Introversion is no child's play. It leads to abysses, by which we may be swallowed up past recall. Whoever submits to introversion arrives at a point where two ways part; and there he must come to a decision, than which a more difficult one cannot be conceived. The symbol of the abyss, of the parting of the ways, both were clearly contained in our parable. The occurrence of the similar motive in myths and fairy tales is familiar. The danger is obvious in that the hero generally makes an apparently quite trivial mistake and then must make extraordinary efforts to save himself from the effects of these few trivial errors. One more wrong step and all would have been lost.
Introversion accordingly presents two possibilities, either to gain what the mystic work seeks, or to lose oneself.
In introversion the libido sinks into “its own depths” (a figure that Nietzsche likes to use), and [pg 270] finds there below in the shadows of the unconscious, the equivalent for the world above which it has left, namely the world of phantasy and memories, of which the strongest and most influential are the early infantile memory images. It is the child's world, the paradise of early childhood, from which a rigorous law has separated us. In this subterranean realm slumber sweet domestic feelings and the infinite hopes of all “becoming.” Yet as Mephistopheles says, “The peril is great.” This depth is seducing: it is the “mother” and—death. If the libido remains suspended in the wonder realm of the inner world the man has become but a shadow for the world above. He is as good as dead or mortally ill; if the libido succeeds however in tearing itself loose again and of pressing on to the world above, then a miracle is revealed; this subterranean journey has become a fountain of youth for it, and from its apparent death there arises a new productiveness. This train of thought is very beautifully contained in an Indian myth: Once on a time Vishnu absorbed in rapture (introversion) bore in this sleep Brahma, who enthroned on a lotus flower, arose from Vishnu's navel and was carrying the Vedas, eagerly reading them. (Birth of creative thought from introversion.) Because of Vishnu's rapture, however, a monstrous flood overcame the world (swallowing up through introversion, symbolizing the danger of entering into the mother of death). A demon profiting by the danger, stole the vedas from Brahma and hid them in the deep. (Swallowing [pg 271] of the libido.) Brahma wakes Vishnu and he, changing into a fish, dived into the flood, battled with the demon (dragon fight), conquered him and brought the vedas up again. (Prize attained with difficulty.) (Cf. Jung, Psychology of the Unconscious.)
The marvel of the invigoration that can be attained in the successful issue of introversion is comparable to the effect that Antæus felt on touching his mother, the earth. The mother of men, to whom introversion carries us, is the spirit of the race, and from it flows gigantic strength. “This occasional retiring into oneself, which means a return to an infantile relation to the parent images, appears within certain limits to have a favorable effect upon the condition of the individual.” Of this mine of power Stekel (Nerv. Angst., p. 375) writes: “When mankind desires to create something big, it must reach down deep into the reservoir of its past.”
I wish now to quote a mystic philosopher. J. B. von Helmont (1577-1644) writes: “That magic power of man which is operative outside of him lies, as it were, hidden in the inner life of mankind. It sleeps and rules absolutely without being wakened, yet daily as if in a drunken stupor within us.... Therefore we should pray to God, who can be honored only in the spirit, that is, in the inmost soul of man. Hence I say the art of the Cabala requires of the soul that magic yet natural power shall, as it were, after sleep has been driven away, be placed in the keeping of the soul. This magic power has [pg 272] gone, to sleep in us through sin and has to be awakened again. This happens either through the illumination of the Holy Ghost or a man himself can by the art of the Cabala produce this power of awakening himself at will. Such are called makers of gold [nota bene!] whose leader (rector) is, however, the spirit of God.... When God created the soul of man he imparted to it fundamental and primal knowledge. The soul is the mirror of the universe and is related to all Being. It is illumined by an inner light, but the storm of the passions, the multiplicity of sensuous impressions, and other distractions darken this light, whose beams are spread abroad only, if it burns alone and if all in us is in harmony and peace. If we know how to separate ourselves from all external influences and are willing to be led by this inner light, we shall find pure and true knowledge in us. In this state of concentration the soul distinguishes all objects to which it directs its attention. It can unite with them, penetrate their nature, and can itself reach God and in him know the most important truths.” (Ennemoser, Gesch. d. Mag., pp. 906, 914.)
Staudenmaier, who has experimented on himself magically to a great extent and has set down his experiences recently in the interesting book, “Die Magie als experimentelle Naturwissenschaft,” thinks he has observed that through the exercise that he carries on, and which produces an intense introversion, psychophysical energies are set free that make him capable of greater efficiency. Specifically, [pg 273] an actual drawing upon the nerve centers unused in the conscious function of the normal man of to-day would be available for intellectual work, etc. So, as it were, a treasure can be gained (by practices having a significant introversion character), a treasure which permits an increased thinking and feeling activity. If Staudenmaier, even in the critical examination of his anomalous functions, can be influenced by them, it would be a great mistake to put them aside simply as “pathological.”
Ennemoser says of the danger of introversion (l. c., p. 175): “Now where in men of impure heart, through the destructive natural powers and evil spiritual relations, the deepest transcendental powers are aroused, dark powers may very easily seize the roots of feeling and reveal moral abysses, which the man fixed in the limits of time hardly suspects and from which human nature recoils. Such an illicit ecstasy and evil inspiration is at least recognized in the religious teachings of the Jews and Christians, and the seers of God describe it as an agreement with hell (Isaiah XXVIII, 15).”
Whence comes the danger? It comes from the powerful attraction for us of that world which is opened to us through introversion. We descend there to whet our arms for fresh battles, but we lay them down; for we feel ourselves embraced by soft caressing arms that invite us to linger, to dream enchanting dreams. This fact coincides in large part with the previously mentioned tendency toward comfort, which is unwilling to forego childhood and [pg 274] a mother's careful hands. Introversion is an excellent road to lazy phantasying in the regressive direction.
