Title: Psychology of the Unconscious - A Study of the Transformations and Symbolisms of the Libido  A Contribution to the History of the Evolution of Thought
Author: Jung, C. G. (Carl Gustav)
Language: English
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                     PSYCHOLOGY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS


[Illustration: DR. C. G. JUNG
“PSYCHOLOGY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS”]



                     PSYCHOLOGY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS

     _A Study of the Transformations and Symbolisms of the Libido_
      _A Contribution to the History of the Evolution of Thought_


                                    BY

                              DR. C. G. JUNG
                       Of the University of Zurich

              AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION, WITH INTRODUCTION, BY
                         BEATRICE M. HINKLE, M.D.
 Of the Neurological Department of Cornell University Medical School and
               of the New York Post Graduate Medical School

[Illustration]

                        MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
                                NEW YORK
                                  1916



                          Copyright, 1916, by
                        MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
                                NEW YORK


                         _All rights reserved_



                           TRANSLATOR’S NOTE


That humanity is seeking a new message, a new light upon the meaning of
life, and something tangible, as it were, with which it can work towards
a larger understanding of itself and its relation to the universe, is a
fact I think none will gainsay. Therefore, it has seemed to me
particularly timely to introduce to the English-speaking world Dr.
Jung’s remarkable book, “Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido.” In this
work he has plunged boldly into the treacherous sea of mythology and
folklore, the productions of the ancient mind and that of the common
people, and turned upon this vast material the same scientific and
painstaking method of psychologic analysis that is applied to the modern
mind, in order to reveal the common bond of desire and longing which
unites all humanity, and thus bridge the gaps presumed to exist between
ancient and widely separated peoples and those of our modern time. The
discovery of this undercurrent affecting and influencing ancient peoples
as well as modern serves as a foundation or platform from which he
proceeds to hold aloft a new ideal, a new goal of attainment possible of
achievement and which can be intellectually satisfying, as well as
emotionally appealing: the goal of _moral autonomy_.

This book, remarkable for its erudition and the tremendous labor
expended upon it, as well as for the new light which it sheds upon human
life, its motives, its needs and its possibilities, is not one for
desultory reading or superficial examination. Such an approach will
prevent the reader from gaining anything of its real value; but for
those who can bring a serious interest and willingness to give a careful
study to it the work will prove to be a veritable mine capable of
yielding the greatest riches.

The difficulties in translating a book such as this are almost
insuperable, but I have tried faithfully to express Dr. Jung’s thought,
keeping as close to the original text as possible and, at the same time,
rendering the difficult material and complicated German phrasing as
simply and clearly as the subject-matter would allow. In all this work I
owe much to Miss Helen I. Brayton, without whose faithful assistance the
work would never have been completed. I wish to acknowledge my gratitude
to Mr. Louis Untermeyer, whose help in rendering the poetic quotations
into English verse has been invaluable, and to express as well my
gratitude to other friends who have assisted me in various ways from
time to time.

                                                                B. M. H.

 NEW YORK, 1915.



       AN INTRODUCTION TO PSYCHOANALYSIS AND ANALYTIC PSYCHOLOGY


When Professor Freud of Vienna made his early discoveries in the realm
of the neuroses, and announced that the basis and origin of the various
symptoms grouped under the terms hysteria and neuroses lay in
unfulfilled desires and wishes, unexpressed and unknown to the patient
for the most part, and concerned chiefly with the sexual instinct, it
was not realized what far-reaching influence this unpopular and bitterly
attacked theory would exert on the understanding of human life in
general.

For this theory has so widened in its scope that its application has now
extended beyond a particular group of pathologic states. It has in fact
led to a new evaluation of the whole conduct of human life; a new
comprehension has developed which explains those things which formerly
were unexplained, and there is offered an understanding not only of the
symptoms of a neurosis and the phenomena of conduct but the product of
the mind as expressed in myths and religions.

This amazing growth has proceeded steadily in an ever-widening fashion
despite opposition as violent as any of which we have knowledge in the
past. The criticism originally directed towards the little understood
and much disliked sexual conception now includes the further teachings
of a psychology which by the application to it of such damning phrases
as mystical, metaphysical and sacrilegious, is condemned as
unscientific.

To add to the general confusion and misunderstanding surrounding this
new school of thought there has arisen a division amongst the leaders
themselves, so that there now exist two schools led respectively by
Professor Sigmund Freud of Vienna and Dr. Carl Jung of Zurich, referred
to in the literature as the Vienna School and the Zurich School.

It is very easy to understand that criticism and opposition should
develop against a psychology so difficult of comprehension, and so
disturbing to the ideas which have been held by humanity for ages; a
psychology which furthermore requires a special technique as well as an
observer trained to recognize and appreciate in psychologic phenomena a
verification of the statement that there is no such thing as chance, and
that every act and every expression has its own meaning, determined by
the inner feelings and wishes of the individual.

It is not a simple matter to come out boldly and state that every
individual is to a large extent the determiner of his own destiny, for
only by poets and philosophers has this idea been put forth—not by
science; and it is a brave act to make this statement with full
consciousness of all its meaning, and to stand ready to prove it by
scientific reasoning and procedure.

Developed entirely through empirical investigation and through an
analysis of individual cases, Freudian psychology seems particularly to
belong to that conception of Max Müller’s that “An empirical
acquaintance with facts rises to a scientific knowledge of facts as soon
as the mind discovers beneath the multiplicity of single productions the
unity of an organic system.”[1]

Psychoanalysis is the name given to the method developed for reaching
down into the hidden depths of the individual to bring to light the
underlying motives and determinants of his symptoms and attitudes, and
to reveal the unconscious tendencies which lie behind actions and
reactions and which influence development and determine the relations of
life itself. The result of digging down into the hidden psyche has been
to produce a mass of material from below the threshold of consciousness,
so astonishing and disturbing and out of relation with the previously
held values, as to arouse in any one unfamiliar with the process the
strongest antagonism and criticism.

Although originally studied only as a therapeutic method for the sick it
was soon realized through an analysis of normal people how slight were
the differences in the content of the unconscious of the sick and of the
normal. The differences observed were seen to be rather in the reactions
to life and to the conflicts produced by contending forces in the
individual.

These conflicts, usually not fully perceived by the individual, and
having to do with objectionable desires and wishes that are not in
keeping with the conscious idea of self, produce marked effects which
are expressed either in certain opinions, prejudices, attitudes of
conduct, faulty actions, or in some definite pathologic symptom. As Dr.
Jung says, he who remains healthy has to struggle with the same
complexes that cause the neurotic to fall ill.

In a valuable book called “The Neighbor,” written by the late Professor
N. Shaler of Harvard University, there occurs this very far-reaching
statement: “It is hardly too much to say that all the important errors
of conduct, all the burdens of men or of societies are caused by the
inadequacies in the association of the primal animal emotions with those
mental powers which have been so rapidly developed in mankind.”

This statement, reached by a process of reasoning and a method of
thought and study entirely different from psychoanalysis, nevertheless
so completely expresses in brief form the very basis of the postulates
developed through psychoanalysis that I quote it here. Such a statement
made in the course of a general examination of human relations does not
arouse opposition nor seem to be so difficult of acceptance. It appears
to be the individual application of these conceptions that has roused
such bitter antagonism and violent denunciations.

Rightly understood and used, psychoanalysis may be compared to surgery,
for psychoanalysis stands in the same relation to the personality as
surgery does to the body, and they aim at parallel results.

It is well recognized that in the last analysis nature is the real
physician, the healer of wounds; but prior to the development of our
modern asepsis and surgical technique the healing produced by nature was
most often of a very faulty and imperfect type—hideous scars, distorted
and crippled limbs, with functions impaired or incapacitated, resulted
from the wounds, or else nature was unable to cope with the hurt and the
injured one succumbed.

Science has been steadily working for centuries with the aim of
understanding nature and finding means to aid and co-operate with her so
that healing could take place with the least possible loss of function
or permanent injury to the individual. Marvelous results have rewarded
these persistent efforts, as the brilliant achievements of surgery
plainly indicate.

Meantime, however, little thought was given to the possibility of any
scientific method being available to help man overcome the wounds and
conflicts taking place in his soul, hurts which retarded his development
and progress as a personality, and which frequently in the struggle
resulted in physical pains and symptoms of the most varied character.
That was left solely to religion and metaphysics. Now, however, this
same assistance that surgery has given to the physical body,
psychoanalysis attempts to give to the personality. That it cannot
always succeed is as much to be expected, and more, than that surgery
does not always succeed, for the analytic work requires much of the
individual. No real result can be attained if he has not already
developed a certain quality of character and intelligence which makes it
possible for him to submit himself to a facing of his naked soul, and to
the pain and suffering which this often entails. Here, as in no other
relation in life, an absolute truth and an absolute honesty are the only
basis of action, since deception of any kind deceives no one but the
individual himself and acts as a boomerang, defeating his own aims.

Such deep searching and penetrating into the soul is not something to be
undertaken lightly nor to be considered a trivial or simple matter, and
the fact is that where a strong compulsion is lacking, such as sickness
or a situation too difficult to meet, much courage is required to
undertake it.

In order to understand this psychology which is pervading all realms of
thought and seems destined to be a new psychological-philosophical
system for the understanding and practical advancement of human life, it
will be necessary to go somewhat into detail regarding its development
and present status. For in this new direction lies its greatest value
and its greatest danger.

The beginnings of this work were first published in 1895 in a book
entitled “Studien über Hysterie,” and contained the joint investigations
into hysteria of Dr. Breuer of Vienna and his pupil Dr. Sigmund Freud.
The results of their investigations seemed to show that the various
symptoms grouped under the title of hysteria were the result of
emotionally colored reminiscences which, all unknown to the conscious
waking self, were really actively expressing themselves through the
surrogate form of symptoms and that these experiences, although
forgotten by the patient, could be reproduced and the emotional content
discharged.

Hypnosis was the means used to enable the physician to penetrate deeply
into the forgotten memories, for it was found through hypnosis that
these lost incidents and circumstances were not really lost at all but
only dropped from consciousness, and were capable of being revived when
given the proper stimuli. The astonishing part about it was that with
the revival of these memories and their accompanying painful and
disturbing emotions, the symptoms disappeared. This led naturally to the
conclusion that these symptoms were dependent upon some emotional
disturbance or psychic trauma which had been inadequately expressed, and
that in order to cure the patient one merely had to establish the
connection between the memory and the emotions which properly belonged
to it, letting the emotion work itself out through a reproduction of the
forgotten scene.

With further investigation Freud found that hypnosis was unnecessary for
the revival of the forgotten experiences, and that it was possible to
obtain the lost emotional material in the conscious and normal state.
For this purpose the patient was encouraged to assume a passive,
non-critical attitude and simply let his thoughts flow, speaking of
whatever came into his mind, holding nothing back. During this free and
easy discussion of his life and conditions, directed by the law of
association of ideas, reference was invariably made to the experiences
or thoughts which were the most affective and disturbing elements. It
was seen to be quite impossible to avoid this indirect revelation
because of the strength of the emotions surrounding these ideas and the
effect of the conscious wish to repress unpleasant feelings. This
important group of ideas or impressions, with the feelings and emotions
clustered around them which are betrayed through this process, was
called by Jung a _complex_.

However, with the touching of the _complex_ which always contains
feelings and emotions so painful or unpleasant as to be unacceptable to
consciousness, and which are therefore repressed and hidden, great
difficulties appeared, for very often the patient came to a sudden stop
and could apparently recall nothing more. Memory gaps were frequent,
relations twisted, etc. Evidently some force banished these memories so
that the person was quite honest in saying that he could remember
nothing or that there was nothing to tell. This kind of forgetfulness
was called _repression_, and is the normal mechanism by which nature
protects the individual from such painful feelings as are caused by
unpleasant and unacceptable experiences and thoughts, the recognition of
his egoistic nature, and the often quite unbearable conflict of his
weaknesses with his feelings of idealism.

At this early time great attention was given towards developing a
technique which would render more easy the reproduction of these
forgotten memories, for with the abandonment of hypnosis it was seen
that some unknown active force was at work which not only banished
painful memories and feelings, but also prevented their return; this was
called _resistance_. This resistance was found to be the important
mechanism which interfered with a free flow of thought and produced the
greatest difficulty in the further conduct of the analysis. It appeared
under various guises and frequently manifested itself in intellectual
objections based on reasoning ground, in criticism directed towards the
analyst, or in criticism of the method itself, and finally, often in a
complete blocking of expression, so that until the resistance was broken
nothing more could be produced.

It was necessary then to find some aid by which these resistances could
be overcome and the repressed memories and feelings revived and set
free. For it was proven again and again that even though the person was
not at all aware of concealing within himself some emotionally
disturbing feeling or experience with which his symptoms were
associated, yet such was the fact, and that under proper conditions this
material could be brought into consciousness. This realm where these
unknown but disturbing emotions were hidden was called the
“Unconscious”—the “Unconscious” also being a name used arbitrarily to
indicate all that material of which the person is not aware at the given
time—the not-conscious.

This term is used very loosely in Freudian psychology and is not
intended to provoke any academic discussion but to conform strictly to
the dictionary classification of a “negative concept which can neither
be described nor defined.” To say that an idea or feeling is unconscious
merely means to indicate that the individual is unaware at that time of
its existence, or that all the material of which he is unaware at a
given time is unconscious.

With the discovery of the significance in relation to hysteria of these
varied experiences and forgotten memories which always led into the
erotic realm and usually were carried far back into early childhood, the
theory of an infantile sexual trauma as a cause of this neurosis
developed. Contrary to the usual belief that children have no sexuality
and that only at puberty does it suddenly arise, it was definitely shown
that there was a very marked kind of sexuality among children of the
most tender years, entirely instinctive and capable of producing a grave
effect on the entire later life.

However, further investigations carried into the lives of normal people
disclosed quite as many psychic and sexual traumas in their early
childhood as in the lives of the patients; therefore, the conception of
the “infantile sexual trauma” as the etiological factor was abandoned in
favor of “the infantilism of sexuality” itself. In other words, it was
soon realized that many of the sexual traumas which were placed in their
early childhood by these patients, did not really exist except in their
own phantasies and probably were produced as a defence against the
memories of their own childish sexual activities. These experiences led
to a deep investigation into the nature of the child’s sexuality and
developed the ideas which Freud incorporated in a work called “Three
Contributions to the Sexual Theory.” He found so many variations and
manifestations of sexual activity even among young children that he
realized that this activity was the normal, although entirely
unconscious, expression of the child’s developing life, and while not
comparable to the adult sexuality, nevertheless produced a very definite
influence and effect on the child’s life.

These childish expressions of this instinct he called “polymorphous
perverse,” because in many ways they resembled the various abnormalities
called perversions when found among adults under certain conditions.

In the light of these additional investigations Freud was led to change
his formulation, for instead of the symptoms of the neurotic patient
being due to definite sexual experiences, they seemed to be determined
by his reactions towards his own sexual constitution and the kind of
repression to which these instincts were subjected.

Perhaps one of the greatest sources of misunderstanding and difficulty
in this whole subject lies in the term sexuality, for Freud’s conception
of this is entirely different from that of the popular sense. He
conceives sexuality to be practically synonymous with the word _love_
and to include under this term all those tender feelings and emotions
which have had their origin in a primitive erotic source, even if now
their primary aim is entirely lost and another substituted for it. It
must also be borne in mind that Freud strictly emphasizes the psychic
side of sexuality and its importance, as well as the somatic expression.

Therefore, to understand Freud’s theories, his very broad conception of
the term sexual must never be forgotten.

Through this careful investigation of the psychic life of the
individual, the tremendous influence and importance of phantasy-making
for the fate was definitely shown. It was discovered that the indulgence
in day-dreams and phantasies was practically universal not only among
children but among adults, that even whole lives were being lived out in
a phantastic world created by the dreamer, a world wherein he could
fulfil all those wishes and desires which were found to be too difficult
or impossible to satisfy in the world of reality.

Much of this phantasy thinking was seen to be scarcely conscious, but
arose from unrealized wishes, desires and strivings which could only
express themselves through veiled symbols in the form of phantastic
structures not understood, nor fully recognized. Indeed, it is perhaps
one of the most common human experiences to find “queer thoughts,”
undesired ideas and images, forcing themselves upon one’s attention to
such an extent that the will has to be employed to push them out of
mind. It is not unusual to discover long-forgotten impressions of
childhood assuming a phantastic shape in memory, and dwelt upon as
though they were still of importance.

This material afforded a rich field for the searchers into the soul, for
through the operation of the law of association of ideas these
phantastic products, traced back to their origin, revealed the fact that
instead of being meaningless or foolish, they were produced by a
definite process, and arose from distinct wishes and desires which
unconsciously veiled themselves in these mysterious forms and pictures.

It is conceded that the most completely unconscious product of an
individual is his dream, and therefore Professor Freud turned his
attention from phantasies and day-dreams to the investigation of the
nightly dreams of his patients to discover whether they would throw
light upon the painful feelings and ideas repressed out of
consciousness, and therefore inaccessible to direct revelation.

This brilliant idea soon led to a rich fruiting, for it became evident
that contrary to the usual conception that the dream is a phantastic and
absurd jumble of heterogeneous fragments, having no real relation to the
life of the individual, it is full of meaning. In fact, it is usually
concerned with the problem of life most pressing at the time, which
expresses itself not directly, but in symbolic form so as to be
unrecognized. In this way the individual gains an expression and
fulfilment of his unrealized wish or desire.

This discovery of the symbolic nature of the dream and the phantasy was
brought about entirely through the associative method and developed
empirically through investigations of the dreams of many people. In this
manner it became evident that certain ideas and objects which recurred
again and again in the dreams and phantasies of different people were
definitely associated with certain unconscious or unrecognized wishes
and desires, and were repeatedly used by the mind to express these
meanings where a direct form was repressed and unallowed. Thus certain
dream expressions and figures were in a general way considered to be
rather definite symbols of these repressed ideas and feelings found in
the unconscious. Through a comparative and parallel study it soon
appeared that there was a similar mechanism at work in myths and fairy
tales and that the relationship between the dreams and phantasies of an
individual and the myths and folk tales of a people was so close that
Abraham could say that the myth is a fragment of the infantile soul life
of the race and the dream is the myth of the individual.

Thus through relating his dreams the patient himself furnished the most
important means of gaining access to the unconscious and disturbing
complexes with which his symptoms were connected.

Besides the dream analysis the patient furnished other means of
revelation of his complexes—his mannerisms and unconscious acts, his
opening remarks to his physician, his emotional reactions to certain
ideas; in short the whole behavior and verbal expressions of the
individual reveal his inner nature and problems.

Through all this work it became clear that in the emotional nature lay
the origin not only of the various nervous illnesses themselves, but
also of the isolated symptoms and individual idiosyncrasies and
peculiarities which are the part of all humanity and that the pathogenic
cause of the disturbances lies not in the ignorance of individuals, but
in those inner resistances which are the underlying basis of this
ignorance.

Therefore the aim of the therapy became not merely the relief of the
ignorance but the searching out and combating of these resistances.

It becomes evident from even this brief description of the analytic
procedure that we are dealing with a very complex and delicate material,
and with a technique which needs to make definite use of all influences
available for the help of the patient. It has long been recognized that
the relation established between physician and patient has a great
effect upon the medical assistance which he is able to render—in other
words, if a confidence and personal regard developed in the patient
towards the physician, the latter’s advice was just so much more
efficacious. This personal feeling has been frankly recognized and made
of distinct service in psychoanalytic treatment under the name of
_transference_. It is through the aid of this definite relationship
which must be established in the one being analyzed towards the analyst
that it is possible to deal with the unconscious and organized
resistances which so easily blind the individual and render the
acceptance of the new valuations very difficult to the raw and sensitive
soul.

Freud’s emphasis upon the rôle of the sexual instinct in the production
of the neurosis and also in its determining power upon the personality
of the normal individual does not imply that he does not also recognize
other determinants at the root of human conduct, as for instance, the
instinct for preservation of life and the ego principle itself. But
these motives are not so violently forbidden and repressed as the sexual
impulse, and therefore, because of that repressive force and the
strength of the impulse he considers this primary in its influence upon
the human being.

The importance of this instinct upon human life is clearly revealed by
the great place given to it under the name of love in art, literature,
poetry, romance and all beauty from the beginning of recorded time.
Viewed in this light it cannot seem extraordinary that a difficulty or
disturbance in this emotional field should produce such far-reaching
consequences for the individual. The sexual impulse is often compared
with that of hunger, and this craving and need lying in all humanity is
called by Freud _libido_.


                          THE OEDIPUS PROBLEM

With further investigations into the nature of the repressed complexes a
very astonishing situation was revealed. The parental influence on
children is something so well recognized and understood that to call
attention to it sounds much like a banality. However, here an
extraordinary discovery was made, for in tracing out the feelings and
emotions of adults it became evident that this influence was paramount
not only for children but for adults as well; that the entire direction
of lives was largely determined quite unconsciously by the parental
associations, and that, although adults, the emotional side of their
nature was still infantile in type and demanded unconsciously the
infantile or childish relations.

Freud traces out the commencement of the infantile attachment for the
parents in this wise.

In the beginning the child derives its first satisfaction and pleasure
from the mother in the form of nutrition and care for its wants. In this
first act of suckling Freud sees already a kind of sexual pleasure, for
he apparently identifies the pleasure principle and the sexual instinct
and considers that the former is primarily rooted in the latter. At this
early time commence such various infantile actions unconnected with
nutrition as thumbsucking, various movements of the body as rubbing,
boring, pulling and other manifestations of a definite interest in its
own body, a delight in nakedness, the pleasure exhibited in inflicting
pain on some object and its opposite, the pleasure from receiving pain.
All of these afford the child pleasure and satisfaction, and because
they seem analogous to certain perversions in adults they are called by
Freud the “polymorphous perverse sexuality” of childhood. The character
of these instinctive actions which have nothing to do with any other
person, and through which the child attains pleasure from its own body,
caused Freud to term this phase of life as autoerotic after Havelock
Ellis. However, with the growth of the child there is a parallel
development of the psychic elements of its sexual nature and now the
mother, the original object of its love, primarily determined by its
helplessness and need, acquires a new valuation. The beginnings of the
need for a love object to satisfy the craving or libido of the child are
early in evidence and, following along sex lines in general, the little
son prefers the mother and the daughter the father after the usual
preference of the parents.

At this early time children feel deeply the enormous importance of their
parents and their entire world is bounded by the family circle. All the
elements of the ego which the child possesses have now become manifest;
love, jealousy, curiosity, hate, etc., and those instincts are directed
in the greatest degree towards the objects of their libido, namely the
parents. With the growing ego of the child there is a development of
strong wishes and desires demanding satisfaction which can only be
gratified by the mother; therefore there is aroused in the small son the
feeling of jealousy and anger towards the father in whom he sees a rival
for the affection of the mother and whom he would like to replace. This
desire in the soul of the child Freud calls the _Oedipus complex_ in
recognition of its analogy to the tragedy of King Oedipus who was drawn
by his fate to kill his father and win his mother for a wife. Freud
presents this as the _nuclear complex_ of every neurosis.

At the basis of this complex, some trace of which can be found in every
person, Freud sees a definite incest wish towards the mother which only
lacks the quality of consciousness. Because of moral reactions this wish
is quickly subjected to repression through the operation of the “incest
barrier,” a postulate he compares to the incest taboo found among
inferior peoples. At this time the child is beginning to develop its
typical sexual curiosity expressed by the question, “Where do I come
from?” The interest and investigation of the child into this problem,
aided by observations and deductions from various actions and attitudes
of the parents, who have no idea of the watchfulness of the child, lead
him, because of his imperfect knowledge and immature development, into
many false theories and ideas of birth. These infantile sexual theories
are held by Freud to be determinative in the development of the child’s
character and also for the contents of the unconscious as expressed in a
future neurosis.

These various reactions of the child and his sexual curiosity are
entirely normal and unavoidable, and if his development proceeds in an
orderly fashion then, at the time of definite object choice he will pass
smoothly over from the limitations of the family attachment out into the
world and find therein his independent existence.

However, if the libido remains fixed on the first chosen object so that
the growing individual is unable to tear himself loose from these
familial ties, then the incestuous bond is deepened with the developing
sexual instinct and its accompanying need of a love object, and the
entire future of the young personality endangered. For with the
development of the incestuous bond the natural repressions deepen
because the moral censor cannot allow these disturbing relations to
become clear to the individual. Therefore, the whole matter is repressed
more deeply into the unconscious, and even a feeling of positive enmity
and repulsion towards the parents is often developed in order to conceal
and over-compensate for the impossible situation actually present.

This persistence of the attachment of the libido to the original object,
and the inability to find in this a suitable satisfaction for the adult
need, interferes with the normal development of the psycho-sexual
character, and it is due to this that the adult retains that
“infantilism of sexuality” which plays so great a rôle in determining
the instability of the emotional life which so frequently leads into the
definite neuroses.


These were the conclusions reached and the ground on which Freudian
psychology rested, regarding the etiology of the neurosis, and the
tendencies underlying normal human mechanisms, when Dr. Carl Jung, the
most prominent of Freud’s disciples, and the leader of the Zurich
school, found himself no longer able to agree with Freud’s findings in
certain particulars, although the phenomena which Freud observed and the
technique of psychoanalysis developed by Freud were the material on
which Jung worked and the value of which he clearly emphasizes. The
differences which have developed lay in his understanding and
interpretation of the phenomena observed.

Beginning with the conception of libido itself as a term used to connote
sexual hunger and craving, albeit the meaning of the word sexual was
extended by Freud to embrace a much wider significance than common usage
has assigned it, Jung was unable to confine himself to this limitation.
He conceived this longing, this urge or push of life as something
extending beyond sexuality even in its wider sense. He saw in the term
libido a concept of unknown nature, comparable to Bergson’s élan vital,
a hypothetical energy of life, which occupies itself not only in
sexuality but in various physiological and psychological manifestations
such as growth, development, hunger, and all the human activities and
interests. This cosmic energy or urge manifested in the human being he
calls libido and compares it with the energy of physics. Although
recognizing, in common with Freud as well as with many others, the
primal instinct of reproduction as the basis of many functions and
present-day activities of mankind no longer sexual in character he
repudiates the idea of still calling them sexual, even though their
development was a growth originally out of the sexual. Sexuality and its
various manifestations Jung sees as most important channels occupied by
libido, but not the exclusive ones through which libido flows.

This is an energic concept of life; and from this viewpoint this
hypothetical energy of life or libido is a living power used
instinctively by man in all the automatic processes of his functioning;
such very processes being but different manifestations of this energy.
By virtue of its quality of mobility and change man, through his
understanding and intelligence, has the power consciously to direct and
use his libido in definite and desired ways.

In this conception of Jung will be seen an analogy to Bergson, who
speaks of “this change, this movement and becoming, this self-creation,
call it what you will, as the very stuff and reality of our being.”[2]

In developing the energic conception of libido and separating it from
Freud’s sexual definition, Jung makes possible the explanation of
interest in general, and provides a working concept by which not only
the specifically sexual, but the general activities and reactions of man
can be understood.

If a person complains of no longer having interest in his work or of
losing interest in his surroundings, then one understands that his
libido is withdrawn from this object and that in consequence the object
itself seems no longer attractive, whereas, as a matter of fact, the
object itself is exactly the same as formerly. In other words, it is the
libido that we bestow upon an object that makes it attractive and
interesting.

The causes for the withdrawal of libido may be various and are usually
quite different from those that the persons offer in explanation. It is
the task of psychoanalysis to discover the real reasons, which are
usually hidden and unknown. On the other hand, when an individual
exhibits an exaggerated interest or places an over-emphasis upon an idea
or situation, then we know there is too much libido here and that we may
find as a consequence a corresponding depletion elsewhere.

This leads directly into the second point of difference between Jung’s
views and those of Freud. This is concerned with those practically
universal childish manifestations of sexuality called by Freud
“polymorphous perverse” because of their similarity to those
abnormalities of sexuality which occur in adults and are called
perversions.

Jung takes exception to this viewpoint. He sees in the various
manifestations of childhood the precursors or forerunners of the later
fully developed sexuality, and instead of considering them perverse he
considers them preliminary expressions of sexual coloring. He divides
human life into three stages. The first stage up to about the third or
fourth year, generally speaking, he calls the presexual stage, for there
he sees the libido or life energy occupied chiefly in the functions of
nutrition and growth, and he draws an analogy between this period and
that of the caterpillar stage of the butterfly.

The second stage includes the years from this time until puberty, and
this he speaks of as the prepubertal stage.

The third period is that from puberty onward and can be considered the
time of maturity.

It is in the earliest stage, the period of which varies greatly in
different individuals, that are fully inaugurated those various
manifestations which have so marked a sexual coloring that there can be
no question of their relationship, although at that time sexuality in
the adult meaning of the word does not exist.

Jung explains the polymorphism of these phenomena as arising from a
gradual movement of the libido from exclusive service in the function of
nutrition into new avenues which successively open up with the
development of the child until the final inauguration of the sexual
function proper at puberty. Normally these childish bad habits are
gradually relinquished until the libido is entirely withdrawn from these
immature phases and with the ushering in of puberty for the first time
“appears in the form of an undifferentiated sexual primitive power,
clearly forcing the individual towards division, budding, etc.”

However, if in the course of its movement from the function of nutrition
to the sexual function the libido is arrested or retarded at any phase,
then a _fixation_ may result, creating a disturbance in the harmony of
the normal development. For, although the libido is retarded and remains
clinging to some childish manifestation, time goes on and the physical
growth of the child does not stand still. Soon a great contrast is
created between the infantile manifestations of the emotional life and
the needs of the more adult individual, and the foundation is thus
prepared for either the development of a definite neurosis or else for
those weaknesses of character or symptomatic disturbances which are not
sufficiently serious to be called a neurosis.

One of the most active and important forms of childish libido occupation
is in phantasy making. The child’s world is one of imagery and
make-believe where he can create for himself that satisfaction and
enjoyment which the world of reality so often denies. As the child grows
and real demands of life are made upon him it becomes increasingly
necessary that his libido be taken away from his phantastic world and
used for the required adaptation to reality needed by his age and
condition, until finally for the adult the freedom of the whole libido
is necessary to meet the biological and cultural demands of life.

Instead of thus employing the libido in the real world, however, certain
people never relinquish the seeking for satisfaction in the shadowy
world of phantasy and even though they make certain attempts at
adaptation they are halted and discouraged by every difficulty and
obstacle in the path of life and are easily pulled back into their inner
psychic world. This condition is called a state of _introversion_. It is
concerned with the past and the reminiscences which belong thereto.
Situations and experiences which should have been completed and finished
long ago are still dwelt upon and lived with. Images and matters which
were once important but which normally have no significance for their
later age are still actively influencing their present lives. The nature
and character of these phantasy products are legion, and are easily
recognized in the emotional attitudes and pretensions, the childish
illusions and exaggerations, the prejudices and inconsistencies which
people express in manifold forms. The actual situation is inadequately
faced; small matters are reacted towards in an exaggerated manner; or
else a frivolous attitude is maintained where real seriousness is
demanded. In other words, there is clearly manifested an inadequate
psychic adaptation towards reality which is quite to be expected from
the child, but which is very discordant in the adult.

The most important of these past influences is that of the parents.
Because they are the first objects of the developing childish love, and
afford the first satisfaction and pleasure to the child, they become the
models for all succeeding efforts, as Freud has worked out. This he
called the _nuclear_ or _root complex_ because this influence was so
powerful it seemed to be the determining factor in all later
difficulties in the life of the individual.

In this phase of the problem lies the third great difference between
Jung’s interpretation of the observed phenomena and that of Freud.

Jung definitely recognizes that there are many neurotic persons who
clearly exhibited in their childhood the same neurotic tendencies that
are later exaggerated. Also that an almost overwhelming effect on the
destiny of these children is exercised by the influence of the parents,
the frequent over-anxiety or tenderness, the lack of sympathy or
understanding, in other words, the complexes of the parent reacting upon
the child and producing in him love, admiration, fear, distrust, hate,
revolt. The greater the sensitiveness and impressionability of the
child, the more he will be stamped with the familial environment, and
the more he will unconsciously seek to find again in the world of
reality the model of his own small world with all the pleasures and
satisfactions, or disappointments and unhappinesses with which it was
filled.

This condition to be sure is not a recognized or a conscious one, for
the individual may think himself perfectly free from this past influence
because he is living in the real world, and because actually there is a
great difference between the present conditions and that of his childish
past. He sees all this, intellectually, but there is a wide gap between
the intellectual grasp of a situation and the emotional development, and
it is the latter realm wherein lies the disharmony. However, although
many ideas and feelings are connected with the parents, analysis reveals
very often that they are only subjective and that in reality they bear
little resemblance to the actual past situation. Therefore, Jung speaks
no longer of the real father and mother but uses the term imago or image
to represent the father or mother, because the feelings and phantasies
frequently do not deal with the real parents but with the distorted and
subjective image created by the imagination of the individual.

Following this distinction Jung sees in the Oedipus complex of Freud
only a symbol for the “childish desire towards the parents and for the
conflict which this craving evokes,” and cannot accept the theory that
in this early stage of childhood the mother has any real sexual
significance for the child.

The demands of the child upon the mother, the jealousy so often
exhibited, are at first connected with the rôle of the mother as
protector, caretaker and supplier of nutritive wants, and only later,
with the germinating eroticism, does the child’s love become admixed
with the developing sexual quality. The chief love objects are still the
parents and he naturally continues to seek and to find in them
satisfaction for all his desires. In this way the typical conflict is
developed which in the son is directed towards the father and in the
daughter towards the mother. This jealousy of the daughter towards the
mother is called the _Electra complex_ from the myth of Electra who took
revenge on her mother for the murder of the husband because she was in
this way deprived of her father.

Normally as puberty is attained the child gradually becomes more or less
freed from his parents, and upon the degree in which this is
accomplished depends his health and future well-being.

This demand of nature upon the young individual to free himself from the
bonds of his childish dependency and to find in the world of reality his
independent existence is so imperious and dominating that it frequently
produces in the child the greatest struggles and severest conflicts, the
period being characterized symbolically as a _self-sacrifice_ by Jung.

It frequently happens that the young person is so closely bound in the
family relations that it is only with the greatest difficulty that he
can attain any measure of freedom and then only very imperfectly, so
that the libido sexualis can only express itself in certain feelings and
phantasies which clearly reveal the existence of the complex until then
entirely hidden and unrealized. Now commences the secondary struggle
against the unfilial and immoral feelings with a consequent development
of intense resistances expressing themselves in irritation, anger,
revolt and antagonism against the parents, or else in an especially
tender, submissive and yielding attitude which over-compensates for the
rebellion and reaction held within.

This struggle and conflict gives rise to the unconscious phantasy of
self-sacrifice which really means the sacrificing of the childish
tendencies and love type in order to free libido; for his nature demands
that he attain the capacity for the accomplishment of his own personal
fulfilment, the satisfaction of which belongs to the developed man and
woman.

This conception has been worked out in detail by Jung in the book which
is herein presented to English readers.

We now come to the most important of Jung’s conceptions in that it bears
practically upon the treatment of certain types of the neuroses and
stands theoretically in direct opposition to Freud’s hypothesis. While
recognizing fully the influence of the parents and of the sexual
constitution of the child, Jung refuses to see in this infantile past
the real cause for the later development of the illness. He definitely
places the cause of the pathogenic conflict _in the present moment_ and
considers that in seeking for the cause in the distant past one is only
following the desire of the patient, which is to withdraw himself as
much as possible from the present important period.

The conflict is produced by some important task or duty which is
essential biologically and practically for the fulfilment of the ego of
the individual, but before which an obstacle arises from which he
shrinks, and thus halted cannot go on. With this interference in the
path of progression libido is stored up and a _regression_ takes place
whereby there occurs a reanimation of past ways of libido occupation
which were entirely normal to the child, but which for the adult are no
longer of value. These regressive infantile desires and phantasies now
alive and striving for satisfaction are converted into symptoms, and in
these surrogate forms obtain a certain gratification, thus creating the
external manifestations of the neurosis. Therefore Jung does not ask
from what psychic experience or point of fixation in childhood the
patient is suffering, but what is the present duty or task he is
avoiding, or what obstacle in his life’s path he is unable to overcome?
What is the cause of his regression to past psychic experiences?

Following this theory Jung expresses the view that the elaborate
phantasies and dreams produced by these patients are really forms of
compensation or artificial substitutes for the unfulfilled adaptation to
reality. The sexual content of these phantasies and dreams is only
apparently and not actually expressive of a real sexual desire or incest
wish, but is a regressive employment of sexual forms to symbolically
express a present-day need when the attainment of the present ego demand
seems too difficult or impossible, and no adaptation is made to what is
possible for the individual’s capability.[3]

With this statement Jung throws a new light on the work of analytic
psychology and on the conception of the neurotic symptoms, and renders
possible of understanding the many apparent incongruities and
conflicting observations which have been so disturbing to the critics.


It now becomes proper to ask what has been established by all this mass
of investigation into the soul, and what is its value not only as a
therapeutic measure for the neurotic sufferer, but also for the normal
human being?

First and perhaps most important is the recognition of a definite
psychological determinism. Instead of human life being filled with
foolish, meaningless or purposeless actions, errors and thoughts, it can
be demonstrated that no expression or manifestation of the psyche,
however trifling or inconsistent in appearance, is really lawless or
unmotivated. Only a possession of the technique is necessary in order to
reveal, to any one desirous of knowing, the existence of the unconscious
determinants of his mannerisms, trivial expressions, acts and behavior,
their purpose and significance.

This leads into the second fundamental conception, which is perhaps even
less considered than the foregoing, and that is the relative value of
the conscious mind and thought. It is the general attitude of people to
judge themselves by their surface motives, to satisfy themselves by
saying or thinking “this is what I want to do or say” or “I intended to
do thus and so,” but somehow what one thought, one intended to say or
expected to do is very often the contrary of what actually is said or
done. Every one has had these experiences when the gap between the
conscious thought and action was gross enough to be observed. It is also
a well known experience to consciously desire something very much and
when it is obtained to discover that this in no wise satisfied or
lessened the desire, which was then transferred to some other object.
Thus one became cognizant of the fact that the feeling and idea
presented by consciousness as the desire was an error. What is the
difficulty in these conditions? Evidently some other directing force
than that of which we are aware is at work.

Dr. G. Stanley Hall uses a very striking symbol when he compares the
mind to an iceberg floating in the ocean with one-eighth visible above
the water and seven-eighths below—the one-eighth above being that part
called conscious and the seven-eighths below that which we call the
unconscious. The influence and controlling power of the unconscious
desires over our thoughts and acts are in this relative proportion.
Faint glimmers of other motives and interests than those we accept or
which we believe, often flit into consciousness. These indications, if
studied or valued accurately, would lead to the realization that
consciousness is but a single stage and but one form of expression of
mind. Therefore its dictum is but one, often untrustworthy, approach to
the great question as to what is man’s actual psychic accomplishment,
and as to what in particular is the actual soul development of the
individual.

A further contribution of equal importance has been the empiric
development of a dynamic theory of life; the conception that life is in
a state of flux—movement—leading either to construction or destruction.
Through the development man has reached he has attained the power by
means of his intelligence and understanding of definitely directing to a
certain extent this life energy or libido into avenues which serve his
interest and bring a real satisfaction for the present day.

When man through ignorance and certain inherent tendencies fails to
recognize his needs or his power to fulfil them, or to adapt himself to
the conditions of reality of the present time, there is then produced
that reanimation of infantile paths by which an attempt is made to gain
fulfilment or satisfaction through the production of symptoms or
attitudes.

The acceptance of these statements demands the recognition of the
existence of an infantile sexuality and the large part played by it in
the later life of the individual. Because of the power and imperious
influence exerted by the parents upon the child, and because of the
unconscious attachment of his libido to the original object, the mother,
and the perseverance of this first love model in the psyche, he finds it
very difficult, on reaching the stage of adult development and the time
for seeking a love object outside of the family, to gain a satisfactory
model.

It is exceedingly important for parents and teachers to recognize the
requirements of nature, which, beginning with puberty, imperiously
demand of the young individual a separation of himself from the parent
stem and the development of an independent existence. In our complex
modern civilization this demand of nature is difficult enough of
achievement for the child who has the heartiest and most intelligent
co-operation of his parents and environment—but for the one who has not
only to contend with his own inner struggle for his freedom but has in
addition the resistance of his parents who would hold him in his
childhood at any cost, because they cannot endure the thought of his
separation from them, the task becomes one of the greatest magnitude. It
is during this period when the struggle between the childish inertia and
nature’s urge becomes so keen, that there occur the striking
manifestations of jealousy, criticism, irritability all usually directed
against the parents, of defiance of parental authority, of runaways and
various other psychic and nervous disorders known to all.

This struggle, which is the first great task of mankind and the one
which requires the greatest effort, is that which is expressed by Jung
as the self-sacrifice motive—the sacrifice of the childish feelings and
demands, and of the irresponsibility of this period, and the assumption
of the duties and tasks of an individual existence.

It is this great theme which Jung sees as the real motive lying hidden
in the myths and religions of man from the beginning, as well as in the
literature and artistic creations of both ancient and modern time, and
which he works out with the greatest wealth of detail and painstaking
effort in the book herewith presented.

This necessitates a recognition and revaluation of the enormous
importance and influence of the ego and the sexual instinct upon the
thought and reaction of man, and also predicates a displacement of the
psychological point of gravity from the will and intellect to the realm
of the emotions and feelings. The desired end is a synthesis of these
two paths or the use of the intellect constructively in the service of
the emotions in order to gain for the best interest of the individual
some sort of co-operative reaction between the two.

No one dealing with analytic psychology can fail to be struck by the
tremendous and unnecessary burdens which man has placed upon himself,
and how greatly he has increased the difficulties of adaptation by his
rigid intellectual views and moral formulas, and by his inability to
admit to himself that he is actually just a human being imperfect, and
containing within himself all manner of tendencies, good and bad, all
striving for some satisfactory goal. Further, that the refusal to see
himself in this light instead of as an ideal person in no way alters the
actual condition, and that in fact, through the cheap pretense of being
able only to consider himself as a very virtuous person, or as shocked
and hurt when observing the “sins” of others, he actually is prevented
from developing his own character and bringing his own capacities to
their fullest expressions.

There is frequently expressed among people the idea of how fortunate it
is that we cannot see each other’s thoughts, and how disturbing it would
be if our real feelings could be read. But what is so shameful in these
secrets of the soul? They are in reality our own egoistic desires all
striving, longing, wishing for satisfaction, for happiness; those
desires which instinctively crave their own gratification but which can
only be really fulfilled by adapting them to the real world and to the
social group.

Why is it that it is so painful for man to admit that the prime
influence in all human endeavor is found in the ego itself, in its
desires, wishes, needs and satisfactions, in short, in its need for
self-expression and self-perpetuation, the evolutionary impetus in life?

The basis for the unpleasantness of this idea may perhaps be found in an
inner resistance in nature itself which forces man to include others in
his scheme, lest his own greedy desires should serve to destroy him. But
even with this inner demand and all the ethical and moral teachings of
centuries it is everywhere evident that man has only very imperfectly
learned that it is to his own interest to consider his neighbor and that
it is impossible for him to ignore the needs of the body social of which
he is a part. Externally, the recognition of the strength of the ego
impulse is objectionable because of the ideal conception that
self-striving and so-called selfish seeking are unworthy, ignoble and
incompatible with a desirable character and must be ignored at all cost.

The futility of this attitude is to be clearly seen in the failure after
all these centuries to even approximate it, as evidenced in our human
relations and institutions, and is quite as ineffectual in this realm as
in that of sexuality where the effort to overcome this imperious
domination has been attempted by lowering the instinct, and seeing in it
something vile or unclean, something unspeakable and unholy. Instead of
destroying the power of sexuality this struggle has only warped and
distorted, injured and mutilated the expression; for not without
destruction of the individual can these fundamental instincts be
destroyed. Life itself has needs and imperiously demands expression
through the forms created. All nature answers to this freely and simply
except man. His failure to recognize himself as an instrument through
which the life energy is coursing and the demands of which must be
obeyed, is the cause of his misery. Despite his possession of intellect
and self-consciousness, he cannot without disaster to himself refuse the
tasks of life and the fulfilment of his own needs. Man’s great task is
the adaptation of himself to reality and the recognition of himself as
an instrument for the expression of life according to his individual
possibilities.

It is in his privilege as a self-creator that his highest purpose is
found.

The value of self-consciousness lies in the fact that man is enabled to
reflect upon himself and learn to understand the true origin and
significance of his actions and opinions, that he may adequately value
the real level of his development and avoid being self-deceived and
therefore inhibited from finding his biological adaptation. He need no
longer be unconscious of the motives underlying his actions or hide
himself behind a changed exterior, in other words, be merely a series of
reactions to stimuli as the mechanists have it, but he may to a certain
extent become a self-creating and self-determining being.

Indeed, there seems to be an impulse towards adaptation quite as Bergson
sees it, and it would seem to be a task of the highest order to use
intelligence to assist one’s self to work with this impulse.


Through the investigation of these different avenues leading into the
hidden depths of the human being and through the revelation of the
motives and influences at work there, although astonishing to the
uninitiated, a very clear and definite conception of the actual human
relationship—brotherhood—of all mankind is obtained. It is this
recognition of these common factors basically inherent in humanity from
the beginning and still active, which is at once both the most hopeful
and the most feared and disliked part of psychoanalysis.

It is disliked by those individuals who have prided themselves upon
their superiority and the distinction between their reactions and
motives and those of ordinary mankind. In other words, they attempt to
become personalities through elevating themselves and lowering others,
and it is a distinct blow to discover that beneath these pretensions lie
the very ordinary elements shared in common by all. On the other hand,
to those who have been able to recognize their own weaknesses and have
suffered in the privacy of their own souls, the knowledge that these
things have not set them apart from others, but that they are the common
property of all and that no one can point the finger of scorn at his
fellow, is one of the greatest experiences of life and is productive of
the greatest relief.

It is feared by many who realize that in these painfully acquired
repressions and symptoms lie their safety and their protection from
directly facing and dealing with tendencies and characteristics with
which they feel unable to cope. The repression and the accompanying
symptoms indicate a difficulty and a struggle, and in this way are a
sort of compromise or substitute formation which permit, although only
in a wasteful and futile manner, the activity of the repressed
tendencies. Nevertheless, to analyze the individual back to his original
tendencies and reveal to him the meaning of these substitute formations
would be a useless procedure in which truly “the last state of that man
would be worse than the first” if the work ceased there. The aim is not
to destroy those barriers upon which civilized man has so painfully
climbed and to reduce him to his primitive state, but, where these have
failed or imperfectly succeeded, to help him to attain his greatest
possibilities with less expenditure of energy, by less wasteful methods
than nature provides. In this achievement lies the hopeful and valuable
side of this method—the development of the synthesis. It is hopeful
because now a way is opened to deal with these primitive tendencies
constructively, and render their effects not only harmless but useful,
by utilizing them in higher aims, socially and individually valuable and
satisfactory.

This is what has occurred normally in those individuals who seem capable
and constructive personalities; in those creative minds that give so
much to the race. They have converted certain psychological tendencies
which could have produced useless symptoms or destructive actions into
valuable productions. Indeed it is not uncommon for strong, capable
persons to state themselves that they knew they could have been equally
capable of a wasteful or destructive life. This utilization of the
energy or libido freed by removing the repressions and the lifting of
infantile tendencies and desires into higher purposes and directions
suitable for the individual at his present status is called
_sublimation_.

It must not be understood by this discussion that geniuses or wonderful
personalities can be created through analysis, for this is not the aim
of the procedure. Its purpose is to remove the inhibitions and
restrictions which interfere with the full development of the
personality, to help individuals attain to that level where they really
belong, and to prepare people to better understand and meet life whether
they are neurotic sufferers or so-called “normal people” with the
difficulties and peculiarities which belong to all.

This reasoning and method of procedure is only new when the application
is made to the human being. In all improvements of plants and animals
these general principles have been recognized and their teachings
constructively utilized.

Luther Burbank, that plant wizard whose work is known to all the world,
says, “A knowledge of the battle of the tendencies within a plant is the
very basis of all plant improvement,” and “it is not that the work of
plant improvement brings with it, incidentally, as people mistakenly
think, a knowledge of these forces, it is the knowledge of these forces,
rather, which makes plant improvement possible.”

Has this not been also the mistake of man regarding himself, and the
cause, partly at least, of his failure to succeed in actually reaching a
more advanced and stable development?

This recognition of man’s biological relationship to all life and the
practical utilization of this recognition, necessitates a readjustment
of thought and asks for an examination and reconsideration of the facts
of human conduct which are observable by any thoughtful person. A quiet
and progressive upheaval of old ideas has taken place and is still going
on. Analytic psychology attempts to unify and value all of the various
phenomena of man which have been observed and noted at different times
by isolated investigators of isolated manifestations and thus bring some
orderly sequence into the whole. It offers a method whereby the
relations of the human being biologically to all other living forms can
be established, the actual achievement of man himself adequately valued,
and opens a vista of the possibilities of improvement in health,
happiness and accomplishment for the human being.

                                                     BEATRICE M. HINKLE.

 =10 Gramercy Park.=



                             AUTHOR’S NOTE


My task in this work has been to investigate an individual phantasy
system, and in the doing of it problems of such magnitude have been
uncovered, that my endeavor to grasp them in their entirety has
necessarily meant only a superficial orientation toward those paths, the
opening and exploration of which may possibly crown the work of future
investigators with success.

I am not in sympathy with the attitude which favors the repression of
certain possible working hypotheses because they are perhaps erroneous,
and so may possess no lasting value. Certainly I endeavored as far as
possible to guard myself from error, which might indeed become
especially dangerous upon these dizzy heights, for I am entirely aware
of the risks of these investigations. However, I do not consider
scientific work as a dogmatic contest, but rather as a work done for the
increase and deepening of knowledge.

This contribution is addressed to those having similar ideas concerning
science.

In conclusion, I must render thanks to those who have assisted my
endeavors with valuable aid, especially my dear wife and my friends, to
whose disinterested assistance I am deeply indebted.

                                                             C. G. JUNG.

 ZURICH.



                                CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE

        AUTHOR’S NOTE                                                xlvii


                                  PART I

 CHAPTER

        INTRODUCTION                                                     3

        Relation of the Incest Phantasy to the Oedipus Legend—Moral
        revulsion over such a discovery—The unity of the antique and
        modern psychology—Followers of Freud in this field—The need
        of analyzing historical material in relation to individual
        analysis.


 I.—    CONCERNING THE TWO KINDS OF THINKING                             8

        Antiquity of the belief in dreams—Dream-meanings
        psychological, not literal—They concern wish-fulfilments—A
        typical dream: the sexual assault—What is symbolic in our
        every-day thinking?—One kind of thinking: intensive and
        deliberate, or directed—Directed thinking and thinking in
        words—Origin of speech in primitive nature sounds—The
        evolution of speech—Directed thinking a modern
        acquisition—Thinking, not directed, a thinking in images:
        akin to dreaming—Two kinds of thinking: directed and dream
        or phantasy thinking—Science an expression of directed
        thinking—The discipline of scholasticism as a
        forerunner—Antique spirit created not science but
        mythology—Their world of subjective phantasies similar to
        that we find in the childmind of to-day; or in the
        savage—The dream shows a similar type—Infantile thinking and
        dreams a re-echo of the prehistoric and the ancient—The
        myths a mass-dream of the people: the dream the myth of the
        individual—Phantastic thinking concerns wishes—Typical
        cases, showing kinship with ancient myths—Psychology of man
        changes but slowly—Phantastic thinking tells us of mythical
        or other material of undeveloped and no longer recognized
        wish tendencies in the soul—The sexual base—The wish,
        because of its disturbing nature, expressed not directly,
        but symbolically.


 II.—   THE MILLER PHANTASIES                                           42

        Miss Miller’s unusual suggestibility—Identifying herself
        with others—Examples of her autosuggestibility and
        suggestive effect—Not striking in themselves, but from
        analytic viewpoint they afford a glance into the soul of the
        writer—Her phantasies really tell of the history of her
        love.


 III.—  THE HYMN OF CREATION                                            49

        Miss Miller’s description of a sea-journey—Really a
        description of “introversion”—A retreat from reality into
        herself—The return to the real world with erotic impression
        of officer singing in the night-watch—The undervaluing of
        such erotic impressions—Their often deep effect—The
        succeeding dream, and poem—The denied erotic impression
        usurps an earlier transference: it expresses itself through
        the Father-Imago—Analysis of the poem—Relation to Cyrano,
        Milton and Job—The attempt to escape the problem by a
        religious and ethical pose—Contrast with real
        religion—Escape from erotic by transference to a God or
        Christ—This made effective by mutual transference: “Love one
        another”—The erotic spiritualized, however—The inner
        conflict kept conscious by this method—The modern, however,
        represses the conflict and so becomes neurotic—The function
        of Christianity—Its biologic purpose fulfilled—Its forms of
        thought and wisdom still available.


 IV.—   THE SONG OF THE MOTH                                            87

        The double rôle of Faust: creator and destroyer—“I came not
        to send peace, but a sword”—The modern problem of choice
        between Scylla of world-renunciation and Charybdis of
        world-acceptance—The ethical pose of The Hymn of Creation
        having failed, the unconscious projects a new attempt in the
        Moth-Song—The choice, as in Faust—The longing for the sun
        (or God) the same as that for the ship’s officer—Not the
        object, however: the longing is important—God is our own
        longing to which we pay divine honors—The failure to replace
        by a real compensation the libido-object which is
        surrendered, produces regression to an earlier and discarded
        object—A return to the infantile—The use of the parent
        image—It becomes synonymous with God, Sun, Fire—Sun and
        snake—Symbols of the libido gathered into the sun-symbol—The
        tendency toward unity and toward multiplicity—One God with
        many attributes: or many gods that are attributes of
        one—Phallus and sun—The sun-hero, the well-beloved—Christ as
        sun-god—“Moth and sun” then brings us to historic depths of
        the soul—The sun-hero creative and destructive—Hence: Moth
        and Flame: burning one’s wings—The destructiveness of being
        fruitful—Wherefore the neurotic withdraws from the conflict,
        committing a sort of self-murder—Comparison with Byron’s
        Heaven and Earth.


                                  PART II


 I.—    ASPECTS OF THE LIBIDO                                          127

        A backward glance—The sun the natural god—Comparison with
        libido—Libido, “sun-energy”—The sun-image as seen by the
        mystic in introversion—The phallic symbol of the
        libido—Faust’s key—Mythical heroes with phallic
        attributes—These heroes personifications of the human libido
        and its typical fates—A definition of the word “libido”—Its
        etymological context.


 II.—   THE CONCEPTION AND THE GENETIC THEORY OF LIBIDO                139

        A widening of the conception of libido—New light from the
        study of paranoia—The impossibility of restricting the
        conception of libido to the sexual—A genetic definition—The
        function of reality only partly sexual—Yet this, and other
        functions, originally derivations from procreative
        impulse—The process of transformation—Libido, and the
        conception of will in general—Examples in mythology—The
        stages of the libido: its desexualized derivatives and
        differentiations—Sublimation vs. repression—Splittings off
        of the primal libido—Application of genetic theory of libido
        to introversion psychoses—Replacing reality by archaic
        surrogates—Desexualizing libido by means of phantastic
        analogy formations—Possibly human consciousness brought to
        present state in this manner—The importance of the little
        phrase: “Even as.”


 III.—  THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE LIBIDO. A POSSIBLE SOURCE OF         157
        PRIMITIVE HUMAN DISCOVERIES

        An example of transition of the libido—Act of boring with
        forefinger: an infantile presexual activity—Similar
        activities in patient’s early childhood—Outcome in dementia
        præcox—Its phantasies related to mythological products: a
        reproduction of the creations of antiquity—The freeing of
        libido from the nutritive to enter the sexual function—The
        epoch of suckling and the epoch of displaced rhythmic
        activity—These followed by the beginnings of onanistic
        attempts—An obstacle in the sexual zone produces regression
        to a previous mode—These regressions easier in earlier
        stages of humanity than now—The ethnological phantasy of
        boring—Examples—The production of fire—Its sexual
        significance—A substitute for coitus—The invention of
        fire-making then due to the need of supplying a symbol for
        the sexual act—The psychological compulsion for such
        transitions of the libido based on an original division of
        the will—Regression to incestuous—Prohibition here sends
        incestuous component of libido back to presexual—Character
        of its application here—The substitution of Mother-Earth for
        the parent—Also of infantile boring—Leading then to
        discovery of fire—An example in Hindoo literature—The sexual
        significance of the mouth—Its other function: the mating
        call—The regression which produced fire through boring also
        elaborated the mating call—The beginnings of speech—Example
        from the Hindoo—Speech and fire the first fruits of
        transformation of libido—The fire-preparation regarded as
        forbidden, as robbery—The forbidden thing onanism—Onanism a
        cheating of sexuality of its purpose—The ceremonial
        fire-production a substitute for the possibility of
        onanistic regression—Thus a transformation of libido ensues.


 IV.—   THE UNCONSCIOUS ORIGIN OF THE HERO                             191

        The cause of introversion—The forward and backward flow of
        the libido—The abnormal third—The conflict rooted in the
        incest problem—The “terrible mother”—Miss Miller’s
        introversion—An internal conflict—Its product of hypnagogic
        vision and poem—The uniformity of the unconscious in all
        men—The unconscious the object of a true psychology—The
        individual tendency with its production of the hero cult—The
        love for the hero or god a love for the unconscious—A
        turning back to the mother of humanity—Such regressions act
        favorably within limits—Miss Miller’s mention of the
        Sphinx—Theriomorphic representations of the libido—Their
        tendency to represent father and mother—The Sphinx
        represents the fear of the mother—Miss Miller’s mention of
        the Aztec—Analysis of this figure—The significance of the
        hand symbolically—The Aztec a substitute for the Sphinx—The
        name Chi-wan-to-pel—The connection of the anal region with
        veneration—Chiwantopel and Ahasver, the Wandering Jew—The
        parallel with Chidher—Heroes generating themselves through
        their own mothers—Analogy with the Sun—Setting and rising
        sun: Mithra and Helios, Christ and Peter, Dhulqarnein and
        Chidher—The fish symbol—The two Dadophores: the two
        thieves—The mortal and immortal parts of man—The Trinity
        taken from phallic symbolism—Comparison of libido with
        phallus—Analysis of libido symbolism always leads back to
        the mother incest—The hero myth the myth of our own
        suffering unconscious—Faust.


 V.—    SYMBOLISM OF THE MOTHER AND OF REBIRTH                         233

        The crowd as symbol of mystery—The city as symbol of the
        mother—The motive of continuous “union”—The typical journey
        of the sun-hero—Examples—A longing for rebirth through the
        mother—The compulsion to symbolize the mother as City, Sea,
        Source, etc.—The city as terrible mother and as holy
        mother—The relation of the water-motive to rebirth—Of the
        tree-motive—Tree of life a mother-image—The bisexual
        character of trees—Such symbols to be understood
        psychologically, not anatomically—The incestuous desire aims
        at becoming a child again, not at incest—It evades incest by
        creating myths of symbolic rebirth—The libido spiritualized
        through this use of symbols—To be born of the spirit—This
        compulsion toward symbolism brings a release of forces bound
        up in incest—This process in Christianity—Christianity with
        its repression of the manifest sexual the negative of the
        ancient sexual cult—The unconscious transformation of the
        incest wish into religious exercise does not meet the modern
        need—A conscious method necessary, involving moral
        autonomy—Replacing belief by understanding—The history of
        the symbolism of trees—The rise of the idea of the terrible
        mother a mask of the incest wish—The myth of Osiris—Related
        examples—The motive of “devouring”—The Cross of Christ: tree
        of death and tree of life—Lilith: the devouring mother—The
        Lamias—The conquering of the mother—Snake and dragon: the
        resistance against incest—The father represents the active
        repulse of the incest wish of the son—He frequently becomes
        the monster to be overcome by the hero—The Mithraic
        sacrificing of the incest wish an overcoming of the mother—A
        replacing of archaic overpowering by sacrifice of the
        wish—The crucified Christ an expression of this
        renunciation—Other cross sacrifices—Cross symbol possesses
        significance of “union”—Child in mother’s womb: or man and
        mother in union—Conception of the soul a derivative of
        mother imago—The power of incest prohibition created the
        self-conscious individual—It was the coercion to
        domestication—The further visions of Miss Miller.


 VI.—   THE BATTLE FOR DELIVERANCE FROM THE MOTHER                     307

        The appearance of the hero Chiwantopel on horseback—Hero and
        horse equivalent of humanity and its repressed libido—Horse
        a libido symbol, partly phallic, partly maternal, like the
        tree—It represents the libido repressed through the incest
        prohibition—The scene of Chiwantopel and the
        Indian—Recalling Cassius and Brutus: also delirium of
        Cyrano—Identification of Cassius with his mother—His
        infantile disposition—Miss Miller’s hero also infantile—Her
        visions arise from an infantile mother transference—Her hero
        to die from an arrow wound—The symbolism of the arrow—The
        onslaught of unconscious desires—The deadly arrows strike
        the hero from within—It means the state of introversion—A
        sinking back into the world of the child—The danger of this
        regression—It may mean annihilation or new life—Examples of
        introversion—The clash between the retrogressive tendency in
        the individual unconscious and the conscious forward
        striving—Willed introversion—The unfulfilled sacrifice in
        the Miller phantasy means an attempt to renounce the mother:
        the conquest of a new life through the death of the old—The
        hero Miss Miller herself.


 VII.—  THE DUAL MOTHER ROLE                                           341

        Chiwantopel’s monologue—His quest for the “one who
        understands”—A quest for the mother—Also for the
        life-companion—The sexual element in the wish—The battle for
        independence from the mother—Its peril—Miss Miller’s use of
        Longfellow’s Hiawatha—An analysis of Hiawatha—A typical hero
        of the libido—The miraculous birth—The hero’s birth symbolic
        because it is really a rebirth from the mother-spouse—The
        twofold mother which in Christian mythology becomes twofold
        birth—The hero his own procreator—Virgin conception a mask
        for incestuous impregnation—Hiawatha’s early life—The
        identification of mother-nature with the mother—The killing
        of a roebuck a conquering of the parents—He takes on their
        strength—He goes forth to slay the father in order to
        possess the mother—Minnehaha, the mother—Hiawatha’s
        introversion—Hiding in the lap of nature really a return to
        the mother’s womb—The regression to the presexual revives
        the importance of nutrition—The inner struggle with the
        mother, to overpower and impregnate her—This fight against
        the longing for the mother brings new strength—The Mondamin
        motive in other myths—The Savior-hero the fruit of the
        entrance of the libido into the personal maternal
        depths—This is to die, and be born again—Hiawatha’s struggle
        with the fish-monster—A new deliverance from the mother—And
        so again with Megissogwon, the Magician—The hero must again
        and again conquer the mother—Then follows his marriage with
        Minnehaha—Other incidents, his death: the sinking of the sun
        in the west—Miss Miller also reminded by Chiwantopel’s
        longing of Wagner’s Siegfried—Analysis of the Siegfried
        myth—The treasure-guarding dragon—The dragon the son’s
        repressed longing for the mother—Symbolism of the cave—The
        separation from the mother, the hero’s conquering of the
        dragon—The symbolism of the cup—Drinking from the mother—Cup
        of the blood of Christ—The resultant mysterious union of
        man—Profane interpretations of this mystery—The phallic
        significance of the serpent—The snake as representing the
        introverting libido—Self-procreation: or creation of the
        world through introversion—The world thus an emanation of
        the libido—The hero himself a serpent—The psychoanalytic
        treatment of regression—The hidden libido touched upon
        causes a struggle: that is, the hero fights the fight with
        the treasure-guarding dragon—The awakening of
        Brunhilde—Siegfried finding his mother: a symbol of his own
        libido—The conquest of the terrible mother brings the love
        and life-giving mother.


 VIII.— THE SACRIFICE                                                  428

        Miss Miller’s vision again—The paradoxical striving of the
        libido away from the mother toward the mother—The destroying
        mother becomes beneficent on being conquered—Chiwantopel a
        hero of words, not deeds—He has not that will to live which
        breaks the magic circle of the incestuous—His identification
        with the author, and her wish for the parents—The end is the
        devouring of the daughter’s libido by the mother—Sexuality
        of the unconscious merely a symbol—Idle dreaming the mother
        of the fear of death—This downward path in the poetry of
        Hölderlin—The estrangement from reality, the introversion
        leading to death—The necessity of freeing libido for a
        complete devotion to life—Otherwise bound by unconscious
        compulsion: Fate—Sublimation through voluntary work—Creation
        of the world through cosmic sacrifice—Man discovers the
        world when he sacrifices the mother—The incest barrier as
        the producer of thought—Budding sexuality drawing the
        individual from the family—The mind dawns at the moment the
        child begins to be free of the mother—He seeks to win the
        world, and leave the mother—Childish regression to the
        presexual brings archaic phantasies—The incest problem not
        physical, but psychological—Sacrifice of the horse:
        sacrifice of the animal nature—The sacrifice of the “mother
        libido”: of the son to the mother—Superiority of Christian
        symbol: the sacrifice, not only of lower nature, but the
        whole personality—Miss Miller’s phantasy passes from
        sacrifice of the sexual, to sacrifice of the infantile
        personality—Problem of psychoanalysis, expressed
        mythologically, the sacrifice and rebirth of the infantile
        hero—The libido wills the destruction of its creation: horse
        and serpent—The end of the hero by means of earthquake—The
        one who understands him is the mother.



“_Therefore theory, which gives to facts their value and significance,
is often very useful, even if it is partially false, for it throws light
on phenomena which no one observed, it forces an examination, from many
angles, of facts which no one had hitherto studied, and it gives the
impulse for more extended and more productive researches._

“_It is, therefore, a moral duty for the man of science to expose
himself to the risk of committing error and to submit to criticism, in
order that science may continue to progress. A writer has attacked the
author for this very severely, saying, here is a scientific ideal very
limited and very paltry. But those who are endowed with a mind
sufficiently serious and impersonal as not to believe that all that they
write is the expression of truth absolute and eternal, approve of this
theory which places the aims of science well above the miserable vanity
and paltry ‘amour propre’ of the scientist._”—GUGLIELMO FERRERO.

         _Les Lois Psychologiques du Symbolisme—1895. Preface, p. viii._



                                 PART I



                              INTRODUCTION


Any one who can read Freud’s “Interpretation of the Dream” without
scientific rebellion at the newness and apparently unjustified daring of
its analytical presentation, and without moral indignation at the
astonishing nudity of the dream interpretation, and who can allow this
unusual array of facts to influence his mind calmly and without
prejudice, will surely be deeply impressed at that place where Freud
calls to mind the fact that an individual psychologic conflict, namely,
the Incest Phantasy, is the essential root of that powerful ancient
dramatic material, the Oedipus legend. The impression made by this
simple reference may be likened to that wholly peculiar feeling which
arises in us if, for example, in the noise and tumult of a modern street
we should come across an ancient relic—the Corinthian capital of a
walled-in column, or a fragment of inscription. Just a moment ago we
were given over to the noisy ephemeral life of the present, when
something very far away and strange appears to us, which turns our
attention to things of another order; a glimpse away from the incoherent
multiplicity of the present to a higher coherence in history. Very
likely it would suddenly occur to us that on this spot where we now run
busily to and fro a similar life and activity prevailed two thousand
years ago in somewhat other forms; similar passions moved mankind, and
man was likewise convinced of the uniqueness of his existence. I would
liken the impression which the first acquaintance with the monuments of
antiquity so easily leaves behind to that impression which Freud’s
reference to the Oedipus legend makes—for while we are still engaged
with the confusing impressions of the variability of the Individual
Soul, suddenly there is opened a revelation of the simple greatness of
the Oedipus tragedy—that never extinguished light of the Grecian
theatre.

