Tag Archives: transitional stages

Mediology: The Social Science of Tomorrow

Though specialists have long been toiling behind the scenes, recent findings are only now sketching out an exciting new field of psychological inquiry: Mediology reveals an emerging picture of the human psyche never before conceived.

Its obscurity is due to its diffuse and complex nature — but make no mistake — while the deeper, image-forming recesses of the psyche remain impervious to Cat-scans and MRI’s, Mediology is quietly plumbing the invisible depths of the unconscious mind.

Below the radar, modern icons have replaced the clumsy religious images of the past to become living models for a new generation of hands-on believers. Moses may have led a rogue band of spiritual wanderers out of Egypt, but who bears that flesh and blood reality for the socially oppressed today?

From the scriptures of antiquity to a sophisticated modern media, an archetypal social nature lurks unseen behind every human whim. Cultural conditions, according to Mediologists, can be likened to mirrors reflecting historic changes in the way we see the world — often in stark contrast to the inside-out perceptions of just a generation ago.

Just as modern technology revived an uncertain ego from the fearful state of self-reflection it briefly flirted with after WWII, Mediology shows such cultural spurts to be compensations for unconscious transitional stages. A new vision is replacing the metaphysical images once thought vital to spiritual growth with a more direct form of idolatry. Though the older forms held some crude value in the socialization process of an evolving consciousness, they serve only to isolate the contemporary individual.

Mediologists now confirm that our modern commercial/industrial era began, not with the technology of weaponry and the unconscious backlash of guilt, fear, and confusion that came with a new-found capacity to decimate millions with the push of a button while rendering the earth uninhabitable for generations — but with television.

The new medium saw cultural innovators create visions of human functioning previously acknowledged only by social outcasts and miscreants. The Sleepy Society of the fifties and its dream-like depictions of family life was startled from its slumber. By the time Elvis the Pelvis was done, the geriatric gyrator had altered the spiritual outlook of an entire generation. He became a living personification of the natural, instinctive urges that lurked beneath the repressive religious regimen of the time. WWII was neither the formal nor the final cause it was presumed to be.

The causal connections ascribed to mass movements in general, according to Mediology, can be viewed empirically as acausal processes of a purposive nature that reveal the causal standpoint to be only partially applicable. The individual prototypes of primitive collective conditions symbolized by kings and priests in antiquity now herald the possibilities of new vistas of social equality. The continuity of thousands of years of such dual developments can now be traced through cable re-runs.

Worn-out myths and fables such as personal gods, sacrifice, rebirth, and ever-lasting life exaggerated individual qualities while ignoring the deeper animal, sexual, and collective social realities describing a more profound instinct to consume and be consumed. Scientific proof of the innate drive to be a particle-in-the-mass, while consciously maintaining the illusion of personal freedom, was the first glimmer of the task of ridding humanity of an effete philosophy of the soul.

In the projected metaphysical language of the past,  for instance, the relatively benign Satan of Christian theology described in the Privatio Boni symbolized a repression of the negative consequences that were the result of one-sided ego-ideals. Though the primitive philosophical paradigm was a developmental necessity, happiness on a universal scale remained a utopian dream. It did, however, engender a universal psychic truth: evil could be completely wished away by the identification with an ideal.

This simple, no-nonsense vision has been proven empirically to be the brick and mortar of civilization. Once the ego-complex mastered its abilities to turn its fantasies into concrete realities pervasive enough to control everything but itself and the weather, a new social enlightenment could begin.

Quirky, real-life compensations for antiquated ideas of the soul such as the history of police-state dictators and their violent purges of political opposition soon faded. Personal power-complexes, bigotry, and fear were supplanted by a collective commercial vision of mutual greed and cooperation by the few for the benefit of the many. Life could finally be experienced in the abundance Christianity’s rude prototype promised but failed to deliver.

Television sparked a new horizon of empirical study which would define natural parameters of what a healthy society could and should be. The old artificial notions of ego-consciousness were one-dimensional images of deeper psychic symbols, survival-products of the dark ages of the last century. A desperate humanity had little choice but to violently expel its pent-up, self-fulfilling anxieties. It is the new reality-show of a conscious animal struggling to free itself from an illusory conscience through a new medium.

Little wonder that instinctual nature hastened to the rescue. It had happened many times in the fits and starts of human evolution. According to Mediology, we can learn much from our violent, turbulent history. It’s science in the strictest sense — if science still means the observation and recording of past experiences and the accurate prediction of future events based on them.

As Mediology illustrates, the psychological method of tediously evaluating rote statistics based on unaccountable unconscious variables, the subjective nature of suggestion, and artificial conditions designed to fit preconceived assumptions into articulate but deceptive theoretics only to rationalize subjective conclusions given in the premises is a carousel of confusion which only obfuscates a deeper psychic reality.

