JUNG’S DARK FEMININE, CONSIDERED FROM THE STANDPOINT OF THE KāLī MOTIF IN HINDU BHAKTI-MāRGA

Milwaukee, WI

January 2009

? 2009 Amy Colwell Bluhm

Abstract

The aim of this thesis was to understand the role played by the dark feminine as the figure of Kālī in Hindu bhakti in Jung’s theory of the process of individuation and personally for Jung during his confrontation with the unconscious. Kālī was described as heralding a call to balance in the life of the devotee, as the anima did on Jung’s theoretical path of individuation. Particular parallelism was found between the negative form of the anima, Kālī as divine consort, and Jung’s fantasy-figure, Salome. Both the Jungian concept of psychic compensation and the role of the anima in individuation were highlighted as specific Jungian parallels to the role of Kālī in bhakti-marga, the Hindu path of devotion. The processes of union and transcendence of polarities were highlighted as means towards individuation. Jung’s own personal dealings with the dark feminine within his own fantasy life with Salome presented an historical note. Salome was then related to both Kālī and the negative anima.

Contents

Chapter                                                                                                                         Page

1. INTRODUCTION.......................................................................................................... 1

2. METHOD....................................................................................................................... 3

3. HINDU BHAKTI............................................................................................................. 5

Bhakti-mārga............................................................................................................ 5

The Feminine in Hindu Bhakti................................................................................. 6

4. JUNGIAN THEORY.................................................................................................... 12

Jung’s Theory of Personality................................................................................ 12

Undifferentiated Origin.......................................................................................... 17

Differentiation and Dissociation............................................................................ 19

Psychic Compensation.......................................................................................... 21

Polarities................................................................................................................ 22

Anima, The Mediator............................................................................................ 24

The Negative Anima.............................................................................................. 26

Union..................................................................................................................... 27

5. JUNG’S LIFE................................................................................................................ 31

REFERENCES.................................................................................................................. 42

Chapter 1

Introduction

A symbol of the dark feminine appears in Hindu bhakti, in Jungian theory, and in C.G. Jung’s life. In both Hindu bhakti and Jungian theory, when one faces the dark feminine, one must see her and only then will she become one’s ally, for it is in the lack of balance that she presents herself. However, this seeing, although typically beginning as projection, must turn increasingly inward toward the source of the dark feminine, recognizing the psyche’s own need for balance. This seeing is not an isolated act, but rather a step onto the path of what Jung called individuation. The question becomes, “What can be said about Jung’s own answer to the call of the dark feminine?” Assuming that Martinez and Taylor (1998) were correct in asserting that Jungian theory is properly amenable only to Jung himself, was Jung able to experience his theory of individuation as a living process in his own life? It is the goal of this thesis to attempt to present the spectrum of manifestation of the dark feminine from her broad to specific forms. This will be accomplished by beginning with an assessment of a religious motif that symbolizes this energy, and then addressing a more recent theoretical construct of the dark feminine and, finally, delving into the most specific and lived representation in Jung’s fantasy figure, Salome.[1]

    The purpose of this thesis is to address the following question: “What role does the dark feminine play in the journey toward self-realization?” In positing an answer to this question, exploring both religious and theoretical possibilities, this thesis engages in a comparison of the dark feminine in Hindu bhakti and the Jungian concept of the negative anima. The paper then explores archival analysis the role of the dark feminine in Jung’s personal life.[2] The goal of the study is to elucidate in a Jungian language of existential-humanistic and transpersonal psychology how a religious statement can be translated into a psychotherapeutically useful one related to growth and transcendence. This translation is then applied to Jung’s personal encounter with the dark feminine.[3]

Chapter 2

Method

           The method for this thesis is traditional archival and historical methods derived from the humanities and applied to expository analysis of the history of psychology.

The principal archival and biographical materials used in this study are the collected works of Carl Gustav Jung, autobiographical commentaries, biographies of Jung, primary Hindu texts in translation, and secondary interpretive literature on Hinduism.

Kinsley is the primary source employed here for elucidation of Hindu (Sāmkhya) theory. Kinsley has written about Hindu Goddesses (1986a, 1997) and Kālī specifically (1986b) and relies heavily on his own translation of Sanskrit texts. The present study cites a variety of authors so as to present the path of Hindu bhakti (e.g., Feuerstein, 1998; Klostermaier, 1994; and Shulman, 1980).

        The presentation of Jung’s theory of the personality and its structure relies almost exclusively on Jung’s collected works. Moving more specifically into the theory, an understanding of the role of the opposites relies on secondary literature interpreting Jung (e.g., Harding, 1970; Hopcke, 1989; E. Jung, 1978; Rosen, 1996; Sanford, 1980; Wickes, 1948). Of particular note are the works of Jung’s wife, Emma, who wrote exclusively on the concepts of anima and animus, and Frances Wickes and Esther Harding, students and contemporaries of Jung.

Jung’s first encounter with the dark feminine occurred during a period of his life that he refers to as his “confrontation with the unconscious” (Jung, 1963, p. 170). The two primary sources for Jung’s own telling of this confrontation are Jung’s autobiography[4] (1963), and a lecture series that he gave shortly after his confrontation with the unconscious in 1925 (Jung, 1989). Jungian Claire Douglas (1990, 1993, 1997) discusses Jung’s relationship to both the feminine within and the feminine without, particularly as it is manifested in Jung’s analytical relationship with Christiana Morgan.

Chapter 3

Hindu Bhakti

Bhakti-mārga

Bhakti (Skt., devotion) mārga (Skt., path) is the Hindu path of devotion that aims toward moksa (Skt., release, liberation). There are three stages in the Hindu practice of bhakti. The first is the pa?u, or animal stage, in which the practitioner worships an image of divinity, such as a statue, painting, or cognitive representation of such images. Individuals are, at this point, undifferentiated, having no knowledge of the poles at work within themselves. The second stage is the vīra, or heroic stage characterized by worship of (in Left-Hand Tantra, through sexual union with) another person. Here, the practitioner projects out the complementary, nondominant pole. Finally, practitioners are able to bring the worship inside of themselves in the divya, or divine stage in which the worship is of the kundalini, the source of internal ?akti, or power. Individuals actualize their internal union and realize self (Hopkins, 1971).

Consortship is a metaphor for bhakti. The relationship between bhakta (devotee) and divine consort is such that bhaktas conceive of the Absolute as a person (Klostermaier, 1994, p. 225). The relationship is based primarily in the emotions. It can be based in love, but is perhaps as strongly felt in hate: “Both hatred and love establish an intimate relationship with their object” (dve?abhakti, Skt. bhakti of hate; Shulman, 1980, p. 180).

Feuerstein (1998) called bhakti-yoga the “yoga of self-dedication to, and love-participation in, the divine Person” (p. 48). Bhakti realization culminates in para-bhakti in which the bhakta merges with the Divine and realizes himself or herself as “a conscious cell within the incommensurable body of God” (Feuerstein, 1998, p. 51).

The idea of the consort present in Hindu bhakti represents a union of opposites that ultimately returns the practitioner to the nondual nature of reality. In an attempt to shed light on the “feminine” characteristics of this union, this section presents the role of Kālī in the bhakti tradition.

The Feminine in Hindu-bhakti

The consort relationship typically consists of two basic principles: one, static and one, dynamic. The static principle is “essentially cognitive, encompassing wisdom, realization, beatitude and spiritual illumination” (Singer, 1989, p. 130). By contrast, the dynamic principle is “conative . . . placing emphasis on movement, energy and activity” (p. 130). The feminine and masculine principles are not consistently linked with either the static or the active principle in religious myth. Hinduism views the feminine as dynamic and the masculine as static. Importantly, consorts are never an end in and of themselves (Gross, 1989), which shows the necessity of the interaction of both poles. This is particularly true in the iconic representation of Kālī in which she is standing atop a double consort, Sīvā, Savā (Zimmer, 1946, pp. 204-16).

In Hindu bhakti, the role of the consort is often played out explicitly. The Hindu pantheon consists of matched pairs of male and female deities in addition to solitary deities. The female can manifest in any number of different roles, most popular of which are the mediator between the deity and the devotee and the Mother and insurer of fertility, both of which appear in benevolent and wrathful forms. The roles of feminine manifestation are given life in this passage from Hopkins (1971):

Durgā . . . is ?akti, the female power formed of the fiery cloud that came from the mouths of the male gods. She is the consort of ?iva, the active female energy that complements ?iva’s pure, passive intelligence. She is the creative power that activates Prak?ti, Primal Matter, from which comes forth the universes made up of the three gu?as. She is māyā, the magical power of creation and illusion. She is the female manifestation of Brahman, the Divine Mother who has brought forth the world of samsāra and who will, as Kālī, destroy it in the end. (p. 127)

Generally, in Hindu bhakti the feminine represents power (Skt., ?akti), speech, and earth, and is active, creative, and material. All of these properties and adjectives are summed up in the feminine principle prak?ti (Skt., making first; Bowker, 1997a, p. 760). Prak?ti is “visible, immanent, and active” (O’Flaherty, 1986, p. 132) and represents “embodied existence” (Kinsley, 1986b, p. 150).