Among psychopathologists Jung especially has of late strongly insisted upon the dangerous rôle of indolence. According to him the libido possesses a monstrous laziness which is unwilling to let go of any object of the past, but would prefer to retain it forever. Laziness is actually a passion, as La Rochefoucauld brilliantly remarks: “Of all the passions the least understood by us is laziness; it is the most indefatigable and the most malign of them all, although its outrages are imperceptible.” “It is the perilous passion affecting the primitive man more than all others, which appears behind the suspicious mask of the incest symbols, from which the fear of incest has driven us away, and which above all is to be vanquished under the guise of the ‘dreaded mother.’ [Vide, Note D. To avoid a wrong conception of this quotation it must be noted that laziness is, of course, not to be regarded as the only foundation of incest symbolism.] She is the mother of infinite evils, not the least of them being the neurotic maladies. For especially from the vapor of remaining libido residues, those damaging evils of phantasy develop, which so enshroud reality that adaptation becomes well nigh impossible.” (Jung, Psychology of the Unconscious.)
That the indolent shrinking back from the difficulties of life is indicated so frequently in psychology and in mythology by the symbol of the mother [pg 275] is not surprising, but I should yet like to offer for a forceful illustration an episode from the war of Cyrus against Astyages which I find recorded in Dulaure-Krauss-Reiskel (Zeugg., p. 85.) After Astyages had aroused his troops, he hurled himself with fiery zeal at the army of the Persians, which was taken unawares and retreated. Their mothers and their wives came to them and begged them to attack again. On seeing them irresolute the women unclothed themselves before them, pointed to their bosoms and asked them whether they would flee to the bosoms of their mothers or their wives. This reproachful sight decided them to turn about and they remained victorious.
On the origin of the mythological and psychological symbol of the dreaded mother: “Still there appears to reside in man a deep resentment, because a brutal law once separated him from an impulsive indulgence and from the great beauty of the animal nature so harmonious with itself. This separation is clearly shown in the prohibition of incest and its corollaries (marriage laws). Hence pain and indignation are directed toward the mother as if she were to blame for the domestication of the sons of men. In order not to be conscious of his desire for incest (his regressive impulse toward animal nature) the son lays the entire blame on the mother, whence results the image of the ‘dreaded mother.’ ‘Mother’ becomes a specter of anxiety to him, a nightmare.” (Jung, Psychology of the Unconscious.)
[pg 276]The snake is to be regarded as a mythological symbol (frequent also in dream life) for the libido that introverts itself and enters the perilous interdicted precinct of the incest wish (or even only the life shirking tendency); and especially (though not always valid) is this conception in place, if the snake appears as a terrifying animal (representative of the dreaded mother). So also the dragon is equivalent to the snake, and it can, of course, be replaced by other monsters. The phallic significance of the snake is, of course, familiar enough; the snake as a poisonous terrible animal indicates, however, a special phallus, a libido burdened with anxiety. Jung, who has copious material with which to treat this symbolism, calls the snake really a “negative phallus,” the phallus forbidden with respect to the mother, etc. I would recall that alchemy, too, has the symbol of the snake or the dragon, and used in a way that reënforces the preceding conception. It is there connected with the symbols of introversion and appears as “poisonous.” The anxiety serpent is the “guardian of the threshold” of the occultists; it is the treasure guarding dragon of the myth. In mystic work the serpent must be overcome; we must settle with the conflict which is the serpent's soul.
Also the mystic yoga manuals of the Hindus know the symbol of the serpent, which the introverting individual has to waken and to overcome, whereupon he comes into possession of valuable powers. These serpents [kundalini] are considered by the Yogi [pg 277] mystics as an obstacle existing in the human body that obstructs certain veins or nerves (the anatomy of the Hindu philosophers is rather loose here), and by this means, if they are freed, the breath of life (prāna) sends wondrous powers through the body. The main path in the body which must be freed for the increased life-energies is generally described as the susumna (as far as I know, it is not yet cleared up whether the aorta abdominalis or the spine has furnished the anatomical basis for the idea of the central canal), and is the middle way between two other opposed canals of the breath, which are called pingala, the right, and ida, the left. (Here, too, note by the way, appears the comparison of opposites.) I quote now several passages on the kundalini and its significance at the beginning of the mystical work.
