From Lascaux Cave Paintings to Greta Thunberg

It fascinates me when similar ideas come to me simultaneously from completely different directions. The first revelation was a must-read article in The Guardian on how the cave paintings of Lascaux remind us that “in our self-obsessed age, the anonymous, mysterious cave art of our ancient ancestors is exhilarating.” The Paleolithic cave painters were fascinated with nature, which they put at the centre stage, while humans were an insignificant or even grotesque subject to them. As the author of the article puts it, “They knew where they stood in the scheme of things, which was not very high, and this seems to have made them laugh.” Another beautiful insight was offered in this statement:

“Maybe, in the ever-challenging context of an animal-dominated planet, the demand for human solidarity so far exceeded the need for individual recognition that, at least in artistic representation, humans didn’t need faces.”

Lascaux cave painting

The second eye-opening moment was a visit to an art gallery. I saw an exhibition of Swiss art from the 19th and 20th centuries called “Things Fall Apart,” the title being a quote from Yeats’s poem “The Second Coming”:

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.”

The exhibition revolves around the idea of the fall of the human ego. The exhibited art marks a transition from the egocentricism to the humble admission that the I, the subject, is nothing but a fraction of a larger world represented by nature and by the unconscious psyche. Freud called this “a major humiliation of human narcissism.”

The evolution of landscape painting was especially stunning to me. Before Romanticism, the human figure used to be presented as a brave conqueror of nature, but the Romantics show him or her as vulnerable, marginalized, standing full of dread at the foot of a mountain. One painting in particular struck me enormously. I had previously seen a lot of works by Ferdinad Hodler, but not his “Aufstieg und Absturz” (Ascent and Fall), which depicts the tragedy of the first expedition to the Matterhorn in 1864. After a triumphant first ascent onto this iconic Swiss mountain, the descent brought a terrible tragedy, when four of the seven climbers fell to their deaths. Hodler’s monumental painting shows both moments. He had to cut his painting to pieces because it was too large to be displayed in a gallery. Below you can see my photo of the painting.

20191214_151944

As a final thought, there is something poignant about the latest cover of the Time magazine with Greta Thunberg as the person of the year. How far have we come from the age of earth conquerors. Things indeed are falling apart on our planet, but Greta’s steady resolve and humility give me hope that all is not lost.

POY.main_

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A Reedeming Darkness of The Black Madonna

“Underneath all our conditioning, hidden in the crypt of our being, near the waters of life, the Black Virgin is enthroned with her Child, the dark latency of our own essential nature, that which we were always meant to be.”

Ean Begg, “The Cult of the Black Virgin”

The Black Madonna of Vilnius

Our world needs the dark goddess. We live in yang, daytime culture, which values above all a clear sense of purpose, logical solutions, single-minded focus and clear-cut distinctions. With the ever-increasing light pollution, we have lost touch with the dark sky and the dark earth. Most of humanity still live under the cultural spell of monotheistic religions, which deny divinity to the feminine. The patriarchal monotheism of Judaism and Christianity, symbolically reduced women “to nothing but mute matter, a mere body;” (1) the body which is portrayed as an instrument of devilish temptation, rather than a sacred conduit of divine wisdom. The word “sacred” itself does not stir any emotion in most; locked away in churches, it sounds abstract and irrelevant.

Twenty-one Taras

No wonder that the collective shadow is so palpable, the divisions and conflicts so stark, with the most primitive emotions brewing under the lid. The archetype of the dark goddess – the Black Madonna in her multi-hued robes (see the Black Madonna of Einsideln below), her skin brown, black or reddish, the twenty-one aspects of Tara in the whole array of colours ranging from white to black – is waiting to bring awakening and liberation. In our times the Saviour will be feminine – the Sanskrit name Tara, which in Tibet is Drolma, means “a female who liberates,” the Female Buddha. The Dalai-lama assures that the Madonna, especially the Black one, is her avatar in the West. Though officially Madonna’s status is nowhere near as high as that of Tara in Buddhism, the devotion and adoration that she attracts persists despite the reticent attitude of the church. The church fathers have always striven to put her in a low and humble place. They say she is nothing but a mediator between the faithful and God; she can at best plead our case to the masculine Godhead.

I was recently at an exhibition devoted to the Black Madonna in Einsiedeln, Switzerland, organized by the monastery. Two assertions of the devout curators caught my attention: firstly, they said, we must realize that the whole cult of the Black Madonna should centre on Jesus because he is far more important than her; secondly, her blackness is irrelevant, being merely a result of the exposition to candle smoke or age-old dirt.

The orthodox narrative sounds quite defensive, which suggests that Her growing power stirs fear. “I long to liberate Mary from the Catholic Church,” (2) writes China Galland in her jewel of a book, in which she traces the archetype of the Dark Mother through Tibet, Switzerland, France and Poland. Like her, I too was born Catholic in a home with images of the Polish Black Madonna adorning the walls. Like her, I have since left the faith, yet I have never left the Black Madonna. Looking at her likenesses, be it paintings or statues, I always wondered at how luminous they seemed, despite being black. China Galland illumined the etymology of the word “black” to me, which, astonishingly enough, comes from the Greek word phlegein, which means “to burn,” possessing at its root words such as “to shine,” and “to flash.” Hers is the radiant black of the truth, affirms Galland, reminding us that in Tibetan Buddhism black is the colour that comes just before enlightenment. This blackness is the emptiness (shunyata) of the womb, it is Tara the Liberator, who, like Mary, was born as a mortal woman. Her name was Yeshe Dawa, which means Wisdom Moon. Seeing her specialness, the monks were lamenting that she was not a man, because in that case she would reach enlightenment quicker. They were expressing the views of the conservative Tibetan monastic tradition. Wisdom Moon’s response was to make a vow:

“I will remain in the woman’s form until reaching enlightenment and thus I will turn the wheel of Dharma, working for the benefit of all living beings, until the world of samsara is empty and all suffering ended.” (3)

The Green Tara

Buddha Shakyamuni would not have reached enlightenment if he had not taken refuge in Tara.

It seems that within every religious or spiritual tradition there are two currents: the exoteric, official one, and the most conservative, and a hidden esoteric one, which carries revolutionary ideas; these ideas feel threatening to the mainstream. Christianity is much more opposed to female leadership, not to mention female divinity, than most Eastern spiritual traditions. But in the alternative Christian wisdom, such as Gnosticism, Jesus is portrayed as treating men and women as equals when it comes to their ability to absorb his teachings. Gnostic Gospels reveal that Mary Magdalene was his most prominent disciple, which was objected to by Saint Peter the Apostle. Ean Begg claims that even in orthodox verses the hidden truths can be fathomed. He analyzes the Litany of Loreto, in which Mary is called on (among others) as Mirror of Justice, Seat of Wisdom, Spiritual Vessel, Mystical Rose, Gate of Heaven, Morning Star, Tower of David and Tower of Ivory. (4) Tower of Ivory is a reference to the Song of Songs and the beauty of the neck of the Black Shulamite. When ivory is “calcined in a closed vessel, …, it yields a fine soft pigment from which the shiny ivory-black paint is made.” (5) While it is fairly obvious that the Tower of David can only be “Jerusalem, home of the Temple,” the Greek word for ivory – elephantinos, invokes the Egyptian city of Elephantiné, connected with Gnosticism. Begg muses:

“… what we see are the church of Peter, catholic, orthodox, male dominated and victorious, and the rival church of Mary, Gnostic and heretical, worshipping a male/female deity and served by priests of both sexes.” (6)

Not only does Black Madonna connect to Mary Magdalene, but her roots go deeper and further back in time. Pagan goddesses, especially Isis, Artemis of Ephesus and Cybele are considered her precursors. She can also be traced back to earth goddesses as well as Inanna and Lilith. Black was the colour in which goddesses of fertility were traditionally depicted. As a matter of fact, black Madonnas are frequently implored in matters related to fertility.(7) We see the Black Madonna in the famous statue of Artemis of Ephesus, which

“… shows her with black face, hands and feet, multiple breasts, on her head a mural crown or tower, and on her dress images including bulls, goats, deer and a bee.(8)

Artemis of Ephesus

France is the country with the largest number of Black Madonna likenesses in the whole world. Black Madonnas found there frequently come from a lineage of dark pagan goddesses, for example the cult of the Black Madonna of Marseilles replaced the cult of Artemis of Ephesus, which was vibrant in the city, thanks to the Greek colonists from Phocaea, who had brought her there. Lyons was the city of Cybele right to the 3rd century AD. Cybele, the Phrygian mother goddess, was originally worshipped as a black meteorite stone. Begg writes:

” Her name is etymologically linked with the words for crypt, cave, head, and dome, and is distantly related to the Ka’aba, the cube-shaped holy of holies in Mecca that contains the feminine black stone venerated by Islam.”