The masculine, conversely, is static and spiritual and represents vital breath and heaven. The masculine principle is puru?a, the “immortal Self” (Bowker, 1997a, p. 780), that is “pure and spiritual but inert” (O’Flaherty, 1986, p. 132). In the devotee, the microcosm of the human body mirrors the macrocosm of the world in that the male (puru?a) and the female (prak?ti) are both contained within each (Solomon, 1995).

An important form taken by the feminine is that of mediator, found in the quintessential consort relationship. The relationship of Radha and Kri?na in Hindu bhakti is a common depiction of the relationship between human and divine, active and passive, and feminine and masculine. Another popular rendering of the consort relationship (particularly in Bengal) is that of ?iva and any number of forms of his consort, such as the benevolent Pārvatī or the wrathful Durgā or Kālī.

Divine feminine mediation takes on two forms. In the first, the manifestation of the feminine, by demonstration, leads the devotee on the path of adoration for the immortal god, most often characterized as a lover. Here is the classic definition of the divine consortship: the two manifestations, one masculine and immortal and one feminine and mortal, merge to form union. The second, a subset of classification as mother, is mediation on the part of the mortal child (or devotee) and toward an immortal father.[5]

Although the consort relationship believed to result from a feminine mediator is, by its nature, equal, the wrathful aspect of the feminine insists on the sometimes temporary inequality of relationship. This is true of her relationship as lover, as mediator, and as mother. If the feminine prak?ti is active and material, then the wrathful version can be viewed as prak?ti in excess. The wrathful role of the feminine divine represents, in all manifestations, embodied challenge of mortal assumptions of control. She often represents the reality that life itself is out of our control and manifests to remind the practitioner of that verity.

According to Kinsley (1986b), Kālī, perhaps the most renowned of the destructive deities, mythologically represents the manifested rage of the goddesses.[6] “Kālī is a goddess who threatens stability and order” (p. 148). She is outside the order. She is unrefined and extreme prak?ti—out of control without its balancing puru?a. Iconographically, Kālī is at times pictured dancing atop an inanimate ?iva, an image that represents the active and passive in union through complete submission of puru?a to prak?ti. Feuerstein (1998) further represented Kālī as controlling time and in turn the cycle of creation (or birth) and destruction (or death). As time represents the cycle of birth and death, Kālī can potentially represent a bridge from transitory time to timelessness:

Kālī puts the order of dharma in perspective, perhaps puts it in its place, by reminding the Hindu that certain aspects of reality are untamable, unpurifiable, unpredictable, and always threatening to society’s feeble attempts to order what is essentially disorderly: life itself. (Kinsley, p. 152)

Kālī, although seemingly extreme, is arguably balanced in attributes (Jung, 1970; Pattanaik, 2000; Zimmer, 1946). Zimmer called Kālī an example of rich Hegelian dialectic: “a wonder beyond beauty-and-ugliness, a peace balancing the terms of birth and death” (1946, p. 216). Pattanaik called Kālī a balance of the feminine. Jung (1970) said, “In India, the loving and terrible mother is the paradoxical Kālī” (p. 82)[7]. Pārvatī is split into Kālī and Gaurī (O’Flaherty, 1986; Brown, 1986). [8]

In the Vāmana-purāna, ?iva calls Pārvatī “Kālī” (the black one) because of her dark complexion. Hearing him use this name, Pārvatī takes offense and undertakes austerities to rid herself of her dark complexion. After succeeding, she is renamed Gaurī (the golden one). Her discarded dark sheath, however, is transformed into the furious battle queen Kau?ikī, who subsequently creates Kālī in her fury. So, again, although there is an intermediary goddess (Kau?ikī), Kālī plays the role of Pārvatī’s dark, negative, violent nature in embodied form. (Kinsley, 1997, p. 73)

Kālī also allows the bhakta to contemplate transcendence of opposites.

Kālī, in her rude way, deconstructs these categories, inviting those who would learn from her to be open to the whole world in all of its aspects. She invites her devotees . . . to dare to taste the world in its most disgusting and forbidding manifestations in order to detect its underlying unity and sacrality. (Kinsley, 1997, p. 83)

Kālī is at times referred to as “Terrible Mother,” a combination of polarities: death and life, love and fear, creation and destruction (Fell McDermott, 1995, p. 285; Jung, 1970).

Kāli, although at times depicted as solitary, is often rendered in consortship.[9] Kālī is said to play on the desire of her opponent as a means of weakening him (Shulman, 1980). In her relationship with ?iva, Kālī is never subdued fully by ?iva and is “more apt to provoke ?iva himself to dangerous activity than to renounce her own wildness” (Kinsley, 1997, p. 74). She often incites ?iva into wild behavior, suggesting that she has ultimate control in the relationship (Kinsley, 1986a).

In relations to ?iva, [Kālī] appears to play the opposite role from that of Pārvatī. Pārvatī calms ?iva, counterbalancing his antisocial or destructive tendencies. It is she who brings ?iva within the sphere of domesticity and who, with her soft glances, urges him to moderate the destructive aspects of the tāndava dance. Kālī is ?iva’s “other” wife, as it were, provoking him and encouraging him in his mad, antisocial, often disruptive habits. It is never Kālī who tames ?iva but ?iva who must becalm Kālī. (Kinsley, 1986a, pp. 121–122)

Just as the figure of Kālī can arguably be considered balanced, so is the consortship of Siva and Kālī compensatory (Kinsley, 1997, p. 88). Kālī is the embodied rage of Pārvatī. However, when Kālī gets wildly out of control and threatens to destroy the very world that she has created, ?iva lies down underneath her and stops her (Kinsely, 1986a). “It is thus as a corpse, as one of her victims, that ?iva calms Kālī and elicits her grace” (Kinsely, 1986a, p. 130). It is through this stance of complete submission that one can enter the liminal state of the goddess and escape the confines of the ego (Kinsley, 1986a).

        Historically, Kālī has played a particular role in the lives of her devotees. She dares to be noticed and provides balance within her consortship with ?iva, as a counterpart to Pārvatī/ Gaurī, and within herself. She calls on the devotee, in a way that is not to go unnoticed, to this same balance.

Chapter 4

Jungian Theory

Jung’s Theory of Personality

Jung’s map of the psyche contains three layers: consciousness, the personal unconscious, and the collective unconscious. Jung’s metaphorical assumptions about the relationship of these three strata vary. He referred to the unconscious as surrounding consciousness, such that consciousness is limited and the unconscious unlimited (1990, p. 27). He also referred to the unconscious as something into which the individual need descend (1990). Jung, in perhaps his most personal reflection on the construction of the psyche suggested in his autobiography, “There is no linear evolution; there is only a circumambulation of the self”[10] (1963, p. 196). Coward (1984) attempted to clarify the metaphor as follows: “The ‘self’ is at once ego-aware, the unconscious, individual, and collective. The self is not only the center of the psyche but the self is also its circumference which includes consciousness and unconsciousness” (p. 74).

Jung (1968b) referred to the set of processes relating consciousness to information from the external environment as the ectopsyche (p. 11). The ectopsyche contains the differentiated and the undifferentiated functions of feeling, sensation, intuition, and thinking (Jung, 1921, 1968b). The ectopsyche is balanced by the endopsyche, which is “a system of relationship between the contents of consciousness and postulated processes in the unconscious” (Jung, 1968b, p. 11).

The personal unconscious, previously elucidated by Carus, von Hartmann, and popularly rendered by Freudian psychoanalytic theory, is separate from the collective unconscious, a theory originated by Jung,[11] though the statement has an historical precursor in the work of archeologists, historians, anthropologists, anthroposophy, theosophy and others (Jung, 1990, p. 4).

Consciousness has a center that Jung terms the ego (1990), “a bit of consciousness that floats upon the ocean of the dark things” (Jung, 1968b, p. 21). The mediator of the ego and the environment is the archetype of the persona, the face that people present to the world (Jung, 1989, 1990). The persona is “a functional complex that comes into existence for reasons of adaptation or personal convenience, but is by no means identical with individuality” (Jung, 1921, p. 465). The unconscious, by contrast, does not have a center and is chaotic and unordered. However, the persona has an unconscious, archetypal mirror that Jung (1975) called the shadow.

