Author Topic: Reflections on Archetype Revisited and a Jungian Biologism  (Read 13421 times)

Matt Koeske

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Reflections on Archetype Revisited and a Jungian Biologism
« on: July 12, 2007, 03:06:22 PM »
What was originally meant to be a book review of Anthony Stevens' book Archetype Revisited: An Updated Natural History of the Self has turned into a mini magnum opus in its own right.  I reacted to, digressed from, and generally circumambulated my feelings regarding this book and its ideas for a couple days . . . and as of the product of this process (or for its possibly nauseating spiraling), I apologize.  My guess is that it will be sloppy, repetitive, and overwhelming . . . but it seems to have become a microcosm of all my current thinking on Jungian psychology.

To rework it into a more coherent or definitive form would take some time.  I have recently started thinking about forming my thoughts into a book.  I wasn't sure which book to write first, though.  Should it be a book about Jungian biologism?  Should it be a book rationalizing the mysticism of the second opus?  A book about the Jungian shadow?  A book about the anima work?  I didn't know which would leap forward first (and I wasn't pushing anything out, just "waiting and seeing".  Then, a couple days ago, I was informed that there is a chance of me getting a small promotion at work, should I want to change positions and get a little more ambitious.  Though flattered to be given this opportunity, my gut reaction was, "No,no, no!  I need to write my book!  And if I get invested in a more demanding, ambitious job, I won't have the time or energy to write it."  But I'm not so out of touch with practical reality that I would jeopardize the respect and trust my department shows in me unthinkingly.  Can I say no without sacrificing that respect and trust?

As I wrestled with this, I kept coming back to: "But you have to write your book, and this is the time to write it!"  "Well then yes," I had to conclude, "If this is my time to be writing a book, then I better get off my ass and start doing it."  How else could I justify making a potentially destructive occupational decision.  I can't turn down a graciously offered job opportunity just because I'm lazy, unambitious, and like hanging out on the web all day.

Thus, my "book review" turned into a treatise . . . quite unintentionally (as I rarely write with significant purpose and usually only "let it rip").  And perhaps I should take this as a sign.  Why has all of my thinking come together in this post as if to say, "Here I am, your outline, ready to go!"?  Not really an "outline" so much as a prospectus, an abstract of a larger work.  Regrettably, this is not the book I wanted to write first.  This is a magnum opus, and I feel in no way ready to take on such a project.  I had thought that something more limited, maybe a short book on the anima work, would be better to start with.  Something I had already gotten my mind around pretty well . . . not something I had to incubate as it incubated me.

So I'm not sure what I'll do about this.

But, for now, please take the following as an overblown abstract of the potential rough draft of a book.  The book might be called something like "Evolutionary Pressure on the Modern Individual" or "The Individuality Instinct and the Problem of the Modern" . . . or something more poetic since those titles both portend something very scholarly with lots of research and painstaking citation, and I'm intimidate by such an organizational and scholarly feat.  If I could only hire researchers to help me, I'd be set!  But the amount of reading and cataloging of references required to do scholarly justice to such a project could take me years.  I get about 20-60 minutes to read before bed every night (if I have the energy and before I become too tired to process language and thought) . . . and I'm a slow reader in general.

And believe me, lest I whine at you a second time!

In any case, my circumambulative prospectus will follow.

Yours,
Matt
You can always come back, but you can’t come back all the way.

   [Bob Dylan,"Mississippi]

Matt Koeske

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Re: Reflections on Archetype Revisited and a Jungian Biologism
« Reply #1 on: July 12, 2007, 04:58:19 PM »

Jungian Biologism and Jungian Imaginalism as The Opposites

I recently read Anthony Stevens' book Archetype Revisited: An Updated Natural History of the Self.  This is a 2003 revision of the book Archetype that was published in 1982.  1982!  This is a book that makes a very scholarly case for the parallelism of Jungian archetypal psychology and contemporary evolutionary biology . . . and it does it well before the trend of popularized evolutionary psychology publication in the latter 1990s.  I simply found this astounding.  Astounding not only (or even primarily) because Stevens was on the sociobiological ball so early, but because the field (can we even call it a "field" without muffling a faint snicker?) of Jungian psychology has remained almost entirely ignorant of the leaps forward in the understanding of human psychology that came from contemporary evolutionary biologists and psychologists.  At least this has been the case until perhaps the turn of this century.  Now there are maybe a dozen writers who have discussed the parallels between Jungian theories and evolutionary biology (Stevens lists them!).  Stevens also mentions that, of this group, only two (or three?) are Jungians!  The rest are from other fields.

But as Steven's demonstrates in his book, Jung's understanding of the biological, instinctual nature of the "archetype-as-such" predated similar theories coming out of other fields (anthropology, primarily) by at least 15 years.  In other words, Jung was making his phenomenological study of archetypes (as we experience them) for decades before evolutionary psychology was even granted a name or a notion of existence.

Of course, those of us Jungians (a distinct minority) who admire the progressiveness of gnostic investigations of the psyche  (as Jung himself surely did) have cause to groan about this mockery of ossification in Jungian thinking . . . as Stevens does (albeit more gracefully than more poetically inclined folks like me could manage).  Still, the issue is much more complicated than this.  Yes, Jungians have been intellectually lazy, demonstrated a distinct lack of scientific rigor (or at times, blatant ignorance), and failed to innovate or effectively revise or nurture Jung's thinking.  Fingers, indeed, should be wagged  (-)scold(-) in our general direction.  And yes, this failure has come as a result of dogmatic doctrinization and ideological taboo . . . as a result of unconsciousness and religiosity or blind belief that is in no way conducive to Jung's ideals of individuation.  Jungian innovation has almost entirely come from the "imaginal heretics" who have more amorously embraced postmodernist cultural construction theories (founded, to cut through the bullshit and say it how it is [and how Stevens and Steven Pinker also say it], on the outdated notion of the "Blank Slate").  Strong thinkers like James Hillman and Wolfgang Giegerich who generally reject all scientific, biological notions Jung put forth and feel the psyche should be studied only in a more philosophical and aesthetic style.  In other words, psyche and matter are two entirely distinct things to these imaginalists . . . a division which is (in my opinion) another way of asserting the "Ghost in the Machine" idea of "ensoulment".  Ensoulment beliefs tend to necessitate some kind of metaphysics . . . which Hillman and Giegerich do their best to dance around with poststructuralist linguistic tangos.