This breadth of outlook carries in itself something of revelation. For
us, the ancient psychology has long since been buried among the shadows
of the past; in the schoolroom one could scarcely repress a sceptical
smile when one indiscreetly reckoned the comfortable matronly age of
Penelope and the age of Jocasta, and comically compared the result of
the reckoning with the tragic-erotic struggles in the legend and drama.
We did not know at that time (and who knows even to-day?) that the
mother can be the all-consuming passion of the son, which perhaps
undermines his whole life and tragically destroys it, so that not even
the magnitude of the Oedipus Fate seems one jot overdrawn. Rare and
pathologically understood cases like Ninon de Lenclos and her son[4] lie
too far removed from most of us to give a living impression. But when we
follow the paths traced out by Freud, we arrive at a recognition of the
present existence of such possibilities, which, although they are too
weak to enforce incest, are still strong enough to cause disturbances of
considerable magnitude in the soul. The admission of such possibilities
to one’s self does not occur without a great burst of moral revulsion.
Resistances arise which only too easily dazzle the intellect, and,
through that, make knowledge of self impossible. Whenever we succeed,
however, in stripping feelings from more scientific knowledge, then that
abyss which separates our age from the antique is bridged, and, with
astonishment, we see that Oedipus is still a living thing for us. The
importance of such an impression should not be undervalued. We are
taught by this insight that there is an identity of elementary human
conflicts existing independent of time and place. That which affected
the Greeks with horror still remains true, but it is true for us only
when we give up a vain illusion that we are different—that is to say,
more moral, than the ancients. We of the present day have nearly
succeeded in forgetting that an indissoluble common bond binds us to the
people of antiquity. With this truth a path is opened to the
understanding of the ancient mind; an understanding which so far has not
existed, and, on one side, leads to an inner sympathy, and, on the other
side, to an intellectual comprehension. Through buried strata of the
individual soul we come indirectly into possession of the living mind of
the ancient culture, and, just precisely through that, do we win that
stable point of view outside our own culture, from which, for the first
time, an objective understanding of their mechanisms would be possible.
At least that is the hope which we get from the rediscovery of the
Oedipus problem.

The enquiry made possible by Freud’s work has already resulted
fruitfully; we are indebted to this stimulation for some bold attacks
upon the territory of the history of the human mind. There are the works
of Riklin,[5] Abraham,[6] Rank,[7] Maeder,[8] Jones,[9]—recently
Silberer has joined their ranks with a beautiful investigation entitled
“Phantasie und Mythus.”[10] We are indebted to Pfister[11] for a
comprehensive work which cannot be overlooked here, and which is of much
importance for Christian religious psychology. The leading purpose of
these works is the unlocking of historical problems through the
application of psychoanalytic knowledge; that is to say, knowledge drawn
from the activity of the modern unconscious mind concerning specific
historical material.

I must refer the reader entirely to the specified works, in order that
he may gain information concerning the extent and the kind of insight
which has already been obtained. The explanations are in many cases
dubious in particulars; nevertheless, this detracts in no way from the
total result. It would be significant enough if only the far-reaching
analogy between the psychologic structure of the historical relics and
the structure of the recent individual psychologic products alone were
demonstrated. This proof is possible of attainment for every intelligent
person through the work done up to this time. The analogy prevails
especially in symbolism, as Riklin, Rank, Maeder, and Abraham have
pointed out with illuminating examples; it is also shown in the
individual mechanisms of unconscious work, that is to say in repression,
condensation, etc., as Abraham explicitly shows.

Up to the present time the psychoanalytic investigator has turned his
interest chiefly to the analysis of the individual psychologic problems.
It seems to me, however, that in the present state of affairs there is a
more or less imperative demand for the psychoanalyst to broaden the
analysis of the individual problems by a comparative study of historical
material relating to them, just as Freud has already done in a masterly
manner in his book on “Leonardo da Vinci.”[12] For, just as the
psychoanalytic conceptions promote understanding of the historic
psychologic creations, so reversedly historical materials can shed new
light upon individual psychologic problems. These and similar
considerations have caused me to turn my attention somewhat more to the
historical, in the hope that, out of this, new insight into the
foundations of individual psychology might be won.



                               CHAPTER I
                  CONCERNING THE TWO KINDS OF THINKING


It is a well-known fact that one of the principles of analytic
psychology is that the dream images are to be understood symbolically;
that is to say, that they are not to be taken literally just as they are
presented in sleep, but that behind them a hidden meaning has to be
surmised. It is this ancient idea of a dream symbolism which has
challenged not only criticism, but, in addition to that, the strongest
opposition. That dreams may be full of import, and, therefore, something
to be interpreted, is certainly neither a strange nor an extraordinary
idea. This has been familiar to mankind for thousands of years, and,
therefore, seems much like a banal truth. The dream interpretations of
the Egyptians and Chaldeans, and the story of Joseph who interpreted
Pharaoh’s dreams, are known to every one, and the dream book of
Artemidorus is also familiar. From countless inscribed monuments of all
times and peoples we learn of foreboding dreams, of significant, of
prophetic and also of curative dreams which the Deity sent to the sick,
sleeping in the temple. We know the dream of the mother of Augustus, who
dreamt she was to be with child by the Deity transformed into a snake.
We will not heap up references and examples to bear witness to the
existence of a belief in the symbolism of dreams. When an idea is so
old, and is so generally believed, it is probably true in some way, and,
indeed, as is mostly the case, _is not literally true, but is true
psychologically_. In this distinction lies the reason why the old fogies
of science have from time to time thrown away an inherited piece of
ancient truth; because it was not literal but psychologic truth. For
such discrimination this type of person has at no time had any
comprehension.

From our experience, it is hardly conceivable that a God existing
outside of ourselves causes dreams, or that the dream, eo ipso, foresees
the future prophetically. When we translate this into the psychologic,
however, then the ancient theories sound much more reconcilable, namely,
_the dream arises from a part of the mind unknown to us, but none the
less important, and is concerned with the desires for the approaching
day_. This psychologic formula derived from the ancient superstitious
conception of dreams, is, so to speak, exactly identified with the
Freudian psychology, which assumes a rising wish from the unconscious to
be the source of the dream.

As the old belief teaches, the Deity or the Demon speaks in symbolic
speech to the sleeper, and the dream interpreter has the riddle to
solve. In modern speech we say this means that the dream is a _series of
images, which are apparently contradictory and nonsensical, but arise in
reality from psychologic material which yields a clear meaning_.

Were I to suppose among my readers a far-reaching ignorance of dream
analysis, then I should be obliged to illustrate this statement with
numerous examples. To-day, however, these things are quite well known,
so that one must proceed carefully with every-day dream material, out of
consideration for a public educated in these matters. It is a special
inconvenience that no dream can be recounted without being obliged to
add to it half a life’s history which affords the individual foundations
of the dream, but there are some few typical dreams which can be told
without too great a ballast. One of these is the dream of the sexual
assault, which is especially prevalent among women. A girl sleeping
after an evening happily spent in dancing, dreams that a robber breaks
open her door noisily and stabs through her body with a lance. This
theme, which explains itself, has countless variations, some simple,
some complicated. Instead of the lance it is a sword, a dagger, a
revolver, a gun, a cannon, a hydrant, a watering pot; or the assault is
a burglary, a pursuit, a robbery, or it is some one hidden in the closet
or under the bed. Or the danger may be illustrated by wild animals; for
instance, a horse which throws the dreamer to the ground and kicks her
in the body with his hind foot; lions, tigers, elephants with
threatening trunks, and finally snakes in endless variety. Sometimes the
snake creeps into the mouth, sometimes it bites the breast like
Cleopatra’s legendary asp, sometimes it comes in the rôle of the
paradisical snake, or in the variations of Franz Stuck, whose pictures
of snakes bear the significant titles “Vice,” “Sin,” “Lust.” The mixture
of lust and anxiety is expressed incomparably in the very atmosphere of
these pictures, and far more brutally, indeed, than in Mörike’s charming
poem.

                  _The Maiden’s First Love Song_

                    What’s in the net?
                        Behold,
                    But I am afraid,
                    Do I grasp a sweet eel,
                    Do I seize a snake?
                        Love is a blind
                        Fisherwoman;
                        Tell the child
                        Where to seize.
                    Already it leaps in my hands.

                    Oh, Pity, or delight!
                    With nestlings and turnings
                        It coils on my breast,
                        It bites me, oh, wonder!
                        Boldly through the skin,
                        It darts under my heart.
                    Oh, Love, I shudder!

                    What can I do, what can I begin?
                        That shuddering thing;
                        There it crackles within
                        And coils in a ring.
                        It must be poisoned.
                        Here it crawls around.
                        Blissfully I feel as it worms
                        Itself into my soul
                        And kills me finally.

All these things are simple, and need no explanation to be intelligible.
Somewhat more complicated, but still unmistakable, is the dream of a
woman; she sees the triumphal arch of Constantine. A cannon stands
before it, to the right of it a bird, to the left a man. A shot flashes
out of the tube; the projectile hits her; it goes into her pocket, into
her purse. There it remains, and she holds her purse as if something
very precious were in it. The image disappears, and she continues to see
only the stock of the cannon, and over that Constantine’s motto, “In hoc
signo vinces.”

These few references to the symbolic nature of dreams are perhaps
sufficient. For whomsoever the proof may appear insufficient, and it is
certainly insufficient for a beginner, further evidence may be found in
the fundamental work of Freud, and in the works of Stekel and Rank which
are fuller in certain particulars. We must assume here that the dream
symbolism is an established fact, in order to bring to our study a mind
suitably prepared for an appreciation of this work. We would not be
successful if we, on the contrary, were to be astonished at the idea
that an intellectual image can be projected into our conscious psychic
activity; an image which apparently obeys such wholly other laws and
purposes than those governing the conscious psychic product.

_Why are dreams symbolic?_ Every “why” in psychology is divided into two
separate questions: first, _for what purpose are dreams symbolic_? We
will answer this question only to abandon it at once. Dreams are
symbolic in order that they can not be understood; in order that the
wish, which is the source of the dream, may remain unknown. The question
why this is so and not otherwise, leads us out into the far-reaching
experiences and trains of thought of the Freudian psychology.

Here the second question interests us, viz., _How is it that dreams are
symbolic?_ That is to say, from where does this capacity for symbolic
representation come, of which we, in our conscious daily life, can
discover apparently no traces?

Let us examine this more closely. Can we really discover nothing
symbolic in our every-day thought? Let us follow our trains of thought;
let us take an example. We think of the war of 1870 and 1871. We think
about a series of bloody battles, the siege of Strassburg, Belfort,
Paris, the Treaty of Peace, the foundation of the German Empire, and so
on. How have we been thinking? We start with an idea, or super-idea, as
it is also called, and without thinking of it, but each time merely
guided by a feeling of direction, we think about individual
reminiscences of the war. In this we can find nothing symbolic, and our
whole conscious thinking proceeds according to this type.[13]

If we observe our thinking very narrowly, and follow an intensive train
of thought, as, for example, the solution of a difficult problem, then
suddenly we notice that we are thinking in words, that in wholly
intensive thinking we begin to speak to ourselves, or that we
occasionally write down the problem, or make a drawing of it so as to be
absolutely clear. It must certainly have happened to any one who has
lived for some time in a foreign country, that after a certain period he
has begun to think in the language of the country. A very intensive
train of thinking works itself out more or less in _word form_; that is,
if one wants to express it, to teach it, or to convince any one of it.
Evidently it directs itself wholly to the outside world. To this extent,
this directed or logical thinking is a reality thinking,[14] having a
real existence for us; that is to say, a thinking which adjusts itself
to actual conditions,[15] where we, expressed in other words, imitate
the succession of objectively real things, so that the images in our
mind follow after each other in the same strictly causal succession as
the historical events outside of our mind.[16]

We call this thinking, thinking with directed attention. It has, in
addition, the peculiarity that one is tired by it, and that, on this
account, it is set into action only for a time. Our whole vital
accomplishment, which is so expensive, is adaptation to environment; a
part of it is the directed thinking, which, biologically expressed, is
nothing but a process of psychic assimilation, which, as in every vital
accomplishment, leaves behind a corresponding exhaustion.

The material with which we think is _language and speech concept_, a
thing which has been used from time immemorial as something external, a
bridge for thought, and which has a single purpose—that of
communication. As long as we think directedly, we think for others and
speak to others.[17]

Speech is originally a system of emotional and imitative sounds—sounds
which express terror, fear, anger, love; and sounds which imitate the
noises of the elements, the rushing and gurgling of water, the rolling
of thunder, the tumults of the winds, the tones of the animal world, and
so on; and, finally, those which represent a combination of the sounds
of perception and of affective reaction.[18] Likewise in the more or
less modern languages, large quantities of onomatopoetic relics are
retained; for example, sounds for the movement of water,—

  Rauschen, risseln, rûschen, rinnen, rennen, to rush, ruscello,
  ruisseau, river, Rhein.

  Wasser, wissen, wissern, pissen, piscis, fisch.

Thus language is originally and essentially nothing but a system of
signs or symbols, which denote real occurrences, or their echo in the
human soul.

Therefore one must decidedly agree with Anatole France,[19] when he
says,

  “What is thought, and how do we think? We think with words; that alone
  is sensual and brings us back to nature. Think of it! The
  metaphysician has only the perfected cry of monkeys and dogs with
  which to construct the system of the world. That which he calls
  profound speculation and transcendent method is to put end to end in
  an arbitrary order the natural sounds which cry out hunger, fear, and
  love in the primitive forests, and to which were attached little by
  little the meanings which one believed to be abstract, when they were
  only crude.

  “Do not fear that the succession of small cries, feeble and stifled,
  which compose a book of philosophy, will teach us so much regarding
  the universe, that we can live in it no longer.”

Thus is our directed thinking, and even if we were the loneliest and
furthest removed from our fellows, this thinking is nothing but the
first notes of a long-drawn-out call to our companions that water had
been found, that we had killed the bear, that a storm was approaching,
or that wolves were prowling around the camp. A striking paradox of
Abélard’s which expresses in a very intuitive way the whole human
limitation of our complicated thinking process, reads,—“_Sermo generatur
ab intellectu et generat intellectum_.”[20]

Any system of philosophy, no matter how abstract, represents in means
and purpose nothing more than an extremely cleverly developed
combination of original nature sounds.[21] Hence arises the desire of a
Schopenhauer or a Nietzsche for recognition and understanding, and the
despair and bitterness of their loneliness. One might expect, perhaps,
that a man full of genius could pasture in the greatness of his own
thoughts, and renounce the cheap approbation of the crowd which he
despises; yet he succumbs to the more powerful impulse of the herd
instinct. His searching and his finding, his call, belong to the herd.

When I said just now that directed thinking is properly a thinking with
words, and quoted that clever testimony of Anatole France as drastic
proof of it, a misunderstanding might easily arise, namely, that
directed thinking is really only “word.” That certainly would go too
far. Language should, however, be comprehended in a wider sense than
that of speech, which is in itself only the expression of the formulated
thought which is capable of being communicated in the widest sense.
Otherwise, the deaf mute would be limited to the utmost in his capacity
for thinking, which is not the case in reality. Without any knowledge of
the spoken word, he has his “language.” This language, considered from
the standpoint of history, or in other words, directed thinking, is here
a descendant of the primitive words, as, for instance, Wundt[22]
expresses it.

  “A further important result of that co-operation of sound and sign
  interchange consists in the fact that very many words gradually lose
  altogether their original concrete thought meaning, and turn into
  signs for general ideas and for the expression of the apperceptive
  functions of relation and comparison and their products. In this
  manner abstract thought develops, which, because it would not be
  possible without the change of meaning lying at the root of it, is
  indeed a production of that psychic and psychophysical reciprocal
  action out of which the development of language takes place.”

Jodl[23] denies the identity of language and thought, because, for one
reason, one and the same psychic fact might be expressed in different
languages in different ways. From that he draws the conclusion that a
“super-language thinking” exists. Certainly there is such a thing,
whether with Erdmann one considers it “hypologisch,” or with Jodl as
“super-language.” Only this is not logical thinking. My conception of it
agrees with the noteworthy contribution made by Baldwin, which I will
quote here word for word.[24]

  “The transmission from pre-judgmental to judgmental meaning is just
  that from knowledge which has social confirmation to that which gets
  along without it. The meanings utilized for judgment are those already
  developed in their presuppositions and applications through the
  confirmation of social intercourse. Thus, the personal judgment,
  trained in the methods of social rendering, and disciplined by the
  interaction of its social world, projects its content into that world
  again. In other words, the platform for all movement into the
  assertion of individual judgment—the level from which new experience
  is utilized—is already and always socialized; and it is just this
  movement that we find reflected in the actual results as the sense of
  the ‘appropriateness’ or synomic character of the meaning rendered.

  “Now the development of thought, as we are to see in more detail, is
  by a method essentially of trial and error, of experimentation, of the
  use of meanings as worth more than they are as yet recognized to be
  worth. The individual must use his own thoughts, his established
  knowledges, his grounded judgments, for the embodiment of his new
  inventive constructions. He erects his thought as we say
  ‘schematically’—in logic terms, ‘problematically,’ conditionally,
  disjunctively; projecting into the world an opinion still peculiar to
  himself, as if it were true. _Thus all discovery proceeds._ But this
  is, from the linguistic point of view, still to use the current
  language, still to work by meanings already embodied in social and
  conventional usage.

  “Language grows, therefore, just as thought does, by never losing its
  synomic or dual reference; its meaning is both personal and social.

  “It is the register of tradition, the record of racial conquest, the
  deposit of all the gains made by the genius of individuals.... The
  social copy-system, thus established, reflects the judgmental
  processes of the race, and in turn becomes the training school of the
  judgment of new generations.

  “Most of the training of the self, whereby the vagaries of personal
  reaction to fact and image are reduced to the basis of sound judgment,
  comes through the use of speech. When the child speaks, he lays before
  the world his suggestion for a general or common meaning. The
  reception he gets confirms or refutes him. In either case he is
  instructed. His next venture is now from a platform of knowledge on
  which the newer item is more nearly convertible into the common coin
  of effective intercourse. The point to notice here is not so much the
  exact mechanism of the exchange—secondary conversion—by which this
  gain is made, as the training in judgment that the constant use of it
  affords. In each case, effective judgment is the common judgment.

  “Here the object is to point out that it is secured by the development
  of a function _whose rise is directly ad hoc_, directly for the social
  experimentation by which growth in personal competence is advanced as
  well—_the function of speech_.

  “In language, therefore, to sum up the foregoing, we have the
  tangible—the actual—the historical—instrument of the development and
  conservation of psychic meaning. It is the material evidence and proof
  of the _concurrence of social and personal judgment_. In it synomic
  meaning, judged as ‘appropriate,’ becomes ‘social’ meaning, held as
  socially generalized and acknowledged.”

These arguments of Baldwin abundantly emphasize the wide-reaching
limitations of thinking caused by language.[25] These limitations are of
the greatest significance, both subjectively and objectively; at least
their meaning is great enough to force one to ask one’s self if, after
all, in regard to independence of thought, Franz Mauthner, thoroughly
sceptical, is not really correct in his view that thinking is speech and
nothing more. Baldwin expresses himself more cautiously and reservedly;
nevertheless, his inner meaning is plainly in favor of the primacy of
speech (naturally not in the sense of the spoken word); the directed
thinking, or as we might perhaps call it, the thinking in internal
speech, is the manifest instrument of culture, and we do not go astray
when we say that the powerful work of education which the centuries have
given to directed thinking has produced, just through the peculiar
development of thinking from the individual subjective into the social
objective, a practical application of the human mind to which we owe
modern empiricism and technic, and which occurs for absolutely the first
time in the history of the world. Inquisitive minds have often tormented
themselves with the question why the undoubtedly extraordinary knowledge
of mathematics and principles and material facts united with the
unexampled art of the human hand in antiquity never arrived at the point
of developing those known technical statements of fact, for instance,
the principles of simple machines, beyond the realm of the amusing and
curious to a real technic in the modern sense. There is necessarily only
one answer to this; the ancients almost entirely, with the exception of
a few extraordinary minds, lacked the capacity to allow their interest
to follow the transformations of inanimate matter to the extent
necessary for them to be able to reproduce the process of nature,
creatively and through their own art, by means of which alone they could
have succeeded in putting themselves in possession of the force of
nature. That which they lacked was training in directed thinking, or, to
express it psychoanalytically, the ancients did not succeed in tearing
loose the libido which might be sublimated, from the other natural
relations, and did not turn voluntarily to anthropomorphism. The secret
of the development of culture lies in the _mobility of the libido_, and
in its capacity for transference. It is, therefore, to be assumed that
the directed thinking of our time is a more or less modern acquisition,
which was lacking in earlier times.

But with that we come to a further question, viz., what happens if we do
not think directedly? Then our thinking lacks the major idea, and the
feeling of direction which emanates from that.[26] We no longer compel
our thoughts along a definite track, but let them float, sink and mount
according to their own gravity. According to Kulpe[27] thinking is a
kind of inner will action, the absence of which necessarily leads to an
automatic play of ideas. James understands the non-directed thinking, or
“merely associative” thinking, as the ordinary one. He expresses himself
about that in the following manner:

  “Our thought consists for the great part of a series of images, one of
  which produces the other; _a sort of passive dream-state of which the
  higher animals are also capable_. This sort of thinking leads,
  nevertheless, to reasonable conclusions of a practical as well as of a
  theoretical nature.

  “As a rule, the links of this sort of irresponsible thinking, which
  are accidentally bound together, are empirically concrete things, not
  abstractions.”

We can, in the following manner, complete these definitions of William
James. This sort of thinking does not tire us; it quickly leads us away
from reality into phantasies of the past and future. Here, thinking in
the form of speech ceases, image crowds upon image, feeling upon
feeling; more and more clearly one sees a tendency which creates and
makes believe, not as it truly is, but as one indeed might wish it to
be.[28] The material of these thoughts which turns away from reality,
can naturally be only the past with its thousand memory pictures. The
customary speech calls this kind of thinking “dreaming.”

Whoever attentively observes himself will find the general custom of
speech very striking, for almost every day we can see for ourselves how,
when falling asleep, phantasies are woven into our dreams, so that
between the dreams of day and night there is not so great a difference.
Thus we have two forms of thinking—_directed thinking_ and _dream or
phantasy thinking_. The first, working for communication with speech
elements, is troublesome and exhausting; the latter, on the contrary,
goes on without trouble, working spontaneously, so to speak, with
reminiscences. The first creates innovations, adaptations, imitates
reality and seeks to act upon it. The latter, on the contrary, turns
away from reality, sets free subjective wishes, and is, in regard to
adaptation, wholly unproductive.[29]

Let us leave aside the query as to why we possess these two different
ways of thinking, and turn back to the second proposition, namely, how
comes it that we have two different ways of thinking? I have intimated
above that history shows us that directed thinking was not always as
developed as it is at present. In this age the most beautiful expression
of directed thinking is science, and the technic fostered by it. Both
things are indebted for their existence simply to an energetic education
in directed thinking. At the time, however, when a few forerunners of
the present culture, like the poet Petrarch, first began to appreciate
Nature understandingly[30] there was already in existence an equivalent
for our science, to wit, scholasticism.[31] This took its objects from
the phantasies of the past, and it gave to the mind a dialectic training
in directed thinking. The only success which beckoned the thinker was
rhetorical victory in disputation, and not a visible transformation of
reality.

The subjects of thinking were often astonishingly phantastical; for
example, questions were discussed, such as how many angels could have a
place on the point of a needle? Whether Christ could have done his work
of redemption equally well if he had come into the world as a pea? The
possibility of such problems, to which belong the metaphysical problems
in general, viz., to be able to know the unknowable, shows us of what
peculiar kind that mind must have been which created such things which
to us are the height of absurdity. Nietzsche had guessed, however, at
the biological background of this phenomenon when he spoke of the
“beautiful tension” of the Germanic mind which the Middle Ages created.
Taken historically, scholasticism, in the spirit of which persons of
towering intellectual powers, such as Thomas of Aquinas, Duns Scotus,
Abélard, William of Occam and others, have labored, is the mother of the
modern scientific attitude, and a later time will see clearly how and in
what scholasticism still furnishes living undercurrents to the science
of to-day. Its whole nature lies in dialectic gymnastics which have
raised the symbol of speech, the word, to an almost absolute meaning, so
that it finally attained to that substantiality which expiring antiquity
could lend to its _logos_ only temporarily, through attributes of
mystical valuation. The great work of scholasticism, however, appears to
be the foundation of firmly knitted intellectual sublimation, the
_conditio sine qua non_ of the modern scientific and technical spirit.

Should we go further back into history, we shall find that which to-day
we call science, dissolved into an indistinct cloud. The modern
culture-creating mind is incessantly occupied in stripping off all
subjectivity from experience, and in finding those formulas which bring
Nature and her forces to the best and most fitting expression. It would
be an absurd and entirely unjustified self-glorification if we were to
assume that we are more energetic or more intelligent than the
ancients—our materials for knowledge have increased, but not our
intellectual capacity. For this reason, we become immediately as
obstinate and insusceptible in regard to new ideas as people in the
darkest times of antiquity. Our knowledge has increased but not our
wisdom. The main point of our interest is displaced wholly into material
reality; antiquity preferred a mode of thought which was more closely
related to a phantastic type. Except for a sensitive perspicuity towards
works of art, not attained since then, we seek in vain in antiquity for
that precise and concrete manner of thinking characteristic of modern
science. We see the antique spirit create not science but mythology.
Unfortunately, we acquire in school only a very paltry conception of the
richness and immense power of life of Grecian mythology.

Therefore, at first glance, it does not seem possible for us to assume
that that energy and interest which to-day we put into science and
technic, the man of antiquity gave in great part to his mythology. That,
nevertheless, gives the explanation for the bewildering changes, the
kaleidoscopic transformations and new syncretistic groupings, and the
continued rejuvenation of the myths in the Grecian sphere of culture.
Here, we move in a world of phantasies, which, little concerned with the
outer course of things, flows from an inner source, and, constantly
changing, creates now plastic, now shadowy shapes. This phantastical
activity of the ancient mind created artistically _par excellence_. The
object of the interest does not seem to have been to grasp hold of the
“how” of the real world as objectively and exactly as possibly, but to
æsthetically adapt subjective phantasies and expectations. There was
very little place among ancient people for the coldness and disillusion
which Giordano Bruno’s thoughts on eternity and Kepler’s discoveries
brought to modern humanity. The naïve man of antiquity saw in the sun
the great Father of the heaven and the earth, and in the moon the
fruitful good Mother. Everything had its demons; they animated equally a
human being and his brother, the animal. Everything was considered
according to its anthropomorphic or theriomorphic attributes, as human
being or animal. Even the disc of the sun was given wings or four feet,
in order to illustrate its movement. Thus arose an idea of the universe
which was not only very far from reality, but was one which corresponded
wholly to subjective phantasies.

We know, from our own experience, this state of mind. It is an infantile
stage. To a child the moon is a man or a face or a shepherd of the
stars. The clouds in the sky seem like little sheep; the dolls drink,
eat and sleep; the child places a letter at the window for the
Christ-child; he calls to the stork to bring him a little brother or
sister; the cow is the wife of the horse, and the dog the husband of the
cat. We know, too, that lower races, like the negroes, look upon the
locomotive as an animal, and call the drawers of the table the child of
the table.

As we learn through Freud, the dream shows a similar type. Since the
dream is unconcerned with the real condition of things, it brings the
most heterogeneous matter together, and a world of impossibilities takes
the place of realities. Freud finds progression characteristic of
thinking when awake; that is to say, the advancement of the thought
excitation from the system of the inner or outer perception through the
“endopsychic” work of association, conscious and unconscious, to the
motor end; that is to say, towards innervation. In the dream he finds
the reverse, namely, regression of the thought excitation from the
preconscious or unconscious to the system of perception, by the means of
which the dream receives its ordinary impression of sensuous
distinctness, which can rise to an almost hallucinating clearness. The
dream thinking moves in a retrograde manner towards the raw material of
memory. “The structure of the dream thoughts is dissolved during the
progress of regression into its raw material.” The reanimation of the
original perception is, however, only one side of regression. The other
side is regression to the infantile memory material, which might also be
understood as regression to the original perception, but which deserves
especial mention on account of its independent importance. This
regression might, indeed, be considered as “historical.” The dream,
according to this conception, might also be described as _the substitute
of the infantile scene, changed through transference into the recent
scene_.

The infantile scene cannot carry through its revival; it must be
satisfied with its return as a dream. From this conception of the
historical side of regression, it follows consequently that the modes of
conclusion of the dream, in so far as one may speak of them, must show
at the same time an analogous and infantile character. This is truly the
case, as experience has abundantly shown, so that to-day every one who
is familiar with the subject of dream analysis confirms Freud’s
proposition that _dreams are a piece of the conquered life of the
childish soul_. Inasmuch as the childish psychic life is undeniably of
an archaic type, this characteristic belongs to the dream in quite an
unusual degree. Freud calls our attention to this especially.

  “The dream, which fulfils its wishes by a short, regressive path,
  affords us only an example of the primary method of working of the
  psychic apparatus, which has been abandoned by us as unsuitable. That
  which once ruled in the waking state, when the psychical life was
  still young and impotent, appears to be banished to the dream life, in
  somewhat the same way as the bow and arrow, those discarded, primitive
  weapons of adult humanity, have been relegated to the nursery.”[32]

All this experience suggests to us that we draw a parallel between the
phantastical, mythological thinking of antiquity and the similar
thinking of children, between the lower human races and dreams.[33] This
train of thought is not a strange one for us, but quite familiar through
our knowledge of comparative anatomy and the history of development,
which show us how the structure and function of the human body are the
results of a series of embryonic changes which correspond to similar
changes in the history of the race. Therefore, the supposition is
justified that ontogenesis corresponds in psychology to phylogenesis.
Consequently, it would be true, as well, that the state of infantile
thinking in the child’s psychic life, as well as in dreams, is nothing
but a re-echo of the prehistoric and the ancient.[34]

In regard to this, Nietzsche takes a very broad and remarkable
standpoint.[35]

  “In our sleep and in our dreams we pass through the whole thought of
  earlier humanity. I mean, in the same way that man reasons in his
  dreams, he reasoned when in the waking state many thousands of years.
  The first _causa_ which occurred to his mind in reference to anything
  that needed explanation, satisfied him and passed for truth. In the
  dream this atavistic relic of humanity manifests its existence within
  us, for it is the foundation upon which the higher rational faculty
  developed, and which is still developing in every individual. The
  dream carries us back into earlier states of human culture, and
  affords us a means of understanding it better. The dream thought is so
  easy to us now, because we are so thoroughly trained to it through the
  interminable stages of evolution during which this phantastic and
  facile form of theorizing has prevailed. To a certain extent the dream
  is a restorative for the brain, which during the day is called upon to
  meet the severe demands for trained thought, made by the conditions of
  a higher civilization.

  “From these facts, we can understand how lately more acute logical
  thinking, the taking seriously of cause and effect, has been
  developed; when our functions of reason and intelligence still reach
  back involuntarily to those primitive forms of conclusion, and we live
  about half our lives in this condition.”

We have already seen that Freud, independently of Nietzsche, has reached
a similar standpoint from the basis of dream analysis. The step from
this established proposition to the perception of the myths as familiar
dream images is no longer a great one. Freud has formulated this
conclusion himself.[36]

  “The investigation of this folk-psychologic formation, myths, etc., is
  by no means finished at present. To take an example of this, however,
  it is probable that the myths correspond to the distorted residue of
  wish phantasies of whole nations, the secularized dreams of young
  humanity.”

Rank[37] understands the myths in a similar manner, as a mass dream of
the people.[38] Riklin[39] has insisted rightly upon the dream mechanism
of the fables, and Abraham[40] has done the same for the myths. He says:

  “The myth is a fragment of the infantile soul-life of the people.”

and

  “Thus the myth is a _sustained, still remaining_ fragment from the
  infantile soul-life of the people, and the dream is the myth of the
  individual.”

An unprejudiced reading of the above-mentioned authors will certainly
allay all doubts concerning the intimate connection between dream
psychology and myth psychology. The conclusion results almost from
itself, that the age which created the myths thought childishly—that is
to say, phantastically, as in our age is still done, to a very great
extent (associatively or analogically) in dreams. The beginnings of myth
formations (in the child), the taking of phantasies for realities, which
is partly in accord with the historical, may easily be discovered among
children.

One might raise the objection that the mythological inclinations of
children are implanted by education. The objection is futile. Has
humanity at all ever broken loose from the myths? Every man has eyes and
all his senses to perceive that the world is dead, cold and unending,
and he has never yet seen a God, nor brought to light the existence of
such from empirical necessity. On the contrary, there was need of a
phantastic, indestructible optimism, and one far removed from all sense
of reality, in order, for example, to discover in the shameful death of
Christ really the highest salvation and the redemption of the world.
Thus one can indeed withhold from a child the substance of earlier myths
but not take from him the need for mythology. One can say, that should
it happen that all traditions in the world were cut off with a single
blow, then with the succeeding generation, the whole mythology and
history of religion would start over again. Only a few individuals
succeed in throwing off mythology in a time of a certain intellectual
supremacy—the mass never frees itself. Explanations are of no avail;
they merely destroy a transitory form of manifestation, but not the
creating impulse.

Let us again take up our earlier train of thought.

We spoke of the ontogenetic re-echo of the phylogenetic psychology among
children, we saw that phantastic thinking is a characteristic of
antiquity, of the child, and of the lower races; but now we know also
that our modern and adult man is given over in large part to this same
phantastic thinking, which enters as soon as the directed thinking
ceases. A lessening of the interest, a slight fatigue, is sufficient to
put an end to the directed thinking, the exact psychological adaptation
to the real world, and to replace it with phantasies. We digress from
the theme and give way to our own trains of thought; if the slackening
of the attention increases, then we lose by degrees the consciousness of
the present, and the phantasy enters into possession of the field.

Here the important question obtrudes itself: How are phantasies created?
From the poets we learn much about it; from science we learn little. The
psychoanalytic method, presented to science by Freud, shed light upon
this for the first time. It showed us that there are typical cycles. The
stutterer imagines he is a great orator. The truth of this, Demosthenes,
thanks to his energy, has proven. The poor man imagines himself to be a
millionaire, the child an adult. The conquered fight out victorious
battles with the conquerer; the unfit torments or delights himself with
ambitious plans. We imagine that which we lack. The interesting question
of the “why” of all this we must here leave unanswered, while we return
to the historic problem: From what source do the phantasies draw their
materials?[41] We chose, as an example, a typical phantasy of puberty. A
child in that stage before whom the whole frightening uncertainty of the
future fate opens, puts back the uncertainty into the past, through his
phantasy, and says, “If only I were not the child of my ordinary
parents, but the child of a rich and fashionable count, and had been
merely passed over to my parents, then some day a golden coach would
come, and the count would take his child back with him to his wonderful
castle,” and so it goes on, as in Grimm’s Fairy Tales which the mother
tells to her children.[42] With a normal child, it stops with the
fugitive, quickly-passing idea which is soon covered over and forgotten.
However, at one time, and that was in the ancient world of culture, the
phantasy was an openly acknowledged institution. The heroes,—I recall
Romulus and Remus, Semiramis, Moses and many others,—have been separated
from their real parents.[43] Others are directly sons of gods, and the
noble races derive their family trees from heroes and gods. As one sees
by this example, the phantasy of modern humanity is nothing but a
re-echo of an old-folk-belief, which was very widespread originally.[44]
The ambitious phantasy chooses, among others, a form which is classic,
and which once had a true meaning. The same thing holds good in regard
to the sexual phantasy. In the preamble we have spoken of dreams of
sexual assault: the robber who breaks into the house and commits a
dangerous act. That, too, is a mythological theme, and in the
prehistoric era was certainly a reality too.[45] Wholly apart from the
fact that the capture of women was something general in the lawless
prehistoric times, it was also a subject of mythology in cultivated
epochs. I recall the capture of Proserpina, Deianira, Europa, the Sabine
women, etc. We must not forget that, even to-day, marriage customs exist
in various regions which recall the ancient custom of marriage by
capture.

The symbolism of the instrument of coitus was an inexhaustible material
for ancient phantasy. It furnished a widespread cult that was designated
phallic, the object of reverence of which was the phallus. The companion
of Dionysus was Phales, a personification of the phallus proceeding from
the phallic Herme of Dionysus. The phallic symbols were countless. Among
the Sabines, the custom existed for the bridegroom to part the bride’s
hair with a lance. The bird, the fish and the snake were phallic
symbols. In addition, there existed in enormous quantities theriomorphic
representations of the sexual instinct, in connection with which the
bull, the he-goat, the ram, the boar and the ass were frequently used.
An undercurrent to this choice of symbol was furnished by the sodomitic
inclination of humanity. When in the dream phantasy of modern man, the
feared man is replaced by an animal, there is recurring in the
ontogenetic re-echo the same thing which was openly represented by the
ancients countless times. There were he-goats which pursued nymphs,
satyrs with she-goats; in still older times in Egypt there even existed
a shrine of a goat god, which the Greeks called Pan, where the
Hierodules prostituted themselves with goats.[46] It is well known that
this worship has not died out, but continues to live as a special custom
in South Italy and Greece.[47]

To-day we feel for such a thing nothing but the deepest abhorrence, and
never would admit it still slumbered in our souls. Nevertheless, just as
truly as the idea of the sexual assault is there, so are these things
there too; which we should contemplate still more closely,—not through
moral eye-glasses, with horror, but with interest as a natural science,
since these things are venerable relics of past culture periods. We
have, even to-day, a clause in our penal code against sodomy. But that
which was once so strong as to give rise to a worship among a highly
developed people has probably not wholly disappeared from the human soul
during the course of a few generations. We may not forget that since the
symposium of Plato, in which homo-sexuality faces us on the same level
with the so-called “normal sexuality,” only eighty generations have
passed. And what are eighty generations? They shrink to an imperceptible
period of time when compared with the space of time which separates us
from the homo-Neandertalensis or Heidelbergensis. I might call to mind,
in this connection, some choice thoughts of the great historian
Guglielmo Ferrero:[48]

  “It is a very common belief that the further man is separated from the
  present by time, the more does he differ from us in his thoughts and
  feelings; that the psychology of humanity changes from century to
  century, like fashions of literature. Therefore, no sooner do we find
  in past history an institution, a custom, a law or a belief a little
  different from those with which we are familiar, than we immediately
  search for some complex meanings, which frequently resolve themselves
  into phrases of doubtful significance.

  “Indeed, man does not change so quickly; his psychology at bottom
  remains the same, and even if his culture varies much from one epoch
  to another, it does not change the functioning of his mind. The
  fundamental laws of the mind remain the same, at least during the
  short historical period of which we have knowledge, and all phenomena,
  even the most strange, must be capable of explanation by those common
  laws of the mind which we can recognize in ourselves.”

The psychologist should accept this viewpoint without reservation as
peculiarly applicable to himself. To-day, indeed, in our civilization
the phallic processions, the Dionysian mysteries of classical Athens,
the barefaced Phallic emblems, have disappeared from our coins, houses,
temples and streets; so also have the theriomorphic representations of
the Deity been reduced to small remnants, like the Dove of the Holy
Ghost, the Lamb of God and the Cock of Peter adorning our church towers.
In the same way, the capture and violation of women have shrunken away
to crimes. Yet all of this does not affect the fact that we, in
childhood, go through a period in which the impulses toward these
archaic inclinations appear again and again, and that through all our
life we possess, side by side with the newly recruited, directed and
adapted thought, a phantastic thought which corresponds to the thought
of the centuries of antiquity and barbarism. Just as our bodies still
keep the reminders of old functions and conditions in many old-fashioned
organs, so our minds, too, which apparently have outgrown those archaic
tendencies, nevertheless bear the marks of the evolution passed through,
and the very ancient re-echoes, at least dreamily, in phantasies.

The symbolism which Freud has discovered, is revealed as an expression
of a thinking and of an impulse limited to the dream, to wrong conduct,
and to derangements of the mind, which form of thinking and impulse at
one time ruled as the mightiest influence in past culture epochs.

The question of _whence_ comes the inclination and ability which enables
the mind to express itself symbolically, brings us to the distinction
between the two kinds of thinking—the directed and adapted on one hand,
and the subjective, fed by our own egotistic wishes, on the other. The
latter form of thinking, presupposing that it were not constantly
corrected by the adapted thinking, must necessarily produce an
overwhelmingly subjectively distorted idea of the world. We regard this
state of mind as infantile. It lies in our individual past, and in the
past of mankind.

With this we affirm the important fact that man in his phantastic
thinking has kept a condensation of the psychic history of his
development. An extraordinarily important task, which even to-day is
hardly possible, is to give a systematic description of phantastic
thinking. One may, at the most, sketch it. While directed thinking is a
phenomenon conscious throughout,[49] the same cannot be asserted of
phantastic thinking. Doubtless, a great part of it still falls entirely
in the realm of the conscious, but, at least, just as much goes along in
half shadows, and generally an undetermined amount in the unconscious;
and this can, therefore, be disclosed only indirectly.[50] By means of
phantastic thinking, directed thinking is connected with the oldest
foundations of the human mind, which have been for a long time beneath
the threshold of the consciousness. The products of this phantastic
thinking arising directly from the consciousness are, first, waking
dreams, or day-dreams, to which Freud, Flournoy, Pick and others have
given special attention; then the dreams which offer to the
consciousness, at first, a mysterious exterior, and win meaning only
through the indirectly inferred unconscious contents. Lastly, there is a
so-called wholly unconscious phantasy system in the split-off complex,
which exhibits a pronounced tendency towards the production of a
dissociated personality.[51]

Our foregoing explanations show wherein the products arising from the
unconscious are related to the mythical. From all these signs it may be
concluded that the soul possesses in some degree historical strata, the
oldest stratum of which would correspond to the unconscious. The result
of that must be that an introversion occurring in later life, according
to the Freudian teaching, seizes upon regressive infantile reminiscences
taken from the individual past. That first points out the way; then,
with stronger introversion and regression (strong repressions,
introversion psychoses), there come to light pronounced traits of an
archaic mental kind which, under certain circumstances, might go as far
as the re-echo of a once manifest, archaic mental product.

This problem deserves to be more thoroughly discussed. As a concrete
example, let us take the history of the pious Abbé Oegger which Anatole
France has communicated to us.[52] This priest was a hypercritical man,
and much given to phantasies, especially in regard to one question,
viz., the fate of Judas; whether he was really damned, as the teaching
of the church asserts, to everlasting punishment, or whether God had
pardoned him after all. Oegger sided with the intelligent point of view
that God, in his all-wisdom, had chosen Judas as an instrument, in order
to bring about the highest point of the work of redemption by
Christ.[53] This necessary instrument, without the help of which the
human race would not have been a sharer in salvation, could not possibly
be damned by the all-good God. In order to put an end to his doubts,
Oegger went one night to the church, and made supplication for a sign
that Judas was saved. Then he felt a heavenly touch upon his shoulder.
Following this, Oegger told the Archbishop of his resolution to go out
into the world to preach God’s unending mercy.

Here we have a richly developed phantasy system before us. It is
concerned with the subtle and perpetually undecided question as to
whether the legendary figure of Judas is damned or not. The Judas legend
is, in itself, mythical material, viz., the malicious betrayal of a
hero. I recall Siegfried and Hagen, Balder and Loki. Siegfried and
Balder were murdered by a faithless traitor from among their closest
associates. This myth is moving and tragic—it is not honorable battle
which kills the noble, but evil treachery. It is, too, an occurrence
which is historical over and over again. One thinks of Cæsar and Brutus.
Since the myth of such a deed is very old, and still the subject of
teaching and repetition, it is the expression of a psychological fact,
that envy does not allow humanity to sleep, and that all of us carry, in
a hidden recess of our heart, a deadly wish towards the hero. This rule
can be applied generally to mythical tradition. _It does not set forth
any account of the old events, but rather acts in such a way that it
always reveals a thought common to humanity, and once more rejuvenated._
Thus, for example, the lives and deeds of the founders of old religions
are the purest condensations of typical, contemporaneous myths, behind
which the individual figure entirely disappears.[54]

But why does our pious Abbé torment himself with the old Judas legend?
He first went into the world to preach the gospel of mercy, and then,
after some time, he separated from the Catholic church and became a
Swedenborgian. Now we understand his Judas phantasy. _He was the Judas_
who betrayed his Lord. Therefore, first of all, he had to make sure of
the divine mercy, in order to be Judas in peace.

This case throws a light upon the mechanism of the phantasies in
general. The known, conscious phantasy may be of mythical or other
material; it is not to be taken seriously as such, for it has an
indirect meaning. If we take it, however, as important per se, then the
thing is not understandable, and makes one despair of the efficiency of
the mind. But we saw, in the case of Abbé Oegger, that his doubts and
his hopes did not turn upon the historical problem of Judas, but upon
his own personality, which wished to win a way to freedom for itself
through the solution of the Judas problem.

_The conscious phantasies tell us of mythical or other material of
undeveloped or no longer recognized wish tendencies in the soul._ As is
easily to be understood, an innate tendency, an acknowledgment of which
one refuses to make, and which one treats as non-existent, can hardly
contain a thing that may be in accord with our conscious character. It
concerns the tendencies which are considered immoral, and as generally
impossible, and the strongest resentment is felt towards bringing them
into the consciousness. What would Oegger have said had he been told
confidentially that he was preparing himself for the Judas rôle? And
what in ourselves do we consider immoral and non-existent, or which we
at least wish were non-existent? It is that which in antiquity lay
widespread on the surface, viz., sexuality in all its various
manifestations. Therefore, we need not wonder in the least when we find
this at the base of most of our phantasies, even if the phantasies have
a different appearance. Because Oegger found the damnation of Judas
incompatible with God’s goodness, he thought about the conflict in that
way; that is the conscious sequence. Along with this is the unconscious
sequence; because Oegger himself wished to be a Judas, he first made
sure of the goodness of God. To Oegger, Judas was the symbol of his own
unconscious tendency, and he made use of this symbol in order to be able
to meditate over his unconscious wish. The direct coming into
consciousness of the Judas wish would have been too painful for him.
_Thus, there must be typical myths which are really the instruments of a
folk-psychological complex treatment._ Jacob Burckhardt seems to have
suspected this when he once said that every Greek of the classical era
carried in himself a fragment of the Oedipus, just as every German
carries a fragment of Faust.[55]

The problem which the simple story of the Abbé Oegger has brought
clearly before us confronts us again when we prepare to examine
phantasies which owe their existence this time to an exclusively
unconscious work. We are indebted for the material which we will use in
the following chapters to the useful publication of an American woman,
Miss Frank Miller, who has given to the world some poetical
unconsciously formed phantasies under the title, “Quelque faits
d’imagination créatrice subconsciente.”—_Vol. V., Archives de
Psychologie, 1906._[56]



                               CHAPTER II
                         THE MILLER PHANTASIES


We know, from much psychoanalytic experience, that whenever one recounts
his phantasies or his dreams, he deals not only with the most important
and intimate of his problems, but with the one the most painful at that
moment.[57]

Since in the case of Miss Miller we have to do with a complicated
system, we must give our attention carefully to the particulars which I
will discuss, following as best I can Miss Miller’s presentation.

In the first chapter, “Phénomènes de suggestion passagère ou
d’autosuggestion instantanée,” Miss Miller gives a list of examples of
her unusual suggestibility, which she herself considers as a symptom of
her nervous temperament; for example, she is excessively fond of caviar,
whereas some of her relatives loathe it. However, as soon as any one
expresses his loathing, she herself feels momentarily the same loathing.
I do not need to emphasize especially the fact that such examples are
very important in individual psychology; that caviar is a food for which
nervous women frequently have an especial predilection, is a fact well
known to the psychoanalyst.

Miss Miller has an extraordinary faculty for taking other people’s
feelings upon herself, and of identification; for example, she
identifies herself to such a degree in “Cyrano” with the wounded
Christian de Neuvillette, that she feels in her own breast a truly
piercing pain at that place where Christian received the deadly blow.

From the viewpoint of analytic psychology, the theatre, aside from any
esthetic value, may be considered as an institution for the treatment of
the mass complex. The enjoyment of the comedy, or of the dramatic plot
ending happily is produced by an unreserved identification of one’s own
complexes with the play. The enjoyment of tragedy lies in the thrilling
yet satisfactory feeling that something which might occur to one’s self
is happening to another. The sympathy of our author with the dying
Christian means that there is in her a complex awaiting a similar
solution, which whispers softly to her “hodie tibi, cras mihi,” and that
one may know exactly what is considered the effectual moment Miss Miller
adds that she felt a pain in her breast, “Lorsque Sarah Bernhardt se
précipite sur lui pour étancher le sang de sa blessure.” Therefore the
effectual moment is when the love between Christian and Roxane comes to
a sudden end.

If we glance over the whole of Rostand’s play, we come upon certain
moments, the effect of which one cannot easily escape and which we will
emphasize here because they have meaning for all that follows. Cyrano de
Bergerac, with the long ugly nose, on account of which he undertakes
countless duels, loves Roxane, who, for her part unaware of it, loves
Christian, because of the beautiful verses which really originate from
Cyrano’s pen, but which apparently come from Christian. Cyrano is the
misunderstood one, whose passionate love and noble soul no one suspects;
the hero who sacrifices himself for others, and, dying, just in the
evening of life, reads to her once more Christian’s last letter, the
verses which he himself had composed.

           “Roxane, adieu, je vais mourir!
           C’est pour ce soir, je crois, ma bien-aimée!
           J’ai l’âme lourde encore d’amour inexprimé.
           Et je meurs! Jamais plus, jamais mes yeux grisés,
           Mes regards dont c’était les frémissantes fêtes,
           Ne baiseront au vol les gestes que vous faites;
           J’en revois un petit qui vous est familier
           Pour toucher votre front et je voudrais crier—.
                 Et je crie:
           Adieu!—Ma chère, ma chérie,
           Mon trésor—mon amour!
           Mon coeur ne vous quitta jamais une seconde,
           Et je suis et je serai jusque dans l’autre monde
           Celui qui vous aime sans mesure, celui—”

Whereupon Roxane recognizes in him the real loved one. It is already too
late; death comes; and in agonized delirium, Cyrano raises himself, and
draws his sword:

               “Je crois, qu’elle regarde....
               Qu’elle ose regarder mon nez, la camarde!

                          (Il lève son épée.)

        Que dites-vous?... C’est inutile!
              Je le sais!
        Mais on ne se bat pas dans l’espoir du succès!
        Non! Non! C’est bien plus beau, lorsque c’est inutile!
        —Qu’est-ce que c’est que tous ceux-là?—Vous êtes mille?
        Ah! je vous reconnais, tous mes vieux ennemis!
        Le mensonge!

                    (Il frappe de son épée le vide.)

                  Tiens, tiens, ha! ha! les Compromis,
                  Les Préjugés, les Lâchetés!...

                              (Il frappe.)

               Que je pactise?
         Jamais, jamais!—Ah, te voilà, toi, la Sottise!
         —Je sais bien qu’à la fin vous me mettrez à bas;
         N’importe: je me bats! je me bats! je me bats!
         Oui, vous m’arrachez tout, le laurier et la rose!
         Arrachez! Il y a malgré vous quelque chose
         Que j’emporte, et ce soir, quand j’entrerai chez Dieu,
         Mon salut balaiera largement le seuil bleu.
         Quelque chose que sans un pli, sans une tache,
         J’emporte malgré vous, et c’est—mon panache.”

Cyrano, who under the hateful exterior of his body hid a soul so much
more beautiful, is a yearner and one misunderstood, and his last triumph
is that he departs, at least, with a clean shield—“Sans un pli et sans
une tache.” The identification of the author with the dying Christian,
who in himself is a figure but little impressive and sympathetic,
expresses clearly that a sudden end is destined for her love just as for
Christian’s love. The tragic intermezzo with Christian, however, is
played as we have seen upon a background of much wider significance,
viz., the misunderstood love of Cyrano for Roxane. Therefore, the
identification with Christian has only the significance of a substitute
memory (“deckerinnerung”), and is really intended for Cyrano. That this
is just what we might expect will be seen in the further course of our
analysis.

Besides this story of identification with Christian, there follows as a
further example an extraordinarily plastic memory of the sea, evoked by
the sight of a photograph of a steamboat on the high seas. (“Je sentis
les pulsations des machines, le soulèvement des vagues, le balancement
du navire.”)

We may mention here the supposition that there are connected with sea
journeys particularly impressive and strong memories which penetrate
deeply into the soul and give an especially strong character to the
surface memories through unconscious harmony. To what extent the
memories assumed here agree with the above mentioned problem we shall
see in the following pages.

This example, following at this time, is singular: Once, while in
bathing, Miss Miller wound a towel around her hair, in order to protect
it from a wetting. At the same moment she had the following strong
impression:

  “Il me sembla que j’étais sur un piédestal, une véritable statue
  égyptienne, avec tous ses détails: membres raides, un pied en avant,
  la main tenant des insignes,” and so on.

Miss Miller identified herself, therefore, with an Egyptian statue, and
naturally the foundation for this was a subjective pretension. That is
to say, “I am like an Egyptian statue, just as stiff, wooden, sublime
and impassive,” qualities for which the Egyptian statue is proverbial.
One does not make such an assertion to one’s self without an inner
compulsion, and the correct formula might just as well be, “as stiff,
wooden, etc., as an Egyptian statue I might indeed be.” The sight of
one’s own unclothed body in a bath has undeniable effects for the
phantasy, which can be set at rest by the above formula.[58]

The example which follows this, emphasizes the author’s personal
influence upon an artist:

  “J’ai réussi à lui faire rendre des paysages, comme ceux du lac Léman,
  où il n’a jamais été, et il prétendait que je pouvais lui faire rendre
  des choses qu’il n’avait jamais vues, et lui donner la sensation d’une
  atmosphère ambiante qu’il n’avait jamais sentie; bref que je me
  servais de lui comme lui-même se servait de son crayon, c’est à dire
  comme d’un simple instrument.”

This observation stands in abrupt contrast to the phantasy of the
Egyptian statue. Miss Miller had here the unspoken need of emphasizing
her almost magic effect upon another person. This could not have
happened, either, without an unconscious need, which is particularly
felt by one who does not often succeed in making an emotional impression
upon a fellow being.

With that, the list of examples which are to picture Miss Miller’s
autosuggestibility and suggestive effect, is exhausted. In this respect,
the examples are neither especially striking nor interesting. From an
analytical viewpoint, on the contrary, they are much more important,
since they afford us a glance into the soul of the writer. Ferenczi[59]
has taught us in an excellent work what is to be thought about
suggestibility, that is to say, that these phenomena win new aspects in
the light of the Freudian libido theory, in so much as their effects
become clear through “Libido-besetzungen.” This was already indicated
above in the discussion of the examples, and in the greatest detail
regarding the identification with Christian. The identification becomes
effective by its receiving an influx of energy from the strongly
accentuated thought and emotional feeling underlying the Christian
motif. Just the reverse is the suggestive effect of the individual in an
especial capacity for concentrating interest (that is to say, libido)
upon another person, by which the other is unconsciously compelled to
reaction (the same or opposed). The majority of the examples concern
cases where Miss Miller is put under the effects of suggestion; that is
to say, when the libido has spontaneously gained possession of certain
impressions, and this is impossible if the libido is dammed up to an
unusual degree by the lack of application to reality. Miss Miller’s
observations about suggestibility inform us, therefore, of the fact that
the author is pleased to tell us in her following phantasies something
of the history of her love.



                              CHAPTER III
                          THE HYMN OF CREATION


The second chapter in Miss Miller’s work is entitled, “Gloire à Dieu.
Poème onirique.”

When twenty years of age, Miss Miller took a long journey through
Europe. We leave the description of it to her:

  “After a long and rough journey from New York to Stockholm, from there
  to Petersburg and Odessa, I found it a true pleasure[60] to leave the
  world of inhabited cities—and to enter the world of waves, sky and
  silence—I stayed hours long on deck to dream, stretched out in a
  reclining chair. The histories, legends and myths of the different
  countries which I saw in the distance, came back to me indistinctly
  blended together in a sort of luminous mist, in which things lost
  their reality, while the dreams and thoughts alone took on somewhat
  the appearance of reality. At first, I even avoided all company and
  kept to myself, lost wholly in my dreams, where all that I knew of
  great, beautiful and good came back into my consciousness with new
  strength and new life. I also employed a great part of my time writing
  to my distant friends, reading and sketching out short poems about the
  regions visited. Some of these poems were of a very serious
  character.”

It may seem superfluous, perhaps, to enter intimately into all these
details. If we recall, however, the remark made above,—that when people
let their unconscious speak, they always tell us the most important
things of their intimate selves—then even the smallest detail appears to
have meaning. Valuable personalities invariably tell us, through their
unconscious, things that are generally valuable, so that patient
interest is rewarded.

Miss Miller describes here a state of “introversion.” After the life of
the cities with their many impressions had been absorbing her interest
(with that already discussed strength of suggestion which powerfully
enforced the impression) she breathed freely upon the ocean, and after
so many external impressions, became engrossed wholly in the internal
with intentional abstraction from the surroundings, so that things lost
their reality and dreams became truth. We know from psychopathology that
certain mental disturbances[61] exist which are first manifested by the
individuals shutting themselves off slowly, more and more, from reality
and sinking into their phantasies, during which process, in proportion
as the reality loses its hold, the inner world gains in reality and
determining power.[62] This process leads to a certain point (which
varies with the individual) when the patients suddenly become more or
less conscious of their separation from reality. The event which then
enters is the pathological excitation: that is to say, the patients
begin to turn towards the environment, with diseased views (to be sure)
which, however, still represent the compensating, although unsuccessful,
attempt at transference.[63] The methods of reaction are, naturally,
very different. I will not concern myself more closely about this here.

This type appears to be generally a psychological rule which holds good
for all neuroses and, therefore, also for the normal in a much less
degree. We might, therefore, expect that Miss Miller, after this
energetic and persevering introversion, which had even encroached for a
time upon the feeling of reality, would succumb anew to an impression of
the real world and also to just as suggestive and energetic an influence
as that of her dreams. Let us proceed with the narrative:

  “But as the journey drew to an end, the ship’s officers outdid
  themselves in kindness (tout ce qu’il y a de plus empressé et de plus
  aimable) and I passed many amusing hours teaching them English. On the
  Sicilian coast, in the harbor of Catania, I wrote a sailor’s song
  which was very similar to a song well known on the sea, (Brine, wine
  and damsels fine). The Italians in general all sing very well, and one
  of the officers who sang on deck during night watch, had made a great
  impression upon me and had given me the idea of writing some words
  adapted to his melody. Soon after that, I was very nearly obliged to
  reverse the well-known saying, ‘Veder Napoli e poi morir,’—that is to
  say, suddenly I became very ill, although not dangerously so. I
  recovered to such an extent, however, that I could go on land to visit
  the sights of the city in a carriage. This day tired me very much, and
  since we had planned to see Pisa the following day, I went on board
  early in the evening and soon lay down to sleep without thinking of
  anything more serious than the beauty of the officers and the ugliness
  of the Italian beggars.”

One is somewhat disappointed at meeting here, instead of the expected
impression of reality, rather a small intermezzo, a flirtation.
Nevertheless, one of the officers, the singer, had made a great
impression (il m’avait fait beaucoup d’impression). The remark at the
close of the description, “sans songer à rien de plus sérieux qu’à la
beauté des officiers,” and so on, diminishes the seriousness of the
impression, it is true. The assumption, however, that the impression
openly influenced the mood very much, is supported by the fact that a
poem upon a subject of such an erotic character came forth immediately,
“Brine, wine and damsels fine,” and in the singer’s honor. One is only
too easily inclined to take such an impression lightly, and one admits
so gladly the statements of the participators when they represent
everything as simple and not at all serious. I dwell upon this
impression at length, because it is important to know that an erotic
impression after such an introversion, has a deep effect and is
undervalued, possibly, by Miss Miller. The suddenly passing sickness is
obscure and needs a psychologic interpretation which cannot be touched
upon here because of lack of data. The phenomena now to be described can
only be explained as arising from a disturbance which reaches to the
very depths of her being.

  “From Naples to Livorno, the ship travelled for a night, during which
  I slept more or less well,—my sleep, however, is seldom deep or
  dreamless. It seemed to me as if my mother’s voice wakened me, just at
  the end of the following dream. At first I had a vague conception of
  the words, ‘When the morning stars sang together,’ which were the
  praeludium of a certain confused representation of creation and of the
  mighty chorals resounding through the universe. In spite of the
  strange, contradictory and confused character which is peculiar to the
  dream, there was mingled in it the chorus of an oratorio which has
  been given by one of the foremost musical societies of New York, and
  with that were also memories of Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost.’ Then from
  out of this whirl, there slowly emerged certain words, which arranged
  themselves into three strophes and, indeed, they seemed to be in my
  own handwriting on ordinary blue-lined writing paper on a page of my
  old poetry book which I always carried around with me; in short, they
  appeared to me exactly as some minutes later they were in reality in
  my book.”

Miss Miller now wrote down the following poem, which she rearranged
somewhat a few months later, to make it more nearly, in her opinion,
like the dream original.

              “When the Eternal first made Sound
              A myriad ears sprang out to hear,
              And throughout all the Universe
              There rolled an echo deep and clear:
              All glory to the God of Sound!

              “When the Eternal first made Light
              A myriad eyes sprang out to look,
              And hearing ears and seeing eyes
              Once more a mighty choral took:
              All glory to the God of Light!

              “When the Eternal first gave Love
              A myriad hearts sprang into life;
              Ears filled with music, eyes with light;
              Pealed forth with hearts with love all rife:
              All glory to the God of Love!”

Before we enter upon Miss Miller’s attempt to bring to light through her
suppositions[64] the root of this subliminal creation, we will attempt a
short analytic survey of the material already in our possession. The
impression on the ship has already been properly emphasized, so that we
need have no further difficulty in gaining possession of the dynamic
process which brought about this poetical revelation. It was made clear
in the preceding paragraphs that Miss Miller possibly had not
inconsiderably undervalued the importance of the erotic impression. This
assumption gains in probability through experience, which shows that,
very generally, relatively weak erotic impressions are greatly
undervalued. One can see this best in cases where those concerned,
either from social or moral grounds, consider an erotic relation as
something quite impossible; for example, parents and children, brothers
and sisters, relations (homosexual) between older and younger men, and
so on. If the impression is relatively slight, then it does not exist at
all for the participators; if the impression is strong, then a tragic
dependence arises, which may result in some great nonsense, or be
carried to any extent. This lack of understanding can go unbelievably
far; mothers, who see the first erections of the small son in their own
bed, a sister who half-playfully embraces her brother, a twenty-year-old
daughter who still seats herself on her father’s lap, and then has
“strange” sensations in her “abdomen.” They are all morally indignant to
the highest degree if one speaks of “sexuality.” Finally, our whole
education is carried on with the tacit agreement to know as little as
possible of the erotic, and to spread abroad the deepest ignorance in
regard to it. It is no wonder, therefore, that the judgment, _in
puncto_, of the importance of an erotic impression is generally unsafe
and inadequate.

Miss Miller was under the influence of a deep erotic impression, as we
have seen. Because of the sum-total of the feelings aroused by this, it
does not seem that this impression was more than dimly realized, for the
dream had to contain a powerful repetition. From analytic experience,
one knows that the early dreams which patients bring for analysis are
none the less of especial interest, because of the fact that they bring
out criticisms and valuations of the physician’s personality, which
previously, would have been asked for directly in vain. They enrich the
conscious impression which the patient had of his physician, and often
concerning very important points. They are naturally erotic observations
which the unconscious was forced to make, just because of the quite
universal undervaluation and uncertain judgment of the relatively weak
erotic impression. In the drastic and hyperbolic manner of expression of
the dream, the impression often appears in almost unintelligible form on
account of the immeasurable dimension of the symbol. A further
peculiarity which seems to rest upon the historic strata of the
unconscious, is this—that an erotic impression, to which conscious
acknowledgment is denied, usurps an earlier and discarded transference
and expresses itself in that. Therefore, it frequently happens, for
example, that among young girls at the time of their first love,
remarkable difficulties develop in the capacity for erotic expression,
which may be reduced analytically to disturbances through a regressive
attempt at resuscitation of the father image, or the “Father-Imago.”[65]

Indeed, one might presume something similar in Miss Miller’s case, for
the idea of the masculine creative deity is a derivation, analytically
and historically psychologic, of the “Father-Imago,”[66] and aims, above
all, to replace the discarded infantile father transference in such a
way that for the individual the passing from the narrow circle of the
family into the wider circle of human society may be simpler or made
easier.

In the light of this reflection, we can see, in the poem and its
“Praeludium,” the religious, poetically formed product of an
introversion depending upon the surrogate of the “Father-Imago.” In
spite of the incomplete apperception of the effectual impression,
essential component parts of this are included in the idea of
compensation, as marks, so to speak, of its origin. (Pfister has coined
for this the striking expression, “Law of the Return of the Complex.”)
The effectual impression was that of the officer singing in the night
watch, “When the morning stars sang together.” The idea of this opened a
new world to the girl. (Creation.)

This creator has created tone, then light, and then love. That the first
to be created should have been tone, can be made clear only
individually, for there is no cosmogony except the Gnosis of Hermes, a
generally quite unknown system, which would have such tendencies. But
now we might venture a conjecture, which is already apparent, and which
soon will be proven thoroughly, viz., the following chain of
associations: the singer—the singing morning stars—the God of tone—the
Creator—the God of Light—(of the sun)—(of the fire)—and of Love.

The links of this chain are proven by the material, with the exception
of sun and fire, which I put in parentheses, but which, however, will be
proven through what follows in the further course of the analysis. All
of these expressions, with one exception, belong to erotic speech. (“My
God, star, light; my sun, fire of love, fiery love,” etc.) “Creator”
appears indistinct at first, but becomes understandable through the
reference to the undertone of Eros, to the vibrating chord of Nature,
which attempts to renew itself in every pair of lovers, and awaits the
wonder of creation.

Miss Miller had taken pains to disclose the unconscious creation of her
mind to her understanding, and, indeed through a procedure which agrees
in principle with psychoanalysis, and, therefore, leads to the same
results as psychoanalysis. But, as usually happens with laymen and
beginners, Miss Miller, because she had no knowledge of psychoanalysis,
left off at the thoughts which necessarily bring the deep complex lying
at the bottom of it to light in an indirect, that is to say, censored
manner. More than this, a simple method, merely the carrying out of the
thought to its conclusion, is sufficient to discover the meaning. Miss
Miller finds it astonishing that her unconscious phantasy does not,
following the Mosaic account of creation, put light in the first place,
instead of tone.

Now follows an explanation, theoretically constructed and correct ad
hoc, the hollowness of which is, however, characteristic of all similar
attempts at explanation. She says:

  “It is perhaps interesting to recall that Anaxagoras also had the
  Cosmos arise out of chaos through a sort of whirlwind, which does not
  happen usually without producing sound.[67] But at this time I had
  studied no philosophy, and knew nothing either of Anaxagoras or of his
  theories about the ‘νοῦς,’ which I, unconsciously, was openly
  following. At that time, also, I was equally in complete ignorance of
  Leibnitz, and, therefore, knew nothing of his doctrine ‘dum Deus
  calculat, fit mundus.’”

Miss Miller’s references to Anaxagoras and to Leibnitz both refer to
creation by means of thought; that is to say, that divine thought alone
could bring forth a new material reality, a reference at first not
intelligible, but which will soon, however, be more easily understood.

We now come to those fancies from which Miss Miller principally drew her
unconscious creation.

  “In the first place, there is the ‘Paradise Lost’ by Milton, which we
  had at home in the edition illustrated by Doré, and which had often
  delighted me from childhood. Then the ‘Book of Job,’ which had been
  read aloud to me since the time of my earliest recollection. Moreover,
  if one compares the first words of ‘Paradise Lost’ with my first
  verse, one notices that there is the same verse measure.

                    “‘Of man’s first disobedience ...

                  “‘When the Eternal first made sound.’

  “My poem also recalls various passages in Job, and one or two places
  in Handel’s Oratorio ‘The Creation,’ which came out very indistinctly
  in the first part of the dream.”[68]

The “Lost Paradise” which, as is well known, is so closely connected
with the beginning of the world, is made more clearly evident by the
verse—

  “Of man’s first disobedience”

which is concerned evidently with the fall, the meaning of which need
not be shown any further. I know the objection which every one
unacquainted with psychoanalysis will raise, viz., that Miss Miller
might just as well have chosen any other verse as an example, and that,
accidentally, she had taken the first one that happened to appear which
had this content, also accidentally. As is well known, the criticism
which we hear equally from our medical colleagues, and from our
patients, is generally based on such arguments. This misunderstanding
arises from the fact that the law of causation in the psychical sphere
is not taken seriously enough; that is to say, there are no accidents,
no “just as wells.” It is so, and there is, therefore, a sufficient
reason at hand why it is so. It is moreover true that Miss Miller’s poem
is connected with the fall, wherein just that erotic component comes
forth, the existence of which we have surmised above.