The personal unconscious contains information that has been forgotten or repressed. It contains the feeling-toned complexes. The gateway to the unconscious is the shadow and the face of consciousness and psychic opposite of the shadow is the ego. The persona mediates between the ego and the outside world, the shadow between the ego and the personal unconscious, and the anima or animus between the personal unconscious and the collective unconscious, such that “a compensatory relationship exists between persona and anima” or animus (Jung, 1975, p. 192).  While the persona, the outer face, relates to the external object, the anima or animus, the inward face relates to the subject, the internal object.

The conscious mind has a tendency to view things in isolation, including viewing the unconscious as “belonging” to one person or another. However, Jung (1990) suggested that the collective unconscious is inborn and universal and not a result of personal acquisition. Jung called it “A common psychic substrate of a suprapersonal nature which is present in every one of us” (p. 4).  Jung posited an unconscious stratum that includes “a primordial idea that grows up quite as naturally in the philosopher [as in the patient] and is simply a part of universal human heritage, in which, in principle, everyone has a share” (1917, p. 449).

Unlike the feeling-toned complexes of the personal unconscious, the collective unconscious is the realm of the archetypes. The archetypes are “those psychic contents which have not yet been submitted to conscious elaboration and are therefore an immediate datum of psychic experience” (Jung, 1990, p. 5). The archetypes are to be understood as molds producing the common symbols[12] evident in such situations as dreams, visions, myth, and literature, rather than as the symbols themselves. “There are as many archetypes as there are typical situations in life. Endless repetition has engraved these experiences into our psychic constitution, not in the form of images filled with content, but at first only as forms without content” (p. 48). Archetypes are related to instincts and are “patterns of instinctual behavior” (p. 44) that are found in dreams, visions, literature, and myth (p. 286). They are in-born, biological predispositions that dictate the form of thought and can be transcended through direct knowing.

Some sources of proof for archetypes are dreams (Jung, 1990, p. 48-49), Jung’s method of active imagination (p. 49), “delusions of paranoiacs, the fantasies observed in trance states, and the dreams of early childhood” (p. 50). However, although he considers the proof for the archetypes to be empirical, Jung did not consider it possible to prove anything about the unconscious unequivocally for “any attempt to determine the nature of the unconscious state runs against the same difficulties as atomic physics: the very act of observation alters the object observed” (p. 81). When unconscious contents are brought into the light of consciousness, they are altered by conscious representation. Jung himself admitted that it is extremely difficult to rule out cryptomnesia in the quest to look into the collective unconscious (p. 285). [13] Furthermore, he preferred to refer to unconscious processes in an “as if” fashion, remembering that all proof of the unconscious is indirect (1968b, p. 7).

Archetypes are always altered through the process of being born into consciousness. However, they must eventually come to terms with consciousness, not rationally, but through a dialectical process (Jung, 1990,). Archetypes manifest as symbols that represent bound psychic energy that can only gain release through actualization of the archetype. Part of the actualization process involves the production of symbols, a taking form of events or figures. Some common personified archetypes are the anima or animus, the shadow, the wise old man, and the hero. “Psychologically, personification always denotes the relative autonomy of the content personified, i.e., it’s splitting off from the psychic hierarchy” (Jung, 1921, p. 206).

Jung and others (Harding, 1970; Hopcke, 1989; E. Jung, 1978; Katz, 1992; Rosen, 1996; Sanford, 1980; and Wickes, 1948 to cite but a few) took considerable time elaborating the concept of the anima. The anima, according to Jung (1990), is alive and active, like a sprite, and represents whatever is spontaneous in psychic life. Jung claimed, “Were it not for the leaping and twinkling of the soul, man would rot away in his greatest passion, idleness” (Jung, 1990, p. 27). This is similar to the Hindu belief in prak?ti as animator. The anima at first appears chaotic, but as man comes to greater knowledge of life’s laws, the anima settles down (Jung, 1990). “The anima and animus live in a world quite different from the world outside—in a world where the pulse of time beats infinitely slowly, where birth and death of individuals count for little” (p. 287).

Another well-defined archetype is the shadow. The shadow represents that part of the psyche that is hidden from view and compensated for by the persona. If the unconscious can be analogously represented as water, the shadow is like a first reflection in the water (Jung, 1990, p. 22):

The shadow is a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well. But one must learn to know oneself in order to know who one is. For what comes after the door is, surprisingly enough, a boundless expanse full of unprecedented uncertainty, with apparently no inside and no outside, no above and no below, no here and no there, no mine and no thine, no good and no bad. It is the world of water, where all life floats in suspension; where the realm of the sympathetic system, the soul of everything living, begins; where I am indivisibly this and that; where I experience the other in myself and the other-than myself experiences me. (Jung, 1990, pp. 21–22)

The information contained in the collective unconscious is transmitted through the symbols of esoteric teaching, fairy tale, and myth. However, these are projections of the archetypes rather than the archetypes themselves (Jung, 1990). In spite of this, at the height of conscious striving, symbols begin to run out, so that people begin to sink toward direct interaction with the unconscious. Symbols become increasingly benign until the dive into the unconscious and the dissolution of the symbols. According to Jung, the descent into the unconscious eventually becomes mandatory. It is as if the individual must ford the potentially torrential stream of the unconscious before moving on to climb toward “higher” or expanded consciousness.[14] To Jung (1917), this involved a heroic plunging into the unconscious. Jung characterized it in the following statement: “It is precisely the strongest and best among men, the heroes, who give way to their regressive longing and purposely expose themselves to the danger of being devoured by the monster of the maternal abyss” (p. 462).

Jung (1968b) referred to this as the “Nekyia motif” common in fairy tales and myth and described it as “the psychological mechanism of introversion of the conscious mind into the deeper layers of the unconscious psyche” (p. 41).

Jung described the goal of the human psyche, individuation, as an attempt to realize a psychological “whole” (Jung, 1990, p. 275) and a “coming to self-hood” (Jung, 1975, p. 173). The task of individuation is the process of uniting two incongruous wholes: consciousness and the unconscious, and transcending them—the transcendent function (Jung, 1990, p. 287). Jung referred to this transcendence as creating “a third thing in which the opposites can unite” (1976, p. 495).

The path of individuation, according to Jung (1990), can be treacherous, as the unconscious is more powerful than consciousness:

Normally the unconscious collaborates with the conscious without friction or disturbance, so that one is not even aware of its existence. But when an individual or a social group deviates too far from their instinctual foundations they then experience the full impact of unconscious forces. The collaboration of the unconscious is intelligent and purposive, and even when it acts in opposition to consciousness its expression is still compensatory in an intelligent way, as if it were trying to restore the lost balance. (p. 282)

Undifferentiated Origin

Many spiritual traditions begin with an ambiguous and eternal substance free of any polarities. The process of life and death, according to Shinto mythology, was born from “a fluid, turbulent, formless chaos” that later differentiated into a creative couple (Coogan, 1998, p. 247). Jewish and Christian texts (the Pentateuch and the Old Testament, respectively) tell of a “formless and desolate” (Genesis 1:2) beginning from which God created all things.[15] Islam also, with some variation, professes a precreation time in which only Allah existed. The philosophy of Buddhism, however, does not include a belief in a creator god and the cosmos is not considered to be permanent (Bowker, 1997b). Similarly, according to the cosmology of Jainism, the world “has not been created by any entity, and it is eternal; it has and always will exist” (Bowker, 1997b, p. 48).

In Hinduism, androgynous origin is given the name Ardhanāri?vara (Lopez, 1995). Ardhanāri?vara (Skt., hermaphrodite lord) is the origination of all gods and contains both male and female poles (Bowker, 1997a). Further, ?iva and ?akti[16] “form a transcendental/ immanent continuum” (Feuerstein, 1992, p. 140–141). That is to say, the microcosmic link (within the body) between ?iva and ?akti (su?umnā) is a mirror of the macrocosmic (within the universe) line between the intrapersonal, immanent manifestation of the Divine and the transpersonal, mystical Spirit.[17]

Jung termed the concept of an androgynous beginning Anthropos or “original man” (Jung, 1976; von Franz, 1977). Similarly, Jung claimed that in the individual, the unconscious as androgynous origin as the precursor to consciousness (1986b). Eventually, however, “A single non-dual Being effulgent with absolute bliss cannot enjoy itself any more than sugar can taste its own sweetness. Hence the absolutely blissful one, for the manifestation of its eternal self-enjoyment, polarizes its singularity into ‘he’ and ‘she’” (Brown, 1986, p.74).

Differentiation and Dissociation

        Following this nondual origin, the one, which was previously diffuse and undifferentiated, becomes two. Both individually and collectively, the metaphorical rib is extracted from Adam (or the Great Mother, or Ardhanāri?vara, etc.) to form the likeness of Eve as separate person. In the spiritual or religious tradition, this means a double instead of single image or essence deified. In the individual, this means the development of “I” and “other,” “you” and “me” and “we.” Psychically, in many cases, the primary pole is nurtured while the secondary pole[18] is suppressed.