“As Ananta, the Lord of Serpents, supports this whole universe with its mountains and its forests, so kundalini is the main support of all the yoga practices. When kundalini is sleeping it is aroused by the favor of the guru [spiritual teacher], then all of the lotuses [lotus here stands for nerve center] and granthis [swallowings, nerve plexus?] are pierced. Then prana goes through the royal road, susumna. Then the mind remains suspended and the yogi cheats death.... So the yogi should carefully practice the various mudras [exercises] to rouse the great goddess [kundalini] who sleeps closing the mouth of susumna.” (Hatha Yoga Prad., Ill, 1-5.) “As one forces open a door [pg 278] [door symbolism] with a key [the ‘Diederich’ of the wanderer in the parable] so the yogi should force open the door of moksa [deliverance] by the kundalini. The Paramesoari [great goddess] sleeps, closing with her mouth the hole through which one should go to the brahmarandhra [the opening or place in the head through which the divine spirit, the Brahma or the Atman, gets into the body; the anatomical basis for this naïve idea may have been furnished by one of the sutures of the skull, possibly the sutura frontalis; the brahmarandhra is probably the goal of the breath that passes through the susumna that is becoming free.] where there is no pain or misery. The kundalini sleeps above the kanda. [The kanda, for which we can hardly find a corresponding organ, is to be found between the penis and the navel.] It gives mukti to the yogis and bondage to the fools. [See later the results of introspection.] He who knows her, knows yoga. The kundalini is described as being coiled like a serpent. He who causes that sakti [probably, power] to move ... is freed without doubt. Between the Ganges and the Yamuna [two rivers of India, which are frequently used symbolically, probably for the right and the left stream of the breath of life, ingala and ida, cf. what follows] there sits the young widow [an interesting characterization of the kundalini] inspiring pity. He should despoil her forcibly, for it leads one to the supreme seat of Vishnu. Ida is the sacred Ganges and pingala the Yamuna. Between ida and [pg 279] pingala sits the young widow kundalini. You should awake the sleeping serpent [kundalini] by taking hold of its tail. That sakti, leaving off sleep, goes up forcibly.” (Hatha-Yoga, Prad., III, 105-111.) Ram Prasad (“Nature's Finer Forces,” p. 189) writes about the kundalini: “This power sleeps in the developed organism. It is that power which draws in gross matter from the mother organism through the umbilical cord and distributes it to the different places, where the seminal prana gives it form. When the child separates from the mother the power goes to sleep.” Here the kundalini sakti appears clearly in connection with the mother. Siva is the god [father image] most peculiar to the yogis. The wife of Siva, however, is called Kundalini.
Mythologically expressed, introversion proceeds well if the hero defeats the dragon. If this does not happen, an unsuccessful issue is the result; the man loses himself. In my opinion this losing of self is possible in two ways, one active, the other passive. In all there would then be three terminations of introversion. The good conclusion is the entrance into the true mystical work, briefly, mysticism. The bad conclusions are the active way of magic and the passive one of schizophrenia (introversion psychosis). In the first case there is consummated an inner reunion, in the other two cases a losing of self; in magic one loses oneself in passions, for which one wishes to create satisfaction magically, absolving oneself from the laws of nature; in the case of mental malady the sinking develops into laziness, a spiritual [pg 280] death. The three paths followed by the introverting individual correspond roughly to these three other possibilities of life, work (morality), crime, suicide. These three possibilities are, of course, recognized by the hermetic art; it recognizes three fundamental powers, which can give no other result psychically. Two of these principles are mutually opposed (in the unpurified condition of the material). We know them quite well as [Symbol: Fire] and [Symbol: Water], etc. The third principle lies evenly between the other two, like the staff of Hermes between the two serpents. So the symbol [Symbol: Mercurius], as Hermes' staff with the serpents, precisely unites all three. In this aspect the three qualities or constituents of matter (prakrti) may at once be substituted for the three fundamental powers of alchemy according to the Hindu samkhya doctrine. Sattva, Rajas, Tamas, are translated (by Schroeder) by “purity, passion, darkness.”
In the Bhagavad-Gita it is said of the happiness that these three grant:
“Passion” and “darkness,” Rajas and Tamas, (in alchemy indicated by [Symbol: Fire] and [Symbol: Water], also often by [Symbol: Mars] and [Symbol: Venus]) indicate the wrong way, the peril in introversion. They lead to what Gorres (Christl. Myst.) describes as the “demoniac” mysticism as opposed to the divine mysticism. All mystic manuals warn us of the wrong way and emphasize often that we can easily lose the way even where there is good intention. The evil one knows how, by illusions, to make the false way deceptively like the right one, so that the righteous man, who is not on his guard, may get unsuspectingly into the worst entanglements. Careful examination of himself, exact observation of the effect of the spiritual exercises, is to be laid to heart by every one. Yet powers come into play that have their roots in the deepest darkness of the soul (in the unconscious) and which are withdrawn from superficial view. [After this had been written I read a short paper of Dr. Karl Furtmüller, entitled “Psychoanalyse und Ethik,” and find there, p. 5, a passage which I reproduce here on account of its agreement with my position. I must state at the outset that according to Furtmüller, psychoanalysis is peculiarly qualified to arouse suspicion against the banal conscience, which leads self-examination into the realm of the conscious [pg 282] only, with neglect of the unconscious impulses, which are quite as important for the performance of actions. The passage of interest to us here reads: “There is no lack of intimation that these fundamental facts which place the whole of life in a new perspective, were recognized or suspected even in earlier times. If early Christianity believed that demons could overpower the heart of man in the sense that they assumed the voice of God, and the man believed that, while really doing the devil's work he was doing the work of God, then that sounds like a symbolic representation of the play of the forces that are described above.” The play of these forces was indeed known to cultivated religious peoples of all times. As for Christianity, what the author asserts of its beginnings can be accepted as true for a much earlier time. We already know that one of the first works of mysticism consists in the education of the conscience, in a most subtle purification of this judicial inner eye. The claims of the psychoanalyst are there fulfilled to the uttermost.] Instead of many examples I gladly quote a single one, but an instructive exposition by Walter Hitton, a great master of the contemplative life, from his “Scala Perfectionis” as Beaumont (Tract. v. Gust. pub. 1721, pp. 188 ff.) renders it. Thus he writes: “From what I said we can to some extent perceive that visions and revelations, or any kind of spirit in bodily appearance, or in the imagination in sleep or waking, or any other sensation in the bodily senses that are, as it were, spiritually performed, either [pg 283] through a sound in the ears or taste in the mouth or smell in the nose, or any other perceptible heat of fiery quality that warms the breast or any other part of the body, or any other thing that can be felt by a bodily sense, even if it is not so refreshing and agreeable, all this is not contemplation or observation; but in respect of the spiritual virtues, and those of celestial perception and love towards God, which accompany true contemplation, only evil secondary matters, even if they appear to be laudable and good. All such kinds of sensation may be good if produced by a good angel, but may, however, proceed in a deceptive manner, from the impositions of a bad angel, if he disguises himself as an angel of light. For the devil can imitate in bodily sensations exactly the same things that a good angel can accomplish. Indeed, just as the good angels come with light, so can the devil do also. And just as he can fabricate this in things that appear to the eyes, so he can bring it to pass in the other senses. The man who has perceived both can best say which is good and which is evil. But whoever knows neither or only one, can very easily be deceived.”
