The Fisher King Review: Einstein

article by Deldon Anne McNeely

Are we “Jungians” a cult? With all the publicity these days around Jung’s private journals (The Red Book) being published, the movie “A Dangerous Method” being produced, a lot of gossip about Jung’s relationships with women being tossed about, and an ongoing question about Jung’s mental health being debated online among scholars, one could say that we do have an extraordinary curiosity about the man that seems cultish; that is, that we are preoccupied with this figure as a private individual to be revered and/or emulated, and whose work somehow must be judged by his character strengths or faults.

To some extent this satisfies a current fad, this prying into the privacy of public figures, which can be seen either as prurient – a kind of mental masturbation, or as a healthy quest for transparency. The details of Kennedy’s womanizing, the attention to the marital and extra-marital lives of the French and other foreign statesmen, the dissection of Einstein’s, Eleanor Roosevelt’s, or (insert your favorite here)’s sex life, suddenly emerges after years of public indifference, so it should not surprise us that Jung’s private life is subjected to the microscope of curiosity.

To the extent that we feel a need to protect Jung’s reputation as our “leader” we can be accused of identifying to an unhealthy or cultish degree that obscures our unbiased acceptance of fact. But this is complicated by a situation in which those who would discredit all of psychoanalysis, who deny validity to an interest in studying unconscious motivation and its relationship to spiritual seeking, will use Jung’s character flaws – real or manufactured - to hang their criticisms on. It is tempting to answer those critics on behalf of our dedication to what we see as our valid psychic truth, Jung or no Jung.

It is also tempting to defend the privileging of imagination, a factor in creativity, as a healthy human trait, and not an example of psychosis, Jung or no Jung. If I say that I believe it is reasonable to explore fantasy and non-rational thought, and to suffer emotional distress, without losing touch with reality, must I be accused of trying to defend Jung’s sanity?

Jung's most even-handed biographer, Bair, found the contradictory reports about Jung, based on hearsay and innuendo, to be extreme and remarkable. He was surely not mealy-mouthed and conciliatory, but fully “out there”, to be admired or despised. As the examination of Jung's personality goes on, I keep in mind that at a time when sexual liberty was veiled, but always present in adventurous men and women, when marital fidelity was idealized but not kept sacred by many, when women were not allowed to vote or encouraged to be well educated, the concept of Anima and Animus was an effort to equal the playing field, to acknowledge the intellect of women, the vulnerability of men, and the place of sexual identity and physical intimacy for both genders in the individuation process.

Jung did not create, but he did amplify, the understanding that our clumsy, human attempts at “coniunctio” through sexual and emotional union with another, are aimed at an ultimate union with a transpersonal Other. Grappling with Anima and Animus projections is the process through which we come to resolution of this universal longing.

We can look at Jung through one lens and focus on his inconsistencies and possible character flaws. "A Dangerous Method" opportunistically skirts around this view (pun in cheek).

Or we can look through another lens and focus on a man of integrity who struggled with ambition, a heavy father-complex, transference and countertransference problems as a pioneer in that area, philosophical and moral questions, and with power and charisma that he enjoyed and attracted in both men and women. He made conscious his confrontations with those aspects and attempted to impart to others a way of unveiling the unconscious.

In either case, the insights that he gained from observing the psyche - in both men and women, and especially in his attempts to analyze himself, were inspired. Insights must be tried out, lived through, reflected upon, enjoyed or regretted, but embodied, not just considered cerebrally, to become alchemically processed if they are to contribute to the store of wisdom. Jung’s insights evolved to become the collection of work that far surpasses the mere man.

Deldon Anne McNeely received her Ph.D. in Clinical Psychology from Louisiana State University and is a member of the International Association for Analytical Psychology. A senior analyst of the Inter-Regional Society of Jungian Analysts, she is a training analyst for their New Orleans Jungian Seminar. Publications include Becoming: An Introduction to Jung's Concept of Individuation; Touching: Body Therapy and Depth Psychology; Animus Aeternus: Exploring the Inner Masculine; Mercury Rising: Women, Evil, and the Trickster Gods; and her just published memoir A Russian Lullaby.

This article was originally published in The C. G. Jung Society of New Orleans Fall 2012 Newsletter and was published to the Fisher King Review by permission from Deldon Anne McNeely.