Individually, in the beginning of psychic life, there is no separation of one from the other. Dualism begins when the “I” separates from “others” (Allione, 1984). The “I” develops into ego while part of the other becomes the screen for a projection. In Jungian psychology, part of this projection belongs to the anima/animus. To move toward individuation, it is necessary to bring together these dueling tendencies, no longer dissociated but not again diffused. Nevertheless, one must know and experience the dualities separately before union can be achieved (Guenther, 1972). Herbert Guenther, in describing the Tantric viewpoint stated, “The ‘I’ and the ‘other’ are concept and belong to the conceptualizing activity of the mind” (1972, p. 122).[19] Therefore, the concepts I/other are not actual, but rather a product of mind, necessary for differentiation and individuation.

As the poles move apart, all things that were previously diffused become separated: masculine from feminine, conscious from unconscious, mind from body, and light from dark. Jung (1996), in his lectures on Kundalini Yoga, used the terminology of Indologist Wilhelm Hauer, klesa,[20] to describe the internal drive toward personality and towards a formation of “I.” Jung described the unconscious as undifferentiated, consciousness as differentiated and, ultimately, self as integrated.

Jung (1970) said that the archetype always appears the most strongly when it is the least conscious (p. 67). The unconscious and consciousness are dissociated instead of merely differentiated. This, due to the uncontrolled momentum mentioned earlier, summons the extreme forms of the feminine: the wrathful deity or anima without balance and the submissive and ultranurturing mother. During this dissociation, the anima/animus is the mediator between the interior and the persona, whereas the ego is the mediator between the persona and the exterior (Jung, 1968b). Because of this mediation, there is never any direct communication between interior and exterior. Eventually, the goal of individuation is to direct, rather than mediate, contact between consciousness and the unconscious: the confrontation with the unconscious.

Psychic Compensation

Jung (1921) specified psychic compensation as “an inherent self-regulation of the psychic apparatus” (p. 419). Furthermore, “the activity of consciousness is selective. Selection demands direction. But direction requires the exclusion of everything irrelevant. This is bound to make the conscious orientation one-sided” (Jung, 1921, p. 419, emphasis in original). Eventually, the unconscious must form a counterbalance to compensate for the one-sidedness of consciousness. At times, the activity of consciousness becomes highly differentiated and the unconscious becomes heavy in its compensation.

In the end the tension becomes so acute that the repressed unconscious contents break through in the form of dreams and spontaneous images. The more one-sided the conscious attitude, the more antagonistic are the contents arising from the unconscious, so that we may speak of a real opposition between the two. (Jung, 1921, p. 420)

The psyche strives for differentiation and then balance of opposites. This process aims to balance consciousness with the unconscious and also strives for balance within consciousness and within the unconscious. Jung first suggested this balance ad infinitum in a set of lectures in 1925 (Jung, 1989). There is a “necessary polarity inherent in every self-regulating system” (Jung, 1962, p. 15). It is this polarity, according to Jung (1975), that maintains life itself, for if there were no balancing of polarities, there would be no energy. “Life is born only of the spark of opposites” (Jung, 1975, p. 54).

Jung (1921) used the historical figures of Tertullian and Origen to illustrate sacrificing a dominant function in an attempt at balancing conscious and unconscious contents. Jung stated that Tertullian was an introvert relying specifically on his differentiated intellect. His orientation to the subject of his own thoughts bound him to this world. His sacrifice came in giving up the intellectual and nurturing complete, intuitive faith in God (Jung, 1921).

Origen, a contrasting figure to that of Tertullian, was an extrovert with an orientation toward the object by which he was bound. Through sacrifice of his dominant function (through self-castration), he cut the ties with this world as he was bound to it (Jung, 1921).

Sacrifice always means the renunciation of a valuable part of oneself, and through it the sacrificer escapes being devoured. In other words, there is no transformation into the opposite, but rather equilibration and union, from which arises a new form of libido. (Jung, 1921, p. 204)

Psychic compensation is a byproduct of a self-regulatory system that ultimately aims to find a balance between being overly armored in the persona and being unconsciously controlled by the archetypes (Jung, 1975).

Jung used the word enantiodromia, a term attributed to Heraclitus (Jung, 1975, p. 72) to describe the self-regulation of psychic opposites. This term is particularly applicable to the spark created between the feminine and masculine poles, to be addressed next. More specifically, enantiodromia

. . . occurs when an extreme, one-sided tendency dominates conscious life; [and] in time an equally powerful counterposition is built up, which first inhibits the conscious performance and subsequently breaks through the conscious control. (Jung, 1921, p. 426)

Polarities

The Jungian polarities, such as puru?a and prak?ti in Hindu bhakti, have definite characteristics and play a significant role in Jung’s theory of individuation. In iconographic form the feminine and masculine poles often take on character as they are representations of affect, which is a distinct (from ordinary) character (Hopcke, 1989).

The Jungian pole of the masculine represents the light of consciousness and Heaven and is impersonal in nature. The masculine is Logos, which includes knowledge and discrimination (Hopcke, 1989) and gives form and order to matter (Wickes, 1948). The masculine is active (Rosen, 1996), dynamic (Jung, 1970), and creative (Sanford, 1980) and is the essence of the spirit (Harding, 1965). It is fire to the feminine water.

The Jungian pole of the feminine represents the darkness of the unconscious and is related and personal. It is further an element of the earth as well as all things “under” whether it is underground, underwater or the un(der)conscious (Hopcke, 1989; Jung, 1970; Rosen, 1996; Sanford, 1980). The feminine is depth to the masculine’s height (Rosen, 1996). The feminine embodies nature (E. Jung, 1978) and is bodily in both the sense of the human body and of the body of earth. Being of the body, the feminine is often associated with passion.

In further elucidating C.G. Jung’s concept of the feminine, many authors have cited attributes that are attached to elements of the earth. Rosen (1996) rendered the feminine as being dark, passive, of water and of lowest earth. Sanford (1980) described the feminine as cloudy, overcast, earthy, dark, moist, and receptive. Jung (1970) himself characterized the feminine as symbolizing form and emptiness and being dark, cold, and moist. Wickes suggested further that the feminine is deeply connected with “earth wisdom” and is “an intuitive perception of truths relating to human experience, truths which seem to rise to her consciousness without the process of logical thought” (1948, p. 103).

There is also a strong current of all things relational when speaking of the feminine.[21] Esther Harding (1965), a student and contemporary of Jung, described the feminine way as full of emotion, relational, and personal. Frances Wickes (1948), another student and contemporary of Jung, associated the feminine with relatedness, feeling, irrationality and “intuitive feeling-reaction” (p. 91) as well as with love, receptivity, understanding, and nurturance.

Hopcke (1989) linked the primary characteristic of the feminine with the Greek term Eros. Eros is the principle of relatedness and interweaving, signifying “lower, earthbound, bodily soul” (p. 39). It is ecstatic, moving inward and toward earth. The feminine is known through the senses, heart, and psyche.

Anima, The Mediator

While internalizing the process of union, of transcendence, and of individuation, the unconscious must be met and understood. Luckily, according to Jung, the psyche has a tool for bringing out what is inside. That tool is called projection (Harding, 1970; Hopcke, 1989; Jung, 1968b; Rosen, 1996; Sanford, 1980). Projection allows men to see their own feminine traits on the screen of the women around them. This projection and her traits are called the anima. The psychic masculine traits of women are projected in the form of their animus.

For example, a man may have a psychic composite of what is feminine that includes pieces of his mother, of the women he has encountered throughout his life as well as historical feminine aspects of a collective nature. This composite represents his anima. In early projections, he looks to a possible love interest and instead of relating to this woman fully as herself, uses her blankness, those parts of her that he does not yet know, as a screen for this composite of feminine traits from his own unconscious. This is a first step toward actualizing the anima, not unlike the progression of the bhakta from the pa?u to the vīra stage.

Projection is an unconscious, automatic process whereby a content that is unconscious to the subject transfers itself to an object, so that it seems to belong to that object. The projection ceases the moment it becomes conscious, that is to say when it is seen as belonging to the subject. (Jung, 1970, p. 60)

In the process of individuation, stagnation can occur in either the unconscious or in consciousness; therefore, an attempt needs to be made to maintain fluidity and balance between the two (Wickes, 1948). Anima presents herself as a catalyst for this fluidity and balance. The anima is a bridge to the unconscious (C. G. Jung, 1970; E. Jung, 1978, Katz, 1992) but is also a personification of the unconscious (Hopcke, 1989). Anima is the interpreter of the unconscious and lends that interpretation to application in outer life (Wickes, 1948). She is more process than absolute (E. Jung, 1978) and “our concepts reflect her best when they are vague” (Hillman, 1985, p. 3). Anima is the mediator between the ego and inner life, “inviting and leading one into a deeper understanding of one’s unconscious world” (Hopcke, 1989, p. 91). This mediation is necessary so that man will not confuse the inner and outer worlds.