Externally, in the sense quality, they are all similar, but internally they are very different. And therefore we should not too strongly desire them, nor lightly maintain that the soul can distinguish between the good and evil by the spirit of difference, so that it may not be deceived. As St. John says: “Believe not every spirit, but prove it first whether it be of God or not.” And to know whether the [pg 284] perception of the bodily sense is good or evil, Hitton gives the following rule:
“If ye see an unusual light or brilliance with your bodily eye, or in imagination, or if ye hear any wonderful supernatural sound with your ears, or if ye perceive a sudden sweet taste in your mouths or feel any warmth in your breasts, like fire, or any form of pleasure in any part of your body, or if ye see a spirit in a bodily form, as if he were an angel to fortify or instruct you, or if any such feeling that you know comes not from you or from a physical creature, then observe yourselves with great care at such a time and consider the emotions of your heart prudently. For if ye become aware by occasion of pleasure or satisfaction derived from such perception, that your hearts are drawn away from the contemplation of Jesus Christ and from spiritual exercises: as from prayer, and knowledge of yourselves and your failings, and from the turning in towards virtue and spiritual knowledge and perception of God, with result that your heart and your inclinations, your desire and your repose depend chiefly on the above mentioned feeling or sight, in that ye therefore retain them, as if that were a part of the celestial joy or angelic bliss, and therefore your thoughts become such that ye neither pray nor can think of anything else, but must entirely give way to that, in order to keep it and satisfy yourself with it, then this sensation is very much to be suspected of coming from the Enemy; and therefore were it [pg 285] ever so wonderful and striking, still renounce it and do not consent to accept it. For this is a snare of the Enemy, to lead the soul astray by such bodily sensation or agreeableness of the senses, and to trap it in order to hurl it into spiritual arrogance and false security, which happens if it flatters itself as if it enjoyed celestial bliss and on account of the pleasure it feels were already half in paradise, while it is still in fact at the gate of hell, and therefore through pride and presumptuousness may have fallen into error, heresy, fanaticism and other bodily or spiritual disaster.
“In case, however, that these things do not result in leading away your heart from spiritual exercises, but cause ye to become ever more devout and more ardent in prayer and more wise to cultivate spiritual thoughts; if ye are at first astonished but nevertheless your heart turns back and is awakened to greater longing for virtue and your love toward God and your neighbor increases more and more, and makes you ever meeker in your own eyes; then you may infer from this sign that it is of God and comes from the presence and action of a good angel, and comes from the goodness of God, either for comfort to simple pious souls to increase their trust in and longing for God, and because of such a strengthening to seek more thoroughly for the knowledge and love of God. Or if they are perfect that perceive such a pleasure, it appears to them somewhat like a foretaste and shadow of the transfiguration of the body [pg 286] which it may expect in the celestial bliss.” However, I do not know whether such a man can be found on earth.
“He continues: Of this method of distinguishing between the works of the spirits, Saint John (I John IV, 3) speaks in his epistle: ‘Every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God’ (or as it is translated by Luther: ‘Who does not recognize that Jesus Christ is come into the flesh’). This union and connection of Jesus with the human soul is caused by a good will and a zealous striving toward him, which alone desires to possess him and to view him spiritually in his blessedness. The greater this longing the more closely is Jesus united with the soul, and the less the longing, the more loosely is he bound to him. So every spirit or every sensation that diminishes this longing, and draws it away from the steadfast contemplation of Jesus Christ and from sighing and longing like a child for him, this spirit will release Jesus from the soul, and therefore it is not from God but the activity of the Enemy. But if a spirit or a sensation increases this desire, fastens the bonds of love and devotion closer to Jesus, raises the eyes of the soul to spiritual knowledge more and more, and makes the heart ever meeker, this spirit is from God.”
In many of the modern theosophic introversion methods, borrowed from the Hindu yoga doctrines, we find the exhortation to attach no importance to the marvels appearing beside the real prize, indeed [pg 287] to regard them as a pernicious by-product. The Hindu doctrine calls them Siddhi. Walter Hitton speaks of them as “inferior subordinate matters.” From the description of them it appears that they are phantastic appearances, which partly flatter the wish for power, partly other wishes. [See Note E at the end of this volume.] The Siddhi are qualified to captivate weak minds with their jugglery. Erotic experiences are connected very easily with them because, going over into the regressive phase, they show their “titanic” countenances. I have with some daring, but not without right, just cited the Siddhi as the anagogic equivalent of autoerotism. The regressive phase, however, appears as soon as one indulges in the gratification of the Siddhi. It is not the Siddhi themselves that are the evil (I regard them indeed as anagogic), but the losing of oneself in them. They can be both divine and diabolic. That depends on one's attitude towards them.