Cybele in a chariot drawn by lions

Another fascinating French example is the Black Madonna of Chartres, which before the advent of Christianity was the centre of Druid worship. The cathedral of Chartres, which has two Black Madonnas, one of which was whitened in a recent restoration, was erected on a sacred Druidic place, most probably a burial mound. The first Black Madonna is housed in the main church and is now white, while the second, The Black Madonna of the underground, is located in the crypt and is still black. The connection of the Black Madonna with death and the underworld is quite notable. Another outstanding example is the Black Virgin of Mont-Saint-Michel, which used to be called Mount Tomb, since it was another Neolithic burial site. The dark goddess has always been venerated as the dark earth and the night from which all life arises and into which it vanishes. The chapel of the Black Madonna of Einsideln in Switzerland was constructed directly above the martyred hermit Meinrad’s cell, whose skull is buried beneath her feet. Saxena links this fact with Mary Magdalene and Tantric Buddhism:

“…most famous paintings of Mary Magdalene present her with a skull which connects her with the Tantric traditions that focus on meditating on death and connects her directly with the Black Madonna.” (9)

Georges de la Tour, “Magdalene with the Smoking Flame”

But the most powerful of all pagan goddesses worshipped in France was Isis, who was “the true goddess of France,” as Begg notes. She was the true universal goddess, who said in The Golden Ass of Apuleius:

“I am Nature, the universal Mother, mistress of all the elements, primordial child of time, sovereign of all things spiritual, queen of the dead, queen also of the immortals, the single manifestation of all gods and goddesses that are. … Though I am worshipped in many aspects, known by countless names, and propitiated with all manner of different rites, yet the whole round earth venerates me. The primeval Phrygians call me Pessinuntica, Mother of the gods [Cybele]; the Athenians, sprung from their own soil, call me … Artemis…; for the … Sicilians, Stygian Proserpine; and for the Eleusinians their ancient Mother of the Corn. ‘Some know me as Juno, some as Bellona of the Battles; others as Hecate, others again as Rhamnubia, but both races of Ethiopians, whose lands the morning sun first shines upon, and the Egyptians who excel in ancient learning and worship me with ceremonies proper to my godhead, call me by my true name, namely, Queen Isis.”

isisnursinghorus

Isis

Shrines to Black Madonnas are famous for their notable healing powers. The statues and paintings of Black Virgins are believed to be wonder-making images. Votive images showing stories of miraculous healing are a frequent sight at all pilgrim destinations. The healing power comes from both the image and the place where it was found. For example, in Montserrat, Spain the monastery had to be constructed around the statue, which apparently refused to be moved. There are numerous stories, in which the Black Madonna obstinately refuses to be removed from her place. China Galland quotes Peter Lindegger, Swiss scholar and Tibet researcher, in her book,

“One cannot make the ground holy, it simply is. Knowing this, one culture would incorporate the sacred sites of the preceding cultures, building one temple over another temple or calling the same statue by a different name. If you didn’t do this, the people would worship there anyway.” (10)

The Black Madonna of Montserrat

The symbolism of the Black Madonna is rich, virtually inexhaustible. Pagan revivalists, alchemists, hermeticists, Gnostics, Jungians, Buddhists, and plain Christians, all lay claim to her. China Galland quotes Gilles Quispel, author of The Secret Book of Revelation, who claims that the Black Madonna is the only living symbol of Christianity. What is more, “unless men and women alike become conscious of this primeval image of the Black Madonna and integrate it within themselves, humankind would be unable to resolve the problem of materialism, racism, women’s liberation, and all that they imply.”

The first wisdom brought by the Black Madonna is the wisdom of the body and its integrity. The dark mother has always sustained the physical processes of birth, death and rebirth. She helps to “break rigid masculine rules, ” writes Begg. She heals the sick and reveals the pangs of childbirth. She supports the equality of the sexes and liberation of women. She embodies the Biblical phrase “Love Thy Neighbour,” which was recently invoked in Poland when those who used her image, adorned with a rainbow, in the campaign against homophobia were persecuted by the conservative Catholics. She is also on the side of freedom in all things political. The Polish Black Madonna has long been associated with freedom and independence of the Polish state. She was the most fervently worshipped when Poland was under partitions, during the second world war and in the times of Communism.

The Polish Black Madonna

The LGBT rendition of the venerated image

The second wisdom is connected with alchemy and the inner spiritual work. In The Mystery of The Cathedrals, Master Alchemist Fulcanelli wrote these words about the Black Madonnas:

“They represent in hermetic symbolism the virgin earth, which the artist must choose as the subject of his Great Work. It is first matter in mineral state, as it comes out of the ore-bearing strata, deeply buried under the rocky mass. It is, the texts tells us, ‘a heavy, brittle, friable black substance, which has the appearance of a stone and, like a stone, can shatter into minute fragments.’ Thus it appears to be the rule that the personified hieroglyph of this mineral possesses its special colour and that the subterranean parts of temples are reserved as its dwelling place.”

Ean Begg says that the Black Madonna is both the beginning (nigredo) and the end of the alchemical process:

“She is the ancient wisdom of Isis-Maat, the secret of eternal life that is the gold at the end of the alchemical process, as well as the initial blackness. In short, she is the spirit of evolutionary consciousness that lies hidden in matter.”

Thus the Black Virgin is the Gnostic Sophia, Goddess of Wisdom, hidden in matter, whose luminosity we seek in our own darkness and ignorance. Caitlin Matthews calls her the primal manifestation of the Divine Feminine. (11) Similarly, a renowned student of C.G. Jung, Erich Neumann, author of The Great Goddess, wrote:

“The Great Mother remains true to her essential and eternal darkness, in which she is the center of the mystery of existence.” (12)

The third and final wisdom is perhaps the most elusive and brings us back to Tara. Saxena beautifully describes the dark goddess as “pregnant nothingness.” She encompasses the whole cosmos, beyond space, beyond time. She is both empty and full, as the womb from which all forms arise. As can be read in The Heart Sutra, form is emptiness (shunyata), emptiness is form. But it is the emptiness, which is the mother and the ultimate essence of all phenomena. In her blackness all distinctions, all dualities, disappear. Her ultimate wisdom is the negation of separation, of anybody or anything existing separately. The whole material world pulsates with this luminous wisdom. China Galland, herself a practising Buddhist, concludes:

“This is darkness to the thinking mind, to the ego that grasps and holds that there is such a thing as ‘mine.’ This goes beyond thinking mind, beyond the world of appearances, into the vast direct experience of being. This is not ordinary reality. This is the black of starless midnight, imminence, that comes before the pre-dawn of enlightenment, the ‘clear light,’ a state of translucence or transparency that is beyond dark and light. This is a radiant black. …Thus emptiness can be said to be dark or black to us. This is the womb of enlightenment. This is Wisdom. This is the Mother of All the Buddhas, this is Tara.”

T78 INT 89

Meinrad Craighead, “Crow Mother Over the Rio Grande”

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Notes:

(1) Neela Bhattacharya Saxena, Absent Mother God of the West: A Kali Lover’s Journey into Christianity and Judaism

(2) China Galland, Longing for Darkness: Tara and the Black Madonna

(3) Ibid.

(4) Ean Begg, The Cult of the Black Virgin

(5) Ibid.

(6) Ibid.

(7) “In Quest of the Black Virgin: She is Black Because She Is Black,” by Leonard W. Moss and Stephen C. Cappannari, in: James J. Preston, ed., Mother Worship: Themes and Variations

(8) Ean Begg, The Cult of the Black Virgin

(9) Neela Bhattacharya Saxena, Absent Mother God of the West: A Kali Lover’s Journey into Christianity and Judaism

(10) China Galland, Longing for Darkness: Tara and the Black Madonna

(11) Caitlin Matthews, Sophia, Goddess of Wisdom, Bride of God

(12) China Galland, Longing for Darkness: Tara and the Black Madonna

 

 

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Reading The Red Book (13)

“In Mark 4.11 Jesus says to his disciples: ‘To you has been given the secret, mysterion, of the kingdom of God, but for those outside everything is in parables.'” (1)

Fresco from Pompeii, temple of Isis (via Wikipedia)

Jung divided The Red Book into two parts: Liber Primus and Liber Secundus. With chapter XI called Resolution we reach the end of Liber Primus. This marks a pivotal moment: Jung undergoes an initiation, similar or identical to the one experienced by initiates who participated in ancient mysteries. Jung says:

“On the third night, deep longing to continue experiencing the mysteries seized me.”