It isn't easy for me to express my position on these issues . . . because as far as I am aware, there is no sub-school or sect of Jungian thinking to which my theories comfortably belong.  I admire much of the writing of James Hillman and some of Giegerich's.  They are indeed the superior (to most Jungians) intellectuals they cast themselves as.  And they are right to recognize that rigorous philosophical thinking is generally lacking in Jungian psychology . . . and that more of this rigor could help catalyze innovation and development of Jungian thinking.  What Hillman and Giegerich seem to be inadequately aware of (as many non-Jungian academics also remain, somehow, unaware) is that cultural construction theories and linguistically labyrinthine poststurcturalist manifestos are trends that have been waning for years now and will almost definitely "go extinct" in the future.  They are perpetuated by cults of personality and loyal, ambitious disciples in academia . . . not by evidence or even usefulness (beyond their use as indoctrination tools for said cultic personalities and ambitious disciples).  The liberal arts are distinctly divided on this issue.  Many professors see poststructuralist philosophy as a dangerous infection in academic culture.  But the advocates tend to use their graduate students as thug enforcers.

If we turned a sociobiological eye on these PoMo cults in academia, we would more clearly see how innovation and questioning of sacred beliefs are held strictly taboo in their creeds.  We would also see that cultic indoctrination of graduate students is a very powerful force in academia.  Grad students frequently have to submit to their advisors' belief systems and evangelical agenda or pay severe consequences (their careers in academia).  And belief is most effectively spread in "adolescent" (or uninitiated) peer groups where the power of conformity mates passionately with the abundant opportunity for imitation and competition.

But Giegerich and Hillman (and their fellows and followers) perhaps don't realize this divide in academic liberal arts is THE major problem or "complex of Opposites" of the contemporary academic psyche . . . because Jungians have been shut out of academia for so long they cannot any longer differentiate one academic trend or belief from another.  To Jungians like Hillman and Giegerich, academic thinking is a kind of Orientalism, another Eastern philosophy to be sampled lasciviously like a lovely dim sum (all entirely gratis!).  That is, anyone (here I speak from personal experience) trying to bring Jungian thinking into academic endeavors will inevitably face a certain amount of ostracization for such heresy.  The situation forces one to think very carefully and consciously about the ultimate compatibility of Jungian thinking with prevailing academic (poststructuralist) thinking.  The poststructuralists are not falling over themselves to read Hillman and Giegerich.  They would not suffer Jungians . . . even Jungians "bearing gifts".

But Hillman and Giegerich try to pawn off third-rate poststructuralist mumbo-jumbo on Jungians.  It's like selling disease-ridden blankets to Native Americans in order to get their land.  The real message in the shadow of the imaginalists' convoluted linguisticism is, "Here.  Take this.  You are too dumb to realize its not good for you."  Of course, I'm being pretty harsh.  Not every blanket offered to us by Hillman and Giegerich is infested with disease.  The problem is that there is a kind of self-imposed ignorance in the imaginalists regarding the culture from which such thinking and writing styles have evolved.  This is an ignorance of the shadow.  Schools of thought have baggage . . . as all beliefs do.  And the imaginalists have not inspected this baggage before bringing it back to the Jungian tribe in full culture hero regalia.

On the opposite side of the coin from the imaginalists, then, we will find Anthony Stevens.  It is almost always the case in the universe of shadow projection among intellectual tribes that the flaws of the Other are quite clearly recognized . . . while one's own flaws go unobserved or repressed.  In this spirit the imaginalists look upon Stevens (I wish I could attribute a school to him, but alas, he is only an individual in this battle) and Stevens looks upon the imaginalists each with penetrating scrutiny of the other.  The flaws of each party are generally well-elaborated by that party's opponent.  The notion that shadow projection is, of itself, entirely false in its characterization of the Other is only wishful thinking.  Sometimes some of the negative projections and characterizations are quite accurate . . . but they are prejudicial in that they do not include the "whole story" of the Other and are tinged (if not saturated) with hypocrisy.

So my position is in some random foxhole out in No Man's Land between two armed forces in conflict with one another.  I see positives and negatives in the imaginalist doctrine while also seeing positives and negatives in Stevens' biological doctrine.  This is not an issue of one side being right while the other is wrong.  This polarization of Opposites requires a Third Thing to be synthesized.  It is doubtful that Stevens will start listening to Hillman or vice versa . . . but it is to their mutual deficit that this will probably remain so.  These ideological polarizations do eventually begin to bore those of us caught in the cross fire.  We know that, should we pop out of our foxholes for a look-see, whichever army's sniper spots us will identify us as the enemy.

The kind of synthetic thinking required to unite these Opposites in a Third is, in other words, enormously treacherous.  It is not so much the severely limited hope of attaining "professional viability" with such tabooed sytheticism that looms over us.  The greatest danger to the synthecist-and-heretic comes from his or her own shadow.  There is a lot of impassioned, complex, conflicting information to juggle and sort.  It's the kind of task that fairytale and myth heroes and heroines can only accomplish with the grace of animal helpers . . . who can sort the peas adequately.  We individuals, proud as we might be, are not Heracles.  For such inhuman labors, we must simply hope the instinctual process of conjunction can be adequately wooed and surrendered to.  The birds and beasts of the instinctual unconscious can accomplish these labors that no ego (burdened with the shackles of working memory and the limitations to raw intelligence) ever could.

In other words, there is no Zeus-thrown shaft of truth that will streak down from the heavens and crack open the exact middle where the coniunctio should be.  The scales must sway eternally back and forth as data is collated and valuated.

This is what I'd like to set in motion regarding Anthony Stevens' Archetype Revisited.  The imaginalists have had their day.  We know what they think.  They made their offering . . . and it was good, mostly.  But now its time for the contender to weigh in.  Which is to say, it does not seem to me a valid fight to pit Jungian biologism against Jungian imaginalism (or spiritualism, for that matter).  The first offering from the biologists has clearly surpassed the gift the imaginalists toted in.  In other words, there is no doubt whatsoever in anyone except a blind fundamentalist of Jungian spiritualism or imaginalism that the so-called collective unconscious and its archetypes are biologically valid constructs.  The evidence (although I frankly feel it should be overtly apparent based on common sense alone) Stevens provides for this is abundant enough to make a mockery out of any contest.

