This week we continue with Liber Secundus, the Second
Book.
In the next scene, Jung’s active imagination takes him to a
library where he takes out a copy of the book Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis. His intention is to read
this 14th century text with a devotional, as opposed to a scholarly,
attitude. How do you reconcile
Jung’s embracing of this book with the previous sentiments Jung expressed about
religion and the outdated old God of Christianity? The “imitation” that he talking about is to see Christ as
symbolizing individuation, taking up one’s unique destiny while still connected
to the spirit of the depths.
The scene shifts to a large kitchen, where he begins reading
his book. He has a dialog with a
cook, who asks if Jung is a
clergyman. They share a belief in
the great merit of this book. Jung notes a passage that says that we should
base our intentions on God’s mercy rather than on our own wisdom. Jung interprets this to mean that we
should rely more on intuitive thinking, as opposed to the more superficial
rationality of the scientific approach. Christ represents this type of
thinking, and this is what Jung says he would like to imitate.
Jung next encounters the prophet Ezechiel, who is
accompanied by shadowy figures who are going to Jerusalem to pray. Ezechiel tells Jung that he cannot
accompany these figures, because he has a living body and these others are
dead. Jung senses that
these dead ones neglected to live something important while they lived; when Ezechiel presses Jung to explain
what they might not have lived, Jung says that the did not “live their
animal.” To Jung, animals are true
to their nature and are not deceitful, which in many ways makes them more
civilized that the so-called civilized men.
The scene shifts again. He finds himself in a crowd, still
clinging to his copy of Imitation of
Christ, in which he reads that all people, including saints, are subject to
temptation. Jung comments that temptation may, in fact, be necessary for
life. This is part of the idea of
“living your animal.” Jung is then brought by policemen to a mental ward, where
he is diagnosed with religious paranoia and told that imitation of Christ leads
to the madhouse. The old professor who is diagnosing Jung dismisses all that he
has to say about the intuitive method, and says that Jung has a poor prognosis
so long as he resists his diagnosis. He is stripped and put into a ward with
people who are profoundly mentally ill.
He returns to an earlier theme – that it is unavoidable, when turning
truly within, to experience a sort of divine madness, which is “a higher form
of the irrationality of the life streaming through us” but “cannot be
integrated into present-day society.”
Jung now has a lengthy discussion with “chaos” and “the
dead.” What does Jung mean by “the
dead”? It is not just the ghosts
of dead people; it is also all the discarded images of one’s past and the “ghostly procession” of our human
ancestors and our history. Jung
says that he has been “afflicted” by the dead, calling him into solitude and
dedication to saving them.
He goes on to express that this involves the creative process, but the
creative process is not altogether positive. On the one hand, creativity hold the potential to reconcile
the opposites and promote individuation; on the other hand, creative people
strike out from the ways of the past, destroying it, and are often cast out
from society as a result. Might it not be better for us mere mortals to “live
our animal” rather than be like Christ, who epitomizes one who creatively
transgresses the law, in the service of something higher? Jung calls on us to seek
atonement and to work work the redemption of the dead, which must involve
accepting the chaos.
The scene shifts once more. Jung is having an active imagination dialog with his soul, who
is urging him to be open to madness in order to be open to everything. She
depicts madness as a light that must be permitted to shine, and that Jung
should “give it life.” Daily life is crazy and illogical, a profound mystery
with no actual rules, which resists the imposition of something
comprehensible. The old professor
from the madhouse appears again, condemning him for having lost his way and
going crazy. Now Jung begins speaking to a fellow patient in the madhouse, who
is referred to as “the fool.” This fool says many things that Jung cannot
accept – that Jung is Christ, that the professor is the devil. Jung has a
vision of a philosophical tree, rising from the sea, crowned in heaven, but
rooted in hell. Jung comments that
this image has inspired an insight in him that there is there is no one formula
or path to salvation; we must make our own roads, that “we create the truth by
living it.” Some of us look to books like Imitation
of Christ for comfort, while others of us face the abyss and embrace the
hard idea that we must create our own meaning.
Jung now reflects on whether these visions he has been
experiencing are merely a “web of words.”