In the result of introversion, the diabolic mysticism is opposed, as we saw, to the divine. The true mysticism is characterized by the extension of personality and the false by the shrinking of personality. We can also say, by an extension or shrinking of the sphere of interest that determines the socially valuable attitude. I say advisedly “sphere of interest,” for mysticism in the end will not merely fulfill the social law without love, but it labors for the bringing out of this very love. It is not satisfied with superficially tincturing the substance into gold (i.e., [pg 288] among other meanings, to get man to do good externally); but it would change the substance completely, make it gold through and through (i.e., to orient the entire impulse power of man for good, so that he desires this good with the warmth of love and therefore finds his good fortune in virtue). Only the good and not the good fortune is chosen as the leading star, as I must note in order to avoid a misconception about the hermetic procedure. Happiness arises only at a certain point, and seems to me like a fruit ripened in the meantime. The most subtle representatives of this doctrine among the alchemists are not so far, after all, from the Kantian ethics.
Alchemistic ethics presupposes that there is an education, an ennobling of the will. The person that wills can learn to encompass infinitely much in his ego. [Cf. Furtmüller (Psychoanalyse und Ethik, p. 15): “The individual can ... make the commands of others his own.” He quotes Goethe (Die Geheimnisse):
The poles of shrinking and extension are the following: The magician and the pathological introversionist contract the sphere of their interest upon the narrowest egoism. The mystic expands it immensely, in that he comprises the whole world in himself. The person egotistically entering into introversion can preserve his happiness only by a firm [pg 289] self-enclosure before the ever threatening destruction; the mystic is free. The mystic's fortune consists in the union of his will with the world will or as another formula expresses it, in the union with God. [On the freeing effect of the merging of one's own will into a stronger cf. my essays Jb. ps. F., III, pp. 637 ff., and IV, p. 629.] This fortune is therefore also imperishable (gold). The reader must always bear in mind that the mystic never works on anything but on the problem of mankind in general; only he does so in a form of intensive life, and it may indeed be the case that the powers which introversion furnish him, actually make possible a more dynamic activity and a greater result. For my part I am strongly inclined to believe it.
On the extension of personality, some passages from the Discourses on Divinity in the Bhagavad-Gita:
These passages elucidate the progressive function of the idea of God in the “work.” Incidentally, I believe that the devotional doctrines (Yoga) which are theoretically based on the Samkhya philosophy that originated without a God, has for good practical reasons taken the idea of isvara (God) into its system. Concentration requires an elevated impalpable object as an aim. And this object must have the property of being above every reach of the power to grasp and yet apparently to seem attainable. God has furthermore the functions of the bearer of conflicts and hopes. At the beginning of the work indeed the obstructing conflicts still exist. A certain unburdening is accomplished by leaving the conflict to the divinity, and frees the powers that were at first crippled under the pressure of the conflicts. [Cf. Jung's Psychology of the Unconscious, Freud Kl. Schr., II, p. 131.]
The idea of the education of the will has, of course, been familiar for a long time to ethical writers, even if it has at times been lost sight of.
Aristotle is convinced that morality arises from [pg 291] custom and convention. “As we learn swimming only in water, and music by practice on an instrument, so we become righteous by righteous action and moderate and courageous by appropriate acts. From uniform actions enduring habits are formed, and without a rational activity no one becomes good ... being good is an act. Good is never by nature; we become good by a behavior corresponding to a norm. We possess morality not by nature but against nature. We have the disposition to attain it ... we must completely win it by habit. As Plato says, in agreement with this, the proper education consists in being so led from youth upward, as to be glad and sorry about the things over which we should be glad and sorry. But if by a course of action in accordance with custom, a definite direction of the will has been secured, then pleasure and pain are added to the actions that result from the will and, as it were, as signs, that here a new nature is established in man.” (Jodl. Gesch. d. Eth., I, pp. 44 ff.) “The energy and the proud confidence in human power with which Aristotle offers to man his will and character formation as his own work, the emphasis with which he has opposed to the quietistic ‘velle non discitur’ (we cannot educate volition nor learn to will, as later pessimistic opinions have expressed it axiomatically) with the real indispensability and at the same time the possibility of the formation of the will; this contention is admirable and quite characteristic of the methods of thought of ancient philosophy at its height.” (Jodl., l. c., [pg 292] p. 49.) [Velle non discitur has been popularized by Schopenhauer.]
In Philo and the related philosophers there appears quite clearly the thought that gained such wide acceptance later among the Christian ascetics, that the highest development of moral strength was attainable only through a long continued and gradually increasing exercise, an ethical gymnastics. Philo, moreover, uses the word Askesis to describe what elsewhere had been described as bodily exercise. The occidental spiritual exercise corresponds to the Hindu yoga.
In the domestication of man through countless generations, social instincts must have been established, which appear as moral dispositions. I recall the moral feeling in Shaftesbury. The social life of man, for instance, plays with Adam Smith a significant rôle, and yet even with him the moral law is not something ready from the very beginning, not an innate imperative, but the peculiar product of each individual. The development of conscience receives an interesting treatment by Smith. There takes place in us a natural transposition of feelings, mediated through sympathy, which arouse in each of us the qualities of the other, and we can say “that morality in Smith's sense, just as Feuerbach taught later, is only reflected self-interest, although Smith himself was quite unwilling to look at sympathy as an egotistic principle. By means of a process that we can almost call a kind of self-deception of the imagination, we must look at ourselves with the eyes [pg 293] of others, a very sensible precaution of nature, which thus has created a balance for impulses that otherwise must have operated detrimentally. [Bear in mind what I have said above about intro-determination.] This transposition which sympathy effects we cannot escape; it itself appears when we know that we are protected from the criticism of another by the complete privacy of our own doings. It alone can keep us upright when all about us misunderstand us and judge us falsely. For the actual judgments of another about us form, so to speak, a first court whose findings are continually being corrected by that completely unpartisan and well informed witness who grows up with us and reacts on all our doings.” (Jodl., l. c., I, pp. 372 ff.)
