give here and how much there. His knowledge and ability is sufficient,
and yet he must still do it himself . Man doesn't only grow from within himself,
for he is also creative. from within himself . The God becomes revealed in him.
Human nature is little skilled in divinity, and therefore man fluctuates between
too much and too little. (p. 253)
Then Jung contemplates the war that was raging at that time,
the horror of the first world war.
Instead of blaming these atrocities on forces outside oneself, Jung
urges us to reflect on the will that comes from one’s own heart that brought
forth this war. He writes, “drink your fill of the bloody atrocities of war,
feast upon the killing and destruction then your eyes will open you will see
that you yourselves are the bearers of such fruit.” (p. 254) I end with the final paragraphs of the
first book of the LIber Novus:
The spirit of the depths has seized
mankind and forces self-sacrifice upon it. Do not seek the guilt here or there.
The spirit of the depths clutched the fate of man unto itself, as it clutched
mine. He leads mankind through the river of blood to the mystery. In the
mystery man himself becomes the two principles, the lion and the serpent.
Because I also want my being other,
I must become a Christ. I am made into Christ, I must suffer it. Thus the
redeeming blood flows. Through the self-sacrifice my pleasure is changed and
goes above into its higher principle. Love is sighted, but pleasure is blind.
Both principles are one in the symbol of the flame. The principles strip
themselves of human form.
The mystery showed me in images
what I should afterward live. I did not possess any of those boons that the
mystery showed me, for I still had to earn all of them. (p. 254)
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