There are no first-hand accounts of ancient mysteries, except one, which is to be found in The Golden Ass, a novel written by the Roman Apuleius in the second century CE. There he describes his initiation into the mysteries of Isis with these words:

“I approached the frontier of death, I set foot on the threshold of Persephone, I journeyed through all the elements and came back, I saw at midnight the sun, sparkling in white light, I came close to the gods of the upper and nether world and adored them from near at hand.” (2)

In this part of The Red Book Jung goes a step further than adoring the gods “from near at hand.” He becomes deified:

“The notion that Liber Novus both illustrates and effects a divinization process provides insight into why Jung treated The Red Book with such reverence, and why he produced it as a calligraphic illuminated manuscript, in the style of the Bibles of medieval Europe.” (3)

The steps leading to Jung’s becoming one with Christ abound in visions, the first one of which involves a battle between a white and black serpent. As a result of the conflict, part of the black serpent’s body becomes white, and finally the animals retreat to darkness and light respectively. Jung wonders if that means that darkness will be illuminated by light. Next, Elijah takes Jung to the temple of the sun and says: “This place is a vessel that collects the light of the sun.” The place reminds Jung of a Druidic temple. But then the prophet encourages Jung to follow him into the depths, through a crevice into a dark cave. Now Elijah calls himself Mime, who will show Jung the underground wellsprings, as “whoever drinks from them becomes wise.”

Bill Hammond, Cave Painting 3

From the extensive footnotes provided by the editors of Liber Novus we learn that Mime was a dwarf from Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung. He was the brother of the master craftsman Alberich, who stole the Rhinegold from the Rhinemaidens and forged a ring of limitless powers out of it. At some point the ring goes into the possession of the giant Fafner, who transforms into the dragon. Siegfried kills Fafner with a sword that Mime had forged for him. In the end, Siegfried slays Mime as well because he knows that the dwarf covets the ring above all and is ready to kill for it.

Arthur Rackham, Mime at the Anvil

It seems that the unconscious is trying to show to Jung the value of low and dark places, the wisdom of creatures like Mime, as well as the enlightening qualities of the dark serpent. In a 1925 seminar Jung indeed admitted that he was going through an internal conflict at that time, facing “a resistance to going down.”

Next, Jung has a vision of the Passion of Christ, which he finds an agonizing sight. He also sees a divine child “with the white serpent in his right hand, and the black serpent in his left hand.” This suggests the unity of opposites. But then the vision of Christ’s cross returns, and this passage comes:

” I see the green mountain, the cross of Christ on it, and a stream of blood flowing from the summit of the mountain-I can look no longer, it is unbearable-I see the cross and Christ on it in his last hour and torment-at the foot of the cross the black serpent coils itself-it has wound itself around my feet- I am held fast and I spread my arms wide. Salome draws near. The serpent has wound itself around my whole body, and my countenance is that of a lion.”

Augustus Knapp, Mithra in the Form of Boundless Time

Salome tell Jung: ” “You are Christ.”

The vision continues:

“The serpent squeezes my body in its terrible coils and the blood streams from my body; spilling down the mountainside. Salome bends down to my feet and wraps her black hair round them.”

At that point Salome’s blindness is healed, while the prophet’s form shines like a flame. The serpent had also stopped torturing the body of Jung and wraps itself around Salome’s foot.

At the end of this initiation Jung describes his emotions:

“Salome kneels before the light in wonder struck devotion. Tears fall from my eyes, and I hurry out into the night, like one who has no part in the glory of the mystery. My feet do not touch the ground of this earth, and it is as if I were melting into air.”

In 1925 seminar Jung explained the above vision by referring to Mithraism. The Roman initiates to Mithraism referred to their God Mithra or Mithras as the invincible sun (Sol Invictus). As Dabid Fingrut explains in his fascinating essay:

“The seven grades of Mithraism, were: Corax (Raven), Nymphus (Male Bride), Miles (Soldier), Leo (Lion), Peres (Persian), Heliodromus (Sun-Runner), and Pater (Father); each respective grade protected by Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, the Moon, the Sun, and Saturn.”(4)

Jung was referring to the figure known from the Mithraic mysteries, which is “represented with a snake coiled around the man, the snake’s head resting on the man’s head, and the face of the man that of a lion.” An initiate was, in Jung’s words, “a vessel of creation in which the opposites reconcile.”

As you may imagine, Jung has been viciously attacked for equating himself with Christ. There have been accusations of establishing his own cult, and so forth. This is perhaps why he hesitated whether to publish The Red Book. Sanford L. Drob says that in this chapter Jung “attains Christ’s powers of spiritual healing.” He experiences a union between “the spiritual principle represented by  Christ and the earthly, instinctual principle, represented by the black serpent, in order to achieve mastery as a psychotherapeutic healer of the soul.” (5) For Jung, Christ did indeed represent a symbol of individuation. Following Christ meant for him living according to one’s true essence, and furthermore, as Drob adds, “the union of opposing principles is the path to the Self.”

At the end of the chapter Jung once again addresses the issue of warring opposites, as expressed by the fight of the two serpents. He says that every individual psyche is an arena of such a war. The footnotes to this chapter contain a quote from the preface to The Psychology of the Unconscious Processes, where Jung wrote:

“The psychological processes, which accompany the present war, above all the
incredible brutalization of public opinion, the mutual slanderings, the unprecedented fury of destruction, the monstrous flood of lies, and man’s incapacity to call a halt to the bloody demon-are suited like nothing else to powerfully push in front of the eyes of thinking men the problem of the restlessly slumbering chaotic unconscious under the ordered world of consciousness. This war has pitilessly revealed to civilized man that he is still a barbarian … But the psychology of the individual corresponds to the psychology of the nation. What the nation does is done also by each individual, and so long as the individual does it, the nation also does it. Only the change in the attitude of the individual is the beginning of the change in  the psychology of the nation”

pythia5

It has been suggested that the final days of the Age of Pisces have brought to the fore the extreme polarization of opposing principles. Until humans realize that the conflict lies within themselves, they will continue laying blame on one another, which Jung seems to suggest in the above quote, which sounds astonishingly contemporary.

Footnotes:

(1) Jan N. Bremmer, Initiation into the Mysteries of the Ancient World

(2) Ibid.

(3) Sanford L. Drob, Reading The Red Book: An Interpretative Guide to C.G. Jung’s Liber Novus

(4) http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Periods/Roman/Topics/Religion/Mithraism/David_Fingrut**.html

(5) Sanford L. Drob, Reading The Red Book: An Interpretative Guide to C.G. Jung’s Liber Novus

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

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“One Version of Events” by Wislawa Szymborska

“If we’d been allowed to choose,

we’d probably have gone on forever.

The bodies that were offered didn’t fit,

and wore out horribly.

The ways of sating hunger

made us sick.

We were repelled

by blind heredity

and the tyranny of glands.

The world that was meant to embrace us

decayed without end

and the effects of causes raged over it.

Individual fates

were presented for our inspection:

appalled and grieved,

we rejected most of them.

Questions naturally arose, e.g.,

who needs the painful birth

of a dead child

and what’s in it for a sailor

who will never reach the shore.

We agreed to death,

but not to every kind.

Love attracted us,

of course, but only love

that keeps its word.

Both fickle standards

and the impermanence of artworks

kept us wary of the Muses’ service.

Each of us wished to have a homeland

free of neighbors

and to live his entire life

in the intervals between wars.

No one wished to seize power

or to be subject to it.

No one wanted to fall victim

to his own or others’ delusions.

No one volunteered

for crowd scenes and processions,

to say nothing of dying tribes—

although without all these

history couldn’t run its charted course

through centuries to come.

Meanwhile, a fair number

of stars lit earlier

had died out and grown cold.

It was high time for a decision.

Voicing numerous reservations,

candidates finally emerged

for a number of roles as healers and explorers,

a few obscure philosophers,

one or two nameless gardeners,

artists and virtuosos—

though even these livings

couldn’t all be filled

for lack of other kinds of

applications.

It was time to think

the whole thing over.

We’d been offered a trip

from which we’d surely be returning

soon, wouldn’t we.

A trip outside eternity—

monotonous, no matter what they say,

and foreign to time’s flow.

The chance may never come our way again.

We were besieged by doubts.

Does knowing everything beforehand

really mean knowing everything.

Is a decision made in advance

really any kind of choice.

Wouldn’t we be better off

dropping the subject

and making our minds up

once we get there.

We looked at the earth.

Some daredevils were already living there.

A feeble weed clung to a rock,

trusting blindly

that the wind wouldn’t tear it off.

A small animal

dug itself from its burrow

with an energy and hope

that puzzled us.