The derivation of the moral from selfish impulses by transposition does not resolve ethics into egoism, as Helvetius would have us believe. It is “a caricature of the true state of things to speak of self-interest, when we have in mind magnanimity and beneficence, and to maintain that beneficence is nothing but disguised selfishness, because it produces joy or brings honor to the person that practices it.” (L. c., p. 444.)
The ethical evolution which takes place as an extension of personality demands, the more actively it is practiced, the removal of resistances which operate against the expansion of the ego. It cannot be denied that hostile tendencies, which are linked with pusillanimous views, are always on hand and create conflicts. If they were not, the moral task would [pg 294] be an easy one. Now as man cannot serve two masters, so in the personal psychical household, the points of view which have been dethroned, as far as they will not unite with the newly acquired ones, must be killed, and ousted from their power. Most of all must this process be made effective if the development is taken up intensively in the shape of introversion. It must appear also in the symbolism.
Already in the lecanomantic experiments we are struck by the dying of the figure (old man) that represents the old form of conscience that has been overcome. It is that part of Lea's psyche that resists the new, after the manner of old people (father type). In order that the new may be suppressed, it must be immolated; at every step in his evolution man must give up something; not without sacrifice, not without renunciation, is the better attained. The sacrifice must come, of course, before the new reformed life begins. The hermetic representations do not indeed always follow chronological order, yet the sacrifice is usually placed at the beginning, as introversion. In the parable the wanderer kills the lion, well at the beginning. He sacrifices something in so doing. He kills himself, i.e., a part of himself, in order to be able to rise renewed (regenerated). This process is the first mystical death, also called by the alchemists, putrefaction or the blacks. This death is often fused with the symbol of introversion, because both can appear under the symbol of the entrance into the mother or earth. Only by closer [pg 295] examination can it sometimes be seen which process is chiefly intended.
“And that shalt thou know my son, whoso does not know how to kill, and to bring about a rebirth, to make the spirits revive, to purify, to make bright and clear ... he as yet knows nothing and will accomplish nothing.” (Siebengestirn, p. 21.)
“These are the two serpents sent by Juno (which is the metallic nature) which the strong Hercules (i.e., the wise man in his cradle) has to strangle, i.e., to overpower and kill, in order in the beginning of his work to have them rot, be destroyed and to bear.” (Flamel, p. 54.)
Again and again the masters declare that one cannot attain to true progress except by means of the blacks, death and putrefaction.
In the “Clavis philosophiae et alchymiae Fluddanae,” of the year 1633, we read: “Know then that it is the duty of spiritual alchemy to mortify and to refine all obscuring prejudice as corruptible and vain, and so break down the tents of darkness and ignorance, so that that imperishable but still beclouded spirit may be free and grow and multiply in us through the help of the fiery spirit, full of grace, which God so kindly moistened, so as to increase it from a grain to a mountain. That is the true alchemy of which I am speaking, that which can multiply in me that rectangular stone, which is the cornerstone of my life and my soul, so that the dead in me shall be awakened anew, and arise from the old [pg 296] nature that had become corrupted in Adam, as a new man who is new and living in Christ, and therefore in that rectangular stone....”
To the “sacrifice” of the person introverting, Jung devotes an entire chapter in his Psychology of the Unconscious, Chapt. IV. A brief résumé of it would show that by the sacrifice is meant the giving up of the mother, i.e., the disclaiming of all bonds and limitations that the soul has carried over from childhood into adulthood. The victory over the dragon is equivalent to the sacrificing of the regressive (incestuous) tendency. After we have sought the mother through introversion we must escape from her, enriched by the treasure which we have gotten.
The sacrifice of a part of ourself (killing of the dragon, the father, etc.) is, as Jung points out, represented also in mythology by the shooting with sharp arrows at the symbol of the libido. The symbol of the libido is generally a sun symbol. Now it is particularly noteworthy that the VIII key of the alchemist Basilius Valentinus (see figure 3, p. 199) shows arrows being shot, which are aimed at the [Symbol: sun] (this libido symbol par excellence) that is aptly used as a “target.” Death is clearly enough accentuated and correlated with the sinking of the corns of wheat into the earth. [John XII, 24, 25, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his [pg 297] life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.] As this rises, so also will the dying mystic rise. The grave crosses have the form [Symbol: Fire] ([Symbol: Sulphur]); they show that the interred one is a certain sulphur, the impure sulphur, willfulness. The birds, from which we are to protect the grain, may in the end be the Siddhi; they are, in the introversion form of the religious work, what would otherwise be merely “diversions” or “dissipations.”
The mystical death is the death of egoism (in Hindu terminology ahamkāra). Jacob Boehme writes in his book of the true atonement, I, 19: “... Although I am not worthy, [Jesus] take me yet in thy death and let me only in thy death die my death; still strike thou me in my acknowledged selfishness to the ground and kill my selfishness by thy death....” In the Mysterium Magnum, XXXVI, 74, 75: “... We exalt not the outspoken word of the wisdom of God, but only the animal will to selfishness and egoism which is departed from God, which honors itself as a false God of its own and may not believe or trust God (as the Antichrist who has placed himself in God's stead); and we teach on the contrary that the man of the Antichrist's image shall wholly die so that he may be born in Christ of a new life and will, which new will has power in the perfect word of nature with divine eyes to see all the miracles of God, both in nature and creature, in the perfect wisdom. For as dies the Antichrist in the soul, so rises Christ from the dead.”