Words, he says, have the potential to “pull up the underworld” and thus
“the word is an image of God.” There
are times when words are empty, and in those times we often discover our sould
and find our way to God.
Jung now returns to another central theme of the Red
Book: God longs to be incarnate in
and completed by humankind. But this can only occur if humans accept the parts
of ourselves that we see as meaningless, false, and evil. “Under the law of love according
to which nothing is cast out.” This is radical acceptance. God s healed when we
dare to take upon ourselves, and be merciful toward, madness, chaos, sickness,
and the contemptible within ourselves. One must also, paradoxically, come to
hate what we overly love in ourselves.
One who strives for the highest finds the deepest. It is a sort of
planting of a seed in hell, from which the tree of life will grow. Whatever or
whomever we see as “other” is also in us.
Next, Jung finds himself in a performance of Wagner’s opera,
Parsifal. He is in the garden of the sorcerer Klingsor, and Jung notes
that the actor playing this part looks a lot like him. Two other of the main parts in the opera
are played by previous characters from the Red Book. Amfortas, the knight who protects the grail, is played by
the librarian and Kundry, the seductress, is played by the cook. By the final act of the opera, Jung has
become Parsifal, the naïve hero of the story, and he’s adorned in armor, which
is layered with history. He takes off the armor, and is now wearing the white
shirt of a penitent, which he then exchanges for his normal clothes, walks out
of the scene, and encounters himself kneeling down in prayer as the audience to
this operatic scene. He then
merges with himself.
Jung shifts to a speculation on logic. He speaks admiringly of Buddhist logic,
which can recognize that some things can be both true and false at the same
time, b0oth real and unreal. He writes, “I, who I am, am not it . .
. I divided myself into two and in that I united myself with myself. I have
bathed myself with impurity and I have cleansed myself with dirt.” (RB, p. 304). There is a “nameless one,” says Jung, which is both a new
man and a new God, who can bring together the opposites, uniting even Christ
and Hell. He is nameless because
he is yet to come. He will be born
through our efforts to accept the other.
Jung then has another encounter with his soul. She
questions, once again, Jung’s capacity to accept all things, and she rattles
off a litany of morbid historical events which she knows that Jung will
struggle to accept, such as savagery and famine. She also describes the heights of human accomplishment, such
as temples and art, and Jung protests – how can he grasp all of this? She chides him – does he really know
his limits? He should cultivate his garden with modesty.
Jung’s soul gives him three prophesies: the misery of war, the darkness of
magic, and the gift of religion.
These, Jung is told, point to the future, but have been largely rejected
by those with a liberal, scientific bent.
What do these have in common?
They have to do with the unleashing and binding of chaos.
Next, Jung speculate on magic, led by further discussion
with his soul. Jung resists taking on magic in his life; he fears that it will
replace his humanity with severity.
Jung’s soul says, “do not struggle.” He asks for her patience, for he
has yet to abandon his scientific world view, and he cannot easily abandon it
for magic. He knows, however, that this is his next challenge in accepting
everything. If he accepts magic,
he sees that he will be introduced to a nameless, formless god, a fearsome
god who is yet to come. It is magic that will create the
future, the new god, and the new religion.
Jung next has a vision of a serpent creeping into the body
of the crucified Christ, emerging from his mouth. Jung takes this to mean that
one’s development is a grim task that must lead through one’s crucifixion. To
individuate, we must overcome aversion and disgust, and we are more likely to
retreat into escape and trickery, such as falling in love or committing crimes.
Next, there is a discourse on the meaning and nature of
symbols. Symbols, Jung tells us, rise out of the depths of the self, giving us
access to a new “room” in one’s psyche, going through a gate to salvation. At his point in his work, Jung had yet
to develop his concept of the archetypes, but there is some early thinking here
in the Red Book, when he talks about the symbol giving rise to something
“ancient” and that “to give birth to the ancient in a new time is creation.” This process is not about will or
intention; it is about letting go of intention and allowing deeper voice to
emanate from the Self.