If man disregards this “inner woman,” he in turn “seeks woman not for an evolved relationship, but so that she may carry and live out his own unlived feminine side” (Wickes, 1948, p. 91). Initially, the anima only appears by projection and that projection needs the screen of a woman or of dream or fantasy life. However, the anima should not dwell infinitely within the person-to-person relationship but rather should invite the individual into an internal exchange between consciousness and the unconscious (Sanford, 1980). This is similar to the need for the devotee of bhakti to transition from worship of icon, to woman, to interior processes.

        Jung (1970) discussed the not always distinguishable (in the male psyche) roles of the anima and the mother archetype. Jung suggested, “In every masculine mother-complex, side by side with the mother archetype, a significant role is played by the image of the man’s sexual counterpart, the anima” (1970, p. 85).

The Negative Anima

        The anima, not always appearing in projection as innocent and charming, can engage in “cruel sporting with human fate,” however, as her “superior knowledge of life’s laws” is imparted on the man, she is increasingly benevolent (Jung, 1990, p. 30–31). Like the feminine figures in Hindu bhakti, anima has a dark side that presents in similar circumstances. She grows when one is seriously neglecting the feminine energy that she represents in the psyche. The negative mother archetype, which, as mentioned previously, can be tied in with the anima, includes “anything secret, hidden, dark, the abyss, the world of the dead, anything that devours, seduces, and poisons, that is terrifying and inescapable like fate” (Jung, 1970, p. 82).

According to Wickes (1948), the anima “is the temptation and lure of the unexplored; and she is also the dark force that speaks in suspicion and doubt” (p. 98). This dark side of the anima theoretically springs from the same well as the wrath of Durgā and Kālī, who is extreme as a result of having been ignored and will continue in such form until the individual sees her. Thus, “if a man will accept his dark moods as a call to find his soul, and complete his journey to become a whole person, the anima changes and becomes his ally” (Sanford, 1980, p. 58).

        Ultimately, the anima’s appearance is paradoxical. If the man realizes and accepts the anima as part of his own psyche, she is beside him; if not, she is against him.

A man who has not passed through the inferno of his passions has never overcome them . . . . Whenever we give up, leave behind, and forget too much, there is always the danger that the things we have neglected will return with added force. (Rosen, 1996, p. 277)

In addition, the anima “is the voice of the irrational, of the unconscious psychic forces that are so apt to be ignored, but which, if released, would give a renewal of energy and life” (Wickes, 1948, p. 98). Men have much to gain from anima and equally as much to lose if she is disregarded for, as mentioned previously, psychic energy works under the, at times, unforgiving rule of compensation. An archetype does not again fold into the background if an individual chooses to ignore it (Jung, 1970).

Union

        Following an understanding of the differences in the two poles of masculine and feminine seen in Jungian psychology, it is necessary to discuss the union of these opposites. According to Jung, this union is the next step in individuation or the path to the realization of self.

Central to the union of the opposite poles of feminine and masculine energy is the Jungian concept of “syzygy” (Jung, 1970), in which a masculine element is always paired with a feminine element. These syzygies are experienced outwardly in myth and icon as a pairing of masculine and feminine. “We encounter the anima historically above all in the divine syzygies, the male-female pairs of the deities” (Jung, 1970, p. 59). Ultimately, the syzygy represents a single entity in that “they are the ancient correlatives puru?a and prak?ti, hence really one, not two, two bodies with a single soul” (Hawley, 1986, p. 52).

Inwardly, the syzygy is present within the unconscious of all people, male and female. Emma Jung (1978) stated, “Life is founded on the harmonious interplay of masculine and feminine forces, within the individual as well as without” (p. 87). In women, the feminine is dominant and the masculine is secondary, whereas in the psyche of the man the opposite is true. The secondary unconscious archetypes are commonly projected outward onto actual males (in the form of the animus) and females (in the form of the anima). The inward becomes outward as an attempt to mirror it to the individual to move toward individuation.

This projection, which Jung deemed necessary for what he termed individuation (1970, p. 106), can involuntarily cause an individual to lose that part of him or herself in the projection (p. 84). Ultimately, one needs to differentiate between human and divine and withdraw one’s projections.

The masculine and feminine are fundamentally inseparable and the psyche will work to right any imbalance through compensation, attempting to actualize the archetype so as to liberate the creative energy for personal growth. Likewise, in Hindu bhakti, the ?akti is the power of a god, not a mere consort, but in fact, fundamental. When a god does not have ?akti, the god cannot act (O’Flaherty, 1986). The same is true in reverse. Therefore, each pole is fundamental to the whole. For individuals to regain psychic unity, they must accept the missing feminine or masculine principle that completes the dominant principle (Wickes, 1948).

Syzygy is the constant union of the One and the Other that, when experienced personally, leads to individuation and the realization of self (Jung, 1970). It is important to recognize that this is work that is internal, not external. Most crucial to individuation is the understanding that

ultimately the union of opposites does not occur between a man who plays out the masculine and a woman who plays out the feminine, but within the being of each man and each woman in whom the opposites are finally conjoined. (Sanford, 1980, p. 112, emphasis in original)

The consort relationship suggests externally the goal of internal practice, as Radha and Kri?na unite and transcend their individual boundaries in their union, so the individual unites and transcends the opposites within. Remember that consorts are said never to be an end in-and-of themselves (Gross, 1989). The iconography is a projective template for self-realization. As Rosen (1996) stated, “The critical task is to create an image or creative product that unifies the opposites, which is the catalyst or the transcendent function leading to harmony, spiritual wholeness, or integrity” (p. 150).

In addition, the consort relationship becomes a substance beyond the addition of the two poles (masculine and feminine). “The reaction which is the interaction between a man and a woman and, in a wider horizon, Samsara and Nirvana, becomes unitary, not diverse; compound rather than mixed” (Guenther, 1972, p. 98). That is to say, the new substance created, the union, contains characteristics that were not present when the two were separate. Therefore, the result of the union culminates in the two poles’ transcendence of their previous essences.

Theoretically, for Jung, the ultimate transcendence is embodied in the concept of self. Transcendence, and therefore self, is a balanced middle path (Rosen, 1996). The process of individuation includes first objectifying the anima or animus and engaging in dialogue, thereby increasing anima’s or animus’ part in the psychic nature of the individual, a method referred to as amplification. If consciousness can loosen its grip on the archetypal image through amplification of the image, “then the center of gravity is in the individual and no longer in an object on which (s)he depends” (Jung, 1968b, p. 186). Consciousness expands as the anima or animus assists the individual in realizing the contents of the unconscious. Finally, the self is realized, equidistant between the ego and the unconscious, and psychic equilibrium is achieved (Smith, 1990, p. 74). “In religious life, as in ordinary human experience, when man reaches woman, man is home” (Hein, 1986, p. 117). For both men and women, self is home.

Chapter 5

Jung’s Life

From 1916 to 1931, Jung’s personal life was characterized by a major period of transition. Earlier, Jung broke ties with Sigmund Freud, with whom he had previously had a relationship both personal and professional. Inwardly, around the year 1913, Jung began what he would later term “the confrontation with the unconscious”[22] (Jung, 1963, p. 173).

According to Ellenberger’s (1964) conceptualization, a creative illness is distinguished by an intense intellectual effort that moves into a preoccupation with an elusive solution that eventually breaks into an illumination and an enduring transformation in the life of the individual. As early as 1909, Jung perceived, particularly in his dreams, a deep inner split within himself as well as in others. At the time, he was still in the company of Sigmund Freud, who unsatisfactorily (to Jung) answered this conundrum. Jung knew that Freud’s theory did not account for the depth of this split. However, Jung himself did not possess an answer, either. Generally, Jung was frustrated with Freud’s inability to see the collective beyond the personal unconscious, a concept with which Jung was then dealing.[23]

By 1913, Jung began a resolute search for the nature of this perceived psychic split. He attempted several remedies, including building stone villages, as he had as a boy, to induce fantasy material to come forth from the unconscious. As the fantasy arose, Jung developed increasingly sophisticated means for interacting with the unconscious material. This work eventually became Jung’s method of active imagination, a means of intentionally engaging with images from the unconscious.