In the hermetic book, “Gloria Mundi,” it is related [pg 298] of Adam that he would have been able, if he had not acted contrary to God, to live 2000 years in paradise and would then have been taken up into heaven; but he had drawn on himself death, sickness and calamity. Only through the grace of God was he given a partial knowledge of the powers of things, of herbs and remedies against manifold infirmities. “When, however, he could no longer maintain himself by the medicinal art [in paradise] he sent his son Seth forth to paradise for the tree of life, which he received, not physically, but spiritually. Finally he desired the oil of compassion, whereupon by the angels, at God's command to give the oil, the promise was given and thereupon the seed of the oil tree sent, which seed Seth planted on his return, after his father's death and on his father's grave, from which grew the wood of the holy cross, on which our Lord Jesus Christ, through his passion and death, freed us from death and all sins; which Lord Christ in his holiest humanity has become the tree and the wood of life and has brought to us the fruit of the oil of compassion....” Adam is the undomesticated man; this ideal must die to the moral aspirant.
The painful duty of killing a part of self is beautifully expressed in the Bhagavad-Gita, where the hero, Aryuna, hesitates to fight against his “kindred,” to shoot at them—the bow falls from his hand.
Dying relates to the old realms. The old laws expire to make room for the new. The new life [pg 299] cancels the old deeds. (Cf. Paul, Rom. VII-VII.)
Vedanta doctrine: But as to the duty of the scripture canon and perception, both last as long as Samsāra, i.e., until the awakening. If this is attained, perception is annulled, and if you derive thence the objection that thereby the veda is annulled, it must be noted that according to our own doctrine father is not father and the Veda is not the veda. (Deussen, Syst. d. Ved., p. 449.)
For several reasons the father image is peculiarly suited to represent what has to be resolved. By the father, the old Adam (totality of inherited instincts) and the strongest imperatives are implanted in the child. The father is also the type of tenacious adherence to the ancestors. Again we meet the antithesis, old generation, new generation, in ourselves after the intro-determination.
The mystical death (sacrifice) is not to be accomplished by mere asceticism, as it were, mechanically; the alchemists warn us carefully against severe remedies. The work is to take a natural course; the work is also, although indeed a consummation of nature, yet not above nature.
Thus the magician Osthanes is said to have taught. And the Bhagavad-Gita (VI, 5-7) says:
In the “Clavis Philosophiae et Alchymiae Fluddanae” (p. 57) we read: “So it is impossible to rise to the supramundane life, in so far as it does not happen by means of nature. From the steps of nature Jacob's ladder is reached and the chain to Jupiter's throne begins on earth.”
The idea of self-sacrifice (with dismemberment) appears very prettily in an allegorical vision of the old hermetic philosopher Zosimos, who seems to have copied it, as Reitzenstein notes, from an Egyptian Nekyia. I quote from Hoefer (Hist. Chim., I, pp. 256-259):
“I slept and saw a priest standing before an altar shaped like a cup and with several steps by which to climb to it. [First 15, later 7 steps are mentioned.] And I heard a voice crying aloud, ‘I have finished climbing and descending these 15 steps, resplendent with light.’ After listening to the priest officiating at the altar I asked him what this resounding voice was whose sound had struck my ear. The priest answered me, saying: ‘I am he who is (εἰμὶ ὁ ὤν), [pg 301] the priest of the sanctuary, and I am under the weight of the power that overwhelms me. For at the break of day came a deputy who seized me, killed me with a sword, cut me in pieces; and after flaying the skin from my head, he mixed the bones with the flesh and burned me in the fire to teach me that the spirit is born with the body. That is the power that overwhelms me.’ While the priest was saying that, his eyes became as blood, and he vomited all his flesh. I saw him mutilate himself, rend himself with his teeth and fall on the ground. Seized with terror I awoke, and I began to ponder and ask myself if this indeed was the nature and the composition of the water. And I congratulated myself upon having reasoned well [namely in a train of thought preceding the vision]. Soon I slept again and perceived the same altar, and on this altar I saw water boiling with a noise and many men in it. Not finding any one in the neighborhood to explain this phenomenon, I advanced to enjoy the spectacle at the altar. Then I noticed a man with gray hair and thin, who said to me, ‘What are you looking at?’ ‘I am looking,’ I answered with surprise, ‘at the boiling of the water and the men who are boiling there still alive.’ ‘The sight you see,’ replied he, ‘is the beginning, the end and the transmutation (μεταβολή).’ I asked him what the transmutation was. ‘It is,’ he said, ‘the place of the operation which is called purification [in the original, topos askeseos], for the people who wish to become virtuous come there and become spirits shunning the body.’ And I asked him, ‘Are [pg 302] you also a spirit [pneuma]?’ ‘I am,’ said he, ‘a spirit and the guardian of spirits.’ During this conversation and amid the noise of the boiling water and the cries of the people, I perceived a man of brass, holding in his hand a book of lead, and I heard him tell me in a loud voice: ‘See, I command all those who are subjected to punishments to learn from this book. I command every one to take the book of lead and to write in it with his hand until his pharynx is developed, the mouth is opened, and the eyes have taken their place again.’ The act followed the word, and the master of the house, present at this ceremony, said to me, ‘Stretch your neck and see what is done.’ ‘I see,’ said I. ‘The brazen man that you see,’ said he, ‘and who has left his own flesh, is the priest before the altar. It is he who has been given the privilege of disposing of this water.’ In going over all this in my imagination I awoke and said to myself, ‘What is the cause of this occurrence? What indeed is it? Is it not the water white, yellow, boiling, divine?’ I found that I had reasoned well.... Finally, to be brief, build, my friend a temple of a single stone [monolith] ... a temple that has neither beginning nor end, and in the interior of which there is found a spring of purest water, and bright as the sun. It is with the sword in hand that one must search and penetrate into it, for the entrance is narrow. It is guarded by a dragon, which has to be killed and flayed. By putting the flesh and the bones together you make a pedestal up which you will [pg 303] climb to reach the temple, where you will find what you are looking for. For the priest, who is the brazen man whom you saw sitting near the spring, changes his nature and is transformed into a man of silver, who can, if you wish, change himself into a man of gold.... Do not reveal anything of this to any one else and keep these things for yourself, for silence teaches virtue. It is very fine to understand the transmutation of the four metals, lead, copper, tin, silver, and to know how they change into perfect gold....”
Psychoanalysis, like comparative mythology, makes it probable that the killing or dismemberment of the father figure is equivalent to castration. That has, according to intro-determination, an anagogic, a wider sense, if we compare the organ of generation to the creative power, and a narrower, if we compare it to sexuality. The wider conception does not require immediate interpretation. With regard to the narrower, I observe that the mystical manuals show that the most active power for spiritual education is the sexual libido, which for that reason is partially or entirely withdrawn from its original use. (Rules of chastity.) “Vigor is obtained on the confirmation of continence.” (Patanjali, Yoga-Sutra, II, 38.) These instruction books have recognized the great transmutability of the sexual libido. (Cf. ability of sublimation in the alchemistic, as well as in the Freudian terminology.) Naturally the reduction of sexuality had to occur at the beginning of the work in order to furnish that power; hence the [pg 304] castration at the commencement of the process. The killing of the phallic snake amounts, of course, to the same thing. The snake with its tail in its mouth is the cycle of the libido, the always rolling wheel of life, of procreation, which always procreates itself, and of the creation of the world. The same cycle is represented by a god who holds his phallus in his mouth, and so (in accordance with infantile and primitive theory) constantly impregnates himself. The serpent is good and also evil. Whoever breaks through the ring frees himself from the wheel of compulsion, raises himself above good and evil, in order to put in its place later a mystical union [Hieros Gamos].
Regarded from the point of view of knowledge, the formation of types reveals itself as a symbolic presentiment of an anagogic idea, not at first clearly conceivable. For the spirit, what cannot yet be clearly seen (mythological level of knowledge) or can no longer be seen (going to sleep, etc.) is pictured in symbolic form. [More details will be found in my essays, “Phantasie und Mythos,” “Ueber die Symbolbildung,” and “Zur Symbolbildung” (Jb. ps. F., II, III, IV).] This symbol form is the form of knowledge adapted to the spirit's capacity as it then existed. Not that any mysterious presentiment or prophetic gift of vision must be assumed. The circumstance that man can get ever deeper meaning from his symbols gives them the appearance of being celestial harbingers sent forth by the latest ideas that they express. In a certain [pg 305] sense, however, the last meaning is implicated in the first appearance of the typical symbol. It has already been explained by intro-determination how that was possible. The psyche, whose inventory of powers is copied symbolically in the elementary types, knows, even if only darkly at first, the possible unfolding of the powers. These unfoldings are originally not actual but potential. [See Note F.]
The more then that the psyche is so developed, that what was originally only a possible presentiment of actuality and that hence tends to come nearer the merely potential, begins to become actual, the more symbolism has the value of a “program.” According to Jung, Riklin, etc., the phantasy (dream, myth-making) can be conceived not only as with Freud, “as a wish fulfillment, wherein older and infantile material expresses the wish for something unsettled, unattained or suppressed, but also as a mythological first step in the direction of conscious and adapted thinking and acting, as a program.... Maeder has discussed the teleological functions of the dream and the unconscious. In the course of an analytic treatment we discover the continuous transformations of the libido symbol in the dream current, till a form is reached which serves as an attempt to adapt oneself to actuality. There are epochs in the history of civilization which are particularly characterized by a storing of the libido in the sense that from the reservoir of mythological and religious thought forms, new adaptations to the real processes and data are made. A significant [pg 306] example is the Renaissance, which a study of renaissance literature and a visit to the renaissance cities, e.g., Florence, make evident in a high degree. The analysis of romanticism ... confirms these processes of development.” (Zentralblatt f. Psa., III, p. 114.)
We have here the thought that the “program” is expressed in art, which therefore has prescience in a certain degree of the coming event. Jung (Jb. ps. F., III, pp. 171 ff.) writes: “It is a daily experience in my professional work (an experience whose certainty I must express with all the caution that is required by the complexity of the material) that in certain cases of chronic neuroses, a dream occurs at the time of the onset of the malady or a long time before, frequently of visionary significance, which is indelibly imprinted on the memory and holds a meaning, concealed from the patient, which anticipates the succeeding experiences, i.e., the psychological significance. Dreams appear to stay spontaneously in memory so long as they suitably outline the psychological situation of the individual.”
The more the program is worked out the more the value of the symbolism (whose types can always remain the same in spite of changes in their appearance) changes into that of the functional symbolism in the narrower sense; for the functional symbolism in the restricted sense is that which copies the actual play of forces in the psyche.
To the functional symbolism of actual forces belong, e.g., in large part the faces in my lecanomantic [pg 307] experiments, although they also contain program material; further, in purest form, the previously related autosymbolic vision of the mountains. The progress of a psychoanalytic treatment is, apart from the program connections, generally copied in the dream in correspondence to the momentary psychic status, and therefore actually and functionally. It is quite probable that the progress of the mystical work is represented to the mystic in his phantasying (dreams, visions, etc.) in a symbolic manner. But when one happens upon written phantasy products of the mystics, of course only he who has mystical experiences of his own can venture to say whether a program symbolism or an actually functional symbolism is exhibited. For example, I make no judgment on the degree of actuality in the anagogic symbolism of the parable.