In the next scene, we are introduced to Philemon, a
“magician” who will reappear several times in the remainder of the Red
Book. Jung believes that this
character of a wise old man holds the secret of magic. At first, Philemon denies this, but
then explains that magic has to do with sympathy, meaning both compassion and
imitation, and that it is inborn in humankind. However, to know magic, Jung must step outside of knowledge,
for it eludes comprehension. Jung asks, does this mean that magic involves
deception? No, because that is still in the realm of reason, but magicians must
exist beyond reason.
Reflecting on this, Jung says that magic cannot be learned,
and enter the realm of imagination. Magic is not a power, it is an attitude
that is receptive to the unconscious and the irrational. The magic of Philemon has to do with
the deeper mysteries, and it is the foundation of a true depth psychology. Therefore, “if one opens up to chaos,
magic also arises.” “Where
reason establishes order and clarity, magic causes disarray and a lack of
clarity.” Magic occurs when one
opens oneself to the unconscious.
Jung next delivers a sort of praise of Philemon, referring
to him as a lover who has survived a flood of chaos. Jung pronounces that there are three kinds of lovers: those who love men, those who love the
souls of men, and those who love their own soul, with Philemon exemplifying
this third type of lover. Philemon
is the spirit of the depths, a vessel of fables, and a teacher of the dead, as
opposed to a teacher of the living.
After this encounter with Philemon, Jung becomes a magician.
He encounters a serpent and a bird, both of which present themselves as Jung’s
soul. Dialoging with these
figures, Jung returns to the theme of the coincidence of the opposites. His soul tells him that a “last supper’
is being prepared for him, at which he will be both a guest and a dish. He finds this both charming and
horrifying.
Jung asks his soul, how can God and the devil become
one? The serpent intimates that
the coincidence of opposites is the very knowledge forbidden to humankind, the
apple in the garden of Eden.
Jung next has a vision involving the throne of God, the holy
trinity, heaven, and satan. Juing
has a protracted discussion with Satan, who dismisses all the fuss about united
God and Satan. God is boring and
vegetative, where satan claims to be ambitious, greedy for fame, lusty for
action, the fizz of new thoughts.
Jung now encounters the Cabiri, the early Greek gods who
Jung regards as elemental, chthonic deities with “roots in the soil.” These
Cabiri greet human and laud him as the master of the lower nature. These gods describe themselves as
responsible for the process by which dead matter becomes life. They give Jung a
gift – a flashing sword which can cut through the knots that entangle him. What
is this knot? It is something
entangled in the human brain, which is the root of madness. Jung is incensed at
being called mad, but the Cabiri set this aside, saying that they are willing
to die for him so that he can go beyond his brain and beyond his madness.
What might this encounter mean? Sanford Drog speculates:
At
least three possibilities come to mind, which are not mutually exclusive:
humanly, transcending the brain suggests a rising above one's animal or
material nature; philosophically, it suggests surpassing the naturalism or
"soulless materialism," which holds the mind to be identical with and
determined by the brain; and psychologically, it suggests -a going beyond mere
thinking in favor of feeling and other psychic functions, The latter
interpretation is supported by lung's statement that his tower has "not
arisen from the patchwork of human thoughts" (RB, p. 321 b, p. 322a), but
all three interpretations make sense in the context of both The Red Book and
lung's later psychology. Jung comments: "Just as a tower surmounts the
summit of a mountain on which it stands, so J stand above my brain, from which
I grew ... 1 am master of my own self" (RB, p. 321b). This suggests a philosophical view in which the psyche
is causally and naturally produced by the brain and nervous system, but attains
its independence by virtue of the individual's capacity to take he brain and
its products as an object to be judged, rejected, or in Jung's case, sliced
through and disentangled (RB, p. 321a).
(Drob, p. 187)
Next comes a difficult monologue about the devil and the
dead. The devil is described as the sum of darkness of human nature. To escape the devil’s grasp, Jung
unites himself with the serpent, thereby drawing the darkness from the beyond
into the daylight. Jung thereby took something of death into himself, allowing
him to give up personal striving and distancing himself from ambition and
desire, setting aside egoism and moving toward becoming himself. This is a
definition of individuation.