Fisher King Press publishes an eclectic mix of worthy books including

Jungian Psychological Perspectives, Cutting-Edge Fiction, Poetry,

and a growing list of alternative titles.

www.fisherkingpress.com

by Deldon Anne McNeely

In 1965, Jolande Jacobi, Jung’s colleague, wrote The Way of Individuation, now a classic. We can use it as a source for delving into questions that speak to us a half-century later. During that half-century the blooming of modernism, post-modernism, and post-post-modern thought raised questions and nuances that color and complicate our images of individuation as presented by Jacobi.

Jung saw himself as a scientific observer of human behavior, not a philosopher who speculated about truth. Still, he was influenced by his own philosophical orientation, as we all are whether we know it or not. We are products of the dominant philosophies of our century, our society, our family, our education. Before adopting anyone’s opinions as our own, we should consider what influenced them. Jung wrote:

Although I owe not a little to philosophy, and have benefited by the rigorous discipline of its methods of thought, I nevertheless feel in its presence that holy dread which is inborn in every observer of facts. (“Foreword to Mehlich, ‘Fichte’s Psychology and Its Relation to the Present,’” CW 18, par. 1730.)

Many of us approach philosophy with holy dread. Its depth threatens to drown us in a confusion of ideas. Jung tried to limit himself to observable facts rather than philosophical speculations. He discussed the concept of individuation in many places throughout his writings, but always guarded against being specific about a process that was meant to serve the particular truth of each individual. So his descriptions of the Self as both the initiator of growth and the endpoint, or we can say, the motivator as well as the goal of individuation, also were vague enough to leave much to speculation.

In order to grasp Jung’s intentions, we have to accept his image of himself as an empiricist—one who deals with observable facts, rather than a metaphysician—one who deals with unseen, non-physical subjects. He insisted that he was not talking about supernatural phenomena, the nature of God, or religion. Nor did he claim to be a theologian. If he spoke of God, it was the image of God found in the minds of his subjects of observation. He spoke of the “reality of the psyche.” What does that mean?

From the beginning of time humans have described their images of the literal or observable world and also of imaginal or spiritual worlds. Though a spiritual world can never be proven by reason, the human psyche persists in imaging and conceiving of a world beyond its concrete experience. Many think of that world as infinite, despite the fact that we have no way of conceiving of infinity through experience. We can only understand infinity by its absence from our experience, through our imagination. This consistent experience of trusting something beyond the senses, of transcending mere physical experience in our imagination, despite the absence of “actual” confirmation, is what Jung called the “reality of the psyche.”

If you have a “mathematical mind,” you are attracted to certain abstract notions, like the notion of infinity, or principles of ordering of numbers by formula. Mathematics is founded on a belief in the regularity of truth. As mathematics becomes advanced, it works in a world of symbols whose meanings are obscure to non-mathematicians, but are real enough to be discovered, repeated, and related in some deep way to the working of the material world. This is the “reality of numbers.”

For a physicist, reality is more than meets the senses. We live in a world of such complexity, only available to us through the imagination. The typical illustration of this complexity of ordinary objects from the standpoint of subatomic particles in constant motion is often presented as considering a physical object as resembling “a bowl of jello.” (Bartusiak, Einstein’s Unfinished Symphony, p. 146.)

Similarly, if you have a “psychological mind,” you are attracted to abstract notions of the landscape of the psyche/soul. “Psychology” from the Greek, means “the study of soul.” Yet these days, some scientists may not tolerate the use of the word “soul” as the subject of psychology, and the more acceptable word is “mind.” But we cannot refer to “mind” in the same way psychologists did years ago when the “mind” was considered fairly well differentiated from the body. Neither can we limit “mind” to brain substance. Now we think of “mind” as a complex function that includes networks of information from inside (nerve messages, chemicals carried in the bloodstream, et cetera) and outside of the body (visual and auditory sources of information, stimuli, conditioning, et cetera).

To further complicate the study of mind, the subject, the mind, is also the student! This creates weird loops, paradoxes, and resonances within the being of the psychologist that can be dizzying! Looking at ourselves, we look into a hall of mirrors.

We are tantalized by trying to find the “I” that does the looking. We call that “I” the ego, but we come to see that the ego is not the only “eye” in the psyche. Depth psychology sees that the ego revolves around a point that is both in it and around it. The ego revolves around the Self as the earth revolves around the sun. How can that be understood?