The content of Jung’s fantasy material follows roughly the same pattern as his eventual development of a conceptualization of the architecture and function of the psyche. His initial dream in 1909, of a multilayered house, foreshadowed his conception of the collective unconscious existing beyond the merely personal unconscious. Beginning in 1913, Jung moved through a series of fantasies in which he killed off a figure representing his dominant psychological function and learned to acknowledge the inherent balancing mechanism of the psyche. For Jung, the balance occurred in two unconscious symbols—Salome and Elijah. This balance eventually yielded to another, unifying figure that, for Jung, represented the vital balance of the psyche. That figure was Philemon, who remained Jung’s psychic guide throughout his life.

Between 1916 and 1921, when he published his first major treatise to come out of his confrontation with the unconscious, Jung began to draw circular representations of his state of mind, which he likened to the Tibetan mandala. In his years as a commander in the Swiss army, 1918-1919, he began to understand the meaning of his art and to make a circular drawing every morning. He then could track his “inner situation,” such that

When I began drawing the mandalas . . . I saw that everything, all the paths I had been following, all the steps I had taken, were leading back to a single point—namely, to the midpoint. It became increasingly plain to me that the mandala is the center. It is the exponent of all paths. It is the path to the center, to individuation. (Jung, 1963, p. 196)

Here Jung began to come into contact with his personal myth--the myth being the path to the center, to which everything is ultimately directed. The mandalas ultimately represented for Jung the splitting and balancing of poles to infinity (Jaffe, 1979; Jung, 1989). Jung did not take these physical forms lightly, saying, “I knew that in finding the mandala as an expression of the self I had attained what was for me the ultimate” (1963, p. 197).

Jung recognized the psyche as balancing itself not only between the conscious and unconscious mind but also within the unconscious. In his lectures of 1925, Jung (1989), speaking for the first time publicly about the confrontation with the unconscious, continually placed his concepts of the psyche into the form of the mandala, ever seeking balance around a center.

During Jung’s confrontation with the unconscious, he experienced vivid dreams and visions that affected him lastingly both personally and professionally. At one point, Jung encountered three symbols that were to figure heavily in the formulation of his future theory. These figures were Elijah, Salome, and a black serpent. Jung admitted that he “had read much mythology before this fantasy came to me, and all of this reading entered into the condensation of these figures” (1989, p. 92).[24] Jung (1989) described the dream as follows:

First the picture was of a crater, or a ring-chain of mountains, and my feeling-association was that of one dead, as if oneself were a victim. It was the mood of the land of the hereafter.

I could see two people, an old man with a white beard and a young girl who was very beautiful. I assumed them to be real and listened to what they were saying. The old man said he was Elijah and I was quite shocked, but she was even more upsetting because she was Salome. I said to myself that there was a queer mixture: Salome and Elijah, but Elijah assured me that he and Salome had been together since eternity. This also upset me. With them was a black snake who had an affinity for me. I stuck to Elijah as being the most reasonable of the lot, for he seemed to have a mind. I was exceedingly doubtful about Salome. We had a long conversation then but I did not understand it. (pp. 63–64.)

Jung summoned up his “courage and approached them as though they were real people” (Jung, 1963, p. 181). This type of intentional engagement with fantasy symbols later became known as Jung’s method of active imagination. Jung (1976) suggested this method as an attempt to resolve a standstill between heavily constellated opposites, such that “a union or synthesis of the personality becomes an imperative necessity” (p. 494). Active imagination itself involves taking a fantasy-figure and focusing in on it with the hope of inducing animation of the figure (Jung, 1976).

As to the examination of the figures Salome and Elijah, Jung (1989) himself claimed

Salome is an anima figure, blind because, though connecting the conscious and the unconscious, she does not see the operation of the unconscious. Elijah is the personification of the cognitional element, Salome of the erotic. Elijah is the figure of the old prophet filled with wisdom. One could speak of these two figures as personifications of Logos and Eros very specifically shaped. This is practical for intellectual play, but as Logos and Eros are purely speculative terms, not scientific in any sense, but irrational, it is very much better to leave the figures as they are, namely as events, experiences. (p. 89).

Van der Post (1975) had a different understanding of the blindness of Salome, suggesting that up to this point Jung had personally allowed the persecuted and defeated feminine to guide him. Salome, on the other hand, according to Van der Post, appeared to represent the positive, integrated feminine that Jung was being called on to “see” (1975, p. 167). McLynn (1996) echoed this sentiment, saying Salome’s “blindness can be read as a warning: that unless she was made to see, Jung’s own future was doomed” (p. 237?238). This reading of the Salome figure suggests a link with the negative anima, a certain “see me or else” presence that Jung himself recognized and identified as a figure of which he was specifically suspicious. Kālī presents a similar threat in that she calls the bhakta to balance and only becomes the ally of those who heed her call.

Jung proposed that “Salome, being instinctive and quite blind, needs the foreseeing eyes of wisdom that Elijah possesses” (1989, p. 92). On June 8th of his 1925 lectures, Jung more pointedly portrayed Salome as evil and as being linked with his own feeling function, the opposite of his highly differentiated thinking function (1989). Jung (1968b), in the Tavistock lectures, suggested that a thinking-type is justified in fearing his or her feeling function, “because their undoing will be in their feeling” (p. 20).

The black serpent, not mentioned in all accounts, is crucial to Jung’s (1989) understanding of the dream. To Jung, the snake represents sensation, an inferior balance to his superior intuition function (p. 92). Jung also claimed that the appearance of a snake represented a counterpart to the Hero (1963, 1989). Jung further interpreted the snake as completing his anima figure in combination with Salome, together representing feeling-sensation (1989).

Jung (1989) suggested that not only does the psyche attempt to bring about balance between consciousness and the unconscious, but that the unconscious also seeks balance within itself. Jung pictured the four figures of his vision as forming a mandala with his own superior intuitive function being balanced by the serpent and Elijah and Salome in balance.

Later on, Jung had perhaps a clarifying vision in which he found himself in “the house of Salome and Elijah” (1989, p. 96). There he experienced an event “most disagreeable” when “Salome became very interested in me, and she assumed that I could cure her blindness” (p. 96). Salome then began to worship Jung, calling him “Christ.” The snake approached and encircled Jung, wrapping him tightly until her coils reached right up to his heart in “the attitude of the crucifixion.” The climax of the vision came when Salome rose and was cured of her blindness, which Jung translated in the following way:

Salome’s approach and her worshipping of me is obviously that side of the inferior function which is surrounded by an aura of evil. I felt her insinuations as a most evil spell. One is assailed by the fear that perhaps this is madness. This is how madness begins. This is madness. (1989, p. 97)

In his lecture series, Jung (1989) further discussed the relation of the whole scene to the mythology of the mystery cults. However, he did not take time to discuss the relationship of Salome to his own psyche, nor the snake specifically. More importantly to the present thesis is that Jung failed to address the perceived “aura of evil” and its implications for his own path of individuation. Jung admitted in a later seminar series that he struggled with the problem of evil (Jung, 1997).

It is possible that Jung was either not willing to discuss or not cognizant of the importance of the anima element of this dream specifically, or that he did not consider this lecture to be the appropriate venue for discussion of personal issues not readily linkable to generalizable theory.[25] Furthermore, Jung did not have much distance from this relatively recent dream. Perhaps if allowed to develop the clarity that comes with time and a certain measure of assimilation of the themes into his daily life, Jung would have rendered and translated the dream plot differently.

There are parallels between the figure of Kālī, the negative anima, and Salome. Due to the process of psychic compensation, the negative side of the anima grows when the person is seriously neglecting the feminine energy in the psyche. This dark side of the anima is similar to the wrath of Durgā and Kālī in that she is extreme as a result of having been ignored and will continue in such form until the individual sees her. She then becomes a doorway to ultimate joy. Thus, as previously stated, “if a man will accept his dark moods as a call to find his soul, and complete his journey to become a whole person, the anima changes and becomes his ally” (Sanford, 1980, p. 58). How would Jung’s interpretation and subsequent imaginal journeying have changed if he had recognized Salome’s blindness and “evil” as a call to see and accept her guidance? Or, more simply, is there evidence that Jung accepted her call?

Jung identified Salome as the opposite of his highly differentiated thinking function (1989). In Psychological Types (Jung, 1921), Jung acknowledged that the imperfectly developed function might withdraw itself from consciousness, become dynamic, and give “the conscious, differentiated function the quality of being carried away or coerced” (p. 80). Thus, it was Jung’s waking self that was increasingly suspicious of Salome.