But that is simply not the point.  That is not the real issue at hand as far as the future usefulness and even survival of Jungian psychology goes.  It is a sad state of affairs that Stevens (probably rightly) feels he has to amass the fundamental evidence so monumentally, just to convince the typical Jungian to even take notice.  Be that as it may, the conflict between biology vs. no-biology is moot . . . as moot as the conflict between evolution and creation.  I.e., creationists don't believe in creationism for rational, scientific reasons (intelligent design's contortionism not withstanding) . . . and no amount of rational, scientific reason (or presentation of hard evidence) is going to convince them or satisfy their deeper need to feel that they have been created by God.  Rationalism cannot replace the sense of meaning creationism gives the creationist.  All the Letters to a Christian Nation Sam Harris can write will never make any difference, because the believer wants to believe and will never take a lousy penny in exchange for his or her hard earned dollar . . . because, no matter how idiotic s/he might be by the characterization of the aggressively-atheist community, the believer knows value.  That is, the value of belief.

In much the same way, the largely spiritualistic Jungian community will not give a second glance to the wooden nickel of biologism as an offer to buy them off of spiritualism.  It's simply a bum deal, and only arrogance on the part of the biologists could lead them to imagine that the spiritualists are so ignorant and enfeebled that they would accept such snake oil.  The issue for those Jungians intrigued by biological implications of Jungian theory, then, must not be that biology is incorporated into Jungian psychology, but how it is incorporated.

We would do well to refrain from getting caught up in the glee of realizing archetypes are instincts that therefore evolved naturally and adaptively . . . and move on to the much more complex and important problem of how we should think about our experience of archetypes (knowing they are adapted instincts) and what we should do to effectively relate to them.  Archetypes have always been instincts.  Yes, even before we started to realize this.  It is not as if we have just been given stone tablets from God precisely dictating our proper behavior.

And this is where Anthony Stevens pulls a Moses.  He stomps down from the revelation of his biological Sinai and wants to eradicate the cult of the Golden Calf.  As if, suddenly, we know what we should do to live a happy, fruitful life now that we know the name of God is "Instinct".  But in the hapless population of exodized, wandering Jungians there is an old saying: "Meet the new boss.  Same as the old boss."

 ***
« Last Edit: July 12, 2007, 05:13:09 PM by Matt Koeske »
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Matt Koeske

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Re: Reflections on Archetype Revisited and a Jungian Biologism
« Reply #2 on: July 12, 2007, 05:40:49 PM »

Forecast for a Future Biologism: Human Self-Deification and Natural Complexity

Now, Stevens' opponents have cast similar criticisms, basically saying that they did fine with their therapeutic practices before they knew (or without knowing) that archetypes were instincts.  Why then should they take notice of this "regime change"?  Stevens answers this charge logically and stoically, contending that Jungian therapy (or as he calls his formulation of it, Evolutionary Psychiatry) should concentrate on helping patients find or create environments (or attitudes) that serve their instinctual needs.  Yes, no doubt.  But this strikes me as excessively simplistic (of course, in his book on Evolutionary Psychiatry, we would expect more detail to be given).

Whether we need to "find a good religion" or "serve our instincts" is hardly the problem.  The problem is how to do either today, in modern society, and without oppressing or otherwise harming other individuals around us.  Jungian biologism, taken as a therapeutic religion, is just as apt to implode in utopianism as any other ideological decree of "what's good for the goose . . . ."  In other words, not only should we, but can we constructively conform our behaviors to our instincts, here, today in the modern world?  Is this really how instinct (as a prod for adaptive behavior) works?

I think not.  Instincts, in all species, have evolved in reaction to specific environments, have evolved in order to adapt these species to these specific environments.  It is basic evolutionary dogma that our species reached its current state of biological evolution in primitive hunter-gatherer groups.  Our ancestors, over two-million years ago, lived in small hunter-gatherer groups.  They made simple tools like stone axes.  They left few artifacts behind that help us understand their "culture" (or lack thereof).  What we know is that, in modern times, a few hunter-gatherer tribes remain/ed . . . and also that our closest evolutionary ancestors, the great apes, are still around.  We can observe both of these forms of society and postulate that 2.5 million years ago, our ancestors were living in a culture somewhere between that of apes and that of modern hunter-gatherers on the sophistication continuum.

But homo sapiens evolved only about 250,000 years ago.  There is arguable (but as yet insubstantial) evidence that we actually made another evolutionary leap about 40,000 years ago in the Upper Paleolithic . . . because only then did we start showing signs of innovation, creativity, religiosity, and perhaps altered social configuration.  The tribalistic, hunter-gatherer instinct well antedates our "humanness".  I believe we ought to exercise extreme caution in seeing this particular social formulation as our "where we belong".  If we want to select a 2.5 million year old pre-human instinct to construct our true Eden from, why not some other, even older instinct?  Why not an alpha-chimp hierarchy, for instance?  Is that any "less human"?  We see such patristic pecking orders all the time, especially in adolescent, peer-competitive enclaves like jr. high schools and the business world.  So, yeah, that is "in us", too.

Choosing the ideal human condition based on evolutionary state or environment of evolutionary adaptedness is a fallacy, and a dangerous one at that.  It's a spin of the wheel of fortune.  Am I a dominant or submissive chimp?  Am I a stone tool maker?  Am I a cave painter?  Or am I Cain, the Fallen, fratricidal agriculturalist?

I contend (by no means originally) that the problem with humankind is that it is always looking for a way to change the environment to suit its unexamined, undeveloped, unconscious instincts (and instinctual desires) rather than looking for a way to adapt its instincts to its environment.  Stevens, modern man though he may be, is falling into the same fallacy in his desire to conform human behavior to its instinctuality.  I entirely concur with Stevens that human instinct needs to be recognized and engaged in order to promote a healthy (non-neurotic) life.  Getting reacquainted with our instincts is a spiritual quest for us, a journey to the Self, a return to the libidic well of our origins.  But this "return to the source" Edenism has always been the bane of Jungian (and many other schools of) thinking.

This is the old gripe (from me, that is) that Jung's notion of individuation denotes only "half an opus" (or only one of two opera).  Getting back to the Garden is not living in the world.  Whether we call that ancient well "God" or "instinct" matters not.  The real biological issue, the issue of the survival of the species, is simply not even touched by our journeys to instinct or Eden.  Either language is just as regressive as the other.  Both sides of this philosophical (or spiritualistic) coin are equally inadequate for understanding the true, biological/spiritual imperative.  The problem we face today, the Problem of the Modern, the problem of our destruction of ecosystems, our overpopulation, our self-deification, our power and our hunger is a problem of an ideology wrought with pure, unconscious instinct.  It is an ideology that does not recognize, understand, or value the Other (whether that is the earth, other species, or other human tribes).  It is tribalism and the tribal love and worship of participation mystique.  It is irresponsible.  What were initially only little clouds of fallout are now, because of our might, massive externalities.