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Image, Symbol, and Psychic Reality

“The unconscious attracts the conscious mind to its aims via the symbol… Jung’s empirical investigations show dream-symbols to be the means through which psychic energy is transferred to consciousness; the image is the form of that energy. Dreams often anticipate moods and feelings which may persist for a considerable time, allowing certain ideas in them to take hold and stimulate thought as it is slowly and subtly influenced toward a more symbolic reality.” — A Mid-Life Perspective: Conversations With The Unconscious

I was always fascinated by Jung’s examples of synchronistic events, and many likewise share an interest in the shadow-side of our mostly artificial, conscious-bound lives. However perceived, they’re psychic facts which reveal another realm beyond our usual mundane experiences. Seldom do they conform to traditional notions of them.

They defy scientific and religious preconceptions alike — part of the irrational mystery, not only of consciousness, but of a natural reality which can’t be pinned down by logical thought. This mystery can be so unsettling to our self-images as to be a severe blow to those whose fear and insecurity is compensated by hopeful and exaggerated certainties. It nonetheless imposes itself with such persistence that only the most rational could not at least  be impressed by it.

Jung wrote that one of the main features of synchronistic events appears to be their connection to archetypal situations. By archetypal, Jung referred to those instinctual functions common to all and which correspond to the average run of human experience: death, transitional stages, and other such events as evoke heightened unconscious activity; decisive conflicts which have shaped relations to objective reality through eons.

Because of this evolutionary level of experience, Jung suggested that archetypal images operate in the animal psyche in the same way they do in us, only perhaps less consciously. Though this idea logically proceeds from established history, the nature of conscious focus often blocks our experience of it, just as animals live it in relative unconsciousness.

Unlike ‘lower’ animals, however, we may perceive it more or less consciously, retrieve memories of it at will (some, anyway), and weigh its future possibilities (sometimes) — important functions of dreams, our vivid memories of them, and our capacity to reflect on them.

Collectively, we see ourselves as having moved beyond instinctual behavior (an objective measure of our lack of self-awareness), though traditional religious and philosophical assumptions have long described our split psyches in one form or another. Even our remote ancestors, more attuned to nature than we are, reveal those self-flattering, compensating ego-fantasies in much the same way we’re possessed by them today — an artificial reality which deceives us immeasurably about our true natures.

Owing to our animal heritage, it only makes sense that instinctual life-energies express natural processes conforming to an earthly reality. This, despite religious fantasies conceiving ego as somehow co-existing in an ethereal universe beyond nature and the earth — a descriptive projection and a much different view of ourselves than conventional wisdom has conditioned us to accept. Such ideas graphically illustrate Jung’s conception of psychic reality: they’re very real to those who believe in them, even as they reveal a deeper, more symbolic nature.

They don’t presently belong to the common stock of accepted truths. For anyone who’s had ‘other-worldly’ experiences though, Jung’s concepts are an avenue by which to see them as natural events which occur among all people in all times. That they can’t be explained in terms of cause and effect is further incentive to explore our assumptions about an irrational reality beyond human logic. 

It might be productive to look at the problem the other way round and see our affinity with animals rather than how we’re distinct from them. One experience in particular helped me to recognize that affinity (apart from the entire history of our development) when I was in my late twenties:

It was a very decisive period in my life; my closest friend of many years had died in a car accident, and I felt the need to be more connected with nature than the city streets I’d become accustomed to during the previous few years. I moved to the country, got a dog, and began a new life without my old friend.

Soon, I had a dream in which I saw a great severed tree trunk next to my bed. It was very thick, about three feet high, and I touched it. I thought it was the hardest and most concrete thing I could imagine. Suddenly, it began to undulate like a a belly dancer. This trunk which was so cut-off and inert, was yet so pliable and alive, I was astounded. I felt a profound mystery as I watched it sway.

Shortly afterward, I’d cut some lumber for a home project and left ten or so small blocks of wood in the yard. The next morning, planning to gather them up, I looked out through the window…

There, in front of the house lay my dog, fast asleep. Surrounding her in a circle were five blocks of wood I’d cut the previous day. She’d carefully chosen the random blocks to lay about her and then curled up to sleep within the circle she’d made.

I didn’t have to know anything about the symbolic attributes of the number five or the circle, or even the dog, to feel the strange emotional impression of the sight of her sleeping there in the protective sphere her own dog’s imagination had arrayed. I knew intuitively it was meaningful.

Later experiences, along with Jung’s concepts, helped me understand the natural energy gravitating around this experience which drew my dog to express the archetypal symbols which prompted her through me — though emotionally, I still didn’t need any reasons for it, nor did I ever really seek any. Subsequent study of the history of symbols only reinforced its mystery and meaning to me.

The emotional impact alone was enough for me to accept it as ultimately beyond comprehension, though somehow not requiring any explanation to clarify it. The experience of them convinced me of their reality. In fact, it would almost have seemed a sacrilege to try to explain them — and I was not a religious man in my late twenties. 

I did question such things later in an attempt to understand them. But, in the end, it didn’t really matter. I never lost that awe. Is it ignorant? Unscientific? Too emotionally credulous? Or a natural reaction to the mystery of life obscured by the dull certitude of fact and knowledge and accepted opinion? 

For more background on these ideas, read the preface to my book.

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