The second meeting with Salome suggests that Jung took a first step at allowing his feeling function, which he associated with Salome, to further manifest, at least in his fantasy and dream life. Using Jung’s own associations,[26] the vision is roughly sketched as follows. Salome (feeling) approaches and looks to Jung for a cure. Salome then worships Jung as “Christ,” a figure that Jung would later call a symbol of the self (1968a). The snake (sensation) approaches and binds Jung, (as his differentiated thinking function). Jung then realizes himself as Christ (self).[27] Finally, Salome is cured, signaling that Jung’s feeling function is actualized. The madness Jung reflected on later could be interpreted as a fear of losing his superior (thinking) function or at least temporarily suspending it in the service of the balancing (feeling) function.

Although Jung feared Salome and the vision itself, it is unjustifiable to go beyond Jung’s stated fear and assume that he ran from her or from the implications of this figure for his own path of individuation. It is possible that Jung accepted a new relationship with his feeling function as a result of these meetings with Salome. Unfortunately, beyond the time of his confrontation with the unconscious, Jung did not offer such rich detail on this function again in relation to his own life and life’s choices.

Within this fantasy, Jung assumed a position similar to that of ?iva in consortship with Kālī. Jung is rendered torpid and Salome is cured just as when ?iva becomes supine, he elicits Kālī’s grace.

What is lacking is further discussion about the nature of acceptance of a “call” such as that presented by Kālī and Salome. What does this call to balance entail? Some might suggest that the call has a concrete connection to choices made in one’s temporal life.[28] Is it possible that heeding the call represents an acceptance to work with this archetype and to attempt to bring it into balance rather than to attempt to dissolve and do away with this energy? Anything in the extreme, whether it is a religious symbol such as Kālī, a psychological archetype such as the negative anima, or Jung’s Salome, is a call to balance. Balance within a living system is achieved not through perfect stillness, but rather through increasingly exquisite movements and counter-movements. The path of individuation is mastership of this process, rather than the attainment of stationary perfection. Jung himself, later in his life, suggested it this way:

Only one thing is clear, that when, as a result of a long, technical and moral procedure the patient obtains a knowledge of this structure [of the psyche], based on experience, and accepts the responsibility entailed by this knowledge, there follows an integration or completeness of the individual, who in this way approaches wholeness but not perfection, which is the ideal of certain world philosophies. (Jung, 1976, p. 428, emphasis in original)   

The masculine path at times calls for facing the dark feminine and, in so doing, allows her to become an ally. This facing of the dark feminine is not an isolated act, but rather a step onto the path of what Jung called individuation. When the dark feminine is accepted, she can be transcended only through a process of direct knowing. This process is a call to balance. ?iva accepted Kālī’s call to balance by assuming an opposite position —inert submission. Jung also did this in a vision, becoming himself inert under the wraps of his sensing function (the black serpent) and at the mercy of his feeling function (Salome).

According to Jungian Claire Douglas (1997), “The chief goal of Jungian psychology (is) how to be responsibly alive to all aspects of one’s self without restriction” (p. xxii).[29] Was Jung able to do this with Salome? Jung’s dreaming mind seemed to think so: Salome was ultimately cured of her blindness.[30] It is not clear from autobiographical accounts whether or not Salome showed up again individually. However, she did, according to Jung (1963), become assimilated, along with Elijah, into a new and lifelong imaginal guru to which he referred as Philemon. Jung first dreamt of Philemon but continued to call on Philemon in fantasy as a sort of spirit guru or teacher. Philemon represented for Jung more a vacillation between poles than a guide drawing him towards the differentiation of a particular pole.[31] Philemon was, according to Jung (1963), a feminized version of Elijah and could have represented to Jung a balancing figure.

After Jung’s emergence from the confrontation with the unconscious, he began a creative writing process in which he began to elucidate conceptually some of the contents of his intense personal work. He produced, for example, Psychological Types (Jung, 1921). Later, in 1928, he began a significant analytical relationship with a young woman named Christiana Morgan. Morgan was one of Jung’s first and most successful analysands to use active imagination, with the result being the subject of the visions lectures (Jung, 1997). As mentioned previously, Jung himself used the method of active imagination in his own confrontation with the unconscious. Remarkably, “once Morgan began to ‘vision,’ Jung found she possessed something he had only seen before in himself” (Douglas, 1997, p. xii). Morgan engaged in an exploration of the dark land of the uniquely feminine path—something Jung could only, and did so fervently, watch.

Douglas (1997) described the way in which Jung presented his work with Morgan. “Jung’s struggle to reclaim his feminine and feeling sides generates the subtext of the seminar” according to Douglas (p. xvi). Douglas suggested that during his work with Morgan, Jung “allowed himself to be moved by the some times terrifying archetypal feminine figures she encountered” (p. xvi). Douglas claimed that Jung was ultimately ambivalent to the power of these figures and, further, “as a man of his time, Jung knew the importance of his own ego and distrusted the feminine voices, both inner and outer, that sought to instruct him about the nature of his own feelings” (p. xvi).

Although Douglas’ point is important, she may have overstated the implications of Jung’s seminar. Jung spoke to his fear of, but not necessarily a choice to back away from, these voices. Douglas claimed further, Jung’s “strong, if equivocal, attraction for the feminine turned again and again into its opposite: suspicion that he was being led astray” (Douglas, 1997, p. xvi). These could possibly not have been antithetical attitudes. Jung did fear developing this side of himself, just as any of us would fear the loss of something on which we have relied so heavily for so long, and with such success (for Jung, his thinking function). That does not mean that this fear was the opposite of attraction; rather, it could have potentially intensified it. Douglas seems to imply that Jung ran from his own inner workings with this powerful subject matter. However, this is perhaps an example of filling in the details of Jung’s inner life where Jung himself left off. Additionally, stating that Jung feared these feminine figures does not justify a leap into the assumption of Jung’s inability to deal with that fear as part of his path.[32]

Nevertheless, the process of interpreting Jung’s life through the lens of themes available in both Hindu bhakti and his own theory yields important similarities and differences. Perhaps the most important similarity, one that was lived through in Jung’s visions of Salome, is that the negative feminine presents as a call to balance: a process leading toward the goal of both the bhakta (moksa, Skt., release, liberation) and the subject of Jungian theory (self). Perhaps no lesson here is more important than the realization that the paths of devotion and individuation represent processes rather than endpoints. Neither the individual nor the universe can attain ultimate union and transcendence of the poles without allowing proper magnitude to the realization of their essential equality and, simultaneously, of their absolute difference. Furthermore, although it is true that one “sees” one’s psyche through projection, one can only find balance in owning these energies within.[33]

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[1] The Kālī motif in the iconography of Hinduism is the most nonspecific and abstract version of the dark feminine presented here. Jung’s analytical theory attempts to make the numinous dark feminine available for intellectual comprehension through psychological theory. The figure of Salome is conversely the most specific and personal experience of the dark feminine presented here. It is important to note that these three formats for understanding the dark feminine are each situated within their own cultural context. The epistemology of Hinduism dates back more than 3000 years and, by all indications, is carried through from the spirituality of the Indus Valley that far predates Hinduism. The themes of Jung and his life are much newer, having become particularly relevant only in the twentieth century.

[2] Generally, there are problems in the process of comparison between a religious philosophy and a psychological theory. This problem is alleviated somewhat by the fact that Jung based much of his theory on exposure to and study of different systems of religion and myth. In particular, although there are important similarities between the development of consciousness and spiritual philosophy, the two are not the same and much is lost when a cut-and-paste approach is used to effect the comparison. Jung may have disagreed with this assertion, for he stated, “Religions are psychotherapeutic systems” (Jung, 1968b, p. 181). Noting this controversy, it is still possible to apply information from the religious literature to the mind, particularly in the study of personality and consciousness development. This is done by comparing a particular example in psychological theory with objective information from religious literature in a process of transmutation that involves the use of intuition in addition to logical analysis. Furthermore, neither a psychological theory nor a religious philosophical system develop free of social and historical context. However, this thesis aims to provide a succinct presentation of theory gleaned from use of the aforementioned method, sacrificing some context (social and historical) for brevity’s sake.

[3] It is appropriate to note here that the issue of applying Jung’s theory to Jung himself is controversial. The researcher shares the following viewpoint of Martinez and Taylor (1998): “We subscribe to the idea that Jung’s iconographic picture of the unconscious was his own unique map, and is, in fact, applicable only to him” (p. 35).