We struck ourselves as prudent,

petty, and ridiculous.

In any case, our ranks began to dwindle.

The most impatient of us disappeared.

They’d left for the first trial by fire,

this much was clear,

especially by the glare of the real fire

they’d just begun to light

on the steep bank of an actual river.

A few of them

have actually turned back.

But not in our direction.

And with something they seemed to

have won in their hands.”

Translated by Claire Cavanagh and Stanisław Barańczak

Found in Wislawa Szymborska, Poems New and Collected, Kindle edition

Untitled by Zdzislaw Beksinski

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Reading The Red Book (12)

I. “You may call us symbols for the same reason that you can also call your fellow men symbols, if you wish to. But we are just as real as your fellow men. You invalidate nothing and solve nothing by calling us symbols.”

II. “To live oneself means: to be one’s own task. Never say that it is a pleasure to live oneself. It will be no joy but a long suffering, since you must become your own creator. If you want to create yourself then you do not begin with the best and the highest, but with the worst and the deepest.”

“The Red Book,” chapter X (Liber Primus)

George Frederic Watts, “She Shall Be Called Woman”

Chapter X of The Red Book, Liber Primus is called “Instruction.” Jung’s visions and his involvement with the unconscious is becoming deeper and more intense. He describes the following image:

“I am standing in the rocky depth that seems to me like a crater. Before me I see the house with columns. I see Salome walking along the length of the wall toward the left, touching the wall like a blind person. The serpent follows her. The old man stands at the door and waves to me.”

“She is my own soul,” Jung will say about Salome later. Her blindness, her association with the serpent and the fact that she is walking towards the left, all means that she personifies his anima, the part of male psyche, which is in touch with the unconscious. During his first encounter with Salome, described in my previous post, Jung saw Salome as a sensual dancer, who asked Herod for the head of John the Baptist. He disparaged her (“Was she not vain greed and criminal lust?”) and could not fathom why the Prophet claimed that she was his daughter, equal to him in wisdom. But now Jung’s defenses are melting, he says he feels “more real” in the company of Elijah and Salome, though at the same time he admits that his head is heavy as lead, and he is lost in his ignorance. Yet he perseveres and follows the pair into the house. This is a decisive moment of a breakthrough.

Inside, Jung has a complex vision:

“I stand before the play of fire in the shining crystal. I see in splendor the mother of God with the child. Peter stands in front of her in admiration-then Peter alone with the key-the Pope with a triple crown-a Buddha sitting rigidly in a circle of fire-a many-armed bloody Goddess-it is Salome desperately wringing her hands-it takes hold of me, she is my own soul, and now I see Elijah in the image of the stone.”

Y.G. Srimati, Mahakali

Jung is flooded with archetypal images, which means that the desperation of his anima – wringing her hands at his rigidity – has borne fruit. He sees Salome as the dark goddess, most probably Kali. Easter and western symbols co-exist in his vision, as well as darkness and light, good and evil. Once again we can appreciate how the visions of Liber Novus are at the root of Jung’s axiom of “the coincidence of good and evil in the archetypes of God and the Self,”  as Sanford L. Drob put it in his interpretative guide to reading The Red Book.

Openness to the unconscious means being able to let the chaos “break the dams,” says Jung. Free-flowing contents of the unconscious will bring about transformation; it is transformation, not exclusion, which is “the way of life.” Elijah says to Jung:

“… your thoughts are just as much outside your self as trees and animals are outside your body.”

We do not possess our thoughts, Jung explains, but they grow in us “like a forest,
populated by many different animals.” Rigidity, one-sidedness and narrow-mindedness breed exclusion, preventing the development of personality. Developing the Self, which is nothing else but one’s inner divinity, is only possible when an individual embraces his or her shadow; it is also vital to connect to the anima in the case of men or animus in the case of women. Finally, one should work to include the underdeveloped functions of personality, for example a thinking type would do well to embrace the feeling function, and so forth.

Salome tells Jung that she is his sister, while Mary is their mother, which makes Jung one with Christ.  Christ, says Jung, symbolizes the mystery of transformation, which brings about “the passing over into a new creation.” However, merging with inner divinity carries the risk of inflation. As Jung says, “I am in danger of believing that I myself am significant since I see the significant.” Staying humble and becoming one with God may seem like a paradox, but is the only way to keep one’s sanity. Jung emphasizes that he does not become the symbol but rather “the symbol becomes in me such that it has its substance, and I mine.” Complete merging with the unconscious is impossible; the ego must retain its own substance rather than being vanquished. The vision ends with Jung seeing a powerful lion leading the way for him. After feeling weak at the beginning it seems that he is growing into his power, acquiring regal attributes.

This chapter of The Red Book brings an extraordinary development in Jung’s connection with his anima, personified here by Salome. He goes beyond seeing her as a purely sexual object towards recognizing her as Sophia, personification of wisdom. At the end of the chapter Jung quotes from the non-canonical Gospel of the Egyptians, which should be distinguished from the so-called Gnostic Gospels of the Coptic Gnostic Library of the Nag Hammadi. The Gospel of the Egyptians was widely used in Egypt. It has not survived in its entirety; all we have are fragments and quotes. It contains dialogues between Jesus and Salome:

“… each fragment endorses sexual asceticism as the means of breaking the lethal cycle of birth and of overcoming the alleged sinful differences between male and female, enabling all persons to return to what was understood to be their primordial androgynous state.” (1)

This is a radical departure from the highly sexual image of Salome from the previous chapter. Here she is Jesus’ disciple. In the (canonical) Gospel of Mark, Salome was one of the women who went to Jesus’ tomb to anoint his body with spices. The Gospel of Thomas, which belongs to the Gnostic Gospels, mentioned that Jesus had female disciples, notably Mary Magdalene and Salome, while the four canonical gospels recognize only male disciples, referring to women somewhat dismissively as just Jesus’ followers.

Mary, Mary Magdalene and Salome at the grave of Jesus – Eastern Orthodox Icon (via Wikipedia) “When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go and anoint him. Very early when the sun had risen, on the first day of the week, they came to the tomb.” ―Mark 16:1–2

Notes:

(1) Ron Cameron, The Other Gospels: Non-Canonical Gospel Texts

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

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Persephone, Lady of the Mysteries

Pytia in the Adyton (via link)

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.

William Blake, Proverbs of Hell

Is one even allowed to talk about the gods of the underworld? For Rudolf Otto, a twentieth-century theologian, the holy or the numinous manifests in two forms: as mysterium tremendum, which is a mystery that frightens and repels, and as mysterium fascinosum, which we are drawn to despite our fears. The Greek word hieros (sacred) was used to describe votive offerings, the ground on which temples were built as well as ways walked during Mysteries, for example the way to Eleusis, or days on which the gods were present. (1) A person could also be “hieros” if they were initiated in mysteries or worked in temples. Natural phenomena such as mountains, rivers or corn were also believed to possess sacred power. Sacred places were “surrounded by prohibitions,” for example the names of certain gods, especially underworld gods, were not to be uttered; temples contained abatons or adytons – restricted sanctuaries not to be entered by the prophane. (2) Gods were never described as “hieros,” but rather as “hagios;” while the concept of “hieros,” concludes Burkett, was “as it were the shadow cast by divinity.”

Under the entry “Abaddon” in The Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets stands:

“The god Apollo was a solar king in heaven during the day, and a Lord of Death in the underworld at night. … Apollo-Python was the serpent deity in the Pit of the Delphic oracle, who inspired the seeress with mystic vapors from his nether world. The Greek word for the Pit was abaton, which the Jews corrupted into Abaddon later a familiar Christian synonym for hell.