Miss Miller neglects to tell which passages in Job occurred to her mind.
These, unfortunately, are therefore only general suppositions. Take
first, the analogy to the Lost Paradise. Job lost all that he had, and
this was due to an act of Satan, who wished to incite him against God.
In the same way mankind, through the temptation of the serpent, lost
Paradise, and was plunged into earth’s torments. The idea, or rather the
mood which is expressed by the reference to the Lost Paradise, is Miss
Miller’s feeling that she had lost something which was connected with
satanic temptation. To her it happened, just as to Job, that she
suffered innocently, for she did not fall a victim to temptation. Job’s
sufferings are not understood by his friends;[69] no one knows that
Satan has taken a hand in the game, and that Job is truly innocent. Job
never tires of avowing his innocence. Is there a hint in that? We know
that certain neurotic and especially mentally diseased people
continually defend their innocence against non-existent attacks;
however, one discovers at a closer examination that the patient, while
he apparently defends his innocence without reason, fulfils with that a
“Deckhandlung,” the energy for which arises from just those impulses,
whose sinful character is revealed by the contents of the pretended
reproach and calumny.[70]

Job suffered doubly, on one side through the loss of his fortune, on the
other through the lack of understanding in his friends; the latter can
be seen throughout the book. The suffering of the misunderstood recalls
the figure of Cyrano de Bergerac—he too suffered doubly, on one side
through hopeless love, on the other side through misunderstanding. He
falls, as we have seen, in the last hopeless battle against “Le
Mensonge, les Compromis, les Préjugés, les Lâchetés et la Sottise.—Oui,
Vous m’arrachez tout le laurier et la rose!”

Job laments

      “God delivereth me to the ungodly,
      And casteth me into the hands of the wicked,
      I was at ease, and he brake me asunder;
      Yea, he hath taken me by the neck, and dashed me to pieces:

      “_He hath also set me up for his mark.
      His archers compass me round about_;
      He cleaveth my reins asunder, and doth not spare;
      He poureth out my gall upon the ground.
      He breaketh me with breach upon breach;
      He runneth upon me like a giant.”—_Job_ xvi: 11–15.

The analogy of feeling lies in the suffering of the hopeless struggle
against the more powerful. It is as if this conflict were accompanied
from afar by the sounds of “creation,” which brings up a beautiful and
mysterious image belonging to the unconscious, and which has not yet
forced its way up to the light of the upper world. We surmise, rather
than know, that this battle has really something to do with creation,
with the struggles between negations and affirmations. The references to
Rostand’s “Cyrano” through the identification with Christian, to
Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” to the sorrows of Job, misunderstood by his
friends, betray plainly that in the soul of the poet something was
identified with these ideas. She also has suffered like Cyrano and Job,
has lost paradise, and dreams of “creation,”—creation by means of
thought—fruition through the whirlwind of Anaxagoras.[71]

We once more submit ourselves to Miss Miller’s guidance:

  “I remember that when fifteen years old, I was once very much stirred
  up over an article, read aloud to me by my mother, concerning the idea
  which spontaneously produced its object. I was so excited that I could
  not sleep all night because of thinking over and over again what that
  could mean.

  “From the age of nine to sixteen, I went every Sunday to a
  Presbyterian Church, in charge of which, at that time, was a very
  cultured minister. In one of the earliest memories which I have
  retained of him, I see myself as a very small girl sitting in a very
  large pew, continually endeavoring to keep myself awake and pay
  attention, without in the least being able to understand what he meant
  when he spoke to us of Chaos, Cosmos and the Gift of Love (don
  d’amour).”

There are also rather early memories of the awakening of puberty (nine
to sixteen) which have connected the idea of the cosmos springing from
chaos with the “don d’amour.” The medium in which these associations
occur is the memory of a certain very much honored ecclesiastic who
spoke those dark words. From the same period of time comes the
remembrance of that excitement about the idea of the “creative thought”
which from itself “produced its object.” Here are two ways of creation
intimated: the creative thought, and the mysterious reference to the
“don d’amour.”

At the time when I had not yet understood the nature of psychoanalysis,
I had a fortunate opportunity of winning through continual observation a
deep insight into the soul of a fifteen-year-old girl. Then I
discovered, with astonishment, what the contents of the unconscious
phantasies are, and how far removed they are from those which a girl of
that age shows outwardly. There are wide-reaching phantasies of truly
mythical fruitfulness. The girl was, in the split-off phantasy, the
race-mother of uncounted peoples.[72] If we deduct the poetically spoken
phantasy of the girl, elements are left which at that age are common to
all girls, for the unconscious content is to an infinitely greater
degree common to all mankind than the content of the individual
consciousness. For it is the condensation of that which is historically
the average and ordinary.

Miss Miller’s problem at this age was the common human problem: “How am
I to be creative?” Nature knows but one answer to that: “Through the
child (don d’amour!).” “But how is the child attained?” Here the
terrifying problem emerges, which, as our analytic experience shows, is
connected with the father,[73] where it cannot be solved; because the
original sin of incest weighs heavily for all time upon the human race.
The strong and natural love which binds the child to the father, turns
away in those years during which the humanity of the father would be all
too plainly recognized, to the higher forms of the father, to the
“Fathers” of the church, and to the Father God,[74] visibly represented
by them, and in that there lies still less possibility of solving the
problem. However, mythology is not lacking in consolations. Has not the
_logos_ become flesh too? Has not the divine _pneuma_, even the _logos_,
entered the Virgin’s womb and lived among us as the son of man? That
whirlwind of Anaxagoras was precisely the divine νοῦς which from out of
itself has become the world. Why do we cherish the image of the Virgin
Mother even to this day? Because it is always comforting and says
without speech or noisy sermon to the one seeking comfort, “I too have
become a mother,”—through the “idea which spontaneously produces its
object.”

I believe that there is foundation enough at hand for a sleepless night,
if those phantasies peculiar to the age of puberty were to become
possessed of this idea—the results would be immeasurable! All that is
psychologic has an under and an over meaning, as is expressed in the
profound remark of the old mystic: οὐρανὸς ἄνο, οὐρανὸς κάτο, αἰθέρα
ἄνο, αἰθέρα κάτο, πᾶν τοῦτο ἄνο, πᾶν τοῦτο κάτο, τοῦτο λαβὲ καὶ
εὐτυχει[75]—

We would show but slight justice, however, to the intellectual
originality of our author, if we were satisfied to trace back the
commotion of that sleepless night absolutely and entirely to the sexual
problem in a narrow sense. That would be but one-half, and truly, to
make use of the mystic’s expression, only the under half. The other half
is the intellectual sublimation, which strives to make true in its own
way the ambiguous expression of “the idea which produces its object
spontaneously,”—_ideal creation in place of the real_.

In such an intellectual accomplishment of an evidently very capable
personality, the prospect of a spiritual fruitfulness is something which
is worthy of the highest aspiration, since for many it will become a
necessity of life. Also this side of the phantasy explains, to a great
extent, the excitement, for it is a thought with a presentiment of the
future; one of those thoughts which arise, to use one of Maeterlinck’s
expressions,[76] from the “inconscient supérieur,” that “prospective
potency” of subliminal combinations.[77]

I have had the opportunity of observing certain cases of neuroses of
years’ duration, in which, at the time of the beginning of the illness
or shortly before, a dream occurred, often of visionary clarity. This
impressed itself inextinguishably upon the memory, and in analysis
revealed a hidden meaning to the patient which anticipated the
subsequent events of life; that is to say, their psychologic
meaning.[78] I am inclined to grant this meaning to the commotion of
that restless night, because the resulting events of life, in so far as
Miss Miller consciously and unconsciously unveils them to us, are
entirely of a nature to confirm the supposition that that moment is to
be considered as the inception and presentiment of a sublimated aim in
life.

Miss Miller concludes the list of her fancies with the following
remarks:

  “The dream seemed to me to come from a mixture of the representation
  of ‘Paradise Lost,’ ‘Job,’ and ‘Creation,’ with ideas such as ‘thought
  which spontaneously produces its object’: ‘the gift of love,’ ‘chaos,
  and cosmos.’”

In the same way as colored splinters of glass are combined in a
kaleidoscope, in her mind fragments of philosophy, æsthetics and
religion would seem to be combined—

  “under the stimulating influence of the journey, and the countries
  hurriedly seen, combined with the great silence and the indescribable
  charm of the sea. ‘Ce ne fut que cela et rien de plus.’ ‘Only this,
  and nothing more!’”

With these words, Miss Miller shows us out, politely and energetically.
Her parting words in her negation, confirmed over again in English,
leave behind a curiosity; viz., what position is to be negated by these
words? “Ce ne fut que cela et rien de plus”—that is to say, really, only
“le charme impalpable de la mer”—and the young man who sang melodiously
during the night watch is long since forgotten, and no one is to know,
least of all the dreamer, that he was a morning star, who came before
the creation of a new day.[79] One should take care lest he satisfy
himself and the reader with a sentence such as “ce ne fut que cela.”
Otherwise, it might immediately happen that one would become disturbed
again. This occurs to Miss Miller too, since she allowed an English
quotation to follow,—“Only this, and nothing more,” without giving the
source, it is true. The quotation comes from an unusually effective
poem, “The Raven” by Poe. The line referred to occurs in the following:

     “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
     As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door—
     ‘’Tis some visitor.’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door’—
                         Only this, and nothing more.”

The spectral raven knocks nightly at his door and reminds the poet of
his irrevocably lost “Lenore.” The raven’s name is “Nevermore,” and as a
refrain to every verse he croaks his horrible “Nevermore.” Old memories
come back tormentingly, and the spectre repeats inexorably “Nevermore.”
The poet seeks in vain to frighten away the dismal guest; he calls to
the raven:

 “‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend,’ I shrieked,
    upstarting—
 ‘Get thee back into the tempest and the night’s Plutonian shore!
 Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
 Leave my loneliness unbroken, quit the bust above my door!
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
                     Quoth the raven, ‘Nevermore.’”

That quotation, which, apparently, skips lightly over the situation,
“Only this, and nothing more,” comes from a text which depicts in an
affecting manner the despair over the lost Lenore. That quotation also
misleads our poet in the most striking manner. Therefore, she
undervalues the erotic impression and the wide-reaching effect of the
commotion caused by it. It is this undervaluation, which Freud has
formulated more precisely as “repression,” which is the reason why the
erotic problem does not attain directly conscious treatment, and from
this there arise “these psychologic riddles.” The erotic impression
works in the unconscious, and, in its stead, pushes symbols forth into
consciousness. Thus, one plays hide-and-seek with one’s self. First, it
is “the morning stars which sing together”; then “Paradise Lost”; then
the erotic yearning clothes itself in an ecclesiastical dress and utters
dark words about “World Creation” and finally rises into a religious
hymn to find there, at last, a way out into freedom, a way against which
the censor of the moral personality can oppose nothing more. The hymn
contains in its own peculiar character the marks of its origin. It thus
has fulfilled itself—the “Law of the Return of the Complex.” The night
singer, in this circuitous manner of the old transference to the
Father-Priest, has become the “Eternal,” the “Creator,” the _God of
Tone, of Light, of Love_.

The indirect course of the libido seems to be a way of sorrow; at least
“Paradise Lost” and the parallel reference to Job lead one to that
conclusion. If we take, in addition to this, the introductory intimation
of the identification with Christian, which we see concludes with
Cyrano, then we are furnished with material which pictures the indirect
course of the libido as truly a way of sorrow. It is the same as when
mankind, after the sinful fall, had the burden of the earthly life to
bear, or like the tortures of Job, who suffered under the power of Satan
and of God, and who himself, without suspecting it, became a plaything
of the superhuman forces which we no longer consider as metaphysical,
but as metapsychological. Faust also offers us the same exhibition of
God’s wager.

  _Mephistopheles_:

          What will you bet? There’s still a chance to gain him
          If unto me full leave you give
          Gently upon my road to train him!

  _Satan_:

  But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will
  curse thee to thy face.—_Job_ i: 11.

While in Job the two great tendencies are characterized simply as good
and bad, the problem in Faust is a pronouncedly erotic one; viz., the
battle between sublimation and eros, in which the Devil is strikingly
characterized through the fitting rôle of the erotic tempter. The erotic
is lacking in Job; at the same time Job is not conscious of the conflict
within his own soul; he even continuously disputes the arguments of his
friends who wish to convince him of evil in his own heart. To this
extent, one might say that Faust is considerably more honorable since he
openly confesses to the torments of his soul.

Miss Miller acts like Job; she says nothing, and lets the evil and the
good come from the other world, from the metapsychologic. Therefore, the
identification with Job is also significant in this respect. A wider,
and, indeed, a very important analogy remains to be mentioned. The
creative power, which love really is, rightly considered from the
natural standpoint, remains as the real attribute of the Divinity,
sublimated from the erotic impression; therefore, in the poem God is
praised throughout as Creator.

Job offers the same illustration. Satan is the destroyer of Job’s
fruitfulness. God is the fruitful one himself, therefore, at the end of
the book, he gives forth, as an expression of his own creative power,
this hymn, filled with lofty poetic beauty. In this hymn, strangely
enough, two unsympathetic representatives of the animal kingdom,
behemoth and the leviathan, both expressive of the crudest force
conceivable in nature, are given chief consideration; the behemoth being
really the phallic attribute of the God of Creation.

      “Behold now behemoth, which I made as well as thee;
      He eateth grass as an ox.
      Lo, now; his strength is in his loins,
      And his force is in the muscles of his belly.
      He moveth his tail like a cedar:
      The sinews of his thighs are knit together.
      His bones are as tubes of brass;
      His limbs are like bars of iron.
      He is the chief of the ways of God:
      He only that made him giveth him his sword....
      Behold, if a river overflow, he trembleth not;
      He is confident though a Jordan swell even to his mouth.
      Shall any take him when he is on the watch.
      Or pierce through his nose with a snare?
      Canst thou draw leviathan with a fish-hook?
      Or press down his tongue with a cord?...
      Lay thy hand upon him;
      Remember the battle and do no more.
      None is so fierce that dare stir him up:
      Who then is he that can stand before me?
      Who hath first given unto me, that I should repay him?
      Whatsoever is under the whole heaven is mine.”
                        —_Job_ xl: 15–20, 23–24; xli: 1, 8, 10–11.

God says this in order to bring his power and omnipotence impressively
before Job’s eyes. God is like the behemoth and the leviathan; the
fruitful nature giving forth abundance,—the untamable wildness and
boundlessness of nature,—and the overwhelming danger of the unchained
power.[80]

But what has destroyed Job’s earthly paradise? The unchained power of
nature. As the poet lets it be seen here, God has simply turned his
other side outwards for once; the side which man calls the devil, and
which lets loose all the torments of nature on Job, naturally for the
purpose of discipline and training. The God who created such
monstrosities, before whom the poor weak man stiffens with anxiety,
truly must hide qualities within himself which are food for thought.
This God lives in the heart, in the unconscious, in the realm of
metapsychology. There is the source of the anxiety before the
unspeakably horrible, and of the strength to withstand the horrors. The
person, that is to say his conscious “I,” is like a plaything, like a
feather which is whirled around by different currents of air; sometimes
the sacrifice and sometimes the sacrificer, and he cannot hinder either.
The Book of Job shows us God at work both as creator and destroyer. Who
is this God? A thought which humanity in every part of the world and in
all ages has brought forth from itself and always again anew in similar
forms; a power in the other world to which man gives praise, a power
which creates as well as destroys, an idea necessary to life. Since,
psychologically understood, the divinity is nothing else than a
projected complex of representation which is accentuated in feeling
according to the degree of religiousness of the individual, so God is to
be considered as the representative of a certain sum of energy (libido).
This energy, therefore, appears projected (metaphysically) because it
works from the unconscious outwards, when it is dislodged from there, as
psychoanalysis shows. As I have earlier made apparent in the “Bedeutung
des Vaters,” the religious instinct feeds upon the incestuous libido of
the infantile period. In the principal forms of religion which now
exist, the father transference seems to be at least the moulding
influence; in older religions, it seems to be the influence of the
mother transference which creates the attributes of the divinity. The
attributes of the divinity are omnipotence, a sternly persecuting
paternalism ruling through fear (Old Testament) and a loving paternalism
(New Testament). These are the attributes of the libido in that wide
sense in which Freud has conceived this idea empirically. In certain
pagan and also in certain Christian attributes of divinity the maternal
stands out strongly, and in the former the animal also comes into the
greatest prominence.[81] Likewise, the infantile, so closely interwoven
with religious phantasies, and from time to time breaking forth so
violently, is nowhere lacking.[82] All this points to the sources of the
dynamic states of religious activity. These are those impulses which in
childhood are withdrawn from incestuous application through the
intervention of the incest barrier and which, especially at the time of
puberty, as a result of affluxes of libido coming from the still
incompletely employed sexuality, are aroused to their own peculiar
activity. As is easily understood, that which is valuable in the
God-creating idea is not the form but the power, the libido. The
primitive power which Job’s Hymn of Creation vindicates, the
unconditional and inexorable, the unjust and the superhuman, are truly
and rightly attributes of libido, which “lead us unto life,” which “let
the poor be guilty,” and against which struggle is in vain. Nothing
remains for mankind but to work in harmony with this will. Nietzsche’s
“Zarathustra” teaches us this impressively.

We see that in Miss Miller the religious hymn arising from the
unconscious is the compensating amend for the erotic; it takes a great
part of its materials from the infantile reminiscences which she
reawakened into life by the introversion of the libido. Had this
religious creation not succeeded (and also had another sublimated
application been eliminated) then Miss Miller would have yielded to the
erotic impression, either to its natural consequence or to a negative
issue, which would have replaced the lost success in love by a
correspondingly strong sorrow. It is well known that opinions are much
divided concerning the worth of this issue of an erotic conflict, such
as Miss Miller has presented to us. It is thought to be much more
beautiful to solve unnoticed an erotic tension, in the elevated feelings
of religious poetry, in which perhaps many other people can find joy and
consolation. One is wrong to storm against this conception from the
radical standpoint of fanaticism for truth.

I think that one should view with philosophic admiration the strange
paths of the libido and should investigate the purposes of its
circuitous ways.

It is not too much to say that we have herewith dug up the erotic root,
and yet the problem remains unsolved. Were there not bound up with that
a mysterious purpose, probably of the greatest biological meaning, then
certainly twenty centuries would not have yearned for it with such
intense longing. Doubtless, this sort of libidian current moves in the
same direction as, taken in the widest sense, did that ecstatic ideal of
the Middle Ages and of the ancient mystery cults, one of which became
the later Christianity. There is to be seen biologically in this ideal
an exercise of psychologic projection (of the paranoidian mechanism, as
Freud would express it).[83] The projection consists in the repressing
of the conflict into the unconscious and the setting forth of the
repressed contents into seeming objectivity, which is also the formula
of paranoia. The repression serves, as is well known, for the freeing
from a painful complex from which one must escape by all means because
its compelling and oppressing power is feared. The repression can lead
to an apparent complete suppression which corresponds to a strong
self-control. Unfortunately, however, self-control has limits which are
only too narrowly drawn. Closer observation of people shows, it is true,
that calm is maintained at the critical moment, but certain results
occur which fall into two categories.

_First_, the suppressed effect comes to the surface immediately
afterwards; seldom directly, it is true, but ordinarily in the form of a
displacement to another object (e. g. a person is, in official
relations, polite, submissive, patient, and so on, and turns his whole
anger loose upon his wife or his subordinates).

_Second_, the suppressed effect creates compensations elsewhere. For
example, people who strive for excessive ethics, who try always to
think, feel, and act altruistically and ideally, avenge themselves,
because of the impossibility of carrying out their ideals, by subtle
maliciousness, which naturally does not come into their own
consciousness as such, but which leads to misunderstandings and unhappy
situations. Apparently, then, all of these are only “especially
unfortunate circumstances,” or they are the guilt and malice of other
people, or they are tragic complications.

One is, indeed, freed of the conscious conflict, nevertheless it lies
invisible at one’s feet, and is stumbled over at every step. The technic
of the apparent suppressing and forgetting is inadequate because it is
not possible of achievement in the last analysis—it is in reality a mere
makeshift. The religious projection offers a much more effectual help.
In this one keeps the conflict in sight (care, pain, anxiety, and so on)
and gives it over to a personality standing outside of one’s self, the
Divinity. The evangelical command teaches us this:

  “Cast all your anxiety upon him, because he careth for you.”—_I Peter_
  v: 7.

  “In nothing be anxious; but in every thing by prayer and
  supplication ... let your requests be made known unto God.”—_Phil._
  iv: 6.

One must give the burdening complex of the soul consciously over to the
Deity; that is to say, associate it with a definite representation
complex which is set up as objectively real, as a person who answers
those questions, for us unanswerable. To this inner demand belongs the
candid avowal of sin and the Christian humility presuming such an
avowal. Both are for the purpose of making it possible for one to
examine one’s self and to know one’s self.[84] One may consider the
mutual avowal of sins as the most powerful support to this work of
education (“Confess, therefore, your sins one to another.”—James v: 16).
These measures aim at a conscious recognition of the conflicts,
thoroughly psychoanalytic, which is also _a conditio sine qua non_ of
the psychoanalytic condition of recovery. Just as psychoanalysis in the
hands of the physician, a secular method, sets up the real object of
transference as the one to take over the conflicts of the oppressed and
to solve them, so the Christian religion sets up the Saviour, considered
as real; “In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness
of sins....” (Eph. i: 7 and Col. i: 14.)[85] He is the deliverer and
redeemer of our guilt, a God who stands above sin, “who did no sin,
neither was guile found in his mouth” (Pet. ii: 22). “Who his own self
bare our sins in his body upon the tree” (Pet. ii: 24). “Therefore
Christ has been sacrificed once to take away the sins of many” (Heb. ix:
28). The God, thus thought of, is distinguished as innocent in himself
and as the self-sacrificer. (These qualities are true also for that
amount of energy—libido—which belongs to the representation complex
designated the Redeemer.) The conscious projection towards which the
Christian education aims, offers, therefore, a double benefit: first,
one is kept conscious of the conflict (sins) of two opposing tendencies
mutually resistant, and through this one prevents a known trouble from
becoming, by means of repressing and forgetting, an unknown and
therefore so much more tormenting sorrow. Secondly, one lightens one’s
burden by surrendering it to him to whom all solutions are known. One
must not forget that the individual psychologic roots of the Deity, set
up as real by the pious, are concealed from him, and that he, although
unaware of this, still bears the burden alone and is still alone with
his conflict. This delusion would lead infallibly to the speedy breaking
up of the system, for Nature cannot indefinitely be deceived, but the
powerful institution of Christianity meets this situation. The command
in the book of James is the best expression of the psychologic
significance of this: “Bear ye one another’s burdens.”[86]

This is emphasized as especially important in order to preserve society
upright through mutual love (Transference); the Pauline writings leave
no doubt about this:

  “Through love be servants one to another.”—_Gal._ v: 13.

  “Let love of the brethren continue.”—_Heb._ xiii: 1.

  “And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and good works.
  Not forgetting our own assembling together as is the custom of some,
  but exhorting one another.”—_Heb._ x: 24–25.

We might say that the real transference taught in the Christian
community is the condition absolutely necessary for the efficacy of the
miracle of redemption; the first letter of John comes out frankly with
this:

  “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light.”—_I John_ ii: 10.

  “If we love one another, God abideth in us.”—_I John_ iv: 12.

The Deity continues to be efficacious in the Christian religion only
upon the foundation of brotherly love. Consequently, here too the
mystery of redemption is the unresisting real transference.[87] One may
properly ask one’s self, for what then is the Deity useful, if his
efficacy consists only in the _real transference_? To this also the
evangelical message has a striking answer:

  “Men are all brothers in Christ.”

  “So Christ also, having been once offered to bear the sins of many,
  shall appear a second time apart from sin to them that wait for him
  unto salvation.”—_Heb._ ix: 28.

The condition of transference among brothers is to be such as between
man and Christ, a spiritual one. As the history of ancient cults and
certain Christian sects shows, this explanation of the Christian
religion is an especially important one biologically, for the
psychologic intimacy creates certain shortened ways between men which
lead only too easily to that from which Christianity seeks to release
them, namely to the sexual relation with all those consequences and
necessities under which the really already highly civilized man had to
suffer at the beginning of our Christian era. For just as the ancient
religious experience was regarded distinctly as a bodily union with the
Deity,[88] just so was worship permeated with sexuality of every kind.
Sexuality lay only too close to the relations of people with each other.
The moral degeneracy of the first Christian century produced a moral
reaction arising out of the darkness of the lowest strata of society
which was expressed in the second and third centuries at its purest in
the two antagonistic religions, Christianity on the one side, and
Mithracism on the other. These religions strove after precisely that
higher form of social intercourse symbolic of a projected “become flesh”
idea (logos), whereby all those strongest impulsive energies of the
archaic man, formerly plunging him from one passion into another,[89]
and which seemed to the ancients like the compulsion of the evil
constellations, as εἱμαρμένη,[90] and which in the sense of later ages
might be translated as the driving force of the libido,[91] the δύναμις
κινητική[92] of Zeno, could be made use of for social preservation.[93]

It may be assumed most certainly that the domestication of humanity has
cost the greatest sacrifices. An age which produced the stoical ideal
must certainly have known why and against what it was created. The age
of Nero serves to set off effectually the famous extracts from the
forty-first letter of Seneca to Lucilius:

  “One drags the other into error, and how can we attain to salvation
  when no one bids us halt, when all the world drives us in deeper?”

  “Do you ever come across a man unafraid in danger, untouched by
  desires, happy in misfortune, peaceful in the midst of a storm,
  elevated above ordinary mortals, on the same plane as the gods, does
  not reverence seize you? Are you not compelled to say, ‘Such an
  exalted being is certainly something different from the miserable body
  which he inhabits?’ A divine strength rules there, such an excellent
  mind, full of moderation, raised above all trivialities, which smiles
  at that which we others fear or strive after: a heavenly power
  animates such a person, a thing of this kind does not exist without
  the coöperation of a deity. The largest part of such a being belongs
  to the region from which he came. Just as the sun’s rays touch the
  earth in reality and yet are at home only there from whence they come,
  so an eminent holy man associates with us. He is sent to us that we
  may learn to know the divine better, and although with us, still
  really belongs to his original home. He looks thither and reaches
  towards it; among us he walks as an exalted being.”

The people of this age had grown ripe for identification with the λόγος
(word) “become flesh,” for the founding of a new fellowship, united by
one idea,[94] in the name of which people could love each other and call
each other brothers.[95] The old vague idea of a μεσίτης (Messiah), of a
mediator in whose name new ways of love would be created, became a fact,
and with that humanity made an immense step forward. This had not been
brought about by a speculative, completely sophisticated philosophy, but
by an elementary need in the mass of people vegetating in spiritual
darkness. The profoundest necessities had evidently driven them towards
that, since humanity did not thrive in a state of dissoluteness.[96] The
meaning of those cults—I speak of Christianity and Mithracism—is clear;
it is a moral restraint of animal impulses.[97] The dynamic appearance
of both religions betrays something of that enormous feeling of
redemption which animated the first disciples and which we to-day
scarcely know how to appreciate, for these old truths are empty to us.
Most certainly we should still understand it, had our customs even a
breath of ancient brutality, for we can hardly realize in this day the
whirlwinds of the unchained libido which roared through the ancient Rome
of the Cæsars. The civilized man of the present day seems very far
removed from that. He has become merely neurotic. So for us the
necessities which brought forth Christianity have actually been lost,
since we no longer understand their meaning. We do not know against what
it had to protect us.[98] For enlightened people, the so-called
religiousness has already approached very close to a neurosis. In the
past two thousand years Christianity has done its work and has erected
barriers of repression, which protect us from the sight of our own
“sinfulness.” The elementary emotions of the libido have come to be
unknown to us, for they are carried on in the unconscious; therefore,
the belief which combats them has become hollow and empty. Let whoever
does not believe that a mask covers our religion, obtain an impression
for himself from the appearance of our modern churches, from which style
and art have long since fled.

With this we turn back to the question from which we digressed, namely,
whether or not Miss Miller has created something valuable with her poem.
If we bear in mind under what psychologic or moral conditions
Christianity came into existence; that is to say, at a time when fierce
brutality was an every-day spectacle, then we understand the religious
seizure of the whole personality and the worth of that religion which
defended the people of the Roman culture against the visible storms of
wickedness. It was not difficult for those people to remain conscious of
sin, for they saw it every day spread out before their eyes. The
religious product was at that time the accomplishment of the total
personality. Miss Miller not only undervalues her “sins,” but the
connection between the “depressing and unrelenting need” and her
religious product has even escaped her. Thus her poetical creation
completely loses the living value of a religious product. It is not much
more than a sentimental transformation of the erotic which is secretly
carried out close to consciousness and principally possesses the same
worth as the manifest content of the dream[99] with its uncertain and
delusive perishableness. Thus the poem is properly only a dream become
audible.

To the degree that the modern consciousness is eagerly busied with
things of a wholly other sort than religion, religion and its object,
original sin, have stepped into the background; that is to say, into the
unconscious in great part. Therefore, to-day man believes neither in the
one nor in the other. Consequently the Freudian school is accused of an
impure phantasy, and yet one might convince one’s self very easily with
a rather fleeting glance at the history of ancient religions and morals
as to what kind of demons are harbored in the human soul. With this
disbelief in the crudeness of human nature is bound up the disbelief in
the power of religion. The phenomenon, well known to every
psychoanalyst, of the unconscious transformation of an erotic conflict
into religious activity is something _ethically wholly worthless_ and
nothing but an hysterical production. Whoever, on the other hand, to his
conscious sin just as consciously places religion in opposition, does
something the greatness of which cannot be denied. This can be verified
by a backward glance over history. Such a procedure is sound religion.
_The unconscious recasting of the erotic into something religious lays
itself open to the reproach of a sentimental and ethically worthless
pose._

By means of the secular practice of the naïve projection which is, as we
have seen, nothing else than a veiled or indirect real-transference
(through the spiritual, through the logos), Christian training has
produced a widespread weakening of the animal nature so that a great
part of the strength of the impulses could be set free for the work of
social preservation and fruitfulness.[100] This abundance of libido, to
make use of this singular expression, pursues with a budding renaissance
(for example Petrarch) a course which outgoing antiquity had already
sketched out as religious; viz., the way of the transference to
nature.[101] The transformation of this libidinous interest is in great
part due to the Mithraic worship, which was a nature religion in the
best sense of the word;[102] while the primitive Christians exhibited
throughout an antagonistic attitude to the beauties of this world.[103]
I remember the passage of St. Augustine mentioned by J. Burckhardt:

  “Men draw thither to admire the heights of the mountains and the
  powerful waves of the sea—and to turn away from themselves.”

The foremost authority on the Mithraic cult, Franz Cumont,[104] says as
follows:

  “The gods were everywhere and mingled in all the events of daily life.
  The fire which cooked the means of nourishment for the believers and
  which warmed them; the water which quenched their thirst and cleansed
  them; also the air which they breathed, and the day which shone for
  them, were the objects of their homage. Perhaps no religion has given
  to its adherents in so large a degree as Mithracism opportunity for
  prayer and motive for devotion. When the initiated betook himself in
  the evening to the sacred grotto concealed in the solitude of the
  forest, at every step new sensations awakened in his heart some
  mystical emotion. The stars that shone in the sky, the wind that
  whispered in the foliage, the spring or brook which hastened murmuring
  to the valley, even the earth which he trod under his feet, were in
  his eyes divine; and all surrounding nature a worshipful fear of the
  infinite forces that swayed the universe.”

These fundamental thoughts of Mithracism, which, like so much else of
the ancient spiritual life, arose again from their grave during the
renaissance are to be found in the beautiful words of Seneca:[105]

  “When you enter a grove peopled with ancient trees, higher than the
  ordinary, and whose boughs are so closely interwoven that the sky
  cannot be seen, the stately shadows of the wood, the privacy of the
  place, and the awful gloom cannot but strike you, as with the presence
  of a deity, or when we see some cave at the foot of a mountain
  penetrating the rocks, not made by human hands, but hollowed out to
  great depths by nature; it fills the mind with a religious fear; we
  venerate the fountain-heads of great rivers; the sudden eruption of a
  vast body of water from the secret places of the earth, obtains an
  altar: we adore likewise the springs of warm baths, and either the
  opaque quality or immense depths, hath made some lakes sacred.”

All this disappeared in the transitory world of the Christian, only to
break forth much later when the thought of mankind had achieved that
_independence of the idea_ which could resist the æsthetic impression,
so that thought was no longer fettered by the emotional effects of the
impression, but could rise to reflective observation. Thus man entered
into a new and independent relation to nature whereby the foundation was
laid for natural science and technique. With that, however, there
entered in for the first time a displacement of the weight of interest;
there arose again real-transference which has reached its greatest
development in our time. Materialistic interest has everywhere become
paramount. Therefore, the realms of the spirit, where earlier the
greatest conflicts and developments took place, lie deserted and fallow;
the world has not only lost its God as the sentimentalists of the
nineteenth century bewail, but also to some extent has lost its soul as
well. One, therefore, cannot wonder that the discoveries and doctrines
of the Freudian school, with their wholly psychologic views, meet with
an almost universal disapproval. Through the change of the centre of
interest from the inner to the outer world, the knowledge of nature has
increased enormously in comparison with that of earlier times. By this
the anthropomorphic conception of the religious dogmas has been
definitely thrown open to question; therefore, the present-day religions
can only with the greatest difficulty close their eyes to this fact; for
not only has the intense interest been diverted from the Christian
religion, but criticism and the necessary correction have increased
correspondingly. The Christian religion seems to have fulfilled its
great biological purpose, in so far as we are able to judge. It has led
human thought to independence, and has lost its significance, therefore,
to a yet undetermined extent; in any case its dogmatic contents have
become related to Mithracism. In consideration of the fact that this
religion has rendered, nevertheless, inconceivable service to education,
one cannot reject it “eo ipso” to-day. It seems to me that we might
still make use in some way of its form of thought, and especially of its
great wisdom of life, which for two thousand years has been proven to be
particularly efficacious. The stumbling block is the _unhappy
combination of religion and morality_. That must be overcome. There
still remain traces of this strife in the soul, the lack of which in a
human being is reluctantly felt. It is hard to say in what such things
consist; for this, ideas as well as words are lacking. If, in spite of
that, I attempt to say something about it, I do it parabolically, using
Seneca’s words:[106]

  “Nothing can be more commendable and beneficial if you persevere in
  the pursuit of wisdom. It is what would be ridiculous to wish for when
  it is in your power to attain it. There is no need to lift up your
  hands to Heaven, or to pray the servant of the temple to admit you to
  the ear of the idol that your prayers may be heard the better. God is
  near thee; he is with thee. Yes, Lucilius, a holy spirit resides
  within us, the observer of good and evil, and our constant guardian.
  And as we treat him, he treats us; no good man is without a God. Could
  any one ever rise above the power of fortune without his assistance?
  It is he that inspires us with thoughts, upright, just and pure. We do
  not, indeed, pretend to say what God; but that a God dwells in the
  breast of every good man is certain.”



                               CHAPTER IV
                          THE SONG OF THE MOTH


A little later Miss Miller travelled from Geneva to Paris. She says:

  “My weariness on the railway was so great that I could hardly sleep an
  hour. It was terrifically hot in the ladies’ carriage.”

At four o’clock in the morning she noticed a moth that flew against the
light in her compartment. She then tried to go to sleep again. Suddenly
the following poem took possession of her mind.

                       _The Moth to the Sun_

       “I longed for thee when first I crawled to consciousness.
       My dreams were all of thee when in the chrysalis I lay.
       Oft myriads of my kind beat out their lives
       Against some feeble spark once caught from thee.
       And one hour more—and my poor life is gone;
       Yet my last effort, as my first desire, shall be
       But to approach thy glory; then, having gained
       One raptured glance, I’ll die content.
       For I, the source of beauty, warmth and life
       Have in his perfect splendor once beheld.”

Before we go into the material which Miss Miller offers us for the
understanding of the poem, we will again cast a glance over the
psychologic situation in which the poem originated. Some months or weeks
appear to have elapsed since the last direct manifestation of the
unconscious that Miss Miller reported to us; about this period we have
had no information. We learn nothing about the moods and phantasies of
this time. If one might draw a conclusion from this silence it would be
presumably that in the time which elapsed between the two poems, really
nothing of importance had happened, and that, therefore, this poem is
again but a voiced fragment of the unconscious working of the complex
stretching out over months and years. It is highly probable that it is
concerned with the same complex as before.[107] The earlier product, a
hymn of creation full of hope, has, however, but little similarity to
the present poem. The poem lying before us has a truly hopeless,
melancholy character; moth and sun, two things which never meet. One
must in fairness ask, is a moth really expected to rise to the sun? We
know indeed the proverbial saying about the moth that flew into the
light and singed its wings, but not the legend of the moth that strove
towards the sun. Plainly, here, two things are connected in her thoughts
that do not belong together; first, the moth which fluttered around the
light so long that it burnt itself; and then, the idea of a small
ephemeral being, something like the day fly, which, in lamentable
contrast to the eternity of the stars, longs for an imperishable
daylight. This idea reminds one of Faust:

       “Mark how, beneath the evening sunlight’s glow
       The green-embosomed houses glitter;
       The glow retreats, done is the day of toil,
       It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring;
       Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil
       Upon its track to follow, follow soaring!
       Then would I see eternal Evening gild
       The silent world beneath me glowing....
       Yet, finally, the weary god is sinking;
       The new-born impulse fires my mind,—
       I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking,
       The day before me and the night behind,
       Above me heaven unfurled, the floor of waves beneath me,—
       A glorious dream! though now the glories fade.
       Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid
       Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me.”

Not long afterwards, Faust sees “the black dog roving there through
cornfields and stubble,” the dog who is the same as the devil, the
tempter, in whose hellish fires Faust has singed his wings. When he
believed that he was expressing his great longing for the beauty of the
sun and the earth, “he went astray thereover” and fell into the hands of
“the Evil One.”

            “Yes, resolute to reach some brighter distance,
            On earth’s fair sun I turn my back.”

This is what Faust had said shortly before, in true recognition of the
state of affairs. The honoring of the beauty of nature led the Christian
of the Middle Ages to pagan thoughts which lay in an antagonistic
relation to his conscious religion, just as once Mithracism was in
threatening competition with Christianity, for Satan often disguises
himself as an angel of light.[108]

The longing of Faust became his ruin. The longing for the Beyond had
brought as a consequence a loathing for life, and he stood on the brink
of self-destruction.[109] The longing for the beauty of this world led
him anew to ruin, into doubt and pain, even to Marguerite’s tragic
death. His mistake was that he followed after both worlds with no check
to the driving force of his libido, like a man of violent passion. Faust
portrays once more the folk-psychologic conflict of the beginning of the
Christian era, but what is noteworthy, in a reversed order.

Against what fearful powers of seduction Christ had to defend himself by
means of his hope of the absolute world beyond, may be seen in the
example of Alypius in Augustine. If any of us had been living in that
period of antiquity, he would have seen clearly that that culture must
inevitably collapse because humanity revolted against it. It is well
known that even before the spread of Christianity a remarkable
expectation of redemption had taken possession of mankind. The following
eclogue of Virgil might well be a result of this mood:

           “Ultima Cumæi venit jam carminis ætas;[110]
           Magnus ab integro Sæclorum nascitur ordo,
           Jam redit et Virgo,[111] redeunt Saturnia regna;
           Jam nova progenies cælo demittitur alto.
           Tu modo nascenti puero, quo ferrea primum
           Desinet ac toto surget gens aurea mundo,
           Casta fave Lucina: tuus jam regnat Apollo.

           “Te duce, si qua manent sceleris vestigia nostri,
           Inrita perpetua solvent formidine terras.
           Ille deum vitam accipiet divisque videbit
           Permixtos heroas et ipse videbitur illis,
           Pacatumque reget patriis virtutibus orbem.”[112]

The turning to asceticism resulting from the general expansion of
Christianity brought about a new misfortune to many: monasticism and the
life of the anchorite.[113]

Faust takes the reverse course; for him the ascetic ideal means death.
He struggles for freedom and wins life, at the same time giving himself
over to the Evil One; but through this he becomes the bringer of death
to her whom he loves most, Marguerite. He tears himself away from pain
and sacrifices his life in unceasing useful work, through which he saves
many lives.[114] His double mission as saviour and destroyer has already
been hinted in a preliminary manner:

  _Wagner_:

              With what a feeling, thou great man, must thou
              Receive the people’s honest veneration!

  _Faust_:

          Thus we, our hellish boluses compounding,
          Among these vales and hills surrounding,
          Worse than the pestilence, have passed.
          Thousands were done to death from poison of my giving;
          And I must hear, by all the living,
          The shameless murderers praised at last!

A parallel to this double rôle is that text in the Gospel of Matthew
which has become historically significant:

  “I came not to send peace, but a sword.”—_Matt._ x: 34.

Just this constitutes the deep significance of Goethe’s Faust, that he
clothes in words a problem of modern man which has been turning in
restless slumber since the Renaissance, just as was done by the drama of
Oedipus for the Hellenic sphere of culture. What is to be the way out
between the Scylla of renunciation of the world and the Charybdis of the
acceptance of the world?

The hopeful tone, voiced in the “Hymn to the God of Creation,” cannot
continue very long with our author. The pose simply promises, but does
not fulfil. The old longing will come again, for it is a peculiarity of
all complexes worked over merely in the unconscious[115] that they lose
nothing of their original amount of affect. Meanwhile, their outward
manifestations can change almost endlessly. One might therefore consider
the first poem as an unconscious longing to solve the conflict through
positive religiousness, somewhat in the same manner as they of the
earlier centuries decided their conscious conflicts by opposing to them
the religious standpoint. This wish does not succeed. Now with the
second poem there follows a second attempt which turns out in a
decidedly more material way; its thought is unequivocal. Only once
“having gained one raptured glance ...” and then—to die.

From the realms of the religious world, the attention, just as in
Faust,[116] turns towards the sun of this world, and already there is
something mingled with it which has another sense, that is to say, _the
moth which fluttered so long around the light that it burnt its wings_.

We now pass to that which Miss Miller offers for the better
understanding of the poem. She says:

  “This small poem made a profound impression upon me. I could not, of
  course, find immediately a sufficiently clear and direct explanation
  for it. However, a few days later when I once more read a certain
  philosophical work, which I had read in Berlin the previous winter,
  and which I had enjoyed very much, (I was reading it aloud to a
  friend), I came across the following words: ‘La même aspiration
  passionnée de la mite vers l’étoile, de l’homme vers Dieu.’ (The same
  passionate longing of the moth for the star, of man for God.) I had
  forgotten this sentence entirely, but it seemed very clear to me that
  precisely these words had reappeared in my hypnagogic poem. In
  addition to that it occurred to me that a play seen some years
  previously, ‘La Mite et La Flamme,’ was a further possible cause of
  the poem. It is easy to see how often the word ‘moth’ had been
  impressed upon me.”

The deep impression made by the poem upon the author shows that she put
into it a large amount of love. In the expression “aspiration
passionnée” we meet the passionate longing of the moth for the star, of
man for God, and indeed, the moth is Miss Miller herself. Her last
observation that the word “moth” was often impressed upon her shows how
often she had noticed the word “moth” as applicable to herself. _Her
longing for God resembles the longing of the moth for the “star.”_ The
reader will recall that this expression has already had a place in the
earlier material, “when the morning stars sang together,” that is to
say, the ship’s officer who sings on deck in the night watch. The
passionate longing for God is the same as that longing for the singing
morning stars. It was pointed out at great length in the foregoing
chapter that this analogy is to be expected: “Sic parvis componere magna
solebam.”

It is shameful or exalted just as one chooses, that the divine longing
of humanity, which is really the first thing to make it human, should be
brought into connection with an erotic phantasy. Such a comparison jars
upon the finer feelings. Therefore, one is inclined in spite of the
undeniable facts to dispute the connection. An Italian steersman with
brown hair and black moustache, and the loftiest, dearest conception of
humanity! These two things cannot be brought together; against this not
only our religious feelings revolt, but our taste also rebels.

It would certainly be unjust to make a comparison of the two objects as
concrete things since they are so heterogeneous. One loves a Beethoven
sonata but one loves caviar also. It would not occur to any one to liken
the sonata to caviar. It is a common error for one to judge the longing
according to the quality of the object. The appetite of the gourmand
which is only satisfied with goose liver and quail is no more
distinguished than the appetite of the laboring man for corned beef and
cabbage. The longing is the same; the object changes. Nature is
beautiful only by virtue of the longing and love given her by man. The
æsthetic attributes emanating from that has influence primarily on the
libido, which alone constitutes the beauty of nature. The dream
recognizes this well when it depicts a strong and beautiful feeling by
means of a representation of a beautiful landscape. Whenever one moves
in the territory of the erotic it becomes altogether clear how little
the object and how much the love means. The “sexual object” is as a rule
overrated far too much and that only on account of the extreme degree to
which libido is devoted to the object.

Apparently Miss Miller had but little left over for the officer, which
is humanly very intelligible. But in spite of that a deep and lasting
effect emanates from this connection which places divinity on a par with
the erotic object. The moods which apparently are produced by these
objects do not, however, spring from them, but are manifestations of her
strong love. When Miss Miller praises either God or the sun she means
her love, that deepest and strongest impulse of the human and animal
being.

The reader will recall that in the preceding chapter the following chain
of synonyms was adduced: the singer—God of sound—singing morning
star—creator—God of Light—sun—fire—God of Love.

At that time we had placed sun and fire in parentheses. Now they are
entitled to their right place in the chain of synonyms. With the
changing of the erotic impression from the affirmative to the negative
the symbols of light occur as the paramount object. In the second poem
where the longing is clearly exposed it is by no means the terrestrial
sun. Since the longing has been turned away from the real object, its
object has become, first of all, a subjective one, namely, God.
Psychologically, however, God is the name of a representation-complex
which is grouped around a strong feeling (the sum of libido). Properly,
the feeling is what gives character and reality to the complex.[117]
_The attributes and symbols of the divinity must belong in a consistent
manner to the feeling_ (_longing, love, libido, and so on_). If one
honors God, the sun or the fire, then one honors one’s own vital force,
the libido. It is as Seneca says: “God is near you, he is with you, in
you.” God is our own longing to which we pay divine honors.[118] If it
were not known how tremendously significant religion was, and is, this
marvellous play with one’s self would appear absurd. There must be
something more than this, however, because, notwithstanding its
absurdity, it is, in a certain sense, conformable to the purpose in the
highest degree. To bear a God within one’s self signifies a great deal;
it is a guarantee of happiness, of power, indeed even of omnipotence, as
far as these attributes belong to the Deity. To bear a God within one’s
self signifies just as much as to be God one’s self. In Christianity,
where, it is true, the grossly sensual representations and symbols are
weeded out as carefully as possible, which seems to be a continuation of
the poverty of symbols of the Jewish cult, there are to be found plain
traces of this psychology. There are even plainer traces, to be sure, in
the “becoming-one with God” in those mysteries closely related to the
Christian, where the mystic himself is lifted up to divine adoration
through initiatory rites. At the close of the consecration into the Isis
mysteries the mystic was crowned with the palm crown,[119] he was placed
on a pedestal and worshipped as Helios.[120] In the magic papyrus of the
Mithraic liturgy published by Dieterich there is the ἱερός λόγος[121] of
the consecrated one:

  Ἐγώ εἰμι σύμπλανος ὑμῖν ἀστὴρ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ βάθους ἀναλάμπων.[122]

The mystic in religious ecstasies put himself on a plane with the stars,
just as a saint of the Middle Ages put himself by means of the stigmata
on a level with Christ. St. Francis of Assisi expressed this in a truly
pagan manner,[123] even as far as a close relationship with the brother
sun and the sister moon. These representations of “becoming-one with
God” are very ancient. The old belief removed the becoming-one with God
until the time after death; the mysteries, however, suggest this as
taking place already in this world. A very old text brings most
beautifully before one this unity with God; it is the song of triumph of
the ascending soul.[124]

             “I am the God Atum, I who alone was.
             I am the God Rê at his first splendor.
             I am the great God, self-created, God of Gods,
             To whom no other God compares.”

  “I was yesterday and know to-morrow; the battle-ground of Gods was
  made when I spoke. I know the name of that great God who tarries
  therein.

  “I am that great Phoenix who is in Heliopolis, who there keeps account
  of all there is, of all that exists.

  “I am the God Min, at his coming forth, who placed the feathers upon
  my head.[125]

  “I am in my country, I come into my city. Daily I am together with my
  father Atum.[126]

  “My impurity is driven away, and the sin which was in me is overcome.
  I washed myself in those two great pools of water which are in
  Heracleopolis, in which is purified the sacrifice of mankind for that
  great God who abideth there.

  “I go on my way to where I wash my head in the sea of the righteous. I
  arrive at this land of the glorified, and enter through the splendid
  portal.

  “Thou, who standest before me, stretch out to me thy hands, it is I, I
  am become one of thee. Daily am I together with my Father Atum.”

The identification with God necessarily has as a result the enhancing of
the meaning and power of the individual.[127] That seems, first of all,
to have been really its purpose: a strengthening of the individual
against his all too great weakness and insecurity in real life. This
great megalomania thus has a genuinely pitiable background. The
strengthening of the consciousness of power is, however, only an
external result of the “becoming-one with God.” Of much more
significance are the deeper-lying disturbances in the realm of feeling.
_Whoever introverts libido—that is to say, whoever takes it away from a
real object without putting in its place a real compensation—is
overtaken by the inevitable results of introversion._ The libido, which
is turned inward into the subject, awakens again from among the sleeping
remembrances one which contains the path upon which earlier the libido
once had come to the real object. At the very first and in foremost
position it was father and mother who were the objects of the childish
love. They are unequalled and imperishable. Not many difficulties are
needed in an adult’s life to cause those memories to reawaken and to
become effectual. _In religion the regressive reanimation of the
father-and-mother imago is organized into a system._ The benefits of
religion are the benefits of parental hands; its protection and its
peace are the results of parental care upon the child; its mystic
feelings are the unconscious memories of the tender emotions of the
first childhood, just as the hymn expresses it:

  “I am in my country, I come into my city. Daily am I together with my
  father Atum.”[128]

The visible father of the world is, however, the sun, the heavenly fire;
therefore, Father, God, Sun, Fire are mythologically synonymous. The
well-known fact that in the sun’s strength the great generative power of
nature is honored shows plainly, very plainly, to any one to whom as yet
it may not be clear that in the Deity man honors his own libido, and
naturally in the form of the image or symbol of the present object of
transference. This symbol faces us in an especially marked manner in the
third Logos of the Dieterich papyrus. After the second prayer[129] stars
come from the disc of the sun to the mystic, “five-pointed, in
quantities, filling the whole air. If the sun’s disc has expanded, you
will see an immeasurable circle, and fiery gates which are shut off.”
The mystic utters the following prayer:

  Ἐπακουσόν μου, ἀκουσόν μου—ὁ συνδήσας πνεύματι τὰ πύρινα κλεῖθρα τοῦ
  οὐρανοῦ, δισώματος πυρίπολε, φωτὸς κτίστα—πυρίπνοε, πυρίθυμε,
  πνευματόφως, πυριχαρῆ, καλλίφως, φωτοκράτωρ, πυρισώματε, φωτοδότα,
  πυρισπόρε, πυρικλόνε, φωτόβιε, πυριδῖνα, φωτοκινῆτα, κεραυνοκλόνε,
  φωτὸς κλέος, αὐξησίφως, ἐνπυρισχησίφως, ἀστροδάμα.[130]

The invocation is, as one sees, almost inexhaustible in light and fire
attributes, and can be likened in its extravagance only to the
synonymous attributes of love of the mystic of the Middle Ages. Among
the innumerable texts which might be used as an illustration of this, I
select a passage from the writings of Mechthild von Magdeburg
(1212–1277):

  “O Lord, love me excessively and love me often and long; the oftener
  you love me, so much the purer do I become; the more excessively you
  love me, the more beautiful I become; the longer you love me, the more
  holy will I become here upon earth.”

  God answered: “That I love you often, that I have from my nature, for
  I myself am love. That I love you excessively, that I have from my
  desire, for I too desire that men love me excessively. That I love you
  long, that I have from my everlastingness, for I am without end.”[131]

The religious regression makes use indeed of the parent image without,
however, consciously making it an object of transference, for the incest
horror[132] forbids that. It remains rather as a synonym, for example,
of the father or of God, or of the more or less personified symbol of
the sun and fire.[133] Sun and fire—that is to say, the fructifying
strength and heat—are attributes of the libido. In Mysticism the
inwardly perceived, divine vision is often merely sun or light, and is
very little, or not at all, personified. In the Mithraic liturgy there
is found, for example, a significant quotation:

  Ἡ δὲ πορεία τῶν ὁρωμένων θεῶν διὰ τοῦ δίσκου, πατρός μου, θεοῦ
  φανήσεται.[134]

Hildegarde von Bingen (1100–1178) expresses herself in the following
manner:[135]

  “But the light I see is not local, but far off, and brighter than the
  cloud which supports the sun. I can in no way know the form of this
  light since I cannot entirely see the sun’s disc. But within this
  light I see at times, and infrequently, another light which is called
  by me the living light, but when and in what manner I see this I do
  not know how to say, and when I see it all weariness and need is
  lifted from me, then too, I feel like a simple girl and not like an
  old woman.”

Symeon, the New Theologian (970–1040), says the following:

  “My tongue lacks words, and what happens in me my spirit sees clearly
  but does not explain. It sees the invisible, that emptiness of all
  forms, simple throughout, not complex, and in extent infinite. For it
  sees no beginning, and it sees no end. It is entirely unconscious of
  the meanings, and does not know what to call that which it sees.
  Something complete appears, it seems to me, not indeed through the
  being itself, but through a participation. For you enkindle fire from
  fire, and you receive the whole fire; but this remains undiminished
  and undivided, as before. Similarly, that which is divided separates
  itself from the first; and like something corporeal spreads itself
  into several lights. This, however, is something spiritual,
  immeasurable, indivisible, and inexhaustible. For it is not separated
  when it becomes many, but remains undivided and is in me, and enters
  within my poor heart like a sun or circular disc of the sun, similar
  to the light, for it is a light.”[136]

That that thing, perceived as inner light, as the sun of the other
world, is longing, is clearly shown by Symeon’s words:[137]

  “And following It my spirit demanded to embrace the splendor beheld,
  but it found It not as creature and did not succeed in coming out from
  among created beings, so that it might embrace that uncreated and
  uncomprehended splendor. Nevertheless it wandered everywhere, and
  strove to behold It. _It penetrated the air, it wandered over the
  Heavens, it crossed over the abysses, it searched, as it seemed to it,
  the ends of the world._[138] But in all of that it found nothing, for
  all was created. And I lamented and was sorrowful, and my breast
  burned, and I lived as one distraught in mind. But It came, as It
  would, and descending like a luminous mystic cloud, It seemed to
  envelop my whole head so that dismayed I cried out. But flying away
  again It left me alone. And when I, troubled, sought for It, I
  realized suddenly _that It was in me, myself, and in the midst of my
  heart It appeared as the light of a spherical sun_.”

In Nietzsche’s “Glory and Eternity” we meet with an essentially similar
symbol:

         “Hush! I see vastness!—and of vasty things
         Shall man be done, unless he can enshrine
         Them with his words? Then take the night which brings
         The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine!

         “I look above, there rolls the star-strewn sea.
         O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars!
         And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars—
         A shining constellation falls towards me.”[139]

It is not astonishing if Nietzsche’s great inner loneliness calls again
into existence certain forms of thought which the mystic ecstasy of the
old cults has elevated to ritual representation. In the visions of the
Mithraic liturgy we have to deal with many similar representations which
we can now understand without difficulty as the ecstatic symbol of the
libido:

  Μετὰ δὲ τὸ ειπεῖν σε τὸν δεύτερον λόγον, ὅπου σιγὴ δὶς καὶ τὰ
  ἀκόλουθα, σύρισον δὶς καὶ πόππυσον δὶς καὶ εὐθέως ὄψει ἀπὸ τοῦ δίσκου
  ἀστέρας προσερχομένους πενταδακτυλιαίους πλείστους καὶ πιπλῶντας ὅλον
  τὸν αέρα. Σὺ δὲ πάλιν λέγε: σιγή, σιγή. Καὶ τοῦ δίσκου ἀνοιγέντος ὄψει
  ἄπειρον κύκλωμα καὶ θύρας πυρίνας ἀποκεκλεισμένας.[140]

Silence is commanded, then the vision of light is revealed. The
similarity of the mystic’s condition and Nietzsche’s poetical vision is
surprising. Nietzsche says “constellation.” It is well known that
constellations are chiefly therio- or anthropo-morphic symbols.

The papyrus says, ἀστέρας πενταδακτυλιαίους[141] (similar to the
“rosy-fingered” Eos), which is nothing else than an anthropomorphic
image. Accordingly, one may expect from that, that by long gazing a
living being would be formed out of the “flame image,” a “star
constellation” of therio- or anthropo-morphic nature, for the symbolism
of the libido does not end with sun, light and fire, but makes use of
wholly other means of expression. I yield precedence to Nietzsche:

                            _The Beacon_[142]

            “Here, where the island grew amid the seas,
            A sacrificial rock high-towering,
            Here under darkling heavens,
            Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires.

            “These flames with grey-white belly,
            In cold distances sparkle their desire,
            Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights—
            A snake upreared in impatience:

            “This signal I set up there before me.
            This flame is mine own soul,
            Insatiable for new distances,
            Speeding upward, upward its silent heat.

            “At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing rod.
            Give answer to the flame’s impatience,
            Let me, the fisher on high mountains,
            Catch my seventh, last solitude!”

Here libido becomes fire, flame and snake. The Egyptian symbol of the
“living disc of the sun,” the disc with the two entwining snakes,
contains the combination of both the libido analogies. The disc of the
sun with its fructifying warmth is analogous to the fructifying warmth
of love. The comparison of the libido with sun and fire is in reality
analogous.

There is also a “causative” element in it, for sun and fire as
beneficent powers are objects of human love; for example, the sun-hero
Mithra is called the “well-beloved.” In Nietzsche’s poem the comparison
is also a causative one, but this time in a reversed sense. The
comparison with the snake is unequivocally phallic, corresponding
completely with the tendency in antiquity, which was to see in the
symbol of the phallus the quintessence of life and fruitfulness. _The
phallus is the source of life and libido, the great creator and worker
of miracles_, and as such it received reverence everywhere. We have,
therefore, three designating symbols of the libido: First, the
_comparison by analogy_, as sun and fire. Second, the _comparisons based
on causative relations_, as A: Object comparison. The libido is
designated by its object, for example, the beneficent sun. B: _The
subject comparison_, in which the libido is designated by its place of
origin or by analogies of this, for example, by phallus or (analogous)
snake.

To these two fundamental forms of comparison still a third is added, in
which the “tertium comparationis” is _the activity_; for example, the
libido is dangerous when fecundating like the bull—through the power of
its passion—like the lion, like the raging boar when in heat, like the
ever-rutting ass, and so on.

This activity comparison can belong equally well to the category of the
analogous or to the category of the causative comparisons. _The
possibilities of comparison mean just as many possibilities for symbolic
expression_, and from this basis all the infinitely varied symbols, so
far as they are libido images, may properly be reduced to a very simple
root, that is, just to _libido and its fixed primitive qualities_. This
psychologic reduction and simplification is in accordance with the
historic efforts of civilization to unify and simplify, to syncretize,
the endless number of the gods. We come across this desire as far back
as the old Egyptians, where the unlimited polytheism as exemplified in
the numerous demons of places finally necessitated simplification. All
the various local gods, Amon of Thebes, Horus of Edfu, Horus of the
East, Chnum of Elephantine, Atum of Heliopolis, and others,[143] became
identified with the sun God Rê. In the hymns to the sun the composite
being Amon-Rê-Harmachis-Atum was invoked as “the only god which truly
lives.”[144]

Amenhotep IV (XVIII dynasty) went the furthest in this direction. He
replaced all former gods by the “living great disc of the sun,” the
official title reading:

  “The sun ruling both horizons, triumphant in the horizon in his name;
  the glittering splendor which is in the sun’s disc.”

“And, indeed,” Erman adds,[145] “the sun, as a God, should not be
honored, but the sun itself as a planet which imparts through its
rays[146] the infinite life which is in it to all living creatures.”

Amenhotep IV by his reform completed a work which is psychologically
important. He united all the bull,[147] ram,[148] crocodile[149] and
pile-dwelling[150] gods into the disc of the sun, and made it clear that
their various attributes were compatible with the sun’s attributes.[151]
A similar fate overtook the Hellenic and Roman polytheism through the
syncretistic efforts of later centuries. The beautiful prayer of
Lucius[152] to the queen of the Heavens furnishes an important proof of
this:

  “Queen of Heaven, whether thou art the genial Ceres, the prime parent
  of fruits;—or whether thou art celestial Venus;—or whether thou art
  the sister of Phœbus;—or whether thou art Proserpina, terrific with
  midnight howlings—with that feminine brightness of thine illuminating
  the walls of every city.”[153]

This attempt to gather again into a few units the religious thoughts
which were divided into countless variations and personified in
individual gods according to their polytheistic distribution and
separation makes clear the fact that already at an earlier time
analogies had formally arisen. Herodotus is rich in just such
references, not to mention the systems of the Hellenic-Roman world.
Opposed to the endeavor to form a unity there stands a still stronger
endeavor to create again and again a multiplicity, so that even in the
so-called severe monotheistic religions, as Christianity, for example,
the polytheistic tendency is irrepressible. The Deity is divided into
three parts at least, to which is added the feminine Deity of Mary and
the numerous company of the lesser gods, the angels and saints,
respectively. These two tendencies are in constant warfare. There is
only one God with countless attributes, or else there are many gods who
are then simply known differently, according to locality, and personify
sometimes this, sometimes that attribute of the fundamental thought, an
example of which we have seen above in the Egyptian gods.

With this we turn once more to Nietzsche’s poem, “The Beacon.” We found
the flame there used as an image of the libido, theriomorphically
represented as a snake (also as an image of the soul:[154] “This flame
is mine own soul”). We saw that the snake is to be taken as a phallic
image of the libido (upreared in impatience), and that this image, also
an attribute of the conception of the sun (the Egyptian sun idol), is an
image of the libido in the combination of sun and phallus. It is not a
wholly strange conception, therefore, that the sun’s disc is represented
with a penis, as well as with hands and feet. We find proof for this
idea in a peculiar part of the Mithraic liturgy: ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ὁ
καλούμενος αὐλός, ἡ ἀρχὴ τοῦ λειτουργοῦντος ἀνέμου. Ὄψει γὰρ ἀπὸ τοῦ
δίσκου ὡς αὐλὸν κρεμάμενον.[155]

This extremely important vision of a tube hanging down from the sun
would produce in a religious text, such as that of the Mithraic liturgy,
a strange and at the same time meaningless effect if it did not have the
phallic meaning. The tube is the place of origin of the wind. The
phallic meaning seems very faint in this idea, but one must remember
that the wind, as well as the sun, is a fructifier and creator. This has
already been pointed out in a footnote.[156] There is a picture by a
Germanic painter of the Middle Ages of the “conceptio immaculata” which
deserves mention here. The conception is represented by a tube or pipe
coming down from heaven and passing beneath the skirt of Mary. Into this
flies the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove for the impregnation of the
Mother of God.[157]

Honegger discovered the following hallucination in an insane man
(paranoid dement): The patient sees in the sun an “upright tail” similar
to an erected penis. When he moves his head back and forth, then, too,
the sun’s penis sways back and forth in a like manner, and out of that
the wind arises. This strange hallucination remained unintelligible to
us for a long time until I became acquainted with the Mithraic liturgy
and its visions. This hallucination threw an illuminating light, as it
appears to me, upon a very obscure place in the text which immediately
follows the passage previously cited:

  εἰς δὲ τὰ μέρη τὰ πρὸς λίβα ἀπέραντον οἷον ἀπηλιώτην. Ἐὰν ᾖ
  κεκληρώμενος εἰς δὲ τὰ μέρη τοῦ ἀπηλιώτου ὁ ἕτερος, ὁμοίως εἰς τὰ μέρη
  τὰ ἐκείνου ὄψει τὴν ἀποφορὰν τοῦ ὁρμάτος.

Mead translates this very clearly:[158]

  “And towards the regions westward, as though it were an infinite
  Eastwind. But if the other wind, towards the regions of the East,
  should be in service, in the like fashion shalt thou see towards the
  regions of that side the converse of the sight.”

In the original ὅραμα is the vision, the thing seen. ἀποφορά means
properly the carrying away. The sense of the text, according to this,
might be: the thing seen may be carried or turned sometimes here,
sometimes there, according to the direction of the wind. The ὅραμα is
the tube, “the place of origin of the wind,” which turns sometimes to
the east, sometimes to the west, and, one might add, generates the
corresponding wind. The vision of the insane man coincides astonishingly
with this description of the movement of the tube.[159]

The various attributes of the sun, separated into a series, appear one
after the other in the Mithraic liturgy. According to the vision of
Helios, seven maidens appear with the heads of snakes, and seven gods
with the heads of black bulls.

It is easy to understand the maiden as a symbol of the libido used in
the sense of causative comparison. The snake in Paradise is usually
considered as feminine, as the seductive principle in woman, and is
represented as feminine by the old artists, although properly the snake
has a phallic meaning. Through a similar change of meaning the snake in
antiquity becomes the symbol of the earth, which on its side is always
considered feminine. The bull is the well-known symbol for the
fruitfulness of the sun. The bull gods in the Mithraic liturgy were
called κνωθακοφύλακες, “guardians of the axis of the earth,” by whom the
axle of the orb of the heavens was turned. The divine man, Mithra, also
had the same attributes; he is sometimes called the “Sol invictus”
itself, sometimes the mighty companion and ruler of Helios; he holds in
his right hand the “bear constellation, which moves and turns the
heavens.” The bull-headed gods, equally ἱεροὶ καὶ ἄλκιμοι νεανίαι with
Mithra himself, to whom the attribute νεώτερος, “young one,” “the
newcomer,” is given, are merely attributive components of the same
divinity. The chief god of the Mithraic liturgy is himself subdivided
into Mithra and Helios; the attributes of each of these are closely
related to the other. Of Helios it is said: ὄψει θεὸν νεώτερον εὐειδῆ
πυρινότριχα ἐν χιτῶνι λευκῷ καὶ χλαμύδι κοκκίνῃ, ἔχοντα πύρινον
στέφανον.[160]

Of Mithra it is said: ὄψει θεὸν ὑπερμεγέθη, φωτινὴν ἔχοντα τὴν ὄψιν,
νεώτερον, χρυσοκόμαν, ἐν χιτῶνι λευκῳ καὶ χρυσῳ στεφάνῳ καὶ ἀναξυρίσι,
κατέχοντα τῇ δεξιᾷ χειρὶ μόσχου ὦμόν χρύσεον, ὅς ἐστιν ἄρκτος ἡ κινοῦσα
καὶ ἀντιστρέφουσα τὸν οὐρανόν, κατὰ ὥραν ἀναπολεύουσα καὶ καταπολεύουσα.
ἔπειτα ὄψει αὐτοῦ ἐκ τῶν ὀμμάτων ἀστραπὰς καὶ ἐκ τοῦ σώματος ἀστέρας
ἁλλομένους.[161]

If we place fire and gold as essentially similar, then a great accord is
found in the attributes of the two gods. To these mystical pagan ideas
there deserve to be added the probably almost contemporaneous vision of
Revelation:

  “And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks. And in the midst
  of the candlesticks[162] one like unto the son of man, clothed with a
  garment down to the foot, and girt about at the breasts with a golden
  girdle. And his head and his hair were white as white wool, white as
  snow, and his eyes were as a flame of fire. And his feet like unto
  burnished brass, as if it had been refined in a furnace; and his voice
  as the sound of many waters. And he had in his right hand seven
  stars,[163] and out of his mouth proceeded a sharp two-edged
  sword,[164] and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his
  strength.”—_Rev._ i: 12 ff.

  “And I looked, and beheld a white cloud, and upon the cloud I saw one
  sitting like unto the son of man, having on his head a golden crown,
  and in his hand a sharp sickle.”[165]—_Rev._ xiv: 14.

