Tag Archives: archetypal images

Instinct, Reason, and Subjectivity

“The latest large event — the engineering of a large-scale atomic chain-reaction, because it involves not just the opinions but the bodies of our species, too — has waked up every archetype, every instinct, in the billion-year-old breast of humanity. It is hoped by multitudes that the psychological shock will have even more benefit… in better times… from all the fragments of atoms men can harness. It may, if a man at last appreciates he is an animal and takes charge of himself instead of tendering the charge to religion…” — Philip Wylie, An Essay On Morals, 1947.

As the once culturally binding religious and patriotic identifications of the last generation have steadily dissolved into more personalized forms of instinct-ego-possession, so have centuries of human conflict continued to shape a natural world to its one-sided reality. The relentless pursuit of conscious aims unmoved by consequence, as Wylie inferred, now harbors an unspeakable destruction.

The further splintering of nationalistic and ideological interests today has only magnified the threats portended by WWII; though the psychological shock has been numbed by new diversions. Science may have realer benefits for humanity, as Mr. Wylie noted: “If we, who have proceeded to this magnificent truth by applying integrity to objects… now apply it equally to subjectivity and develop the science of our inner selves — the morality — that matches the outer knowledges.

“The reasoner, that is, must become reasonable concerning himself, lest the findings he has made by reason destroy his very body through a seeming of incomprehensibility and of irrationality which drives his reason mad. Panic — national schizophrenia — universal paranoia — whole societies in manic ecstasy and depressive melancholia — such has been the historical panorama of mankind…”

Though Hitler’s Germany was the most tangible threat imaginable in the last century, the threats today are so diverse, diffused and intertwined, so subjective and integral to civilization today that catastrophe can no longer be measured solely by objective events.

The unseen danger lurking behind the current fix is the subversion of nature by a partially developed consciousness too technologically sophisticated and too unconsciously destructive to sustain it. It’s as if Hitler presaged the coming of a new ego-stage — now the common vision of a whole host of littler authorities but in no less fantastic guise.

It is a common fallacy to believe that instinct is itself wicked, bestial, or witless… Moreover, the fashion for twenty or thirty thousand years had been to ascribe all good to the gods, and, for some centuries more, to ascribe gods to conscious logic — a trick by which the intellectuals have grossly inflated their egos. Reason, the sophisticates say, is “good” — all else irrational, and if not sinful, at least, non-good. Thus is instinct indicted.”

Not only has Jung empirically described our deeply-rooted hostility to nature as a subjective condition made concrete through a profound lack of psychological understanding — the archetypal images behind it projected into forms so diffuse as to be altogether lost today — the illusion of this psychologically primitive ego-quality drives us as surely as it did in biblical times; only now in a vastly more complicated and temporal world where the only gods are human.

“Instinct is timeless; seen as enduring energy it is not evil… For, out of the conflict of its opposed forces it has developed awareness for a billion years… until it flowers in man as consciousness of Time itself — past and future — and consciousness of Mind itself. To seize from this immense evolution of subjectivity one function — the newest and least developed, Reason — to make it the platform of ego and to consign all else to limbo is as illogical as to pretend that an eye or a kidney is a person and that the meaning of the whole being is expressed by vision or excretion. Reason is by such means made a “faith” and practiced as another religion.

“Many… have become convinced as if of good and evil in this way and define any broader theorem by their own, unconscious opposites. They call all such ideas “mysticisms” — perennial epithet of the baffled! Instinct seen whole creates infinitely more than it destroys; seen in pieces, it confuses.

“The instinctual conditions of men — obsessions, I ought to say — have become plain in the atomic light. The military men look in such and such directions and thus see such and such landscapes on the future. The scientists observe another set. The churchmen bear testimony to a third. The average citizen has his head jerked this way and that from one forbidding prospect to another… he makes a logical intelligent summation of his opinion — according to his previous pattern. He sets himself, that is to say, against whatever he secretly fears the most. But that he was already set, he knows no more than soldier, physicist, or priest…”

Times have changed somewhat since 1947 — but not for the better, I think. Commercial media, in its infancy then, has burgeoned into such an all-embracing ideology in itself, it defies any moral standard (the new ego-stage) — more willfully, purposefully and methodically than any religion history has ever seen. Add the legislation of political corruption, a world-consuming regression to materialism and a mistrust of anything beyond the senses (because, unreal), and you may see the true character of the modern mass-man and the destruction created by the projection of inner images.