Also called a mundus or earth-womb, the abaton was a real pit, standard equipment in a pagan temple. Those who entered it to ‘incubate,’ or to sleep overnight in magical imitation of the incubatory sleep in the womb, were thought to be visited by an “incubus” or spirit who brought prophetic dreams. Novice priests went down into the pit for longer periods of incubation, pantomiming death, burial, and rebirth from the womb of Mother Earth. …

The same burial-and-resurrection ritual is found in the lives of many ancient sages. It was said of the Pythagorean philosopher Thales of Miletus, accounted one of the Seven Wise Men of the ancient world, that he derived his intellectual skills from communion with the Goddess of Wisdom in an abaton.” (3)

According to Peter Kingsley, the goddess of wisdom mentioned above was Persephone, Queen of the Dead. (4)

The Rider-Waite tarot deck – The High Priestess with pomegranates

Funerary practices were the most ancient manifestations of culture and religion. Being human has always meant sharing “the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns,” to quote from Hamlet’s famous monologue. The world is like the cosmic cave, said Neoplatonists, with its southern entrance (into life) and northern exit (into death). This was described in detail by Porphyry in his essay “On the Cave of the Nymphs.” All the invisible, occult powers act in this moist hidden place, where souls descend into generation. Through the gate of Cancer, a water sign, souls “lapse into generation,” while “the spirit becomes moist and more aqueous through the desire of generation.” The gate of Cancer is thus “the gate of men.” The gate of Capricorn, meanwhile, is “the gate of the gods,” and the exit from the cosmic cave. (5)

hampoin

Adrian Lester as Hamlet in Peter Brook’s production

Some souls have barely entered through the gate of Cancer only to die a premature death. I remember Ram Dass say in one of his talks that these wise souls chose liberation from the samsara. But parents dealing with the death of a child, like Demeter desperately seeking Persephone, cannot find any solace. I was struck by a passage from a non-fiction book that I am currently reading:

“In the shallow sandy soil of northern Europe, some 6,000 years ago, the body of a young woman – dead in childbirth along with her son – is lowered gently into a grave. Next to her is laid the white wing of a swan. Then onto the wing is placed the body of her son, so that the baby is doubly cradled in death – by the swan’s feathers and his mother’s arms. A round mound of earth is raised to mark their burial place: the woman, the child and the white swan’s wing.” (6)

The book is called The Underland: A Deep Time Journey and explores the worlds under our feet, going deep down into the bowels of the earth. Its author Robert MacFarlane writes that

“humanitas in Latin comes first and properly from humando, meaning ‘burying, burial’, itself from humus, meaning ‘earth’ or ‘soil’… In burial, the human body becomes a component of the earth, returned as dust to dust – inhumed, restored to humility, rendered humble.” (7)

On the other hand, James Hillman wrote that “the underworld of Hades and Persephone is so remote from our world that those removed there can have no influence upon the life and doings of men on earth.” (8) He called for drawing a categorical distinction between the chthonic darkness of soul and the earthy blackness of soil, but I am not convinced. In the world of myth, to mention just Osiris and Demeter/Persephone as most prominent examples, and in all funerary rites, these two worlds commingle, nourished by one another.

One of the ancient religious movements which recognized the divinity of the soul and the possibility of symbolic death during life was Orphism. In recent decades researchers have made groundbreaking discoveries regarding this doctrine and the so-called Orphic-Bacchic mysteries, in which Persephone played a crucial role. Jan N. Bremmer refers to Orpheus as a founder of the Mysteries and “father of songs.” (9) Orpheus cast a spell on animals and trees with his music. In a well-known myth, he descended to the Underworld to fetch his wife Eurydice, which explains Orphic devotion to the chthonic wisdom of the Underworld. He died torn to piece by maenads, possessed by divine frenzy.

John Roddam Spencer Stanhope, “Orpheus and Eurydice on the Banks of the Styx”

Orphic theogony differs from Homeric myth quite substantially. As narrated in Greek Religion by Walter Burkert, Zeus transforms into a snake and mates with his daughter Persephone, who gives gave birth to Dionysos. Zeus places the child on the throne as the ruler of the world. “But Hera sends the Titans who distract the child with toys and… he is dragged from the throne, killed, and torn to pieces, then boiled, roasted and eaten. Zeus hereupon hurls his thunderbolt to burn the Titans, and from the rising soot there spring men…”. (10)

The idea that people are partly divine, through coming from Dionysos’ dismembered body, had an enormous bearing on Orphism, which espoused the belief in the immortal soul, metempsychosis (reincarnation) and descent to the underworld (i.e. death) during life to find rebirth and renewal. Barbara Walker compared Orphism to Buddhism since it included the ideas of “escape from the karmic wheel effected by ascetic contemplation, spiritual journeys of the astral-projection type, and elaborate revelations.” An initiated Orphic mystic announced to the world: “”I have sunk beneath the bosom of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.”(11) Orphics were strongly anti-collectivist and emphasized the doctrine of individual salvation. They were vegetarian and did not practice animal sacrifice.

But what was the symbolic meaning of dismemberment, which seems to permeate the Orphic myth so markedly? The Book of Symbols offers the following insights:

“Belonging to the family of ‘death mysteries,’ dismemberment calls for fertility and resurrection, freeing libido by breaking down defensive structures… The myth of world creation by dismemberment of a primordial being is universal… Each act of dismemberment recapitulates the Creation.

Divine scapegoats such as Jesus were symbolically dismembered in order to effect renewal…

Gods personifying the dynamics of dismemberment, such as Osiris, Dionysus and Kali, personify the prospective potentials of this archetypal experience: violence, loss, grief, catastrophe, privation, illness, despair, envy, fury and ecstasy induce altered states that dismember by delinking the personality from its habitual moorings.

Dionysus, personifying the dismembering frenzy of ecstasy, possession by unconscious manias and obsessions, opening of boundaries and being ‘torn-up,’ symbolizes many forms of ‘madness’ that dismember as a first step in the fertility magic where dissolution provides the seeds of rebirth.” (12)

Jean Delville, “The Death of Orpheus”

Orphism seemed like a demanding life path, certainly only for the chosen and the elite. A more egalitarian way of guaranteeing oneself a blessed afterlife was taking part in the Eleusinian Mysteries. Unlike in Orphism, those who took part in those did not have to change their lives as a result. I have recently listened to Demetra George’s webinar “The Disappearance of the Daughter – The Eleusinian Mystery Rites of Ceres and Persephone,” which I can recommend wholeheartedly (13). I was also inspired to reread her book Mysteries of the Dark Moon: the Healing Power of the Dark Goddess. There she summarizes her painstaking research into the subject, offering a lot of insights into the significance of these greatest mysteries of the ancient world.

Eduardo Chicharro y Aguera, “Demeter, Kore and Hekate”

In the well-known myth, based on Homeric hymn to Demeter, Persephone is gathering flowers with her female companions when her attention is drawn to a particularly beautiful narcissus. Little did she know that it had been placed there by the earth goddess Rhea, who collaborated with Zeus and Hades. Hades had fallen in love with Persephone, and Zeus agreed to let him marry her without asking Demeter or Persephone. The abduction of Persephone reached the ears of Hekate in her cave and was seen by Helios, the sun god. Demeter fell into utter despair, looking for her daughter everywhere with flaming torches, assisted by Hekate. Finally, they found out the truth from Helios. Demeter fell into an even deeper mourning and despair, letting the earth be bare, with no crops:

“She avoided the company of the Olympians altogether, and traveled instead among the cities of men, in appearance like an old woman, one who has endured many sorrows, who has reached the time when she is through with love and children. Her lush, thick hair was thin and gray, her face wrinkled, her arms and legs like bones. In this state she entered the territory of Keleos, at Eleusis, not far from Athens, and sat down to rest in the shade near the Maiden Well, where the women of the neighborhood came daily to draw water.” (14)

Demeter talked to the young women she met there and soon found a job as a nanny to a high-born baby boy. At night, she would hold him in the ashes fire so that he would grow godlike but once his mother saw her and cried out in despair:

“At this, Demeter, becoming angry, threw the child to the floor, away from the fire, shouting, ‘Stupid, witless humans! You don’t even know what’s good for you! Now he will have to die, like all other mortals. … Know this: I am Demeter, mankind’s greatest joy and aid.’ As she spoke, the goddess changed appearance, until she looked her divine self, taller and more fair, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders. A sweet fragrance wafted from her clothing and a gentle glow pulsed from her skin, filling the whole house with light. With a last command—that the people of Eleusis should build a great temple on the hill to seek her favor—Demeter left the hall.” (15)

Zeus found himself powerless in the face of Demeter’s relentlessness, so he gave in and sent Hermes to retrieve Persephone from the Underworld. But the young goddess was tricked by Hades into eating three grains of pomegranate. Thus, she had to return to the Underworld for a third of the year in winter while she was allowed to spend the fertile seasons with her mother on the earth.