[4] Shamdasani (1995) argued that Jung’s “autobiography,” Memories, Dreams, Reflections (MDR) should not be attributed to Jung but rather to Aniela Jaffe, Jung’s secretary and the scribe and seamstress of Jung’s words. Shamdasani undertook an archival examination of manuscripts and transcripts from the formulation of MDR and also spoke with several key players in the production of the text. Shamdasani’s conclusion is that “unfortunately, it seems that when some grasped the significance of the confession of Jung’s ‘personal equation,’ their efforts were in part directed towards determining the form it should take, and which of his memories and dreams to omit—fashioning Jung in their own likeness, making him the bearer of their ‘personal myth’” (1995, p. 137). A further note about MDR: Jaffe claims that she “incorporated a number of passages from a seminar delivered in 1925, in which Jung spoke for the first time about his inner development” in order to bring the chapter about Jung’s “confrontation with the unconscious” to completion (Jung, 1963, p. vii). In addition, William McGuire, editor of Jung’s (1989) 1925 lectures, often refers the reader back to MDR in footnotes. The reader thus ends up in a wildly looping plotline in which both tales are dependent on each other and, paradoxically, seem to rest on nothing.

[5] These two forms, while often distinct in Hindu myth, are not restrictive in bhakti.  That is to say, although Pārvatī is the consort of ?iva, she is also the mother of Ganesa; the male devotee may assume either role (i.e., son or lover) in devotion to her. Furthermore, Jung (1970) offered his understanding of this dual role of female divinity in Sāmkhya philosophy such that the mother form exhibits the “three essential aspects of the mother: her cherishing and nourishing goodness, her orgiastic emotionality, and her Stygian depths. The special feature of the philosophical myth, which shows Prak?ti dancing before Puru?a in order to remind him of ‘discriminating knowledge,’ does not belong to the mother archetype but to the archetype of the anima, which in a man’s psychology invariably appears, at first, mingled with the mother-image” (p. 82).

[6] This is the Sāmkhya school of interpretation, which “posits a fundamental contrast between puru?a and prak?ti” (Bowker, 1997a, p. 848).

[7] Jung also suggested the existence of Kālī to be a reflection of the East’s “predominantly intuitive intellectual attitude” which, according to Jung, did not allow its undifferentiated, collective feeling function to split opposites “and the gods—Kālī is a case in point—could retain their original paradoxical morality undisturbed” (1968b, p. 103).

[8] Pārvatī is the devoted and benevolent form of ?iva’s consort (Jordan, 1993, p. 202)

[9] As mentioned previously, the feminine symbol in Hindu bhakti may function simultaneously as mother and consort.

[10] By using the term self, C. G. Jung was not referring to the ego but rather to the final integration of personality. “For Jung, self is an ideal potential, characterized by the quality of wholeness, towards which one aspires forever” (Thomas, 1992, p. 221).

[11] Jung (1968b) argued against referring to the collective unconscious as a theory and instead referred to it as a fact. Theory, Jung claimed, is one’s interpretation of the facts of the architecture of the psyche (Jung, 1968b, p. 67-68).

[12] A symbol is different from a sign in that a symbol is a manifestation of a living, albeit usually unconscious, reality whereas a sign is an abbreviation of something more explicitly known (Shinn, 1984).

[13] Cryptomnesia signifies a loss of psychic information resulting in forgotten, long submerged memories reappearing to consciousness as never having been experienced before.

[14] Again, personality theory is paradoxically more accessible and at times unfortunately blurred by the use of metaphor.

[15] Jung (1976) also cited alchemical philosophy, which describes the biblical figure of Adam as originally androgynous in origin.

[16] ?iva and ?akti are perhaps the most popular representations of the masculine and feminine divine in Hinduism, particularly in Tantra (Feuerstein, 1992; Anand, 1998).

[17]This represents the engagement and simultaneous transcendence of divinity.

[18] The primary pole of a woman would be the feminine archetype, whereas the primary pole for the man would be the masculine archetype. The secondary pole, usually the psychic opposite and often neglected, can then become a projection of anima/animus.

[19] Guenther (1972), however, wrote specifically on the epistemology of (Tibetan) Buddhist Tantra. Although Guenther’s ideas are pertinent to this thesis, one must keep in mind that there are complex distinctions between the epistemologies of Buddhism and Hinduism, even though there is overlap within the Tantric philosophies of both.

[20] According to the Shamdasani, the editor of Jung’s (1996) Kundalini lectures, klesa dve?a is an affliction that urges one toward separation and klesa asmitā is an affliction such as Guenther (1972) elucidated, an urge toward an “I” (Jung, 1996).

[21] This emphasis on the feminine as relational could be partially a product of the historical context of Jung’s theory and the milieu in which Jung lived, one in which the woman was valued mainly for her relationship to man (Douglas, 1990).

[22] There have been roughly three general characterizations of this period of Jung’s life. The first is that the confrontation with the unconscious was one man’s struggle with loss and separation from a close friend, father figure, and intellectual ally, Sigmund Freud. The second is that Jung suffered from a psychotic break that was undiagnosed. The third is that Jung took it upon himself to give in to the forces of the collective unconscious, hoping to set the ropes for others to traverse this crevasse, and taking upon himself the role of a sort of psychopomp.

[23] In 1909, Jung experienced a dream in which he explored a multilayer house. In a seminar in 1925, Jung (1989) described the house as being medieval on the top floor, as having a gothic vault (the main floor through which he entered the house) followed by a series of cellars, including one with a Roman look, and a final “prehistoric” cave containing petroglyphs and human remains, including two human sculls. Freud helped Jung to decipher the meaning of the dream. Jung was dissatisfied, however, with Freud’s suggestion that it related only to Jung’s repression of personal material.

[24] From Jung’s own admission, it is possible to reduce at least some of the content of this dream to cryptomnesia, referred to earlier. This presents a potential problem in any attempt at outside interpretation.

[25] This is likely to be the case given his interpretations of other dreams and visions throughout the lecture series of 1925. The only seemingly personal references are to his relationship with Freud. However, even these interpretations have more to do with differences in theory than in the personal relationship between Jung and Freud (see, for example, Jung’s rendering of a dream of a multi-layered house beginning on p. 22).

[26] “In Jung’s view anyone who extended a hand, however well intentioned but uncalled for, to grasp another’s dreams after his own fashion was violating the first principle of healing” (Van der Post, 1975, p. 140). Furthermore, even if the contents of Jung’s visions were purely archetypal in origin, there are as many interpretations available of each symbol produced as there are people eager to interpret them. Therefore, it is imperative to rely as heavily as possible on Jung’s own associations of his dream material when describing his personal life in terms of his own theory.

[27] Further, Jung would later identify this posture with the mythological figure Aion, “the lion-headed god with the snake round his body, (who) again represents the union of opposites, light and darkness, male and female, creation and destruction” (Jung, 1968b, p. 136).

[28] Many have criticized Jung’s relationships with women, including, particularly, a purported long-term extramarital relationship with Antonia Wolff, an analysand and collaborateur. Claire Douglas (1990, 1993, 1997), the editor of Jung’s Vision Seminars, claimed that Jung was ultimately unable to reconcile his internal feminine and his external relationships with women.

[29] For Jung, becoming a total personality meant including “recognition of and responsibility for (one’s) whole being, his good and his bad sides, his superior as well as his inferior functions” (1968b, p. 180).

[30] It appears, from interviews that Claire Douglas (1990) undertook with early Jungians Jane and Joseph Wheelwright, that the historical context of the Jung circle did not allow theory to become reality. That is to say, the development of a theory of the feminine did not live out in the group in the sense that the psyche of the woman was ever appreciated as independent of her relationship to men or the animus. If what the Wheelwrights claimed is accurate that Jung’s own internal experiences and the nature of his psyche were not in agreement then there was falsity in his life. Douglas (1990) claimed that Jung had an “unintegrated experience of the feminine” and that “neither the time nor Jung were ready for (the dark feminine’s) human form” (p. 50–51).

[31] Douglas (1990) argued that Jung missed the balance called on by Elijah, Salome, and the serpent. In this argument, Douglas does not reference Jung’s (1989) mandala representing the four figures (adding in Jung’s highly differentiated thinking function, represented by Jung the dreamer) presented during the 1925 lectures. Furthermore, the figure of Philemon is arguably quite feminine in characteristics. Giegerich (1984) argued that Philemon’s nature is receptive: “The name Philemon means the loving or hospitable one . . . . It is hospitality to whatever present moment may knock at our door that allows this moment to reveal its divine radiance” (p. 64). Douglas (1990), conversely, called Philemon a “patriarchal archetype” (p. 50).

[32] It is important to note that there is a potential for wide variation in Jung’s own path as he relayed it, in Jung as a social figure, operating within his particular social environment, and in Jung as a man situated in a certain historical context. For an interesting subjective, firsthand account of Jung on the two latter forms, see Douglas’ (1990) interviews with Jane and Joseph Wheelwright (pp. 44–50).

[33] Furthermore, the rub of life comes in attempting to translate what has been learned “within” into an authentic living. Jung, in MDR, stated “Everything in the unconscious seeks outward manifestation and the personality too desires to evolve out of its unconscious conditions and experience itself as whole” (1963, p. 3).