Our power and growth have made our acts so monumental that the shadow we tried to totemically drive away into the wilderness has ricocheted back on us.  We stand by our totemic belief in our own dependency, that we are children at God's or the Earth's bosom.  But in our externalized, collective shadow, we are God.  We act out the shadow of God, destroying on massive scales and out of unrestrained greed and petulance.  Meanwhile we bask beneath the self-deification taboo that reassures us we are not responsible for "divine" actions.

But I offer the suggestion that this is the root of our deepest species-wide problem.  Beyond all other things, we do NOT want to be responsible for God.  We want to create God with our imaginations and projections, but we do not want to care for God.  Like children, we want God to care for us, to provide.

We continue to exercise power without exercising any "divine wisdom".  We continue to believe and to want to believe and to live to believe and it never seems to occur to us that our demonic desire to believe in something that will sustain us is not entirely "holy".  That, in fact, it is profoundly selfish . . . and that we will sacrifice anything we can ideologically externalize to feed and fatten this selfishness.  In the modern world, belief, no matter how lovey and mild and Edenesque in its particulars, has fallout.  Belief has fallout for us, because, like it or not, in this world, we are God.  We may feel we have gods "above" us to which we must answer, but as far as this planet is concerned, homo sapiens are God.  What the self-deification taboo has done is prevented us from being conscious of this and being a good or responsible God.  But we can't NOT be God, so all our pretend humility has achieved is the relinquishment of Godship to the shadow.

It is not that we are great or exalted that makes us God.  It's that we are terrible.  This terribleness demands a custodian . . . and we have done our best to believe-up such custodians, Daddies and Mommies to clean up after us.  We are in love with the fantasy of impunity.  But the shadow of the individual holds in its mists the burden of divine responsibility.  We have long since used up all our exaltation.  We climbed to the top centuries ago, millennia.  The fortune has been spent.  Now only the wreckage remains.  Learning how to embrace divine responsibility, we can rest assured, will be only a back-breaking burden.  We would lose what little wings we still have.  The grief and strain of Atlas is the only gift left to be bestowed.

I digress on this religious sermon for a reason.  We need to understand this metaphysical predicament thoroughly before we start messing around with biologism.  We should mess around with biologism . . . but the implication of this indulgence is that we must also come face to face with the divine and reformulate our relationship to it.  What the recognition that our gods (and the archetypes) are instincts means is that our interaction with them can no longer be done with the simplistic innocence of spiritual ideas and spiritualist language.  Such ideas and language are implicitly anchored in the desire for providence.  To think biologically about gods and archetypes is to adopt the language of natural complexity, of interdependency and interpenetration.  That is, in the material world, the world of biology, instinct, life, everything is connected to everything else.  There is no validity to the kinds of abstract and arbitrary differentiations we love to use to simplify complexity and fit it to the limitations of our working memory, our egos.  A change in climate on one side of the planet, through a series of causal events, can create disaster for some species or population on the other side of the planet.

This is how we have to start thinking about behavior.  It is not the romantic "acausality" that quantum physics and parapsychology flirt with that we must give increased credence to.  The 800 pound gorilla is complex causality.  That is, how does what we do, how do our behaviors effect a series of causal events that may have destructive aspects?  And what can we do to be mindful of the complex causality of our actions (and our beliefs)?  Acausality has no shadow.  To look to it as a provider is merely another abdication of responsibility for the way we live.

This is no simple trick of belief or submission to a religious faith.  We are not biologically, cognitively "wired" to understand or easily recognize complex causal relationships.  The fantasy of the acausal fits our cognitive blueprint much better, because we will innately fall into the paradigm of belief in providence (where providence is ultimately offered by our instincts . . . just so long as we are "good" and leave them entirely outside of consciousness to do their thing).  It is easier for human beings to imagine the acausal or quantum universe than it is for us to understand, interpret, or even accurately observe complex causality.  But it isn't impossible.  Complex causality tends to work by simple, elemental principles.  Evolution is the perfect case in point.

When we perceive complexity (say, the multitude of species and their habitats on this planet), our conscious minds bog down in information overload.  There are so many factors to consider . . . and it is the nature of our consciousness to filter, limit, abstract, and valuate only specific, strategic, familiar bits of the information that confronts us.  Our only chance to construct even a remotely accurate abstract model of a complex system is to "outsource" some of the computation to simplifying hypotheses.  Laws.  Theories.  But it is terribly hard for us to understand the relationship of the parts to the whole in a complex system.  Many theories can potentially explain (or seem to explain) a system's complexity . . . but these theories are often hard to test beyond monotonous trial and error and perpetual data collection.

Think epicylces, for instance.  A totally false paradigm can seem to be true to us, and we simply can't say "intuitively", can't say beyond perpetual testing and data collection.  We are damned to this painstaking approach to complex systems of all kinds . . . and part of this damnation is a tendency to try to match the complexity of systems with a suitably complex abstract construction.

We also tend to look at our own psychology this way.  The way our psyches function is, by nature's standards, highly complex.  The inclination of spiritualism is to design a totem of complex belief or mysticism out of the primitivistic notion that like will explain like.  So we have incredibly elaborate mysticisms like astrology, Kabbalah, alchemy, and numerous other spiritual systems or theologies.  These are like talismans meant to coax the god out of hiding or woo the complex system into coughing up the secret of its construction (its secret name, we might say).  But these mysticisms tend to be anchored in providence.  The idea is that if we befuddle our egos with too much information, the gods will step in, acausality or fate or chance or randomness or probability or synchronicity will out, the complex system will emerge, showing us its "macro face" . . . the one we are wired to relate to.

This sort of mystification and dice rolling will simply go on indefinitely, because when it comes to understanding complex causality "intuitively" we are hopelessly hand-tied, blindfolded, and out of our league.  But once in a while we "roll lucky".  Such is Darwin's understanding of the evolution of species.  We know it's valid, because not only is it testable and observable, we can also see (in retrospect) that is behaves like a complex system.  That is, it doesn't behave like a human idea, like an egoic paradigm or abstraction.  It behaves like nature, like matter.

Evolution is not merely a schematic, a seed plan.  It is relationality itself.  Evolution demonstrates the Erotic aspect of nature and complexity.  And instinct or archetype can only begin to be understood as a relationality itself . . . as opposed to a "component", as it is our inclination to perceive it.  This inclination enables us to interact with our instincts as beings or personifications, emergent macro-intelligences.  This is how we understand will and influence (or libido).  Factors that motivate us "must" have will, intelligence, being.  It is maybe the same essential assumption that tells us that complexity must be complicated.  But I suspect that the willfulness and being we perceive in archetypes is a projection.