The symbolism of the myth is in part agrarian:

“Demeter represented the fertile earth that nourishes the mature crop, the ripened grain of the harvest in the above world. Persephone stood for the seed germ of the grain, which is buried in the below world during the barren winter months and then emerges as the young vegetation of spring.” (16)

The Goddess of the Grain was also the Goddess of the Dead, since “the earth was both the reviver of their crops and the storehouse of their dead.” (17) Or as Carl Kerenyi, puts it “the being” (Demeter) is sustained by “the non-being” (Persephone). (18)

The Eleusinian Mysteries were the greatest religious festival of the Ancient Greece. The participants had the opportunity to experience the whole range of Demeter’s emotions:

“To enter into the figure of Demeter means to be pursued, to be robbed, raped, to fail to understand, to rage and grieve, but then to get everything back and be born again.” (19)

“The Eleusinian Mysteries”

Both men and women, also slaves, were allowed to take part in the Mysteries and become one with the goddess and follow the Demetrian path. The initiates were the ones who closed their eyes and mouths in an act of surrender to the mystery. In the first part of the mysteries, the participants took part in a procession, during which they immersed themselves in the sea and sacrificed little pigs, which each of them had brought. After a feew days, in the most important part of the event:

“Having sipped her holy drink by the site of Demeter’s well, initiates filed into the omphalos, the cave or navel of the world. This represented the passage to the underworld. As the seekers entered the darkened Telesterion, the Greater Mysteries began. In a mystic drama, the part of the legend dealing with death was imparted. The initiates experienced fear in all its physical symptoms: cold sweats, tremors, and nausea, as the hallucinogenic barley drink coursed through them, and dreadful apparitions howled through the halls.” (20)

Gustave Courbet, “The Grain Sifters”

As a final part of the mysteries, the Hierophant sounded a gong and a happy reunion of mother and daughter took place, together with an announcement of the birth of a child. The Goddess of Death has given birth. The Hierophant showed in utter silence a single ear of corn to the crowd. I love how Kérenyi compared that moment to the famous flower sermon of Buddha, in which his teaching consisted in holding a flower in front of his listeners. Demetra George sums up:

“As the seed died awaiting germination, the initiate died to the old self; and like the sprouting grain, the new soul was reborn into the company of those who had gone before, the epoptai.” (21)

The aim of the mysteries for the mystai (initiates) was to counteract the fear of death. The individual death was demonstrated as something which ensures the continuance of life. The experience was non-communicable and allowed the participants as assimilate themselves into the holy symbols, said Demetra George in her webinar. The symbolism of myth and ritual accompanying the mysteries is extremely rich. Feminist researcher Mara Lynn Keller wrote about the main symbols and ritual objects found on the grounds of the Eleusinian temple, which included images of “sheaves of wheat or barley; the many-seeded pomegranate, …; poppies, symbol of sleep and death; and the snake.” In addition, she offers a fascinating take on the sphinx and a handful of other symbols associated with Demeter and Persephone:

“Another spiritual symbol found in the artwork of Eleusis is the sphinx, in whom the artist combines spiritual, psychic and physical elemental powers, which for preurban peoples were not seen as separate or distinct. The sphinx was a great winged creature with a powerful lion’s body and, most usually, a woman’s head, sometimes crowned by a diadem. Perhaps the sphinx represents the shamanic ability to participate in the bird’s power of flying close to the heavens and seeing great distances, and in the feline’s power to roam the mountains and plains unafraid. In riddles of patriarchy (as alluded to, for example, in Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex), the sphinx-like women who give birth, raise children and attend the dying-knew the beginning, middle and end of life. Oedipus could not unseat the great sphinx until he too had begun to understand these mysteries. The great winged creature is probably a direct descendant of the Neolithic Bird Goddess; … I see the sphinx, like the snake, as a major symbol of the early mother-clan or mother-rite culture. Another animal sacred to Demeter was the pig, whose “prolific character” manifested the abundant fertility and nurturance of nature. In Arcadia, Demeter was also associated with the horse, the peaceful dove and the playful dolphin.” (23)

The goddess holding wheat, poppy bulbs and horned snakes

The pomegranate is a symbol strictly associated with Persephone rather than Demeter. Like Eve’s apple, it symbolizes her transformation from Kore (Maiden) into a conscious, grown woman, Persephone, the queen of the underworld, equal to her husband and equally terrifying. Kérenyi connects her with Medusa, endowed with the consummate wisdom of the snake, which in its profound symbolism encompasses “pure energy, water, treasure, wisdom of the deep, and the feminine principle.” (24) The pomegranate, next to being the symbol of fertility, also symbolizes oneness of the universe and “reconciliation of the multiple and diverse within apparent unity.” The dismembered world is brought to unity by the goddess, just as Isis put together the fragments of Osiris’ body. Persephone, “the Bride of Darkness,” as Tennyson refers to her in his poem, unifies the upper- and underworld, mediating between the two.

Dante Gabriel Rosetti, “Proserpine”

Notes:

(1) Walter Burkert, Greek Religion

(2) Ibid.

(3) Barbara Walker, Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets

(4) Peter Kingsley, In the Dark Places of Wisdom

(5) http://www.tertullian.org/fathers/porphyry_cave_of_nymphs_02_translation.htm

(6) Robert MacFarlane, The Underland: A Deep Time Journey

(7) Ibid.

(8) James Hillman, The Dream and the Underworld

(9) Jan N. Bremmer, Initiation into the Mysteries of the Ancient World

(10) Walter Burkert, Greek Religion

(11) Barbara Walker, Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets

(12) The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images, ed. by Ami Ronnberg, ARAS

(13) https://www.demetra-george.com/shop/The-Disappearance-of-the-Daughter-The-Eleusinian-Mystery-Rites-of-Ceres-and-Persephone-p150717054

(14) Richard P. Martin, Myths of the Ancient Greeks

(15) Ibid.

(16) Demetra George, Mysteries of the Dark Moon: the Healing Power of the Dark Goddess

(17) Ibid.

(18) Carl Kerényi, Kore, in: Introduction to a Science of Mythology by C.G. Jung and C. Kerényi

(19) Ibid.

(20) Ibid.

(21) Demetra George, Mysteries of the Dark Moon: the Healing Power of the Dark Goddess

(22) Mara Lynn Keller, “The Eleusinian Mysteries of Demeter and Persephone,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, Vol. 4, No. 1

(23) Ibid.

(24) Juan Eduardo Cirlot, Dictionary of Symbols

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Reading The Red Book (11)

“I am all that has been and is and shall be; and no mortal has ever lifted my veil.”

(the words inscribed on the statue of Isis of Sais)

The title of Chapter IX of The Red Book (Liber Primus) is Mysterium. Encounter. This chapter contains a powerful vision, in which Jung sees the prophet Elijah with a black serpent at his feet, accompanied by who the prophet says is his daughter, Salome. She is blind, which symbolizes the wisdom of the inner vision and the blind power of instincts. The vision is illustrated by a painting, which shows the figures at night in the mountains.

Liz Greene notes that this is the first female figure in The Red Book (1), which marks an important stage and a major qualitative change. Suddenly the air is electrified with the utterance of the mysterious name – Salome. “My wisdom and my daughter are one,” says Elijah, while Jung seems horrified because he remembers that Salome was the woman who danced before Herod and as her reward asked for the head of John the Baptist. Salome speaks to him:

“S: ‘Do you love me?’
I: ‘How can I love you? How do you come to this question? I see only one thing, you are Salome, a tiger, your hands are stained with the blood of the holy one. How should I love you?’
S: ‘You will love me.’

At this stage Jung is still not ready to love his anima. But Elijah insists: “I and my daughter have been one since eternity.”

Liz Greene points out to the red moon and red robes in the painting featured above. Jung says:

“I hear wild music, a tambourine, a sultry moonlit night, the bloody-staring head of the holy one – fear seizes me. Woe, was she the hand of the God? I do not love her, I fear her. Then the spirit of the depths spoke to me and said: ‘Therein you acknowledge her divine power.'”

Salome had just a passing reference in the Bible, where her name was not even mentioned. She was later identified as Salome by the Jewish historian Flavius Josephius. But her enduring myth, which has survived until today, was created by Oscar Wilde in his tragedy Salome.  There Salome falls in love with John the Baptist, who spurns her. She enchants king Herod with the dance of the seven veils. The king offers her anything she wants so she requests the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter. She proceeds to kiss his bloody lips. Sickened, Herod orders her to be killed, too. In the sky rises the blood red moon.

Aubrey Beardsley, “The Dancer’s Reward”

Wilde had been influenced by a number of sources, one of which was a painting by the French Symbolist Gustave Moreau. The work Salome dancing before Herod created real frenzy when it was displayed at the Salon in Paris in 1876. Holding a lotus flower, Salome is dancing in an ornate eclectic palace:

“Everything … about the painting … is extraordinary, particularly in its fusion of different cultural elements. These have been associated with the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, the Alhambra in Granada, the Great Mosque of Cordoba, and several mediaeval cathedrals. Motifs have been identified from Etruscan, Roman, Egyptian, Indian, and Chinese art and culture.”

via https://eclecticlight.co/2016/02/02/the-story-in-paintings-gustave-moreau-and-the-dissolution-of-history/

Gustave Moreau, “Salome Dancing Before Herod”

Toni Bentley, who herself used to dance with George Balanchine’s New York City Ballet, is an author of a book about four famous dancers, who embodied the spirit of Salome in the period after Oscar’s Wilde play gave rise to a real Salome mania. Her interpretation of the myth of Salome is quite provocative. She writes:

“This fictional female, whose erotic allure leads men into danger, destruction, and even death, was created by the male masochistic mind, resolving his contradictory desire for sexual connection and his even deeper fear of castration and annihilation.