We can observe ourselves and our mirror-minds and souls through many lenses. From the lens of particle physics we explore the elements of consciousness at the microscopic level, dissecting and stimulating the brain. This is a valuable and necessary investigation in understanding our world, but it has no practical application for a parent, a baseball player, or a therapist at this stage of knowledge. There is no way we can apply what we learn about brain cells from the microscope, no matter how interesting, to living life in the moment.

We can explore consciousness through a larger lens which studies how the brain and bodily systems produce our abstract concepts, such as a consistent sense of self. This research we can apply on an individual basis to help us understand our behavior, but it is generally out of our hands as far as helping us make decisions or accepting responsibility. For example, we may see how the brain’s amygdala communicates with its prefrontal cortex, and how that affects our decision-making processes. That may be helpful in understanding the effect of a brain injury or drug incident, but that is not especially useful in an urgent instant of decision making.

A wider lens looks at the interactions of that self with society and its place in the human system. Here we begin to assert an aspect of freedom of choice. As creatures that have an impact on other creatures, we make decisions that can be examined and judged. We may have limited choices of behavior—not total free will, but we have some choice.

An even wider lens, the lens of depth psychology, attempts to abstract farther into human consciousness as it affects and is affected by movement in the universe that reaches beyond our present day human society, into history, culture, and religion.

In the words of Jung:

All our knowledge consists of stuff of the psyche—which, because it alone is immediate, is superlatively real. Here, then, is a reality to which the psychologist can appeal—namely psychic reality…Psychic contents are derived from the “material” environment; as when I picture the car I want to buy. Others, no less real, seem to come from a “spiritual” source which appears to be very different from the physical environment, such as wondering about the state of the soul of my dead father. My fear of a ghost is a psychic image just as real to me as my fear of fire. We don’t try to account for our fear of either one by physical arguments, but we experience each of them as real… Unless we accept the reality of the psyche we try to explain our experiences in a way that does violence to many of them—those (experiences) expressed through superstition, religion, and philosophy. Truth that appeals to the testimony of the senses may satisfy reason, but it offers nothing that stirs our feelings and expresses them by giving a meaning to human life. (“Basic Postulates of Analytical Psychology,” CW 8, par. 680-686.)

We human beings have been portraying ourselves repeatedly in literature and myth as part animal, part angel; or as occupying the space between heaven and earth. From ancient to contemporary times, human thought has gravitated between what appears to be a duality: physical reality (phenomena, representations, matter) and an other-worldly reality of “forms” (noumena, ideals, essences, universals). The earliest philosophers, like Plato, could speak authoritatively of the soul, of immortality, infinity, of a world of “forms” or ideals. From them we learned to speak about “eternal truths”—the value of honesty, loyalty, bravery, justice—that they are in the mind; they cannot be demonstrated to result from logical facts. They are abstractions, but they are real values.

A famous lesson in the abstract value of honesty is Plato’s story of the Ring of Gyges, a ring that renders one invisible and leads its owner to utter selfishness. Gyges, a poor shepherd, unexpectedly comes upon the ring on a corpse and steals it. Realizing that it makes him invisible, he uses its power to take whatever he wants. He steals the king’s gold and even his wife, and becomes king. Plato uses this to illustrate “egoism,” a form of moral skepticism. Yet we recognize that another attitude is possible, an attitude that considers that Gyges could have chosen not to use his powers dishonestly. Perhaps he would not have achieved much, but he might have chosen to be honest. The story prompts us to reflect on the human tendency to pursue selfish goals rather than look at a more abstract value. An extreme of skepticism would be to say dismissively, “Honesty is just an abstract concept in the mind. It does not otherwise exist.”

If no one could see you, would you do good? Why, or why not?

Immanuel Kant concluded his Critique of Practical Reason (1788) with these memorable words: “Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe, the more often and steadily we reflect upon them: the starry heavens above me and the moral law within me.”

The previous article is from Deldon Anne McNeely's recently published book, Becoming. In chapter four of Becoming: An Introduction to Jung's Concept of Individuation, McNeely takes you on a whirlwind tour, skimming through centuries of the history of philosophy as it broadly relates to psychology. Fasten your seatbelts if you choose to look into this historical context of Analytical Psychology.

Fisher King Press publishes an eclectic mix of worthy books including Jungian Psychological Perspectives, Cutting Edge Fiction, and a growing list of alternative titles.