Somewhere on the natural level, archetypal instincts are complex relationships, ways of negotiating complex exchanges of information, ways for connecting a drive to an environment through the principle of adaptivity.  I don't think the hidden instinct is an intelligence on one end of the line that barks up orders to the behaver on the other end.  So when we seek instinct with the intention of actualizing it, we are not seeking a defined form.  The god is not there fully formed as the top of the mountain or the bottom of the sea for us to heroically discover.  To say, "We have an instinct that demands we live in a tribal dynamic, so we must provide ourselves with this dynamic in order to satiate instinct" is to misunderstand the complex nature of instinct.

Instinct isn't a malevolent spirit to be appeased or sacrificed to.  We have to remind ourselves that the instincts that Stevens writes about (e.g., the Mother and Father, the Male and the Female, especially) are hundreds of millions of years old.  They are not "human" per se.  And millions of years before they evolved (let's say in their mammalian form) a prior principle of reproduction was in place.  Human sexuality, then, has a drive behind it that significantly predates sex as we experience it.  The evolution of two sexes and of various mating and parenting behaviors have all come as adaptations to various environments.  And all these environments are complexes of relationality, a relationality that is constantly being altered not only by non-biological fluctuations like climate change, but by ever-evolving and interacting species.  Instinct has always been a conduit between an organism's will to live (or more elementally, a gene's "desire" to perpetuate itself) and the possibility of achieving this goal in an environment.  The law of instinctuality is change or adaptation.

Those aspects of environment (for any given species) that are more static can be satisfied with a more static or specific or less flexible instinct in a particular species.  Animals that have strictly defined instinctual behaviors (for instance, those that build very specific nests) have likely existed in an environment (or been able to move fairly easily to an environment) where the raw materials (or usable substitutes) for this kind of nest building have always been available.  That aspect of their environment of evolutionary adaptedness could be said to be fairly static.  And many instincts evolve so as to better perpetuate environmental stasis (like migration).

The human environment of evolutionary adaptedness, though, is comparatively dynamic.  We need to maintain a certain body temperature, take in a certain amount of nourishment, a certain amount of oxygen, etc., but our ability to create the environmental stasis for these needs is extremely plastic.  Nearly everything can become a resource with the aid of the human brain's capacity for innovation and conceptualization.  In essence, our adaptedness opens up a larger environment for us (or renders a wider variety of environments more static by conforming them to human needs).  Our complex, cooperative sociality only multiplies this extreme plasticity exponentially.  Larger brains effectively mean more ways to relate (and potentially cooperate) or more others that one can relate to (as brain size and group size have a direct connection).

But the more members in a group to which one must relate, the more complex the group relationality.  Somewhere in this emerging, complex relationality, language evolved (as a tool to facilitate complex relationality).  Information, then, increasingly enters the evolutionary environment of our evolving ancestors, and information-as-environment is the most plastic and dynamic environment of all.  The more information one can process effectively, the greater the chance of survival, because more variations and opportunities to adapt emerge.  Instead of one way to achieve something, now there are 20, now 100, now 1000.

It may be impossible to determine with any precision how much our environment of evolutionary adaptedness is informational (and therefore, how much our instincts are geared to the dynamism of information rather than climate, locale, inter-species dependency, etc), but it seems obvious that we are the most informationally-adapted species on the planet.

And we must consider the human ego in this light.  If we can get over our Ghost in the Machine simplifying, abstracting inclinations, we are forced to consider that likelihood that the human ego (as much trouble as it might seem to us) evolved because it was adaptive.  And probably what it was specifically adaptive to was the informational environment.  My guess is that the ego is an organ evolved for adapting our instincts (all the way back to the desire of our genes to perpetuate themselves) to the radically dynamic informational environment.

  ***
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Matt Koeske

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Re: Reflections on Archetype Revisited and a Jungian Biologism
« Reply #3 on: July 12, 2007, 06:34:28 PM »

Ego Old, Ego New, Ego Borrowed, Ego Blue or It's All Individuation Nowadays

What then do we do with an instinctual drive, an archetype?  It is, it would seem, the ego's job to facilitate the adaptation of this instinct to the informational environment (the cognitive niche).  And how, then, does the notion of a "return to hunter-gatherer Eden" sound as a prospect for adaptation?  To my ears, like a pretty stupid idea.  Of course, this is the way egoic man thinks: "How can I change my environment to suit my needs?"  It is this conceptual ability and and the power to actualize it that has spelled evolutionary success for our species.  And in general "changing the world to make it a better place", though romantic, is considered a pretty decent human ideal.  But is neoprimitivism really better than modernism?  No doubt there is at least one positive to fantasized primitivism: a closeness with instinct.  That, to paraphrase Jung, is the problem of modern humanity . . . the loss of myths, meaning, and religious feeling, the loss of primal connectedness to the earth and to one another (the tribe).  The loss of God.

But even if this was the deepest Wound imaginable to the human being, the problem of reconstructing a primitivist Eden (i.e., Utopianism) is vast and menacing.  The 20th century gave us numerous wide-scale attempts at constructing what amount to nation-sized tribes.  The result was apocalypse.  To recreate primitivism or tribalism in the modern era, horrendous, unimaginably extensive destruction would be required.  This is where the Christian End Time fantasy comes from.  It imagines the reversal of modernism about as accurately in its symbolic fantasy as anything I've seen.  The reduction of billions of people to hundreds of thousands (or fewer).  The absolute annihilation of everyone who isn't perfectly down with the tribal spirit, who isn't indoctrinated into the tribe (euphemistically, "saved").  This was initially the fantasy of radical Jewish sects reacting against the "globalist", colonial modernism of the Roman Empire around the turn of the Common Era (the book of Revelations comes from this sectarian literature . . . and probably had nothing to do with the Christianity that appropriated it).

Sects are like tribes . . . tribes that have been swallowed in the modern (i.e., forced to interact with Others) and don't like it.  Around the first century CE, there was a huge conflict in the Jewish community living under Roman rule.  In general, Judaism had always been highly tribal (it even uses the term "tribe" to differentiate its identities and was classically obsessed with lineages and kin cohesion).  But under Roman rule, a great deal of diversity and modern culture was hurled at the Jews.  As one might expect, this caused many fissures in the Jewish community.  Many Jews embraced (or at least accepted) Romanism as "the way of the world".  They tried to adapt to it.  Those who did (again, not surprisingly) were often the wealthiest ones.  They could get along with Rome, because they could profit by Roman trade routes and wealth (i.e., modernism).

The poor were not in such a good position, though  (remember, "Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of God"?  That most likely had to do with a Jewish sect eventually called the Ebionites, or Poor Ones; the Qumran community's scroll writers often referred to themselves as "the Poor" in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE).  The poor Jews had their tribal religiosity to cling to, but felt oppressed by Roman (and modernist) impositions . . . and more distinctly, by their wealthier fellow Jews.  The tribal splintering within the Jewish community was so severe that it led to two wars with Rome.  The Jewish messiah mythology is focused on this period especially . . . many sects longed for a warrior from God to be sent to lead them to holy victory against Rome against all odds.  The Christian mythos came together in this era of severe tribal splintering and conflict with the Modern.  The best first hand account of this comes from Josephus, whose ideology represented the wealthier, "Hellenized" Jew of the first century CE.  He basically saw the radical Jewish sects as terrorists whose furious zealotry ended up dragging all of the Jews into (unwinnable) war with the Romans.  Josephus was a governor who became a Jewish general in the first war.

I relate this, because I mean to suggest that the messianic/apocalyptic origin of Christianity was a matter of neoprimitivist sentiment (or perhaps, madness), a reactionism against the modernism that Greco-Roman, secularist, relatively democratic, middle classist society had introduced.  The eventual institution of Christianity by Constantine did in fact come with an apocalypse: the destruction of the educated, pagan, middle class followed by constant purging of heretics and Others (Jews and Muslims especially).  This is, of course, whitewashed and redressed in our conventional Christianized history, but if we look at this from the modernist perspective (the imagined perspective of a middle class, educated, professional, Roman pagan in the first few centuries of the Common Era), there can be no other conclusion but that Christianization was a global, social apocalypse.  I feel it is important to emphasize this (as I often do) because (among many reasons), we are in a very similar position today.  The psychological conflict between tribalism (which manifests as regressive fundamentalism of various kinds) and modernism is of enormous importance in the collective psyche today.  The resolution of this conflict (if only on an individual level) is what is behind Jungian psychology's philosophy of individuation.

How do we live the "symbolic life" today?  Can we reunite with our instincts without bringing about Armageddon (i.e., radically changing our environment to suit our needs)?  The lesson of Christianization would seem to say, "No".  We can't destroy modern society well enough to prevent the rise of modernism some time down the road.  Modernism, I propose, is inevitable.  Therefore, we should concern ourselves not with the problem that there is modernism and this oppresses our instinctuality, but with the real Problem of the Modern: what can we do to adapt to this inevitability of modernism?  Here we cannot think "instinctively" with our egos . . . where "instinctively" would mean conceptualizing how our environments can be conformed to our instincts.  We need to learn how to think adaptively, consciously in order to face the Problem of the Modern.  It is the human being that must find a way to change in order to change the environment . . . in order to change the social environment, our informational environment.  It is not the Other who must be reformed or eliminated.  The individual must evolve.

This is what I think Jung's idea of individuation was hinting at.  Evolutionary pressure is being placed on the human individual to either harness its innovative, conceptual super-adaptivity to adaptive change or to face extinction.  Regressivist ideologies that promote fundamentalism (whether Christian, Muslim, or Neoprimitivism, or scientific) are shrinking back from the demands of innovation and evolutionary progress.  Yes, adaptation in this work will be extremely difficult . . . but regressivism coupled to today's destructive technologies (the articles of modern warfare) flirts ultimately with extinction of the species.  The dream of the coherent tribe is a delusional fantasy.  The reality of this dream put into action is Holocaust.

And this is the real dilemma that Anthony Stevens (like most other Jungians and New Age devotees) does not properly recognize in his prescription of a return to instinct. The return to primitivist constructions of instinct is impossible.  We must evolve, adapt our instincts to the modern environment.  Adapt . . . not conform.  It is important to understand the difference.  I agree that instincts need to be recognized and re-incorporated in the therapeutic process, but trying to get individuals to abide by a more primitivist instinctuality (although this might make some of them happier) will result in the externality of shadow inflation.  That inflated shadow is the unconsciousness that was behind the Holocausts of the 20th century . . . that is still behind the prejudice and Othering that is rampant in the shadow-purged New Age and Jungian communities.

In other words, we have to be very careful, I think, not to "sell" instinctuality to patients without consciousness and devout shadow work.  Instinct is not wholly "good", nor is it Law to be obeyed unquestioningly.  It would be better to say that we need to learn to adapt our instincts to the modern than it would be to say we need to get back in touch with our instincts.  The prior perspective is actually representative of a natural process (i.e., it is in line with the way matter behaves).  The latter is just another formulation of religious fundamentalism that holds apocalyptic, tribalist Edenism in its shadow.

I don't mean to portray Anthony Stevens as a biological fundamentalist.  The flaw in his philosophy, I think, is a failure to conceptualize sufficiently, to think in a long enough term.  We see our Holy Grails and excitement, anxiety, and numinousness possess us.  But to see the Grail is not the same thing as reaching the Grail, nor is the strategy required for Grail recognition the same one required for Grail acquisition.

My opinion is that Archetype Revisited is a very important Jungian book.  We would do well to read this book, use its research and basic argument as a jumping off point.  But it is not the Grail and has nothing to offer us regarding how to seek it (not that it claims to be).  I think many of Stevens ideas need to be critiqued and revised.  His research is sound, but we are not forced to draw the same conclusions from it that Stevens draws.  But to reject the research and the basic notion that biology and Jungian thinking go hand in hand would be intellectually and ethically hazardous.  Some of Stevens' conservative/prescriptive interpretations of evolutionary biology's relation to Jungian psychology will gall readers who are more inclined to embrace cultural construction theories . . . but this is not the real dangerousness of Stevens' book.  And to reject his arguments because they are not as PC as we would like would be a much greater act of prejudice and ignorance than the one Stevens commits in "prescribing biologism".

What is dangerous in the biological argument for archetype and human meaning is that its rabbit hole runs all the way down to that shadow we have tried to avoid in every other religious and mystical construction we've endeavored to create.  The tribal shadow, that point at which our individuality is in conflict with our tribalist instincts, that point where only individuated consciousness can formulate some sort of reconciliation between the Opposites.  In this conflict, we have our desire for the gods, for our spiritualities, to provide on one hand.  And on the other hand, we have "spiritual discipline", gnosticism, God as a human responsibility (rather than as provider).  Do we want to "follow our bliss" (searching eternally for our Eden-on-Earth, abolishing or ignoring anything that is in our path), or do we want to know, do we want to do the Work?  Does God serve us or do we serve God?  That is the shadow conundrum at the root of all spirituality.  And we don't want to see the answer.