Oscar Wilde gave Salome what she had heretofore lacked: a personality, a psychology all her own. Wilde transformed Salome from an object of male desire and fear into the subject of her own life. Wilde saw Salome from her own point of view and completed her evolution into a real woman with real motivations.” (2)

Bentley compares the dance of the seven veils to Inanna’s descent to the underworld. The Mesopotamian goddess also had to relinquish her robes and jewellery at each of the seven gates:

“Oscar Wilde assigned this symbolic descent to the underworld of the unconscious, a ceremony that equates stripping naked to being in a state of truth, the ultimate unveiling, to Salome.

… a naked woman still conceals the darkness where life begins. The hymen veils the womb, the womb veils the origin of life itself.” (3)

The encounter of the dark goddess is not comfortable for Jung, who longs to go back to the light of the day. In the second part of the chapter, he tries to make sense of the powerful vision, perhaps in order to rationalize it:

“Because I have fallen into the source of chaos, into the primordial beginning, I myself become smelted anew in the connection with the primordial beginning, which at the same time is what has been and what is becoming.”

He meditates on the symbolism of the snake with its “changeability and germination”, which he sees as the unconscious earthly essence of man, and “the mystery that flows to him from the nourishing earth-mother.”

Once more Jung returns to the theme of opposites. He says:

“It is always the serpent that causes man to become enslaved now to one, now to the other principle, so that it becomes error.”

He identifies Salome with pleasure and Eros, while Elijah symbolizes “forethinking” and Logos. He says that human moves between thinking and pleasure according to his or her personal preference:

“He who prefers to think than to feel, leaves his feelings to rot in darkness. It does not grow ripe, but in moldiness produces sick tendrils that do not reach the light. He who prefers to feel than to think leaves his thinking in darkness, where it spins its nets in gloomy places, desolate webs in which mosquitoes and gnats become enmeshed. The thinker feels the disgust of feeling, since :the feeling in him is mainly disgusting. The one who feels thinks the disgust of thinking, since the thinking in him is mainly disgusting. So the serpent lies between the thinker and the one who feels. They are each other’s poison and healing.”

It seems that Salome is the overpowering presence in this chapter. Although Jung appeals for balance between Eros and Logos, as we need both, nevertheless the power of the goddess seems irresistible. Jung admonishes:

“A thinker should fear Salome, since she wants his head, especially if he is a holy man. … You must turn back to  motherly forethought to obtain renewal.”

Gustave_Moreau_-_l'Apparition

Gustave Moreau, “l’Apparition”

Footnotes:

(1) Liz Greene, The Astrological World of Jung’s Liber Novus: Daimons, Gods and the Planetary Journey, Kindle edition

(2) Toni Bentley, Sisters of Salome, Yale University Press: New Haven&London, 2002

(3) Ibid.

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

 

Reading The Red Book – part 41

 

Reading The Red Book – part 42

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Reading The Red Book (10)

“The good and the beautiful freeze to the ice of the absolute idea and the bad and hateful become mud puddles full of crazy life.”

C.G. Jung, The Red Book (Liber Primus, chapter VIII)

Giuseppe Bernardino Bison, “Don Juan in Hell”

Chapter VIII of The Red Book (Liber Primus) was given the title The Conception of the God. Jung starts by quoting the parable of the mustard seed from the Gospel of Matthew:

“The kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which a man took, and sowed in his field: Which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree.”

The death of the hero, discussed in part 9 of the series, has planted a seed. This seed will grow into a new God, who will take the life of Jung’s psyche in a new direction. The new God is likened to “a wondrous child,” who was conceived in pain but whose birth will be joyful. Like the mustard seed, also the divine child is fragile, easily overlooked and disregarded by the guardians of the status quo, who dedicate their life to the spirit of our time:

“We passed by in our ridiculousness and senselessness when we caught sight of you.

Our eyes were blinded and our knowledge fell silent when we received your radiance.

The constellation of your birth is an ill and changing star.”

The psychology of the child archetype was analyzed by Jung in a volume which he co-wrote with Karl Kerenyi. Typically in myth, the birth of the divine child, which in psychological terms is “the nascent form of the Self,”(1) is miraculous, yet early childhood is plagued by abandonment and persecution. The abandonment is a necessary consequence of “evolving towards independence,” says Jung (3). It is vital for the divine child to detach from his/her origins. The conscious factors seek to stifle the child and all the new psychological content that the child represents. The child is therefore “easily overlooked and falls back into the unconscious.” (4)

Peter Paul Rubens, “Boy with Bird”

But like the seed the child has also emerged from the depths of Nature and, as Jung says, “represents the strongest, the most ineluctable urge in very being, namely the urge to realize itself.” (5) As such the child becomes also the symbol of the unity of the opposites, as it “anticipates the self which is produced through the synthesis of the conscious and unconscious elements of the personality,” explains the editor of The Red Book in the footnotes.

Next Jung asks a question, which is hotly debated in Jungian circles to this day: does God encompass evil or is he pure good:

“If the God is absolute beauty and goodness, how should he encompass the fullness of life, which is beautiful and hateful, good and evil, laughable and serious, human and inhuman?”

Jung argues that there are no heights without depths, but the descent to the underworld if full of peril. He warns:

“The depths would like to devour you whole and choke you in mud. He who journeys to Hell also becomes Hell; therefore do not forget from whence you come. The depths are stronger than us; so do not be heroes, be clever and drop the heroics, since nothing is more dangerous than to play the hero. The depths want to keep you.”

The newly emerged consciousness is fragile like a child and always in danger of being swallowed, devoured by the depths. But ascent will only come after “night and Hell,” which is why Christ journeyed to the underworld after his death. The dead, says Jung, require sacrificial gifts, “golden cups full of the sweet drink of life.” Such ambiguity, which consists in being poised between darkness and light, is the way of life.

Another important quality of the divine child is uniqueness. Jung always warned against imitation, which he saw as harmful to true individuation. The hero, whom everyone wanted to imitate, had to suffer a metaphorical death, so that a new identity of the psyche could be forged. Jung says:

“Imitation was a way of life when men still needed the heroic prototype. … Human apishness has lasted a terribly long time, but the time will come when a piece of that apishness will fall away from men. That will be a time of salvation and the dove, and the eternal fire, and redemption will descend.”

The notion of individuation means also being able to achieve singleness within oneself, if necessary also outside of “the communal” and “the external.” As Jung says in this chapter:

“If we are in ourselves, we fulfill the need of the self, we prosper, and through this we become aware of the needs of the communal and can fulfill them.”

According to Jung, those who have achieved individuation can serve their community better than those who have been leading communal or conditioned lives. God dwells within the individualized Self (in some interpretations – the Self is God),  not without. It has to be emphasized that individuation does not mean perfection; quite the contrary. By acknowledging that he or she cannot imitate the heroes, an individual accepts his or her “incapacity,” which is a necessary step towards achieving inner unity. In his interpretative guide to reading The Red Book, Sanford L. Grob makes an important point about the hero being “insulated from the negative poles of the features that make him/her heroic.” It is often the unacknowledged opposite that brings about the hero’s downfall.

Grob reminds us that complete unity of opposites is not a desirable effect since it is the conflict between them which “produces interest and activity.” When oppositions are overcome, there is no more energy, no more life, or to quote Jung (after Grob) from his Psychological Types: “He who has… gradually given up all attachments and is freed from all pairs of opposites reposes in Brahman alone.”

William Blake, Illustration from The Gates of Paradise

Footnotes:

(1) Liz Greene, The Astrological World of Jung’s Liber Novus: Daimons, Gods and the Planetary Journey, Kindle edition

(2) Carl Jung, Karl Kerenyi, Introduction to a Science of Mythology: The Myth of the Divine Child and the Mysteries of Eleusis, Routledge and Kegan Paul Ltd, London 1951

(3) Ibid.

(4) Ibid.

(5) Ibid.