Jung encounters Elijah and Saome once again. Salome protests that Jung has refused
her love, particularly the love that goes beyond words. Jung says that, for him, love has been
something of a torture and an entanglement. Salome offers help on this matter, but Jung says he must
carry his own burden. Jung wants Salome’s love to come from fullness, not from
longing. Elijah informs Jung
that he’s been gloomy ever since he lost his serpent. Jung says that, in fact,
he has stolen Elijah’s serpent from the underworld, prompting a curse from the
old prophet, but Jung says that his possession of the serpent protects him from
such curses.
Further reflecting on love, Jung says that Salome has been
accepted as pleasure, but he rejects her as love. He says this is a sacrifice,
but the serpent appears and responds that this was hardly a sacrifice because
Jung did it with thought, and he is such a thinking type. At this, the serpent becomes a white
bird that flies to the heavens and report down to Jung that she has found a
gift for him in heaven, a golden royal crown. At this, Jung finds himself hanging from a tree for the sake
of Salome, who is weeping. Jung asks Salome’s help to escape, but she says he
is hanging too high on the tree of life for her to reach him. He must devise
his own escape. He expresses his torment as he continues to hang on the tree,
and that this tree was the reason that his ancestors committed the original
sin.
On the golden crown is the phrase, “love never ends,” and
Jung recognizes that this means eternally hanging and suffering torment. A wise
raven tell Jung that love might be eternal, but that it depends on what one
means by love. The raven condemns Jung for being an ideologue, and the serpent
reappears coiled around a branch, informing him that she is only half of
herself. Her magical half can be of
use to him in life, but she is powerless to help him while he is hanging.
Satan appears with a scornful laugh. He tells Jung that, if
he gives up his quest to reconcile the opposites, he can escape this hanging on
the tree. But Jung refuses.
The white bird tells Jung that the crown and serpent are
one, and that Jung and Salome are one, and that all he needs to do is grow
wings an fly. He does so, and
glides down to earth. The opposites
are thereby reconciled, at least in part.
Love continues to be subordinated to individuation and to coincidence of
opposites. To love is not to recognize that you and another are one – as with
Jung and Salome.
Jung now has a discourse about life and love. “Life stands
above love” writes Jung. While
“love is pregnant with life,” once life is born, love becomes and empty shell
that expires. Love (as with a mother and a child) seeks to have and to hold,
but life demands more than that.
Jung is trouble by this thought, that he has broken love and life in
twain.
The serpent returns, and it tells a story to Jung:
A
childless king who desIres to have a son is told by a wise woman that although
he
has
sinned, he should bury a pound of otter lard in the earth for nine months and
wait to see what happens. Nine months later the king finds an infant boy
sleeping in the pot that had contained the pound of lard. He and his wife raise
the child as their son, and at twenty the son informs the father that he knows
he was born not of a woman hut through sorcery and the king's repentance for
his sins. The son, who is more powerful than any man, demands the throne, and
the king, surprised and outraged by the son's demands, desires to have him
killed. However, he fears his son and returns to the sorceress who tells him
that although he is confessing a desire to commit yet another sin, he should
again place a pot with a pound of otter's lard in the earth for nine months.
The king again follows her instructions and over the next nine months his son
grows progressively weaker and dies, and the king buries his son near the
now-empty pot.
However,
the king is filled with remorse over his son's death and he again returns to
the sorceress, who tells him to once more go to his son's grave, fill it with
otter lard, and return in nine months. For a second time an infant son is born
of the earth, but this time he grows to maturity in 20 weeks and once again
demands the king's crown. At this point, the king, knowing how things will most
surely develop, embraces his son "with tears of joy" (RB, p. 328b)
and crowns him king. The son is grateful and holds his father in high esteem
for the remainder of the old king's days.
(retold by Sanford Drob, p. 197)
The serpent offers an interpretation of this story: Jung is dissatisfied with his “Son,”
meaning his work. Jung must accept both his inner mother and inner child. Jung
himself is smaller and weaker than his work, and he must let it go.
Jung struggles with this. How dare his “son” claim his crown! Jung must recognize, at
this point, that he himself must remain among mere humans, while his son, his
work born of magic, will become immortal. He sees that he is on the verge of another opus,
another great work, which will be born out of his solitude. Thus ends the
Second Book of the Red Book.
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