The small (but growing, I hope) body of Jungian literature that draws from the field of evolutionary psychology is, I feel, indicating the right direction to go.  But the preliminary offerings (or, more accurately, fantasies) from this direction have not yet been developed, their implication have not yet been explored.  We are still in the phase of fighting over what general direction to go, and the majority forces opposing the biological direction have no imagination for the direction evolutionary biology suggests.  Regrettably, the advocates of evolutionary biology's inclusion in Jungian thinking have barely more imagination for what lies ahead in a more biological investigation of psychic experience.

One thing both camps have in common (to their mutual detriment) is a notion of the spiritual quest hampered by Jung's truncated individuation opus.  Jungianism of all stripes is overly concerned with getting to the source, the Self, the gods, the instincts, the symbolic life.  That is, no doubt, a compelling journey.  But this attitude aligns Jungianism with regressivism.  The first alchemical opus could be seen as the "regressive opus", while the second is the "progressive opus".  We must first regress to progress when it comes to the Work, but I worry about denuding the individuation process of its progressive leg.  It is a Big Lie, a false advertising that strips the most shadowy and challenging parts out of the Work.  This advertising allows Jungian individuation to be more salable than real individuation actually is.  Yes, that helps Jungians sell more books, because it taps into the healthier economies of the New Age and self-help markets.  But what is the cost of this?  Too great, in my opinion.

This sale of the individuation process as "feel-good enlightenment journey" condemns Jungianism to failure as both a mysticism and a science.  What I would like to see (and hope to be able to contribute to) is a coupling of the exploration of Jungian biologism to the kind of more rigorous exploration of mysticism I call the Work.  I have personally found the "second opus" of the Work highly compatible with evolutionary biology.  They have been mutually encouraging investigations or processes for me, each informing the other.  But this synchronous motion has driven me to see (the potential of) biologism in a progressivist light.  That is, I have been pretty conscious of the inadequacy of any prescription that would have us regress to biologism, of the inadequacy of making the discovery of biologism or instinctuality at our source our goal.  The most appealing aspect of biologism to me (and my opinion about what is most important in the application of evolutionary biology to Jungian thinking) is the "naturalization" of progressivism (or the recognition that progressivism is a fundamental attribute of nature and life as it is expressed in evolution and adaptation).

I therefore feel that the first place we should concentrate our biological contributions to Jungian thinking is in the re-interpretation of the individuation process as an adaptation process.  It is inadequate and/or inaccurate to think of individuation as a meaning-finding or instinct-finding process.  The "Philosopher's Stone" is not a deep well or breast to be discovered, claimed, and eternally nourished by, but a kind of co-creation in the world, a creative act or becoming in which the instinctual unconscious and the conscious ego collaborate in the successful adaptation of the organism to its environment.  It is all a matter of relationality.  Relation between the ego and the Self, relation between the organism and the environment.  It is not about possessing a specific thing: a wisdom, a spirituality, a power, a secret of immortality or health.  The Philosopher's Stone is relational super-adaptivity.  Not to possess or to be a specific thing (a kind of singular super-strategy for everything), but to be able to connect or relate to many different things, to allow libido to flow in and out through relationship.

We tend to look upon libido as a precious resource.  We covet it, fortify it.  We miser our own away and sometimes try to maraud the libido of others.  But libido is an Erotic drive to relate, not a commodity.  The flow of libido as the energy of Life connects to everything it can.  It is the principle of interaction with environments . . . or the principle of interaction among environments (where a being is as much an environment as a locale or body of information or culture).  Libido is a property of matter itself, and the evolution of life on this planet is a manifestation of the libidinous or Erotic relationality that can gradually develop under certain natural conditions.  Emergence (of life) is a result of this libidinous relationality.  I don't want to overly anthropomorphize this principle and prescribe a "love-in" for everyone everywhere.  This would be a mistake of literalization, I think.

But the path to super-adaptivity, to effective adaptation to our modern environment is, I believe, facilitated by the freeing up of our relational ability or Eros.  It is a matter of being naturally influenced by and naturally influencing others and the world around us (in its elements).  Not by imposing a specific egoic will upon it, but by allowing ourselves to be affected by stimuli.  The problem of our egoism (especially in the modern world) is that it is essentially fortified.  Coherence is the drive behind ego formation . . . and this ego coherence makes a good parent for us, providing for and protecting us as we enter the world through our extended and fragile childhoods up through adolescence and indoctrination into the tribe of adulthood and social role/occupation.  But this coherence, although a great provider, is not very conducive to interpenetrational relationality (beyond the tribe, especially).  It helps nurture us as we come into the world, but it can hinder our interaction with the environment after the time of "coming into" is complete.

This is a fairly abstract and un-motivating problem until evolutionary pressure on the species asserts itself and adaptation becomes necessary and compelling.  The coherent ego formulated in childhood through early adulthood (roughly the period of about 20 years during which the brain is still growing and "cohering" or establishing its "wiring") belongs to an informational environment much more like the one thought to be our material environment of evolutionary adaptedness.  That is, it is dominated by parent and peer influence, by group formation, indoctrination, and socialization.  But the social evolution of our species has resulted in an evolutionary pressure placed on the individual (not the group) compelling it to adapt.  Human groups have been instinctively and unconsciously adaptive (as evidenced by our enormous population growth).  The "recipe" for human socialization innately leads to such expansion . . . until expansion itself becomes too much of a problem for or burden on the individual.  Then the socialized, constructed, coherent ego begins to prove insufficient for equilibrious interaction with the environment.

The new environment cannot be effectively controlled and conformed by the adolescent, coherent, group-determined ego (not without numerous externalities that will eventually rebound on those externalizing).  The individual suffers under the weight of this evolutionary pressure.  The individual is the lowest point where all the silt settles.  An so it becomes up to the individual to devise a new adaptive strategy, a way of allowing human instinct (the archetypes) to interact with the new (modern) environment rather than fortifying itself against that environment (as is the ego's unconscious tendency).  The environment has to penetrate the instincts so that the instincts can penetrate the environment.  The ego as strategy maker is (or has been) a device for controlling or conforming the environment, not actually interrelating with it (as life must in order to adapt).  In order for instincts to become adaptive, the environment must imprint itself on them.  In such a circumstance, adaptation will eventually emerge.

But faced with the Problem of the Modern, the human ego with its group-oriented coherence is in the way of the Erotic, natural relationship between instinct and environment.  This ego, what we might also call the unconscious or primitivistic ego, is the expression of ego as adapted to the primitive, tribal environment of our hunter-gatherer ancestors (a providential environment, where everything is there to take so there is no need to make or work to sustain).  This primitive ego is most likely the best formulation of adaptedness to the ancestral environment.  In that environment, tribal cohesion was the key to success.  Individualistic innovation was only infrequently required.  But my guess is that such individualism was essential enough that tribal structures evolved "token individualism".  Being merely "instinctual zombies" would prove less adaptive for our genes than the addition of a "pinch of individuality" that allowed for periodic, hopefully adaptive, innovations (of course, all innovation is a gamble; there is no sure thing).

The token individual in the primitive tribe would be the shaman . . . but the shamanic instinct, I believe, should not be seen as an anomaly, a "mutation".  It is a genetic potential in every human being that, like any other trait, is expressed in varying degrees and in varying ways from individual to individual.  The conventional "Call" for the awakening of the shamanic instinct for individuality has always been ego-decohesion or dissolution/dismemberment.  This could be illness (physical or mental) or some other characteristic that hindered typical indoctrination into the tribal roles for its adult members.

But as population expanded and society progressed toward its modernist expression, tribal cohesion was "demoted" from its primitive role as super-adapter and more social responsibility was placed on the latent individualism that had previously been reserved only for the shaman of the tribe.  Of course this latent individualism only emerged (and emerges) to the absolute minimum degree it has to in order to promote survival . . . so the modern individual is by no means a shaman or even shaman-in-training.  An actual shaman would be a conduit for the super-adaptive, shamanic instinct, a person who has given her or himself entirely over to innovate individuation as it proves adaptive for the tribe.  In other words, in such severe individualism, there is a massive burden of responsibility that demands a sacrifice of one's coherent selfhood for the sake of others or for a collectively adaptive purpose.  Individualism does not free one from group sociality.  It merely introduces innovation (and generally consciousness) to group dynamics.  We might even say that individualism can be seen as a natural adaptation in our species to the need for innovation in groups in order to promote their evolutionary success.  Or, in other words, individualism (as a principle) evolved as a group trait (and should then be seen in distinct contrast to "egotism", or the placing of ones self-promotional and personal coherence concerns above all else).

What I mean to suggest is that even the modern ego, despite its seemingly increased individualism, is typically still primitive or unconscious.  It eschews true individuation at all costs.  But because we have the innovative (or we could say, "heroic") shamanic instinct, we do have the potential to adapt our individualism to changing environments, via conscious individuation.  But the further we pursue this (or are compelled to abide by it by various circumstances and in the struggle to merely survive) the more individuality resembles shamanism (in its instinctual sense, not necessarily in its typical tribal trappings or social role).  And this is the bad news portion of my present circumambulation of the role of instinct in Jungian psychology.  It means that (as far as I can see), the only way we can manage to adapt to and resolve the Problem of the Modern is to do the Work.  We have to learn how to make our individuality useful, functional, adaptive . . . and not just for our own egotistical interests, but for the Other, for the world, for the innumerable human tribes.

I hate to even put that sentiment on paper, because in my experience, the number of people (even in the Jungian community) who really try to do the Work is minuscule.  We Jungians happily embrace individuation so long as it promotes our egoism, opens up further resources to us, allows us to conform our immediate environments (such as in finding or constructing a tribe for ourselves online).  As long as individuation brings gods and other pleasures to our door, we are all in.  But inasmuch as individuation means confronting our deep shadows, our selfishness, our destructiveness, we will pass, thank you very much (and it will be like passing on the dessert course at a restaurant . . . we will consider it inconsequential, and may even feel a little proud of our "self-restraint").

That is to say, I simply don't trust Jungians (or any other group of humans) to really devote themselves to the Work.  Jungianism (especially in its New Age spiritualist manifestations) is primarily a complex smattering of philosophies designed to help one avoid doing the Work or avoid shadow responsibility.  This isn't meant to suggest that all Jungian thinking is fraudulent or that Jungians never benefit adaptively from their indulgences with Jungianism.  Many of us "heal" and find much-needed meaning to bolster our lives (without which we would never be able to pursue the Work at all).  But we almost always stop there, where we have found an ego-strategy that allows us to live in participation with our primary tribe or tribes.  We might still be totally boneheaded around true Otherness, outside of our tribal territory, or in the realm of the shadow . . . but "who cares" when one has found one's tribal niche, when one has gotten what one wanted?

But in this selfishness, we do nothing to address the Problem of the Modern.  We do not adapt our individuality instinct to the modern environment.  We do nothing for that environment or for Otherness.  Such "individuation" is only an ego-gratification routine driven by the selfish desire to return to the maternal lap of tribalism, of belonging, of being unconscious and irresponsible for the species and for the planet.

But you can't make anyone do the Work.  You can't even really prescribe it.  It's too difficult, too dangerous.  It would be like prescribing a leap off a cliff.  "If you survive, come back and we'll talk."  I feel the best that we can do is to talk about what the Work entails and what it is.  We should keep investigating the nature and details of its adaptivity, its usefulness.  We should keep telling our individuation stories, being careful to include discussions of the shadow work especially.  We should never try to dress up, prettify, and sell the Work to anyone (as is the standard Jungian practice).  But neither should we hoard or mystify it, demanding the obedience of acolytes and initiates.  We should, I feel, make as scientific and factual a study of the Work as we can manage.

The human race is a long way off from embracing individuation en masse.  I personally have no idea whether our species will survive the Problem of the Modern or not, nor do I have any clue how long progressive adaptation might take.  But I believe the characterization I have made above of the "evolutionary pressure" on the modern individual, the predicament of that individual, does point to the problem that must be addressed.  That is, the problem of our survival is not in the Other.  It is not the terrorists or the fundamentalists or the globalists or the religionists or the rationalists, etc. that are threatening the species.  The threat is much deeper and more localized.  The threat to the species is in the evolutionary pressure on the individual . . . who must ultimately either adapt (individuate) or go extinct (along with the species).

I don't mean to say (in Jungian fashion) that our self-indulgent individuation will save the world one soul at a time or that we are doing some kind of heroic social good just by navel-gazing.  It is not the individual as a singular entity, as a "Me", that must adapt and evolve, it is individualism as a trait of the species and as an expression of group adaptedness that must adapt and evolve.  That is, we cannot will it to be.  Nor can we take credit for it when it happens.  The Work is a matter of giving our instinctual individualism over to nature and its Erotic, relational, evolutionary process.  It is not a work of self-fulfillment.  Which is the principle lesson of the second alchemical opus.

Therefore, it is a worthless stone, a useless science.


You can always come back, but you can’t come back all the way.

   [Bob Dylan,"Mississippi]