  “And his eyes were as a flame of fire, and upon his head were many
  diadems. And he was arrayed in a garment[166] sprinkled with blood....
  And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses,
  clothed in fine linen,[167] white and pure. And out of his mouth
  proceeded a sharp sword.”—_Rev._ xix: 12–15.

One need not assume that there is a direct dependency between the
Apocalypse and the Mithraic liturgy. The visionary images of both texts
are developed from a source, not limited to one place, but found in the
soul of many divers people, because the symbols which arise from it are
too typical for it to belong to one individual only. I put these images
here to show how the primitive symbolism of light gradually developed,
with the increasing depth of the vision, into the idea of the sun-hero,
the “well-beloved.”[168] The development of the symbol of light is
thoroughly typical. In addition to this, perhaps I might call to mind
the fact that I have previously pointed out this course with numerous
examples,[169] and, therefore, I can spare myself the trouble of
returning to this subject.[170] These visionary occurrences are the
psychological roots of the sun-coronations in the mysteries. Its rite is
religious hallucination congealed into liturgical form, which, on
account of its great regularity, could become a generally accepted outer
form. After all this, it is easily understood how the ancient Christian
Church, on one side, stood in an especial bond to Christ as “sol novus,”
and, on the other side, had a certain difficulty in freeing itself from
the earthly symbols of Christ. Indeed Philo of Alexandria saw in the sun
the image of the divine logos or of the Deity especially (“De Somniis,”
1:85). In an Ambrosian hymn Christ is invoked by “O sol salutis,” and so
on. At the time of Marcus Aurelius, Meliton, in his work,[171] περὶ
λούτρου, called Christ the Ἥλιος ἀνατολης ... μόνος ἥλιος οὗτος
ἀνέτειλεν ἀπ’ οὐρανοῦ.[172]

Still more important is a passage from Pseudo-Cyprian:[173]

  “O quam præclara providentia ut illo die quo factus est sol, in ipso
  die nasceretur Christus, v. Kal. Apr. feria IV, et ideo de ipso ad
  plebem dicebat Malachias propheta: ‘Orietur vobis sol iustitiæ et
  curatio est in pennis ejus,’ hic est sol iustitiæ cuius in pennis
  curatio præostendebatur.”[174][175]

In a work nominally attributed to John Chrysostomus, “De Solstitiis et
Aequinoctiis,”[176] occurs this passage:

  “Sed et dominus nascitur mense Decembri hiemis tempore, VIII. Kal.
  Januarias, quando oleæ maturæ præmuntur ut unctio, id est Chrisma,
  nascatur—sed et Invicti natalem appellant. Quis utique tam invictus
  nisi dominus noster qui mortem subactam devicit? Vel quod dicant Solis
  esse natalem, ipse est sol iustitiæ, de quo Malachias propheta dixit:
  ‘Dominus lucis ac noctis conditor et discretor qui a propheta Sol
  iustitiæ cognominatus est.’”[177]

According to the testimony of Eusebius of Alexandria, the Christians
also shared in the worship of the rising sun, which lasted into the
fifth century:

  οὐαῖ τοῖς προσκυνοῦσι τὸν ἥλιον καὶ τὴν σελήνην καὶ τοὺς ἀστέρας.
  Πολλοὺς γὰρ οἶδα τοὺς προσκυνοῦντας καὶ εὐχομένους εἰς τὸν ἥλιον. Ἤδη
  γὰρ ἀνατείλαντος τοῦ ἡλίου, προσεύχονται καὶ λέγουσιν “Ἐλέησον ἡμᾶς”
  καὶ οὐ μόνον Ἡλιογνώσται καὶ αἱρετικοὶ τοῦτο ποιοῦσιν ἀλλὰ καὶ
  χριστιανοὶ καὶ ἀφέντες τὴν πίστιν τοῖς αἱρετικοῖς συναμίγνυνται.[178]

Augustine preached emphatically to the Christians:

  “Non est Dominus Sol factus sed per quem Sol factus est—ne quis
  carnaliter sapiens Solem istum (Christum) intelligendum putaret.”

Art has preserved much of the remnants of sun-worship,[179] thus the
nimbus around the head of Christ and the halo of the saints in general.
The Christian legends also attribute many fire and light symbols to the
saints.[180] The twelve apostles, for example, are likened to the twelve
signs of the zodiac, and are represented, therefore, with a star over
the head.[181]

It is not to be wondered at that the heathen, as Tertullian avows,
considered the sun as the Christian God. Among the Manichaeans God was
really the sun. One of the most remarkable works extant, where the
Pagan, Asiatic, Hellenic and Christian intermingle, is the Ἐξήγησις περὶ
των ἐν Περσίδι πραχθέντων, edited by Wirth.[182] This is a book of
fables, but, nevertheless, a mine for near-Christian phantasies, which
gives a profound insight into Christian symbolism. In this is found the
following magical dedication: Διὶ Ἡλίῳ θεῳ μεγάλῳ βασιλεῖ Ἰησοῦ—.[183]
In certain parts of Armenia the rising sun is still worshipped by
Christians, that “it may let its foot rest upon the faces of the
worshippers.”[184] The foot occurs as an anthropomorphic attribute, and
we have already met the theriomorphic attribute in the feathers and the
sun phallus. Other comparisons of the sun’s ray, as knife, sword, arrow,
and so on, have also, as we have learned from the psychology of the
dream, a phallic meaning at bottom. This meaning is attached to the foot
as I here point out,[185] and also to the feathers, or hair, of the sun,
which signify the power or strength of the sun. I refer to the story of
Samson, and to that of the Apocalypse of Baruch, concerning the phœnix
bird, which, flying before the sun, loses its feathers, and, exhausted,
is strengthened again in an ocean bath at evening.

Under the symbol of “moth and sun” we have dug down into the historic
depths of the soul, and in doing this we have uncovered an old buried
idol, the youthful, beautiful, fire-encircled and halo-crowned sun-hero,
who, forever unattainable to the mortal, wanders upon the earth, causing
night to follow day; winter, summer; death, life; and who returns again
in rejuvenated splendor and gives light to new generations. The longing
of the dreamer concealed behind the moth stands for him.

The ancient pre-Asiatic civilizations were acquainted with a sun-worship
having the idea of a God dying and rising again (Osiris, Tammuz,
Attis-Adonis),[186] Christ, Mithra and his bull,[187] Phœnix and so on.
The beneficent power as well as the destroying power was worshipped in
fire. The forces of nature always have two sides, as we have already
seen in the God of Job. This reciprocal bond brings us back once more to
Miss Miller’s poem. Her reminiscences support our previous supposition,
that the symbol of moth and sun is a condensation of two ideas, about
one of which we have just spoken; the other is the moth and the flame.
As the title of a play, about the contents of which the author tells us
absolutely nothing, “Moth and Flame” may easily have the well-known
erotic meaning of flying around the flame of passion until one’s wings
are burned. The passionate longing, that is to say, the libido, has its
two sides; it is power which beautifies everything, and which under
other circumstances destroys everything. It often appears as if one
could not accurately understand in what the destroying quality of the
creative power consists. A woman who gives herself up to passion,
particularly under the present-day condition of culture, experiences the
destructive side only too soon. One has only to imagine one’s self a
little away from the every-day moral conditions in order to understand
what feelings of extreme insecurity overwhelm the individual who gives
himself unconditionally over to Fate.

To be fruitful means, indeed, to destroy one’s self, because with the
rise of the succeeding generation the previous one has passed beyond its
highest point; thus our descendants are our most dangerous enemies, whom
we cannot overcome, for they will outlive us, and, therefore, without
fail, will take the power from our enfeebled hands. The anxiety in the
face of the erotic fate is wholly understandable, for there is something
immeasurable therein. Fate usually hides unknown dangers, and the
perpetual hesitation of the neurotic to venture upon life is easily
explained by his desire to be allowed to stand still, so as not to take
part in the dangerous battle of life.[188] _Whoever renounces the chance
to experience must stifle in himself the wish for it, and, therefore,
commits a sort of self-murder._ From this the death phantasies which
readily accompany the renunciation of the erotic wish are made clear. In
the poem _Miss Miller has voiced these phantasies_.

She adds further to the material with the following:

  “I had been reading a selection from one of Byron’s poems which
  pleased me very much and made a deep and lasting impression. Moreover,
  the rhythm of my last two verses, ‘For I the source, etc.,’ and the
  two lines of Byron’s are very similar.

             ‘Now let me die as I have lived in faith,
             Nor tremble though the universe should quake.’”

This reminiscence with which the series of ideas is closed confirms the
death phantasies which follow from renunciation of the erotic wish. The
quotation comes—which Miss Miller did not mention—from an uncompleted
poem of Byron’s called “Heaven and Earth.”[189] The whole verse follows:

               “Still blessed be the Lord,
               For what is passed,
               For that which is;
               For all are His,
               From first to last—
               Time—Space—Eternity—Life—Death—
               The vast known and immeasurable unknown
               He made and can unmake,
               And shall I for a little gasp of breath
               Blaspheme and groan?
               No, let me die as I have lived in faith,
               Nor quiver though the universe may quake!”

The words are included in a kind of praise or prayer, spoken by a
“mortal” who is in hopeless flight before the mounting deluge. Miss
Miller puts herself in the same situation in her quotation; that is to
say, she readily lets it be seen that her feeling is similar to the
despondency of the unhappy ones who find themselves hard pressed by the
threatening mounting waters of the deluge. With this the writer allows
us a deep look into the dark abyss of her longing for the sun-hero. We
see that her longing is in vain; she is a mortal, only for a short time
borne upwards into the light by means of the highest longing, and then
sinking to death, or, much more, urged upwards by the fear of death,
like the people before the deluge, and in spite of the desperate
conflict, irretrievably given over to destruction. This is a mood which
recalls vividly the closing scene in “Cyrano de Bergerac”:[190]

         _Cyrano_:

         Oh, mais ... puisqu’elle est en chemin,
         Je l’attendrai debout ... et l’épée à la main.

         Que dites-vous?... C’est inutile? Je le sais.
         Mais on ne se bat pas dans l’espoir du succès.
         Non, non. C’est bien plus beau lorsque c’est inutile.

         Je sais bien qu’à la fin vous me mettrez à bas....

We already know sufficiently well what longing and what impulse it is
that attempts to clear a way for itself to the light, but that it may be
realized quite clearly and irrevocably, it is shown plainly in the
quotation “No, let me die,” which confirms and completes all earlier
remarks. The divine, the “much-beloved,” who is honored in the image of
the sun, is also the goal of the longing of our poet.

Byron’s “Heaven and Earth” is a mystery founded on the following passage
from Genesis, chapter vi:2: “And it came to pass ... that the sons of
God saw the daughters of men that they were fair, and they took them
wives of all that they chose.” Byron offers as a further motif for his
poem the following passage from Coleridge: “_And woman wailing for her
Demon lover_.” Byron’s poem is concerned with two great events, one
psychologic and one telluric; the passion which throws down all
barriers; and all the terrors of the unchained powers of nature: a
parallel which has already been introduced into our earlier discussion.
The angels Samiasa and Azaziel burn with sinful love for the beautiful
daughters of Cain, Anah and Aholibama, and force a way through the
barrier which is placed between mortal and immortal. They revolt as
Lucifer once did against God, and the archangel Raphael raises his voice
warningly:

           “But man hath listened to his voice
           And ye to woman’s—beautiful she is,
           The serpent’s voice less subtle than her kiss.
           The snake but vanquished dust; but she will draw
           A second host from heaven to break heaven’s law.”

The power of God is threatened by the seduction of passion; a second
fall of angels menaces heaven. Let us translate this mythologic
projection back into the psychologic, from whence it originated. Then it
would read: the power of the good and reasonable ruling the world wisely
is threatened by the chaotic primitive power of passion; therefore
passion must be exterminated; that is to say, projected into mythology.
The race of Cain and the whole sinful world must be destroyed from the
roots by the deluge. It is the inevitable result of that sinful passion
which has broken through all barriers. Its counterpart is the sea and
the waters of the deep and the floods of rain,[191] the generating,
fructifying and “maternal waters,” as the Indian mythology refers to
them. Now they leave their natural bounds and surge over the mountain
tops, engulfing all living things; for passion destroys itself. The
libido is God and Devil. With the destruction of the sinfulness of the
libido an essential portion of the libido would be destroyed. Through
the loss of the Devil, God himself suffered a considerable loss,
somewhat like an amputation upon the body of the Divinity. The
mysterious hint in Raphael’s lament concerning the two rebels, Samiasa
and Azaziel, suggests this.

                                          “... Why,
              Cannot this earth be made, or be destroyed,
              Without involving ever some vast void
              In the immortal ranks?...”

Love raises man, not only above himself, but also above the bounds of
his mortality and earthliness, up to divinity itself, and in the very
act of raising him it destroys him. Mythologically, this
self-presumption finds its striking expression in the building of the
heaven-high tower of Babel, which brings confusion to mankind.[192] In
Byron’s poem it is the sinful ambition of the race of Cain, for love of
which it makes even the stars subservient and leads away the sons of God
themselves. If, indeed, longing for the highest things—if I may speak
so—is legitimate, then it lies in the circumstances that it leaves its
human boundaries, that of sinfulness, and, therefore, destruction. The
longing of the moth for the star is not absolutely pure and transparent,
but glows in sultry mist, for man continues to be man. Through the
excess of his longing he draws down the divine into the corruption of
his passion;[193] therefore, he seems to raise himself to the Divine;
but with that his humanity is destroyed. Thus the love of Anah and
Aholibama for their angels becomes the ruin of gods and men. The
invocation with which Cain’s daughters implore their angels is
psychologically an exact parallel to Miss Miller’s poem.

     _Anah_:[194]

     Seraph!
     From thy sphere!
     Whatever star[195] contains thy glory.

     In the eternal depths of heaven
     Albeit thou watchest with the ‘seven,’
     Though through space infinite and hoary
     Before thy bright wings worlds will be driven,

               Yet hear!
     Oh! think of her who holds thee dear!

     And though she nothing is to thee,
     Yet think that thou art all to her.

            ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

     Eternity is in thy years,
     Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes;
     With me thou canst not sympathize,
     Except in love, and there thou must
     Acknowledge that more loving dust
     Ne’er wept beneath the skies.
     Thou walkest thy many worlds,[196] thou seest
     The face of him who made thee great,
     As he hath made of me the least
     Of those cast out from Eden’s gate;

     Yet, Seraph, dear!
               Oh hear!
     For thou hast loved me, and I would not die
     Until I know what I must die in knowing,
     That thou forgettest in thine eternity
     Her whose heart death could not keep from o’erflowing
     For thee, immortal essence as thou art,[197]
     Great is their love who love in sin and fear;
     And such, I feel, are waging in my heart
     A war unworthy: to an Adamite
     Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear.
     For sorrow is our element....

            ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

         The hour is near
     Which tells me we are not abandoned quite.
         Appear! Appear!
         Seraph!
     My own Azaziel! be but here,
     And leave the stars to their own light.

     _Aholibama_:

     I call thee, I await thee and I love thee.

            ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

     Though I be formed of clay,
     And thou of beams[198]
     More bright than those of day on Eden’s streams,
     Thine immortality cannot repay
     With love more warm than mine
     My love. There is a ray[199]
     In me, which though forbidden yet to shine,
     I feel was lighted at thy God’s and mine.[200]
     It may be hidden long: death and decay
     Our mother Eve bequeathed us—but my heart
     Defies it: though this life must pass away,
     Is that a cause for thee and me to part?

            ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

     I can share all things, even immortal sorrow;
     For thou hast ventured to share life with me,
     And shall I shrink from thine eternity?
     No, though the serpent’s sting[201] should pierce me through,
     And thou thyself wert like the serpent, coil
     Around me still.[202] And I will smile
     And curse thee not, but hold
     Thee in as warm a fold
     As—but descend and prove
     A mortal’s love
     For an immortal....

The apparition of both angels which follows the invocation is, as
always, a shining vision of light.

               _Aholibama_:

               The clouds from off their pinions flinging
               As though they bore to-morrow’s light.

               _Anah_:

               But if our father see the sight!

               _Aholibama_:

               He would but deem it was the moon
               Rising unto some sorcerer’s tune
               An hour too soon.

                      ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

               _Anah_:

               Lo! They have kindled all the west,
               Like a returning sunset....
               On Ararat’s late secret crest
               A wild and many colored bow,
               The remnant of their flashing path,
               Now shines!...

At the sight of this many-colored vision of light, where both women are
entirely filled with desire and expectation, Anah makes use of a simile
full of presentiment, which suddenly allows us to look down once more
into the dismal dark depths, out of which for a moment the terrible
animal nature of the mild god of light emerges.

           “... and now, behold! it hath
           Returned to night, as rippling foam,
           Which the leviathan hath lashed
           From his unfathomable home,
           When sporting on the face of the calm deep,
           Subsides soon after he again hath dash’d
           Down, down to where the ocean’s fountains sleep.”

Thus like the leviathan! We recall this overpowering weight in the scale
of God’s justice in regard to the man Job. There, where the deep sources
of the ocean are, the leviathan lives; from there the all-destroying
flood ascends, the all-engulfing flood of animal passion. That stifling,
compressing feeling[203] of the onward-surging impulse is projected
mythologically as a flood which, rising up and over all, destroys all
that exists, in order to allow a new and better creation to come forth
from this destruction.

          _Japhet_:

          The eternal will
          Shall deign to expound this dream
          Of good and evil; and redeem
          Unto himself all times, all things;

          And, gather’d under his almighty wings,
          Abolish hell!
          And to the expiated Earth
          Restore the beauty of her birth.

          _Spirits_:

          And when shall take effect this wondrous spell?

          _Japhet_:

          When the Redeemer cometh; first in pain
          And then in glory.

          _Spirits_:

          New times, new climes, new arts, new men, but still
          The same old tears, old crimes, and oldest ill,
          Shall be amongst your race in different forms;
          But the same mortal storms
          Shall oversweep the future, as the waves
          In a few hours the glorious giants’ graves.

The prophetic visions of Japhet have almost prophetic meaning for our
poetess; with the death of the moth in the light, evil is once more laid
aside; the complex has once again, even if in a censored form, expressed
itself. With that, however, the problem is not solved; all sorrow and
every longing begins again from the beginning, but there is “Promise in
the Air”—the premonition of the Redeemer, of the “Well-beloved,” of the
Sun-hero, who again mounts to the height of the sun and again descends
to the coldness of the winter, who is the light of hope from race to
race, the image of the libido.



                                PART II



                               CHAPTER I
                         ASPECTS OF THE LIBIDO


Before I enter upon the contents of this second part, it seems necessary
to cast a backward glance over the singular train of thought which the
analysis of the poem “The Moth to the Sun” has produced. Although this
poem is very different from the foregoing Hymn of Creation, closer
investigation of the “longing for the sun” has carried us into the realm
of the fundamental ideas of religion and astral mythology, which ideas
are closely related to those considered in the first poem. The creative
God of the first poem, whose dual nature, moral and physical, was shown
especially clearly to us by Job, has in the second poem a new
qualification of astral-mythological, or, to express it better, of
astrological character. The God becomes the sun, and in this finds an
adequate natural expression quite apart from the moral division of the
God idea into the heavenly father and the devil. The sun is, as Renan
remarked, really the only rational representation of God, whether we
take the point of view of the barbarians of other ages or that of the
modern physical sciences. In both cases the sun is the parent God,
mythologically predominantly the Father God, from whom all living things
draw life; He is the fructifier and creator of all that lives, the
source of energy of our world. The discord into which the soul of man
has fallen through the action of moral laws[204] can be resolved into
complete harmony through the sun as the natural object which obeys no
human moral law. The sun is not only beneficial, but also destructive;
therefore the zodiacal representation of the August heat is the
herd-devouring lion whom the Jewish hero Samson[205] killed in order to
free the parched earth from this plague. Yet it is the harmonious and
inherent nature of the sun to scorch, and its scorching power seems
natural to men. It shines equally on the just and on the unjust, and
allows useful living objects to flourish as well as harmful ones.
Therefore, the sun is adapted as is nothing else to represent the
visible God of this world. That is to say, that driving strength of our
own soul, which we call libido, and whose nature it is to allow the
useful and injurious, the good and the bad to proceed. That this
comparison is no mere play of words is taught us by the mystics. When by
looking inwards (introversion) and going down into the depths of their
own being they find “in their heart” the image of the Sun, they find
their own love or libido, which with reason, I might say with physical
reason, is called the Sun; for our source of energy and life is the Sun.
Thus our life substance, as an energic process, is entirely Sun. Of what
special sort this “Sun energy” seen inwardly by the mystic is, is shown
by an example taken from the Hindoo mythology.[206] From the explanation
of Part III of the “Shvetâshvataropanishad” we take the following
quotation, which relates to the Rudra:[207]

  (2) “Yea, the one Rudra who all these worlds with ruling power doth
  rule, stands not for any second. Behind those that are born he stands;
  at ending time ingathers all the worlds he hath evolved, protector
  (he).

  (3) “He hath eyes on all sides, on all sides surely hath faces, arms
  surely on all sides, on all sides feet. With arms, with wings he
  tricks them out, creating heaven and earth, the only God.

  (4) “Who of the gods is both the source and growth, the Lord of all,
  the Rudra. Mighty seer; who brought the shining germ of old into
  existence—may he with reason pure conjoin us.”[208]

These attributes allow us clearly to discern the all-creator and in him
the Sun, which has wings and with a thousand eyes scans the world.[209]

The following passages confirm the text and join to it the idea most
important for us, that God is also contained in the individual creature:

  (7) “Beyond this (world) the Brahman beyond, the mighty one, in every
  creature hid according to its form, the one encircling Lord of all,
  Him having known, immortal they become.

  (8) “I know this mighty man, Sun-like, beyond the darkness, Him (and
  him) only knowing, one crosseth over death; no other path (at all) is
  there to go.

  (11) “... spread over the universe is He the Lord therefore as
  all-pervader, He’s benign.”

The powerful God, the equal of the Sun, is in that one, and whoever
knows him is immortal.[210] Going on further with the text, we come upon
a new attribute, which informs us in what form and manner Rudra lived in
men.

  (12) “The mighty monarch, He, the man, the one who doth the essence
  start towards that peace of perfect stainlessness, lordly, exhaustless
  light.

  (13) “The Man, the size of a thumb, the inner self, sits ever in the
  heart of all that’s born, by mind, mind ruling in the heart, is He
  revealed. That they who know, immortal they become.

  (14) “The Man of the thousands of heads (and) thousands of eyes (and)
  thousands of feet, covering the earth on all sides, He stands beyond,
  ten finger-breadths.

  (15) “The Man is verily this all, (both) what has been and what will
  be, Lord (too) of deathlessness which far all else surpasses.”

Important parallel quotations are to be found in the “Kathopanishad,”
section 2, part 4.

  (12) “The Man of the size of a thumb, resides in the midst within the
  self, of the past and the future, the Lord.

  (13) “The Man of the size of a thumb like flame free from smoke, of
  past and of future the Lord, the same is to-day, to-morrow the same
  will He be.”

Who this Tom-Thumb is can easily be divined—the phallic symbol of the
libido. The phallus is this hero dwarf, who performs great deeds; he,
this ugly god in homely form, who is the great doer of wonders, since he
is the visible expression of the creative strength incarnate in man.
This extraordinary contrast is also very striking in “Faust” (the mother
scene):

         _Mephistopheles_:

         I’ll praise thee ere we separate: I see
         Thou knowest the devil thoroughly:
         Here take this key.

         _Faust_:

         That little thing!

         _Mephistopheles_:

         Take hold of it, not undervaluing!

         _Faust_:

         It glows, it shines, increases in my hand!

         _Mephistopheles_:

         How much it is worth, thou soon shalt understand,
         The key will scent the true place from all others!
         Follow it down!—’twill lead thee to the Mothers![211]

Here the devil again puts into Faust’s hand the marvellous tool, a
phallic symbol of the libido, as once before in the beginning the devil,
in the form of the black dog, accompanied Faust, when he introduced
himself with the words:

                  “Part of that power, not understood,
        Which always wills the bad and always creates the good.”

United to this strength, Faust succeeded in accomplishing his real life
task, at first through evil adventure and then for the benefit of
humanity, for without the evil there is no creative power. Here in the
mysterious mother scene, where the poet unveils the last mystery of the
creative power to the initiated, Faust has need of the phallic magic
wand (in the magic strength of which he has at first no confidence), in
order to perform the greatest of wonders, namely, the creation of Paris
and Helen. With that Faust attains the divine power of working miracles,
and, indeed, only by means of this small, insignificant instrument. This
paradoxical impression seems to be very ancient, for even the Upanishads
could say the following of the dwarf god:

  (19) “Without hands, without feet, He moveth, He graspeth: Eyeless He
  seeth, (and) earless He heareth: He knoweth what is to be known, yet
  is there no knower of Him. Him call the first, mighty the Man.

  (20) “Smaller than small, (yet) greater than great in the heart of
  this creature the self doth repose ... etc.”

The phallus is the being, which moves without limbs, which sees without
eyes, which knows the future; and as symbolic representative of the
universal creative power existent everywhere immortality is vindicated
in it. It is always thought of as entirely independent, an idea current
not only in antiquity, but also apparent in the pornographic drawings of
our children and artists. It is a seer, an artist and a worker of
wonders; therefore it should not surprise us when certain phallic
characteristics are found again in the mythological seer, artist and
sorcerer. Hephaestus, Wieland the smith, and Mani, the founder of
Manicheism, whose followers were also famous, have crippled feet. The
ancient seer Melampus possessed a suggestive name (Blackfoot),[212] and
it seems also to be typical for seers to be blind. Dwarfed stature,
ugliness and deformity have become especially typical for those
mysterious chthonian gods, the sons of Hephaestus, the Cabiri,[213] to
whom great power to perform miracles was ascribed. The name signifies
“powerful,” and the Samothracian cult is most intimately united with
that of the ithyphallic Hermes, who, according to the account of
Herodotus, was brought to Attica by the Pelasgians. They are also called
μεγάλοι θεοί, the great gods. Their near relations are the “Idaean
dactyli” (finger or Idaean thumb),[214] to whom the mother of the gods
had taught the blacksmith’s art. (“The key will scent the true place
from all others! follow it down!—’twill lead thee to the Mothers!”) They
were the first leaders, the teachers of Orpheus, and invented the
Ephesian magic formulas and the musical rhythms.[215] The characteristic
disparity which is shown above in the Upanishad text, and in “Faust,” is
also found here, since the gigantic Hercules passed as an Idaean dactyl.

The colossal Phrygians, the skilled servants of Rhea,[216] were also
Dactyli. The Babylonian teacher of wisdom, Oannes,[217] was represented
in a phallic fish form.[218] The two sun heroes, the Dioscuri, stand in
relation to the Cabiri;[219] they also wear the remarkable pointed
head-covering (Pileus) which is peculiar to these mysterious gods,[220]
and which is perpetuated from that time on as a secret mark of
identification. Attis (the elder brother of Christ) wears the pointed
cap, just as does Mithra. It has also become traditional for our
present-day chthonian infantile gods,[221] the brownies (Penates), and
all the typical kind of dwarfs. Freud[222] has already called our
attention to the phallic meaning of the hat in modern phantasies. A
further significance is that probably the pointed cap represents the
foreskin. In order not to go too far afield from my theme, I must be
satisfied here merely to present the suggestion. But at a later
opportunity I shall return to this point with detailed proof.

The dwarf form leads to the figure of the divine boy, the _puer
eternus_, the young Dionysus, Jupiter Anxurus, Tages,[223] and so on. In
the vase painting of Thebes, already mentioned, a bearded Dionysus is
represented as ΚΑΒΕΙΡΟΣ, together with a figure of a boy as Παῖς,
followed by a caricatured boy’s figure designated as ΠΡΑΤΟΛΑΟΣ and then
again a caricatured man, which is represented as ΜΙΤΟΣ.[224] Μίτος
really means thread, but in orphic speech it stands for semen. It was
conjectured that this collection corresponded to a group of statuary in
the sanctuary of a cult. This supposition is supported by the history of
the cult as far as it is known; it is an original Phœnician cult of
father and son;[225] of an old and young Cabir who were more or less
assimilated with the Grecian gods. The double figures of the adult and
the child Dionysus lend themselves particularly to this assimilation.
One might also call this the cult of the large and small man. Now, under
various aspects, Dionysus is a phallic god in whose worship the phallus
held an important place; for example, in the cult of the Argivian
Bull—Dionysus. Moreover, the phallic herme of the god has given occasion
for a personification of the phallus of Dionysus, in the form of the god
Phales, who is nothing else but a Priapus. He is called ἑταῖρος or
σύγκωμος Βάκχου[226].[227] Corresponding to this state of affairs, one
cannot very well fail to recognize in the previously mentioned Cabiric
representation, and in the added boy’s figure, the picture of man and
his penis.[228] The previously mentioned paradox in the Upanishad text
of large and small, of giant and dwarf, is expressed more mildly here by
man and boy, or father and son.[229] The motive of deformity which is
used constantly by the Cabiric cult is present also in the vase picture,
while the parallel figures to Dionysus and Παῖς are the caricatured
Μίτος and Πρατόλαος. Just as formerly the difference in size gave
occasion for division, so does the deformity here.[230]

Without first bringing further proof to bear, I may remark that from
this knowledge especially strong sidelights are thrown upon the original
psychologic meaning of the religious heroes. Dionysus stands in an
intimate relation with the psychology of the early Asiatic God who died
and rose again from the dead and whose manifold manifestations have been
brought together in the figure of Christ into a firm personality
enduring for centuries. We gain from our premise the knowledge that
these heroes, as well as their typical fates, are personifications of
the human libido and its typical fates. They are imagery, like the
figures of our nightly dreams—the actors and interpreters of our secret
thoughts. And since we, in the present day, have the power to decipher
the symbolism of dreams and thereby surmise the mysterious psychologic
history of development of the individual, so a way is here opened to the
understanding of the secret springs of impulse beneath the psychologic
development of races. Our previous trains of thought, which demonstrate
the phallic side of the symbolism of the libido, also show how
thoroughly justified is the term “libido.”[231] Originally taken from
the sexual sphere, this word has become the most frequent technical
expression of psychoanalysis, for the simple reason that its
significance is wide enough to cover all the unknown and countless
manifestations of the Will in the sense of Schopenhauer. It is
sufficiently comprehensive and rich in meaning to characterize the real
nature of the psychical entity which it includes. The exact classical
significance of the word libido qualifies it as an entirely appropriate
term. Libido is taken in a very wide sense in Cicero:[232]

  “(Volunt ex duobus opinatis) bonis (nasci) Libidinem et Lætitiam; ut
  sit lætitia præsentium bonorum: libido futurorum.—Lætitia autem et
  Libido in bonorum opinione versantur, cum Libido ad id, quod videtur
  bonum, illecta et inflammata rapiatur.—Natura enim omnes ea, quæ bona
  videntur, sequuntur, fugiuntque contraria. Quamobrem simul objecta
  species cuiuspiam est, quod bonum videatur, ad id adipiscendum
  impellit ipsa natura. Id cum constanter prudenterque fit, ejusmodi
  appetitionem stoici βούλησιν appellant, nos appellamus voluntatem; eam
  illi putant in solo esse sapiente, quam sic definiunt; voluntas est
  quæ quid cum ratione desiderat: quæ autem ratione adversa incitata est
  vehementius, ea libido est, vel cupiditas effrenata, quæ in omnibus
  stultis invenitur.”[233]

The meaning of libido here is “to wish,” and in the stoical distinction
of will, dissolute desire. Cicero[234] used “libido” in a corresponding
sense:

            “Agere rem aliquam libidine, non ratione.”[235]

In the same sense Sallust says:

                    “Iracundia pars est libidinis.”

In another place in a milder and more general sense, which completely
approaches the analytical use:

  “Magisque in decoris armis et militaribus equis, quam in scortis et
  conviviis libidinem habebant.”[235]

Also:

             “Quod si tibi bona libido fuerit patriæ, etc.”

The use of libido is so general that the phrase “libido est scire”
merely had the significance of “I will, it pleases me.” In the phrase
“aliquam libido urinæ lacessit” libido had the meaning of urgency. The
significance of sexual desire is also present in the classics.

This general classical application of the conception agrees with the
corresponding etymological context of the word, _libido_ or _lubido_
(with _libet_, more ancient _lubet_), it pleases me, and _libens_ or
_lubens_ = gladly, willingly. Sanskrit, _lúbhyati_ = to experience
violent longing, _lôbhayati_ = excites longing, _lubdha-h_ = eager,
_lôbha-h_ = longing, eagerness. Gothic = _liufs_, and Old High German
_liob_ = love. Moreover, in Gothic, _lubains_ was represented as hope;
and Old High German, _lobôn_ = to praise, _lob_ = commendation, praise,
glory; Old Bulgarian, _ljubiti_ = to love, _ljuby_ = love; Lithuanian,
_liáupsinti_ = to praise.[236] It can be said that the conception of
libido as developed in the new work of Freud and of his school has
functionally the same significance in the biological territory as has
the conception of energy since the time of Robert Mayer in the physical
realm.[237] It may not be superfluous to say something more at this
point concerning the conception of libido after we have followed the
formation of its symbol to its highest expression in the human form of
the religious hero.



                               CHAPTER II
            THE CONCEPTION AND THE GENETIC THEORY OF LIBIDO


The chief source of the history of the analytic conception of libido is
Freud’s “Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory.” There the term
libido is conceived by him in the original narrow sense of sexual
impulse, sexual need. Experience forces us to the assumption of a
capacity for displacement of the libido, because functions or
localizations of non-sexual force are undoubtedly capable of taking up a
certain amount of libidinous sexual impetus, a libidinous afflux.[238]
Functions or objects could, therefore, obtain sexual value, which under
normal circumstances really have nothing to do with sexuality.[239] From
this fact results the Freudian comparison of the libido with a stream,
which is divisible, which can be dammed up, which overflows into
branches, and so on.[240] Freud’s original conception does not interpret
“everything sexual,” although this has been asserted by critics, but
recognizes the existence of certain forces, the nature of which are not
well known; to which Freud, however, compelled by the notorious facts
which are evident to any layman, grants the capacity to receive
“affluxes of libido.” The hypothetical idea at the basis is the symbol
of the “Triebbündel”[241] (bundle of impulses), wherein the sexual
impulse figures as a partial impulse of the whole system, and its
encroachment into the other realms of impulse is a fact of experience.
The theory of Freud, branching off from this interpretation, according
to which the motor forces of a neurotic system correspond precisely to
their libidinous additions to other (non-sexual) functional impulses,
has been sufficiently proven as correct, it seems to me, by the work of
Freud and his school.[242] Since the appearance of the “Three
Contributions,” in 1905, a change has taken place[243] in the libido
conception; its field of application has been widened. An extremely
clear example of this amplification is this present work. However, I
must state that Freud, as well as myself, saw the need of widening the
conception of libido. It was paranoia, so closely related to dementia
præcox, which seemed to compel Freud to enlarge the earlier limits of
the conception. The passage in question, which I will quote here, word
for word, reads:[244]

  “A third consideration which presents itself, in regard to the views
  developed here, starts the query as to whether we should accept as
  sufficiently effectual the universal receding of the libido from the
  outer world, in order to interpret from that, the end of the world: or
  whether in this case, the firmly rooted possession of the ‘I’ must not
  suffice to uphold the rapport with the outer world. Then one must
  either let that which we call possession of the libido (interest from
  erotic sources) coincide with interest in general, or else take into
  consideration the possibility that great disturbance in the
  disposition of the libido can also induce a corresponding disturbance
  in the possession of the ‘I.’ Now, these are the problems, which we
  are still absolutely helpless and unfitted to answer. Things would be
  different could we proceed from a safe fund of knowledge of instinct.
  But the truth is, we have nothing of that kind at our disposal. We
  understand instinct as the resultant of the reaction of the somatic
  and the psychic. We see in it the psychical representation of organic
  forces and take the popular distinction between the ‘I’ impulse and
  the sexual impulse, which appears to us to be in accord with the
  biological double rôle of the individual being who aspires to his own
  preservation as well as to the preservation of the species. But
  anything beyond this is a structure, which we set up, and also
  willingly let fall again in order to orient ourselves in the confusion
  of the dark processes of the soul; we expect particularly, from the
  psychoanalytic investigations into diseased soul processes, to have
  certain decisions forced upon us in regard to questions of the theory
  of instinct. This expectation has not yet been fulfilled on account of
  the still immature and limited investigations in these fields. At
  present the possibility of the reaction of libido disturbance upon the
  possession of the ‘I’ can be shown as little as the reverse; the
  secondary or induced disturbances of the libido processes through
  abnormal changes in the ‘I.’ It is probable that processes of this
  sort form the distinctive character of the psychoses. The conclusions
  arising from this, in relation to paranoia, are at present uncertain.
  One cannot assert that the paranoiac has completely withdrawn his
  interest from the outer world, nor withdrawn into the heights of
  repression, as one sometimes sees in certain other forms of
  hallucinatory psychoses. He takes notice of the outer world, he takes
  account of its changes, he is stirred to explanations by their
  influence, and therefore I consider it highly probable that the
  changed relation to the world is to be explained, wholly or in great
  part, by the deficiency of the libido interest.”

In this passage Freud plainly touches upon the question whether the
well-known longing for reality of the paranoic dement (and the dementia
præcox patients),[245] to whom I have especially called attention in my
book, “The Psychology of Dementia Præcox,”[246] is to be traced back to
the withdrawal of the “libidinous affluxes” alone, or whether this
coincides with the so-called objective interest in general. It is hardly
to be assumed that the normal “fonction du réel” (Janet)[247] is
maintained only through affluxes of libido or erotic interest. The fact
is that in very many cases reality disappears entirely, so that not a
trace of psychological adaptation or orientation can be recognized.
Reality is repressed under these circumstances and replaced by the
contents of the complex. One must of necessity say that not only the
erotic interest but the interest in general has disappeared, that is to
say, the whole adaptation to reality has ceased. To this category belong
the stuporose and catatonic automatons.

I have previously made use of the expression “psychic energy” in my
“Psychology of Dementia Præcox” because I was unable to establish the
theory of this psychosis upon the conception of the displacement of the
affluxes of libido. My experience, at that time chiefly psychiatric, did
not enable me to understand this theory. However, the correctness of
this theory in regard to neuroses, strictly speaking the transference
neuroses, was proven to me later after increased experience in the field
of hysteria and compulsion neuroses. In the territory of these neuroses
it is mainly a question whether any portion of the libido which is
spared through the specific repression becomes introverted and
regressive into earlier paths of transference; for example, the path of
the parental transference.[248] With that, however, the former
non-sexual psychologic adaptation to the environment remains preserved
so far as it does not concern the erotic and its secondary positions
(symptoms). The reality which is lacking to the patients is just that
portion of the libido to be found in the neurosis. In dementia præcox,
on the contrary, not merely that portion of libido which is saved in the
well-known specific sexual repression is lacking for reality, but much
more than one could write down to the account of sexuality in a strict
sense. The function of reality is lacking to such a degree that even the
motive power must be encroached upon in the loss. The sexual character
of this must be disputed absolutely,[249] for reality is not understood
to be a sexual function. Moreover, if that were so, the introversion of
the libido in the strict sense must have as a result a loss of reality
in the neuroses, and, indeed, a loss which could be compared with that
of dementia præcox. These facts have rendered it impossible for me to
transfer Freud’s theory of libido to dementia præcox, and, therefore, I
am of the opinion that Abraham’s investigation[250] is hardly tenable
theoretically, from the standpoint of the Freudian theory of libido. If
Abraham believes that through the withdrawal of the libido from the
outer world the paranoid system or the schizophrenic symptomatology
results, then this assumption is not justified from the standpoint of
the knowledge of that time, because a mere libido introversion and
regression leads, speedily, as Freud has clearly shown, into the
neuroses, and, strictly speaking, into the transference neuroses, and
not into dementia præcox. Therefore, the transference of the libido
theory to dementia præcox is impossible, because this illness produces a
loss of reality which cannot be explained by the deficiency of the
libido defined in this narrow sense.

It affords me especial satisfaction that our teacher also, when he laid
his hand on the delicate material of the paranoic psychology, was forced
to doubt the applicability of the conception of libido held by him at
that time. The sexual definition of this did not permit me to understand
those disturbances of function, which affect the vague territory of the
hunger instinct just as much as that of the sexual instinct. For a long
time the theory of libido seemed to me inapplicable to dementia præcox.
With increasing experience in analytical work, however, I became aware
of a gradual change in my conception of libido. In place of the
descriptive definition of the “Three Contributions” there gradually grew
up a generic definition of the libido, which rendered it possible for me
to replace the expression “psychic energy” by the term “libido.” I was
forced to ask myself whether indeed the function of reality to-day does
not consist only in its smaller part of libido sexualis and in the
greater part of other impulses? It is still a very important question
whether phylogenetically the function of reality is not, at least in
great part, of sexual origin. To answer this question directly in regard
to the function of reality is not possible, but we shall attempt to come
to an understanding indirectly.

A fleeting glance at the history of evolution is sufficient to teach
us that countless complicated functions to which to-day must be
denied any sexual character were originally pure derivations from
the general impulse of propagation. During the ascent through the
animal kingdom an important displacement in the fundamentals of the
procreative instinct has taken place. The mass of the reproductive
products with the uncertainty of fertilization has more and more
been replaced by a controlled impregnation and an effective
protection of the offspring. In this way part of the energy required
in the production of eggs and sperma has been transposed into the
creation of mechanisms for allurement and for protection of the
young. Thus we discover the first instincts of art in animals used
in the service of the impulse of creation, and limited to the
breeding season. The original sexual character of these biological
institutions became lost in their organic fixation and functional
independence. Even if there can be no doubt about the sexual origin
of music, still it would be a poor, unæsthetic generalization if one
were to include music in the category of sexuality. A similar
nomenclature would then lead us to classify the cathedral of Cologne
as mineralogy because it is built of stones. It can be a surprise
only to those to whom the history of evolution is unknown to find
how few things there really are in human life which cannot be
reduced in the last analysis to the instinct of procreation. It
includes very nearly everything, I think, which is beloved and dear
to us. We spoke just now of libido as the creative impulse and at
the same time we allied ourselves with the conception which opposes
libido to hunger in the same way that the instinct of the
preservation of the species is opposed to the instinct of
self-preservation. In nature, this artificial distinction does not
exist. Here we see only a continuous life impulse, a will to live
which will attain the creation of the whole species through the
preservation of the individual. Thus far this conception coincides
with the idea of the Will in Schopenhauer, for we can conceive Will
objectively, only as a manifestation of an internal desire. This
throwing of psychological perceptions into material reality is
characterized philosophically as “introjection.” (Ferenczi’s
conception of “introjection” denoted the reverse, that is, the
taking of the outer world into the inner world.)[251] Naturally, the
conception of the world was distorted by introjection. Freud’s
conception of the principle of desire is a voluntary formulation of
the idea of introjection, while his once more voluntarily conceived
“principle of reality” corresponds functionally to that which I
designate as “corrective of reality,” and R. Avenarius[252]
designates as “empiriokritische Prinzipialkoordination.” The
conception of power owes its existence to this very introjection;
this has already been said expressively by Galileo in his remark
that its origin is to be sought in the subjective perception of the
muscular power of the individual. Because we have already arrived at
the daring assumption that the libido, which was employed originally
in the exclusive service of egg and seed production, now appears
firmly organized in the function of nest-building, and can no longer
be employed otherwise; similarly this conception forces us to relate
it to every desire, including hunger. For now we can no longer make
any essential distinction between the will to build a nest and the
will to eat. This view brings us to a conception of libido, which
extends over the boundaries of the physical sciences into a
philosophical aspect—to a conception of the will in general. I must
give this bit of psychological “Voluntarismus” into the hands of the
philosophers for them to manage. For the rest I refer to the words
of Schopenhauer[253] relating to this. In connection with the
psychology of this conception (by which I understand neither
metapsychology nor metaphysics) I am reminded here of the cosmogenic
meaning of Eros in Plato and Hesiod,[254] and also of the orphic
figure of Phanes, the “_shining one_,” the first created, the
“father of Eros.” Phanes has also orphically the significance of
Priapus; he is a god of love, bisexual and similar to the Theban
Dionysus Lysios.[255] The orphic meaning of Phanes is similar to
that of the Indian Kâma, the god of love, which is also the
cosmogenic principle. To Plotinus, of the Neo-Platonic school, the
world-soul is the energy of the intellect.[256] Plotinus compares
“The One,” the creative primal principle, with light in general; the
intellect with the Sun (♂), the world-soul with the moon (♀). In
another comparison Plotinus compares “The One” with the Father, the
intellect with the Son.[257] The “One” designated as Uranus is
transcendent. The son as Kronos has dominion over the visible world.
The world-soul (designated as Zeus) appears as subordinate to him.
The “One,” or the Usia of the whole existence is designated by
Plotinus as hypostatic, also as the three forms of emanation, also
μία οὐσία ἐν τρισὶν ὑποστάσεσιν.[258] As Drews observed, this is
also the formula of the Christian Trinity (God the Father, God the
Son, and God the Holy Ghost) as it was decided upon at the councils
of Nicea and Constantinople.[259] It may also be noticed that
certain early Christian sectarians attributed a maternal
significance to the Holy Ghost (world-soul, moon). (See what follows
concerning Chi of Timæus.) According to Plotinus, the world-soul has
a tendency toward a divided existence and towards divisibility, the
_conditio sine qua non_ of all change, creation and procreation
(also a maternal quality). It is an “unending all of life” and
wholly energy; it is a living organism of ideas, which attain in it
effectiveness and reality.[260] The intellect is its procreator, its
father, which, having conceived it, brings it to development in
thought.[261]

  “What lies enclosed in the intellect, comes to development in the
  world-soul as logos, fills it with meaning and makes it as if
  intoxicated with nectar.”[262]

Nectar is analogous to soma, the drink of fertility and of life, also to
sperma. The soul is fructified by the intellect; as oversoul it is
called heavenly Aphrodite, as the undersoul the earthly Aphrodite. “It
knows the birth pangs,”[263] and so on. The bird of Aphrodite, the dove,
is not without good cause the symbol of the Holy Ghost.

This fragment of the history of philosophy, which may easily be
enlarged, shows the significance of the endopsychic perception of the
libido and of its symbolism in human thought.

In the diversity of natural phenomena we see the desire, the libido, in
the most diverse applications and forms. We see the libido in the stage
of childhood almost wholly occupied in the instinct of nutrition, which
takes care of the upbuilding of the body. With the development of the
body there are successively opened new spheres of application for the
libido. The last sphere of application, and surpassing all the others in
its functional significance, is sexuality, which seems at first almost
bound up with the function of nutrition. (Compare with this the
influence on procreation of the conditions of nutrition in lower animals
and plants.) In the territory of sexuality, the libido wins that
formation, the enormous importance of which has justified us in the use
of the term libido in general. Here the libido appears very properly as
an impulse of procreation, and almost in the form of an undifferentiated
sexual primal libido, as an energy of growth, which clearly forces the
individual towards division, budding, etc. (The clearest distinction
between the two forms of libido is to be found among those animals in
whom the stage of nutrition is separated from the sexual stage by a
chrysalis stage.)

From that sexual primal libido which produced millions of eggs and seeds
from one small creature derivatives have been developed with the great
limitation of the fecundity; derivatives in which the functions are
maintained by a special differentiated libido. This differentiated
libido is henceforth desexualized because it is dissociated from its
original function of egg and sperma production; nor is there any
possibility of restoring it to its original function. Thus, in general,
the process of development consists in an increasing transformation of
the primal libido which only produced products of generation to the
secondary functions of allurement and protection of the young. This now
presupposes a very different and very complicated relation to reality, a
true function of reality, which, functionally inseparable, is bound up
with the needs of procreation. Thus the altered mode of procreation
carries with it as a correlate a correspondingly heightened adaptation
to reality.[264]

In this way we attain an insight into certain primitive conditions of
the function of reality. It would be radically wrong to say that its
compelling power is a sexual one. It was a sexual one to a large extent.
The process of transformation of the primal libido into secondary
impulses always took place in the form of affluxes of sexual libido,
that is to say, sexuality became deflected from its original destination
and a portion of it turned, little by little, increasing in amount, into
the phylogenetic impulse of the mechanisms of allurement and of
protection of the young. This diversion of the sexual libido from the
sexual territory into associated functions is still taking place.[265]
Where this operation succeeds without injury to the adaptation of the
individual it is called _sublimation_. Where the attempt does not
succeed it is called _repression_.

The descriptive standpoint of psychology accepts the multiplicity of
instincts, among which is the sexual instinct, as a special phenomenon;
moreover, it recognizes certain affluxes of libido to non-sexual
instincts.

Quite otherwise is the genetic standpoint. It regards the multiplicity
of instincts as issuing from a relative unity, the primal libido;[266]
it recognizes that definite amounts of the primal libido are split off,
as it were, associated with the newly formed functions and finally
merged in them. As a result of this it is impossible, from the genetic
standpoint, to hold to the strictly limited conception of libido of the
descriptive standpoint; it leads inevitably to a broadening of the
conception. With this we come to the theory of libido that I have
surreptitiously introduced into the first part of this work for the
purpose of making this genetic conception familiar to the reader. The
explanation of this harmless deceit I have saved until the second part.

For the first time, through this genetic idea of libido, which in every
way surpasses the descriptive sexual, the transference was made possible
of the Freudian libido theory into the psychology of mental disease. The
passage quoted above shows how the present Freudian conception of libido
collides with the problem of the psychoses.[267] Therefore, when I speak
of libido, I associate with it the genetic conception which contains not
only the immediate sexual but also an amount of desexualized primal
libido. When I say a sick person takes his libido away from the outer
world, in order to take possession of the inner world with it, I do not
mean that he takes away merely the affluxes from the function of
reality, but he takes energy away, according to my view, from those
desexualized instincts which regularly and properly support the function
of reality.

With this alteration in the libido conception, certain parts of our
terminology need revision as well. As we know, Abraham has undertaken
the experiment of transferring the Freudian libido theory to dementia
præcox and has conceived the characteristic lack of rapport and the
cessation of the function of reality as autoerotism. This conception
needs revision. Hysterical introversion of the libido leads to
autoerotism, since the patient’s erotic afflux of libido designed for
the function of adaptation is introverted, whereby his ego is occupied
by the corresponding amount of erotic libido. The schizophrenic,
however, shuns reality far more than merely the erotic afflux would
account for; therefore, his inner condition is very different from that
of the hysteric. He is more than autoerotic, he builds up an
intra-psychic equivalent for reality, for which purpose he has
necessarily to employ other dynamics than that afforded by the erotic
afflux. Therefore, I must grant to Bleuler the right to reject the
conception of autoerotism, taken from the study of hysterical neuroses,
and there legitimate, and to replace it by the conception of
autismus.[268] I am forced to say that this term is better fitted to
facts than autoerotism. With this I acknowledge my earlier idea of the
identity of autismus (Bleuler) and autoerotism (Freud) as unjustified,
and, therefore, retract it.[269] This thorough revision of the
conception of libido has compelled me to this.

From these considerations it follows necessarily that the descriptive
psychologic conception of libido must be given up in order for the
libido theory to be applied to dementia præcox. That it is there
applicable is best shown in Freud’s brilliant investigation of
Schreber’s phantasies. The question now is whether this genetic
conception of libido proposed by me is suitable for the neuroses. I
believe that this question may be answered affirmatively. “Natura non
fecit saltum”—it is not merely to be expected but it is also probable
that at least temporary functional disturbances of various degrees
appear in the neuroses, which transcend the boundaries of the immediate
sexual; in any case, this occurs in psychotic episodes. I consider the
broadening of the conception of libido which has developed through the
most recent analytic work as a real advance which will prove of especial
advantage in the important field of the introversion psychoses. Proofs
of the correctness of my assumption are already at hand. It has become
apparent through a series of researches of the Zurich School, which are
now published in part,[270] that the phantastic substitution products
which take the place of the disturbed function of reality bear
unmistakable traces of archaic thought. This confirmation is parallel to
the postulate asserted above, according to which reality is deprived,
not merely of an immediate (individual) amount of libido, but also of an
already differentiated or desexualized quantity of libido, which, among
normal people, has belonged to the function of reality ever since
prehistoric times. _A dropping away of the last acquisition of the
function of reality (or adaptation) must of necessity be replaced by an
earlier mode of adaptation._ We find this principle already in the
doctrines of the neuroses, that is, that a repression resulting from the
failure of the recent transference is replaced by an old way of
transference, namely, through a regressive revival of the parent imago.
In the transference neurosis (hysterical), where merely a part of the
_immediate sexual_ libido is taken away from reality by the specific
sexual repression, the substituted product is a phantasy of individual
origin and significance, with only a trace of those archaic traits found
in the phantasies of those mental disorders in which a portion of the
general human function of reality organized since antiquity has broken
off. This portion can be replaced only by a generally valid archaic
surrogate. We owe a simple and clear example of this proposition to the
investigation of Honegger.[271] A paranoic of good intelligence who has
a clear idea of the spherical form of the earth and its rotation around
the sun replaces the modern astronomical views by a system worked out in
great detail, which one must call archaic, in which the earth is a flat
disc over which the sun travels.[272] (I am reminded of the sun-phallus
mentioned in the first part of this book, for which we are also indebted
to Honegger.) Spielrein has likewise furnished some very interesting
examples of archaic definitions which begin in certain illnesses to
overlay the real meanings of the modern word. For example, Spielrein’s
patient had correctly discovered the mythological significance of
alcohol, the intoxicating drink, to be “an effusion of seed.”[273] She
also had a symbolism of boiling which I must place parallel to the
especially important alchemistic vision of Zosimos,[274] who found
people in boiling water within the cavity of the altar.[275] This
patient used earth in place of mother, and also water to express
mother.[276] I refrain from further examples because future work of the
Zurich School will furnish abundant evidence of this sort.


My foregoing proposition of the replacement of the disturbed function of
reality by an archaic surrogate is supported by an excellent paradox of
Spielrein’s. She says: “I often had the illusion that these patients
might be simply victims of a folk superstition.” As a matter of fact,
patients substitute phantasies for reality, phantasies similar to the
actually incorrect mental products of the past, which, however, were
once the view of reality. As the Zosimos vision shows, the old
superstitions were symbols[277] which permitted transitions to the most
remote territory. This must have been very expedient for certain archaic
periods, for by this means convenient bridges were offered to lead a
partial amount of libido over into the mental realm. Evidently Spielrein
thinks of a similar biological meaning of the symbols when she
says:[278]

  “Thus a symbol seems to me to owe its origin in general to the
  tendency of a complex for dissolution in the common totality of
  thought.... The complex is robbed by that of the personal element....
  This tendency towards dissolution (transformation) of every individual
  complex is the motive for poetry, painting, for every sort of art.”

When here we replace the formal conception “complex” by the conception
of the quantity of libido (the total effect of the complex), which, from
the standpoint of the libido theory, is a justified measure, then does
Spielrein’s view easily agree with mine. When primitive man understands
in general what an act of generation is, then, according to the
principle of the path of least resistance, he never can arrive at the
idea of replacing the generative organs by a sword-blade or a shuttle;
but this is the case with certain Indians, who explain the origin of
mankind by the union of the two transference symbols. He then must be
compelled to devise an analogous thing in order to bring a manifest
sexual interest upon an asexual expression. The propelling motive of
this transition of the _immediate sexual_ libido to the non-sexual
representation can, in my opinion, be found only in a _resistance which
opposes primitive sexuality_.

It appears as if, by this means of phantastic analogy formation, more
libido would gradually become desexualized, because increasingly more
phantasy correlates were put in the place of the primitive achievement
of the sexual libido. With this an enormous broadening of the world idea
was gradually developed because new objects were always assimilated as
sexual symbols. It is a question whether the human consciousness has not
been brought to its present state entirely or in great part in this
manner. It is evident, in any case, that an important significance in
the development of the human mind is due to the impulse towards the
discovery of analogy. We must agree thoroughly with Steinthal when he
says that an absolutely overweening importance must be granted to the
little phrase “Gleich wie” (even as) in the history of the development
of thought. It is easy to believe that the carryover of the libido to a
phantastic correlate has led primitive man to a number of the most
important discoveries.



                              CHAPTER III
 THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE LIBIDO. A POSSIBLE SOURCE OF PRIMITIVE HUMAN
                              DISCOVERIES


In the following pages I will endeavor to picture a concrete example of
the transition of the libido. I once treated a patient who suffered from
a depressive catatonic condition. The case was one of only a slight
introversion psychosis; therefore, the existence of many hysterical
features was not surprising. In the beginning of the analytic treatment,
while telling of a very painful occurrence she fell into a
hysterical-dreamy state, in which she showed all signs of sexual
excitement. For obvious reasons she lost the knowledge of my presence
during this condition. The excitement led to a masturbative act (frictio
femorum). This act was accompanied by a peculiar gesture. She made a
very _violent rotary motion_ with the forefinger of the left hand on the
left temple, as if she were boring a hole there. Afterwards there was
complete amnesia for what had happened, and there was nothing to be
learned about the queer gesture with her hand. Although this act can
easily be likened to a boring into the mouth, nose or ear, now
transferred to the temple, it belongs in the territory of infantile
ludus sexualis[279]—to the preliminary exercise preparatory to sexual
activity. Without really understanding it, this gesture, nevertheless,
seemed very important to me. Many weeks later I had an opportunity to
speak to the patient’s mother, and from her I learned that her daughter
had been a very exceptional child. When only two years old she would sit
with her back to an open cupboard door for hours and rhythmically beat
her head against the door[280]—to the distraction of the household. A
little later, instead of playing as other children, she began to bore a
hole with her finger in the plaster of the wall of the house. She did
this with little turning and scraping movements, and kept herself busy
at this occupation for hours. She was a complete puzzle to her parents.
From her fourth year she practised onanism. It is evident that in this
early infantile activity the preliminary stage of the later trouble may
be found. The especially remarkable features in this case are, first,
that the child did not carry out the action on its own body, and,
secondly, the assiduity with which it carried on the action.[281] One is
tempted to bring these two facts into a causal relationship and to say,
because the child does not accomplish this action on her own body,
perhaps that is the reason of the assiduity, for by boring into the wall
she never arrives at the same satisfaction as if she executed the
activity onanistically on her own body.

The very evident onanistic boring of the patient can be traced back to a
very early stage of childhood, which is prior to the period of local
onanism. That time is still psychologically very obscure, because
individual reproductions and memories are lacking to a great extent, the
same as among animals. The race characteristics (manner of life)
predominate during the entire life of the animal, whereas among men the
individual character asserts itself over the race type. Granting the
correctness of this remark, we are struck with the apparently wholly
incomprehensible individual activity of this child at this early age. We
learn from her later life history that her development, which is, as is
always the case, intimately interwoven with parallel external events,
has led to that mental disturbance which is especially well known on
account of its individuality and the originality of its productions, i.
e. dementia præcox. The peculiarity of this disturbance, as we have
pointed out above, depends upon the predominance of the phantastic form
of thought—of the infantile in general. From this type of thinking
proceed all those numerous contacts with mythological products, and that
which we consider as original and wholly individual creations are very
often creations which are comparable with nothing but those of
antiquity. I believe that this comparison can be applied to all
formations of this remarkable illness, and perhaps also to this special
symptom of boring. We have already seen that the onanistic boring of the
patient dated from a very early stage of childhood, that is to say, it
was reproduced from that period of the past. The sick woman fell back
for the first time into the early onanism only after she had been
married many years, and following the death of her child, with whom she
had identified herself through an overindulgent love. When the child
died the still healthy mother was overcome by early infantile symptoms
in the form of scarcely concealed fits of masturbation, which were
associated with this very act of boring. As already observed, the
primary boring appeared at a time which preceded the infantile onanism
localized in the genitals. This fact is of significance in so far as
this boring differs thereby from a similar later practice which appeared
after the genital onanism. The later bad habits represent, as a rule, a
substitution for repressed genital masturbation, or for an attempt in
this direction. As such these habits (finger-sucking, biting the nails,
picking at things, boring into the ears and nose, etc.) may persist far
into adult life as regular symptoms of a repressed amount of libido.

As has already been shown above, the libido in youthful individuals at
first manifests itself in the nutritional zone, when food is taken in
the act of suckling with rhythmic movements and with every sign of
satisfaction. With the growth of the individual and the development of
his organs the libido creates for itself new avenues to supply its need
of activity and satisfaction. The primary model of rhythmic activity,
producing pleasure and satisfaction, must now be transferred to the zone
of other functions, with sexuality as its final goal. A considerable
part of the “hunger libido” is transferred into the “sexual libido.”
This transition does not take place suddenly at the time of puberty, as
is generally supposed, but very gradually in the course of the greater
part of childhood. The libido can free itself only with difficulty and
very slowly from that which is peculiar to the function of nutrition, in
order to enter into the peculiarity of the sexual function. Two periods
are to be distinguished in this state of transition, so far as I can
judge—_the epoch of suckling and the epoch of the displaced rhythmic
activity_. Suckling still belongs to the function of nutrition, but
passes beyond it, however, in that it is no longer the function of
nutrition, but rhythmic activity, with pleasure and satisfaction as a
goal, without the taking of nourishment. Here the hand enters as an
auxiliary organ. In the period of the displaced rhythmic activity the
hand appears still more clearly as an auxiliary organ; the gaining of
pleasure leaves the mouth zone and turns to other regions. The
possibilities are now many. As a rule, other openings of the body become
the objects of the libido interest; then the skin, and special portions
of that. The activity expressed in these parts, which can appear as
rubbing, boring, picking, and so on, follows a certain rhythm and serves
to produce pleasure. After longer or shorter tarryings of the libido at
these stations, it passes onward until it reaches the sexual zone, and
there, for the first time, can be occasion for the beginning of
onanistic attempts. In its migration the libido takes more than a little
of the function of nutrition with it into the sexual zone, which readily
accounts for the numerous and innate correlations between the functions
of nutrition and sexuality. If, after the occupation of the sexual zone,
an obstacle arises against the present form of application of the
libido, then there occurs, according to the well-known laws, a
regression to the nearest station lying behind, to the two
above-mentioned periods. It is now of special importance that the epoch
of the displaced rhythmic activity coincides in a general way with the
time of the development of the mind and of speech. I might designate the
period from birth until the occupation of the sexual zone as the
presexual stage of development. This generally occurs between the third
and fifth year, and is comparable to the chrysalis stage in butterflies.
It is distinguished by the irregular commingling of the elements of
nutrition and of sexual functions. Certain regressions follow directly
back to the presexual stage, and, judging from my experience, this seems
to be the rule in the regression of dementia præcox. I will give two
brief examples. One case concerns a young girl who developed a catatonic
state during her engagement. When she saw me for the first time, she
came up suddenly, embraced me, and said, “Papa, give me something to
eat.” The other case concerns a young maidservant who complained that
people pursued her with electricity and that this caused a queer feeling
in her genitals, “as if it ate and drank down there.”

These regressive phenomena show that even from the distance of the
modern mind those early stages of the libido can be regressively
reached. One may assume, therefore, that in the earliest states of human
development this road was much more easily travelled than it is to-day.
It becomes then a matter of great interest to learn whether traces of
this have been preserved in history.

We owe our knowledge of the ethnologic phantasy of boring to the
valuable work of Abraham,[282] who also refers us to the writings of
Adalbert Kuhn.[283] Through this investigation we learn that Prometheus,
the fire-bringer, may be a brother of the Hindoo Pramantha, that is to
say, of the masculine fire-rubbing piece of wood. The Hindoo
fire-bringer is called Mâtariçvan, and the activity of the fire
preparation is always designated in the hieratic text by the verb
“manthâmi,”[284] which means _shaking_, _rubbing_, _bringing forth by
rubbing_. Kuhn has put this verb in connection with the Greek μανθάνω,
which means “to learn,” and has explained this conceptual
relationship.[285] The “tertium comparationis” might lie in the rhythm,
the movement to and fro in the mind. According to Kuhn, the root “manth”
or “math” must be traced from μανθάνω (μάθημα, μάθησις) to προ-μηθέομαι
to Προμηθεύς,[286] who is the Greek fire-robber. Through an unauthorized
Sanskrit word “pramâthyus,” which comes by way of “pramantha,” and which
possesses the double meaning of “Rubber” and “Robber,” the transition to
Prometheus was effected. With that, however, the prefix “pra” caused
special difficulty, so that the whole derivation was doubted by a series
of authors, and was held, in part, as erroneous. On the other hand, it
was pointed out that as the Thuric Zeus bore the especially interesting
cognomen Προ-μανθεύς, thus Προ-μηθεύς might not be an original
Indo-Germanic stem word that was related to the Sanskrit “pramantha,”
but might represent only a cognomen. This interpretation is supported by
a gloss of Hesychius, Ἰθάς: ὁ τῶν Τιτάνων κήρυξ Προμηθεύς.[287] Another
gloss of Hesychius explains ἰθαίνομαι (ιαίνω) as θερμαίνομαι, through
which Ἰθάς attains the meaning of “the flaming one,” analogous to Αἴθων
or Φλεγύας.[288] The relation of Prometheus to pramantha could scarcely
be so direct as Kuhn conjectures. The question of an indirect relation
is not decided with that. Above all, Προμηθεύς is of great significance
as a surname for Ἰθάς, since the “flaming one” is the “fore-thinker.”
(_Pramati_ = precaution is also an attribute of Agni, although _pramati_
is of another derivation.) Prometheus, however, belongs to the line of
Phlegians which was placed by Kuhn in uncontested relationship to the
Indian priest family of Bhṛgu.[289] The Bhṛgu are like Mâtariçvan (the
“one swelling in the mother”), also fire-bringers. Kuhn quotes a
passage, according to which Bhṛgu also arises from the flame like Agni.
(“In the flame Bhṛgu originated. Bhṛgu roasted, but did not burn.”) This
view leads to a root related to Bhṛgu, that is to say, to the Sanskrit
_bhrây_ = to light, Latin _fulgeo_ and Greek φλέγω (Sanskrit _bhargas_ =
splendor, Latin _fulgur_). Bhṛgu appears, therefore, as “the shining
one.” Φλεγύας means a certain species of eagle, on account of its
burnished gold color. The connection with φλέγειν, which signifies “to
burn,” is clear. The Phlegians are also the fire eagles.[290] Prometheus
also belongs to the Phlegians. The path from Pramantha to Prometheus
passes not through the word, but through the idea, and, therefore, we
should adopt this same meaning for Prometheus as that which Pramantha
attains from the Hindoo fire symbolism.[291]

The Pramantha, as the tool of Manthana (the fire sacrifice), is
considered purely sexual in the Hindoo; the Pramantha as phallus, or
man; the bored wood underneath as vulva, or woman.[292] The resulting
fire is the child, the divine son Agni. The two pieces of wood are
called in the cult Purûravas and Urvaçî, and were thought of personified
as man and woman. The fire was born from the genitals of the woman.[293]
An especially interesting representation of fire production, as a
religious ceremony (manthana), is given by Weber:[294]

  “A certain sacrificial fire was lit by the rubbing together of two
  sticks; one piece of wood is taken up with the words: ‘Thou art the
  birthplace of the fire,’ and two blades of grass are placed upon it;
  ‘Ye are the two testicles,’ to the ‘adhârarani’ (the underlying wood):
  ‘Thou art Urvaçî’; then the utarârani (that which is placed on top) is
  anointed with butter. ‘Thou art Power.’ This is then placed on the
  adhârarani. ‘Thou art Purûravas’ and both are rubbed three times. ‘I
  rub thee with the Gâyatrîmetrum: I rub thee with the Trishtubhmeṭrum:
  I rub thee with the Jagatîmetrum.’”

The sexual symbolism of this fire production is unmistakable. We see
here also the rhythm, the metre in its original place as sexual rhythm,
rising above the mating call into music. A song of the Rigveda[295]
conveys the same interpretation and symbolism:

 “Here is the gear for function, here tinder made ready for the spark.
 Bring thou the matron:[296] we will rub Agni in ancient fashion forth.
 In the two fire-sticks Jâtavedas lieth, even as the well-formed germ in
    pregnant women;
 Agni who day by day must be exalted by men who watch and worship with
    oblations;
 Lay this with care on that which lies extended: straight hath she borne
    the steer when made prolific.

 With his red pillar—radiant in his splendor—in our skilled task is born
    the son of Ilâ.”[297]—_Book III._ xxix: 1–3.

Side by side with the unequivocal coitus symbolism we see that the
Pramantha is also Agni, the created son. The Phallus is the son, or the
son is the Phallus. Therefore, Agni in the Vedic mythology has the
threefold character. With this we are once more connected with the
above-mentioned Cabiric Father-Son-Cult. In the modern German language
we have preserved echoes of the primitive symbols. A boy is designated
as “bengel” (short, thick piece of wood). In Hessian as “stift” or
“bolzen” (arrow,[298] wooden peg or stump). The Artemisia Abrotanum,
which is called in German “Stabwurz” (stick root), is called in English
“Boy’s Love.” (The vulgar designation of the penis as “boy” was remarked
even by Grimm and others.) The ceremonial production of fire was
retained in Europe as late as the nineteenth century as a superstitious
custom. Kuhn mentions such a case even in the year 1828, which occurred
in Germany. The solemn, magic ceremony was called the “Nodfyr”—“The fire
of need”[299]—and the charm was chiefly used against cattle epidemics.
Kuhn cites from the chronicle of Lanercost of the year 1268 an
especially noteworthy case of the “Nodfyr,”[300] the ceremonies of which
plainly reveal the fundamental phallic meaning:

  “Pro fidei divinæ integritate servanda recolat lector, quod cum hoc
  anno in Laodonia pestis grassaretur in pecudes armenti, quam vocant
  usetati Lungessouht, quidam bestiales, habitu claustrales non animo,
  docebant idiotas patriæ ignem confrictione de lignis educere et
  simulacrum Priapi statuere, et per hæc bestiis succurrere. Quod cum
  unus laicus Cisterciensis apud Fentone fecisset ante atrium aulæ, ac
  intinctis testiculis canis in aquam benedictam super animalis
  sparsisset, etc.”[301]

These examples, which allow us to recognize a clear sexual symbolism in
the generation of fire, prove, therefore, since they originate from
different times and different peoples, the existence of a universal
tendency to credit to fire production not only a magical but also a
sexual significance. This ceremonial or magic repetition of this very
ancient, long-outlived observance shows how insistently the human mind
clings to the old forms, and how deeply rooted is this very ancient
reminiscence of fire boring. One might almost be inclined to see in the
sexual symbolism of fire production a relatively late addition to the
priestly lore. This may, indeed, be true for the ceremonial elaboration
of the fire mysteries, but whether originally the generation of fire was
in general a sexual action, that is to say, a “coitus-play,” is still a
question. That similar things occur among very primitive people we learn
from the Australian tribe of the Watschandies,[302] who in the spring
perform the following magic ceremonies of fertilization: They dig a hole
in the ground, so formed and surrounded with bushes as to counterfeit a
woman’s genitals. They dance the night long around this hole; in
connection with this they hold spears in front of themselves in a manner
to recall the penis in erection. They dance around the hole and thrust
their spears into the ditch, while they cry to it, “Pulli nira, pulli
nira, _wataka_!” (Non fossa, non fossa, sed cunnus!) Such obscene dances
appear among other primitive races as well.[303]

In this spring incantation are contained the elements of the coitus
play.[304] This play is nothing but a coitus game, that is to say,
originally this play was simply a coitus in the form of sacramental
mating, which for a long time was a mysterious element among certain
cults, and reappeared in sects.[305] In the ceremonies of Zinzendorf’s
followers echoes of the coitus sacrament may be recognized; also in
other sects.

One can easily think that just as the above-mentioned Australian bushmen
perform the coitus play in this manner the same performance could be
enacted in another manner, and, indeed, in the form of fire production.
Instead of through two selected human beings, the coitus was represented
by two substitutes, by Purûravas and Urvaçi, by Phallus and Vulva, by
borer and opening. Just as the primitive thought behind other customs is
really the sacramental coition so here the primal tendency is really the
act itself. For the act of fertilization is the climax—the true festival
of life, and well worthy to become the nucleus of a religious mystery.
If we are justified in concluding that the symbolism of the hole in the
earth used by the Watschandies for the fertilization of the earth takes
the place of the coitus, then the generation of fire could be considered
in the same way as a substitute for coitus; and, indeed, it might be
further concluded as a consequence of this reasoning that the invention
of fire-making is also due to the need of supplying a symbol for the
sexual act.[306]

Let us return, for a moment, to the infantile symptom of boring. Let us
imagine a strong adult man carrying on the boring with two pieces of
wood with the same perseverance and the energy corresponding to that of
this child. He may very easily create fire by this play. But of greatest
significance in this work is the rhythm.[307] This hypothesis seems to
me psychologically possible, although it should not be said with this
that only in this way could the discovery of fire occur. It can result
just as well by the striking together of flints. It is scarcely possible
that fire was created in only one way. All I want to establish here is
merely the psychologic process, the symbolic indications of which point
to the possibility that in such a way was fire invented or prepared.

The existence of the primitive coitus play or rite seems to me
sufficiently proven. The only thing that is obscure is the energy and
emphasis of the ritual play. It is well known that those primitive rites
were often of very bloody seriousness, and were performed with an
extraordinary display of energy, which appears as a great contrast to
the well-known indolence of primitive humanity. Therefore, the ritual
activity entirely loses the character of play, and wins that of
purposeful effort. If certain Negro races can dance the whole night long
to three tones in the most monotonous manner, then, according to our
idea, there is in this an absolute lack of the character of play
pastime; it approaches nearer to exercise. There seems to exist a sort
of compulsion to transfer the libido into such ritual activity. If the
basis of the ritual activity is the sexual act, we may assume that it is
really the underlying thought and object of the exercise. Under these
circumstances, the question arises why the primitive man endeavors to
represent the sexual act symbolically and with effort, or, if this
wording appears to be too hypothetical, why does he exert energy to such
a degree only to accomplish practically useless things, which apparently
do not especially amuse him?[308] It may be assumed that the sexual act
is more desirable to primitive man than such absurd and, moreover,
fatiguing exercises. It is hardly possible but that a certain compulsion
conducts the energy away from the original object and real purpose,
inducing the production of surrogates. The existence of a phallic or
orgiastic cult does not indicate _eo ipso_ a particularly lascivious
life any more than the ascetic symbolism of Christianity means an
especially moral life. One honors that which one does not possess or
that which one is not. This compulsion, to speak in the nomenclature
formulated above, removes a certain amount of libido from the real
sexual activity, and creates a symbolic and practically valid substitute
for what is lost. This psychology is confirmed by the above-mentioned
Watschandie ceremony; during the entire ceremony none of the men may
look at a woman. This detail again informs us from whence the libido is
to be diverted. But this gives rise to the pressing question, Whence
comes this compulsion? We have already suggested above that the
primitive sexuality encounters a resistance which leads to a
side-tracking of the libido on to substitution actions (analogy,
symbolism, etc.). It is unthinkable that it is a question of any outer
opposition whatsoever, or of a real obstacle, since it occurs to no
savage to catch his elusive quarry with ritual charms; but it is a
question of an internal resistance; will opposes will; libido opposes
libido, since a psychologic resistance as an energic phenomenon
corresponds to a certain amount of libido. The psychologic compulsion
for the transformation of the libido is based on an original division of
the will. I will return to this primal splitting of the libido in
another place. Here let us concern ourselves only with the problem of
the transition of the libido. The transition takes place, as has been
repeatedly suggested by means of shifting to an analogy. The libido is
taken away from its proper place and transferred to another substratum.

The resistance against sexuality aims, therefore, at preventing the
sexual act; it also seeks to crowd the libido away from the sexual
function. We see, for example, in hysteria, how the specific repression
blocks the real path of transference; therefore, the libido is obliged
to take another path, and that an earlier one, namely, the incestuous
road which ultimately leads to the parents. Let us speak, however, of
the incest prohibition, which hindered the very first sexual
transference. Then the situation changes in so far that no earlier way
of transference is left, except that of the presexual stage of
development, where the libido was still partly in the function of
nutrition. By a regression to the presexual material the libido becomes
quasi-desexualized. But as the incest prohibition signifies only a
temporary and conditional restriction of the sexuality, thus only that
part of the libido which is best designated as the incestuous component
is now pushed back to the presexual stage. The repression, therefore,
concerns only that part of the sexual libido which wishes to fix itself
permanently upon the parents. The sexual libido is only withdrawn from
the incestuous component, repressed upon the presexual stage, and there,
if the operation is successful, desexualized, by which this amount of
libido is prepared for an asexual application. However, it is to be
assumed that this operation is accomplished only with difficulty,
because the incestuous libido, so to speak, must be artificially
separated from the sexual libido, with which, for ages, through the
whole animal kingdom, it was indistinguishably united. The regression of
the incestuous component must, therefore, take place, not only with
great difficulty, but also carry with it into the presexual stage a
considerable sexual character. The consequence of this is that the
resulting phenomena, although stamped with the character of the sexual
act, are, nevertheless, not really sexual acts _de facto_; they are
derived from the presexual stage, and are maintained by the repressed
sexual libido, therefore possess a double significance. Thus the fire
boring is a coitus (and, to be sure, an incestuous one), but a
desexualized one, which has lost its immediate sexual worth, and is,
therefore, indirectly useful to the propagation of the species. The
presexual stage is characterized by countless possibilities of
application, because the libido has not yet formed definite
localizations. It therefore appears intelligible that an amount of
libido which reaches this stage through regression is confronted with
manifold possibilities of application. Above all, it is met with the
possibility of a purely onanistic activity. But as the matter in
question in the regressive component of libido is sexual libido, the
ultimate object of which is propagation, therefore it goes to the
external object (Parents); it will also introvert with this destination
as its essential character. The result, therefore, is that the purely
onanistic activity turns out to be insufficient, and another object must
be sought for, which takes the place of the incest object. The nurturing
mother earth represents the ideal example of such an object. The
psychology of the presexual stage contributes the nutrition component;
the sexual libido the coitus idea. From this the ancient symbols of
agriculture arise. In the work of agriculture hunger and incest
intermingle. The ancient cults of mother earth and all the superstitions
founded thereon saw in the cultivation of the earth the fertilization of
the mother. The aim of the action is desexualized, however, for it is
the fruit of the field and the nourishment contained therein. The
regression resulting from the incest prohibition leads, in this case, to
the new valuation of the mother; this time, however, not as a sexual
object, but as a nourisher.

The discovery of fire seems to be due to a very similar regression to
the presexual stage, more particularly to the nearest stage of the
displaced rhythmic manifestation. The libido, introverted from the
incest prohibition (with the more detailed designation of the motor
components of coitus), when it reaches the presexual stage, meets the
related infantile boring, to which it now gives, in accordance with its
realistic destination, an actual material. (Therefore the material is
fittingly called “materia,” as the object is the mother as above.) As I
sought to show above, the action of the infantile boring requires only
the strength and perseverance of an adult man and suitable “material” in
order to generate fire. If this is so, it may be expected that analogous
to our foregoing case of onanistic boring the generation of fire
originally occurred as such an act of quasi-onanistic activity,
objectively expressed. The demonstration of this can never be actually
furnished, but it is thinkable that somewhere traces of this original
onanistic preliminary exercise of fire production have been preserved. I
have succeeded in finding a passage in a very old monument of Hindoo
literature which contains this transition of the sexual libido through
the onanistic phase in the preparation of fire. This passage is found in
Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad:[309]

  “In truth, he (Âtman)[310] was as large as a woman and a man, when
  they embrace each other. This, his own self, he divided into two
  parts, out of which husband and wife were formed.[311] With her, he
  copulated; from this humanity sprang. She, however, pondered: ‘How may
  he unite with me after he has created me from himself? Now I shall
  hide!’ Then she became a cow; he, however, became a bull and mated
  with her. From that sprang the horned cattle. Then she became a mare;
  he, however, became a stallion; she became a she-ass; he, an ass, and
  mated with her. From these sprang the whole-hoofed animals. She became
  a goat; he became a buck; she became an ewe; he became a ram, and
  mated with her. Thus were created goats and sheep. Thus it happened
  that all that mates, even down to the ants, he created—then he
  perceived: ‘Truly I myself am Creation, for I have created the whole
  world!’ Thereupon he rubbed his hands (held before the mouth) so that
  he brought forth fire from his mouth, as from the mother womb, and
  from his hands.”

We meet here a peculiar myth of creation which requires a psychologic
interpretation. In the beginning the libido was undifferentiated and
bisexual;[312] this was followed by differentiation into a male and a
female component. From then on man knows what he is. Now follows a gap
in the coherence of the thought where belongs that very resistance which
we have postulated above for the explanation of the urge for
sublimation. Next follows the onanistic act of rubbing or boring (here
finger-sucking) transferred from the sexual zone, from which proceeds
the production of fire.[313] The libido here leaves its characteristic
manifestation as sexual function and regresses to the presexual stage,
where, in conformity with the above explanation, it occupies one of the
preliminary stages of sexuality, thereby producing, in the view
expressed in the Upanishad, the first human art, and from there, as
suggested by Kuhn’s idea of the root “manth,” perhaps the higher
intellectual activity in general. This course of development is not
strange to the psychiatrist, for it is a well-known psychopathological
fact that onanism and excessive activity of phantasy are very closely
related. (The sexualizing-autonomizing of the mind through
autoerotism[314] is so familiar a fact that examples of that are
superfluous.) The course of the libido, as we may conclude from these
studies, originally proceeded in a similar manner as in the child, only
in a reversed sequence. The sexual act was pushed out of its proper zone
and was transferred into the analogous mouth zone[315]—the mouth
receiving the significance of the female genitals; the hand and the
fingers, respectively, receiving the phallic meaning.[316] In this
manner the regressively reoccupied activity of the presexual stage is
invested with the sexual significance, which, indeed, it already
possessed, in part, before, but in a wholly different sense. Certain
functions of the presexual stage are found to be permanently suitable,
and, therefore, are retained later on as sexual functions. Thus, for
example, the mouth zone is retained as of erotic importance, meaning
that its valuation is permanently fixed. Concerning the mouth, we know
that it also has a sexual meaning among animals, inasmuch as, for
example, stallions bite mares in the sexual act; also, cats, cocks, etc.
A second significance of the mouth is as an instrument of speech, it
serves essentially in the production of the mating call, which mostly
represents the developed tones of the animal kingdom. As to the hand, we
know that it has the important significance of the contrectation organ
(for example, among frogs). The frequent erotic use of the hand among
monkeys is well known. If there exists a resistance against the real
sexuality, then the accumulated libido is most likely to cause a
hyperfunction of those collaterals which are most adapted to compensate
for the resistance, that is to say, the nearest functions which serve
for the introduction of the act;[317] on one side the function of the
hand, on the other that of the mouth. The sexual act, however, against
which the opposition is directed is replaced by a similar act of the
presexual stage, the classic case being either finger-sucking or boring.
Just as among apes the foot can on occasions take the place of the hand,
so the child is often uncertain in the choice of the object to suck, and
puts the big toe in the mouth instead of the finger. This last movement
belongs to a Hindoo rite, only the big toe was not put in the mouth, but
held against the eye.[318] Through the sexual significance of the hand
and mouth these organs, which in the presexual stage served to obtain
pleasure, are invested with a procreating power which is identical with
the above-mentioned destination, which aims at the external object,
because it concerns the sexual or creating libido. When, through the
actual preparation of fire, the sexual character of the libido employed
in that is fulfilled, then the mouth zone remains without adequate
expression; only the hand has now reached its real, purely human goal in
its first art.

The mouth has, as we saw, a further important function, which has just
as much sexual relation to the object as the hand, that is to say, the
production of the mating call. In opening up the autoerotic ring
(hand-mouth),[319] where the phallic hand became the fire-producing
tool, the libido which was directed to the mouth zone was obliged to
seek another path of functioning, which naturally was found in the
already existing love call. The excess of libido entering here must have
had the usual results, namely, the stimulation of the newly possessed
function; hence an elaboration of the mating call.

We know that from the primitive sounds human speech has developed.
Corresponding to the psychological situation, it might be assumed that
language owes its real origin to this moment, when the impulse,
repressed into the presexual stage, turns to the external in order to
find an equivalent object there. The real thought as a conscious
activity is, as we saw in the first part of this book, a thinking with
positive determination towards the external world, that is to say, a
“speech thinking.” This sort of thinking seems to have originated at
that moment. It is very remarkable that this view, which was won by the
path of reasoning, is again supported by old tradition and other
mythological fragments.

In Aitareyopanishad[320] the following quotation is to be found in
the doctrine of the development of man: “Being brooded-o’er, his
mouth hatched out, like as an egg; from out his mouth (came) speech,
from speech, the fire.” In Part II, where it is depicted how the
newly created objects entered man, it reads: “Fire, speech becoming,
entered in the mouth.” These quotations allow us to plainly
recognize the intimate connection between fire and speech.[321] In
Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad is to be found this passage:

  “‘Yayñavalkya,’ thus he spake, ‘when after the death of this man his
  speech entereth the fire, his breath into the wind, his eye into the
  sun, etc.’”

A further quotation from the Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad reads:

  “But when the sun is set, O Yayñavalkya, and the moon has set, and the
  fire is extinguished, what then serves man as light? Then speech
  serves him as light; then, by the light of speech he sits, and moves,
  he carries on his work, and he returns home. But when the sun is set,
  O Yayñavalkya, and the moon is set, and the fire extinguished, and the
  voice is dumb, what then serves man as light? Then he serves himself
  (Atman) as light; then, by the light of himself, he sits and moves,
  carries on his work and returns home.”

In this passage we notice that fire again stands in the closest relation
to speech. Speech itself is called a “light,” which, in its turn, is
reduced to the “light” of the Atman, the creating psychic force, the
libido. Thus the Hindoo metapsychology conceives speech and fire as
emanations of the inner light from which we know that it is libido.
Speech and fire are its forms of manifestation, the first human arts,
which have resulted from its transformation. This common psychologic
origin seems also to be indicated by certain results of philology. The
Indo-Germanic root _bhâ_ designates the idea of “to lighten, to shine.”
This root is found in Greek, φάω, φαίνω, φάος[322]; in old Icelandic
_bán_ = white, in New High German _bohnen_ = to make shining. The same
root _bhâ_ also designates “to speak”; it is found in Sanskrit _bhan_ =
to speak, Armenian _ban_ = word, in New High German _bann_ = to banish,
Greek φᾱ-μί, ἔφαν, φấτις.[323] Latin _fâ-ri_, _fânum_.

The root _bhelso_, with the meanings “to ring, to bark,” is found in
Sanskrit _bhas_ = to bark and _bhâs_ = to talk, to speak; Lithuanian
_balsas_ = voice, tone. Really _bhel-sô_ = to be bright or luminous.
Compare Greek φάλος = bright, Lithuanian _bálti_ = to become white,
Middle High German _blasz_ = pale.

The root _lâ_, with the meaning of “to make sound, to bark,” is found in
Sanskrit _las_, _lásati_ = to resound; and _las_, _lásati_ = to radiate,
to shine.

The related root _lesô_, with the meaning “desire,” is also found in
Sanskrit _las_, _lásati_ = to play; _lash_, _láshati_ = to desire. Greek
λάσταυρος = lustful, Gothic _lustus_, New High German _Lust_, Latin
_lascivus_.

A further related root, _lásô_ = to shine, to radiate, is found in
_las_, _lásati_ = to radiate, to shine.

This group unites, as is evident, the meanings of “to desire, to play,
to radiate, and to sound.” A similar archaic confluence of meanings in
the primal libido symbolism (as we are perhaps justified in calling it)
is found in that class of Egyptian words which are derived from the
closely related roots _ben_ and _bel_ and the reduplication _benben_ and
_belbel_. The original significance of these roots is “to burst forth,
to emerge, to extrude, to well out,” with the associated idea of
bubbling, boiling and roundness. _Belbel_, accompanied by the sign of
the obelisk, of originally phallic nature, means source of light. The
obelisk itself had besides the names of _techenu_ and _men_ also the
name _benben_, more rarely _berber_ and _belbel_.[324] The libido
symbolism makes clear this connection, it seems to me.

The Indo-Germanic root _vel_, with the meaning “to wave, to undulate”
(fire), is found in Sanskrit _ulunka_ = burning, Greek ἀλέα, Attic ἁλέα
= warmth of the sun, Gothic _vulan_ = to undulate, Old High German and
Middle High German _walm_ = heat, glow.

The related Indo-Germanic root _vélkô_, with the meaning of “to lighten,
to glow,” is found in Sanskrit _ulkă_ = firebrand, Greek Ϝελχᾶνος =
Vulcan. This same root _vel_ means also “to sound”; in Sanskrit _vâní_ =
tone, song, music. Tschech _volati_ = to call.

The root _svénô_ = to sound, to ring, is found in Sanskrit _svan_,
_svánati_ = to rustle, to sound; Zend _qanañt_, Latin _sonâre_, Old
Iranian _senm_, Cambrian _sain_, Latin _sonus_, Anglo-Saxon _svinsian_ =
to resound. The related root _svénos_ = noise, sound, is found in Vedic
_svánas_ = noise, Latin _sonor_, _sonorus_. A further related root is
_svonós_ = tone, noise; in Old Iranian _son_ = word.

The root _své_ (n), locative _svéni_, dative _sunéi_, means sun; in Zend
_qeñg_ = sun. (Compare above _svénô_, Zend _qanañt_); Gothic _sun-na_,
_sunnô_.[325] Here Goethe has preceded us:

               “The sun orb sings in emulation,
               ’Mid brother-spheres, his ancient round:
               His path predestined through Creation,
               He ends with step of thunder sound.”
                                       —_Faust._ Part I.

              “Hearken! Hark! the hours careering!
              Sounding loud to spirit-hearing,
              See the new-born Day appearing!
              Rocky portals jarring shatter,
              Phœbus’ wheels in rolling clatter,
              With a crash the Light draws near!
              Pealing rays and trumpet-blazes,
              Eye is blinded, ear amazes;
              The Unheard can no one hear!
              Slip within each blossom-bell,
              Deeper, deeper, there to dwell,—
              In the rocks, beneath the leaf!
              If it strikes you, you are deaf.”
                                        —_Faust._ Part II.

We also must not forget the beautiful verse of Hölderlin:

             “Where art thou? Drunken, my soul dreams
             Of all thy rapture. Yet even now I hearken
             As full of golden tones the radiant sun youth
             Upon his heavenly lyre plays his even song
             To the echoing woods and hills.”

Just as in archaic speech fire and the speech sounds (the mating call,
music) appear as forms of emanation of the libido, thus light and sound
entering the psyche become one: libido.

Manilius expresses it in his beautiful verses:

                 “Quid mirum noscere mundum
   Si possunt homines, quibus est et mundus in ipsis
   Exemplumque dei quisque est in imagine parva?
   An quoquam genitos nisi cælo credere fas est
   Esse homines?
                 Stetit unus in arcem
   Erectus capitis victorque ad sidera mittit sidereos oculos.”[326]

The idea of the Sanskrit _têjas_ suggests the fundamental significance
of the libido for the conception of the world in general. I am indebted
to Dr. Abegg, in Zurich, a thorough Sanskrit scholar, for the
compilation of the eight meanings of this word.

_Têjas_ signifies:

  1. Sharpness, cutting edge.

  2. Fire, splendor, light, glow, heat.

  3. Healthy appearance, beauty.

  4. The fiery and color-producing power of the human organism (thought
  to be in the bile).

  5. Power, energy, vital force.

  6. Passionate nature.

  7. Mental, also magic, strength; influence, position, dignity.

  8. Sperma.

This gives us a dim idea of how, for primitive thought, the so-called
objective world was, and had to be, a subjective image. To this thought
must be applied the words of the “Chorus Mysticus”:

                        “All that is perishable
                        Is only an allegory.”

The Sanskrit word for fire is _agnis_ (the Latin _ignis_);[327] the fire
personified is the god Agni, the divine mediator,[328] whose symbol has
certain points of contact with that of Christ. In Avesta and in the
Vedas the fire is the messenger of the gods. In the Christian mythology
certain parts are closely related with the myth of Agni. Daniel speaks
of the three men in the fiery furnace:

  “Then Nebuchadnezar, the King, was astonished, and rose up in haste
  and spake, and said unto his counsellors: ‘Did not we cast three men
  bound into the midst of the fire?’

  “They answered and said: ‘True, O King!’

  “He answered and said: ‘Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst
  of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like
  the Son of God.’”

In regard to that the “Biblia pauperum” observes (according to an old
German incunabulum of 1471):

  “One reads in the third chapter of the prophet Daniel that
  Nebuchadnezar, the King, caused three men to be placed in a glowing
  furnace and that the king often went there, looked in, and that he saw
  with the three, a fourth, who was like the Son of God. The three
  signify for us, the Holy Trinity and the fourth, the unity of the
  being. Christ, too, in His explanation designated the person of the
  Trinity and the unity of the being.”

According to this mystic interpretation, the legend of the three men in
the fiery furnace appears as a magic fire ceremony by means of which the
Son of God reveals himself. The Trinity is brought together with the
unity, or, in other words, through coitus a child is produced. The
glowing furnace (like the glowing tripod in “Faust”) is a mother symbol,
where the children are produced.[329] The fourth in the fiery furnace
appears as Christ, the Son of God, who has become a visible God in the
fire. The mystic trinity and unity are sexual symbols. (Compare with
that the many references in Inman: “Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian
Symbolism.”) It is said of the Saviour of Israel (the Messiah) and of
his enemies, _Isaiah_ x:17:

  “And the light of Israel shall be for a fire, and his Holy One for a
  flame.”

In a hymn of the Syrian Ephrem it is said of Christ: “Thou who art all
fire, have mercy upon me.”

Agni is the sacrificial flame, the sacrificer, and the sacrificed, as
Christ himself. Just as Christ left behind his redeeming blood, φάρμακον
ἀθανασίας,[330] in the stimulating wine, so Agni is the Soma, the holy
drink of inspiration, the mead of immortality.[331] Soma and Fire are
entirely identical in Hindoo literature, so that in Soma we easily
rediscover the libido symbol, through which a series of apparently
paradoxical qualities of the Soma are immediately explained. As the old
Hindoos recognized in fire an emanation of the inner libido fire, so too
they recognized, in the intoxicating drink (Firewater, Soma-Agni, as
rain and fire), an emanation of libido. The Vedic definition of Soma as
seminal fluid confirms this interpretation.[332] The Soma significance
of fire, similar to the significance of the body of Christ in the Last
Supper (compare the Passover lamb of the Jews, baked in the form of a
cross), is explained by the psychology of the presexual stage, where the
libido was still in part the function of nutrition. The “Soma” is the
“nourishing drink,” the mythological characterization of which runs
parallel to fire in its origin; therefore, both are united in Agni. The
drink of immortality was stirred by the Hindoo gods like fire. Through
the retreat of the libido into the presexual stage it becomes clear why
so many gods were either defined sexually or were devoured.

As was shown by our discussion of fire preparation, the fire tool did
not receive its sexual significance as a later addition, but the sexual
libido was the motor power which led to its discovery, so that the later
teachings of the priests were nothing but confirmations of its actual
origin. Other primitive discoveries probably have acquired their sexual
symbolism in the same manner, being also derived from the sexual libido.

In the previous statements, which were based on the Pramantha of the
Agni sacrifice, we have concerned ourselves only with one significance
of the word manthâmi or mathnâmi, that is to say, with that which
expresses the movement of rubbing. As Kuhn shows, however, this word
also possesses the meaning of tearing off, taking away by violence,
robbing.[333] As Kuhn points out, this significance is already extant in
the Vedic text. The legend of its discovery always expresses the
production of fire as a robbery. (In this far it belongs to the motive
widely spread over the earth of the treasure difficult to attain.) The
fact that in many places and not alone in India the preparation of fire
is represented as having its origin in robbery, seems to point to a
widely spread thought, according to which the preparation of fire was
something forbidden, something usurped or criminal, which could be
obtained only through stratagem or deeds of violence (mostly through
stratagem).[334] When onanism confronts the physician as a symptom it
does so frequently under the symbol of secret pilfering, or crafty
imposition, which always signifies the concealed fulfilment of a
forbidden wish.[335] Historically, this train of thought probably
implies that the ritual preparation of fire was employed with a magic
purpose, and, therefore, was pursued by official religions; then it
became a ritual mystery,[336] guarded by the priests and surrounded with
secrecy. The ritual laws of the Hindoos threaten with severe punishment
him who prepares fire in an incorrect manner. The fact alone that
something is mysterious means the same as something done in concealment;
that which must remain secret, which one may not see nor do; also
something which is surrounded by severe punishment of body and soul;
therefore, presumably, _something forbidden_ which has received a
license as a religious rite. After all has been said about the genesis
of the preparation of fire, it is no longer difficult to guess what is
the forbidden thing; _it is onanism_. When I stated before that it might
be lack of satisfaction which breaks up the autoerotic ring of the
displaced sexual activity transferred to the body itself, and thus opens
wider fields of culture, I did not mention that this loosely closed ring
of the displaced onanistic activity could be much more firmly closed,
when man makes the other great discovery, that of true onanism.[337]
With that the activity is started in the proper place, and this, under
certain circumstances, may mean a satisfaction sufficient for a long
time, but at the expense of cheating sexuality of its real purpose. It
is a fraud upon the natural development of things, because all the
dynamic forces which can and should serve the development of culture are
withdrawn from it through onanism, since, instead of the displacement, a
regression to the local sexual takes place, which is precisely the
opposite of that which is desirable. Psychologically, however, onanism
is a discovery of a significance not to be undervalued. One is protected
from fate, since no sexual need then has the power to give one up to
life. For with onanism one has the greatest magic in one’s hands; one
needs only to phantasy, and with that to masturbate, then one possesses
all the pleasure of the world, and is no longer compelled to conquer the
world of one’s desires through hard labor and wrestling with
reality.[338] Aladdin rubs his lamp and the obedient genii stand at his
bidding; thus the fairy tale expresses the great psychologic advantage
of the easy regression to the local sexual satisfaction. Aladdin’s
symbol subtly confirms the ambiguity of the magic fire preparation.

The close relation of the generation of fire to the onanistic act is
illustrated by a case, the knowledge of which I owe to Dr. Schmid, in
Cery, that of an imbecile peasant youth who set many incendiary fires.
At one of these conflagrations he drew suspicion to himself by his
behavior. He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets in the door of
an opposite house and gazed with apparent delight at the fire. Under
examination in the insane asylum, he described the fire in great detail,
and made suspicious movements in his trouser pockets with his hands. The
physical examination undertaken at once showed that he had masturbated.
Later he confessed that he had masturbated at the time when he had
enjoyed the fire which he had enkindled himself.

The preparation of fire in itself is a perfectly ordinary useful custom,
employed everywhere for many centuries, which in itself involved nothing
more mysterious than eating and drinking. However, there was always a
tendency from time to time to prepare fire in a ceremonious and
mysterious manner (exactly as with ritual eating and drinking), which
was to be carried out in an exactly prescribed way and from which no one
dared differ. This mysterious tendency associated with the technique is
the second path in the onanistic regression, always present by the side
of culture. The strict rules applied to it, the zeal of the ceremonial
preparations and the religious awe of the mysteries next originate from
this source; the ceremonial, although apparently irrational, is an
extremely ingenious institution from the psychologic standpoint, for it
represents a substitute for the possibility of onanistic regression
accurately circumscribed by law. The law cannot apply to the content of
the ceremony, for it is really quite indifferent for the ritual act,
whether it is carried out in this way or in that way. On the contrary,
it is very essential whether the restrained libido is discharged through
a sterile onanism or transposed into the path of sublimation. These
severe measures of protection apply primarily to onanism.[339]

I am indebted to Freud for a further important reference to the
onanistic nature of the fire theft, or rather the motive of _the
treasure difficult of attainment_ (to which fire theft belongs).
Mythology contains repeated formulas which read approximately as
follows: The treasure must be plucked or torn off from a taboo tree
(Paradise tree, Hesperides); this is a forbidden and dangerous act. The
clearest example of this is the old barbaric custom in the service of
Diana of Aricia: only he can become a priest of the goddess who, in her
sacred grove, dares to tear off (“abzureissen”) a bough. The tearing off
has been retained in vulgar speech (besides “abreiben,” rubbing) as a
symbol of the act of onanism. Thus “reiben,” to rub, is like “reissen,”
to break off, both of which are contained in manthami and united
apparently only through the myth of the fire theft bound up in the act
of onanism in a deeper stratum wherein “reiben,” properly speaking,
“reissen,” is employed, but in a transferred sense. Therefore, it might
perhaps be anticipated that in the deepest stratum, namely, the
incestuous, which precedes the autoerotic stage,[340] the two meanings
coincide, which, through lack of mythological tradition, can perhaps be
traced through etymology only.



                               CHAPTER IV
                   THE UNCONSCIOUS ORIGIN OF THE HERO


Prepared by the previous chapters, we approach the personification of
the libido in the form of a conqueror, a hero or a demon. With this,
symbolism leaves the impersonal and neuter realm, which characterizes
the astral and meteorologic symbol, and takes human form: the figure of
a being changing from sorrow to joy, from joy to sorrow, and which, like
the sun, sometimes stands in its zenith, sometimes is plunged in darkest
night, and arises from this very night to new splendor.[341] Just as the
sun, guided by its own internal laws, ascends from morn till noon, and
passing beyond the noon descends towards evening, leaving behind its
splendor, and then sinks completely into the all-enveloping night, thus,
too, does mankind follow his course according to immutable laws, and
also sinks, after his course is completed, into night, in order to rise
again in the morning to a new cycle in his children. The symbolic
transition from sun to man is easy and practicable. The third and last
creation of Miss Miller’s also takes this course. She calls this piece
“Chiwantopel,” a “hypnagogic poem.” She gives us the following
information about the circumstances surrounding the origin of this
phantasy:

  “After an evening of care and anxiety, I lay down to sleep at about
  half past eleven. I felt excited and unable to sleep, although I was
  very tired. There was no light in the room. I closed my eyes, and then
  I had the feeling that something was about to happen. The sensation of
  a general relaxation came over me, and I remained as passive as
  possible. Lines appeared before my eyes,—sparks and shining spirals,
  followed by a kaleidoscopic review of recent trivial occurrences.”

The reader will regret with me that we cannot know the reason for her
cares and anxieties. It would have been of great importance for what
follows to have information on this point. This gap in our knowledge is
the more to be deplored because, between the first poem in 1898 and the
time of the phantasy here discussed (1902), four whole years have
passed. All information is lacking regarding this period, during which
the great problem surely survived in the unconscious. Perhaps this lack
has its advantages in that our interest is not diverted from the
universal applicability of the phantasy here produced by sympathy in
regard to the personal fate of the author. Therefore, something is
obviated which often prevents the analyst in his daily task from looking
away from the tedious toil of detail to that wider relation which
reveals each neurotic conflict to be involved with human fate as a
whole.

The condition depicted by the author here corresponds to such a one as
usually precedes an intentional somnambulism[342] often described by
spiritualistic mediums. A certain inclination to listen to these low
nocturnal voices must be assumed; otherwise such fine and hardly
perceptible inner experiences pass unnoticed. We recognize in this
listening a current of the libido leading inward and beginning to flow
towards a still invisible, mysterious goal. It seems that the libido has
suddenly discovered an object in the depths of the unconscious which
powerfully attracts it. The life of man, turned wholly to the external
by nature, does not ordinarily permit such introversion; there must,
therefore, be surmised a certain exceptional condition, that is to say,
a lack of external objects, which compels the individual to seek a
substitute for them in his own soul. It is, however, difficult to
imagine that this rich world has become too poor to offer an object for
the love of human atoms; nor can the world and its objects be held
accountable for this lack. It offers boundless opportunities for every
one. It is rather the _incapacity to love which robs mankind of his
possibilities_. This world is empty to him alone who does not understand
how to direct his libido towards objects, and to render them alive and
beautiful for himself, for Beauty does not indeed lie in things, but in
the feeling that we give to them. That which compels us to create a
substitute for ourselves is not the external lack of objects, but our
incapacity to lovingly include a thing outside of ourselves. Certainly
the difficulties of the conditions of life and the adversities of the
struggle for existence may oppress us, yet even adverse external
situations would not hinder the giving out of the libido; on the
contrary, they may spur us on to the greatest exertions, whereby we
bring our whole libido into reality. Real difficulties alone will never
be able to force the libido back permanently to such a degree as to give
rise, for example, to a neurosis. _The conflict, which is the condition
of every neurosis, is lacking._ The resistance, which opposes its
unwillingness to the will, alone has the power to produce that
pathogenic introversion which is the starting point of every psychogenic
disturbance. The resistance against loving produces the inability to
love. Just as the normal libido is comparable to a steady stream which
pours its waters broadly into the world of reality, so the resistance,
dynamically considered, is comparable, not so much to a rock rearing up
in the river bed which is flooded over or surrounded by the stream, as
to a backward flow towards the source. A part of the soul desires the
outer object; another part, however, harks back to the subjective world,
where the airy and fragile palaces of phantasy beckon. One can assume
the dualism of the human will for which Bleuler, from the psychiatric
point of view, has coined the word “ambitendency”[343] as something
generally present, bearing in mind that even the most primitive motor
impulse is in opposition; as, for example, in the act of extension, the
flexor muscles also become innervated. This normal ambitendency,
however, never leads to an inhibition or prevention of the intended act,
but is the indispensable preliminary requirement for its perfection and
coördination. For a resistance disturbing to this act to arise from this
harmony of finely attuned opposition an abnormal plus or minus would be
needed on one or the other side. The resistance originates from this
added third.[344] This applies also to the duality of the will, from
which so many difficulties arise for mankind. The abnormal third frees
the pair of opposites, which are normally most intimately united, and
causes their manifestation in the form of separate tendencies; it is
only thus that they become willingness and unwillingness, which
interfere with each other. The Bhagavad-Gîtâ says, “Be thou free of the
pairs of opposites.”[345] The harmony thus becomes disharmony. It cannot
be my task here to investigate whence the unknown third arises, and what
it is. Taken at the roots in the case of our patients, the “nuclear
complex” (Freud) reveals itself as the _incest problem_. The sexual
libido regressing to the parents appears as the incest tendency. The
reason this path is so easily travelled is due to the enormous indolence
of mankind, which will relinquish no object of the past, but will hold
it fast forever. The “sacrilegious backward grasp” of which Nietzsche
speaks reveals itself, stripped of its incest covering, as an original
passive arrest of the libido in its first object of childhood. This
indolence is also a passion, as La Rochefoucauld[346] has brilliantly
expressed it:

  “Of all passions, that which is least known to ourselves is indolence:
  it is the most ardent and malignant of them all, although its violence
  may be insensible, and the injuries it causes may be hidden; if we
  will consider its power attentively, we will see that it makes itself,
  upon all occasions, mistress of our sentiments, of our interests, and
  of our pleasures; it is the anchor, which has the power to arrest the
  largest vessels; it is a calm more dangerous to the most important
  affairs than rocks and the worst tempest. The repose of indolence is a
  secret charm of the soul which suddenly stops the most ardent pursuits
  and the firmest resolutions; finally to give the true idea of this
  passion, one must say that indolence is like a beatitude of the soul
  which consoles it for all its losses and takes the place of all its
  possessions.”

This dangerous passion, belonging above all others to primitive man,
appears under the hazardous mask of the incest symbol, from which the
incest fear must drive us away, and which must be conquered, in the
first place, under the image of the “terrible mother.”[347] It is the
mother of innumerable evils, not the least of which are neurotic
troubles. For, especially from the fogs of the arrested remnants of the
libido, arise the harmful phantasmagoria which so veil reality that
adaptation becomes almost impossible. However, we will not investigate
any further in this place the foundations of the incest phantasies. The
preliminary suggestion of my purely psychologic conception of the incest
problem may suffice. We are here only concerned with the question
whether _resistance_ which leads to introversion in our author signifies
a conscious external difficulty or not. If it were an external
difficulty, then, indeed, the libido would be violently dammed back, and
would produce a flood of phantasies, which can best be designated as
schemes, that is to say, plans as to how the obstacles could be
overcome. They would be very concrete ideas of reality which seek to
pave the way for solutions. It would be a strenuous meditation, indeed,
which would be more likely to lead to anything rather than to a
hypnagogic poem. The passive condition depicted above in no way fits in
with a real external obstacle, but, precisely through its passive
submission, it indicates a tendency which doubtless scorns real
solutions and prefers phantastic substitutes. Ultimately and essentially
we are, therefore, dealing with an internal conflict, perhaps after the
manner of those earlier conflicts which led to the two first unconscious
creations. We, therefore, are forced to conclude that the external
object cannot be loved, because a predominant amount of libido prefers a
phantastic object, which must be brought up from the depths of the
unconscious as a compensation for the missing reality.

The visionary phenomena, produced in the first stages of introversion,
are grouped among the well-known phenomena[348] of hypnagogic vision.
They form, as I explained in an earlier paper, the foundation of the
true visions of the symbolic autorevelations of the libido, as we may
now express it.

Miss Miller continues:

  “Then I had the impression that some communication was immediately
  impending. It seemed to me as if there were re-echoed in me the words,
  ‘Speak, O Lord, for Thy servant listens; open Thou mine ears!’”

This passage very clearly describes the intention; the expression
“communication” is even a current term in spiritualistic circles. The
Biblical words contain a clear invocation or “prayer,” that is to say, a
wish (libido) directed towards divinity (the unconscious complex). The
prayer refers to Samuel, i:3, where Samuel at night was three times
called by God, but believed that it was Eli calling, until the latter
informed him that it was God himself who spoke, and that he must answer
if his name was called again—“Speak, O Lord, for Thy Servant hears!” The
dreamer uses these words really in an inverse sense, namely, in order to
produce God with them. With that she directs her desires, her libido,
into the depths of her unconscious.

We know that, although individuals are widely separated by the
differences in the contents of their consciousness, they are closely
alike in their unconscious psychology. It is a significant impression
for one working in practical psychoanalysis when he realizes how uniform
are the typical unconscious complexes. Difference first arises from
individualization. This fact gives to an essential portion of the
Schopenhauer and Hartmann philosophies a deep psychologic
justification.[349] The very evident uniformity of the unconscious
mechanism serves as a psychologic foundation for these philosophic
views. The unconscious contains the differentiated remnants of the
earlier psychologic functions overcome by the individual
differentiation. The reaction and products of the animal psyche are of a
generally diffused uniformity and solidity, which, among men, may be
discovered apparently only in traces. Man appears as something
extraordinarily individual in contrast with animals.

This might be a tremendous delusion, because we have the appropriate
tendency always to recognize only the difference of things. This is
demanded by the psychologic adaptation which, without the most minute
differentiation of the impressions, would be absolutely impossible. In
opposition to this tendency we have ever the greatest difficulty in
recognizing in their common relations the things with which we are
occupied in every-day life. This recognition becomes much easier with
things which are more remote from us. For example, it is almost
impossible for a European to differentiate the faces in a Chinese
throng, although the Chinese have just as individual facial formations
as the Europeans, but the similarity of their strange facial expression
is much more evident to the remote onlooker than their individual
differences. But when we live among the Chinese then the impression of
their uniformity disappears more and more, and finally the Chinese
become individuals also. Individuality belongs to those conditional
actualities which are greatly overrated theoretically on account of
their practical significance. It does not belong to those overwhelmingly
clear and therefore universally obtrusive general facts upon which a
science must primarily be founded. The individual content of
consciousness is, therefore, the most unfavorable object imaginable for
psychology, because it has veiled the universally valid until it has
become unrecognizable. The essence of consciousness is the process of
adaptation which takes place in the most minute details. On the other
hand, the unconscious is the generally diffused, which not only binds
the individuals among themselves to the race, but also unites them
backwards with the peoples of the past and their psychology. Thus the
unconscious, surpassing the individual in its generality, is, in the
first place, the object of a true psychology, which claims not to be
psychophysical.

Man as an individual is a suspicious phenomenon, the right of whose
existence from a natural biological standpoint could be seriously
contested, because, from this point of view, the individual is only a
race atom, and has a significance only as a mass constituent. The
ethical standpoint, however, gives to the human being an individual
tendency separating him from the mass, which, in the course of
centuries, led to the development of personality, hand in hand with
which developed the hero cult, and has led to the modern individualistic
cult of personages. The attempts of rationalistic theology to keep hold
of the personal Jesus as the last and most precious remnant of the
divinity which has vanished beyond the power of the imagination
corresponds to this tendency. In this respect the Roman Catholic Church
was more practical, because she met the general need of the visible, or
at least historically believed hero, through the fact that she placed
upon the throne of worship a small but clearly perceptible god of the
world, namely, the Roman Pope, the Pater patrum, and at the same time
the Pontifex Maximus of the invisible upper or inner God. The sensuous
demonstrability of God naturally supports the religious process of
introversion, because the human figure essentially facilitates the
transference, for it is not easy to imagine something lovable or
venerable in a spiritual being. This tendency, everywhere present, has
been secretly preserved in the rationalistic theology with its Jesus
historically insisted upon. This does not mean that men loved the
visible God; they love him, not as he is, for he is merely a man, and
when the pious wished to love humanity they could go to their neighbors
and their enemies to love them. Mankind wishes to love in God only their
ideas, that is to say, the ideas which they project into God. By that
they wish to love their unconscious, that is, that remnant of ancient
humanity and the centuries-old past in all people, namely, the common
property left behind from all development which is given to all men,
like the sunshine and the air. But in loving this inheritance they love
that which is common to all. Thus they turn back to the mother of
humanity, that is to say, to the spirit of the race, and regain in this
way something of that connection and of that mysterious and irresistible
power which is imparted by the feeling of belonging to the herd. It is
the problem of Antæus, who preserves his gigantic strength only through
contact with mother earth. This temporary withdrawal into one’s self,
which, as we have already seen, signifies a regression to the childish
bond to the parent, seems to act favorably, within certain limits, in
its effect upon the psychologic condition of the individual. It is in
general to be expected that the two fundamental mechanisms of the
psychoses, transference and introversion, are to a wide extent extremely
appropriate methods of normal reaction against complexes; transference
as a means of escaping from the complex into reality; introversion as a
means of detaching one’s self from reality through the complex.

After we have informed ourselves about the general purposes of prayer,
we are prepared to hear more about the vision of our dreamer. After the
prayer, “the head of a sphinx with an Egyptian headdress” appeared, only
to vanish quickly. Here the author was disturbed, so that for a moment
she awoke. This vision recalls the previously mentioned phantasy of the
Egyptian statue, whose rigid gesture is entirely in place here as a
phenomenon of the so-called functional category. The light stages of the
hypnosis are designated technically as “Engourdissement” (stiffening).
The word Sphinx in the whole civilized world signifies the same as
riddle: a puzzling creature who proposes riddles, like the Sphinx of
Oedipus, standing at the portal of his fate like a symbolic proclamation
of the inevitable. The Sphinx is a semi-theriomorphic representation of
that “mother image” which may be designated as the “terrible mother,” of
whom many traces are found in mythology. This interpretation is correct
for Oedipus. Here the question is opened. The objection will be raised
that nothing except the word “Sphinx” justifies the allusion to the
Sphinx of Oedipus. On account of the lack of subjective materials, which
in the Miller text are wholly lacking in regard to this vision, an
individual interpretation would also be excluded. The suggestion of an
“Egyptian” phantasy (Part I, Chapter II) is entirely insufficient to be
employed here. Therefore we are compelled, if we wish to venture at all
upon an understanding of this vision, to direct ourselves—perhaps in all
too daring a manner—to the available ethnographic material under the
assumption that the unconscious of the present-day man coins its symbols
as was done in the most remote past. The Sphinx, in its traditional
form, is a half-human, half-animal creature, which we must, in part,
interpret in the way that is applicable to such phantastic products. The
reader is directed to the deductions in the first part of this volume
where the theriomorphic representations of the libido were discussed.
This manner of representation is very familiar to the analyst, through
the dreams and phantasies of neurotics (and of normal men). The impulse
is readily represented as an animal, as a bull, horse, dog, etc. One of
my patients, who had questionable relations with women, and who began
the treatment with the fear, so to speak, that I would surely forbid him
his sexual adventures, dreamed that I (his physician) very skilfully
speared to the wall a strange animal, half pig, half crocodile. Dreams
swarm with such theriomorphic representations of the libido. Mixed
beings, such as are in this dream, are not rare. A series of very
beautiful illustrations, where especially the lower half of the animal
was represented theriomorphically, has been furnished by
Bertschinger.[350] The libido which was represented theriomorphically is
the “animal” sexuality which is in a repressed state. The history of
repression, as we have seen, goes back to the incest problem, where the
first motives for moral resistance against sexuality display themselves.
The objects of the repressed libido are, in the last degree, the images
of father and mother; therefore the theriomorphic symbols, in so far as
they do not symbolize merely the libido in general, have a tendency to
present father and mother (for example, father represented by a bull,
mother by a cow). From these roots, as we pointed out earlier, might
probably arise the theriomorphic attributes of the Divinity. In as far
as the repressed libido manifests itself under certain conditions, as
anxiety, these animals are generally of a horrible nature. In
consciousness we are attached by all sacred bonds to the mother; in the
dream she pursues us as a terrible animal. The Sphinx, mythologically
considered, is actually a fear animal, which reveals distinct traits of
a mother derivate. In the Oedipus legend the Sphinx is sent by Hera, who
hates Thebes on account of the birth of Bacchus; because Oedipus
conquers the Sphinx, which is nothing but fear of the mother, he must
marry Jocasta, his mother, for the throne and the hand of the widowed
queen of Thebes belonged to him who freed the land from the plague of
the Sphinx. The genealogy of the Sphinx is rich in allusions to the
problem touched upon here. She is a daughter of Echnida, a mixed being;
a beautiful maiden above, a hideous serpent below. This double creature
corresponds to the picture of the mother; above, the human, lovely and
attractive half; below, the horrible animal half, converted into a fear
animal through the incest prohibition. Echnida is derived from the
All-mother, the mother Earth, Gaea, who, with Tartaros, the personified
underworld (the place of horrors), brought her forth. Echnida herself is
the mother of all terrors, of the Chimaera, Scylla, Gorgo, of the
horrible Cerberus, of the Nemean Lion, and of the eagle who devoured the
liver of Prometheus; besides this she gave birth to a number of dragons.
One of her sons is Orthrus, the dog of the monstrous Geryon, who was
killed by Hercules. With this dog, her son, Echnida, in incestuous
intercourse, produced the Sphinx. These materials will suffice to
characterize that amount of libido which led to the Sphinx symbol. If,
in spite of the lack of subjective material, we may venture to draw an
inference from the Sphinx symbol of our author, we must say that the
Sphinx represents an original incestuous amount of libido detached from
the bond to the mother. Perhaps it is better to postpone this conclusion
until we have examined the following visions.

After Miss Miller had concentrated herself again, the vision developed
further:

  “Suddenly an Aztec appeared, absolutely clear in every detail; the
  hands spread open, with large fingers, the head in profile, armored,
  headdress similar to the feather ornaments of the American Indian. The
  whole was somewhat suggestive of Mexican sculpture.”

The ancient Egyptian character of the Sphinx is replaced here by
American antiquity—by the Aztec. The essential idea is neither Egypt nor
Mexico, for the two could not be interchanged; but it is the subjective
factor which the dreamer produces from her own past. I have frequently
observed in the analysis of Americans that certain unconscious
complexes, i.e. repressed sexuality, are represented by the symbol of a
Negro or an Indian; for example, when a European tells in his dream,
“Then came a ragged, dirty individual,” for Americans and for those who
live in the tropics it is a Negro. When with Europeans it is a vagabond
or a criminal, with Americans it is a Negro or an Indian which
represents the individual’s own repressed sexual personality, and the
one considered inferior. It is also desirable to go into the particulars
of this vision, as there are various things worthy of notice. The
feather cap, which naturally had to consist of eagles’ feathers, is a
sort of magic charm. The hero assumes at the same time something of the
sun-like character of this bird when he adorns himself with its
feathers, just as the courage and strength of the enemy are appropriated
in swallowing his heart or taking his scalp. At the same time, the
feather crest is a crown which is equivalent to the rays of the sun. The
historical importance of the Sun identification has been seen in the
first part.[351]

Especial interest attaches to the hand, which is described as “open,”
and the fingers, which are described as “large.” It is significant that
it is the hand upon which the distinct emphasis falls. One might rather
have expected a description of the facial expression. It is well known
that the gesture of the hand is significant; unfortunately, we know
nothing about that here. Nevertheless, a parallel phantasy might be
mentioned, which also puts the emphasis upon hands. A patient in a
hypnagogic condition saw his mother painted on a wall, like a painting
in a Byzantine church. She held one hand up, open wide, with fingers
spread apart. The fingers were very large, swollen into knobs on the
ends, and each surrounded by a small halo. The immediate association
with this picture was the fingers of a frog with sucking discs at the
ends. Then the similarity to the penis. The ancient setting of this
mother picture is also of importance. Evidently the hand had, in this
phantasy, a phallic meaning. This interpretation was confirmed by a
further very remarkable phantasy of the same patient. He saw something
like a “sky-rocket” ascending from his mother’s hand, which at a closer
survey becomes a shining bird with golden wings, a golden pheasant, as
it then occurs to his mind. We have seen in the previous chapter that
the hand has actually a phallic, generative meaning, and that this
meaning plays a great part in the production of fire. In connection with
this phantasy, there is but one observation to make: fire was bored with
the hand; therefore it comes from the hand; Agni, the fire, was
worshipped as a golden-winged bird.[352] It is extremely significant
that it is the mother’s hand. I must deny myself the temptation to enter
more deeply into this. Let it be sufficient to have pointed out the
possible significance of the hand of the Aztec by means of these
parallel hand phantasies. We have mentioned the mother suggestively with
the Sphinx. The Aztec taking the place of the Sphinx points, through his
suggestive hand, to parallel phantasies in which the phallic hand really
belongs to the mother. Likewise we encounter an antique setting in
parallel phantasies. The significance of the antique, which experience
has shown to be the symbol for “infantile,” is confirmed by Miss Miller
in this connection in the annotation to her phantasies, for she says:

  “In my childhood, I took a special interest in the Aztec fragments and
  in the history of Peru and of the Incas.”

Through the two analyses of children which have been published we have
attained an insight into the child’s small world, and have seen what
burning interests and questions secretly surround the parents, and that
the parents are, for a long time, the objects of the greatest
interest.[353] We are, therefore, justified in suspecting that the
antique setting applies to the “ancients,” that is to say, the parents,
and that consequently this Aztec has something of the father or mother
in himself. Up to this time indirect hints point only to the mother,
which is nothing remarkable in an American girl, because Americans, as a
result of the extreme detachment from the father, are characterized by a
most enormous mother complex, which again is connected with the especial
social position of woman in the United States. This position brings
about a special masculinity among capable women, which easily makes
possible the symbolizing into a masculine figure.[354]

After this vision, Miss Miller felt that a name formed itself “bit by
bit,” which seemed to belong to this Aztec—“the son of an Inca of Peru.”
The name is “Chi-wan-to-pel.” As the author intimated, something similar
to this belonged to her childish reminiscences. The act of naming is,
like baptism, something exceedingly important for the creation of a
personality, because, since olden times, a magic power has been
attributed to the name, with which, for example, the spirit of the dead
can be conjured. To know the name of any one means, in mythology, to
have power over that one. As a well-known example I mention the fairy
tale of “Rumpelstilzchen.” In an Egyptian myth, Isis robs the Sun god Rê
permanently of his power by compelling him to tell her his real name.
Therefore, to give a name means to give power, invest with a definite
personality.[355] The author observed, in regard to the name itself,
that it reminded her very much of the impressive name Popocatepetl, a
name which belongs to unforgettable school memories, and, to the
greatest indignation of the patient, very often emerges in an analysis
in a dream or phantasy and brings with it that same old joke which one
heard in school, told oneself and later again forgot. Although one might
hesitate to consider this unhallowed joke as of psychologic importance,
still one must inquire for the reason of its being. One must also put,
as a counter question, Why is it always Popocatepetl and not the
neighboring Iztaccihuatl, or the even higher and just as clear Orizaba?
The last has certainly the more beautiful and more easily pronounced
name. Popocatepetl is impressive because of its onomatopoetic name. In
English the word is “to pop” (popgun), which is here considered as
onomatopoesy; in German the words are _Hinterpommern_, _Pumpernickel_;
_Bombe_; _Petarde_ (_le pet_ = flatus). The frequent German word _Popo_
(Podex) does not indeed exist in English, but flatus is designated as
“to poop” in childish speech. The act of defecation is often designated
as “to pop.” A joking name for the posterior part is “the bum.” (Poop
also means the rear end of a ship.) In French, _pouf!_ is onomatopoetic;
_pouffer_ = _platzen_ (to explode), _la poupe_ = rear end of ship, _le
poupard_ = the baby in arms, _la poupée_ = doll. _Poupon_ is a pet name
for a chubby-faced child. In Dutch _pop_, German _Puppe_ and Latin
_puppis_ = doll; in Plautus, however, it is also used jokingly for the
posterior part of the body; _pupus_ means child; _pupula_ = girl, little
dollie. The Greek word ποππύζω designates a cracking, snapping or
blowing sound. It is used of kissing; by Theocritus also of the
associated noise of flute blowing. The etymologic parallels show a
remarkable relationship between the part of the body in question and the
child. This relationship we will mention here, only to let it drop at
once, as this question will claim our attention later.

One of my patients in his childhood had always connected the act of
defecation with a phantasy that his posterior was a volcano and a
violent eruption took place, explosion of gases and gushings forth of
lava. The terms for the elemental occurrences of nature are originally
not at all poetical; one thinks, for example, of the beautiful
phenomenon of the meteor, which the German language most unpoetically
calls “Sternschnuppe” (the smouldering wick of a star). Certain South
American Indians call the shooting star the “urine of the stars.”
According to the principle of the least resistance, expressions are
taken from the nearest source available. (For example, the transference
of the metonymic expression of urination as _Schiffens_, “to rain.”)

Now it seems to be very obscure why the mystical figure of Chiwantopel,
whom Miss Miller, in a note, compares to the control spirit of the
spiritualistic medium,[356] is found in such a disreputable neighborhood
that his nature (name) was brought into relation with this particular
part of the body. In order to understand this possibility, we must
realize that when we produce from the unconscious the first to be
brought forth is the infantile material long lost in memory. One must,
therefore, take the point of view of that time in which this infantile
material was still on the surface. If now a much-honored object is
related in the unconscious to the anus, then one must conclude that
something of a high valuation was expressed thereby. The question is
only whether this corresponds to the psychology of the child. Before we
enter upon this question, it must be stated that the anal region is very
closely connected with veneration. One thinks of the traditional fæces
of the Great Mogul. An Oriental tale has the same to say of Christian
knights, who anointed themselves with the excrement of the pope and
cardinals in order to make themselves formidable. A patient who is
characterized by a special veneration for her father had a phantasy that
she saw her father sitting upon the toilet in a dignified manner, and
people going past greeted him effusively.[357] The association of the
anal relations by no means excludes high valuation or esteem, as is
shown by these examples, and as is easily seen from the intimate
connection of fæces and gold.[358] Here the most worthless comes into
the closest relation with the most valuable. This also happens in
religious valuations. I discovered (at that time to my great
astonishment) that a young patient, very religiously trained,
represented in a dream the Crucified on the bottom of a blue-flowered
chamber pot, namely, in the form of excrements. The contrast is so
enormous that one must assume that the valuations of childhood must
indeed be very different from ours. This is actually the truth. Children
bring to the act of defecation and the products of this an esteem and
interest[359] which later on is possible only to the hypochondriac. We
do not comprehend this interest until we learn that the child very early
connects with it a theory of propagation.[360] The libido afflux
probably accounts for the enormous interest in this act. The child sees
that this is the way in which something is produced, in which something
comes out. The same child whom I reported in the little brochure “Über
Konflikte der kindlichen Seele,” and who had a well-developed anal
theory of birth, like little Hans, whom Freud made known to us, later
contracted a habit of staying a long time on the toilet. Once the father
grew impatient, went to the toilet and called, “Do come out of there;
what are you making?” Whereupon the answer came from within, “A little
wagon and two ponies.” The child was making a little wagon and two
ponies, that is to say, things which at that time she especially wished
for. In this way one can make what one wishes, and the thing made is the
thing wished for. The child wishes earnestly for a doll or, at heart,
for a real child. (That is, the child practised for his future
biological task, and in the way in which everything in general is
produced he made the doll[361] himself as representative of the child or
of the thing wished for in general.[362]) From a patient I have learned
a parallel phantasy of her childhood. In the toilet there was a crevice
in the wall. She phantasied that from this crevice a fairy would come
out and present her with everything for which she wished. The “locus” is
known to be the place of dreams where much was wished for and created
which later would no longer be suspected of having this place of origin.
A pathological phantasy in place here is told us by Lombroso,[363]
concerning two insane artists. Each of them considered himself God and
the ruler of the world. They created or produced the world by making it
come forth from the rectum, just as the egg of birds originates in the
egg canal. One of these two artists was endowed with a true artistic
sense. He painted a picture in which he was just in the act of creation;
the world came forth from his anus; the membrum was in full erection; he
was naked, surrounded by women, and with all insignia of his power. The
excrement is in a certain sense the thing wished for, and on that
account it receives the corresponding valuation. When I first understood
this connection, an observation made long ago, and which disturbed me
greatly because I never rightly understood it, became clear to me. It
concerned an educated patient who, under very tragic circumstances, had
to be separated from her husband and child, and was brought into the
insane asylum. She exhibited a typical apathy and slovenliness which was
considered as affective mental deterioration. Even at that time I
doubted this deterioration, and was inclined to regard it as a secondary
adjustment. I took especial pains to ascertain how I could discover the
existence of the affect in this case. Finally, after more than three
hours’ hard work, I succeeded in finding a train of thought which
suddenly brought the patient into a completely adequate and therefore
strongly emotional state. At this moment the affective connection with
her was completely reëstablished. That happened in the forenoon. When I
returned at the appointed time in the evening to the ward to see her she
had, for my reception, smeared herself from head to foot with excrement,
and cried laughingly, “Do I please you so?” She had never done that
before; it was plainly destined for me. The impression which I received
was one of a personal affront and, as a result of this, I was convinced
for years after of the affective deterioration of such cases. Now we
understand this act as an infantile ceremony of welcome or a declaration
of love.

The origin of Chiwantopel, that is to say, an unconscious personality,
therefore means, in the sense of the previous explanation, “I make,
produce, invent him myself.” It is a sort of human creation or birth by
the anal route. The first people were made from excrement, potter’s
earth, or clay. The Latin _lutum_, which really means “moistened earth,”
also has the transferred meaning of dirt. In Plautus it is even a term
of abuse, something like “You scum.” The birth from the anus also
reminds us of the motive of “throwing behind oneself.” A well-known
example is the oracular command, which Deucalion and Pyrrha, who were
the only survivors from the great flood, received. They were to throw
behind them the bones of the great mother. They then threw behind them
stones, from which mankind sprang. According to a tradition, the Dactyli
in a similar manner sprang from dust, which the nymph Anchiale threw
behind her. There is also humorous significance attached to the anal
products. The excrements are often considered in popular humor as a
monument or memorial (which plays a special part in regard to the
criminal in the form of _grumus merdæ_); every one knows the humorous
story of the man who, led by the spirit through labyrinthian passages to
a hidden treasure, after he had shed all his pieces of clothing,
deposited excrement as a last guide post on his road. In a more distant
past a sign of this kind possessed as great a significance as the dung
of animals to indicate the direction taken. Simple monuments (“little
stone figures”) have taken the place of this perishable mark.

It is noteworthy that Miss Miller quotes another case, where a name
suddenly obtruded itself, parallel to the emerging into consciousness of
Chiwantopel, namely, A-ha-ma-ra-ma, with the feeling that it dealt with
something Assyrian.[364] As a possible source of this, there occurred to
her “Asurabama, who made cuneiform bricks,”[365] those imperishable
documents made from clay: the monuments of the most ancient history. If
it were not emphasized that the bricks are “cuneiform,” then it might
mean ambiguously “wedged-shaped bricks,” which is more suggestive of our
interpretation than that of the author.

Miss Miller remarks that besides the name “Asurabama” she also thought
of “Ahasuerus” or “Ahasverus.” This phantasy leads to a very different
aspect of the problem of the unconscious personality. While the previous
materials betrayed to us something of the infantile theory of creation,
this phantasy opens up a vista into the dynamics of the unconscious
creation of personality. Ahasver is, as is well known, the Wandering
Jew; he is characterized by endless and restless wanderings until the
end of the world. The fact that the author has thought of this
particular name justifies us in following this trail. The legend of
Ahasver, the first literary traces of which belong to the thirteenth
century, seems to be of Occidental origin, and belongs to those ideas
which possess indestructible vital energy. The figure of the Wandering
Jew has undergone more literary elaboration than the figure of Faust,
and nearly all of this work belongs to the last century. If the figure
is not called Ahasver, still it is there under another name, perhaps as
Count of St. Germain, the mysterious Rosicrucian, whose immortality was
assured, and whose temporary residence (the land) was equally
known.[366] Although the stories about Ahasver cannot be traced back any
earlier than the thirteenth century, the oral tradition can reach back
considerably further, and it is not an impossibility that a bridge to
the Orient exists. There is the parallel figure of Chidr, or “al
Chadir,” the “ever-youthful Chidher” celebrated in song by Rueckert. The
legend is purely Islamitic. The peculiar feature, however, is that
Chidher is not only a saint, but in Sufic circles[367] rises even to
divine significance. In view of the severe monotheism of Islam, one is
inclined to think of Chidher as a pre-Islamitic Arabian divinity who
would hardly be officially recognized by the new religion, but might
have been tolerated on political grounds. But there is nothing to prove
that. The first traces of Chidher are found in the commentaries of the
Koran, Buchâri and Tabare and in a commentary to a noteworthy passage of
the eighteenth sura of the Koran. The eighteenth sura is entitled “the
cave,” that is, after the cave of the seven sleepers, who, according to
the legend, slept there for 309 years, and thus escaped persecution, and
awoke in a new era. Their legend is recounted in the eighteenth sura,
and divers reflections were associated with it. The wish-fulfilment idea
of the legend is very clear. The mystic material for it is the immutable
model of the Sun’s course. The Sun sets periodically, but does not die.
It hides in the womb of the sea or in a subterranean cave,[368] and in
the morning is “born again,” complete. The language in which this
astronomic occurrence is clothed is one of clear symbolism; the Sun
returns into the mother’s womb, and after some time is again born. Of
course, this event is properly an incestuous act, of which, in
mythology, clear traces are still retained, not the least of which is
the circumstance that the dying and resurrected gods are the lovers of
their own mothers or have generated themselves through their own
mothers. Christ as the “God becoming flesh” has generated himself
through Mary; Mithra has done the same. These Gods are unmistakable
Sun-gods, for the Sun also does this, in order to again renew himself.
Naturally, it is not to be assumed that astronomy came first and these
conceptions of gods afterwards; the process was, as always, inverted,
and it is even true that primitive magic charms of rebirth, baptism,
superstitious usages of all sorts, concerning the cure of the sick,
etc., were projected into the heavens. These youths were born from the
cave (the womb of mother earth), like the Sun-gods, in a new era, and
this was the way they vanquished death. In this far they were immortal.
It is now interesting to see how the Koran comes, after long ethical
contemplations in the course of the same sura, to the following passage,
which is of especial significance for the origin of the Chidher myth.
For this reason I quote the Koran literally:

  “Remember when Moses said to his servant, ‘I will not stop till I
  reach the confluence of the two seas, or for eighty years will I
  journey on.’

  “But when they reached their confluence they forgot their fish, and it
  took its way in the sea at will.

  “And when they had passed on, Moses said to his servant, ‘Bring us our
  morning meal, for now we have incurred weariness from this our
  journey.’

  “He said, ‘What thinkest thou? When we repaired to the rock for rest,
  then verily I forgot the fish; and none but Satan made me forget it,
  so as not to mention it; and it hath taken its way in the sea in a
  wondrous sort.’

  “He said, ‘It is this we were in quest of.’ So they both went back
  retracing their footsteps.

  “Then found they one of our servants to whom we had vouchsafed our
  mercy, and whom we had instructed with our knowledge;[369]

  “Moses said to him, ‘Shall I follow thee that thou teach me, for
  guidance of that which thou hast been taught?’

  “He said, ‘Verily, thou canst by no means have patience with me; and
  how canst thou be patient in matters whose meaning thou comprehendest
  not?’”—Trans. Rodwell, page 188.

Moses now accompanies the mysterious servant of God, who does divers
things which Moses cannot comprehend; finally, the Unknown takes leave
of Moses, and speaks to him as follows:

  “They will ask thee of Dhoulkarnein (the two-horned).[370] Say: ‘I
  will recite to you an account of him.’

  “Verily, we established his power upon the earth and we gave him a
  means to accomplish every end, so he followed his way;

  “Until when he reached the setting of the sun, he found it to set in a
  miry forest; and hard by, he found a people....”

Now follows a moral reflection; then the narrative continues:

  “Then he followed his course further until he came to the place where
  the sun rises....”

If now we wish to know who is the unknown servant of God, we are told in
this passage _he is Dhulqarnein, Alexander, the Sun; he goes to the
place of setting and he goes to the place of rising_. The passage about
the unknown servant of God is explained by the commentaries in a
well-defined legend. The servant is Chidher, “the verdant one,” the
never-tiring wanderer, who roams for hundreds and thousands of years
over lands and seas, the teacher and counsellor of pious men; the one
wise in divine knowledge—the immortal.[371] The authority of the Tabari
associates Chidher with Dhulqarnein; Chidher is said to have reached the
“stream of life” as a follower of Alexander, and both unwittingly had
drunk of it, so that they became immortal. Moreover, _Chidher is
identified by the old commentators with Elias_, who also did not die,
but _who was taken to Heaven in a fiery chariot_. Elias is
_Helios_.[372] It is to be observed that Ahasver also owes his existence
to an obscure place in the holy Christian scriptures. This place is to
be found in Matthew xvi:28. First comes the scene where Christ appoints
Peter as the rock of his church, and nominates him the governor of his
power.[373] After that follows the prophecy of his death, and then comes
the passage:

  “Verily, I say unto you, there be some standing here, which shall not
  taste of death till they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

Here follows the scene of the transfiguration:

  “And was transfigured before them: and his face did shine as the sun,
  and his raiment was white as the light.

  “And behold there appeared unto them Moses and Elias talking with him.

  “Then answered Peter and said unto Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to
  be here; if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles; one for
  thee and one for Moses and one for Elias.’”[374]

From these passages it appears that Christ stands on the same plane as
Elias, without being identified with him,[375] although the people
consider him as Elias. The ascension places Christ as identical with
Elias. The prophecy of Christ shows that there exist aside from himself
one or more immortals who shall not die until Parousai. According to
John xxi: 22nd verse, the boy John was considered as one of these
immortals, and in the legend he is, in fact, not dead but merely
sleeping in the ground until Parousai, and breathes so that the dust
swirls round his grave.[376] As is evident, there are passable bridges
from Christ by way of Elias to Chidher and Ahasuerus. It is said in an
account of this legend[377] that Dhulqarnein led his friend Chidher to
the “source of life” in order to have him drink of immortality.[378]
Alexander also bathed in the stream of life and performed the ritual
ablutions. As I previously mentioned in a footnote, according to Matthew
xvii: 12th verse, John the Baptist is Elias, therefore primarily
identical with Chidher. Now, however, it is to be noted that in the
Arabian legend Chidher appears rather as a companion or accompanied
(Chidher with Dhulqarnein or with Elias, “like unto them”; or identified
with them[379]). There are therefore, two similar figures who resemble
each other, but who, nevertheless, are distinct. The analogous situation
in the Christian legend is found in the scene by the Jordan where John
leads Christ to the “source of life.” Christ is there, the subordinate,
John the superior, similar to Dhulqarnein and Chidher, or Chidher and
Moses, also Elias. The latter relation especially is such that Vollers
compares Chidher and Elias, on the one side, with Gilgamesh and his
mortal brother Eabani; on the other side, with the Dioscuri, one of whom
is immortal, the other mortal. This relation is also found in Christ and
John the Baptist,[380] on the one hand, and Christ and Peter, on the
other. The last-named parallel only finds its explanation through
comparison with the Mithraic mysteries, where the esoteric contents are
revealed to us through monuments. Upon the Mithraic marble relief of
Klagenfurt[381] it is represented how with a halo Mithra crowns Helios,
who either kneels before him or else floats up to him from below. Mithra
is represented on a Mithraic monument of Osterburken as holding in his
right hand the shoulder of the mystic ox above Helios, who stands bowed
down before him, the left hand resting on a sword hilt. A crown lies
between them on the ground. Cumont observes about this scene that it
probably represents the divine prototype of the ceremony of the
initiation into the degree of Miles, in which a sword and a crown were
conferred upon the mystic. Helios is, therefore, appointed the Miles of
Mithra. In a general way, Mithra seems to occupy the rôle of patron to
Helios, which reminds us of the boldness of Hercules towards Helios.
Upon his journey towards Geryon, Helios burns too hotly; Hercules, full
of anger, threatens him with his never-failing arrows. Therefore, Helios
is compelled to yield, and lends to the hero his Sun ship, with which he
was accustomed to journey across the sea. Thus Hercules returns to
Erythia, to the cattle herds of Geryon.[382] On the monument at
Klagenfurt, Mithra is furthermore represented pressing Helios’s hand,
either in farewell or as a ratification. In a further scene Mithra
mounts the Chariot of Helios, either for the ascension or the “Sea
Journey.”[383] Cumont is of the opinion that Mithra gives to Helios a
sort of ceremonious investiture and consecrates him with his divine
power by crowning him with his own hands. This relation corresponds to
that of Christ to Peter. Peter, through his symbol, the cock, has the
character of a sun-god. After the ascension (or sea journey) of Christ,
he is the visible pontiff of the divinity; he suffers, therefore, the
same death (crucifixion) as Christ, and becomes the great Roman deity
(_Sol invictus_), the conquering, triumphant Church itself, embodied in
the Pope. In the scene of Malchus he is always shown as the miles of
Christ, to whom the sword is granted, and as the rock upon which the
Church is founded. The crown[384] is also given to him who possesses the
power to bind and to set free. Thus, Christ, like the Sun, is the
visible God, whereas the Pope, like the heir of the Roman Cæsars, is
_solis invicti comes_. The setting sun appoints a successor whom he
invests with the power of the sun.[385] Dhulqarnein gives Chidher
eternal life. Chidher communicates his wisdom to Moses.[386] There even
exists a report according to which the forgetful servant of Joshua
drinks from the well of life, whereupon he becomes immortal, and is
placed in a ship by Chidher and Moses, as a punishment, and is cast out
to sea, once more a fragment of a sun myth, the motive of the “sea
journey.”[387]

The primitive symbol, which designates that portion of the Zodiac in
which the Sun, with the Winter Solstice, again enters upon the yearly
course, is the goat, fish sign, the αἰγωκέρως. The Sun mounts like a
goat to the highest mountain, and later goes into the water as a fish.
The fish is the symbol of the child,[388] for the child before his birth
lives in the water like a fish, and the Sun, because it plunges into the
sea, becomes equally child and fish. The fish, however, is also a
phallic symbol,[389] also a symbol for the woman.[390] Briefly stated,
the fish is a libido symbol, and, indeed, as it seems predominately _for
the renewal of the libido_.

The journey of Moses with his servant is a life-journey (eighty years).
They grow old and lose their life force (libido), that is, they lose the
fish which “pursues its course in a marvellous manner to the sea,” which
means the setting of the sun. When the two notice their loss, they
discover at the place where the “source of life” is found (where the
dead fish revived and sprang into the sea) Chidher wrapped in his
mantle,[391] sitting on the ground. According to another version, he sat
on an island in the sea, or “in the wettest place on earth,” that is, he
was just _born from the maternal depths_. Where the fish vanished
Chidher, “the verdant one,” was born as a “son of the deep waters,” his
head veiled, a Cabir, a proclaimer of divine wisdom; the old Babylonian
Oannes-Ea, who was represented in the form of a fish, and daily came
from the sea as a fish to teach the people wisdom.[392] His name was
brought into connection with John’s. With the rising of the renewed sun
all that lived in darkness, as water-animal or fish, surrounded by all
terrors of night and death,[393] became as the shining fiery firmament
of the day. Thus the words of John the Baptist[394] gain especial
meaning:

  “I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but he that cometh
  after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear; he
  shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire.”

With Vollers we may also compare Chidher and Elias (Moses and his
servant Joshua) with Gilgamesh and his brother Eabani. Gilgamesh
wandered through the world, driven by anxiety and longing, to find
immortality. His path led him across the seas to the wise Utnapishtim
(Noah), who knew how to cross the waters of death. There Gilgamesh had
to dive down to the bottom of the sea for the magical herb which was to
lead him back to the land of men. When he had come again to his native
land a serpent stole the magic plant from him (the fish again slid into
the sea). But on the return from the land of the blessed an immortal
mariner accompanied him, who, banished by a curse of Utnapishtim, was
forbidden to return to the land of the blessed. Gilgamesh’s journey had
lost its purpose on account of the loss of the magic herb; instead he is
accompanied by an immortal, whose fate, indeed, we cannot learn from the
fragments of the epic. This banished immortal is the model for Ahasver,
as Jensen[395] aptly remarked.

Again we encounter the motive of the Dioscuri, mortal and immortal,
setting and rising sun. This _motive is also represented as if projected
from the hero_.

The Sacrificium Mithriacum (the sacrifice of the bull) is in its
religious representation very often flanked by the two Dadophores,
Cautes and Cautopates, one with a raised and the other with a lowered
torch. They represent brothers who reveal their character through the
symbolic position of the torch. Cumont connects them, not without
meaning, with the sepulchral “erotes” who as genii with the reversed
torches have traditional meaning. The one is supposed to stand for death
and the other for life. I cannot refrain from mentioning the similarity
between the Sacrificium Mithriacum (where the sacrificed bull in the
centre is flanked on both sides by Dadophores) to the Christian
sacrifice of the lamb (ram). The Crucified is also traditionally flanked
by the two thieves, one of whom ascends to Paradise, while the other
descends to Hell.[396] The idea of the mortal and the immortal seems to
have passed also into the Christian worship. Semitic gods are often
represented as flanked by two Paredroi; for example, Baal of Edessa,
accompanied by Aziz and Monimoz (Baal as the Sun, accompanied by Mars
and Mercury, as expressed in astronomical teachings). According to the
Chaldean view, the gods are grouped into triads. In this circle of ideas
belongs also the Trinity, the idea of the triune God, in which Christ
must be considered in his unity with the Father and the Holy Ghost. So,
too, do the two thieves belong inwardly to Christ. The two Dadophores
are, as Cumont points out, nothing but offshoots[397] from the chief
figure of Mithra, to whom belongs a mysterious threefold character.
According to an account of Dionysus Areopagita, the magicians celebrated
a festival, “τοῦ τριπλασίου Μίθρου.”[398][399] An observation likewise
referring to the Trinity is made by Plutarch concerning Ormuzd: τρὶς
ἑαυτὸν αὐξήσας ἀπέστησε τοῦ ἡλίου.[400] The Trinity, as three different
states of the unity, is also a Christian thought. In the very first
place this suggests a sun myth. An observation by Macrobius 1:18 seems
to lend support to this idea:

  “Hæ autem ætatum diversitates ad solem referuntur, ut parvulus
  videatur hiemali solstitio, qualem Aegyptii proferunt ex adyto die
  certa, ... æquinoctio vernali figura iuvenis ornatur. Postea statuitur
  ætas ejus plenissima effigie barbæ solstitio æstivo ... exunde per
  diminutiones veluti senescenti quarta forma deus figuratur.”[401][402]

As Cumont observes, Cautes and Cautapates occasionally carry in their
hands the head of a bull, and a scorpion.[403] Taurus and Scorpio are
equinoctial signs, which clearly indicate that the sacrificial scene
refers primarily to the Sun cycle; the rising Sun, which sacrifices
itself at the summer solstice, and the setting Sun. In the sacrificial
scene the symbol of the rising and setting Sun was not easily
represented; therefore, this idea was removed from the sacrificial
image.

We have pointed out above that the Dioscuri represent a similar idea,
although in a somewhat different form; the one sun is always mortal, the
other immortal. As this entire sun mythology is merely a psychologic
projection to the heavens, the fundamental thesis probably is as
follows; just as man consists of a mortal and immortal part, so the sun
is a pair of brothers,[404] one being mortal, the other immortal. This
thought lies at the basis of all theology in general. Man is, indeed,
mortal, but there are some who are immortal, or there is something in us
which is immortal. Thus the gods, “a Chidher or a St. Germain,” are our
immortal part, which, though incomprehensible, dwells among us
somewhere.

Comparison with the sun teaches us over and over again that the gods are
libido. It is that part of us which is immortal, since it represents
that bond through which we feel that in the race we are never
extinguished.[405] It is life from the life of mankind. Its springs,
which well up from the depths of the unconscious, come, as does our life
in general, from the root of the whole of humanity, since we are indeed
only a twig broken off from the mother and transplanted.

Since the divine in us is the libido,[406] we must not wonder that we
have taken along with us in our theology ancient representations from
olden times, which give the triune figure to the God. We have taken this
τριπλάσιον Θεόν[407] from the phallic symbolism, the originality of
which may well be uncontested.[408] The male genitals are the basis for
this Trinity. It is an anatomical fact that one testicle is generally
placed somewhat higher than the other, and it is also a very old, but,
nevertheless, still surviving, superstition that one testicle generates
a boy and the other a girl.[409] A late Babylonian bas-relief from
Lajard’s[410] collection seems to be in accordance with this view. In
the middle of the image stands an androgynous god (masculine and
feminine face[411]); upon the right, male side, is found a serpent, with
a sun halo round its head; upon the left, female side, there is also a
serpent, with the moon above its head. Above the head of the god there
are three stars. This ensemble would seem to confirm the Trinity[412] of
the representation. The Sun serpent at the right side is male; the
serpent at the left side is female (signified by the moon). This image
possesses a symbolic sexual suffix, which makes the sexual significance
of the whole obtrusive. Upon the male side a rhomb is found—a favorite
symbol of the female genitals; upon the female side there is a wheel or
felly. A wheel always refers to the Sun, but the spokes are thickened
and enlarged at the ends, which suggests phallic symbolism. It seems to
be a phallic wheel, which was not unknown in antiquity. There are
obscene bas-reliefs where Cupid turns a wheel of nothing but
phalli.[413] It is not only the serpent which suggests the phallic
significance of the Sun; I quote one especially marked case, from an
abundance of proof. In the antique collection at Verona I discovered a
late Roman mystic inscription in which are the following
representations:

[Illustration]

These symbols are easily read: Sun—Phallus, Moon—Vagina (Uterus). This
interpretation is confirmed by another figure of the same collection.
There the same representation is found, only the vessel[414] is replaced
by the figure of a woman. The impressions on coins, where in the middle
a palm is seen encoiled by a snake, flanked by two stones (testicles),
or else in the middle a stone encircled by a snake; to the right a palm,
to the left a shell (female genitals[415]), should be interpreted in a
similar manner. In Lajard’s “Researches” (“The Cult of Venus”) there is
a coin of Perga, where Artemis of Perga is represented by a conical
stone (phallic) flanked by a man (claimed to be Men) and by a female
figure (claimed to be Artemis). Men (the so-called Lunus) is found upon
an Attic bas-relief apparently with the spear but fundamentally a
sceptre with a phallic significance, flanked by Pan with a club
(phallus) and a female figure.[416] The traditional representation of
the Crucified flanked by John and Mary is closely associated with this
circle of ideas, precisely as is the Crucified with the thieves. From
this we see how, beside the Sun, there emerges again and again the much
more primitive comparison of the libido with the phallus. An especial
trace still deserves mention here. The Dadophor Cautapates, who
represents Mithra, is also represented with the cock[417] and the
pineapple. But these are the attributes of the Phrygian god Men, whose
cult was widely diffused. Men was represented with Pileus,[418] the
pineapple and the cock, also in the form of a boy, just as the
Dadophores are boyish figures. (This last-named property relates them
with Men to the Cabiri.) Men has a very close connection with Attis, the
son and lover of Cybele. In the time of the Roman Cæsars, Men and Attis
were entirely identified, as stated above. Attis also wears the Pileus
like Men, Mithra and the Dadophores. As the son and lover of his mother
he again leads us to the source of this religion-creating incest libido,
namely, to the mother. Incest leads logically to ceremonial castration
in the Attic-Cybele cult, for the Hero, driven insane by his mother,
mutilates himself.[419] I must at present forego entering more deeply
into this matter, because the incest problem is to be discussed at the
close. Let this suggestion suffice—that from different directions the
analysis of the libido symbolism always leads back again to the mother
incest. Therefore, we may surmise that the longing of the libido raised
to God (repressed into the unconscious) is a primitive, incestuous one
which concerns the mother. Through renouncing the virility to the first
beloved, the mother, the feminine element becomes extremely predominant;
hence the strongly androgynous character of the dying and resurrected
Redeemer. That these heroes are nearly always wanderers[420] is a
psychologically clear symbolism. The wandering is a representation of
longing,[421] of the ever-restless desire, which nowhere finds its
object, for, unknown to itself, it seeks the lost mother. The wandering
association renders the Sun comparison easily intelligible; also, under
this aspect, the heroes always resemble the wandering Sun, which seems
to justify the fact that the myth of the hero is a sun myth. But the
myth of the hero, however, is, as it appears to me, the myth of our own
suffering unconscious, which has an unquenchable longing for all the
deepest sources of our own being; for the body of the mother, and
through it for communion with infinite life in the countless forms of
existence. Here I must introduce the words of the Master who has divined
the deepest roots of Faustian longings:

      “Unwilling, I reveal a loftier mystery.—
      In solitude are throned the Goddesses,
      No Space around them, Place and Time still less:
      Only to speak of them embarrasses.
      They are THE MOTHERS!

      “Goddesses unknown to ye,
      The Mortals,—named by us unwillingly.
      Delve in the deepest depths must thou to reach them:
      ’Tis thine own fault that we for help beseech them.

      “Where is the way?

                  “No way! To the Unreachable,
      Ne’er to be trodden! A way to the Unbeseechable,
      Never to be besought! Art thou prepared?
      There are no locks, no latches to be lifted!
      Through endless solitudes shalt thou be drifted!
      Hast thou through solitudes and deserts dared?
      And hadst thou swum to farthest verge of ocean
      And there the boundless space beheld,
      Still hadst thou seen wave after wave in motion,
      Even though impending doom thy fear compelled.
      Thou hadst seen something—in the beryl dim
      Of peace-lulled seas, the sportive dolphins swim;
      Hadst seen the flying clouds, sun, moon and star;
      Nought shalt thou see in endless Void afar—
      Not hear thy footstep fall, nor meet
      A stable spot to rest thy feet.

                “Here, take this key!
      The Key will scent the true place from all others;
      Follow it down! ‘Twill lead thee to the Mothers.

      “Descend then! I could also say: Ascend!
      ’Twere all the same. _Escape from the Created_
      To shapeless forms in liberated spaces!
      Enjoy what long ere this was dissipated!
      There whirls the press, like clouds on clouds unfolding;
      Then with stretched arm swing high the key thou’rt holding!

      “At last a blazing tripod,[422] tells thee this,
      That there the utterly deepest bottom is.
      Its light to thee will then the Mothers show,
      Some in their seats, the others stand or go,
      At their own will: Formation, Transformation,
      The Eternal Mind’s eternal recreation,
      Forms of all Creatures,—there are floating free.
      They’ll see thee not! for only wraiths they see.
      So pluck up heart,—the danger then is great.
      Go to the tripod ere thou hesitate,
      And touch it with the key.”



                               CHAPTER V
                 SYMBOLISM OF THE MOTHER AND OF REBIRTH


The vision following the creation of the hero is described by Miss
Miller as a “throng of people.” This representation is known to us from
dream interpretation as being, above all, the symbol of mystery.[423]
Freud thinks that this choice of symbol is determined on account of its
possibility of representing the idea. The bearer of the mystery is
placed in opposition to the multitude of the ignorant. _The possession
of the mystery cuts one off from intercourse with the rest of mankind._
For a very complete and smooth rapport with the surroundings is of great
importance for the management of the libido and the _possession of a
subjectively important secret generally creates a great disturbance_. It
may be said that the whole art of life shrinks to the one problem of how
the libido may be freed in the most harmless way possible. Therefore,
the neurotic derives special benefit in treatment when he can at last
rid himself of his various secrets. The symbol of the crowd of people,
chiefly the streaming and moving mass, is, as I have often seen,
substituted for the great excitement in the unconscious, especially in
persons who are outwardly calm.

The vision of the “throng” develops further; horses emerge; a battle is
fought. With Silberer, I might accept the significance of this vision as
belonging, first of all, in the “functional category,” because,
fundamentally, the conception of the intermingling crowds is nothing but
the symbol of the present onrush of the mass of thought; likewise the
battle, and possibly the horses, which illustrate the movement. The
deeper significance of the appearance of the horses will be seen for the
first time in the further course of our treatment of the mother
symbolism. The following vision has a more definite and significantly
important character. Miss Miller sees a City of Dreams (“Cité de
Rêves”). The picture is similar to one she saw a short time before on
the cover of a magazine. Unfortunately, we learn nothing further about
it. One can easily imagine under this “Cité de Rêves” a fulfilled wish
dream, that is to say, something very beautiful and greatly longed for;
a sort of heavenly Jerusalem, as the poet of the Apocalypse has dreamed
it. The city is a maternal symbol, a woman who fosters the inhabitants
as children. It is, therefore, intelligible that the two mother
goddesses, Rhea and Cybele, both wear the wall crown. The Old Testament
treats the cities of Jerusalem, Babel, etc., as women (_Isaiah_
xlvii:1–5):

  “Come down and sit in the dust, O virgin daughter of Babylon, sit on
  the ground: there is no throne, O daughter of the Chaldeans; for thou
  shalt no more be called tender and delicate. Take the millstones and
  grind meal; uncover thy locks, make bare the leg, uncover the thigh,
  pass over the rivers. That thy nakedness shall be uncovered, yea, thy
  shame shall be seen; sit thou silent, and get thee into darkness, O
  daughter of the Chaldeans; for thou shalt no more be called the lady
  of the kingdoms.”

Jeremiah says of Babel (I:12):

  “Your mother shall be sore confounded; she that bare you shall be
  ashamed.”

Strong, unconquered cities are virgins; colonies are sons and daughters.
Cities are also whores. Isaiah says of Tyre (xxiii:16):

  “Take an harp, go about the city, thou harlot; thou hast been
  forgotten.”

And:

  “How does it come to pass that the virtuous city has become an
  harlot?”

We come across a similar symbolism in the myth of Ogyges, the mythical
king who rules in Egyptian Thebes and whose wife was appropriately named
Thebe. The Bœotian Thebes founded by Cadmus received on that account a
surname, “Ogygian.” This surname was also given to the great flood, as
it was called “Ogygian” because it occurred under Ogyges. This
coincidence will be found later on to be hardly accidental. The fact
that the city and the wife of Ogyges bear the same name indicates that
somewhere a relation must exist between the city and the woman, which is
not difficult to understand, for the city is identical with the woman.
We meet a similar idea in Hindoo lore where Indra appears as the husband
of Urvara, but Urvara means “the fertile land.” In a similar way the
occupancy of a country by the king was understood as marriage with the
ploughed land. Similar representations must have prevailed in Europe as
well. Princes had to guarantee, for example, a good harvest at their
accession. The Swedish King Domaldi was actually killed on account of
the failure of the harvest (Ynglinga sâga 18). In the Rama sâga the hero
Rama marries Sîtâ, the furrow of the field.[424] To the same group of
ideas belongs the Chinese custom of the Emperor ploughing a furrow at
his ascension to the throne. This idea of the soil being feminine also
embraces the idea of continual companionship with the woman, a physical
communication. Shiva, the Phallic God, is, like Mahadeva and Parwati,
male and female. He has even given one-half of his body to his consort
Parwati as a dwelling place.[425] Inman[426] gives us a drawing of a
Pundite of Ardanari-Iswara; one-half of the god is masculine, the other
half feminine, and the genitals are in continuous cohabitation. The
motive of continuous cohabitation is expressed in a well-known lingam
symbol, which is to be found everywhere in Indian temples; the base is a
female symbol, and within that is the phallus.[427] The symbol
approaches very closely the Grecian mystic phallic basket and chests.
(Compare with this the Eleusinian mysteries.) The chest or box is here a
female symbol, that is, the mother’s womb. This is a very well-known
conception in the old mythologies.[428] The chest, basket or little
basket, with its precious contents, was thought of as floating on the
water; a remarkable inversion of the natural fact that the child floats
in the amniotic fluid and that this is in the uterus.

This inversion brings about a great advantage for sublimation, for it
creates enormous possibilities of application for the myth-weaving
phantasy, that is to say, for the annexation to the sun cycle. The Sun
floats over the sea like an immortal god, which every evening is
immersed in the maternal water and is born again renewed in the morning.
Frobenius says:

  “Perhaps in connection with the blood-red sunrise, the idea occurs
  that here a birth takes place, the birth of a young son; the question
  then arises inevitably, whence comes the paternity? How has the woman
  become pregnant? And since this woman symbolizes the same idea as the
  fish, which means the sea, (because we proceed from the assumption
  that the Sun descends into the sea as well as arises from it) thus the
  curious primitive answer is that this sea has previously swallowed the
  old Sun. Consequently the resulting myth is, that the woman (sea) has
  formerly devoured the Sun and now brings a new Sun into the world, and
  thus she has become pregnant.”

All these sea-going gods are sun symbols. They are enclosed in a chest
or an ark for the “night journey on the sea” (Frobenius), often together
with a woman (again an inversion of the actual situation, but in support
of the motive of continuous cohabitation, which we have met above).
During the night journey on the sea the Sun-god is enclosed in the
mother’s womb, oftentimes threatened by dangers of all kinds. Instead of
many individual examples, I will content myself with reproducing the
scheme which Frobenius has constructed from numberless myths of this
sort:

[Illustration: _To devour_ _West_ _East_ _W-E movement—(sea journey)_
_Heat-hair_ _To slip out_ _To open_ _To land_ _Sea journey_ _To set on
fire or To cut off the heart_]

Frobenius gives the following legend to illustrate this:

  “A hero is devoured by a water monster in the West (to devour). The
  animal carries him within him to the East (sea journey). Meanwhile, he
  kindles a fire in the belly of the monster (to set on fire) and since
  he feels hungry he cuts off a piece of the hanging heart (to cut off
  the heart). Soon after he notices that the fish glides upon the dry
  land (to land); he immediately begins to cut open the animal from
  within outwards (to open) then he slides out (to slip out). In the
  fish’s belly, it had been so hot, that all his hair had fallen out
  (heat-hair). The hero frequently frees all who were previously
  devoured (to devour all) and all now slide out (slip out).”

A very close parallel is Noah’s journey during the flood, in which all
living creatures die; only he and the life guarded by him are brought to
a new birth. In a Melapolynesian legend (Frobenius) it is told that the
hero in the belly of the King Fish took his weapon and cut open the
fish’s belly. “He slid out and saw a splendor, and he sat down and
reflected. ‘I wonder where I am,’ he said. Then the sun rose with a
bound and turned from one side to the other.” The Sun has again slipped
out. Frobenius mentions from the Ramayana the myth of the ape Hanuman,
who represents the Sun-hero. The sun in which Hanuman hurries through
the air throws a shadow upon the sea. The sea monster notices this and
through this draws Hanuman toward itself; when the latter sees that the
monster is about to devour him, he stretches out his figure
immeasurably; the monster assumes the same gigantic proportions. As he
does that Hanuman becomes as small as a thumb, slips into the great body
of the monster and comes out on the other side. In another part of the
poem it is said that he came out from the right ear of the monster (like
Rabelais’ Gargantua, who also was born from the mother’s ear). “Hanuman
thereupon resumes his flight, and finds a new obstacle in another sea
monster, which is the mother of Rahus, the sun-devouring demon. The
latter draws Hanuman’s shadow[429] to her in the same way. Hanuman again
has recourse to the earlier stratagem, becomes small and slips into her
body, but hardly is he there than he grows to a gigantic mass, swells
up, tears her, kills her, and in that way makes his escape.”

Thus we understand why the Indian fire-bringer Mâtariçvan is called “the
one swelling in the mother”; the ark (little box, chest, cask, vessel,
etc.) is a symbol of the womb, just as is the sea, into which the Sun
sinks for rebirth. From this circle of ideas we understand the
mythologic statements about Ogyges; he it is who possesses the mother,
the City, who is united with the mother; therefore under him came the
great flood, for it is a typical fragment of the sun myth that the hero,
when united with the woman attained with difficulty, is exposed in a
cask and thrown into the sea, and then lands for a new life on a distant
shore. The middle part, the “night journey on the sea” in the ark, is
lacking in the tradition of Ogyges.[430] But the rule in mythology is
that the typical parts of a myth can be united in all conceivable
variations, which adds greatly to the extraordinary difficulty of the
interpretation of a particular myth without knowledge of all the others.
The meaning of this cycle of myths mentioned here is clear; it is the
longing _to attain rebirth through the return to the mother’s womb, that
is to say, to become as immortal as the sun_. This longing for the
mother is frequently expressed in our holy scriptures.[431] I recall,
particularly the place in the epistle to the Galatians, where it is said
(iv:26):

  (26) “But Jerusalem which is above is free, which is the mother of us
  all.

  (27) “For it is written, Rejoice, thou barren that beareth not: break
  forth and cry, thou that travailest not: for the desolate hath many
  more children than she which hath an husband.

  (28) “Now we, brethren, as Isaac was, are the children of promise.

  (29) “But as he that was born after the flesh persecuted him that was
  born after the spirit, even so it is now.

  (30) “Nevertheless, what sayeth the scripture? Cast out the bondwoman
  and her son; for the son of a bondwoman shall not be heir with the son
  of a freewoman.

  (31) “So, then, brethren, we are not children of the bondwoman, but of
  the free.”

Chapter v:

  (1) “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us
  free.”

The Christians are the children of the City Above, a symbol of the
mother, not sons of the earthly city-mother, who is to be cast out; for
those born after the flesh are opposed to those born after the spirit,
who are not born from the mother in the flesh, but from a symbol for the
mother. One must again think of the Indians at this point, who say the
first people proceeded from the sword-hilt and a shuttle. The religious
thought is bound up with the compulsion to call the mother no longer
mother, but City, Source, Sea, etc. This compulsion can be derived from
the need to manifest an amount of libido bound up with the mother, but
in such a way that the mother is represented by or concealed in a
symbol. The symbolism of the city we find well-developed in the
revelations of John, where two cities play a great part, one of which is
insulted and cursed by him, the other greatly desired. We read in
Revelation (xvii:1):

  (1) “Come hither: I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great
  whore that sitteth on many waters.

  (2) “With whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication and
  the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her
  fornication.

  (3) “So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I
  saw a woman sit on a scarlet colored beast, full of the names of
  blasphemy, and having seven heads and ten horns.

  (4) “And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet colors, and
  decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden
  cup[432] in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her
  fornication.

  (5) “And upon her forehead was a name written: _Mystery. Babylon the
  great. The Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth._

  (6) “And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of saints, and with
  the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her I wondered with
  a great admiration.”

Here follows an interpretation of the vision unintelligible to us, from
which we can only emphasize the point that the seven heads[433] of the
dragon means the seven hills upon which the woman sits. This is probably
a distinct allusion to Rome, the city whose temporal power oppressed the
world at the time of the Revelation. The waters upon which the woman
“the mother” sits are “peoples and throngs and nations and tongues.”
This also seems to refer to Rome, for she is the mother of peoples and
possessed all lands. Just as in common speech, for example, colonies are
called daughters, so the people subject to Rome are like members of a
family subject to the mother. In another version of the picture, the
kings of the people, namely, the fathers, commit fornication with this
mother. Revelation continues (xviii: 2):

  (2) “And he cried mightily with a strong voice, saying, Babylon the
  Great is fallen, is fallen, and is become the habitation of devils,
  and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and
  hateful bird.

  (3) “For all nations have drunk of the wine of the wrath of her
  fornication.”

Thus this mother does not only become the mother of all abominations,
but also in truth the receptacle of all that is wicked and unclean. The
birds are images of souls;[434] therefore, this means all souls of the
condemned and evil spirits. Thus the mother becomes Hecate, the
underworld, the City of the damned itself. We recognize easily in the
ancient idea of the woman on the dragon,[435] the above-mentioned
representation of Echnida, the mother of the infernal horrors. Babylon
is the idea of the “terrible” mother, who seduces all people to whoredom
with devilish temptation, and makes them drunk with her wine. The
intoxicating drink stands in the closest relation to fornication, for it
is also a libido symbol, as we have already seen in the parallel of fire
and sun. After the fall and curse of Babylon, we find in Revelation
(xix:6–7) the hymn which leads from the under half to the upper half of
the mother, where now everything is possible which would be impossible
without the repression of incest:

  (6) “Alleluia, the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.

  (7) “Let us be glad and rejoice, and give honor to him: for the
  marriage of the Lamb is come,[436] and his wife hath made herself
  ready.

  (8) “And to her was granted that she should be arrayed in fine linen,
  clean and white: for the fine linen is the righteousness of saints.

  (9) “And he saith unto me, ‘Write, Blessed are they which are called
  unto the marriage supper of the Lamb.’”

The Lamb is the son of man who celebrates his marriage with the “woman.”
Who the “woman” is remains obscure at first. But Revelation (xxi:9)
shows us which “woman” is the bride, the Lamb’s wife:

  (9) “Come hither, I will show thee the bride, the Lamb’s wife.[437]

  (10) “And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high
  mountain, and showed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem,
  descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God.”

It is evident from this quotation, after all that goes before, that the
City, the heavenly bride, who is here promised to the Son, is the
mother.[438] In Babylon the impure maid was cast out, according to the
Epistle to the Galatians, so that here in heavenly Jerusalem the
mother-bride may be attained the more surely. It bears witness to the
most delicate psychologic perception that the fathers of the church who
formulated the canons preserved this bit of the symbolic significance of
the Christ mystery. It is a treasure house for the phantasies and myth
materials which underlie primitive Christianity.[439] The further
attributes which were heaped upon the heavenly Jerusalem make its
significance as mother overwhelmingly clear:

  (1) “And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal,
  proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.

  (2) “In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the
  river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits,
  and yielded her fruit every month, and the leaves of the tree were for
  the healing of nations.

  (3) “And there shall be no more curse.”

In this quotation we come upon the symbol of the waters, which we found
in the mention of Ogyges in connection with the city. The maternal
significance of water belongs to the clearest symbolism in the realm of
mythology,[440] so that the ancients could say: ἠ θάλασσα—τῆς γενέσεως
σύμβολον.[441] From water comes life;[442] therefore, of the two gods
which here interest us the most, Christ and Mithra, the latter was born
beside a river, according to representations, while Christ experienced
his new birth in the Jordan; moreover, he is born from the Πηγή,[443]
the “sempiterni fons amoris,” the mother of God, who by the
heathen-Christian legend was made a nymph of the Spring. The “Spring” is
also found in Mithracism. A Pannonian dedication reads, “Fonti perenni.”
An inscription in Apulia is dedicated to the “Fons Aeterni.” In Persia,
Ardvîçûra is the well of the water of life. Ardvîçûra-Anahita is a
goddess of water and love (just as Aphrodite is born from foam). The
neo-Persians designate the Planet Venus and a nubile girl by the name
“Nahid.” In the temples of Anaitis there existed prostitute Hierodules
(harlots). In the Sakaeen (in honor of Anaitis) there, occurred ritual
combats as in the festival of the Egyptian Ares and his mother. In the
Vedas the waters are called Mâtritamâh—the most maternal.[443] All that
is living rises as does the sun, from the water, and at evening plunges
into the water. Born from the springs, the rivers, the seas, at death
man arrives at the waters of the Styx in order to enter upon the “night
journey on the sea.” The wish is that the black water of death might be
the water of life; that death, with its cold embrace, might be the
mother’s womb, just as the sea devours the sun, but brings it forth
again out of the maternal womb (Jonah motive[444]). Life believes not in
death.

            “In the flood of life, in the torrent of deeds,
            I toss up and down,
            I am blown to and fro!
            Cradle and grave,
            An eternal sea;
            A changing web,
            A glowing life.”          —_Goethe: Faust._

That ξύλον ζωῆς, the wood of life, or the tree of life, is a maternal
symbol would seem to follow from the previous deductions. The etymologic
connection of ὕο, ὕλε, υἱός, in the Indo-Germanic root suggests the
blending of the meanings in the underlying symbolism of mother and of
generation. The tree of life is probably, first of all, a fruit-bearing
genealogical tree, that is, a mother-image. Countless myths prove the
derivation of man from trees; many myths show how the hero is enclosed
in the maternal tree—thus dead Osiris in the column, Adonis in the
myrtle, etc. Numerous female divinities were worshipped as trees, from
which resulted the cult of the holy groves and trees. It is of
transparent significance when Attis castrates himself under a pine tree,
i. e. he does it because of the mother. Goddesses were often worshipped
in the form of a tree or of a wood. Thus Juno of Thespiæ was a branch of
a tree, Juno of Samos was a board. Juno of Argos was a column. The
Carian Diana was an uncut piece of wood. Athene of Lindus was a polished
column. Tertullian calls Ceres of Pharos “rudis palus et informe lignum
sine effigie.” Athenaeus remarks of Latona at Dalos that she is ξὐλινον
ἄμορφον, a shapeless piece of wood.[445] Tertullian calls an Attic
Pallas “crucis stipes,” a wooden pale or mast. The wooden pale is
phallic, as the name suggests, φάλης, Pallus. The φαλλός is a pale, a
ceremonial lingam carved out of figwood, as are all Roman statues of
Priapus. Φάλος means a projection or centrepiece on the helmet, later
called κῶνος just as ἀναφαλ-αντίασις signifies baldheadedness on the
forepart of the head, and φαλακρός signifies baldheadedness in regard to
the φάλος-κῶνος of the helmet; a semi-phallic meaning is given to the
upper part of the head as well.[446] Φάλληνος has, besides φαλλός, the
significance of “wooden”; φαλ-άγγωμα, “cylinder”; φάλαγξ, “a round
beam.” The Macedonian battle array, distinguished by its powerful
impetus, is called φάλαγξ; moreover, the finger-joint[447] is called
φάλαγξ. φάλλαινα or φάλαινα is a whale. Now φαλός appears with the
meaning “shining, brilliant.” The Indo-Germanic root is _bhale_ = to
bulge, to swell.[448] Who does not think of Faust?

              “It grows, it shines, increases in my hand!”

That is primitive libido symbolism, which shows how immediate is the
connection between phallic libido and light. The same relations are
found in the Rigveda in Rudra’s utterances.

  _Rigveda_ 1, 114, 3:

  “May we obtain your favor, thou man ruling, Oh urinating Rudra.”

I refer here to the previously mentioned phallic symbolism of Rudra in
the Upanishads:

  (4) “We call for help below to the flaming Rudra, to the one bringing
  the sacrifice; him who encircles and wanders (wandering in the vault
  of Heaven) to the seer.”

  2, 33, 5:

  “He who opens up the sweet, who listens to our calls, the ruddy one,
  with the beautiful helmet, may he not give us over to the powers of
  jealousy.

  (6) “I have been rejoiced by the bull connected with Marut, the
  supplicating one with strong force of life.

  (8) “Sound the powerful song of praise to the ruddy bull to the white
  shining one; worship the flaming one with honor, we sing of the
  shining being Rudra.

  “May Rudra’s missile (arrow) not be used on us, may the great
  displeasure of the shining one pass us by: Unbend the firm (bow or
  hard arrow?) for the princes, thou who blessest with the waters of thy
  body (generative strength), be gracious to our children and
  grandchildren.”[449]

In this way we pass from the realm of mother symbolism imperceptibly
into the realm of male phallic symbolism. This element also lies in the
tree, even in the family tree, as is distinctly shown by the mediæval
family trees. From the first ancestor there grows upward, in the place
of the “membrum virile,” the trunk of the great tree. The bisexual
symbolic character of the tree is intimated by the fact that in Latin
trees have a masculine termination and a feminine gender.[450] The
feminine (especially the maternal) meaning of the forest and the phallic
significance of trees in dreams is well known. I mention an example.

It concerns a woman who had always been nervous, and who, after many
years of marriage, became ill as a result of the typical retention of
the libido. She had the following dream after she had learned to know a
young man of many engaging free opinions who was very pleasing to her:
She found herself in a garden where stood a remarkable exotic tree with
strange red fleshy flowers or fruits. She picked them and ate them.
Then, to her horror, she felt that she was poisoned. This dream idea may
easily be understood by means of the antique or poetic symbolism, so I
can spare information as to the analytic material.

The double significance of the tree is readily explained by the fact
that such symbols are not to be understood “anatomically” but
psychologically as libido symbols; therefore, it is not permissible to
interpret the tree on account of its similar form as directly phallic;
it can also be called a woman or the uterus of the mother. The
uniformity of the significance lies alone in the similarity to the
libido.[451] One loses one’s way in one “cul de sac” after another by
saying that this is the symbol substituted for the mother and that for
the penis. In this realm there is no fixed significance of things. The
only reality here is the libido, for which “all that is perishable is
merely a symbol.” It is not the physical actual mother, but the libido
of the son, the object of which was once the mother. We take mythologic
symbols much too concretely and wonder at every step about the endless
contradictions. These contradictions arise only because we constantly
forget that in the realm of phantasy “feeling is all.” Whenever we read,
therefore, “his mother was a wicked sorcerer,” the translation is as
follows: The son is in love with her, namely, he is unable to detach his
libido from the mother-imago; he therefore suffers from incestuous
resistance.

The symbolism of water and trees, which are met with as further
attributes in the symbol of the City, also refer to that amount of
libido which unconsciously is fastened to the mother-imago. In certain
parts of Revelation the unconscious psychology of religious longing is
revealed, namely, the longing for the _mother_.[452] The expectation of
Revelation ends in the mother: καὶ πᾶν κατάθεμα οὐκ ἔσται ἔτι (“and
there shall be no more curse”). There shall be no more sins, no
repression, no disharmony with one’s self, no guilt, no fear of death
and no pain of separation more!

Thus Revelation echoes that same radiant mystical harmony which was
caught again 2,000 years later and expressed poetically in the last
prayer of Dr. Marianus:

            “Penitents, look up, elate,
            Where she beams salvation;
            Gratefully to blessed fate
            Grow, in recreation!
            Be our souls, as they have been,
            Dedicate to thee!
            Virgin Holy, Mother, Queen,
            Goddess, gracious be!”        —_Goethe: Faust._

One principal question arises at the sight of this beauty and greatness
of feeling, that is, whether the primary tendency compensated by
religion is not too narrowly understood as incestuous. I have previously
observed in regard to this that I consider the “resistance opposed to
libido” as in a general way coincident with the incest prohibition. I
must leave open for the present the definition of the psychological
incest conception. However, I will here emphasize the point that it is
most especially the totality of the sun myth which proves to us that the
fundamental basis of the “incestuous” desire does not aim at
cohabitation, but at the special thought of becoming a child again, of
turning back to the parent’s protection, of coming into the mother once
more in order to be born again. But incest stands in the path to this
goal, that is to say, the necessity of in some way again gaining
entrance into the mother’s womb. One of the simplest ways would be to
impregnate the mother, and to reproduce one’s self identically. But here
the incest prohibition interferes; therefore, the myths of the sun or of
rebirth teem with all possible proposals as to how incest can be evaded.
A very simple method of avoidance is to transform the mother into
another being or to rejuvenate[453] her after birth has occurred, to
have her disappear again or have her change back. It is not incestuous
cohabitation which is desired, but the rebirth, which now is attained
most readily through cohabitation. But this is not the only way,
although perhaps the original one. The resistance to the incest
prohibition makes the phantasy inventive; for example, it was attempted
to impregnate the mother by means of a magic charm of fertility (to wish
for a child). Attempts in this respect remain in the stage of mythical
phantasies; but they have one result, and that is the exercise of the
phantasy which gradually produces paths through the creation of
phantastic possibilities, in which the libido, taking an active part,
can flow off. Thus the libido becomes _spiritualized in an imperceptible
manner_. The power “which always wishes evil” thus creates a spiritual
life. Therefore, in religions, this course is now raised to a system. On
that account it is exceedingly instructive to see how religion takes
pains to further these symbolic transferences.[454] The New Testament
furnishes us with an excellent example in regard to this. Nicodemus, in
the speech regarding rebirth, cannot forbear understanding the matter
very realistically.

  _John_ iii:4:

  (4) “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time
  into his mother’s womb, and be born?”

But Jesus endeavors to raise into purity the sensuous view of
Nicodemus’s mind moulded in materialistic heaviness, and announces to
him—really the same—and yet not the same:

  (5) “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born of water
  and of the spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.

  (6) “That which is born of the flesh is flesh: and that which is born
  of the spirit is spirit.

  (7) “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.

  (8) “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound
  thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth; so
  is everyone that is born of the spirit.”

To be born of water means simply to be born from the mother’s womb. To
be born of the spirit means to be born from the fructifying breath of
the wind; this we learn from the Greek text (where spirit and wind are
expressed by the same word, πνεῦμα) τὸ γεγεννημένον ἐκ τῆς σαρκος σάρξ
ἐστιν, καὶ τὸ γεγεννημένον ἐκ τοῦ πνεύματος πνεῦμά ἐστιν.—Τὸ πνεῦμα ὅπου
θέλει πνεῖ,[455] etc.

This symbolism rose from the same need as that which produced the
Egyptian legend of the vultures, the mother symbol. They were only
females and were fertilized by the wind. One recognizes very clearly the
ethical demand as the foundation of these mythologic assertions: _thou
must say of the mother that she was not impregnated by a mortal in the
ordinary way, but by a spiritual being in an unusual manner_. This
demand stands in strict opposition to the real truth; therefore, the
myth is a fitting solution. One can say it was a hero who died and was
born again in a remarkable manner, and in this way attained immortality.
The need which this demand asserts is evidently a prohibition against a
definite phantasy concerning the mother. A son may naturally think that
a father has generated him in a carnal way, but not that he himself
impregnated the mother and so caused himself to be born again into
renewed youth. This incestuous phantasy which for some reason possesses
an extraordinary strength,[456] and, therefore, appears as a compulsory
wish, is repressed and, conforming to the above demand, under certain
conditions, expresses itself again, symbolically, concerning the problem
of birth, or rather concerning individual rebirth from the mother. In
Jesus’s challenge to Nicodemus we clearly recognize this tendency:
“Think not carnally or thou art carnal, but think symbolically, then art
thou spirit.” It is evident how extremely educative and developing this
compulsion toward symbolism can be. Nicodemus would remain fixed in low
commonplaces if he did not succeed in raising himself through symbols
above this repressed incestuous desire. As a righteous philistine of
culture, he probably was not very anxious for this effort, because men
seem really to remain satisfied in repressing the incestuous libido, and
at best to express it by some modest religious exercises. Yet it seems
to be important, on the other side, that man should not merely renounce
and repress and thereby remain firmly fixed in the incestuous bond, but
that he should redeem those dynamic forces which lie bound up in incest,
in order to fulfil himself. For man needs his whole libido, to fill out
the boundaries of his personality, and then, for the first time, he is
in a condition to do his best. The paths by which man may manifest his
incestuously fixed libido seem to have been pointed out by the religious
mythologic symbols. On this account Jesus teaches Nicodemus: “Thou
thinkest of thy incestuous wish for rebirth, but thou must think that
thou art born from the water and that thou art generated by the breath
of the wind,[457] and in this way thou shalt share in eternal life.”

Thus the libido which lies inactive in the incestuous bond repressed and
in fear of the law and the avenging Father God can be led over into
sublimation through the symbol of baptism (birth from water) and of
generation (spiritual birth) through the symbol of the descent of the
Holy Ghost. Thus man becomes a child[458] again and is born into a
circle of brothers and sisters; but his mother is the “communion of the
saints,” the church, and his circle of brothers and sisters is humanity,
with whom he is united anew in the common inheritance of the primitive
symbol.

It seems that at the time in which Christianity had its origin this
process was especially necessary; for that period, as the result of the
incredible contrast between slavery and the freedom of the citizens and
masters, had entirely lost the consciousness of the common bond of
mankind. One of the next and most essential reasons for the energetic
regression to the infantile in Christianity, which goes hand in hand
with the revival of the incest problem, was probably to be found in the
far-reaching depreciation of women. At that time sexuality was so easily
attainable that the result could only be a very excessive depreciation
of the sexual object. The existence of personal values was first
discovered by Christianity, and there are many people who have not
discovered it even in the present day. However, the depreciation of the
sexual object hinders the outflow of that libido which cannot be
satisfied by sexual activity, because it belongs to an already
desexualized higher order. (If it were not so, a Don Juan could never be
neurotic; but the contrary is the case.) For how might those higher
valuations be given to a worthless, despised object? Therefore, the
libido, after having seen a “Helen in every woman” for so long a time,
sets out on a search for the difficult to obtain, the worshipped, but
perhaps unattainable, goal, and which in the unconscious is the mother.
Therefore the symbolic needs, based on the incest resistance, arise
again in an increased degree, which promptly transforms the beautiful,
sinful world of the Olympian Gods into incomprehensible, dreamlike, dark
mysteries, which, with their accessions of symbols and obscure
meaningful texts, remove us very far from the religious feelings of that
Roman-Græco world. When we see how much trouble Jesus took to make
acceptable to Nicodemus the symbolic perception of things, that is to
say, really a repression and veiling over of the actual facts, and how
important it was for the history of civilization in general, that people
thought and still think in this way, then we understand the revolt which
is raised everywhere against the psychologic discovery of the true
background of the neurotic or normal symbolism. Always and everywhere we
encounter the odious realm of sexuality, which represents to all
righteous people of to-day something defiled. However, less than 2,000
years have passed since the religious cult of sexuality was more or less
openly in full bloom. To be sure, they were heathen and did not know
better, but the nature of religious power does not change from cycle to
cycle. If one has once received an effectual impression of the sexual
contents of the ancient cults, and if one realizes oneself that the
religious experience, that is, the union[459] with the God of antiquity,
was understood by antiquity as a more or less concrete coitus, then
truly one can no longer fancy that the motor forces of a religion have
suddenly become wholly different since the birth of Christ. Exactly the
same thing has occurred as with the hysteric who at first indulges in
some quite unbeautiful, infantile sexual manifestations and afterwards
develops a hyperæsthetic negation in order to convince every one of his
special purity. _Christianity, with its repression of the manifest
sexual, is the negative of the ancient sexual cult._ The original cult
has changed its tokens.[460] One only needs to realize how much of the
gay paganism, even to the inclusion of unseemly Gods, has been taken
into the Christian church. Thus the old indecent Priapus celebrated a
gay festival of resurrection in St. Tychon.[461] Also partly in the
physicians Sts. Kosma and Damien, who graciously condescended to accept
the “membra virilia” in wax at their festival.[462] St. Phallus of old
memories emerges again to be worshipped in country chapels, to say
nothing of the rest of the paganism!

There are those who have not yet learned to recognize sexuality as a
function equivalent to hunger and who, therefore, consider it as
disgraceful that certain taboo institutions which were considered as
asexual refuges are now recognized as overflowing with sexual symbolism.
Those people are doomed to the painful realization that such is still
the case, in spite of their great revolt. One must learn to understand
that, opposed to the customary habit of thought, psychoanalytic thinking
reduces and resolves those symbolic structures which have become more
and more complicated through countless elaboration. This means a course
of reduction which would be an intellectual enjoyment if the object were
different. But here it becomes distressing, not only æsthetically, but
apparently also ethically, because the repressions which are to be
overcome have been brought about by our best intentions. We must
commence to overcome our virtuousness with the certain fear of falling
into baseness on the other side. This is certainly true, for
virtuousness is always inwardly compensated by a great tendency towards
baseness; and how many profligates are there who inwardly preserve a
mawkish virtue and moral megalomania? Both categories of men turn out to
be snobs when they come in contact with analytic psychology, because the
moral man has imagined an objective and cheap verdict on sexuality and
the unmoral man is entirely unaware of the vulgarity of his sexuality
and of his incapacity for an unselfish love. One completely forgets that
one can most miserably be carried away, not only by a vice, but also by
a virtue. There is a fanatic orgiastic self-righteousness which is just
as base and which entails just as much injustice and violence as a vice.

At this time, when a large part of mankind is beginning to discard
Christianity, it is worth while to understand clearly why it was
originally accepted. It was accepted in order to escape at last from the
brutality of antiquity. As soon as we discard it, licentiousness
returns, as impressively exemplified by life in our large modern cities.
This step is not a forward step, but a backward one. It is as with
individuals who have laid aside one form of transference and have no new
one. Without fail they will occupy regressively the old path of
transference, to their great detriment, because the world around them
has since then essentially changed. He who is repelled by the historical
and philosophical weakness of the Christian dogmatism and the religious
emptiness of an historical Jesus, of whose person we know nothing and
whose religious value is partly Talmudic, partly Hellenic wisdom, and
discards Christianity, and therewith Christian morality, is certainly
confronted with the ancient problem of licentiousness. To-day the
individual still feels himself restrained by the public hypocritical
opinion, and, therefore, prefers to lead a secret, separate life, but
publicly to represent morality. It might be different if men in general
all at once found the moral mask too dull, and if they realized how
dangerously their beasts lie in wait for each other, and then truly a
frenzy of demoralization might sweep over humanity. This is the dream,
the wish dream, of the morally limited man of to-day; he forgets
necessity, which strangles men and robs them of their breath, and which
with a stern hand interrupts every passion.

It must not be imputed to me that I am wishing to refer the libido back
by analytical reduction to the primitive, almost conquered, stages,
entirely forgetting the fearful misery this would entail for humanity.
Indeed, some individuals would let themselves be transported by the
old-time frenzy of sexuality, from which the burden of guilt has been
removed, to their own greatest detriment.

But these are the ones who under other circumstances would have
prematurely perished in some other way. However, I well know the most
effectual and most inexorable regulator of human sexuality. This is
necessity. With this leaden weight human lust will never fly too high.

To-day there are countless neurotics who are so simply because they do
not know how to seek happiness in their own manner. They do not even
realize where the lack lies. And besides these neurotics there are many
more normal people—and precisely people of the higher type—who feel
restricted and discontented. For all these reduction to the sexual
elements should be undertaken, in order that they may be reinstated into
the possession of their primitive self, and thereby learn to know and
value its relation to the entire personality. In this way alone can
certain requirements be fulfilled and others be repudiated as unfit
because of their infantile character. In this way the individual will
come to realize that certain things are to be sacrificed, although they
are accomplished, _but in another sphere_. We imagine that we have long
renounced, sacrificed and cut off our incest wish, and that nothing of
it is left. But it does not occur to us that this is not true, but that
we unconsciously commit incest in another territory. In religious
symbols, for example, we come across incest.[463] We consider the
incestuous wish vanished and lost, and then rediscover it in full force
in religion. This process or transformation has taken place
unconsciously in secular development. Just as in Part I it is shown that
a similar unconscious transformation of the libido is an ethically
worthless pose, and with which I compared the Christianity of early
Roman antiquity, where evidently licentiousness and brutality were
strongly resisted, so here I must remark in regard to the sublimation of
the incestuous libido, that the belief in the religious symbol has
ceased to be an ethical ideal; but it is an unconscious transformation
of the incest wish into symbolic acts and symbolic concepts which cheat
men, as it were, so that heaven appears to them as a father and earth as
a mother and the people upon it children and brothers and sisters. Thus
man can remain a child for all time and satisfy his incest wish all
unawares. This state would doubtless be ideal[464] if it were not
infantile and, therefore, merely a one-sided wish, which maintains a
childish attitude. _The reverse is anxiety._ Much is said of pious
people who remain unshaken in their trust in God and wander unswervingly
safe and blessed through the world. I have never seen this Chidher yet.
It is probably a wish figure. The rule is great uncertainty among
believers, which they drown with fanatical cries among themselves or
among others; moreover, they have religious doubts, moral uncertainty,
doubts of their own personality, feelings of guilt and, deepest of all,
great fear of the opposite aspect of reality, against which the most
highly intelligent people struggle with all their force. This other side
is the devil, the adversary or, expressed in modern terms, the
corrective of reality, of the infantile world picture, which has been
made acceptable through the predominating pleasure principle.[465] But
the world is not a garden of God, of the Father, but a place of terrors.
Not only is heaven no father and earth no mother and the people not
brothers nor sisters, but they represent hostile, destroying powers, to
which we are abandoned the more surely, the more childishly and
thoughtlessly we have entrusted ourselves to the so-called Fatherly hand
of God. One should never forget the harsh speech of the first Napoleon,
that the good God is always on the side of the heaviest artillery.

The religious myth meets us here as one of the greatest and most
significant human institutions which, despite misleading symbols,
nevertheless gives man assurance and strength, so that he may not be
overwhelmed by the monsters of the universe. The symbol, considered from
the standpoint of actual truth, is misleading, indeed, but it is
_psychologically true_,[466] because it was and is the bridge to all the
greatest achievements of humanity.

But this does not mean to say that this unconscious way of
transformation of the incest wish into religious exercises is the only
one or the only possible one. There is also a conscious recognition and
understanding with which we can take possession of this libido which is
bound up in incest and transformed into religious exercises so that we
no longer need the stage of religious symbolism for this end. It is
thinkable that instead of doing good to our fellow-men, for “the love of
Christ,” we do it from the knowledge that humanity, even as ourselves,
could not exist if, among the herd, the one could not sacrifice himself
for the other. _This would be the course of moral autonomy, of perfect
freedom, when man could without compulsion wish that which he must do,
and this from knowledge, without delusion through belief in the
religious symbols._

It is a positive creed which keeps us infantile and, therefore,
ethically inferior. Although of the greatest significance from the
cultural point of view and of imperishable beauty from the æsthetic
standpoint, this delusion can no longer ethically suffice humanity
striving after moral autonomy.

The infantile and moral danger lies in belief in the symbol because
through that we guide the libido to an imaginary reality. The simple
negation of the symbol changes nothing, for the entire mental
disposition remains the same; we merely remove the dangerous object. But
the object is not dangerous; the danger is our own infantile mental
state, for love of which we have lost something very beautiful and
ingenious through the simple abandonment of the religious symbol. I
think _belief should be replaced by understanding_; then we would keep
the beauty of the symbol, but still remain free from the depressing
results of submission to belief. This would be the psychoanalytic cure
for belief and disbelief.


The vision following upon that of the city is that of a “strange fir
tree with gnarled branches.” This vision does not seem extraordinary to
us after all that we have learned of the tree of life and its
associations with the city and the waters of life. This especial tree
seems simply to continue the category of the mother symbols. The
attribute “strange” probably signifies, as in dreams, a special
emphasis, that is, a special underlying complex material. Unfortunately,
the author gives us no individual material for this. As the tree already
suggested in the symbolism of the city is particularly emphasized
through the further development of Miss Miller’s visions here, I find it
necessary to discuss at some length the history of the symbolism of the
tree.

It is well known that trees have played a large part in the cult myth
from the remotest times. The typical myth tree is the tree of paradise
or of life which we discover abundantly used in Babylonian and also in
Jewish lore; and in prechristian times, the pine tree of Attis, the tree
or trees of Mithra; in Germanic mythology, Ygdrasil and so on. The
hanging of the Attis image on the pine tree; the hanging of Marsyas,
which became a celebrated artistic motive; the hanging of Odin; the
Germanic hanging sacrifices—indeed, the whole series of hanged
gods—teaches us that the hanging of Christ on the cross is not a unique
occurrence in religious mythology, but belongs to the same circle of
ideas as others. In this world of imagery the cross of Christ is the
tree of life, and equally the wood of death. This contrast is not
astounding. Just as the origin of man from trees was a legendary idea,
so there were also burial customs, in which people were buried in hollow
trees. From that the German language retains even now the expression
“Totenbaum” (tree of death) for a coffin. Keeping in mind the fact that
the tree is predominantly a mother symbol, then the mystic significance
of this manner of burial can be in no way incomprehensible to us. _The
dead are delivered back to the mother for rebirth._ We encounter this
symbol in the Osiris myth, handed down by Plutarch,[467] which is, in
general, typical in various aspects. Rhea is pregnant with Osiris; at
the same time also with Isis; Osiris and Isis mate even in the mother’s
womb (motive of the night journey on the sea with incest). Their son is
Arueris, later called Horus. It is said of Isis that she was born “in
absolute humidity” (τετάρτῃ δὲ τῆν Ἴσιν ἐν πανύγροις γενέσθαι[468]). It
is said of Osiris that a certain Pamyles in Thebes heard a voice from
the temple of Zeus while drawing water, which commanded him to proclaim
that Osiris was born μέγας βασιλεὺς εὐεργέτης Ὄσιρις.[469] In honor of
this the Pamylion were celebrated. They were similar to the
phallophorion. Pamyles is a phallic demon, similar to the original
Dionysus. The myth reduced reads: Osiris and Isis were generated by
phallus from the water (mother womb) in the ordinary manner. (Kronos had
made Rhea pregnant, the relation was secret, and Rhea was his sister.
Helios, however, observed it and cursed the relation.) Osiris was killed
in a crafty manner by the god of the underworld, Typhon, who locked him
in a chest. He was thrown into the Nile, and so carried out to sea.
Osiris, however, mated in the underworld with his second sister,
Nephthys (motive of the night journey to the sea with incest). One sees
here how the symbolism is developed. In the mother womb, before the
outward existence, Osiris commits incest; in death, the second
intrauterine existence, Osiris again commits incest. Both times with a
sister who is simply substituted for the mother as a legal, uncensured
symbol, since the marriage with a sister in early antiquity was not
merely tolerated, but was really commended. Zarathustra also recommended
the marriage of kindred. This form of myth would be impossible to-day,
because cohabitation with the sister, being incestuous, would be
repressed. The wicked Typhon entices Osiris craftily into a box or
chest; this distortion of the true state of affairs is transparent. The
“original sin” caused men to wish to go back into the mother again, that
is, the incestuous desire for the mother, condemned by law, is the ruse
supposedly invented by Typhon. The fact is, the ruse is very
significant. Man tries to sneak into rebirth through subterfuge in order
to become a child again. An early Egyptian hymn[470] even raises an
accusation against the mother Isis because she destroys the sun-god Rê
by treachery. It was interpreted as the ill-will of the mother towards
her son that she banished and betrayed him. The hymn describes how Isis
fashioned a snake, put it in the path of Rê, and how the snake wounded
the sun-god with a poisonous bite, from which wound he never recovered,
so that finally he had to retire on the back of the heavenly cow. But
this cow is the cow-headed goddess, just as Osiris is the bull Apis. The
mother is accused as if she were the cause of man flying to the mother
in order to be cured of the wound which she had herself inflicted. This
wound is the prohibition of incest.[471] Man is thus cut off from the
hopeful certainty of childhood and early youth, from all the
unconscious, instinctive happenings which permit the child to live as an
appendage of his parents, unconscious of himself. There must be
contained in this many sensitive memories of the animal age, where there
was not any “thou shalt” and “thou shalt not,” but all was just simple
occurrence. Even yet a deep animosity seems to live in man because a
brutal law has separated him from the instinctive yielding to his
desires and from the great beauty of the harmony of the animal nature.
This separation manifested itself, among other things, in the incest
prohibition and its correlates (laws of marriage, etc.); therefore pain
and anger relate to the mother, as if she were responsible for the
domestication of the sons of men. In order not to become conscious of
his incest wish (his backward harking to the animal nature), the son
throws all the burden of the guilt on the mother, from which arises the
idea of the “terrible mother.”[472] The mother becomes for him a spectre
of anxiety, a nightmare.[473]

After the completed “night journey to the sea,” the chest of Osiris was
cast ashore by Byblos, and lay in the branches of an Erica, which grew
around the coffin and became a splendid tree. The king of the land had
the tree placed as a column under his roof.[474] During this period of
Osiris’s absence (the winter solstice) the lament customary during
thousands of years for the dead god and his return occurs, and its
εὕρεσις is a feast of joy. A passage from the mournful quest of Isis is
especially noteworthy:

  “She flutters like a swallow lamenting around the column, which
  encloses the god sleeping in death.”

(This same motive returns in the Kyffhäuser saga.)

[Illustration: FRUCTIFICATION FOLLOWING UPON THE MITHRAIC SACRIFICE]

Later on Typhon dismembers the corpse and scatters the pieces. We come
upon the _motive of dismemberment_ in countless sun myths,[475] namely,
the inversion of the idea of the composition of the child in the
mother’s womb.[476] In fact, the mother Isis collects the pieces of the
body with the help of the jackal-headed Anubis. (She finds the corpse
with the help of dogs.) Here the nocturnal devourers of bodies, the dogs
and jackals, become the assistants of the composition, of the
reproduction.[477] The Egyptian vulture owes its symbolic meaning as
mother to this necrophagic habit. In Persian antiquity the corpses were
thrown out for the dogs to devour, just as to-day in the Indian funeral
pyres the removal of the carcasses is left to the vultures. Persia was
familiar with the custom of leading a dog to the bed of one dying,
whereupon the latter had to present the dog with a morsel.[478] The
custom, on its surface, evidently signifies that the morsel is to belong
to the dog, so that he will spare the body of the dead, precisely as
Cerberus was soothed by the honey-cakes which Hercules gave to him in
the journey to hell. But when we bear in mind the jackal-headed Anubis
who rendered his good services in the gathering together of the
dismembered Osiris, and the mother significance of the vulture, then the
question arises whether something deeper was not meant by this ceremony.
Creuzer has also concerned himself with this idea, and has come to the
conclusion that the astral form of the dog ceremony, that is, the
appearance of Sirius, the dog star, at the period of the sun’s highest
position, is related to this in that the introduction of the dog has a
compensatory significance, death being thereby made, reversedly, equal
to the sun’s highest position. This is quite in conformity with
psychologic thought, which results from the very general fact that death
is interpreted as entrance into the mother’s womb (rebirth). This
interpretation would seem to be supported by the otherwise enigmatic
function of the dog in the Sacrificium Mithriacum. In the monuments a
dog always leaps up upon the bull killed by Mithra. However, this
sacrifice is probably to be interpreted through the Persian legend, as
well as through the monument, as the moment of the _highest fecundity_.
The most beautiful expression of this is seen upon the magnificent
Mithra relief of Heddernheim. Upon one side of a large stone slab
(formerly probably rotating) is seen the stereotyped overthrowing and
sacrifice of the bull, but upon the other side stands Sol, with a bunch
of grapes in his hand, Mithra with the cornucopia, the Dadophores with
fruits, corresponding to the legend that all fecundity proceeds from the
dead bull of the world, fruits from the horns, wine from its blood,
grain from the tail, cattle from its sperma, leek from its nose, and so
on. Silvanus stands above this scene with the animals of the forest
arising from him. The significance suspected by Creuzer might very
easily belong to the dog in this connection.[479] Let us now turn back
to the myth of Osiris. In spite of the restoration of the corpse
accomplished by Isis, the resuscitation succeeds only incompletely in so
far as the phallus of Osiris cannot again be produced, because it was
eaten by the fishes; the power of life was wanting.[480] Osiris as a
phantom once more impregnated Isis, but the fruit is Harpocrates, who
was feeble in τοῖς κάτωθεν γυίοις (in the lower limbs), that is,
corresponding to the significance of γυῖον (at the feet). (Here, as is
plainly evident, foot is used in the phallic meaning.) This incurability
of the setting sun corresponds to the incurability of Rê in the
above-mentioned older Egyptian sun hymn. Osiris, although only a
phantom, now prepares the young sun, his son Horus, for a battle with
Typhon, the evil spirit of darkness. Osiris and Horus correspond to the
father-son symbolism mentioned in the beginning, which symbolic figure,
corresponding again to the above formulation,[481] is flanked by the
well-formed and ugly figures of Horus and Harpocrates, the latter
appearing mostly as a cripple, often represented distorted to a mere
caricature.[482]

He is confused in the tradition very much with Horus, with whom he also
has the name in common. Hor-pi-chrud, as his real name[483] reads, is
composed from _chrud_, “child,” and _Hor_, from the adjective _hri_ =
up, on top, and signifies the up-coming child, as the rising sun, and
opposed to Osiris, who personifies the setting sun—the sun of the west.
Thus Osiris and Horpichrud or Horus are one being, both husband and son
of the same mother, Hathor-Isis. The Chnum-Ra, the sun god of lower
Egypt, represented as a ram, has at his side, as the female divinity of
the land, Hatmehit, who wears the fish on her head. She is the mother
and wife of Bi-neb-did (Ram, local name of Chnum-Ra). In the hymn of
Hibis,[484] Amon-ra was invoked:

  “Thy (Chum-Ram) dwells in Mendes, united as the quadruple god Thmuis.
  He is the phallus, the lord of the gods. The bull of his mother
  rejoices in the cow (ahet, the mother) and man fructifies through his
  semen.”

In further inscriptions Hatmehit was directly referred to as the “mother
of Mendes.” (Mendes is the Greek form of Bi-neb-did: ram.) She is also
invoked as the “Good,” with the additional significance of _ta-nofert_,
or “young woman.” The cow as symbol of the mother is found in all
possible forms and variations of Hathor-Isis, and also in the female Nun
(parallel to this is the primitive goddess Nit or Neith), the protoplasm
which, related to the Hindoo Atman,[485] is equally of masculine and
feminine nature. Nun is, therefore, invoked as Amon,[486] the original
water,[487] which is in the beginning. He is also designated as the
father of fathers, the mother of mothers. To this corresponds the
invocation to the female side of Nun-Amon, of Nit or Neith.

  “Nit, the ancient, the mother of god, the mistress of Esne, the father
  of fathers, the mother of mothers, who is the beetle and the vulture,
  the being in its beginning.

  “Nit, the ancient, the mother who bore the light god, Râ, who bore
  first of all, when there was nothing which brought forth.

  “The cow, the ancient, which bore the sun, and then laid the germ of
  gods and men.”

The word “nun” has the significance of young, fresh, new, also the
on-coming waters of the Nile flood. In a transferred sense “nun” was
also used for the chaotic primitive waters; in general for the primitive
generating matter[488] which was personified by the goddess Nunet. From
her Nut sprang, the goddess of heaven, who was represented with a starry
body, and also as the heavenly cow with a starry body.

When the sun-god, little by little, retires on the back of the heavenly
cow, just as poor Lazarus returns into Abraham’s bosom, each has the
same significance; they return into the mother, in order to rise as
Horus. Thus it can be said that in the morning the goddess is the
mother, at noon the sister-wife and in the evening again the mother, who
receives the dying in her lap, reminding us of the Pietà of
Michelangelo. As shown by the illustration (from Dideron’s “Iconographie
Chrétienne”), this thought has been transferred as a whole into
Christianity.

Thus the fate of Osiris is explained: he passes into the mother’s womb,
the chest, the sea, the tree, the column of Astartes; he is dismembered,
re-formed, and reappears again in his son, Hor-pi-chrud.

Before entering upon the further mysteries which the beautiful myth
reveals to us, there is still much to be said about the symbol of the
tree. Osiris lies in the branches of the tree, surrounded by them, as in
the mother’s womb. The motive of _embracing and entwining_ is often
found in the sun myths, meaning that it is the _myth of rebirth_. A good
example is the Sleeping Beauty, also the legend of the girl who is
enclosed between the bark and the trunk, but who is freed by a youth
with his horn.[489] The horn is of gold and silver, which hints at the
sunbeam in the phallic meaning. (Compare the previous legend of the
horn.) An exotic legend tells of the sun-hero, how he must be freed from
the plant entwining around him.[490] A girl dreams of her lover who has
fallen into the water; she tries to save him, but first has to pull
seaweed and sea-grass from the water; then she catches him. In an
African myth the hero, after his act, must first be disentangled from
the seaweed. In a Polynesian myth the hero’s ship was encoiled by the
tentacles of a gigantic polyp. Rê’s ship is encoiled by a night serpent
on its night journey on the sea. In the poetic rendering of the history
of Buddha’s birth by Sir Edwin Arnold (“The Light of Asia,” p. 5) the
motive of an embrace is also found:

         “Queen Maya stood at noon, her days fulfilled,
         Under a Palso in the palace grounds,
         A stately trunk, straight as a temple shaft,
         With crown of glossy leaves and fragrant blooms;
         And knowing the time come—for all things knew—
         The conscious tree bent down its boughs to make
         A bower about Queen Maya’s majesty:
         And earth put forth a thousand sudden flowers
         To spread a couch: while ready for the bath
         The rock hard by gave out a limpid stream
         Of crystal flow. So brought she forth the child.”[491]

We come across a very similar motive in the cult legend of the Samian
Hera. Yearly it was claimed that the image disappeared from the temple,
was fastened somewhere on the seashore on a trunk of a Lygos tree and
wound about with its branches. There it was “found,” and was treated
with wedding-cake. This feast is undoubtedly a ἱερὸς γάμος (ritual
marriage), because in Samos there was a legend that Zeus had first had a
long-continued secret love relation with Hera. In Plataea and Argos, the
marriage procession was represented with bridesmaids, marriage feast,
and so on. The festival took place in the wedding month “Γαμηλιών”
(beginning of February). But in Plataea the image was previously carried
into a lonely place in the wood; approximately corresponding to the
legend of Plutarch that Zeus had kidnapped Hera and then had hidden her
in a cave of Cithaeron. According to our deductions, previously made, we
must conclude from this that there is still another train of thought,
namely, the magic charm of a rejuvenation, which is condensed in the
Hierosgamos. The disappearance and hiding in the wood, in the cave, on
the seashore, entwined in a willow tree, points to the death of the sun
and rebirth. The early springtime Γαμηλιών (the time of Marriage) in
February fits in with that very well. In fact, Pausanias informs us that
the Argivian Hera _became a maiden again by a yearly bath in the spring
of Canathos_. The significance of the bath is emphasized by the
information that in the Plataeian cult of Hera Teleia, Tritonian nymphs
appeared as water-carriers. In a tale from the Iliad, where the conjugal
couch of Zeus upon Mount Ida is described, it is said:[492]

         “The son of Saturn spake, and took his wife
         Into his arms, while underneath the pair,
         The sacred Earth threw up her freshest herbs:
         The dewy lotos, and the crocus-flower,
         And thick and soft the hyacinth. All these
         Upbore them from the ground. Upon this couch
         They lay, while o’er them a bright golden cloud
         Gathered and shed its drops of glistening dew.
         So slumbered on the heights of Gargarus
         The All-Father overcome by sleep and love,
         And held his consort in his arms.”
                                       —Trans. by W. C. Bryant.

Drexler recognizes in this description an unmistakable allusion to the
garden of the gods on the extreme western shore of the ocean, an idea
which might have been taken from a Prehomeric Hierosgamos hymn. This
western land is the land of the setting sun, whither Hercules,
Gilgamesh, etc., hasten with the sun, in order to find there
immortality, where the sun and the maternal sea unite in an eternally
rejuvenating intercourse. Our supposition of a condensation of the
Hierosgamos with the myth of rebirth is probably confirmed by this.
Pausanias mentions a related myth fragment where the statue of Artemis
Orthia is also called Lygodesma (chained with willows), because it was
found in a willow tree; this tale seems to be related to the general
Greek celebration of Hierosgamos with the above-mentioned customs.[493]

The motive of the “devouring” which Frobenius has shown to be a regular
constituent of the sun myths is closely related to this (also
metaphorically). The “whale dragon” (mother’s womb) always “devours” the
hero. The devouring may also be partial instead of complete.

A six-year-old girl, who goes to school unwillingly, dreams that her leg
is encircled by a large red worm. She had a tender interest for this
creature, contrary to what might be expected. An adult patient, who
cannot separate from an older friend on account of an extraordinarily
strong mother transference, dreams that “she had to get across some deep
water (typical idea!) with this friend; her friend fell in (mother
transference); she tries to drag her out, and almost succeeds, but a
large crab seizes on the dreamer by the foot and tries to pull her in.”

Etymology also confirms this conception: There is an Indo-Germanic root
_vélu-_, _vel-_, with the meaning of “encircling, surrounding, turning.”
From this is derived Sanskrit _val_, _valati_ = to cover, to surround,
to encircle, to encoil (symbol of the snake); _vallî_ = creeping plant;
_ulûta_ = boa-constrictor = Latin _volûtus_, Lithuanian _velù_, _velti_
= _wickeln_ (to roll up); Church Slavonian _vlina_ = Old High German,
_wella_ = _Welle_ (wave or billow). To the root _vélu_ also belongs the
root _vlvo_, with the meaning “cover, corium, womb.” (The serpent on
account of its casting its skin is an excellent symbol of rebirth.)
Sanskrit _ulva_, _ulba_ has the same meaning; Latin _volva_, _volvula_,
_vulva_. To _vélu_ also belongs the root _ulvorâ_, with the meaning of
“fruitful field, covering or husk of plants, sheath.” Sanskrit _urvárâ_
= sown field. Zend _urvara_ = plant. (See the personification of the
ploughed furrow.) The same root _vel_ has also the meaning of “wallen”
(to undulate). Sanskrit _ulmuka_ = conflagration. Ϝαλέα, Ϝέλα, Gothic
_vulan_ = _wallen_ (to undulate). Old High German and Middle High German
_walm_ = heat, glow.[494] It is typical that in the state of
“involution” the hair of the sun-hero always falls out from the heat.
Further the root _vel_ is found with the meaning “to sound,[495] and to
will, to wish” (libido!).

The motive of encoiling is mother symbolism.[496] This is verified by
the fact that the trees, for example, bring forth again (like the whale
in the legend of Jonah). They do that very generally, thus in the Greek
legend the Μελίαι νύμφαι[497] of the ash trees are the mothers of the
race of men of the Iron Age. In northern mythology, Askr, the ash tree,
is the primitive father. His wife, Embla, is the “Emsige,” the active
one, and not, as was earlier believed, the aspen. _Askr_ probably means,
in the first place, the phallic spear of the ash tree. (Compare the
Sabine custom of parting the bride’s hair with the lance.) The Bundehesh
symbolizes the first people, Meschia and Meschiane, as the tree Reivas,
one part of which places a branch in a hole of the other part. The
material which, according to the northern myth, was animated by the god
when he created men[498] is designated as _trê_ = wood, tree.[499] I
recall also ὕλη = wood, which in Latin is called _materia_. In the wood
of the “world-ash,” Ygdrasil, a human pair hid themselves at the end of
the world, from whom sprang the race of the renewed world.[500] The Noah
motive is easily recognized in this conception (the night journey on the
sea); at the same time, in the symbol of Ygdrasil, a mother idea is
again apparent. At the moment of the destruction of the world the
“world-ash” becomes the guardian mother, the tree of death and life, one
“ἐγκόλπιον.”[501][502] This function of rebirth of the “world-ash” also
helps to elucidate the representation met with in the Egyptian Book of
the Dead, which is called “the gate of knowledge of the soul of the
East”:

  “I am the pilot in the holy keel, I am the steersman who allows no
  rest in the ship of Râ.[503] I know that tree of emerald green from
  whose midst Râ rises to the height of the clouds.”[504]

Ship and tree of the dead (death ship and death tree) are here closely
connected. The conception is that Râ, born from the tree, ascends
(Osiris in the Erika). The representation of the sun-god Mithra is
probably explained in the same way. He is represented upon the
Heddernheim relief, with half his body arising from the top of a tree.
(In the same way numerous other monuments show Mithra half embodied in
the rock, and illustrate a rock birth, similar to Men.) Frequently there
is a stream near the birthplace of Mithra. This conglomeration of
symbols is also found in the birth of Aschanes, the first Saxon king,
who grew from the Harz rocks, which are in the midst of the wood[505]
near a fountain.[506] Here we find all the mother symbols united—earth,
wood, water, three forms of tangible matter. We can wonder no longer
that in the Middle Ages the tree was poetically addressed with the title
of honor, “mistress.” Likewise it is not astonishing that the Christian
legend transformed the tree of death, the cross, into the tree of life,
so that Christ was often represented on a living and fruit-bearing tree.
This reversion of the cross symbol to the tree of life, which even in
Babylon was an important and authentic religious symbol, is also
considered entirely probable by Zöckler,[507] an authority on the
history of the cross. The pre-Christian meaning of the symbol does not
contradict this interpretation; on the contrary, its meaning is life.
The appearance of the cross in the sun worship (here the cross with
equal arms, and the swastika cross, as representative of the sun’s
rays), as well as in the cult of the goddess of love (Isis with the crux
ansata, the rope, the speculum veneris ♀, etc.), in no way contradicts
the previous historical meaning. The Christian legend has made abundant
use of this symbolism.

[Illustration: CHRIST ON THE TREE OF LIFE]

The student of mediæval history is familiar with the representation of
the cross growing above the grave of Adam. The legend was that Adam was
buried on Golgotha. Seth had planted on his grave a branch of the
“paradise tree,” which became the cross and tree of death of
Christ.[508] We all know that through Adam’s guilt sin and death came
into the world, and Christ through his death has redeemed us from the
guilt. To the question in what had Adam’s guilt consisted it is said
that the unpardonable sin to be expiated by death was that he dared to
pick a fruit from the paradise tree.[509] The results of this are
described in an Oriental legend. One to whom it was permitted to cast
one look into Paradise after the fall saw the tree there and the four
streams. But the tree was withered, and in its branches lay an infant.
(The mother had become pregnant.[510])

This remarkable legend corresponds to the Talmudic tradition that Adam,
before Eve, already possessed a demon wife, by name Lilith, with whom he
_quarrelled for mastership_. But Lilith raised herself into the air
through the magic of the name of God and hid herself in the sea. Adam
forced her back with the help of three angels.[511] Lilith became a
nightmare, a Lamia, who threatened those with child and who kidnapped
the new-born child. The parallel myth is that of the Lamias, the
spectres of the night, who terrified the children. The original legend
is that Lamia enticed Zeus, but the jealous Hera, however, caused Lamia
to bring only dead children into the world. Since that time the raging
Lamia is the persecutor of children, whom she destroys wherever she can.
This motive frequently recurs in fairy tales, where the mother often
appears directly as a murderess or as a _devourer of men_;[512] a German
paradigm is the well-known tale of Hansel and Gretel. Lamia is actually
a large, voracious fish, which establishes the connection with the
whale-dragon myth so beautifully worked out by Frobenius, in which the
sea monster devours the sun-hero for rebirth and where the hero must
employ every stratagem to conquer the monster. Here again we meet with
the idea of the “terrible mother” in the form of the voracious fish, the
mouth of death.[513] In Frobenius there are numerous examples where the
monster has devoured not only men but also animals, plants, an entire
country, all of which are redeemed by the hero to a glorious rebirth.

The Lamias are typical nightmares, the feminine nature of which is
abundantly proven.[514] Their universal peculiarity is that they ride
upon their victims. Their counterparts are the spectral horses which
bear their riders along in a mad gallop. One recognizes very easily in
these symbolic forms the type of anxious dream which, as Riklin
shows,[515] has already become important for the interpretation of fairy
tales through the investigation of Laistner.[516] The typical riding
takes on a special aspect through the results of the analytic
investigation of infantile psychology; the two contributions of Freud
and myself[517] have emphasized, on one side, the anxiety significance
of the horse, on the other side the sexual meaning of the phantasy of
riding. When we take these experiences into consideration, we need no
longer be surprised that the maternal “world-ash” Ygdrasil is called in
German “the frightful horse.” Cannegieter[518] says of nightmares:

  “Abigunt eas nymphas (matres deas, mairas) hodie rustici osse capitis
  equini tectis injecto, cujusmodi ossa per has terras in rusticorum
  villis crebra est animadvertere. Nocte autem ad concubia equitare
  creduntur et equos fatigare ad longinqua itinera.”[519]

The connection of nightmare and horse seems, at first glance, to be
present also etymologically—nightmare and mare. The Indo-Germanic root
for märe is _mark_. Märe is the horse, English mare; Old High German
_marah_ (male horse) and _meriha_ (female horse); Old Norse _merr_
(_mara_ = nightmare); Anglo-Saxon _myre_ (_maira_). The French
“cauchmar” comes from _calcare_ = to tread, to step (of iterative
meaning, therefore, “to tread” or press down). It was also said of the
cock who stepped upon the hen. This movement is also typical for the
nightmare; therefore, it is said of King Vanlandi, “Mara trad han,” the
Mara trod on him in sleep even to death.[520] A synonym for nightmare is
the “troll” or “treter”[521] (treader). This movement (_calcare_) is
proven again by the experience of Freud and myself with children, where
a special infantile sexual significance is attached to stepping or
kicking.

The common Aryan root _mar_ means “to die”; therefore, _mara_ the “dead”
or “death.” From this results _mors_, μόρος = fate (also μοῖρα[522]). As
is well known, the Nornes sitting under the “world-ash” personify fate
like Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. With the Celts the conception of the
Fates probably passes into that of _matres_ and _matronæ_, which had a
divine significance among the Germans. A well-known passage in Julius
Cæsar (“De Bello Gallico,” i: 50) informs us of this meaning of the
mother:

  “Ut matres familias eorum sortibus et vaticinationibus[523]
  declararent, utrum prœlium committi ex usu esset, nec ne.”[524]

In Slav _mara_ means “witch”; poln. _mora_ = demon, nightmare; _mōr_ or
_mōre_ (Swiss-German) means “sow,” also as an insult. The Bohemian
_mura_ means “nightmare” and “evening moth, Sphinx.” This strange
connection is explained through analysis where it often occurs that
animals with movable shells (Venus shell) or wings are utilized for very
transparent reasons as symbols of the female genitals.[525] The
Sphingina are the twilight moths; they, like the nightmare, come in the
darkness. Finally, it is to be observed that the sacred olive tree of
Athens is called “μορία” (that was derived from μόρος). Halirrhotios
wished to cut down the tree, but killed himself with the axe in the
attempt.

The sound resemblance of _mar_, _mère_ with _meer_ = sea and Latin
_mare_ = sea is remarkable, although etymologically accidental. Might it
refer back to “the great primitive idea of the mother” who, in the first
place, meant to us our individual world and afterwards became the symbol
of all worlds? Goethe said of the mothers: “They are encircled by images
of all creatures.” The Christians, too, could not refrain from reuniting
their mother of God with water. “Ave Maris stella” is the beginning of a
hymn to Mary. Then again it is the horses of Neptune which symbolize the
waves of the sea. It is probably of importance that the infantile word
ma-ma (mother’s breast) is repeated in its initial sound in all possible
languages, and that the mothers of two religious heroes are called Mary
and Maya. That the mother is the horse of the child is to be seen most
plainly in the primitive custom of carrying the child on the back or
letting it ride on the hip. Odin hung on the “world-ash,” the mother,
his “horse of terror.” The Egyptian sun-god sits on the back of his
mother, the heavenly cow.

We have already seen that, according to Egyptian conceptions, Isis, the
mother of god, played an evil trick on the sun-god with the poisonous
snake; also Isis behaved treacherously toward her son Horus in
Plutarch’s tradition. That is, Horus vanquished the evil Typhon, who
murdered Osiris treacherously (terrible mother = Typhon). Isis,
_however, set him free again_. Horus thereupon rebelled, _laid hands on
his mother and tore the regal ornaments from her head_, whereupon Hermes
gave her a cow’s head. Then Horus conquered Typhon a second time.
Typhon, in the Greek legend, is a monstrous dragon. Even without this
confirmation it is evident that the battle of Horus is the typical
battle of the sun-hero with the whale-dragon. Of the latter we know that
it is a symbol of the “dreadful mother,” of the voracious jaws of death,
where men are dismembered and ground up.[526] Whoever vanquishes this
monster has gained a new or eternal youth. For this purpose one must, in
spite of all dangers, descend into the belly of the monster[527]
(journey to hell) and spend some time there. (Imprisonment by night in
the sea.)

The battle with the night serpent signifies, therefore, the conquering
of the mother, who is suspected of an infamous crime, that is, the
betrayal of the son. A full confirmation of the connection comes to us
through the fragment of the Babylonian epic of the creation, discovered
by George Smith, mostly from the library of Asurbanipal. The period of
the origin of the text was probably in the time of Hammurabi (2,000
B.C.). We learn from this account of creation[528] that the sun-god Ea,
the son of the depths of the waters and the god of wisdom,[529] had
conquered Apsû. Apsû is the creator of the great gods (he existed in the
beginning in a sort of trinity with Tiâmat—the mother of gods and Mumu,
his vizier). Ea conquered the father, but Tiâmat plotted revenge. She
prepared herself for battle against the gods.

    “Mother Hubur, who created everything,
    Procured invincible weapons, gave birth to giant snakes
    With pointed teeth, relentless in every way;
    Filled their bellies with poison instead of blood,
    Furious gigantic lizards, clothed them with horrors,
    Let them swell with the splendor of horror, formed them rearing,
    Whoever sees them shall die of terror.
    Their bodies shall rear without turning to escape.
    She arrayed the lizards, dragons and Laḫamen,
    Hurricanes, mad dogs, scorpion men,
    Mighty storms, fishmen and rams.
    With relentless weapons, without fear of conflict,
    Powerful are Tiâmat’s commands, irresistible are they.

    “After Tiâmat had powerfully done her work
    She conceived evil against the gods, her descendants;
    In order to revenge Apsu, Tiâmat did evil.
    When Ea now heard this thing
    He became painfully anxious, sorrowfully he sat himself.
    He went to the father, his creator, Ans̆ar,
    To relate to him all that Tiâmat plotted.
    Tiâmat, our mother, has taken an aversion to us,
    Has prepared a riotous mob, furiously raging.”

The gods finally opposed Marduk, the god of spring, the victorious sun,
against the fearful host of Tiâmat. Marduk prepared for battle. Of his
chief weapon, which he created, it is said:

 “He created the evil wind, Imḫullu, the south storm and the hurricane,
 The fourth wind, the seventh wind, the whirlwind and the harmful wind,
 Then let he loose the winds, which he had created, the seven:
 To cause confusion within Tiâmat, they followed behind him,
 Then the lord took up the cyclone, his great weapon;
 For his chariot he mounted the stormwind, the incomparable, the terrible
    one.”

His chief weapon is the wind and a net, with which he will entangle
Tiâmat. He approaches Tiâmat and challenges her to a combat.

   “Then Tiâmat and Marduk, the wise one of the gods, came together,
   Rising for the fight, approaching to the battle:
   Then the lord spread out his net and caught her.
   He let loose the Imḫullu in his train at her face,
   Then Tiâmat now opened her mouth as wide as she could.
   He let the Imḫullu rush in so that her lips could not close;
   With the raging winds he filled her womb.
   Her inward parts were seized and she opened wide her mouth.
   He touched her with the spear, dismembered her body,
   He slashed her inward parts, and cut out her heart,
   Subdued her and put an end to her life.
   He threw down her body and stepped upon it.”

After Marduk slew the mother, he devised the creation of the world.

         “There the lord rested contemplating her body,
         Then divided he the Colossus, planning wisely.
         He cut it apart like a flat fish, into two parts,[530]
         One half he took and with it he covered the Heavens.”

In this manner Marduk created the universe from the mother. It is
clearly evident that the killing of the mother-dragon here takes place
under the idea of a wind fecundation with negative accompaniments.

The world is created from the mother, that is to say, from the libido
taken away from the mother through sacrifice. We shall have to consider
this significant formula more closely in the last chapter. The most
interesting parallels to this primitive myth are to be found in the
literature of the Old Testament, as Gunkel[531] has brilliantly pointed
out. It is worth while to trace the psychology of these parallels.

  _Isaiah_ li:9:

  (9) “Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the Lord; awake as in the
  ancient days, in the generation of old. Art thou not it that hath cut
  Rahab, and wounded the dragon?

  (10) “Art thou not it which hath dried the sea, the waters of the
  great deep, that hath made the depths of the sea a way for the
  ransomed to pass over?”

The name of Rahab is frequently used for Egypt in the Old Testament,
also dragon. _Isaiah_, chapter xxx, verse 7, calls Egypt “the silent
Rahab,” and means, therefore, something evil and hostile. Rahab is the
well-known whore of Jericho, who later, as the wife of Prince Salma,
became the ancestress of Christ. Here Rahab appeared as the old dragon,
as Tiâmat, against whose evil power Marduk, or Jehovah, marched forth.
The expression “the ransomed” refers to the Jews freed from bondage, but
it is also mythological, for the hero again frees those previously
devoured by the whale. (Frobenius.)

  _Psalm_, lxxxix:10:

  “Thou hast broken Rahab in pieces, as one that is slain.”

  _Job_ xxvi:12–13:

  “He divideth the sea with his power, and by his understanding he
  smiteth through the proud.

  “By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens, his hand hath formed the
  crooked serpent.”

Gunkel places Rahab as identical with Chaos, that is, the same as
Tiâmat. Gunkel translates “the breaking to pieces” as “violation.”
Tiâmat or Rahab as the mother is also the whore. Gilgamesh treats Ishtar
in this way when he accuses her of whoredom. This insult towards the
mother is very familiar to us from dream analysis. The dragon Rahab
appears also as Leviathan, the water monster (maternal sea).

  _Psalm_ lxxiv:

  (13) “Thou didst divide the sea by thy strength: thou brakest the
  heads of the dragons in the waters.

  (14) “Thou brakest the heads of Leviathan in pieces and gavest him to
  be meat to the people inhabiting the wilderness.

  (15) “Thou didst cleave the fountain and the flood: thou didst dry up
  mighty rivers.”

While only the phallic meaning of the Leviathan was emphasized in the
first part of this work, we now discover also the maternal meaning. A
further parallel is:

  _Isaiah_ xxvii:1:

  “In that day, the Lord with his cruel and great and strong sword shall
  punish Leviathan, the piercing serpent, even Leviathan that crooked
  serpent, and he shall slay the dragon that is in the sea.”

We come upon a special motive in Job, chap. xli, v. 1:

  “Canst thou draw out Leviathan with an hook? or his tongue with a cord
  which thou lettest down? Canst thou put an hook in his nose? or bore
  his jaw through with a thorn?”

Numerous parallels to this motive are to be found among exotic myths in
Frobenius, where the maternal sea monster was also fished for. The
comparison of the mother libido with the elementary powers of the sea
and the powerful monsters borne by the earth show how invincibly great
is the power of that libido which we designate as maternal.

We have already seen that the incest prohibition prevents the son from
reproducing himself through the mother. But this must be done by the
god, as is shown with remarkable clearness and candor in the pious
Egyptian mythology, which has preserved the most ancient and simple
concepts. Thus Chnum, the “moulder,” the “potter,” the “architect,”
moulds his egg upon the potter’s wheel, for he is “the immortal growth,”
“the reproduction of himself and his own rebirth, the creator of the
egg, which emerged from the primitive waters.” In the Book of the Dead
it says:

  “I am the sublime falcon (the Sun-god), which has come forth from his
  egg.”

Another passage in the Book of the Dead reads:

  “I am the creator of Nun, who has taken his place in the underworld.
  My nest is not seen and my egg is not broken.”

A further passage reads:

  “that great and noble god in his egg: who is his own originator of
  that which has arisen from him.”[532]

Therefore, the god Nagaga-uer is also called the “great cackler.” (Book
of the Dead.) “I cackle like a goose and I whistle like a falcon.” The
mother is reproached with the incest prohibition as an act of wilful
maliciousness by which she excludes the son from immortality. Therefore,
a god must at least rebel, overpower and chastise the mother. (Compare
Adam and Lilith, above.) The “overpowering” signifies incestuous
rape.[533] Herodotus[534] has preserved for us a valuable fragment of
this religious phantasy.

  “And how they celebrate their feast to Isis in the city of Busiris, I
  have already previously remarked. After the sacrifice, all of them,
  men and women, full ten thousand people, begin to beat each other. But
  it would be sin for me to mention for whom they do beat each other.

  “But in Papremis they celebrated the sacrifice with holy actions, as
  in the other places. About the time when the sun sets, some few
  priests are busy around the image; most of them stand at the entrance
  with wooden clubs, and others who would fulfil a vow, more than a
  thousand men, also stand in a group with wooden cudgels opposite them.

  “Now on the eve of the festival, they take the image out in a small
  and gilded temple into another sacred edifice. Then the few who remain
  with the image draw a four-wheeled chariot upon which the temple
  stands with the image which it encloses. But the others who stand in
  the anterooms are not allowed to enter. Those under a vow, who stand
  by the god, beat them off. Now occurs a furious battle with clubs, in
  which they bruise each other’s bodies and as I believe, many even die
  from their wounds: notwithstanding this, the Egyptians consider that
  none die.

  “The natives claim that this festival gathering was introduced for the
  following reason: in this sanctuary lived the mother of Ares.[535] Now
  Ares was brought up abroad and when he became a man he came to have
  _intercourse with his mother_. The servants of his mother who had seen
  him did not allow him to enter peacefully, but prevented him; at which
  he fetched people from another city, who mistreated the servants and
  had entrance to his mother. Therefore, they asserted that this
  slaughter was introduced at the feast for Ares.”

It is evident that the pious here fight their way to a share in the
mystery of the raping of the mother.[536] This is the part which belongs
to them,[537] while the heroic deed belongs to the god.[538] By Ares is
meant the Egyptian Typhon, as we have good reasons to suppose. _Thus
Typhon represents the evil longing for the mother_ with which other myth
forms reproach the mother, according to the well-known example. The
death of Balder, quite analogous to the death of Osiris (attack of
sickness of Rê), because of the wounding by the branch of the mistletoe,
seems to need a similar explanation. It is recounted in the myth how all
creatures were pledged not to hurt Balder, save only the mistletoe,
which was forgotten, presumably because it was too young. This killed
Balder. Mistletoe is a parasite. The female piece of wood in the
fire-boring ritual was obtained[539] from the wood of a parasitical or
creeping plant, the fire mother. The “mare” rests upon “Marentak,” in
which Grimm suspects the mistletoe. The mistletoe was a remedy against
barrenness. In Gaul the Druid alone was allowed to climb the holy oak
amid solemn ceremonies after the completed sacrifice, in order to cut
off the ritual mistletoe.[540] This act is a religiously limited and
organized incest. That which grows on the tree is the child,[541] which
man might have by the mother; then man himself would be in a renewed and
rejuvenated form; and precisely this is what man cannot have, because
the incest prohibition forbids it. As the Celtic custom shows, the act
is performed by the priest only, with the observation of certain
ceremonies; the hero god and the redeemer of the world, however, do the
unpermitted, the superhuman thing, and through it purchase immortality.
The dragon, who must be overcome for this purpose, means, as must have
been for some time clearly seen, the resistance against the incest.
Dragon and serpent, especially with the characteristic accumulation of
anxiety attributes, are the symbolic representations of anxiety which
correspond to the repressed incest wish. It is, therefore, intelligible,
when we come across the tree with the snake again and again (in Paradise
the snake even tempts to sin). The snake or dragon possesses in
particular the meaning of treasure guardian and defender. The phallic,
as well as the feminine, meaning of the dragon[542] indicates that it is
again a symbol of the sexual neutral (or bisexual) libido, that is to
say, a symbol of the _libido in opposition_. In this significance the
black horse, Apaosha, the demon of opposition, appears in the old
Persian song, Tishtriya, where it obstructs the sources of the rain
lake. The white horse Tishtriya makes two futile attempts to vanquish
Apaosha; at the third attempt, with the help of Ahuramazda, he is
successful.[543] Whereupon the sluices of heaven open and a fruitful
rain pours down upon the earth.[544] In this song one sees very
beautifully in the choice of symbol how libido is opposed to libido,
will against will, the discordance of primitive man with himself, which
he recognizes again in all the adversity and contrasts of external
nature.

The symbol of the tree encoiled by the serpent may also be translated as
the mother defended from incest by resistance. This symbol is by no
means rare upon Mithraic monuments. The rock encircled by a snake is to
be comprehended similarly, because Mithra is one born from a rock. The
menace of the new-born by the snake (Mithra, Hercules) is made clear
through the legend of Lilith and Lamia. Python, the dragon of Leto, and
Poine, who devastates the land of Crotopus, are sent by the father of
the new-born. This idea indicates the localization, well known in
psychoanalysis, of the incest anxiety in the father. The father
represents the active repulse of the incest wish of the son. The crime,
unconsciously wished for by the son, is imputed to the father under the
guise of a pretended murderous purpose, this being the cause of the
mortal fear of the son for the father, a frequent neurotic symptom. In
conformity with this idea, the monster to be overcome by the young hero
is frequently a giant, the guardian of the treasure or the woman. A
striking example is the giant Chumbaba in the Gilgamesh epic, who
protected the garden of Ishtar;[545] he is overcome by Gilgamesh,
whereby Ishtar is won. Thereupon she makes erotic advances towards
Gilgamesh.[546] This data should be sufficient to render intelligible
the rôle of Horus in Plutarch, especially the violent usage of Isis.
Through overpowering the mother the hero becomes equal to the sun; he
reproduces himself. He wins the strength of the invincible sun, the
power of eternal rejuvenation. We thus understand a series of
representations from the Mithraic myth on the Heddernheim relief. There
we see, first of all, the birth of Mithra from the top of the tree; the
next representation shows him carrying the conquered bull (comparable to
the monstrous bull overcome by Gilgamesh). This bull signifies the
concentrated significance of the monster, the father, who as giant and
dangerous animal embodies the incest prohibition, and agrees with the
individual libido of the sun-hero, which he overcomes by self-sacrifice.
The third picture represents Mithra, when he grasps the head ornament of
the sun, the nimbus. This act recalls to us, first of all, the violence
of Horus towards Isis; secondly, the Christian basic thought, _that
those who have overcome attain the crown of eternal life_. On the fourth
picture Sol kneels before Mithra. These last two representations show
plainly that Mithra has taken to himself the strength of the sun, so
that he becomes the lord of the sun as well. He has conquered “his
animal nature,” the bull. The animal knows no incest prohibition; man
is, therefore, man because he conquers the incest wish, that is, the
animal nature. Thus Mithra has sacrificed his animal nature, the incest
wish, and with that has overcome the mother, that is to say, “the
terrible death-bringing mother.” A solution is already anticipated in
the Gilgamesh epic through the formal renunciation of the horrible
Ishtar by the hero. The overcoming of the mother in the Mithraic
sacrifice, which had almost an ascetic character, took place no longer
by the archaic overpowering, but through the renunciation, the sacrifice
of the wish. The primitive thought of incestuous reproduction through
entrance into the mother’s womb had already been displaced, because man
was so far advanced in domestication that he believed that the eternal
life of the sun is reached, not through the perpetration of incest, but
through the sacrifice of the incest wish. This important change
expressed in the Mithraic mystery finds its full expression for the
first time in the symbol of the crucified God. A bleeding human
sacrifice was hung on the tree of life for Adam’s sins.[547] The
first-born sacrifices its life to the mother when he suffers, hanging on
the branch, a disgraceful and painful death, a mode of death which
belongs to the most ignominious forms of execution, which Roman
antiquity had reserved for only the lowest criminal. Thus the hero dies,
as if he had committed the most shameful crime; he does this by
returning into the birth-giving branch of the tree of life, at the same
time paying for his guilt with the pangs of death. The animal nature is
repressed most powerfully in this deed of the highest courage and the
greatest renunciation; therefore, a greater salvation is to be expected
for humanity, because such a deed alone seems appropriate to expiate
Adam’s guilt.

[Illustration: BULL-SACRIFICE OF MITHRA]

As has already been mentioned, the hanging of the sacrifice on the tree
is a generally widespread ritual custom, Germanic examples being
especially abundant. The ritual consists in the sacrifice being pierced
by a spear.[548] Thus it is said of Odin (Edda, Havamal):

               “I know that I hung on the windswept tree
               Nine nights through,
               Wounded by a spear, dedicated to Odin
               I myself to myself.”

The hanging of the sacrifice to the cross also occurred in America prior
to its discovery. Müller[549] mentions the Fejervaryian manuscript (a
Mexican hieroglyphic kodex), at the conclusion of which there is a
colossal cross, in the middle of which there hangs a bleeding divinity.
Equally interesting is the cross of Palenque;[550] up above is a bird,
on either side two human figures, who look at the cross and hold a child
against it either for sacrifice or baptism. The old Mexicans are said to
have invoked the favor of Centeotls, “the daughter of heaven and the
goddess of wheat,” every spring by nailing upon the cross a youth or a
maiden and by shooting the sacrifice with arrows.[551] The name of the
Mexican cross signifies “tree of our life or flesh.”[552]

An effigy from the Island of Philae represents Osiris in the form of a
crucified god, wept over by Isis and Nephthys, the sister consort.[553]

The meaning of the cross is certainly not limited to the tree of life,
as has already been shown. Just as the tree of life has also a phallic
sub-meaning (as libido symbol), so there is a further significance to
the cross than life and immortality.[554] Müller uses it as a sign of
rain and of fertility, because it appears among the Indians distinctly
as a magic charm of fertility. It goes without saying, therefore, that
it plays a rôle in the sun cult. It is also noteworthy that the sign of
the cross is an important sign for the keeping away of all evil, like
the ancient gesture of Manofica. The phallic amulets also serve the same
purpose. Zöckler appears to have overlooked the fact that the phallic
Crux Ansata is the same cross which has flourished in countless examples
in the soil of antiquity. Copies of this Crux Ansata are found in many
places, and almost every collection of antiquities possesses one or more
specimens.[555]

Finally, it must be mentioned that the form of the human body is
imitated in the cross as of a man with arms outspread. It is remarkable
that in early Christian representations Christ is not nailed to the
cross, but stands before it with arms outstretched.[556] Maurice[557]
gives a striking basis for this interpretation when he says:

  “It is a fact not less remarkable than well attested, that the Druids
  in their groves were accustomed to select the most stately and
  beautiful tree as an emblem of the deity they adored, and cutting off
  the side branches, they affixed two of the largest of them to the
  highest part of the trunk, in such a manner that those branches
  extended on each side like the arms of a man, and together with the
  body presented the appearance of a huge cross; and in the bark in
  several places was also inscribed the letter Τ (tau).”[558]

“The tree of knowledge” of the Hindoo Dschaina sect assumes human form;
it was represented as a mighty, thick trunk in the form of a human head,
from the top of which grew out two longer branches hanging down at the
sides and one short, vertical, uprising branch crowned by a bud or
blossom-like thickening.[559] Robertson in his “Evangelical Myths”
mentions that in the Assyrian system there exists the representation of
the divinity in the form of a cross, in which the vertical beam
corresponds to a human form and the horizontal beam to a pair of
conventionalized wings. Old Grecian idols such, for example, as were
found in large numbers in Aegina have a similar character, an
immoderately long head and arms slightly raised, wing-shaped, and in
front distinct breasts.[560]

I must leave it an open question as to whether the symbol of the cross
has any relation to the two pieces of wood in the religious fire
production, as is frequently claimed. It does appear, however, as if the
cross symbol actually still possessed the significance of “union,” for
this idea belongs to the fertility charm, and especially to the thought
of eternal rebirth, which is most intimately bound up with the cross.
The thought of “union,” expressed by the symbol of the cross, is met
with in “Timaios” of Plato, where the world soul is conceived as
stretched out between heaven and earth in the form of an X (Chi); hence
in the form of a “St. Andrew’s cross.” When we now learn, furthermore,
that the world soul contains in itself _the world as a body_, then this
picture inevitably reminds us of the mother.

  (_Dialogues of Plato._ Jowett, Vol. II, page 528.)

  “And in the center he put the soul, which he diffused through the
  whole, and also spread over all the body round about, and he made one
  solitary and only heaven, a circle moving in a circle, having such
  excellence as to be able to hold converse with itself, and needing no
  other friendship or acquaintance. Having these purposes in view he
  created the world to be a blessed god.”

This highest degree of inactivity and freedom from desire, symbolized
by the _being enclosed within itself_, signifies divine blessedness.
The only human prototype of this conception is the child in the
mother’s womb, or rather more, the adult man in the continuous embrace
of the mother, from whom he originates. Corresponding to this
mythologic-philosophic conception, the enviable Diogenes inhabited a
tub, thus giving mythologic expression to the blessedness and
resemblance to the Divine in his freedom from desire. Plato says as
follows of the bond of the world soul to the world body:

  “Now God did not make the soul after the body, although we have spoken
  of them in this order; for when he put them together he would never
  have allowed that the elder should serve the younger, but this is what
  we say at random, because we ourselves too are very largely affected
  by chance. Whereas he made the soul in origin and excellence prior to
  and older than the body, to be the ruler and mistress, of whom the
  body was to be the subject.”

It seems conceivable from other indications that the conception of the
soul in general is a derivative of the mother-imago, that is to say, a
symbolic designation for the amount of libido remaining in the
mother-imago. (Compare the Christian representation of the soul as the
bride of Christ.) The further development of the world soul in “Timaios”
takes place in an obscure fashion in mystic numerals. When the mixture
was completed the following occurred:

  “This entire compound he divided lengthways into two parts, which he
  joined to one another at the center like the figure of an X.”

This passage approaches very closely the division and union of Atman,
who, after the division, is compared to a man and a woman who hold each
other in an embrace. Another passage is worth mentioning:

  “After the entire union of the soul had taken place, according to the
  master’s mind, he formed all that is corporeal within this, and joined
  it together so as to penetrate it throughout.”

Moreover, I refer to my remarks about the maternal meaning of the world
soul in Plotinus, in Chapter II.

A similar detachment of the symbol of the cross from a concrete figure
we find among the Muskhogean Indians, who stretch above the surface of
the water (pond or stream) two ropes crosswise and at the point of
intersection throw into the water fruits, oil and precious stones as a
sacrifice.[561] Here the divinity is evidently the water, not the cross,
which designates the place of sacrifice only, through the point of
intersection. The sacrifice at the place of union indicates why this
symbol was a primitive charm of fertility,[562] why we meet it so
frequently in the prechristian era among the goddesses of love (mother
goddesses), especially among the Egyptians in Isis and the sun-god. We
have already discussed the continuous union of these two divinities. As
the cross (Tau [Τ], Crux Ansata) always recurs in the hand of Tum, the
supreme God, the hegemon of the Ennead, it may not be superfluous to say
something more of the destination of Tum. The Tum of On-Heliopolis bears
the name “the father of his mother”; what that means needs no
explanation; Jusas or Nebit-Hotpet, the goddess joined to him, _was
called sometimes the mother, sometimes the daughter, sometimes the wife
of the god_. The day of the beginning of autumn is designated in the
Heliopolitan inscriptions as the “festival of the goddess Jusasit,” as
“the arrival of the sister for the purpose of uniting with her father.”
It is the day in which “the goddess Mehnit completes her work, so that
the god Osiris may enter into the left eye.” (By which the moon is
meant.[563]) The day is also called the filling up of the sacred eye
with its needs. The heavenly cow with the moon eye, the cow-headed Isis,
takes to herself in the autumn equinox the seed which procreates Horus.
(Moon as keeper of the seed.) The “eye” evidently represents the
genitals, as in the myth of Indra, who had to bear spread over his whole
body the likeness of Yoni (vulva), on account of a Bathsheba outrage,
but was so far pardoned by the gods that the disgraceful likeness of
Yoni was changed into eyes.[564] The “pupil” in the eye is a child. The
great god becomes a child again; he enters the mother’s womb in order to
renew himself.[565] In a hymn it is said:

  “Thy mother, the heavens, stretches forth her arms to thee.”

In another place it is said:

  “Thou shinest, oh father of the gods, upon the back of thy mother,
  daily thy mother takes thee in her arms. When thou illuminatest the
  dwelling of night, thou unitest with thy mother, the heavens.”[566]

The Tum of Pitum-Heliopolis not only bears the Crux Ansata as a symbol,
but also has this sign as his most frequent surname, that is, ānχ or
ānχi, which means “life” or “the living.” He is chiefly honored as the
demon serpent, Agatho, of whom it is said, “The holy demon serpent
Agatho goes forth from the city Nezi.” The snake, on account of casting
its skin, is the symbol of renewal, as is the scarabæus, a symbol of the
sun, of whom it is said that he, being of masculine sex only, reproduces
himself.

The name Chnum (another name for Tum, always meaning “the sun-god”)
comes from the verb χnum, which means “to bind together, to unite.”[567]
Chnum appears chiefly as the potter, the moulder of his egg. The cross
seems, therefore, to be an extraordinarily condensed symbol; its supreme
meaning is that of the tree of life, and, therefore, is a symbol of the
mother. The symbolization in a human form is, therefore, intelligible.
The phallic forms of the Crux Ansata belong to the abstract meaning of
“life” and “fertility,” as well as to the meaning of “union,” which we
can now very properly interpret as _cohabitation with the mother for the
purpose of renewal_.[568] It is, therefore, not only a very touching but
also a very significant naïve symbolism when Mary, in an Old English
lament of the Virgin,[569] accuses the cross of being a false tree,
which unjustly and without reason destroyed “the pure fruit of her body,
her gentle birdling,” with a poisonous draught, the draught of death,
which is destined only for the guilty descendants of the sinner Adam.
Her son was not a sharer in that guilt. (Compare with this the cunning
of Isis with the fatal draught of love.) Mary laments:

  “Cross, thou art the evil stepmother of my son, so high hast thou hung
  him that I cannot even kiss his feet! Cross, thou art my mortal enemy,
  thou hast slain my little blue bird!”

The holy cross answers:

  “Woman, I thank thee for my honor: thy splendid fruit, which now I
  bear, shines as a red blossom.[570] Not alone to save thee but to save
  the whole world this precious flower blooms in thee.”[571]

Santa Crux says of the relation to each other of the two mothers (Isis
in the morning and Isis in the evening):

  “Thou hast been crowned as Queen of Heaven on account of the child,
  which thou hast borne. But I shall appear as the shining relic to the
  whole world, at the day of judgment. I shall then raise my lament for
  thy divine son innocently slain upon me.”

Thus the murderous mother of death unites with the mother of life in
bringing forth a child. In their lament for the dying God, and as
outward token of their union, Mary kisses the cross, and is reconciled
to it.[572] The naïve Egyptian antiquity has preserved for us the union
of the contrasting tendencies in the mother idea of Isis. Naturally this
imago is merely a symbol of the libido of the son for the mother, and
describes the conflict between love and incest resistance. The criminal
incestuous purpose of the son appears projected as criminal cunning in
the mother-imago. The separation of the son from the mother signifies
the separation of man from the generic consciousness of animals, from
that infantile archaic thought characterized by the absence of
individual consciousness.

It was only the power of the incest prohibition which created the
self-conscious individual, who formerly had been thoughtlessly one with
the tribe, and in this way alone did the idea of individual and final
death become possible. Thus through the sin of Adam death came into the
world. This, as is evident, is expressed figuratively, that is, in
contrast form. The mother’s defence against the incest appears to the
son as a malicious act, which delivers him over to the fear of death.
This conflict faces us in the Gilgamesh epic in its original freshness
and passion, where also the incest wish is projected onto the mother.

The neurotic who cannot leave the mother has good reasons; the fear of
death holds him there. It seems as if no idea and no word were strong
enough to express the meaning of this. Entire religions were constructed
in order to give words to the immensity of this conflict. This struggle
for expression which continued down through the centuries certainly
cannot have its source in the restricted realm of the vulgar conception
of incest. Rather one must understand the law which is ultimately
expressed as “Incest prohibition” as coercion to domestication, and
consider the religious systems as institutions which first receive, then
organize and gradually sublimate, the motor forces of the animal nature
not immediately available for cultural purposes.

We will now return to the visions of Miss Miller. Those now following
need no further detailed discussion. The next vision is the image of a
“purple bay.” The symbolism of the sea connects smoothly with that which
precedes. One might think here in addition of the reminiscences of the
Bay of Naples, which we came across in Part I. In the sequence of the
whole, however, we must not overlook the significance of the “bay.” In
French it is called _une baie_, which probably corresponds to a bay in
the English text. It might be worth while here to glance at the
etymological side of this idea. Bay is generally used for something
which is open, just as the Catalonian word _badia_ (_bai_) comes from
_badar_, “to open.” In French _bayer_ means “to have the mouth open, to
gape.” Another word for the same is _Meerbusen_, “bay or gulf”; Latin
_sinus_, and a third word is golf (gulf), which in French stands in
closest relation to _gouffre_ = abyss. Golf is derived from
“κόλπος,”[573] which also means “bosom” and “womb,” “mother-womb,” also
“vagina.” It can also mean a fold of a dress or pocket; it may also mean
a deep valley between high mountains. These expressions clearly show
what primitive ideas lie at their base. They render intelligible
Goethe’s choice of words at that place where Faust wishes to follow the
sun with winged desire in order in the everlasting day “to drink its
eternal light”:

             “The mountain chain with all its gorges deep,
             Would then no more impede my godlike motion;
             And now before mine eyes expands the ocean,
             With all its bays, in shining sleep!”

Faust’s desire, like that of every hero, inclines towards the mysteries
of rebirth, of immortality; therefore, his course leads to the sea, and
down into the monstrous jaws of death, the horror and narrowness of
which at the same time signify the new day.

      “Out on the open ocean speeds my dreaming:
      The glassy flood before my feet is gleaming,
      A new day beckons to a newer shore!
      A fiery chariot borne on buoyant pinions,
      Sweeps near me now! I soon shall ready be
      To pierce the ether’s high, unknown dominions,
      To reach new spheres of pure activity!
      This Godlike rapture, this supreme existence....

             ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

      “Yes, let me dare those gates to fling asunder,
      Which every man would fain go slinking by!
      ’Tis time, through deeds this word of truth to thunder;
      That with the height of God’s Man’s dignity may vie!
      Nor from that gloomy gulf to shrink affrighted,
      Where fancy doth herself to self-born pangs compel,—
      To struggle toward that pass benighted,
      Around whose narrow mouth flame all the fires of Hell:—
      To take this step with cheerful resolution,
      Though Nothingness should be the certain swift conclusion!”

It sounds like a confirmation, when the succeeding vision of Miss
Miller’s is _une falaise à pic_, “a steep, precipitous cliff.” (Compare
_gouffre_.) The entire series of individual visions is completed, as the
author observes, by a confusion of sounds, somewhat resembling “wa-ma,
wa-ma.” This has a very primitive, barbaric sound. Since we learn from
the author nothing of the subjective roots of this sound, nothing is
left us but the suspicion that this sound might be considered, taken in
connection with the whole, as a slight mutilation of the well-known call
ma-ma.



                               CHAPTER VI
               THE BATTLE FOR DELIVERANCE FROM THE MOTHER


There now comes a pause in the production of visions by Miss Miller;
then the activity of the unconscious is resumed very energetically.

A forest with trees and bushes appears.

After the discussions in the preceding chapter, there is need only of a
hint that the symbol of the forest coincides essentially with the
meaning of the holy tree. The holy tree is found generally in a sacred
forest enclosure or in the garden of Paradise. The sacred grove often
takes the place of the taboo tree and assumes all the attributes of the
latter. The erotic symbolism of the garden is generally known. The
forest, like the tree, has mythologically a maternal significance. In
the vision which now follows, the forest furnishes the stage upon which
the dramatic representation of the end of Chiwantopel is played. This
act, therefore, takes place in or near the mother.

First, I will give the beginning of the drama as it is in the original
text, up to the first attempt at sacrifice. At the beginning of the next
chapter the reader will find the continuation, the monologue and the
sacrificial scene. The drama begins as follows:

  “The personage Chiwantopel, came from the south, on horseback; around
  him a cloak of vivid colors, red, blue and white. An Indian in a
  costume of doe skin, covered with beads and ornamented with feathers
  advances, squats down and prepares to let fly an arrow at Chiwantopel.
  The latter presents his breast in an attitude of defiance, and the
  Indian, fascinated by that sight, slinks away and disappears within
  the forest.”

The hero, Chiwantopel, appears on horseback. This fact seems of
importance, because as the further course of the drama shows (see
Chapter VIII) the horse plays no indifferent rôle, but suffers the same
death as the hero, and is even called “faithful brother” by the latter.
These allusions point to a remarkable similarity between horse and
rider. There seems to exist an intimate connection between the two,
which guides them to the same destiny. We already have seen that the
symbolization of “the libido in resistance” through the “terrible
mother” in some places runs parallel with the horse.[574] Strictly
speaking, it would be incorrect to say that the horse is, or means, the
mother. The mother idea is a libido symbol, and the horse is also a
libido symbol, and at some points the two symbols intersect in their
significances. The common feature of the two ideas lies in the libido,
especially in the libido repressed from incest. The hero and the horse
appear to us in this setting like an artistic formation of the idea of
humanity with its repressed libido, whereby the horse acquires the
significance of the animal unconscious, which appears domesticated and
subjected to the will of man. Agni upon the ram, Wotan upon Sleipneir,
Ahuramazda upon Angromainyu,[575] Jahwe upon the monstrous seraph,
Christ upon the ass,[576] Dionysus upon the ass, Mithra upon the horse,
Men upon the human-footed horse, Freir upon the golden-bristled boar,
etc., are parallel representations. The chargers of mythology are always
invested with great significance; they very often appear
anthropomorphized. Thus, Men’s horse has human forelegs; Balaam’s ass,
human speech; the retreating bull, upon whose back Mithra springs in
order to strike him down, is, according to a Persian legend, actually
the God himself. The mock crucifix of the Palatine represents the
crucified with an ass’s head, perhaps in reference to the ancient legend
that in the temple of Jerusalem the image of an ass was worshipped. As
Drosselbart (horse’s mane) Wotan is half-human, half-horse.[577] An old
German riddle very prettily shows this unity between horse and
horseman.[578] “Who are the two, who travel to Thing? Together they have
three eyes, ten feet[579] and one tail; and thus they travel over the
land.” Legends ascribe properties to the horse, which psychologically
belong to the unconscious of man; horses are clairvoyant and
clairaudient; they show the way when the lost wanderer is helpless; they
have mantic powers. In the Iliad the horse prophesies evil. They hear
the words which the corpse speaks when it is taken to the grave—words
which men cannot hear. Cæsar learned from his human-footed horse
(probably taken from the identification of Cæsar with the Phrygian Men)
that he was to conquer the world. An ass prophesied to Augustus the
victory of Actium. The horse also sees phantoms. All these things
correspond to typical manifestations of the unconscious. Therefore, it
is perfectly intelligible that the horse, as the image of the wicked
animal component of man, has manifold connections with the devil. The
devil has a horse’s foot; in certain circumstances a horse’s form. At
crucial moments he suddenly shows a cloven foot (proverbial) in the same
way as in the abduction of Hadding, Sleipneir suddenly looked out from
behind Wotan’s mantle.[580] Just as the nightmare rides on the sleeper,
so does the devil, and, therefore, it is said that those who have
nightmares are ridden by the devil. In Persian lore the devil is the
steed of God. The devil, like all evil things, represents sexuality.
Witches have intercourse with him, in which case he appears in the form
of a goat or horse. The unmistakably phallic nature of the devil is
communicated to the horse as well; hence this symbol occurs in
connections where this is the only meaning which would furnish an
explanation. It is to be mentioned that Loki generates in the form of a
horse, just as does the devil when in horse’s form, as an old fire god.
Thus the lightning was represented theriomorphically as a horse.[581] An
uneducated hysteric told me that as a child she had suffered from
extreme fear of thunder, because every time the lightning flashed she
saw immediately afterwards a huge black horse reaching upwards as far as
the sky.[582] It is said in a legend that the devil, as the divinity of
lightning, casts a horse’s foot (lightning) upon the roofs. In
accordance with the primitive meaning of thunder as fertilizer of the
earth, the phallic meaning is given both to lightning and the horse’s
foot. In mythology the horse’s foot really has the phallic function as
in this dream. An uneducated patient who originally had been violently
forced to coitus by her husband very often dreams (after separation)
that a wild horse springs upon her and kicks her in the abdomen with his
hind foot. Plutarch has given us the following words of a prayer from
the Dionysus orgies:

  ἐλθεῖν ἥρως Διόνυσε Ἄλιον ἐς ναὸν ἁγνὸν σὺν Χαρίτεσσιν ἐς ναὸν τῷ βοέῳ
  ποδὶ θύων, ἄξιε ταῦρε, ἄξιε ταῦρε.[583][584]

Pegasus with his foot strikes out of the earth the spring Hippocrene.
Upon a Corinthian statue of Bellerophon, which was also a fountain, the
water flowed out from the horse’s hoof. Balder’s horse gave rise to a
spring through his kick. Thus the horse’s foot is the dispenser of
fruitful moisture.[585] A legend of lower Austria, told by Jaehns,
informs us that a gigantic man on a white horse is sometimes seen riding
over the mountains. This means a speedy rain. In the German legend the
goddess of birth, Frau Holle, appears on horseback. Pregnant women near
confinement are prone to give oats to a white horse from their aprons
and to pray him to give them a speedy delivery. It was originally the
custom for the horse to rub against the woman’s genitals. The horse
(like the ass) had in general the significance of a priapic animal.[586]
Horse’s tracks are idols dispensing blessing and fertility. Horse’s
tracks established a claim, and were of significance in determining
boundaries, like the priaps of Latin antiquity. Like the phallic
Dactyli, a horse opened the mineral riches of the Harz Mountains with
his hoof. The horseshoe, an equivalent for horse’s foot,[587] brings
luck and has apotropaic meaning. In the Netherlands an entire horse’s
foot is hung up in the stable to ward against sorcery. The analogous
effect of the phallus is well known; hence the phalli at the gates. In
particular the horse’s leg turned lightning aside, according to the
principle “similia similibus.”

Horses also symbolize the wind, that is to say, the tertium
comparationis is again the libido symbol. The German legend recognizes
the wind as the wild huntsman in pursuit of the maiden. Stormy regions
frequently derive their names from horses, as the White Horse Mountain
of the Lüneburger heath. The centaurs are typical wind gods, and have
been represented as such by Böcklin’s artistic intuition.[588]

Horses also signify fire and light. The fiery horses of Helios are an
example. The horses of Hector are called Xanthos (yellow, bright),
Podargos (swift-footed), Lampos (shining) and Aithon (burning). A very
pronounced fire symbolism was represented by the mystic Quadriga,
mentioned by Dio Chrysostomus. The supreme God always drives his chariot
in a circle. Four horses are harnessed to the chariot. The horse driven
on the periphery moves very quickly. He has a shining coat, and bears
upon it the signs of the planets and the Zodiac.[589] This is a
representation of the rotary fire of heaven. The second horse moves more
slowly, and is illuminated only on one side. The third moves still more
slowly, and the fourth rotates around himself. But once the outer horse
set the second horse on fire with his fiery breath, and the third
flooded the fourth with his streaming sweat. Then the horses dissolve
and pass over into the substance of the strongest and most fiery, which
now becomes the charioteer. The horses also represent the four elements.
The catastrophe signifies the conflagration of the world and the deluge,
whereupon the division of the God into many parts ceases, and the divine
unity is restored.[590] Doubtless the Quadriga may be understood
astronomically as a _symbol of time_. We already saw in the first part
that the stoic representation of Fate is a fire symbol. It is,
therefore, a logical continuation of the thought, when time, closely
related to the conception of destiny, exhibits this same libido
symbolism. Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad, i: 1, says:

  “The morning glow verily is the head of the sacrificial horse, the sun
  his eye, the wind his breath, the all-spreading fire his mouth, the
  year is the belly of the sacrificial horse. The sky is his back, the
  atmosphere the cavern of his body, the earth the vault of his belly.
  The poles are his sides, in between the poles his ribs, the seasons
  his limbs, the months and fortnights his joints. Days and nights are
  his feet, stars his bones, clouds his flesh. The food he digests is
  the deserts, the rivers are his veins, the mountains his liver and
  lungs, the herbs and trees his hair; the rising sun is his fore part,
  the setting sun his after part. The ocean is his kinsman, the sea his
  cradle.”

The horse undoubtedly here stands for a time symbol, and also for the
entire world. We come across in the Mithraic religion, a strange God of
Time, Aion, called Kronos or Deus Leontocephalus, because his
stereotyped representation is a lion-headed man, who, standing in a
rigid attitude, is encoiled by a snake, whose head projects forward from
behind over the lion’s head. The figure holds in each hand a key, on the
chest rests a thunderbolt, upon his back are the four wings of the wind;
in addition to that, the figure sometimes bears the Zodiac on his body.
Additional attributes are a cock and implements. In the Carolingian
psalter of Utrecht, which is based upon ancient models, the Sæculum-Aion
is represented as a naked man with a snake in his hand. As is suggested
by the name of the divinity, he is a symbol of time, most interestingly
composed from libido symbols. The lion, the zodiac sign of the greatest
summer heat,[591] is the symbol of the most mighty desire. (“My soul
roars with the voice of a hungry lion,” says Mechthild of Magdeburg.) In
the Mithra mystery the serpent is often antagonistic to the lion,
corresponding to that very universal myth of the battle of the sun with
the dragon.

In the Egyptian Book of the Dead, Tum is even designated as a he-cat,
because as such he fought the snake, Apophis. The encoiling also means
the engulfing, the entering into the mother’s womb. Thus time is defined
by the rising and setting of the sun, that is to say, through the death
and renewal of the libido. The addition of the cock again suggests time,
and the addition of implements suggests the creation through time.
(“Durée créatrice,” Bergson.) Oromazdes and Ahriman were produced
through Zrwanakarana, the “infinitely long duration.” Time, this empty
and purely formal concept, is expressed in the mysteries by
transformations of the creative power, the libido. Macrobius says:

  “Leonis capite monstratur praesens tempus—quia conditio ejus valida
  fervensque est.”[592]

Philo of Alexandria has a better understanding:

  “Tempus ab hominibus pessimis putatur deus volentibus Ens essentiale
  abscondere—pravis hominibus tempus putatur causa rerum mundi,
  sapientibus vero et optimis non tempus sed Deus.”[593][594]

In Firdusi[595] time is often the symbol of fate, the libido nature of
which we have already learned to recognize. The Hindoo text mentioned
above includes still more—its symbol of the horse contains the whole
world; his kinsman and his cradle is the sea, the mother, similar to the
world soul, the maternal significance of which we have seen above. Just
as Aion represents the libido in an embrace, that is to say, in the
state of death and of rebirth, so here the cradle of the horse is the
sea, i. e. the libido is in the mother, dying and rising again, like the
symbol of the dying and resurrected Christ, who hangs like ripe fruit
upon the tree of life.

We have already seen that the horse is connected through Ygdrasil with
the symbolism of the tree. The horse is also a “tree of death”; thus in
the Middle Ages the funeral pyre was called St. Michael’s horse, and the
neo-Persian word for coffin means “wooden horse.”[596] The horse has
also the rôle of psycho-pompos; he is the steed to conduct the souls to
the other world—horsewomen fetch the souls (Valkyries). Neo-Greek songs
represent Charon on a horse. These definitions obviously lead to the
mother symbolism. The Trojan horse was the only means by which the city
could be conquered; because only he who has entered the mother and been
reborn is an invincible hero. The Trojan horse is a magic charm, like
the “Nodfyr,” which also serves to overcome necessity. The formula
evidently reads, “In order to overcome the difficulty, thou must commit
incest, and once more be born from thy mother.” It appears that striking
a nail into the sacred tree signifies something very similar. The “Stock
im Eisen” in Vienna seems to have been such a palladium.

Still another symbolic form is to be considered. Occasionally the devil
rides upon a three-legged horse. The Goddess of Death, Hel, in time of
pestilence, also rides upon a three-legged horse.[597] The gigantic ass,
which is three-legged, stands in the heavenly rain lake Vourukasha; his
urine purifies the water of the lake, and from his roar all useful
animals become pregnant and all harmful animals miscarry. The Triad
further points to the phallic significance. The contrasting symbolism of
Hel is blended into one conception in the ass of Vourukasha. The libido
is fructifying as well as destroying.

These definitions, as a whole, plainly reveal the fundamental features.
The horse is a libido symbol, partly of phallic, partly of maternal
significance, like the tree. It represents the libido in this
application, that is, the libido repressed through the incest
prohibition.

In the Miller drama an Indian approaches the hero, ready to shoot an
arrow at him. Chiwantopel, however, with a proud gesture, exposes his
breast to the enemy. This idea reminds the author of the scene between
Cassius and Brutus in Shakespeare’s “Julius Cæsar.” A misunderstanding
has arisen between the two friends, when Brutus reproaches Cassius for
withholding from him the money for the legions. Cassius, irritable and
angry, breaks out into the complaint:

        “Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,
        Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
        For Cassius is a-weary of the world:
        Hated by one he loves: braved by his brother:
        Check’d like a bondman; _all his faults observed_:
        Set in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote,
        To cast into my teeth. O I could weep
        My spirit from mine eyes!—There is my dagger,
        And here my naked breast; within, a heart
        Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold:
        If that thou beest a Roman, take it forth:
        I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
        Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know
        When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov’dst him better
        Than ever thou lov’dst Cassius.”

The material here would be incomplete without mentioning the fact that
this speech of Cassius shows many analogies to the agonized delirium of
Cyrano (compare Part I), only Cassius is far more theatrical and
overdrawn. Something childish and hysterical is in his manner. Brutus
does not think of killing him, but administers a very chilling rebuke in
the following dialogue:

     BRUTUS: Sheathe your dagger:
             Be angry when you will, it shall have scope:
             Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
             _O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb_
             That carries anger as the flint bears fire:
             Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
             And straight is cold again.

     CASSIUS:                            Hath Cassius liv’d
             To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus
             When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?

     BRUTUS: When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.

     CASSIUS: Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

     BRUTUS: And my heart too.

     CASSIUS:                  O Brutus!

     BRUTUS:                             What’s the matter?

     CASSIUS: Have not you love enough to bear with me
              When that rash humor _which my mother gave me_
              Makes me forgetful?

     BRUTUS:                      Yes, Cassius, and from henceforth
              When you are over earnest with your Brutus,
              He’ll think your mother chides and leave you so.

The analytic interpretation of Cassius’s irritability plainly reveals
that at these moments he identifies himself with the mother, and his
conduct, therefore, is truly feminine, as his speech demonstrates most
excellently. For his womanish love-seeking and desperate subjection
under the proud masculine will of Brutus calls forth the friendly remark
of the latter, that Cassius is yoked with a lamb, that is to say, has
something very weak in his character, which is derived from the mother.
One recognizes in this without any difficulty the analytic hall-marks of
an infantile disposition, which, as always, is characterized by a
prevalence of the parent-imago, here the mother-imago. An infantile
individual is infantile because he has freed himself insufficiently, or
not at all, from the childish environment, that is, from his adaptation
to his parents. Therefore, on one side, he reacts falsely towards the
world, as a child towards his parents, always demanding love and
immediate reward for his feelings; on the other side, on account of the
close connection to the parents, he identifies himself with them. The
infantile individual behaves like the father and mother. He is not in a
condition to live for himself and to find the place to which he belongs.
Therefore, Brutus very justly takes it for granted that the “mother
chides” in Cassius, not he himself. The psychologically valuable fact
which we gather here is the information _that Cassius is infantile and
identified_ with the mother. The hysterical behavior is due to the
circumstance that Cassius is still, in part, a lamb, and _an innocent
and entirely harmless child_. He remains, as far as his emotional life
is concerned, still far behind himself. This we often see among people
who, as masters, apparently govern life and fellow-creatures; they have
remained children in regard to the demands of their love nature.

The figures of the Miller dramas, being children of the creator’s
phantasy, depict, as is natural, those traits of character which belong
to the author. The hero, the wish figure, is represented as most
distinguished, because the hero always combines in himself all
wished-for ideals. Cyrano’s attitude is certainly beautiful and
impressive; Cassius’s behavior has a theatrical effect. Both heroes
prepare to die effectively, in which attempt Cyrano succeeds. This
attitude betrays a wish for death in the unconscious of our author, the
meaning of which we have already discussed at length as the motive for
her poem of the moth. The wish of young girls to die is only an indirect
expression, which remains a pose, even in case of real death, for death
itself can be a pose. Such an outcome merely adds beauty and value to
the pose under certain conditions. That the highest summit of life is
expressed through the symbolism of death is a well-known fact; for
creation beyond one’s self means personal death. The coming generation
is the end of the preceding one. This symbolism is frequent in erotic
speech. The lascivious speech between Lucius and the wanton servant-maid
in Apuleius (“Metamorphoses,” lib. ii: 32) is one of the clearest
examples:

  “Proeliare, inquit, et fortiter proeliare: nec enim tibi cedam, nec
  terga vortam. Cominus in aspectum, si vir es, dirige; et grassare
  naviter, et occide moriturus. Hodierna pugna non habet
  missionem.—Simul ambo corruimus inter mutuos amplexus animas
  anhelantes.”[598]

This symbolism is extremely significant, because it shows how easily a
contrasting expression originates and how equally intelligible and
characteristic such an expression is. The proud gesture with which the
hero offers himself to death may very easily be an indirect expression
which challenges the pity or sympathy of the other, and thus is doomed
to the calm analytic reduction to which Brutus proceeds. The behavior of
Chiwantopel is also suspicious, because the Cassius scene which serves
as its model betrays indiscreetly that the whole affair is merely
infantile and one which owes its origin to an overactive mother imago.
When we compare this piece with the series of mother symbols brought to
light in the previous chapter, we must say that the Cassius scene merely
confirms once more what we have long supposed, that is to say, that the
motor power of these symbolic visions arises from an infantile mother
transference, that is to say, from an undetached bond to the mother.