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Archetypes, Dreams, And Numbers

A while back I posted a few ideas on archetypal images and animals. I mentioned the death of a close friend which precipitated my experiences. I’d like to share those events, as they were important in later connecting me with Jung’s studies on symbols. They show how archetypal ideas are expressed through personal circumstances.

My friend and I had traveled and worked together for years before he died in a car accident at twenty-six. He hit a telephone pole late one night while driving home alone.

For months before, I’d had such oppressive feelings of death, I interpreted them as portents of my own. That I was unable to make sense of them was a mystery afterward. I had two dreams in those months which attempted to clarify what was going on in both of us.

In the first dream, I was in a desolate country looking up at an old run-down house on a hill. I knew there was something foreboding in it, and I ran up the hill in a panic and through the front door. Lying on the floor was a dead man. Though I didn’t recognize him, I ran to his body and knelt over him with a sense of urgency. As I leaned over, he suddenly sprang up to my face, eyes wide open, leering:  “April fool!” he shouted. I woke up with a start.

In the second dream, my friend and I were in an old van we’d traveled around in years before. He was driving as we passed over a bridge and lost control of the steering wheel. The van began to jerk erratically from side to side. I was hanging onto the open passenger door and jumped off. Again, I woke with a start.

In retrospect, some of what the dreams expressed was self-evident, though I was unable to relate them to his impending death. Instead, they found me somehow trying to prepare for my own, even up to the dream I had the night he died.

That night I dreamed I was sitting in a clearing in a forest. Dozens of small, furry animals approached from the surrounding trees, and suddenly they were upon me. Rabbits, squirrels, puppies, all licking me with excitement. I was so ecstatic, I was shaking and trembling, half trying to fend off their swarming affections. I cried out in my excitement, “God is coming!

I went back to sleep, only to be awakened by a loud bang which seemed to come from the corner of the ceiling behind me — early in the morning. Well before dawn, I heard an urgent knock on the door, and the police informed me that my friend was dead. It was March 29, and he was buried on April 1, April fool’s day.

Later, I looked at the empty six-pack he’d brought over the afternoon before, when we’d watched a ball-game together. My eyes were drawn to the serial numbers on it. They were all elevens and thirteens. I thought about other numbers: phone numbers, addresses — all added up to thirteen. My friend was born on June 11, and I somehow associated thirteen with his death and eleven with his life. Some of the numbers had been in place as long as a year before.

My wife and I drove to his mother’s house in Virginia to be with his family for the funeral. We slept in his old room that night.  Though I wasn’t religious, I was inexplicably consumed with the three days between the death of Christ and his resurrection. I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. I thought of the dream I’d had about April fool’s.

I was convinced I needed to see my friend in the funeral home at ‘four’ in the morning, ‘exactly’ three days after he’d died; to be alone with him before the service. I called the funeral home. They were gracious enough to consent to it at that very inconvenient hour.

As my wife and I prepared for bed, I went to set my friend’s alarm clock to be at the funeral home at four. It was 10:30. The clock was one of those old ones with the numbers that flipped over on four separate cogs, before the modern digital ones. When I picked up the clock to set the alarm, the numbers suddenly flipped to 11:56. I saw the five and the six as eleven, though I didn’t know why, and it half appeared as 11:11. It flipped back to 10:31. I thought something was wrong with the clock.

I said to my wife: “Look at this…” and I picked up the clock without touching any controls. It suddenly flipped to 11:58, which I saw as 11:13, five and eight adding up to thirteen. It flipped back to 10:32 as I set it back down, and we both looked at it. Suddenly, the cogs (which kind of resemble eyes, for those of you who remember them) flipped to 12:01, tilted half-down. I saw thirteen as the “eyes” seemed to stare at the floor. 

We both thought how curious it was as the clock flipped back to 10:33. We even watched it intently, but it seemed to be working again as it flipped the minutes. We went to sleep, and I had a dream:

It was dark and raining as I approached the railroad tracks near the funeral home in my friend’s small town. The arm came down, and the red light flashed — a train was coming. It flashed the number two (a symbol of opposition, division), and I felt panicky and woke up. I thought about the clock, and it suddenly dawned on me that my friend was telling me that he was here in his old room: the eyes of the clock at 12:01, staring down. He’d passed over the midnight hour. I called the funeral home and told them I wouldn’t be there.

The emotions I experienced that night needed no clarification. There was much more to the numbers than I’ve related. They appeared again at crucial times in my life long afterward. But, one experience my wife had later put them into perspective.

My friend’s name was Bill. My wife had a dream in which a voice said: “13/11 is Bill.” The next day, doodling on a piece of paper, she happened onto the configuration, “13- 1-11”. When you put the one and three together, they form a “B”.

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