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 9

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

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Beauty and Wonder in Olafur Eliasson’s Art

The Danish-Icelandic artist Olafur Eliasson is perhaps most known for his stunning The weather project (2003).  In a giant hall of the Tate Modern gallery in London, viewers were mesmerized by an installation which consisted of a yellow sun shining through a mist, imitating the setting sun in Africa. Those who were there spoke of a supernatural experience, many were feeling the heat though in fact there was not any:

“People responded to their transformation in the most extraordinary ways: they lay down flat, flapping their arms and legs as if they could make snow angels on the Tate’s concrete floor, talking to strangers in the mist.”

via https://www.nybooks.com/articles/2019/09/26/olafur-eliasson-filling-eyes-sunshine/

One of Eliasson’s earlier works, entitled By Means of a Sudden Intuitive Realization (1996), looks futuristic and spiritual at the same time, which is perhaps a rare and surprising combination, and quite typical of his art. In its dark interior, “a white geodesic dome of hexagonal and pentagonal fibreglass panels” contains a fountain illuminated by a strobe light. Such domes were designed by architect-mathematician Einar Thornstein to be used in geothermal drilling in Iceland. You can see this work and many others on the artist’s website:

https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK101732/by-means-of-a-sudden-intuitive-realization

Michelle Kuo explains:

“The brief moments of illumination allow the viewer to see the water’s ever-shifting form as a sequence of frozen instants.” (1)

In an interview Eliasson, who has an Icelandic father (also an artist), recalled his childhood expeditions to Iceland as a source of his mythical imagination:

“… they’d [his father and his father’s friend – another artist] talk about the moss and the stones and get lost in the various reds and browns and greens. … They’d see trolls’ faces in the sides of the mountains. … I guess, I grew up surrounded by art that embraced both abstraction and mythology and allowed plenty of space for imagination.” (2)

In 1999 he finished The Glacier Series, which is a haunting photo catalogue of Icelandic glaciers. By now, many of the glaciers have disappeared or substantially diminished. He has always been at the avant-garde of the environmental consciousness. In his Berlin studio cooking “organic, vegetarian and locally sourced food” is a vital part of the artistic process.

His signature is bringing nature into the art gallery on the one hand and intervening artistically in the landscape on the other (https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK110139/fog-assembly). The examples of the former are numerous, starting with the extraordinary Moss Wall, an artificial pond, lava floor and last but not least the river bed, an installation which invited visitors to walk upstream to the source. One of his obsessions and a frequent motif is the horizon, the symbolism of which conjures depth, infinity, adventure, and also the abyss, as the sun disappears behind the horizon.

I feel drawn to his art precisely because of these qualities of expansiveness and contemporaneity, which are at the same time rooted in primal, ancient, mythological, instinctual bedrock, which has remained constant for the human race since our beginning. Isn’t Sunspace to Shibukawa a modern answer to Stonehenge?

“The ceiling of this small pavilion… is pierced by an arc of lenses aligned with the arc of the sun through the sky at the site over the course of the year. … Every two weeks, on days that correspond with a traditional Japanese seasonal calendar, a rainbow is projected as a perfect circle within the pavilion.” (3)

 

Olafur Eliasson on the cover of Wired

Footnotes:

(1) Michelle Kuo (author), Olafur Eliasson (editor), Olafur Eliasson: Experience, Phaidon Press 2018

(2) Ibid.

(3) Ibid.

Inspiration:

https://www.wired.co.uk/article/olafur-eliasson-creative-manifesto

 

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Reading The Red Book (9)

“In October [1913], while I was alone on a journey, I was suddenly seized by an overpowering vision: I saw a monstrous flood covering all the northern and low-lying lands between the North Sea and the Alps. When it came up to Switzerland I saw that the mountains grew higher and higher to protect our country. I realized that a frightful catastrophe was in progress. I saw the mighty yellow waves, the floating rubble of civilization, and the drowned bodies of uncounted thousands. Then the whole sea turned to blood. This vision last about one hour. I was perplexed and nauseated, and ashamed of my weakness.”

C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections

“The Grindelwald Glacier” by Ferdinand Hodler (1912)

Murder of the Hero – chapter VII of The Red Book (Liber Primus) – deals with a crucial dream/vision of Jung, which he had in 1913:

“I was with a youth in high mountains. It was before daybreak, the Eastern sky was already light. Then Siegfried’s horn resounded over the mountains with a jubilant sound. We knew that our mortal enemy was coming. We were armed and lurked beside a narrow rocky path to murder him. Then we saw him coming high across the mountains on a chariot made of the bones of the dead. He drove boldly and magnificently over the steep rocks and arrived at the narrow path where we waited in hiding. As he came around the turn ahead of us, we fired at the same time and he fell slain. Thereupon I turned to flee, and a terrible rain swept down. But after this  I went through a torment unto death and I felt certain that I must kill myself if I could not solve the riddle of the murder of the hero.”

The murder of the hero illustrated by Jung in The Red Book

The symbolism of the hero’s murder is multi-faceted. First, it was viewed by Jung as the annihilation of his own power, boldness and pride, or as Sanford L. Drob puts it in his guide to The Red Book, “his narcissistic investment in his dominant thinking function.” Some researchers viewed Siegfried’s death as metaphor for the painful break-up with Freud, supporting their thesis with the fact that Siegfried’s father was called Sigmund.

Other interpretations refer to more collective themes. Siegfried was a well-known symbol of German nationalism. Although Jung’s vision took place before the first world war, the importance of Siegfried’s myth for the German identity continued into the 1930s. It is a well-known fact that Hitler, who was deeply obsessed with Wagner’s Ring Cycle (Der Ring des Nibelungen), identified himself with its hero Siegfried.

Simply put, Siegfried is a typical dragon slaying solar hero, who prevails over the forces of chaos and darkness or the devouring mother complex.  In Jung’s dream the murder occurs at sunrise, as the day breaks, further emphasizing the identification of the hero with the solar principle. When the solar hero is slain, the sun disappears and it starts to rain. Jung closes this chapter of The Red Book by talking about the rain:

“The rain is the great stream of tears that will come over the peoples, the tearful flood of released tension after the constriction of death had encumbered the peoples with horrific force. It is the mourning of the dead in me, which precedes burial and rebirth. The rain is the fructifying of the earth, it begets the new wheat, the young, germinating God.”

The quote anticipates the atrocities of war that are to come to Europe, showcasing the prophetic qualities of The Red Book. The distortion of the solar principle, not balanced by the feeling function and its associated compassion, leads to over-ambition, narcissism and the need to conquer and dominate. According to some interpreters, the Nazi SS symbol was the duplication of the rune Sowilo (the Sun). The ancient name of that rune was Sieg (German for victory, which is also part of Siegfried’s name). Perhaps the runes are too potent to be so thoughtlessly duplicated.

The rune Sowilo

The theme of the new god replacing the old one is also crucial in The Red Book. In this chapter Jung says:

“But this is the bitterest for mortal men: our Gods want to be overcome, since they require renewal. … If the God grows old, he becomes shadow, nonsense, and he goes down. The greatest truth becomes the greatest lie, the brightest day becomes darkest night.”

Much of The Red Book is a reflection on how the changing of the guard occurs when a new Aion starts (1). Jung also writes:

“If men kill their princes, they do so because they cannot kill their Gods, and because they do not know that they should kill their Gods in themselves.”

This is a very Age of Aquarius sentiment. In the Aion of Pisces humans were sustained (and oppressed) by religious doctrines. The Age of Aquarius will bring the realization of gods as the inner reality, while humanity will be sustained by its conscious, individualized members.

Footnotes:

(1) Liz Greene, The Astrological World of Jung’s Liber Novus: Daimons, Gods and the Planetary Journey, Kindle edition

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Reading The Red Book – part 1

Reading The Red Book – part 2

Reading The Red Book – part 3

Reading The Red Book – part 4

Reading The Red Book – part 5

Reading The Red Book – part 6

Reading The Red Book – part 7

Reading The Red Book – part 8

Reading The Red Book – part 10

Reading The Red Book – part 11

Reading The Red Book – part 12

Reading The Red Book – part 13

Reading The Red Book – part 14

Reading The Red Book – part 15

Reading The Red Book – part 16

Reading The Red Book – part 17

Reading The Red Book – part 18

Reading The Red Book – part 19

Reading The Red Book – part 20

Reading The Red Book – part 21

Reading The Red Book – part 22

Reading The Red Book – part 23

Reading The Red Book – part 24 

Reading The Red Book – part 25

Reading The Red Book – part 26

Reading The Red Book – part 27

Reading The Red Book – part 28

Reading The Red Book – part 29

Reading The Red Book – part 30

Reading The Red Book – part 31

Reading The Red Book – part 32

Reading The Red Book – part 33

Reading The Red Book – part 34

Reading The Red Book – part 35

Reading The Red Book – part 36

Reading The Red Book – part 37

Reading The Red Book – part 38

Reading The Red Book – part 39

Reading The Red Book – part 40

Reading The Red Book – part 41

Reading The Red Book – part 42

Posted in The Red Book by C.G. Jung, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments