My mother is 73.

Last year August my father passed away and she was left alone after 52 years of marriage.

A few months later, due to miscommunication, all the trees in her back garden were cut down.

She was devastated.

Three weeks ago, she was attacked, robbed, tied up and left for dead. She was only found two days later. She is now moving to a retirement village when she gets released from hospital.

She has suffered a tremendous amount of loss. Her husband, her home, her safety, her jewels, everything that she identified with.

This obviously had a profound impact on me and has made me contemplate this experience of loss.

Everyone suffers loss.

Especially the elderly. It seems a natural process you go through. You lose your looks, your vitality, your body starts failing, you lose your friends, your loved ones, your children move away, and then you die. Perhaps not specifically in that order, but one thing is for sure, growing old is not for sissies.

But loss is an unavoidable part of being alive. We all experience it. Losing friendships and relationships; suffering physical loss of health; losing your faith, trust, hope; losing your security or your job.

These experiences are incredibly debilitating and emotionally draining.

Why is this happening to me? This is so unfair!

I am sure we have all cried these words in anguish.

How do you make sense of loss?

Let me use my mother’s situation as an example. One can say, why did this happen to her?

One of the first things she said to me was that she fought like a tiger because she wanted to live. She could easily have given up during the assault, and the two days that she lay there, hallucinating and dehydrating. She could have let go, but she decided to live.

Why?

What happened to her really?

Jung speaks of the numinous experience. This is the experience that puts us in touch with the transpersonal aspect of ourselves, the divine within, the Self Archetype. One can say that this is what happened to my mom. For a moment, she connected with her Self Archetype and knew that she needed to live. Perhaps she is not done here yet.

Now, three weeks later, has this numinous experience changed her? Has she realized that she has had a profoundly potentially transformative experience? I am sure she will never be the same again, but has she been able to extract meaning and will she be able to move forward with a new intention? Or will she slip into a depression and then from there move back into her normal way of being?

We all have these numinous experiences during our lives. Moments of resolve that we feel connected to something deep within us, but they drift away. Or sometimes we bang our heads against the same issue again and again. Perhaps you realize that you need to change, but change what; change how?

What is it that makes the difference between us being able to transform or staying stuck?

Jung said:

As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being.

Unless we can derive meaning from our lives and what we experience, the world will always remain a scary place. Suffering puts us in touch with the divine, with grace, compassion, and empathy. It is what makes us human and connects us all.

But creating meaning is a choice. It is a process of creation. It does not come naturally and it takes effort. Blaming comes easily, extracting meaning is much harder.

Of course, the cynic will question this and say: “But that is just a fairy tale you tell yourself, it isn’t real. Life is random, shit happens and there is no meaning.”

This could be true! It could be all random and meaningless. In fact I know a few people who believe this. But an unhappier, more miserable bunch of people you will never meet.

To create our reality is a unique quality we as human beings share. We can use our imagination and creativity to transform physical and mental pain and suffering into meaning.
Ultimately, your life is your responsibility and you can experience it as a mystical and meaningful or cruel and harsh.

We recently put a question on our Facebook page that asked what the catalyst to transformation is. Someone responded and relayed an experience from her childhood, where at the age of 11 she had an epiphany about how other people treated her and that she realised that perhaps it wasn’t all just them. She said this about it:

“I’ve taken responsibility for my own situation ever since, not taken the blame for it or blaming others entirely as I had previously been oscillating between. I was able to increasingly put the responsibility for what was happening to me where it belonged and wasn’t afraid to admit when there was something I could do to change things because I loved feeling like I had some control. It wasn’t long after that that I went to the police and reported my mother and her boyfriend’s abuse of me and started a new, albeit, not much fun either, but on my own terms, life.”

For her, transformation involved taking responsibility for herself. Just with this change in attitude, she managed to survive and incredibly abusive environment as a child. I would like to point out a very important point she makes. Blame is self destructive. Whether you are blaming others or yourself. It paralyses and weakens the ego. A strong ego can assess where your responsibility starts and ends and enables you to act appropriately.

Having read this blog, I would like you to think of your own experience of loss and consider the following:

• What loss have you experienced?

• Did it break you or make you stronger?

• Can you move on, or are you stuck there, the emotion trapped and painful?

• Do you blame the other (people or the world) or do you blame yourself.

• Are you able to see both sides of the situation?

• Can you see meaning and purpose in your experience?

If you are able to extract meaning and purpose from your experience of loss, I congratulate you! You have grown, transformed and expanded your sense of self.

If you are unable to move beyond your situation and feel stuck and depressed, don’t despair. You are going through a normal human experience. Start believing that you can move beyond this and extract meaning from it. Find a symbol to help you move through it and best of luck.

Until next time.
Anja

If you enjoyed this blog and want to understand the Jungian Ego, please read my blog To have or not to have an Ego.
For an explanation on symbols and symbol work, please read my blog Of butterflies and symbols of transformation.

“A rose by any other name… “ is not a rose actually, it may look like a rose, smell like a rose, draw blood as a roughly grasped rose is want to do, but, you will grant, it simply cannot be a ‘rose’.

A passage (a footnote to be precise) from Jung’s essay on synchronicity[1] made quite an impression on me when I came across it a few years ago. It has to do with that very strange phenomenon, we encounter at times, where a person’s name bears an uncanny resemblance to their destiny or personality.

We find ourselves in something of a quandary when it comes to making up our minds about the phenomenon which Stekel [2]calls the “compulsion of a name”. What he means by this is the sometimes quite grotesque coincidence between a man’s name and his peculiarities or profession. For instance Herr Gross (Mr. Grand) suffers from delusions of grandeur. Herr Kleiner (Mr. Small) has an inferiority complex. The Altman [old man] sisters marry men twenty years older than themselves. [...] Herr Freud (joy) champions the pleasure-principle. Herr Adler (eagle) [champions] the will-to-power. Herr Jung (young) the idea of rebirth, and so on. Are these whimsicalities of chance, or the suggestive effects of the name, a Stekel seems to suggest or are they meaningful coincidences [as Jung is suggesting]?[3]

The more I reflected on this passage and the relationship of names to destinies the more interesting the idea seemed. This post is an attempt to articulate some of my thoughts about our relationship with our names, and the ideas that have occurred to me in this regard.

The influential act of naming or being named

I agree with Stekel[4] , on this count at least, that there is a persuasive power associated with your name, or with the name that I use to address you. This is part of the manipulative force of being given a secret name or simply a nickname. If upon our meeting each other I confer on you a ‘nickname’ this naming act exerts an influence on you. It could be a wholly different name i.e. the conversion of Neil Franks into “Frankie knuckles”, Doctor Martin into ‘shoes’[5], or (to a lesser degree) simply by pronouncing your name in a specific way or addressing you formally: Sir, Madam, or Mister, or Missus. Whatever it is, any name change will have an influence on you and, in a sense, a power over you. This influence is not inherently positive or negative, it could be either; but it subtly alters your sense of self.

Your sense of identity is tied up with your name.

The significance of a name

• The great 17^th century, German polymath, Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz, held a very interesting view of names. To phrase it rather roughly, he held that an individual’s being, everything we can ever know about any particular person, everything they ever did and everything they ever will do converges in their name. A proper name in other words “picks out a complete concept”[6], in your case that concept is you.

• It is a long held tradition that initiation into a new order brings with it a new name. We see Simon being renamed Peter on becoming one of Christ’s disciples. This seems to have become something of a Christian custom. It is traditional for the Pope to takes on a new name on his appointment to the highest office in the Catholic Church; most recently Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio became Pope Francois.

• In the Old Testament after Jacob wrestled with the Angel of the Lord he was renamed Israel. Also it is a significant feature of Judaism that G-d’s name is never spoken, and that to know His name is be in possession of something both sacred and numinous.

• In the Mormon faith every “worthy” believer upon reaching maturity goes through the ‘endowment” ceremony. During this sacred (and highly secret) initiatory ceremony the believer is given a new name[7]. This name has a tremendous significance in the Mormon faith, particularly on the day or resurrection when God will call the devout to Himself using their secret names. And, controversially, husbands will call their ‘faithful’ wives to them

• The act of assuming a new name or changing ones name to a “nickname” is very common, and with this name change there is an accompanying sense of a change in identity.

• There is in Africa a proud and long held tradition of naming a child in accord with their perceived value: Precious, Gift, Blessing and so on.

• Names and naming have a power, when we name someone we grant them (a) certain identify. This can confer status, humiliation or simply a different sense of identity.

Your name as a symbol

There is clearly something to this phenomenon. The wide spread cross cultural presence of this ‘significance of the name’ can be interpreted from a Jungian perspective as an archetypal phenomenon[8]. And in so considering it, we can inquire as to what its phenomenology is. The most significant features seem to be:

• Your name is associated with your destiny, everything you have ever done and everything you ever will do.

• There is an essential relationship between you and your name[9].

• Being initiated into a new order, a new way of life is frequently accompanied by a change of name, typically (but not only) with the bestowal of a name given by and associated with the new order, group, church, cult etc.

• A change in name can bring a change in destiny. So this idea is evident where in certain traditions after some bad luck has been suffered the person will change their name.

• You are called by your name (called here in the sense of called to your higher purpose).

• Your name confers a belonging. Your surname associated you with your family lineage; a new conferred name associates you with the group that gave you the name.

• In some profound sense, in other words, your name is an individuating force.

Your relationship with your name (amplifying its symbolic significance)

The above considered, it is worthwhile reflecting on your relationship with your own name[10]:

• Do you like your name?

• How do you introduce yourself, do you say your name with a sense of pride, purpose or it a mumbled apology?

• What is the etymology of your name, where does it come from, what does it mean?

• Have you ever wished for, or called yourself by, a different name?

• If you have ever toyed with renaming yourself, what is the significance of this alternate name, origin, meaning, and how did you come by it?

• What does your unique name stand for in the world: what is its mission or value statement; with what impulse in the world do you associate it?

My advice here would be if you don’t like what you find to seriously consider how you might re-imagine or re-symbolise your name. In an important sense what is being suggested here is that there is a significant link between your name and your destiny. Remember that the gift of post-modernity is the freedom to re-invent who you are (as un-Jungian as that may be).

Two other suggestions:

• Do not allow yourself to be given a nickname or some alteration of your name that you do not wish to have. Consider carefully what the implication of your being re-named is. Also consider why that person is renaming you; are they trying to redefine who you are and of so what are they attempting to bring out?

• Be aware of how you, in turn, address others, particularly if you are prone to use”playful” name changing habits. Become aware of what effect you have on others in addressing them in a particular way.

Alex-Stormbreaker-Zander

By way of illustration let me share a story about my son Ruarc and his relationship with his name.

His name, of Gaelic origin, refers to (or means) a sea storm or champion. Ruarc, much like his name, has a stormy disposition. I remember well how one day at the tender age of five or six he took on his mom in a head to head confrontation. Now you would have to know his mother to appreciate just how daunting that would be even for an adult man. Nevertheless pushed to his limit, he started shouting (screaming possibly) at her with a force way, way beyond his age of physical size. So passionate  and powerful was the tirade he dealt her that she had little choice but to back-off, finally sitting back down onto her bed as he advanced on her, until they were standing so close to her that their foreheads touched, as he continued to tell her off! [11]

He became fascinated from about the age of six with a character in a movie called ‘Alex Stormbreaker’. One day on an outing he told me he wished to be renamed. His full name is Ruarc Alexander Farah. When I asked what he wished his new name to be, after some thought, he answered, “Ruarc Alex-Stormbreaker…Zander-Farah”! Well I laughed until the tears streamed down my face. I know it was callous but I simply couldn’t believe the way he had worked this name into his. For his part, furious at my laughter, he initially burst into tears and then shunned speaking to me for the entire drive home. He still has not entirely forgiven me.

It is interesting to consider that he chose this character, this name, Alex Stormbreaker (remember his own name means sea-storm or champion). He did not know this and he still doesn’t, he is only seven at the time of writing.

Is this not an interesting choice of nom de plume?

At the moment at school he is generally called Ruarcie (or simply Rocky). It is as if his proper name Ruarc (that is Ruarc the Stormbreaker) is a second personality that is still too big for him to step into. He is just a little boy. But one day he will be a man, and then he will no longer be Ruarcie but will be (or could be if he steps into his power) Ruarc[12].

The name Ruarc, you could say, represents his potential; and at some level he feels this, even at such a young age.

Finally then, consider the future in your name. What is its destiny? To where and for what purpose are you called by virtue of your name? It is your name after all, something worth caring about, worth cultivating, and worth speaking into the world. It, like you, has an inalienable and very precious value; if you haven’t yet realised that then now would be a good time to do so.

Until we speak again,

Stephen.

Jung identified the persona as the bridge between the ego and the external world; in just the same way as the anima forms the bridge to the inner world. The persona is simply your public personality, the face you show the world. The better developed your persona is the better you will get on in the world.

This is a generalisation and suffers the limitations of any generalisation. Naturally some people get on pretty well with a very poorly developed persona, but these are the exceptions not the rule and then almost undoubtedly their progress in the world would have been enhanced had they a better, more cultivated, persona.

Bottom line, the persona is an invaluable tool in public life and social interaction. It plays an important role even in private life, your interaction with intimate friends and family as well, but here the line between ego and persona becomes more blurred.

The persona is:

• The face you show the world. The world and the people in it are not generally psychic they do not get to know “who you really are” through some process of psychic osmosis. People that interact with you know you through your public personality, from their perspective that is exactly who you are.

• Who you are in the world.

• The values, beliefs, prejudices and ideology you represent to the world.

• Your public brand.

You use it to:

• Tell others who you are, what you are and what you stand for.
• Tell others who they are dealing with.
• Speak your message from the inner world, including your most  heartfelt inner being.
• Communicate with others.
• Establish relationships publically, professionally and privately.
• Actualise who you are in society.

It is then not an unimportant aspect of you as a total person. And as effective as the results can be when the persona is well developed they can be even more disastrous when the persona is poorly developed, inappropriate, unconscious, not well articulated, ambiguous, wishy washy or simply non-existent.

The Modern Approach

A common failure in the modern educational system is the failure to effectively communicate the significance of this essential social tool. More so now I suspect than in yesteryear. Naturally this is a culturally specific observation, but definitely in the western world the focus on persona has decreased in the last century[1]. The modern idea is be yourself, behave naturally, don’t be inhibited, express yourself etc. And perhaps this is most evident in the sexual arena where conformity to a specific type (heterosexual) is less important than it was for successful social adaptation.

However society functions by virtue of the social interconnections established via these personas. To the extent that you identify yourself to me and in so doing I am able to establish a protocol in your behavior, know who you are and what you stand for, social interaction is facilitated. It is all very well to say “be yourself” but it is somewhat less clear how you should communicate that self to the world. From a Jungian, and classical cultural, perspective this tool is the persona.
It is all very well to say “ be yourself”, if only being yourself were not the most difficult of all things. For to be yourself presupposes that you know who ‘yourself’ is. Secondly “be yourself”, contrary to what the popular media may suggest, does not in fact mean you should publicly indulge every whim. Rather it has some value if you are able to establish an aspect of your being (that is being in the world) that you represent through ‘being yourself’. And in being a beacon of this value you are in fact being yourself, because this is the value you have adopted as being closest to your true self.

Let me use an analogy to explain this idea.

Consider what it means to be a coffee shop. A coffee shop performs a non negotiable function of serving coffee. Beyond that there is an expectation that a coffee shop conforms to certain well established parameters: offers seating for its customers, sells certain snacks to accompany the purchase of a coffee, has a variety of different coffee-like options, has a certain ambiance, its pricing falls within a certain range and so on. Now whilst not every coffee shop has to conform to all of these, it is customary that most will conform to a good number of them and through this we know them as coffee shops.
Which brings us to the next important point: a coffee shop must necessarily, if it is to survive, tell the world that is a coffee shop.

It must have the persona of a coffee shop.

How exactly does it do this?

Well possibly the easiest and most effective way is to be part of a chain. A store that is part of a big franchise such as Starbucks, or The Seattle Coffee Company, or in South Africa maybe Mugg & Bean Coffee Company. Here the moment we see the sign we are able to connect it with a well established coffee company brand. You or I am able to enter with a sense of comfort and familiarity despite never having been to this particular store before, the brand tells us what we can expect.

Now a coffee shop that is not part of a big franchise has a slightly tougher job telling us what it is and what it stands for. Still it usually has recourse to certain tell tale signals that communicate its essence to us: the big noisy and aromatic coffee machine, a general coffee aroma in the shop, a fairly standard layout and seating arrangement, some images on the walls possibly showing a Parisian comer coffee scene etc.
And it too through these unspoken signals communicates clearly, if somewhat less clearly than the franchise store:

what it stands for,

what it offers,

and what we can expect when we step into it.

In both cases it is clear the shop has to act (look, feel, behave, present, smell) like a coffee shop in order to both function and be identified as a coffee shop.

This is analogous to the persona.

The persona acts, or should act, in the same fashion.

It needs[2] to fall within a recognised category, as a shop falls into the category coffee shop, such as male or female, sexual orientation, character type, cultural context (these are usually pretty spontaneous and occur without conscious intervention), but then some that are equally important but less obvious are:

• Profession
• Value system/ideologies
• Social sub-group/s.

An Effective Persona

Let us consider the broad category of being an entertainer. What type of entertainer: musician, actor, comedian, dancer, exactly is our next question? Provided the person falls into any one of these identifiable sub categories we are satisfied that we know who they are- we can identify and classify them.
In that context to return to our coffee shop franchise analogy a good comparison may be being a ballet dancer with a recognised company, or a Hollywood (or Bollywood) actor. Being in other words not only an entertainer, but an entertainer in a clear and recognised category (e.g. dancer) and furthermore being a member of the Bolshoi Ballet Company.

Okay so that’s when the persona is very clearly articulated. What about when it is not?

So, for example, what about if the person is an entertainer but is not sure whether they are an actor or a singer, not sure if they want to be on stage or in cinema etc. That probably describes the majority of aspiring entertainers who have developed multiple skills in order to have the versatility demanded by the entertainment industry. And in due course their career paths, if all goes well, will identify them increasingly with one of those skill sets or personas.

Still as you can see it is somewhat more challenging for a casting director or agent to place them. But okay that as we know is still workable. What about though when there is a further blurring between whether this person is a professional entertainer or someone who is going to teach dance, acting, singing. Hmm maybe a little more vague now, but still okay, could work, lots of people fall into that broader category accepting what work comes their way.

What about if the person is a medical student but also an aspiring actor; or a singer who longs to run a fortune 500 company; or a dentist who wants nothing more than to be a dancer…

Now, whilst the world is filled with just such people and to some degree or other we all have these dilemmas to contend with, it does make the message of who you are, that the world receives, confusing. And to the degree that it is confused, no one quite knows whether to treat you as a medical student or an actor, including the people that most matter, the ones that are going to employ you for example, or the ones who are going ask you join their theater company.

A Caveat

The complexity of life being what it is today I must concede that fewer and fewer people fall into a simple classifiable category, professionally or personally. Life has simply become too multi dimensional for very narrow classifications. However that does not detract from the importance of communicating clearly to the world who you are and what your brand is. To the extent that you are able to articulate your brand very clearly and communicate to the world at large your journey in the world will be facilitated. Your inner ambiguity that is expressed in your persona confuses others as much as it confuses you.

So Who Are You Really?

I think most of us are inclined today to indentify ourselves with our inner world or at the very least with our private selves. The persona is seen as a necessary evil, a mask that needs must I don for the world out there. And it is this negativity towards the persona as being somehow less than 100% authentic that casts it in a poor light. Jung himself did not hold the persona in very high regard and to some degree his persona seemed less than ideal. However I think that is only a superficial view and in fact his persona was highly developed and a significant part of the Jungian legacy.

I have started so suspect over the last few years that the persona is at least as important as your relationship with the inner world.

It is the persona that is the true carrier of your essential being into the world.

It is the persona that the world comes to know you by, not your inner life, unless like Jung it becomes a part of your persona, i.e. think of Jung’s Red Book and how that adds to the mystique of who Jung was.

Whether or not you agree with me I hope I have been able to communicate the importance of the persona in the psychic economy.

I leave you with this exercise in considering your own persona:

• Classify your persona in the same way we did with the dancer example.
• What message does your persona send to the world?
• Do you think your persona is functioning optimally?
• Is there any way to increase the clarity of your persona?

And then just for fun:

• If your persona was a coffee shop/restaurant what would it be?
• If it were a movie what would it be?
• If it were a song what would it be?

Until we speak again,

Stephen.

Oscar Pistorius shot and killed his girlfriend on Valentines Day. He was devastated and cried uncontrollably at his first court appearance and frequently at his bail hearing. His affidavit stated that that he believed that there was a burglar in his bathroom whom he shot, only to realise to his horror that he had shot Reeva Steenkamp.

Whether his version of events is true or whether, as the state claims, the killing was in fact intentional, i.e. murder, remains undecided. Opinions differ; hopefully the pending court case will answer some of these questions, particularly for the family of Reeva Steenkamp. Either way a tragedy has occurred that has cost a young woman her life and, in all likely hood, a young man his career as one of the most exciting and iconic sportsmen to emerge from South Africa. Not to mention the cost to the community of ‘differently abled’ athletes and South African in toto.

Considering this case through the lens of Jungian psychology offers a unique and illuminating perspective on the events of that fateful day.[1] From a Jungian perspective, we can say that Oscar had a ‘murderous gun complex’, regardless of whether he consciously intended to kill Reeva or not.

Let us look at what emerged in the news[2] post this shooting:

• His initial application for a gun license was rejected and at the time of the shooting he had 6 applications pending for a variety of weapons
• He nearly shot a friend at a restaurant whilst looking at someone else’s gun
• His Nike advert was titled “Bullet in the chamber”
• He apparently kept his gun on him at all times
• He told The New York Times that when a house security alarm went off recently, he grabbed the gun he kept by his bed and crept downstairs. It turned out to be nothing.
• In November, he tweeted about mistaking his washing machine for a burglar. (“Nothing like getting home to hear the washing machine on and thinking it’s an intruder to go into full combat recon mode into the pantry!” he wrote)

We observe in this list a series of seemingly diverse facts and situations that share a thematic constellation. They converge very clearly on the theme of shooting a gun, and, as fate would have it in this case, killing someone in the process. So whether it is true that he woke up and was filled with terror because he believed that there was a burglar in the bathroom, or whether he had an emotional meltdown due to an argument, the fact of the matter is that his gun complex possessed him. It wanted to shoot someone and it did. What I think we can say with a reasonable degree of confidence is the act was one of temporary insanity. It is hard (impossible maybe) to view it as a calculated cold blooded murder. For if it was in fact an act of murder, then it was also an act suicide as well; Oscar may just as well have shot himself afterwards.

Complexes lie in wait to usurp the ego at times of lowered consciousness, e.g. emotional stress, fatigue, being drunk or high, etc.

So what are complexes, where do they come from and how do they behave?

A (very) brief history of  Complexes[3]

Carl Gustav Jung, founder of Analytical Psychology, initially called his system Complex Psychology. A number of events and interests led Jung to investigate and develop the theory that the human psyche is populated by complexes.

Jung’s first real experience of a neurotic complex occurred when he was around 12 years old. He was knocked down and lost consciousness during a playground scuffle. The result was that he was sent home and realized that this was an effective way to avoid going to school. Subsequently, he had a number of fainting spells when required to do homework or go to school. However, he overheard his father speaking to someone about this issue and how concerned they were about his ability to support himself when he was older. This made him realize how important his studies were and he set to correct this neurosis by forcing himself to study Latin. He eventually managed to stop the fainting spells. This experience sparked his initial interest in the psyche and the power of the mind over the physical body.

The Spiritual angle

Jung’s mother was believed to be psychic and a medium. She often spoke with a different voice and had access to knowledge that was directly unknown to her. This had a profound impact on Jung who himself as a young boy entertained the idea that he had another personality living inside of him.

Jung wrote his dissertation in 1902 on his cousin Helen Preiswerk who was a medium and performed many séances. Helene also often spoke as someone different named Ivenes who was more intelligent and mature. This was the grounding of Jung’s later work on the second personality and individuation. This also sparked his interest and research on complexes, and his belief that complexes were autonomous personalities within the psyche.

The Student years and early work

Jung studied medicine and became increasingly more interested in psychology. During his studies, he was exposed to “Psychopathia Sexualis” by Richard von Krafft-Ebing. In addition to this, Pierre Janet and his concept of Abaissement du niveau mental, Freud’s “The Interpretation of Dreams”, “From India to the Planet Mars“ by Théodore Flournoy, and “The Visionary of Prevorst “by Justinus Kerner, peaked his interest and influenced his subsequent development of complex theory.

At the age of 25, Jung started working at Burghölzli, a renowned psychiatric hospital in Zurich.

Whilst at Burgholzli, he researched and published his work on the Word Association Test. Initially invented by Sir Francis Galton in 1879, Jung realized the effectiveness of this test and elaborated and defined it considerably. This test identified areas in the patients’ psyche where there was a neurosis.

The test consisted of a number of random pre-selected words read out to the patient. The patient was then required to respond to each word read out to them, with a different word of their own selection.

Jung established that any reaction whether emotional or physical, but also the time delay in responding, indicated that there was a neurotic complex active in relation to the word read.

So what is a complex anyway?

Jung has left a comprehensive body of work on complexes. His research and work on complexes resulted in a dense theorem which is well documented. The main points[4] regarding complexes are as follows:

• A complex is a grouping together of emotions, beliefs, ideals, images around a specific idea. These complexes populate the psyche and can be either (partially) conscious or unconscious.

• Complexes come about as a result of a split in the psyche. This split can be caused by trauma, but most often it is the result a moral split. This happens when the subject has an inner conflict regarding an event. The whole being is incapable of assimilating or understanding a situation and this dilemma results in a split. Consciously there is one position, but unconsciously there is another position.

• Complexes can be conscious or integrated into consciousness, e.g. a talent. Alternatively, they can be unconscious and unknown to the ego consciousness.

• Unconscious complexes have their own goals and intentions that oppose the conscious ego. These complexes are autonomous and assert influence over the ego consciousness which affects and influence the ego consciousness ability to make decisions and challenge the ego’s autonomy. A neurotic complex will create a problem for the ego consciousness. This problem will trap the subject by not allowing it to let go of it. The subject will then be stuck in the problem and not able to move on or resolve the issue.

• A psychotic complex totally overpowers the ego and the subject will not be able to function normally within society; at least not whilst in the grip of that complex.

• Complexes usurp power from the ego when consciousness is lowered. Consciousness is lowered when a person is subjected to high levels of stress, physical exhaustion, emotional upheaval, inebriation or drugs. When consciousness is lowered, the complex will exert itself and express itself in saying inappropriate things or displaying inappropriate behaviour. The ego often remains unconscious of the behaviour by immediately blocking it out or forgetting what happened. But if it is remembered, the subject will be confused as to why they behaved in that way. They will not take responsibility for the behaviour and blame it on an external event or often say they were not themselves. In primitive cultures it would often be referred to as being possessed.

• Identifying a complex can be achieved by becoming aware of the subjects’ emotional responses and projections. When there is an emotional response to an individual or organization, the subject is projecting their own unconscious content onto the external party. This is a good indication that there is a complex present. The complex can also present itself through fantasies and dreams.

• Unconscious Complexes can be integrated into consciousness, if identified, accepted, articulated and assimilated. By becoming conscious of the complexes active in your own life, the projection onto the other is removed. This process of becoming conscious grounded Jung’s later theories on individuation.

C.G. Jung’s lifelong dedication to developing his theory on complexes has made a significant contribution to the field of psychology. This theory on complexes has developed into a system with which to explore our own psyches and also offer tools that makes transformation a real possibility by becoming conscious of who we really are[5].

Applying this theory to your own life

In simple terms, as a teacher of mine was fond of saying, we are not masters in our own house. This does not suggest that we,( or Oscar in this case), bear no responsibility for our actions. That is going too far, that is a cop out. The old line…

“The devil made me do it,”

that many a scoundrel has used as the last line of defense, does not void said individual of responsibility. Nevertheless there is something to it. Our psychologies are home to a few angels, if we are so blessed, and, almost undoubtedly, to a plurality of demons. These characters will act for themselves, quite literally, and not infrequently their agenda will be quite contrary to your conscious agenda.

Recognizing this uncomfortable truth about yourself is a good starting point. The image of your psychology being made up of many small islands (each island being a complex) around a central island being the ego is a useful way of imagining this. Your psychology is not as unified as you may believe it to be.

With this recognition in place the process of identifying these complexes can begin. Identifying and entering into an inner dialogue with them[6] is time well spent.

Far better surely than the awfully high price of having them unconsciously direct your life. Although the Oscar Pistorius case is a dramatic one, and not everyone necessarily harbors violent or murderous complexes, it is illustrative of how the unattended, unconscious or repressed complex can take the reins. And in doing this, it can lead you down a path you may well not have chosen in a more lucid and coherent frame of mind.

I want to share an exercise with you that I have found to be quite illuminating.[1]

This exercise, seemingly very simple (almost simplistic), provides a powerful tool to examine the nature of the story you are telling.

This exercise can help you to:

• Locate yourself and your narrative.
• Discover what archetype/s you are constellating in your personal narrative.
• Better understand what it means (i.e. how it feels and influences) to constellate an archetype in your narrative and sense of identity.
• Perhaps most importantly learn how to re-imagine your story through the lens of a different archetype.
• Fundamentally change the context, not only from which you tell your story but in which you locate and identify yourself

Before I explain what the exercise is, it may be worth saying something about why this type of work is as valuable as it is.

I – tagging and personal narratives

Les Lancaster[2] writes about the phenomenon of ‘I-tagging’. This, very simply, is the act of the I (the ego, sense of self) associating itself with certain moments and not others.

This may be easiest to illustrate by an example. We all number amongst our friends or acquaintances a ‘poor-me’ soul. This is the person who has drawn the short straw in the lottery of life, who is inclined to the question:

how may my life have turned out if only…

Now as you may have noticed this poor soul seems, in addition to their already unfortunate history, to attract a lot of misfortune.

So it is a question we can (and do) ask, is this person really that unlucky or do they tend to zone in on their misfortune at the expense of other experiences.

Now one must be careful of oversimplifying the question. It may not be one or the other, but a combination of the two. That is to say certain misfortunes are suffered, for whatever reason, that lead the person, at least in part, to the conclusion that they are ‘misfortunate’ or ‘unlucky’. The individual in question comes to believe this way of being in the world is an essential property of themselves or their fate. However it started, it becomes who they are, their way of being in the world.

This is what is intended by Lancaster’s idea of the I-tagging. I choose from multiple events that occur in my life and associate myself with some rather than others. This is well known through the phenomenon of the very different narratives told by siblings about growing up in the same environment.

All of which gives us some insight into the significance of the story or stories I tell about myself and my life. These stories become the context from which I operate and identify myself.

An Example

The exercise uses the principle of telling your story (or stories) from the perspective of different archetypes.

The mechanics of the exercise and the archetypes I typically work with are listed below. Before you read these though let me give you an example of what this exercise looks life in practice.

The stories that follow are told by the same person viewing the same events, their childhood trauma, through different lenses, in this case the victim and the hero:

Victim’s story

As a child I was miserable, really constantly unhappy, alienated and unloved. My parents were dreadful. My mother was tyrannical and my father spineless. Life at home was a decidedly unhappy affair. School regrettably was not much better. I was not popular. I had very few friends and was terribly afraid of boys, so much so that I had to transfer to a girl’s only school. Things got so bad that  as a young teenager I suffered a nervous breakdown. Miraculously I survived and was able to continue functioning through the intervention of a school councillor. This pattern was pretty consistent throughout my childhood into my young adult hood. Finally in desperation I left home and travelled to another city to make a new start.

Little did I know what life had in store for me…

Hero’s story

I was born into an odd family (to say the least ), from a young age I realised I had little in common with my parents or my siblings. I was, it must be admitted, an unusual child. I was, if you will, ‘gifted’. But it was a gift that came at a price. I was different from my peers and spent much of my youth alone, keeping my own council. At a point it became too much and I suffered an emotional collapse. I was determined though to heal myself and I did, without ever involving my parents. Even at that age I knew I had to take responsibility for my own life, my own welfare and for who I would be one day in the world.

Anyway I did it and from there on I knew what ever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and I became very, very strong. As soon as I was old enough I left home and went out into the world on my own, it was the start of a great adventure….

Now it is important to bear in mind this is the same story[3], the same individual and the same events. What shifts from one story to the other is the archetypal lens that the story is viewed through. The I-tagging is the process of identifying with one or other set of interpreted events.

The Exercise

This exercise is best done with a partner or in a small group. So if you have the opportunity to do this with a group of friends you will maximise the benefit of the exercise. If not you might try it simply as a journaling exercise. In either case after the exercise spend some reflecting on the process and see what it illuminates for you.

There are two ways to proceed here. Both of which are valid and valuable. If you have the time do both.

• The first is to choose a single story, you ‘life story’ or at least a significant portion of it, a significant series of events whose unfolding were definitive in who you have come to believe you are.

• The alternative is to choose different stories suited to each archetype (list to follow) you are working with at the time. This is equally useful.

What is really important though in both cases is that the stories actually occurred. This is not the time to fabricate. Feel free however to embellish and indulge in exaggeration. The truth is we naturaly colour our stories with feeling and tones that lift them above a type of flat journalistic account.

For the purposes of this exercise you will work with four archetypes.[4]

1. The victim

2. The hero

3. The good guy

4. The villain.

The mechanics

• Tell your story from the perspective of, or consciousness of, the archetype you are working with.

•  Follow the order I have listed them in 1 to 4.

• Tell your story from the perspective of only one archetype at a time.

• Devote as much time as circumstances allow, but in a spoken version of the story usually 5 to 7 minutes per archetype should suffice.[5]

• The ideal sequence is tell: then listen[6] tell: then listen and so on, without a break. So you should move through all four archetypes in a single sitting.[7]

A few suggestions to get the most out of this exercise

• Be quite strict with the time. If you settle on say 6 minutes per story, ask your partner to act as time keeper and stop you once you time out, regardless of where you are in the story.

• When listening (NB) don’t interrupt. And do yourself a favour only do this exercise with a good listener.

• Once the telling is complete i.e. all four stories have been told, then you can engage in discussion and reflection on the process and what came up for you.

• Usually the perspective people find most difficult (or claim to anyway) is the villain. Many of us don’t enjoy recognising that we have villainous traits. My advice, simple, get over yourself!

If you engage sincerely in this process it can be, and in my experience is, quite fruitful. I don’t want to say too much and spoil your journey of discovery with it, so I’ll leave it there and allow you to experience the process for yourself.

Have fun and happy storytelling.

Until we speak again.

Stephen.

I recently watched the film The Master, a the second time with Anja (the love of my life). [1]  It is an exceptional movie, well worth a second viewing. The first time I saw it what captured me were the outstanding performances by Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman. The film and the acting have been received with widespread critical acclaim and the biggest opening day ticket sale revenue of an art house film in the States. I would say the performance by Phoenix, an exceptional actor, is his best ever, rarely have I ever seen anything better from anyone. It is set to be a cult film; I would rate it along side Searching for Sugarman as one of the two best films of 2012.

Something else, though, emerged on my second viewing, and that is the topic of this post: specifically the relationship, in the film, between Freddie (Phoenix), a “sex-obsessed alcoholic WW2 veteran suffering from post traumatic stress disorder”[2] and Lancaster Dodd (Hoffman), based on L. Ron Hubbard. The story takes place in 1950, during the early days of the movement called “The Cause” (a.k.a. Scientology).

It is the relationship between these two quite unusual men that the film explores so brilliantly. Dodd is able to see Freddie, presumably see something in Freddie, which no one else is able to see. And in his seeing Freddie in this way, Freddie is able to see himself through Dodd’s eyes and so are we the audience, who stand in, metaphysically, for the world.

The question is what does Dodd see in Freddie? What does he see that starts off as affection but grows into something akin to love?

Freddie is raw instinct. He is, to use Dodd’s terminology, “a silly animal” or “a mischievous animal” or even “an animal that eats its own faeces”. This is artfully depicted in a scene where during “processing” by Dodd, an intense form of psycho-social interrogation, Freddie farts loudly and then bursts out laughing at this, and, despite himself, Dodd is obliged to laugh as well. Dodd attempts to civilise Freddie, to normalise his reactions, or abreactions, so that he can overcome himself and become a normal functioning member of society; or, possibly more to the point, a functioning member of The Cause for which Freddie becomes the test subject.

Dodd is ultimately unsuccessful in this civilising project, Freddie, it seems, is incorrigible. Seen in Freudian terms we might say the struggle between Dodd and Freddie is the struggle between the superego and the id. Freddie resists this civilising influence and remains very much at the level of the Freudian id.  Nevertheless the encounter touches both men and acts as a spiritual balm and challenge from which neither emerges unchanged. As Anja suggested, they were the shadow of each other. Freddie a slave to his passions but free from convention, and Dodd, having successfully sublimated the animal and brought it into the service of the master, is nevertheless now trapped by his own rigid ethos that has been institutionalised and now acts to oppress him, its creator.

There is a scene at the end of the film, Freddie and Dodd’s final encounter, in this life anyway as Freddie suggests, where our two protagonists face other and say their goodbyes. It is a very moving scene, a sublime moment. Dodd sings a song to Freddie which speaks of his love for him. Whilst their love can be reduced to a psychodynamic formula, it would be no less true to say it connects the men in a way which transcends their equally limited perspectives. And in doing this, offers them a moment of communion with what is infinite in man.

The other as a spiritual catalyst

I found in this film an example of an idea I have been grappling with for the last few months: the role of relationships and specifically “the other” i.e. the other person in your encounter with another, in the process of your transformation[3]. How the other can act as a catalyst for your growth, or you for theirs. The much vaunted goal of those in the transformation game, into which category we must surely place psycho-dynamic theory, is naturally transformation. And it occurs to me that the most powerful catalyst to transformation, to emotional, psychological and spiritual growth is no mystery, it is quite obviously our encounters with other people; more specifically, as I imagine it, meaningful relationships with others.

If you take the time to reflect on the most significant moments in your personal history, I would imagine many or most would include a significant encounter with another person. I don’t mean to suggest this as the exclusive agent of transformation, but surely it must rank as one of the most potent catalysts to genuine change and growth.

I think this idea is sometimes lost in the Jungian paradigm. Not entirely of course, the analytical relationship is symbolised as a hermetic container in which the patient can be healed and from which the analyst, too, does not depart unchanged. The analytical relationship is the healing agent. Nevertheless this is framed as the analyst acting as a guide on the analasand’s journey to wholeness. The focus is on the subject, not the relationship. This is understandable within the Jungian myth, for the journey to wholeness, to individuation is seen as a journey inward, into one’s own subjectivity and beyond that into the objectivity of the imaginal or archetypal realm, rather than the inverse. The journey in the external world, our relationships with other flesh and blood people with unique qualities of thier own, is sometimes reduced to a series of projections by the subject.

The Dodd-Freddie relationship, in the film, provides a good example of this transformational dynamic. And, in my opinion, to reduce their interaction to the level of projection would be to miss a critical dimension of that which they encountered in each other and their relationship. This is not to say, naturally, that projection does not, and in their case did not, play a significant role, rather that it is not the entire story.

Love as an agent of transformation

Whilst grappling with this concept I asked the question:

What (exactly) would it take for me to act as an agent or catalyst in your process of individuation?

And, I concede, that prima facia there are several quite credible candidates as possible answers here.

One could, reasonably, suggest, at least from a psychodynamic perspective, that there are any number of issues, complexes and even neuroses that can evolve constructively through any meaningful relationship.  They don’t always naturally, but they can.

Furthermore, as a student of mine suggested, any functional relationship, such as that between educator and student can serve to further the subject’s individuation.

This makes sense.

Nevertheless, the nature of the relationships that interest me here are of a more specific type, the type exemplified by Dodd and Freddie.

What is the alchemical ingredient that needs to be present for one person to wake another up, wake them up to themselves, to their possibilities?

My intuition is it can only be one thing, love.

I believe the only way for me or for anyone else to really touch you, to connect with you at this level, the level where I wake you up to who you are is if I have a profound, I would almost say unconditional, love for you.

Only, love, as I see it, allows me to care sufficiently to make the effort to wake you up, to let you know you who you really are.

Love is, to put it metaphorically, the fuel of this transformational engine.

With this qualification in place, that it is love, and only love, that can act as a transcendent point of connection between two people, we may enquire as to how a process like this actually takes place. What allows or facilitates someone to connect with previously hidden or unconscious dimensions of their being, such that that connection is a catalyst to individuation.

What is it that needs to be recognised and acknowledged?

I suggest that in another which elevates them, which makes them unique and beautiful, that which differentiates them, a transcendent quality.

This may sound simpler to do than it is. Recognising and acknowledging that in the other which makes them genuinely beautiful takes courage, real courage; for in acknowledging and amplifying your light I must be willing to see my own light wane, if only temporarily.

In a sense I must be willing to lose myself so that you may be found.

Also, significantly, in order to do this I must possess the ability to see that which is truly beautiful in another despite their inevitable flaws. In The Master Freddie is anything but perfect. As, Dodd, correctly points out to him, during a heated argument, he (Dodd) is the only person who cares for Freddie. So somehow he is able to see something genuinely worthwhile, worth caring about beneath the surface of Freddie’s highly anti social persona.

Before I’m ever going to be able to recognise and reflect something transcendent in you I would need to have done more than my fair share of work on myself. Without insight, sensitivity, vulnerability and a strong ego such an exchange is unlikely. Whatever else we may seek to criticise in Lancaster Dodd, it speaks for him that he is able to see in Freddie what others are not.

What we are not talking about is flattery. Many have mastered the art of flattery and use it as a manipulative technique, either to poor or better effect, with begin or malevolent intentions. But either way, flattery is the very antithesis of what we are attempting to articulate here.

Finally then, what I think is possibly the most critical point:

An act of this nature is not done for one’s own growth, awakening or individuation. If my act is not a genuine act of love, rather than some form of self-gratification, it belongs to a different class of actions.

When I see you, and what I see is a portal into the infinite, if I  with reverence, humility and courage acknowledge that which I see, the possibility exists that you will wake up to your true self. Anything less is does not constitute an act of love such as I use the term here.

Anja is currently reading Les Lancaster’s Approaches to Consciousness[1] and she told me that, according to Les, we have all been “Jewish-ified” [2]. This idea is based on a claim that in bringing psychoanalysis to the world, Freud was really re-imagining the Jewish tradition of the spoken Torah. As I understand it, the Rabbi’s business was (is) not only the transmission of teaching contained in the Torah, but also an ongoing exposition of his dialectical relationship with the Torah. This exposition would be in the form of commentaries written about the interpretation of the Torah, and is known as the oral or spoken tradition of the Torah. This is how the Rabbi would bring the lofty ideas contained in the Torah into the real world, into his life, and his ongoing struggle to make sense of his life through the lens of his lived religion.

Now is that not the perfect metaphor for the psychoanalytic process?

Lying on the psychoanalyst’s chaise lounge I grapple with the stuff that is my life[3]. Prompted every so often by the disembodied voice of the psychoanalyst to go deeper, search further, to see beyond the veil. In this process I become the Rabbi and my life the bridge between spirit (the ideal) and matter (the lived). In the reflective and dialectical process of analysis I heroically try to reconcile the cultural, social, political, moral and instinctive imperatives in the fabric of my own existence. This process becomes my real religion, to bind together these disparate elements and to do so in such a way that my life makes sense; my own version of the spoken tradition of the Torah.

Going beyond the confines of depth psychology, the reflective process, this meaning making business, is a lens on our lives. It is no longer sufficient merely to live[4], we want our lives to mean something. And it is in the movement from the savage (the lived) to the symbolic (the reflective process) that meaning emerges. At least the meaning, the type of meaning, we are concerned with here. I act in the world or I am the recipient of an act by the world; be that act constructive or deconstructive, generative or non-generative. In itself it means nothing, it is merely another in an infinite series of natural, causal and unconscious acts. It is only when this act lives in me, in my soul as it were, when I make the act conscious through the act of reflection can it be said to mean something.

At least this is the subjective perspective. We can ask if “it” whatever it may be, means something in and of itself. Is it possible to consider whether it[5] is meaningful or meaningless in itself, or is it beyond the characterisation of meaning? Can we meaningfully refer to objective meaning? This question, I imagine, will remain forever mysterious. What we can and do know is that subjectively, phenomenologicaly, meaning is very important for us. We really, really (one may almost say desperately) want our lives to mean something.

We demand meaning.

The roads to meaning are varied, too varied to attempt an exhaustive list. I will focus on only a few elements common to the process.

Meaning through inherited narratives. This is, I think, the most common and ubiquitous route to meaning. We are usually told from a young age what it means to be alive, to be human, to be a man or a woman. And of course all of these narratives are heavily laden with pre-conceived ideas of what it should mean. That is to say that the meaning we are taught has a strong ideological bias. This is the layer of meaning which we are born into and usually, as such, constitutes our default narrative. It is how we are taught to view ourselves and our lives; and accordingly constitutes our first layer of, usually unconscious, meaning.

Meaning through object relations. The relationship between the subject and the objects that populate their world, including other people viewed as objects. Objects capture and contain our instinctive and unconscious drives; objects of desire, of repulsion, objects which are aspired to, held in esteem or attacked. This is possibly the most natural layer of meaning, it is meaning at the level of the given, it is simply there, it is not meaning which has to be wrestled from the stone, so to speak.

Both of the above are essentially unreflective and unconscious. These are states of meaning which we can compare, mythologically, to the meaning available in the Garden of Eden. They are given, no work is required, they exist, at least for the subject, a priori, they are a gift of grace. This is the state of meaning prior to assuming the position on the psychoanalysts couch , be it an actual or metaphorical couch.

At the reflective stage one is obliged to create meaning, often from nothing, where previously meaning was given. At this stage the previous narratives have broken down. They no longer effectively symbolise the savage. A new narrative has to be birthed from the creative and erotic encounter between you as subject and the world as object. This requires first and foremost a deeply felt desire for meaning, one sufficient to drive you beyond the inevitable disappointments along the road; and then, a talent for creative imagination and inspiration, which, if functional, builds a bridge to a new myth, a new narrative, that becomes the vessel of meaning going forward.

This is not to suggest that this process is easy or success guaranteed.

I was chatting to my brother, Michael, whilst working on this post, and he reminded me of something he had mentioned some time ago; a passage from James Hollis, of whom he is a great fan.  Hollis, at a cynical moment, but no less true for that, gives the low down on the psychoanalytic prognosis.

Were therapists required by “truth in advertising” legislation to tell their reality, then virtually no one would enter therapy. The therapist would be obliged to say at least three things in return to the suffering supplicant:

First, you will have to deal with this core issue the rest of your life, and at best you will manage to win a few skirmishes in your long uncivil war with yourself. Decades from now you will be fighting on these familiar fronts, though the terrain may have shifted so much that you may have difficulty recognizing the same old, same old.

Second, you will be obliged to disassemble the many forces you have gathered to defend against your wound. At this late date it is your defences, not your wound, that cause the problem and arrest your journey. But removing these defences will oblige you to feel all the pain of that wound again.

And third, you will not be spared pain, vouchsafed wisdom or granted exemption from future suffering. In fact, genuine disclosure would require a therapist to reveal the shabby sham of managed care as a fraud, and make a much more modest claim for long-term depth therapy or analysis.

Yet, however modest that claim, it is, I believe, true. Therapy will not heal you, make your problems go away or make your life work out. It will, quite simply, make your life more interesting. You will come to more and more complex riddles wrapped within yourself and your relationships. This claim seems small potatoes to the anxious consumer world, but it is an immense gift, a stupendous contribution. Think of it: your own life might become more interesting[6] to you!

Consciousness is the gift, and that is the best it gets.[7]

This is reminiscent of the apocryphal story about a journalist who asks Sergei Pankejeff if 60 years of psychoanalysis (!) cured him. To which Pankejeff replied, no it hadn’t. Pressed by the journalist as to why he persisted with no cure forthcoming, Pankejeff is claimed to have said, it made his life bearable.

There is a description of the Jungian notion of the Self I came across that speaks to this idea:

In a sense, the relation to the self is the [S]elf.

This idea really resonates, a circumambulation of an essentially empty centre, through which meaning and purpose are born. The creative, individuating, force is unlocked through the relatedness of the self to itself. Relatedness becomes the key, rather than the discovery of, or servitude to, an imagined entity named Self. In any case it is, I think, an excellent description of the dynamic through which we become conscious of ourselves and enter our own mythology.

Until we speak again,

Stephen.

I had the opportunity recently of watching the documentary Man on Wire[1]. This was actually the second time I got to watch this, the first time I saw it was a couple of years ago, when it first came out. To the best of my knowledge, this is the same team that gave us Searching for Sugarman.

In Man on Wire, as with Sugarman, what emerges is the story of an extraordinary life; a life which inspires us, a life which transcends the mundane, the prosaic, a heroic life in other words.  A life which I take it is worth writing about and worth reflecting on, not least because it speaks to our ongoing investigation of individuation. That is to say our attempt to understand what it means to be whole, to be self actualised and to understand our vocation.

Story synopsis

Briefly, the documentary follows the events in the life of the tightrope walker, the aptly named Philippe Petit, and his collaborators leading up to the dénouement: this is Philippe and crew illegally rigging a cable spanning the Twin Towers, in 1974, and traversing the Twin Towers on this “wire” eight times, some 110 stories above the ground. “What some consider the artistic crime of the century”[2]. Death defying is a phrase which finds a home here. Of course less kind phrases, such as insane, also come to mind . Philippe does this sans any safety apparatus except a well rigged cable and his consummate skill as a tightrope walker.

There was no safety net.

One misstep, one gust of wind, or any equipment failure and he would have been a dead as that unfortunate soul we all witnessed doing his superman leap from the second Tower during the tragic events of 9/11. Somehow saying he would have died does not seem to fully capture the enormity of the annihilating effect of falling 110 stories to a solid concrete surface, called the Twin Towers curb. Let’s just say that embalming or entering a cryogenic facility would not have been an option. No rather as Phillipe put it, he would simply have stepped into “another life”.

As it happened he made it. He achieved instant worldwide fame and lived to reflect on it as a much older man in the documentary.

Our Hero Speaks

What does doing something like this mean? Why attempt the impossible, the irredeemably reckless and in this case, the illegal?

Well this what Petit has to say about why he did it.

Initially he resists the ‘why’ and is incredulous when asked by the American press “why he did it”. There is no why he says, how can there be, it is the very absence of a why that is definitive of the act, it is one could almost say an anti-why statement, an act which defies the implicit act of control by the superego which uses the why a technique of moderation of constraint.[3]

To defer to another Frenchman Camus, who I gather is our hero’s spiritual mentor[4], the act is savage, an act of spiritual rebellion against the claustrophobia of the symbolic. Nevertheless finally he breaks down and provides us with a why at the end of the documentary.

We [necessarily] need to live in rebellion. On the edge of life. Where our every act is as if we’re walking on a tightrope.

But WHY goddamnit, why do we need to live like that?

Because it is only then that we are truly alive. Playing it safe, or calculating as Henry Miller puts it, is not living. Living is something else entirely. The bloody problem is somehow so many of us have convinced ourselves that life is a preparation for the real thing. Like waiting to open a Coca Cola,  we are constantly at the point just prior to taking the first long thirst quenching sip on a hot day, standing there perspiring and hoping like hell the bottle stays sealed.

Sealed for what, for whom, for what eventuality exactly we may ask? Listen I’ll let you in on a little secret, none of us are getting out of here alive! No matter how goddamn careful we are, no matter how carefully we lay our plans. The end I’m afraid, is certain. Life is not a mystery novel in that sense, or if it is we know only too well how it ends.

What we have is a series of moment’s in-between now and then, that’s all nothing more. That I think, is what our intrepid Frenchman got so well and that is what gave him the courage to shut out at the stony universe:

I’m am here you bloody bastard and in this act I liberate myself, I transcend myself, I actualise myself and what I do I do not only on my behalf but on the behalf of all men past, present and future. I act so as to free myself. I commit myself to this act as an act of spiritual revolt!

And let us say that Philippe had fallen to his death, been obliterated, wiped out and never heard from again. What, I ask you, would he have lost?

Well his life naturally enough. Now if like me you share the intuition that this life may very well be all we ever given, then admittedly to die prematurely, to be cruelly cut down in one’s prime, is a significant loss. Nevertheless it is also precisely the reason that act is raised above the prosaic. I suggest we have something very valuable to learn from our intrepid tightrope walker, or dancer as the New York cop who witnessed the act, prior to arresting him described him:

He tells us life must be lived on the edge, on a tightrope so to speak, we need to live in rebellion. This I think is an important clue. It is only in the act of (spiritual) rebellion that truly unlocks the value of what life offers us. To live as those beneath him that fateful day did, those on the streets beneath the Twin Towers, toing and froing like so many unconscious sheep, living in fear, never daring to ascend to such dizzying heights – is that really living or is it just existing?

Petit does offer us lesser mortals’ redemption though, and that was clear from the narratives of his collaborators. In his act we can all participate, the mere act of looking up of craning ones neck to see so high, in itself, constitutes an act of redemption and as such of liberation. Like all genuinely heroic acts the hero acts for all, not only himself.

However, consider, correspondingly, your life is lived for all as well, not only for little old you. In as much as you rise above the mundane, the prosaic and the pettiness of life, we all do, and in as much as you do not none of us do.

The disease of contemporary society, in the West particularly I believe, is the idea that our lives belong to us. In South Africa we speak of Ubuntu which roughly translates as the brotherhood of man. Properly understood it is precisely this invocation, that my life is lived not only for myself but for you, that impels me to rise above myself and not to fall unconscious.

What does it mean to live without a safety net?

A few years ago I was given the opportunity to act in an Anthroposophicaly inspired play, The Flood[5]; it was a contemporary version of Noah’s Ark. I acted the role of the archangel Michael and at an appropriate point in the story gave Noah the following advice.

Scene: Archangel Michael talking to Noah

[...]

NOAH: Just say that again.

MICHAEL: All right. Here are two tall buildings. Between them is a tightrope. You are in the crowd below, watching. You know that soon it will be your turn to walk that tightrope, but you aren’t frightened because there, waiting to catch anyone who falls, is a safety net. Up you go when it’s your turn, up you go to where the rope starts. But when you get there, the safety net has disappeared. So now you have to find the courage to walk the rope without being able to see the safety net.

NOAH: OK, I get it. But will everything be all right?

MICHAEL: No guarantees – remember?

NOAH:    Wait! Haven’t you got any advice?

MICHAEL: Trust your instincts, Noah, not outward appearances. You are a human being – and that is something very great and very strong – only a human being can save the world[6]

Now admittedly this has a very grand sound to it. Most of us do not envision ourselves as being in the world saving business[7]. Nevertheless, I suggest, the same principle applies to saving our selves. We need to find that well of faith, if you will, which we can draw on to traverse the abyss, to cross to the other side and in so doing to articulate our destiny.

Lessons from a little man with big spirit

1. Dare not only to dream, but to dream big. Very few things cannot be accomplished if your desire is sincere. Remember though there is a world of difference between a genuine desire and a whim. Only a genuine desire will provide you with the energy to reach beyond yourself.
2. Real, meaningful achievement is not accomplished overnight nor is it impulsive. Petit trained his entire life for that moment. He committed himself to a way of life a dream, a passion an image and he gave everything even to the point of being willing to give his life. What you want, what you are about, is not so much in what you say it is but rather in what your life shows it to be – the question to consider is where has and where does your energy go, this is the avenue that is open to you. It is vain to believe we can choose our desires, they choose us.
3. The realisation of Petit’s goal was meticulously and methodically planned and executed. Greatness is not spontaneous, impulsive or compulsive, it is the conscious application of our minds, souls and bodies to the chosen task. Certainly risk everything, but do it with your eyes wide open and give yourself every chance of success.

Until we speak again,

Stephen.

Sugar man met a false friend
On a lonely dusty road Lost my heart when I found it
It had turned to dead black coal

Silver magic ships you carry
Jumpers, coke, sweet Mary Jane

Sugar man you’re the answer
That makes my questions disappear
Sugar man ‘cos I’m weary
Of those double games I hear

Sugar man, Sugar man, Sugar man, Sugar man,
Sugar man, Sugar man, Sugar man

Sugar man, won’t you hurry
‘Cos I’m tired of these scenes
For the blue coin won’t you bring back
All those colors to my dreams[1]

A few days ago I watched the documentary movie, Searching for Sugarman. I tell you candidly, I wept. It was one of the most poignant cinematic stories I have ever seen. Very briefly, it is a semi biographical piece of the singer-songwriter Sixto Rodriguez aka. Sugarman. Rodriguez released two albums in the early seventies Cold Fact and Coming from Reality in the very early seventies. They were both dismal failures, I mean really, really bad as Clarence Avant put it

“I think it [Coming from Reality] sold 6 copies in the States. I bought one, my wife bought one…”

Ironically though, of all the places in the world, Rodriguez found an audience in South Africa, here he was massive bigger than the Rolling Stones or Elvis. And twenty six years after his still born music career was buried, in 1998, two intrepid South African music aficionados found him and resurrected the artist Rodriguez. Today as a man of seventy he is touring and alive and kicking[2]!

It is always going to be difficult to put into words something that touches you as deeply as this touched me, but let me say what I can, as inadequate as that is bound to be. It is on one level a very, very, sad story. Rodriguez, whose song writing skills were the province of genius by any measure, possessed a haunting voice and an authentic artistic charisma, not unlike Jim Morison, was effectively never seen, and never heard. He never even made it onto the radar, despite having released two albums produced and backed by serious music industry heavyweights. With this failure to launch as an artist, Sixto goes back to doing what he did before, hard manual labour, a very modest (to put it euphemistically) and simple life, unknown and unrecognised.

Twenty six years later… as a man now well into his fifties, he gets to experience redemption and a rebirth as an artist in South Africa. There is a scene, shot on his daughter’s home camera, where he is standing in front of an audience of around 10 000 people at the Cape Town Velodrome. He is on stage, before playing a note, and the audience are on their feet just screaming and applauding wildly as he stands there, and this goes on for at least five minutes. It is a transcendent moment. It is the moment, as Riaan Malan put it,

“It is the moment we all dream about, when the world finally recognises your talent. How many of us die without ever having experienced that moment?”

But, I ask you, does a moment make a life? In fairness it should be acknowledges that it was not a single moment but a growing series of moments, after 98, wherein Rodriguez was give the opportunity to express himself as an artist and receive due recognition. Since the movie, his fame has finally grown even in the States, if very modestly. He is now a man of seventy.

What does his story mean?

Firstly I conceded that the very idea of looking for a meaning presupposes certain questionable assumptions, i.e. that life is inherently meaningful –many claim it is not. Still whether that meaning is a creation of our mind or an objective truth, I think we are called to ask and answer such a question- a kind of categorical imperative in Kant’s terms.

So did Rodriguez miss his destiny?

Does it make sense to say that someone missed their destiny? I think it does, if we mean by destiny the idea of an ‘ideal destiny’, roughly Jung’s idea of individuation. There is a notion, that comes from the Japanese author Murukami, of a moment in each person’s life where he either seizes his destiny or sees it pass by. There is something really unpleasant about this idea that causes us to want to reject it outright, and yet I sense a truth in it, if not the truth.

Maybe, just maybe, Rodriguez missed his destiny. Certainly if the producers and music executives interviewed in the documentary are to be believed he did, and it was an absolute mystery to them why.

I think there is something deeply mysterious about this idea. The idea of having a ‘destiny’ or going further let’s say an ‘ideal destiny’. This leads me to wonder about Jung’s idea of individuation. What is individuation? Ostensibly it is:

A person becoming himself, whole, indivisible and distinct from other people and collective psychology (though also in relation to these).[3]

But we might ask how exactly does one become whole and distinct? Is it not through the realisation of who one is, the idea of becoming oneself in the world? What purpose would it serve, for example, if one were to become ‘whole and distinct’ in one’s living room and never speak that truth into the world. Or sing it as in Rodriguez’ case.

For many years I thought I understood this idea. But I must concede that the more I ponder on it the less I feel as though I have really understood it. There is, as you have no doubt encountered in your own circle of friends, or acquaintances[4], a populist idea that whatever has happened is what was supposed to happen, i.e. I am exactly where I am meant to be, that sort of thing.

That idea has never really resonated for me. If it were true it would seem to undermine all our endeavours to improve ourselves. If whatever happens we say – well that is exactly what was ‘supposed’ to happen, then what, I ask you, is the whole point. No I think that is, more than likely, a way of our wishing to comfort ourselves, make peace with our fate whatever that may be.

Still that leads us back then to the idea of something more than fate, destiny perhaps. So returning to Rodriguez, can we possibly say he missed his destiny?

Somehow I want to say no I don’t think we can say that he did. On the contrary, I think, he realised his destiny. Of course that would be to imply that he had by conventional standards a pretty shitty destiny. A lifetime of hard manual labour in the desolate and dissolute city that is Detroit. A life where his enormous talent is unrecognised. Where he is not given to the opportunity for self-actualisation as an artist. A life lived on the breadline and often on the streets, moving from home to home, or house to house as his daughter put it, many of these houses not deserving the title – home. And then finally what, old age and decrepitude, the inexorable hand of time that robs him as it will all of us of the beauty and grace of our youth.

And yet, and yet despite all of that I somehow continue to believe he realised his destiny. And not because he was given a moment of redemption as an old man, a moment to stand on the stage and be recognised. No I think it’s something deeper than that.

There is a section in the documentary where a colleague of Rodriguez talks about his (i.e. Rodriguez’) fate. I cannot quote it verbatim, but it is along the following lines.

 He says Rodriguez was a consummate artist; he had the soul of the artist, always able to rise above the mundane, the parochial. He would come for example to a day of filthy dirty, messy, physical labour dressed in a suit, and work as hard or harder than any other man on the team, in fact doing work no one else wanted to do. As he put it, Rodriguez is like the silkworm, he took what life gave him and he made something better out of it, something refined, something beautiful, something transcendent, maybe even something eternal- he gave us Sugarman. Have you done something like that, he asks?

But still, you know, I find it difficult. To see this once beautiful man, an almost ethereal being, now old and still walking alone on the snowy roads of Detroit, walking with the difficulties of old age- man that’s tough.

And yet if I really think about it, I have to say it is that very vulnerability, it is in that vulnerability that he transcends himself. His lyrics come alive in a way they never could had he not lived the life he did. He lived the life and the truth that he sang of. It is a sad truth admittedly.

Cause I lost my job two weeks before Christmas
And I talked to Jesus at the sewer
And the Pope said it was none of his God-damned business
While the rain drank champagne

My Estonian Archangel came and got me wasted
Cause the sweetest kiss I ever got is the one I’ve never tasted
Oh but they’ll take their bonus pay to Molly McDonald,
Neon ladies, beauty is that which obeys, is bought or borrowed[5]

But is it not beautiful, beautiful in a form that could never have been unveiled in any other way.

I am old enough now, I’m 45 at the time of writing this post, that whilst I still have limited access to the vitality of my youth, I simultaneously have a sufficient maturity to recognise the impending hand of time bearing down on me. And maybe what I want to say is simply a way I have developed of coming to terms with own aging. Still with that caveat in place let me say this:

I think there is a beauty in the aging process if one is only able to recognise it. God knows it’s not easy in our youth obsessed culture. But an aspect of the person, an essential aspect, can only reveal itself with age and the accompanying maturity. Growing older, frailer and being deprived of certain earlier competencies is after all a fundamental part of being human.

The thought occurred to me whilst working on this post that we should strive to see the entire person, not just the youth. Why should we prize the one so highly at the expense of the other, when both constitute who we are? I have resolved to look with different eyes so that I see the old men my sons will become[6], and the young woman my mother in law once was.

Somehow I believe Rodriguez’ story speaks to this theme. That failure, pain and vulnerability are equally valuable aspects of the human condition as their opposites. That whilst we all strive to succeed, whatever that may be, we should not in the same breadth disavow failure – we are, after all, all destined to grow old and die[7], that one could argue is the greatest metaphysical failure of all. And it is in the acceptance of this pain, of the very absurdity of our fate, that we have the possibility of transcendence.

Until we talk again,

Blessings and salutations,

Stephen.

I have a butterfly in a bottle on my desk. It is not a real butterfly, it is fake. There is a wire attached to it and it is battery operated. When you tap the top of the bottle, the butterfly flutters and flies and flaps its wings. It is absolutely convincingly real.

I LOVE it!

I am fascinated by it and it is a symbol for me.
Perhaps it is the ingenuity of the design, or the fact that it is so believable. I would love to be able to create something like that. Maybe it is because the butterfly is trapped and can’t escape. I can really relate to that feeling sometimes. It could be that the butterfly contains the idea of transformation.

I am not sure what it is exactly though. It could be a symbol of creativity, ingenuity, freedom, change – any one of these could be the cause of my love for this little gadget.

Signs vs Symbols

When we see images, logos, numbers, anything that we know what it means immediately, e.g. a stop sign or a McDonald sign, it is a sign, not a symbol. A sign is exactly what you see, nothing more. The meaning is obvious, i.e. if it is a stop sign, you need to stop. A sign has no energy that keeps enticing you to entertain it in your mind. It is an object like so many in our environment.

A symbol, however has 3 distinct characteristics:

• It has a meaning beyond the obvious
• It evokes and emotional response from you
• It imbues you with energy

Characteristic 1: Meaning beyond the obvious

A symbol’s most significant characteristic is that you are not fully aware of what it means to you. So the number 13 could be a sign, if it refers to the number of items. But if you believed it to be bad luck and you avoid it at all costs, it would be a symbol.
Let’s say your lucky number is 35. You always choose that number if you are asked to choose a number, and perhaps you have a screensaver with the number 35 on it. It is a symbol, because you cannot clearly state why you believe it to be lucky or why you favour that number. Perhaps there is a memory attached to it, but it has some meaning other than the number of items it represents.

Characteristic 2: Emotive content

The second indication which points to something carrying symbolic meaning for you is emotion. When you experience positive or negative emotion towards an object, image, pet, book, movie, series, etc, then there is symbolic meaning in it for you. It can sweep you away, entice you, fascinate you, mesmerize you, but it evokes a definite reaction from you.

Characteristic 3: Energizing the psyche

One of the most important uses of symbols are that they energize the psyche. Consciousness cannot create psychic energy. What I mean by psychic energy is that type of energy that revitalizes you, that infuses you with enthusiasm and moves you. That type of energy you have when you are excited about a new project and jump out of bed in the morning. Or you meet a new lover and all you think about is them. Or you are dealing with a frustrating problem and you spend nights thinking about it. This energy is created by the unconscious and appears as symbols to us.

If you have a problem, you may talk to your friends about it, you think about it, you daydream about the solution, you try to look for a solution by Googling all kinds of stuff and the list goes on. This process can take days, weeks, months and even years. I can guarantee you that unless you find a symbol that energizes you, you will not move, you will stay stuck. These symbols are gifts from God in a way, they are acts of Grace.

I find that when I have to write a blog and I don’t have a symbolized idea to write about, it is like pulling teeth. Painful and excruciating! But when I am inspired and my symbol pulses with energy, I will write my blog in 40 minutes and love every moment of it.

Our Unique Mythology

I recently heard someone talking about how they always speak to their friends about their problems and hope that they get some solution from them. Of course they get loads of suggestions but nothing sounds right, until one person says something that just hits home and the penny drops. It may not have been different to the other suggestions, but the way it was put, the phrasing of it, that worked. This is what I am talking about – an image that resonates.

Symbols come in many shapes and forms. It can be something you saw or read. It can be an idea or ideal. It can be a song that is stuck and repeats itself over and over again in your head (this is apparently an earworm ).

Think about your favourite food. It is full of symbolism for you. If you are a health nut, your favourite food may be Sushi. When you eat your Sushi, it will fill you with feelings of being healthy and nutritious. You have added years to your life, you are kind to your body, or add here whatever you feel it does for you. Sushi is a symbol to you, because when you eat it, you take in more than nori and rice and avo and salmon. What about your favourite painting or book or actor. They all represent something that you can’t explain consciously. You may think that you know, but there is a lot going on for you that you are unaware of.

Each one of us carry these symbols with us and relate to them in a very personal and intimate way. No one else can understand how your symbols affect you and move you. These symbols make up your mythology, your story that you find yourself in and that defines you on an individual level.

But not all symbols are benevolent in the sense of our experience of them. Imagine the symbol of a drug in someone’s psyche. The high that you have when you spike Heroin is called “Chasing the Dragon”. That is obviously a symbol of some type of experience which you cannot truly know. This type of symbol could shatter the ego. The symbol becomes stronger than the ego and the underlying complex possess the individual.

The Symbolic Way

Symbols have the power to move us into the future. Whether we are stuck or find ourselves in a dilemma or are just going about our lives, these symbols contain a promise of something new in the future.

Often we are desperate for a sign, but instead we receive a symbol. If you are able to recognize the image (idea/song/fantasy) as a symbol and not a sign, the unconscious will send you something new that will move you along to a better solution. The symbolic way allows for the possibility of real change and growth in the psyche by allowing something new to emerge.

This is the magic of the symbol.

If you have any wish to transform or grow or change, these symbols are key to the process. Sometimes they lie within us for years before we give them attention, but other times they are nowhere to be found and the only way to get hold of them is to engage in the world and hope that you get the image from someone, something or somehow.

Until next time.
Anja