In the drama the libido, in contradistinction to the inactive nature of
the previous symbols, assumes a threatening activity, a conflict
becoming evident, in which the one part threatens the other with murder.
The hero, as the ideal image of the dreamer, is inclined to die; he does
not fear death. In accordance with the infantile character of this hero,
it would most surely be time for him to take his departure from the
stage, or, in childish language, to die. Death is to come to him in the
form of an arrow-wound. Considering the fact that heroes themselves are
very often great archers or succumb to an arrow-wound (St. Sebastian, as
an example), it may not be superfluous to inquire into the meaning of
death through an arrow.

We read in the biography of the stigmatized nun Katherine Emmerich[599]
the following description of the evidently neurotic sickness of her
heart:

  “When only in her novitiate, she received as a Christmas present from
  the holy Christ a very tormenting heart trouble for the whole period
  of her nun’s life. God showed her inwardly the purpose; it was on
  account of the decline of the spirit of the order, especially for the
  sins of her fellow-sisters. But what rendered this trouble most
  painful was the gift which she had possessed from youth, namely, to
  see before her eyes the inner nature of man as he really was. She felt
  the heart trouble physically as if her heart was continually pierced
  by arrows.[600] These arrows—and this represented the still worse
  mental suffering—she recognized as the thoughts, plots, secret
  speeches, misunderstandings, scandal and uncharitableness, in which
  her fellow-sisters, wholly without reason and unscrupulously, were
  engaged against her and her god-fearing way of life.”

It is difficult to be a saint, because even a patient and long-suffering
nature will not readily bear such a violation, and defends itself in its
own way. The companion of sanctity is temptation, without which no true
saint can live. We know from analytic experience that these temptations
can pass unconsciously, so that only their equivalents would be produced
in consciousness in the form of symptoms. We know that it is proverbial
that heart and smart (Herz and Schmerz) rhyme. It is a well-known fact
that hysterics put a physical pain in place of a mental pain. The
biographer of Emmerich has comprehended that very correctly. Only her
interpretation of the pain is, as usual, projected. It is always the
others who secretly assert all sorts of evil things about her, and this
she pretended gave her the pains.[601] The case, however, bears a
somewhat different aspect. The very difficult renunciation of all life’s
joys, this death before the bloom, is generally painful, and especially
painful are the unfulfilled wishes and the attempts of the animal nature
to break through the power of repression. The gossip and jokes of the
sisters very naturally centre around these most painful things, so that
it must appear to the saint as if her symptoms were caused by this.
Naturally, again, she could not know that gossip tends to assume the
rôle of the unconscious, which, like a clever adversary, always aims at
the actual gaps in our armor.

A passage from Gautama Buddha embodies this idea:[602]

                  “A wish earnestly desired
                  Produced by will, and nourished
                  When gradually it must be thwarted,
                  Burrows like an arrow in the flesh.”

The wounding and painful arrows do not come from without through gossip,
which only attacks externally, but they come from ambush, from our own
unconscious. This, rather than anything external, creates the
defenseless suffering. It is our _own repressed and unrecognized desires
which fester like arrows in our flesh_.[603] In another connection this
was clear to the nun, and that most literally. It is a well-known fact,
and one which needs no further proof to those who understand, that these
mystic scenes of union with the Saviour generally are intermingled with
an enormous amount of sexual libido.[604] Therefore, it is not
astonishing that the scene of the stigmata is nothing but an incubation
through the Saviour, only slightly changed metaphorically, as compared
with the ancient conception of “unio mystica,” as cohabitation with the
god. Emmerich relates the following of her stigmatization:

  “I had a contemplation of the sufferings of Christ, and implored him
  to let me feel with him his sorrows, and prayed five paternosters to
  the honor of the five sacred wounds. Lying on my bed with outstretched
  arms, I entered into a great sweetness and into an endless thirst for
  the torments of Jesus. Then I saw a light descending upon me: it came
  obliquely from above. It was a crucified body, living and transparent,
  with arms extended, but without a cross. The wounds shone brighter
  than the body; they were five circles of glory, coming forth from the
  whole glory. I was enraptured and my heart was moved with great pain
  and yet with sweetness from longing to share in the torments of my
  Saviour. And my longings for the sorrows of the Redeemer increased
  more and more on gazing on his wounds, and passed from my breast,
  through my hands, sides and feet to his holy wounds: then from the
  hands, then from the sides, then from the feet of the figure threefold
  shining red beams ending below in an arrow, shot forth to my hands,
  sides and feet.”

The beams, in accordance with the phallic fundamental thought, are
threefold, terminating below in an arrow-point.[605] Like Cupid, the
sun, too, has its quiver, full of destroying or fertilizing arrows, sun
rays,[606] which possess phallic meaning. On this significance evidently
rests the Oriental custom of designating brave sons as arrows and
javelins of the parents. “To make sharp arrows” is an Arabian expression
for “to generate brave sons.” The Psalms declare (cxxvii:4):

  “Like as the arrows in the hands of the giant; even so are the young
  children.”

(Compare with this the remarks previously made about “boys.”) Because of
this significance of the arrow it is intelligible why the Scythian king
Ariantes, when he wished to prepare a census, demanded an arrow-head
from each man. A similar meaning attaches equally to the lance. Men are
descended from the lance, because the ash is the mother of lances.
Therefore, the men of the Iron Age are derived from her. The marriage
custom to which Ovid alludes (“Comat virgineas hasta recurva
comas”—_Fastorum_, lib. ii: 560) has already been mentioned. Kaineus
issued a command that his lance be honored. Pindar relates in the legend
of this Kaineus:

  “He descended into the depths, splitting the earth with a straight
  foot.”[607]

He is said to have originally been a maiden named Kainis, who, because
of her complaisance, was transformed into an invulnerable man by
Poseidon. Ovid pictures the battle of the Lapithæ with the invulnerable
Kaineus; how at last they covered him completely with trees, because
they could not otherwise touch him. Ovid says at this place:

           “Exitus in dubio est: alii sub inania corpus
           Tartara detrusum silvarum mole ferebant,
           Abnuit Ampycides: medioque ex aggere fulvis
           Vidit avem pennis liquidas exire sub auras.”[608]

Roscher considers this bird to be the golden plover (Charadrius
pluvialis), which borrows its name from the fact that it lives in the
χαράδρα, a crevice in the earth. By his song he proclaims the
approaching rain. Kaineus was changed into this bird.

We see again in this little myth the typical constituents of the libido
myth: original bisexuality, immortality (invulnerability) through
entrance into the mother (splitting the mother with the foot, and to
become covered up) and resurrection as a bird of the soul and a bringer
of fertility (ascending sun). When this type of hero causes his lance to
be worshipped, it probably means that his lance is a valid and
equivalent expression of himself.

From our present standpoint, we understand in a new sense that passage
in Job, which I mentioned in Chapter IV of the first part of this book:

  “He has set me up for his mark.

  “His archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reins asunder, and
  doth not spare:—he poureth out my gall upon the ground.

  “He breaketh me with breach upon breach: he runneth upon me like a
  giant.”—_Job_ xvi:12–13–14.

Now we understand this symbolism as an expression for the soul torment
caused by the onslaught of the unconscious desires. The libido festers
in his flesh, a cruel god has taken possession of him and pierced him
with his painful libidian projectiles, with thoughts, which
overwhelmingly pass through him. (As a dementia præcox patient once said
to me during his recovery: “To-day a thought suddenly thrust itself
through me.”) This same idea is found again in Nietzsche in Zarathustra:

                           _The Magician_

           Stretched out, shivering
           Like one half dead whose feet are warmed,
           Shaken alas! by unknown fevers,
           Trembling from the icy pointed arrows of frost,
           Hunted by Thee, O Thought!
           Unutterable! Veiled! Horrible One!
           Thou huntsman behind the clouds!
           Struck to the ground by thee,
           Thou mocking eye that gazeth at me from the dark!
           —————— Thus do I lie
           Bending, writhing, tortured
           With all eternal tortures,
           Smitten
           By thee, crudest huntsman,
           Thou unfamiliar God.

           Smite deeper!
           Smite once more:
           Pierce through and rend my heart!
           What meaneth this torturing
           With blunt-toothed arrows?
           Why gazeth thou again,
           Never weary of human pain,
           With malicious, God-lightning eyes,
           Thou wilt not kill,
           But torture, torture?

No long-drawn-out explanation is necessary to enable us to recognize in
this comparison the old, universal idea of the martyred sacrifice of
God, which we have met previously in the Mexican sacrifice of the cross
and in the sacrifice of Odin.[609] This same conception faces us in the
oft-repeated martyrdom of St. Sebastian, where, in the delicate-glowing
flesh of the young god, all the pain of renunciation which has been felt
by the artist has been portrayed. An artist always embodies in his
artistic work a portion of the mysteries of his time. In a heightened
degree the same is true of the principal Christian symbol, the crucified
one pierced by the lance, the conception of the man of the Christian era
tormented by his wishes, crucified and dying in Christ.

This is not torment which comes from without, which befalls mankind; but
that he himself is the hunter, murderer, sacrificer and sacrificial
knife is shown us in another of Nietzsche’s poems, wherein the apparent
dualism is transformed into the soul conflict through the use of the
same symbolism:

                 “Oh, Zarathustra,
                 Most cruel Nimrod!
                 Whilom hunter of God
                 The snare of all virtue,
                 An arrow of evil!
                 Now
                 Hunted by thyself
                 Thine own prey
                 Pierced through thyself,
                 Now
                 Alone with thee
                 Twofold in thine own knowledge
                 Mid a hundred mirrors
                 False to thyself,
                 Mid a hundred memories
                 Uncertain
                 Ailing with each wound
                 Shivering with each frost
                 Caught in thine own snares,
                 Self knower!
                 Self hangman!

                 “Why didst thou strangle thyself
                 With the noose of thy wisdom?
                 Why hast thou enticed thyself
                 Into the Paradise of the old serpent?
                 Why hast thou crept
                 Into thyself, thyself?...”

The deadly arrows do not strike the hero from without, but it is he
himself who, in disharmony with himself, hunts, fights and tortures
himself. Within himself will has turned against will, libido against
libido—therefore, the poet says, “Pierced through thyself,” that is to
say, wounded by his own arrow. Because we have discerned that the arrow
is a libido symbol, the idea of “penetrating or piercing through”
consequently becomes clear to us. It is a phallic act of union with
one’s self, a sort of self-fertilization (introversion); also a
self-violation, a self-murder; therefore, Zarathustra may call himself
his own hangman, like Odin, who sacrifices himself to Odin.

The wounding by one’s own arrow means, first of all, _the state of
introversion_. What this signifies we already know—the libido sinks into
its “own depths” (a well-known comparison of Nietzsche’s) and finds
there below, in the shadows of the unconscious, the substitute for the
upper world, which it has abandoned: _the world of memories_ (“’mid a
hundred memories”), the strongest and most influential of which are the
early infantile memory pictures. It is the world of the child, this
paradise-like state of earliest childhood, from which we are separated
by a hard law. In this subterranean kingdom slumber sweet feelings of
home and the endless hopes of all that is to be. As Heinrich in the
“Sunken Bell,” by Gerhart Hauptmann, says, in speaking of his miraculous
work:

             “There is a song lost and forgotten,
             A song of home, a love song of childhood,
             Brought up from the depths of the fairy well,
             Known to all, but yet unheard.”

However, as Mephistopheles says, “The danger is great.” These depths are
enticing; they are the mother and—death. When the libido leaves the
bright upper world, whether from the decision of the individual or from
decreasing life force, then it sinks back into its own depths, into the
source from which it has gushed forth, and turns back to that point of
cleavage, the umbilicus, through which it once entered into this body.
This point of cleavage is called the mother, because from her comes the
source of the libido. Therefore, when some great work is to be
accomplished, before which weak man recoils, doubtful of his strength,
his libido returns to that source—and this is the dangerous moment, in
which the decision takes place between annihilation and new life. If the
libido remains arrested in the wonder kingdom of the inner world,[610]
then the man has become for the world above a phantom, then he is
practically dead or desperately ill.[611] But if the libido succeeds in
tearing itself loose and pushing up into the world above, then a miracle
appears. This journey to the underworld has been a fountain of youth,
and new fertility springs from his apparent death. This train of thought
is very beautifully gathered into a Hindoo myth: Once upon a time,
Vishnu sank into an ecstasy (introversion) and during this state of
sleep bore Brahma, who, enthroned upon the lotus flower, arose from the
navel of Vishnu, bringing with him the Vedas, which he diligently read.
(Birth of creative thought from introversion.) But through Vishnu’s
ecstasy a devouring flood came upon the world. (Devouring through
introversion, symbolizing the danger of entering into the mother of
death.) A demon taking advantage of the danger, stole the Vedas from
Brahma and hid them in the depths. (Devouring of the libido.) Brahma
roused Vishnu, and the latter, transforming himself into a fish, plunged
into the flood, fought with the demon (battle with the dragon),
conquered him and recaptured the Vedas. (Treasure obtained with
difficulty.)

Self-concentration and the strength derived therefrom correspond to this
primitive train of thought. It also explains numerous sacrificial and
magic rites which we have already fully discussed. Thus the impregnable
Troy falls because the besiegers creep into the belly of a wooden horse;
for he alone is a hero who is reborn from the mother, like the sun. But
the danger of this venture is shown by the history of Philoctetes, who
was the only one in the Trojan expedition who knew the hidden sanctuary
of Chryse, where the Argonauts had sacrificed already, and where the
Greeks planned to sacrifice in order to assure a safe ending to their
undertaking. Chryse was a nymph upon the island of Chryse; according to
the account of the scholiasts in Sophocles’s “Philoctetes,” this nymph
loved Philoctetes, and cursed him because he spurned her love. This
characteristic projection, which is also met with in the Gilgamesh epic,
should be referred back, as suggested, to the repressed incest wish of
the son, who is represented through the projection as if the mother had
the evil wish, for the refusal of which the son was given over to death.
In reality, however, the son becomes mortal by separating himself from
the mother. His fear of death, therefore, corresponds to the repressed
wish to turn back to the mother, and causes him to believe that the
mother threatens or pursues him. The teleological significance of this
_fear of persecution_ is evident; _it is to keep son and mother apart_.

The curse of Chryse is realized in so far that Philoctetes, according to
one version, when approaching his altar, injured himself in his foot
with one of his own deadly poisonous arrows, or, according to another
version[612] (this is better and far more abundantly proven), _was
bitten in his foot by a poisonous serpent_.[613] From then on he is
ailing.[614]

This very typical wound, which also destroyed Rê, is described in the
following manner in an Egyptian hymn:

          “The ancient of the Gods moved his mouth,
          He cast his saliva upon the earth,
          And what he spat, fell upon the ground.
          With her hands Isis kneaded that and the soil
          Which was about it, together:
          From that she created a venerable worm,
          And made him like a spear.
          She did not twist him living around her face,
          But threw him coiled upon the path,
          Upon which the great God wandered at ease
          Through all his lands.

          “The venerable God stepped forth radiantly,
          The gods who served Pharaoh accompanied him,
          And he proceeded as every day.
          Then the venerable worm stung him....
          The divine God opened his mouth
          And the voice of his majesty echoed even to the sky.
          And the gods exclaimed: Behold!
          Thereupon he could not answer,
          His jaws chattered,
          All his limbs trembled
          And the poison gripped his flesh,
          As the Nile seizes upon the land.”

In this hymn Egypt has again preserved for us a primitive conception of
the serpent’s sting. The aging of the autumn sun as an image of human
senility is symbolically traced back to the mother through the poisoning
by the serpent. The mother is reproached, because her malice causes the
death of the sun-god. The serpent, the primitive symbol of fear,[615]
illustrates the repressed tendency to turn back to the mother, because
the only possibility of security from death is possessed by the mother,
as the source of life.

Accordingly, only the mother can cure him, sick unto death, and,
therefore, the hymn goes on to depict how the gods were assembled to
take counsel:

      “And Isis came with her wisdom:
      Her mouth is full of the breath of life,
      Her words banish sorrow,
      And her speech animates those who no longer breathe.
      She said: ‘What is that; what is that, divine father?
      Behold, a worm has brought you sorrow——’

      “‘Tell me thy name, divine father,
      Because the man remains alive, who is called by his name.’”

Whereupon Rê replied:

    “‘I am he, who created heaven and earth, and piled up the hills,
    And created all beings thereon.
    I am he, who made the water and caused the great flood,
    Who produced the bull of his mother,
    Who is the procreator,’ etc.

    “The poison did not depart, it went further,
    The great God was not cured.
    Then said Isis to Rê:
    ‘Thine is not the name thou hast told me.
    Tell me true that the poison may leave thee,
    For he whose name is spoken will live.’”

Finally Rê decides to speak his true name. He is approximately healed
(imperfect composition of Osiris); but he has lost his power, and
finally he retreats to the heavenly cow.

The poisonous worm is, if one may speak in this way, a “negative”
phallus, a deadly, not an animating, form of libido; therefore, a wish
for death, instead of a wish for life. The “true name” is soul and magic
power; hence a symbol of libido. What Isis demands is the retransference
of the libido to the mother goddess. This request is fulfilled
literally, for the aged god turns back to the divine cow, the symbol of
the mother.[616] This symbolism is clear from our previous explanations.
The onward urging, living libido which rules the consciousness of the
son, demands separation from the mother. The longing of the child for
the mother is a hindrance on the path to this, taking the form of a
psychologic resistance, which is expressed empirically in the neurosis
by all manners of fears, that is to say, the fear of life. The more a
person withdraws from adaptation to reality, and falls into slothful
inactivity, the greater becomes his anxiety (cum grano salis), which
everywhere besets him at each point as a hindrance upon his path. The
fear springs from the mother, that is to say, from the longing to go
back to the mother, which is opposed to the adaptation to reality. This
is the way in which the mother has become apparently the malicious
pursuer. Naturally, it is not the actual mother, although the actual
mother, with the abnormal tenderness with which she sometimes pursues
her child, even into adult years, may gravely injure it through a
willful prolonging of the infantile state in the child. It is rather the
mother-imago, which becomes the Lamia. The mother-imago, however,
possesses its power solely and exclusively from the son’s tendency not
only to look and to work forwards, but also to glance backwards to the
pampering sweetness of childhood, to that glorious state of
irresponsibility and security with which the protecting mother-care once
surrounded him.[617]

The retrospective longing acts like a paralyzing poison upon the energy
and enterprise; so that it may well be compared to a poisonous serpent
which lies across our path. Apparently, it is a hostile demon which robs
us of energy, but, in reality, it is the individual unconscious, the
retrogressive tendency of which begins to overcome the conscious forward
striving. The cause of this can be, for example, the natural aging which
weakens the energy, or it may be great external difficulties, which
cause man to break down and become a child again, or it may be, and this
is probably the most frequent cause, the woman who enslaves the man, so
that he can no longer free himself, and becomes a child again.[618] It
may be of significance also that Isis, as sister-wife of the sun-god,
creates the poisonous animal from the spittle of the god, which is
perhaps a substitute for sperma, and, therefore, is a symbol of libido.
She creates the animal from the libido of the god; that means she
receives his power, making him weak and dependent, so that by this means
she assumes the dominating rôle of the mother. (Mother transference to
the wife.) This part is preserved in the legend of Samson, in the rôle
of Delilah, who cut off Samson’s hair, the sun’s rays, thus robbing him
of his strength.[619] Any weakening of the adult man strengthens the
wishes of the unconscious; therefore, the decrease of strength appears
directly as the backward striving towards the mother.

There is still to be considered one more source of the reanimation of
the mother-imago. We have already met it in the discussion of the mother
scene in “Faust,” that is to say, _the willed introversion of a creative
mind_, which, retreating before its own problem and inwardly collecting
its forces, dips at least for a moment into the source of life, in order
there to wrest a little more strength from the mother for the completion
of its work. It is a mother-child play with one’s self, in which lies
much weak selfadmiration and self-adulation (“Among a hundred
mirrors”—Nietzsche); _a Narcissus state_, a strange spectacle, perhaps,
for profane eyes. The separation from the mother-imago, the birth out of
one’s self, reconciles all conflicts through the sufferings. This is
probably meant by Nietzsche’s verse:

                 “Why hast thou enticed thyself
                 Into the Paradise of the old serpent?
                 Why hast thou crept
                 Into thyself, thyself?...

                 “A sick man now
                 Sick of a serpent’s poison,[620]
                 A captive now
                 Whom the hardest destiny befell
                 In thine own pit;
                 Bowed down as thou workest
                 Encaved within thyself,
                 Burrowing into thyself,
                 Helpless,
                 Stiff,
                 A corpse.
                 Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens,
                 Overburdened by thyself.
                 A wise man,
                 A self-knower,
                 The wise Zarathustra;
                 Thou soughtest the heaviest burden
                 And foundest thou thyself....”

The symbolism of this speech is of the greatest richness. He is buried
in the depths of _self, as if in the earth_; really a dead man who has
turned back to mother earth;[621] a Kaineus “piled with a hundred
burdens” and pressed down to death; the one who groaning bears the heavy
burden of his own libido, of that libido which draws him back to the
mother. Who does not think of the Taurophoria of Mithra, who took his
bull (according to the Egyptian hymn, “the bull of his mother”), that
is, his love for his mother, the heaviest burden upon his back, and with
that entered upon the painful course of the so-called Transitus![622]
This path of passion led to the cave, in which the bull was sacrificed.
Christ, too, had to bear the cross,[623] the symbol of his love for the
mother, and he carried it to the place of sacrifice where the lamb was
slain in the form of the God, the infantile man, a “self-executioner,”
and then to burial in the subterranean sepulchre.[624]

That which in Nietzsche appears as a poetical figure of speech is really
a primitive myth. It is as if the poet still possessed a dim idea or
capacity to feel and reactivate those imperishable phantoms of long-past
worlds of thought in the words of our present-day speech and in the
images which crowd themselves into his phantasy. Hauptmann also says:
“Poetic rendering is that which allows the echo of the primitive word to
resound through the form.”[625]


The sacrifice, with its mysterious and manifold meaning, which is rather
hinted at than expressed, passes unrecognized in the unconscious of our
author. The arrow is not shot, the hero Chiwantopel is not yet fatally
poisoned and ready for death through self-sacrifice. We now can say,
according to the preceding material, this sacrifice means renouncing the
mother, that is to say, _renunciation of all bonds and limitations which
the soul has taken with it from the period of childhood into the adult
life_. From various hints of Miss Miller’s it appears that at the time
of these phantasies she was still living in the circle of the family,
evidently at an age which was in urgent need of independence. That is to
say, man does not live very long in the infantile environment or in the
bosom of his family without real danger to his mental health. Life calls
him forth to independence, and he who gives no heed to this hard call
because of childish indolence and fear is threatened by a neurosis, and
once the neurosis has broken out it becomes more and more a valid reason
to escape the battle with life and to remain for all time in the morally
poisoned infantile atmosphere.

The phantasy of the arrow-wound belongs in this struggle for personal
independence. The thought of this resolution has not yet penetrated the
dreamer. On the contrary, she rather repudiates it. After all the
preceding, it is evident that the symbolism of the arrow-wound through
direct translation must be taken as a coitus symbol. The “Occide
moriturus” attains by this means the sexual significance belonging to
it. Chiwantopel naturally represents the dreamer. But nothing is
attained and nothing is understood through one’s reduction to the coarse
sexual, because it is a commonplace that the unconscious shelters coitus
wishes, the discovery of which signifies nothing further. _The coitus
wish under this aspect is really a symbol for the individual
demonstration of the libido separated from the parents, of the conquest
of an independent life._ This step towards a new life means, at the same
time, the death of the past life.[626] Therefore, Chiwantopel is the
infantile hero[627] (the son, the child, the lamb, the fish) who is
still enchained by the fetters of childhood and who has to die as a
symbol of the incestuous libido, and with that sever the retrogressive
bond. For the entire libido is demanded for the battle of life, and
there can be no remaining behind. The dreamer cannot yet come to this
decision, which will tear aside all the sentimental connections with
father and mother, and yet it must be made in order to follow the call
of the individual destiny.



                              CHAPTER VII
                          THE DUAL MOTHER RÔLE


After the disappearance of the assailant, Chiwantopel begins the
following monologue:

  “From the extreme ends of these continents, from the farthest
  lowlands, after having forsaken the palace of my father, I have been
  wandering aimlessly during a hundred moons, always pursued by my mad
  desire to find ‘her who will understand.’ With jewels I have tempted
  many fair ones, with kisses I have tried to snatch the secret of their
  hearts, with acts of bravery I have conquered their admiration. (He
  reviews the women he has known.) Chita, the princess of my race ...
  she is a little fool, vain as a peacock, having nought in her head but
  jewels and perfume. Ta-nan, the young peasant, ... bah, a mere sow, no
  more than a breast and a stomach, caring only for pleasure. And then
  Ki-ma, the priestess, a true parrot, repeating hollow phrases learnt
  from the priests; all for show, without real education or sincerity,
  suspicious poseur and hypocrite!... Alas! Not one who understands me,
  not one who resembles me, not one who has a soul sister to mine. There
  is not one among them all who has known my soul, not one who could
  read my thought; far from it; not one capable of seeking with me the
  luminous summits, or of spelling with me the superhuman word, love.”

Here Chiwantopel himself says that his journeying and wandering is a
quest for that other, and for the meaning of life which lies in union
with her. In the first part of this work we merely hinted gently at this
possibility. The fact that the seeker is masculine and the sought-for of
feminine sex is not so astonishing, because the chief object of the
unconscious transference is the mother, as has probably been seen from
that which we have already learned. The daughter takes a male attitude
towards the mother. The genesis of this adjustment can only be suspected
in our case, because objective proof is lacking. Therefore, let us
rather be satisfied with inferences. “She who will understand” means the
mother, in the infantile language. At the same time, it also means the
life companion. As is well known, the sex contrast concerns the libido
but little. The sex of the object plays a surprisingly slight rôle in
the estimation of the unconscious. The object itself, taken as an
objective reality, is but of slight significance. (But it is of greatest
importance whether the libido is transferred or introverted.) The
original concrete meaning of _erfassen_, “to seize,” _begreifen_, “to
touch,” etc., allows us to recognize clearly the under side of the
wish—to find a congenial person. But the “upper” intellectual half is
also contained in it, and is to be taken into account at the same time.
One might be inclined to assume this tendency if it were not that our
culture abused the same, for the misunderstood woman has become almost
proverbial, which can only be the result of a wholly distorted
valuation. On the one side, our culture undervalues most extraordinarily
the importance of sexuality; on the other side, sexuality breaks out as
a direct result of the repression burdening it at every place where it
does not belong, and makes use of such an indirect manner of expression
that one may expect to meet it suddenly almost anywhere. Thus the idea
of the intimate comprehension of a human soul, which is in reality
something very beautiful and pure, is soiled and disagreeably distorted
through the entrance of the indirect sexual meaning.[628] The secondary
meaning or, better expressed, the misuse, which repressed and denied
sexuality forces upon the highest soul functions, makes it possible, for
example, for certain of our opponents to scent in psychoanalysis
prurient erotic confessionals. These are subjective wish-fulfilment
deliria which need no contra arguments. This misuse makes the wish to be
“understood” highly suspicious, if the natural demands of life have not
been fulfilled. Nature has _first claim_ on man; only long afterwards
does the luxury of intellect come. The mediæval ideal of life for the
sake of death needs gradually to be replaced by a natural conception of
life, in which the normal demands of men are thoroughly kept in mind, so
that the desires of the animal sphere may no longer be compelled to drag
down into their service the high gifts of the intellectual sphere in
order to find an outlet. We are inclined, therefore, to consider the
dreamer’s wish for understanding, first of all, as a repressed striving
towards the natural destiny. This meaning coincides absolutely with
psychoanalytic experience, that there are countless neurotic people who
apparently are prevented from experiencing life because they have an
unconscious and often also a conscious repugnance to the sexual fate,
under which they imagine all kinds of ugly things. There is only too
great an inclination to yield to this pressure of the unconscious
sexuality and to experience the dreaded (unconsciously hoped for)
disagreeable sexual experience, so as to acquire by that means a
legitimately founded horror which retains them more surely in the
infantile situation. This is the reason why so many people fall into
that very state towards which they have the greatest abhorrence.

That we were correct in our assumption that, in Miss Miller, it is a
question of the battle for independence is shown by her statement that
the hero’s departure from his father’s house reminds her of the fate of
the young Buddha, who likewise renounced all luxury to which he was born
in order to go out into the world to live out his destiny to its
completion. Buddha gave the same heroic example as did Christ, who
separated from his mother, and even spoke bitter words (Matthew, chap.
x. v. 34):

  “Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send
  peace, but a sword.

  (35) “For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and
  the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her
  mother-in-law.

  (36) “And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household.

  (37) “He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of
  me.”

Or _Luke_, chap. xii, v. 51:

  “Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth? I tell you, Nay:
  but rather division.

  (52) “For from henceforth there shall be five in one house divided,
  three against two, and two against three.

  (53) “The father shall be divided against the son, and the son against
  the father; the mother against the daughter, and the daughter against
  the mother; the mother-in-law against the daughter-in-law, and the
  daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.”

Horus snatched from his mother her head adornment, the power. Just as
Adam struggled with Lilith, so he struggles for power. Nietzsche, in
“Human, All Too Human,” expressed the same in very beautiful words:

  “One may suppose that a mind, in which the ‘type of free mind’ is to
  ripen and sweeten at maturity, has had its decisive crisis in a great
  detachment, so that before this time it was just so much the more a
  fettered spirit and appeared chained forever to its corner and its
  pillar.[629] What binds it most firmly? What cords are almost
  untearable? Among human beings of a high and exquisite type, it would
  be duties: that reverence, which is suitable for youth, that modesty
  and tenderness for all the old honored and valued things, that
  thankfulness for the earth from which they grew, for the hand which
  guided them, for the shrine where they learnt to pray:—their loftiest
  moments themselves come to bind them the firmest, to obligate them the
  most permanently. The great detachment comes suddenly for people so
  bound.

  “‘Better to die than to live here,’—thus rings the imperative voice of
  seduction: and this here, this ‘at home’ is all, that it (the soul)
  has loved until now! A sudden terror and suspicion against that which
  it has loved, a lightning flash of scorn towards that which is called
  ‘duty,’ a rebellious, arbitrary, volcanic, impelling desire for
  travelling, for strange countries, estrangements, coolness, frigidity,
  disillusionments, a hatred of love, perhaps a sacrilegious touch and
  glance backwards[630] there where just now it adored and loved,
  perhaps a blush of shame over what it has just done, and at the same
  time an exultation over having done it, an intoxicating internal
  joyous thrill, in which a victory reveals itself—a victory? Over what?
  Over whom? An enigmatic, doubtful, questioning victory, but the first
  triumph. Of such woe and pain is formed the history of the great
  detachment. It is like a disease which can destroy men,—this first
  eruption of strength and will towards self-assertion.”[631]

The danger lies, as is brilliantly expressed by Nietzsche, in isolation
in one’s self:

  “Solitude surrounds and embraces him ever more threatening, ever more
  constricting, ever more heart-strangling, the terrible Goddess and
  Mater sæva cupidinum.”

The libido taken away from the mother, who is abandoned only
reluctantly, becomes threatening as a serpent, the symbol of death, for
the relation to the mother must cease, _must die, which itself almost
causes man’s death_. In “Mater sæva cupidinum” the idea attains rare,
almost conscious, perfection.

I do not presume to try to paint in better words than has Nietzsche the
psychology of the wrench from childhood.


Miss Miller furnishes us with a further reference to a material which
has influenced her creation in a more general manner; this is the great
Indian epic of Longfellow, “The Song of Hiawatha.”

If my readers have had patience to read thus far, and to reflect upon
what they have read, they frequently must have wondered at the number of
times I introduce for comparison such apparently foreign material and
how often I widen the base upon which Miss Miller’s creations rest.
Doubts must often have arisen whether it is justifiable to enter into
important discussions concerning the psychologic foundations of myths,
religions and culture in general on the basis of such scanty
suggestions. It might be said that behind the Miller phantasies such a
thing is scarcely to be found. I need hardly emphasize the fact that I,
too, have sometimes been in doubt. I had never read “Hiawatha” until, in
the course of my work, I came to this part. “Hiawatha,” a poetical
compilation of Indian myths, gives me, however, a justification for all
preceding reflections, because this epic contains an unusual number of
mythologic problems. This fact is probably of great importance for the
wealth of suggestions in the Miller phantasies. We are, therefore,
compelled to obtain an insight into this epic.

Nawadaha sings the songs of the epic of the hero Hiawatha, the friend of
man:

                 “There he sang of Hiawatha,
                 Sang the songs of Hiawatha,
                 Sang his wondrous birth and being,
                 How he prayed and how he fasted,
                 How he lived and toiled and suffered,
                 That the tribes of men might prosper,
                 That he might advance his people.”

The teleological meaning of the hero, as that symbolic figure which
unites in itself libido in the form of admiration and adoration, in
order to lead to higher sublimations by way of the symbolic bridges of
the myths, is anticipated here. Thus we become quickly acquainted with
Hiawatha as a savior, and are prepared to hear all that which must be
said of a savior, of his marvellous birth, of his early great deeds, and
his sacrifice for his fellow-men.

The first song begins with a fragment of evangelism: Gitche Manito, the
“master of life,” tired of the quarrels of his human children, calls his
people together and makes known to them the joyous message:

                “I will send a prophet to you,
                A Deliverer of the nations,
                Who shall guide you and shall teach you,
                Who shall toil and suffer with you.
                If you listen to his counsels,
                You will multiply and prosper.
                If his warnings pass unheeded,
                You will fade away and perish!”

Gitche Manito, the Mighty, “the creator of the nations,” is represented
as he stood erect “on the great Red Pipestone quarry.”

                  “From his footprints flowed a river,
                  Leaped into the light of morning,
                  O’er the precipice plunging downward
                  Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.”

The water flowing from his footsteps sufficiently proves the phallic
nature of this creator. I refer to the earlier utterances concerning the
phallic and fertilizing nature of the horse’s foot and the horse’s
steps, and especially do I recall Hippocrene and the foot of
Pegasus.[632] We meet with the same idea in Psalm lxv, vv. 9 to 11:

  “Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it; thou makest it very
  plenteous.

  “The river of God is full of water; thou preparest their corn, for so
  thou providest for the earth.

  “Thou waterest her furrows: thou sendest rain into the little valleys
  thereof; thou makest it soft with the drops of rain, and blessest the
  increase of it.

  “Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop
  fatness.”

Wherever the fertilizing God steps, there is fruitfulness. We already
have spoken of the symbolic meaning of treading in discussing the
nightmares. Kaineus passes into the depths, “splitting the earth with a
foot outstretched.” Amphiaraus, another chthonic hero, sinks into the
earth, which Zeus has opened for him by a stroke of lightning. (Compare
with that the above-mentioned vision of a hysterical patient, who saw a
black horse after a flash of lightning: identity of horse’s footstep and
flash of lightning.) By means of a flash of lightning heroes were made
immortal.[633] Faust attained the mothers when he stamped his foot.

  “Stamp and descend, stamping thou’lt rise again.”

The heroes in the sun-devouring myths often stamp at or struggle in the
jaws of the monster. Thus Tor stamped through the ship’s bottom in
battle with the monster, and _went as far as the bottom of the sea_.
(Kaineus.) (Concerning “kicking” as an infantile phantasy, see above.)
The regression of the libido to the presexual stage makes this
preparatory action of treading either a substitution for the coitus
phantasy or for the phantasy of re-entrance into the mother’s womb. The
comparison of water flowing from the footsteps with a comet is a light
symbolism for the fructifying moisture (sperma). According to an
observation by Humboldt (Kosmos), certain South American Indian tribes
call the meteors “urine of the stars.” Mention is also made of how
Gitche Manito makes fire. He blows upon a forest, so that the trees,
rubbing upon each other, burst into flame. This demon is, therefore, an
excellent libido symbol; he also produced fire.

After this prologue in the second song, the hero’s previous history is
related. The great warrior, Mudjekeewis (Hiawatha’s father), has
cunningly overcome the great bear, “the terror of the nations,” and
stolen from him the magic “belt of wampum,” a girdle of shells. Here we
meet the motive of the “treasure attained with difficulty,” which the
hero rescues from the monster. Who the bear is, is shown by the poet’s
comparisons. Mudjekeewis strikes the bear on his head after he has
robbed him of the treasure.

                 “With the heavy blow bewildered
                 Rose the great Bear of the mountains,
                 But his knees beneath him trembled,
                 And he whimpered _like a woman_.”

Mudjekeewis said derisively to him:

                 “Else you would not cry, and whimper,
                 Like a _miserable woman_!

                        ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

                 But you, Bear! sit here and whimper,
                 And disgrace your tribe by crying,
                 Like a wretched Shaugodaya,
                 Like a _cowardly old woman_!”

These three comparisons with a woman are to be found near each other on
the same page. Mudjekeewis has, like a true hero, once more torn life
from the jaws of death, from the all-devouring “terrible mother.” This
deed, which, as we have seen, is also represented as a journey to hell,
“night journey through the sea,” the conquering of the monster from
within, signifies at the same time entrance into the mother’s womb, a
rebirth, the results of which are perceptible also for Mudjekeewis. As
in the Zosimos vision, here too the entering one becomes the breath of
the wind or spirit. Mudjekeewis becomes the west wind, the fertilizing
breath, the father of winds.[634] His sons become the other winds. An
intermezzo tells of them and of their love stories, of which I will
mention only the courtship of Wabuns, the East Wind, because here the
erotic wooing of the wind is pictured in an especially beautiful manner.
Every morning he sees a beautiful girl in a meadow, whom he eagerly
courts:

                 “Every morning, gazing earthward,
                 Still the first thing he beheld there
                 Was her blue eyes looking at him,
                 Two blue lakes among the rushes.”

The comparison with water is not a matter of secondary importance,
because “from wind and water” shall man be born anew.

                “And he wooed her with caresses,
                Wooed her with his smile of sunshine,
                With his flattering words he wooed her,
                With his sighing and his singing,
                Gentlest whispers in the branches,
                Softest music, sweetest odors,” etc.

In these onomatopoetic verses the wind’s caressing courtship is
excellently expressed.[635]

The third song presents the previous history of Hiawatha’s mother. His
grandmother, when a maiden, lived in the moon. There she once swung upon
a liana, but a jealous lover cut off the liana, and Nokomis, Hiawatha’s
grandmother, fell to earth. The people, who saw her fall downwards,
thought that she was a _shooting star_. This marvellous descent of
Nokomis is more plainly illustrated by a later passage of this same
song; there little Hiawatha asks the grandmother what is the moon.
Nokomis teaches him about it as follows: The moon is the body of a
_grandmother_, whom a warlike grandson has cast up there in wrath. Hence
the moon is the _grandmother_. In ancient beliefs, the moon is also the
gathering place of departed souls,[636] the guardian of seeds;
therefore, once more a place of the origin of life of predominantly
feminine significance. The remarkable thing is that Nokomis, falling
upon the earth, gave birth to a daughter, Wenonah, subsequently the
mother of Hiawatha. The throwing upwards of the mother, and her falling
down and bringing forth, seems to contain something typical in itself.
Thus a story of the seventeenth century relates that a mad bull threw a
pregnant woman as high as a house, and tore open her womb, and the child
fell without harm upon the earth. On account of his wonderful birth,
this child was considered a hero or doer of miracles, but he died at an
early age. The belief is widespread among lower savages that the sun is
feminine and the moon masculine. Among the Namaqua, a Hottentot tribe,
the opinion is prevalent that the sun consists of transparent bacon.

  “The people, who journey on boats, draw it down by magic every
  evening, cut off a suitable piece and then give it _a kick so that it
  flies up again into the sky_.”—_Waitz_: “Anthropologie,” II, 342.

The infantile nourishment comes from the mother. In the Gnostic
phantasies we come across a legend of the origin of man which possibly
belongs here: the female archons bound to the vault of Heaven are
unable, on account of its quick rotation, to keep their young within
them, but let them fall upon the earth, from which men arise. Possibly
there is here a connection with barbaric midwifery, the letting fall of
the parturient. The assault upon the mother is already introduced with
the adventure of Mudjekeewis, and is continued in the violent handling
of the “grandmother,” Nokomis, who, as a result of the cutting of the
liana and the fall downwards, seems in some way to have become pregnant.
The “cutting of the branch,” the plucking, we have already recognized as
mother incest. (See above.) That well-known verse, “Saxonland, where
beautiful maidens grow upon trees,” and phrases like “picking cherries
in a neighbor’s garden,” allude to a similar idea. The fall downwards of
Nokomis deserves to be compared to a poetical figure in Heine.

                    “A star, a star is falling
                      Out of the glittering sky!
                    The star of Love! I watch it
                      Sink in the depths and die.

                    “The leaves and buds are falling
                      From many an apple-tree;
                    I watch the mirthful breezes
                      Embrace them wantonly...”

Wenonah later was courted by the caressing West Wind, and becomes
pregnant. Wenonah, as a young moon-goddess, has the beauty of the
moonlight. Nokomis warns her of the dangerous courtship of Mudjekeewis,
the West Wind. But Wenonah allows herself to become infatuated, and
conceives from the breath of the wind, from the πνεῦμα, a son, our hero.

                 “And the West-Wind came at evening,

                        ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

                 Found the beautiful Wenonah,
                 Lying there amid the lilies,
                 Wooed her with his words of sweetness,
                 Wooed her with his soft caresses,
                 Till she bore a son in sorrow,
                 Bore a son of love and sorrow.”

Fertilization through the breath of the spirit is already a well-known
precedent for us. The star or comet plainly belongs to the birth scene
as a libido symbol; Nokomis, too, comes to earth as a shooting star.
Mörike’s sweet poetic phantasy has devised a similar divine origin.

               “And she who bore me in her womb,
                 And gave me food and clothing.
               She was a maid—a wild, brown maid,
                 Who looked on men with loathing.

               “She fleered at them and laughed out loud,
                 And bade no suitor tarry;
               ‘I’d rather be the Wind’s own bride
                 Than have a man and marry.’

               “Then came the Wind and held her fast
                 His captive, love-enchanted;
               And lo, by him a merry child
                 Within her womb was planted.”

Buddha’s marvellous birth story, retold by Sir Edwin Arnold, also shows
traces of this.[637]

       “Maya, the Queen ...
       Dreamed a strange dream, dreamed that a star from heaven—
       Splendid, six-rayed, in color rosy-pearl,
       Whereof the token was an Elephant
       Six-tusked and white as milk of Kamadhuk—
       Shot through the void; and shining into her,
       Entered her womb upon the right.”[638]

During Maya’s conception a wind blows over the land:

                                      “A wind blew
              With unknown freshness over lands and seas.”

After the birth the four genii of the East, West, South and North come
to render service as bearers of the palanquin. (The coming of the wise
men at Christ’s birth.) We also find here a distinct reference to the
“four winds.” For the completion of the symbolism there is to be found
in the Buddha myth, as well as in the birth legend of Christ, besides
the impregnation by star and wind, also the fertilization by an animal,
here an elephant, which with its phallic trunk fulfilled in Maya the
Christian method of fructification through the ear or the head. It is
well known that, in addition to the dove, the unicorn is also a
procreative symbol of the Logos.

Here arises the question why the birth of a hero always had to take
place under such strange symbolic circumstances? It might also be
imagined that a hero arose from ordinary surroundings and gradually grew
out of his inferior environment, perhaps with a thousand troubles and
dangers. (And, indeed, this motive is by no means strange in the hero
myth.) It might be said that superstition demands strange conditions of
birth and generation; but why does it demand them?

The answer to this question is: that the birth of the hero, as a rule,
is not that of an ordinary mortal, but is a rebirth from the
mother-spouse; hence it occurs under mysterious ceremonies. Therefore,
in the very beginning, lies the motive of the two mothers of the hero.
As Rank[639] has shown us through many examples, the hero is often
obliged to experience exposure, and upbringing by foster parents, and in
this manner he acquires the two mothers. A striking example is the
relation of Hercules to Hera. In the Hiawatha epic Wenonah dies after
the birth and Nokomis takes her place. Maya dies after the birth[640]
and Buddha is given a stepmother. The stepmother is sometimes an animal
(the she-wolf of Romulus and Remus, etc.). The twofold mother may be
replaced by the motive of twofold birth, which has attained a lofty
significance in the Christian mythology; namely, through baptism, which,
as we have seen, represents rebirth. Thus man is born not merely in a
commonplace manner, but also born again in a mysterious manner, by means
of which he becomes a participator of the kingdom of God, of
immortality. Any one may become a hero in this way who is generated anew
through his own mother, because only through her does he share in
immortality. Therefore, it happened that the death of Christ on the
cross, which creates universal salvation, was understood as “baptism”;
that is to say, as rebirth through the second mother, the mysterious
tree of death. Christ says:

  “But I have a baptism to be baptized with: and how am I straitened
  till it be accomplished!”—_Luke_ xii: 50.

He interprets his death agony symbolically as birth agony.

The motive of the two mothers suggests the thought of self-rejuvenation,
and evidently expresses the fulfilment of the wish that it _might be
possible for the mother to bear me again_; at the same time, applied to
the heroes, it means one is a hero who is borne again by her who has
previously been his mother; that is to say, _a hero is he who may again
produce himself through his mother_.

The countless suggestions in the history of the procreation of the
heroes indicate the latter formulations. Hiawatha’s father first
overpowered the mother under the symbol of the bear; then himself
becoming a god, he procreates the hero. What Hiawatha had to do as hero,
Nokomis hinted to him in the legend of the origin of the moon; he is
forcibly to throw his mother upwards (or throw downwards?); then she
would become pregnant by this act of violence and could bring forth a
daughter. This rejuvenated mother would be allotted, according to the
Egyptian rite, as a daughter-wife to the sun-god, the father of his
mother, for self-reproduction. What action Hiawatha takes in this regard
we shall see presently. We have already studied the behavior of the
pre-Asiatic gods related to Christ. Concerning the pre-existence of
Christ, the Gospel of St. John is full of this thought. Thus the speech
of John the Baptist:

  “This is he of whom I said, After me cometh a man which is preferred
  before me; for he was before me.”—_John_ i: 30.

Also the beginning of the gospel is full of deep mythologic
significance:

  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the
  Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God.

  (3) “All things were made by him, and without him was not anything
  made that was made.

  (4) “In him was life, and the _life_ was the _light of men_.

  (5) “And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehendeth
  it not.

  (6) “There was a man sent from God whose name was John.

  (7) “The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light.

  (8) “He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that
  Light.

  (9) “That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh
  into the world.”

This is the proclamation of the reappearing light, the reborn sun, which
formerly was, and which will be again. In the baptistry at Pisa, Christ
is represented bringing the tree of life to man; his head is surrounded
by a sun halo. Over this relief stand the words INTROITUS SOLIS.

Because the one born was his own procreator, the history of his
procreation is strangely concealed under symbolic events, which are
meant to conceal and deny it; hence the extraordinary assertion of the
virgin conception. This is meant to hide the incestuous impregnation.
But do not let us forget that this naïve assertion plays an unusually
important part in the ingenious symbolic bridge, which is to guide the
libido out from the incestuous bond to higher and more useful
applications, which indicate a new kind of immortality; that is to say,
immortal work.

The environment of Hiawatha’s youth is of importance:

                 “By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
                 By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
                 Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
                 Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
                 Dark behind it rose the forest,
                 Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
                 Rose the firs with cones upon them.
                 Bright before it beat the water,
                 Beat the clear and sunny water,
                 Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.”

In this environment Nokomis brought him up. Here she taught him the
first words, and told him the first fairy tales, and the sounds of the
water and the wood were intermingled, so that the child learned not only
to understand man’s speech, but also that of Nature:

                “At the door on summer evenings
                Sat the little Hiawatha;
                Heard the whispering of the pine-trees,
                Heard the lapping of the water,
                Sounds of music, words of wonder:
                ‘Minne-wawa!’[641] said the pine-trees,
                ‘Mudway-aushka!’[642] said the water.”

Hiawatha hears human speech in the sounds of Nature; thus he understands
Nature’s speech. The wind says, “Wawa.” The cry of the wild goose is
“Wawa.” Wah-wah-taysee means the small glowworm which enchants him. Thus
the poet paints most beautifully the gradual gathering of external
nature into the compass of the subjective,[643] and the intimate
connection of the primary object to which the first lisping words were
applied, and from which the first sounds were derived, with the
secondary object, the wider nature which usurps imperceptibly the
mother’s place, and takes possession of those sounds heard first from
the mother, and also of those feelings which we all discover later in
ourselves in all the warm love of Mother Nature. The later blending,
whether pantheistic-philosophic or æsthetic, of the sentimental,
cultured man with nature is, looked at retrospectively, a reblending
with the mother, who was our primary object, and with whom we truly were
once wholly one.[644] Therefore, it is not astonishing when we again see
emerging in the poetical speech of a modern philosopher, Karl Joël, the
old pictures which symbolize the unity with the mother, illustrated by
the confluence of subject and object. In his recent book, “Seele und
Welt” (1912), Joël writes as follows, in the chapter called “Primal
Experience”[645]:

  “I lay on the seashore, the shining waters glittering in my dreamy
  eyes; at a great distance fluttered the soft breeze; throbbing,
  shimmering, stirring, lulling to sleep comes the wave beat to the
  shore—or to the ear? I know not. Distance and nearness become blurred
  into one; without and within glide into each other. Nearer and nearer,
  _dearer and more homelike sounds the beating of the waves_; now, like
  a thundering pulse in my head it strikes, and now it beats over my
  soul, devours it, embraces it, while it itself at the same time floats
  out like the blue waste of waters. Yes, without and within are one.
  Glistening and foaming, flowing and fanning and roaring, the entire
  symphony of the stimuli experienced sounds in one tone, all thought
  becomes one thought, which becomes one with feeling; the world exhales
  in the soul and the soul dissolves in the world. Our small life is
  encircled by a great sleep—_the sleep of our cradle, the sleep of our
  grave, the sleep of our home, from which we go forth in the morning,
  to which we again return in the evening_; our life but the short
  journey, the interval between the emergence from the original oneness
  and the sinking back into it! Blue shimmers the infinite sea, wherein
  dreams the jelly fish of the primitive life, toward which without
  ceasing our thoughts hark back dimly through eons of existence. For
  every happening entails a change and a guarantee of the unity of life.
  At that moment when they are no longer blended together, in that
  instant man lifts his _head, blind and dripping, from the depths_ of
  the stream of experience, from the oneness with the experience; at
  that moment of parting when the unity of life in startled surprise
  detaches the Change and holds it away from itself as something alien,
  at this moment of alienation the aspects of the experience have been
  substantialized into subject and object, and in that moment
  consciousness is born.”

Joël paints here, in unmistakable symbolism, the confluence of subject
and object as the reunion of mother and child. The symbols agree with
those of mythology, even in their details. The encircling and devouring
motive is distinctly suggested. The sea, devouring the sun and giving
birth to it anew, is already an old acquaintance. The moment of the rise
of consciousness, the separation of subject and object is a birth; truly
philosophical thought hangs with lame wings upon the few great primitive
pictures of human speech, above the simple, all-surpassing greatness of
which no thought can rise. The idea of the jelly fish is not
“accidental.” Once when I was explaining to a patient the maternal
significance of water at this contact with the mother complex, she
experienced a very unpleasant feeling. “It makes me squirm,” she said,
“as if I touched a jelly fish.” Here, too, the same idea! The blessed
state of sleep before birth and after death is, as Joël observed,
something like old shadowy memories of that unsuspecting, thoughtless
state of early childhood, where as yet no opposition disturbed the
peaceful flow of dawning life, to which the inner longing always draws
us back again and again, and from which the active life must free itself
anew with struggle and death, so that it may not be doomed to
destruction. Long before Joël, an Indian chieftain had said the same
thing in similar words to one of the restless wise men:

  “Ah, my brother, you will never learn to know the happiness of
  thinking nothing and doing nothing: this is next to sleep; this is the
  most delightful thing there is. Thus we were before birth, thus we
  shall be after death.”[646]

We shall see in Hiawatha’s later fate how important his early
impressions are in his choice of a wife. Hiawatha’s first deed was to
kill a roebuck with his arrow:

                   “Dead he lay there in the forest,
                   By the ford across the river.”

This is typical of Hiawatha’s deeds. Whatever he kills, for the most
part, lies _next to or in the water_, sometimes half in the water and
half on the land.[647] It seems that this must well be so. The later
adventures will teach us why this must be so. The buck was no ordinary
animal, but a magic one; that is to say, one with an additional
unconscious significance. Hiawatha made for himself gloves and moccasins
from its hide; the gloves imparted such strength to his arms that he
could crumble rocks to dust, and the moccasins had the virtue of the
seven-league boots. By enwrapping himself in the buck’s skin he really
became a giant. This motive, together with the death of the animal at
the ford,[648] in the water, reveals the fact that the parents are
concerned, whose gigantic proportions as compared with the child are of
great significance in the unconscious. The “toys of giants” is a wish
inversion of the infantile phantasy. The dream of an eleven-year-old
girl expresses this:

  “I am as high as a church steeple; then a policeman comes. I tell him,
  ‘If you say anything, I will cut off your head.’”

The “policeman,” as the analysis brought out, referred to the father,
whose gigantic size was over-compensated by the church steeple. In
Mexican human sacrifices, the gods were represented by criminals, who
were slaughtered, and flayed, and the Corybantes then clothed themselves
in the bloody skins, in order to illustrate the resurrection of the
gods.[649] (The snake’s casting of his skin as a symbol of
rejuvenation.)

Hiawatha has, therefore, conquered his parents, primarily the mother,
although in the form of a male animal (compare the bear of Mudjekeewis);
and from that comes his giant’s strength. He has taken on the parent’s
skin and now has himself become a great man. Now he started forth to his
first great battle to fight with the father Mudjekeewis, in order to
avenge his dead mother Wenonah. Naturally, under this figure of speech
hides the thought that he slays the father, in order to take possession
of the mother. Compare the battle of Gilgamesh with the giant Chumbaba
and the ensuing conquest of Ishtar. The father, in the psychologic
sense, merely represents the personification of the incest prohibition;
that is to say, resistance, which defends the mother. Instead of the
father, it may be a fearful animal (the great bear, the snake, the
dragon, etc.) which must be fought and overcome. The hero is a hero
because he sees in every difficulty of life resistance to the forbidden
treasure, and fights that resistance with the complete yearning which
strives towards the treasure, attainable with difficulty, or
unattainable, the yearning which paralyzes and kills the ordinary man.

Hiawatha’s father is Mudjekeewis, the west wind; the battle, therefore,
takes place in the west. Thence came life (impregnation of Wenonah);
thence also came death (death of Wenonah). Hiawatha, therefore, fights
the typical battle of the hero for rebirth in the western sea, the
battle with the devouring terrible mother, this time in the form of the
father. Mudjekeewis, who himself had acquired a divine nature, through
his conquest of the bear, now is overpowered by his son:

                 “Back retreated Mudjekeewis,
                 Rushing westward o’er the mountains,
                 Stumbling westward down the mountains,
                 Three whole days retreated fighting,
                 Still pursued by Hiawatha
                 To the doorways of the West-Wind,
                 To the portals of the Sunset,
                 To the earth’s remotest border,
                 Where into the empty spaces
                 Sinks the sun, as a flamingo
                 Drops into her nest at nightfall.”

The “three days” are a stereotyped form representing the stay in the sea
prison of night. (Twenty-first until twenty-fourth of December.) Christ,
too, remained three days in the underworld. “The treasure, difficult to
attain,” is captured by the hero during this struggle in the west. In
this case the father must make a great concession to the son; he gives
him divine nature,[650] that very wind nature, the immortality of which
alone protected Mudjekeewis from death. He says to his son:

                   “I will share my kingdom with you,
                   Ruler shall you be henceforward,
                   Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
                   Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin.”

That Hiawatha now becomes ruler of the home-wind has its close parallel
in the Gilgamesh epic, where Gilgamesh finally receives the magic herb
from the wise old Utnapishtim, who dwells in the West, which brings him
safe once more over the sea to his home; but this, when he is home
again, is retaken from him by a serpent.

When one has slain the father, one can obtain possession of his wife,
and when one has conquered the mother, one can free one’s self.

On the return journey Hiawatha stops at the clever arrow-maker’s, who
possesses a lovely daughter:

                   “And he named her from the river,
                   From the water-fall he named her,
                   Minnehaha, Laughing Water.”

When Hiawatha, in his earliest childhood dreaming, felt the sounds of
water and wind press upon his ears, he recognized in these sounds of
nature the speech of his mother. The murmuring pine trees on the shore
of the great sea, said “Minnewawa.” And above the murmuring of the winds
and the splashing of the water he found his earliest childhood dreams
once again in a woman, “Minnehaha,” the laughing water. And the hero,
before all others, finds in woman the mother, in order to become a child
again, and, finally, to solve the riddle of immortality.

The fact that Minnehaha’s father is a skilful arrow-maker betrays him as
the father of the hero (and the woman he had with him as the mother).
The father of the hero is very often a skilful carpenter, or other
artisan. According to an Arabian legend, Tare,[651] Abraham’s father,
was a skilful master workman, who could carve arrows from any wood; that
is to say, in the Arabian form of speech, he was a procreator of
splendid sons.[652] Moreover, he was a maker of images of gods.
Tvashtar, Agni’s father, is the maker of the world, a smith and
carpenter, the discoverer of fire-boring. Joseph, the father of Jesus,
was also a carpenter; likewise Kinyras, Adonis’s father, who is said to
have invented the hammer, the lever, roofing and mining. Hephaestus, the
father of Hermes, is an artistic master workman and sculptor. In fairy
tales, the father of the hero is very modestly the traditional
wood-cutter. These conceptions were also alive in the cult of Osiris.
There the divine image was carved out of a tree trunk and then placed
within the hollow of the tree. (Frazer: “Golden Bough,” Part IV.) In
Rigveda, the world was also hewn out of a tree by the world-sculptor.
The idea that the hero is his own procreator[653] leads to the fact that
he is invested with paternal attributes, and reversedly the heroic
attributes are given to the father. In Mânî there exists a beautiful
union of the motives. He accomplishes his great labors as a religious
founder, hides himself for years in a cave, he dies, is skinned, stuffed
and hung up (hero). Besides he is an artist, and has a crippled foot. A
similar union of motives is found in Wieland, the smith.

Hiawatha kept silent about what he saw at the old arrow-maker’s on his
return to Nokomis, and he did nothing further to win Minnehaha. But now
something happened, which, if it were not in an Indian epic, would
rather be sought in the history of a neurosis. Hiawatha introverted his
libido; that is to say, he fell into an extreme resistance against the
“real sexual demand” (Freud); he built a hut for himself in the wood, in
order to fast there and to experience dreams and visions. For the first
three days he wandered, as once in his earliest youth, through a forest
and looked at all the animals and plants:

               “‘Master of life!’ he cried, desponding,
               ‘Must our lives depend on these things?’”

The question whether our lives must depend upon “these things” is very
strange. It sounds as if life were derived from these things; that is to
say, from nature in general. Nature seems suddenly to have assumed a
very strange significance. This phenomenon can be explained only through
the fact that a great amount of libido was stored up and now is given to
nature. As is well known, men of even dull and prosy minds, in the
springtime of love, suddenly become aware of nature, and even make poems
about it. But we know that libido, prevented from an actual way of
transference, always reverts to an earlier way of transference.
Minnehaha, the laughing water, is so clearly an allusion to the mother
that the secret yearning of the hero for the mother is powerfully
touched. Therefore, without having undertaken anything, he goes home to
Nokomis; but there again he is driven away, because Minnehaha already
stands in his path.

He turns, therefore, even further away, into that early youthful period,
the tones of which recall Minnehaha most forcibly to his thoughts, where
he learnt to hear the mother-sounds in the sounds of nature. In this
very strange revival of the impressions of nature we recognize a
regression to those earliest and strongest nature impressions which
stand next to the subsequently extinguished, even stronger, impressions
which the child received from the mother. The glamour of this feeling
for her is transferred to other objects of the childish environment
(father’s house, playthings, etc.), from which later those magic
blissful feelings proceed, which seem to be peculiar to the earliest
childish memories. When, therefore, Hiawatha hides himself in the lap of
nature, it is really the mother’s womb, and it is to be expected that he
will emerge again new-born in some form.

Before turning to this new creation arising from introversion, there is
still a further significance of the preceding question to be considered:
whether life is dependent upon “these things”? Life may depend upon
these things in the degree that they serve _for nourishment_. We must
infer in this case that suddenly the question of nutrition came very
near the hero’s heart. (This possibility will be thoroughly proven in
what follows.) The question of nutrition, indeed, enters seriously into
consideration. First, because regression to the mother necessarily
revives that special path of transference; namely, that of nutrition
through the mother. As soon as the libido regresses to the presexual
stage, there we may expect to see the function of nutrition and its
symbols put in place of the sexual function. Thence is derived an
essential root of the displacement from below upwards (Freud), because,
in the presexual stage, the principal value belongs not to the genitals,
but to the mouth. Secondly, because the hero fasted, his hunger becomes
predominant. Fasting, as is well known, is employed to silence
sexuality; also, it expresses symbolically the resistance against
sexuality, translated into the language of the presexual stage. On the
fourth day of his fast the hero ceased to address himself to nature; he
lay exhausted, with half-closed eyes, upon his couch, sunk deep in
dreams, the picture of extreme introversion.

We have already seen that, in such circumstances, an infantile internal
equivalent for reality appears, in the place of external life and
reality. This is also the case with Hiawatha:

                “And he saw a youth approaching,
                Dressed in garments green and yellow,
                Coming through the purple twilight,
                Through the splendor of the sunset;
                Plumes of green bent o’er his forehead,
                And his hair was soft and golden.”

This remarkable apparition reveals himself in the following manner to
Hiawatha:

                “From the Master of Life descending,
                I, the friend of man, Mondamin,
                Come to warn you and instruct you,
                How by struggle and by labor
                You shall gain what you have prayed for.
                Rise up from your bed of branches;
                Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me!”

Mondamin is the maize: a god, who is eaten, arising from Hiawatha’s
introversion. His hunger, taken in a double sense, his longing for the
nourishing mother, gives birth from his soul to another hero, the edible
maize, the son of the earth mother. Therefore, he again arises at
sunset, symbolizing the entrance into the mother, and in the western
sunset glow he begins again the mystic struggle with the self-created
god, the god who has originated entirely from the longing for the
nourishing mother. The struggle is again the struggle for liberation
from this destructive and yet productive longing. Mondamin is,
therefore, equivalent to the mother, and the struggle with him means the
overpowering and impregnation of the mother. This interpretation is
entirely proven by a myth of the Cherokees, “who invoke it (the maize)
under the name of ‘The Old Woman,’ in allusion to a myth that it sprang
from the blood of an old woman killed by her disobedient sons”:[654]

                  “Faint with famine, Hiawatha
                  Started from his bed of branches,
                  From the twilight of his wigwam
                  Forth into the flush of sunset
                  Came, and wrestled with Mondamin;
                  At his touch he felt new courage
                  Throbbing in his brain and bosom,
                  Felt new life and hope and vigor
                  Run through every nerve and fibre.”

The battle at sunset with the god of the maize gives Hiawatha new
strength; and thus it must be, because the fight for the individual
depths, against the paralyzing longing for the mother, gives creative
strength to men. Here, indeed, is the source of all creation, but it
demands heroic courage to fight against these forces and to wrest from
them the “treasure difficult to attain.” He who succeeds in this has, in
truth, attained the best. Hiawatha wrestles with himself for his
creation.[655] The struggle lasts again the charmed three days. The
fourth day, just as Mondamin prophesied, Hiawatha conquers him, and
Mondamin sinks to the ground in death. As Mondamin previously desired,
Hiawatha digs his grave in mother earth, and soon afterwards from this
grave the young and fresh maize grows for the nourishment of mankind.

Concerning the thought of this fragment, we have therein a beautiful
parallel to the mystery of Mithra, where first the battle of the hero
with his bull occurs. Afterwards Mithra carries in “transitus” the bull
into the cave, where he kills him. From this death all fertility grows,
all that is edible.[656] The cave corresponds to the grave. The same
idea is represented in the Christian mysteries, although generally in
more beautiful human forms. The soul struggle of Christ in Gethsemane,
where he struggles with himself in order to complete his work, then the
“transitus,” the carrying of the cross,[657] where he takes upon himself
the symbol of the destructive mother, and therewith takes himself to the
sacrificial grave, from which, after three days, he triumphantly arises;
all these ideas express the same fundamental thoughts. Also, the symbol
of eating is not lacking in the Christian mystery. Christ is a god who
is eaten in the Lord’s Supper. His death transforms him into bread and
wine, which we partake of in grateful memory of his great deed.[658] The
relation of Agni to the Somadrink and that of Dionysus to wine[659] must
not be omitted here. An evident parallel is Samson’s rending of the
lion, and the subsequent inhabitation of the dead lion by honey bees,
which gives rise to the well-known German riddle:

  “Speise ging von dem Fresser und Süssigkeit von dem Starken (Food went
  from the glutton and sweet from the strong).”[660]

In the Eleusinian mysteries these thoughts seem to have played a rôle.
Besides Demeter and Persephone, Iakchos is a chief god of the Eleusinian
cult; he was the “puer æternus,” the eternal boy, of whom Ovid says the
following:

            “Tu puer æternus, tu formosissimus alto
            Conspiceris cœlo tibi, cum sine cornibus astas,
            Virgineum caput est,” etc.[661]

In the great Eleusinian festival procession the image of Iakchos was
carried. It is not easy to say which god is Iakchos, possibly a boy, or
a new-born son, similar to the Etrurian Tages, who bears the surname
“the freshly ploughed boy,” because, according to the myth, he arose
from the furrow of the field behind the peasant, who was ploughing. This
idea shows unmistakably the Mondamin motive. The plough is of well-known
phallic meaning; the furrow of the field is personified by the Hindoos
as woman. The psychology of this idea is that of a coitus, referred back
to the presexual stage (stage of nutrition). The son is the edible fruit
of the field. Iakchos passes, in part, as son of Demeter or of
Persephone, also appropriately as consort of Demeter. (Hero as
procreator of himself.) He is also called τῆς Δήμητρος δαίμων (Δαίμων
equals libido, also Mother libido.) He was identified with Dionysus,
especially with the Thracian Dionysus-Zagreus, of whom a typical fate of
rebirth was related. Hera had goaded the Titans against Zagreus, who,
assuming many forms, sought to escape them, until they finally took him
when he had taken on the form of a bull. In this form he was killed
(Mithra sacrifice) and dismembered, and the pieces were thrown into a
cauldron; but Zeus killed the Titans by lightning, and swallowed the
still-throbbing heart of Zagreus. Through this act he gave him existence
once more, and Zagreus as Iakchos again came forth.

Iakchos carries the torch, the phallic symbol of procreation, as Plato
testifies. In the festival procession, the sheaf of corn, the cradle of
Iakchos, was carried. (λῖκνον, mystica vannus Iacchi.) The Orphic
legend[662] relates that Iakchos was brought up by Persephone, when,
after three years’ slumber in the λῖκνον,[663] he awoke. This statement
distinctly suggests the Mondamin motive. The 20th of Boedromion (the
month Boedromion lasts from about the 5th of September to the 5th of
October) is called Iakchos, in honor of the hero. On the evening of this
day the great torchlight procession took place on the seashore, in which
the quest and lament of Demeter was represented. The rôle of Demeter,
who, seeking her daughter, wanders over the whole earth without food or
drink, has been taken over by Hiawatha in the Indian epic. He turns to
all created things without obtaining an answer. As Demeter first learns
of her daughter from the subterranean Hecate, so does Hiawatha first
find the one sought for, Mondamin,[664] in the deepest introversion
(descent to the mother). Hiawatha produces from himself, Mondamin, as a
mother produces the son. The longing for the mother also includes the
producing mother (first devouring, then birth-giving). Concerning the
real contents of the mysteries, we learn through the testimony of Bishop
Asterius, about 390 A.D., the following:

  “Is not there (in Eleusis) the gloomiest descent, and the most solemn
  communion of the hierophant and the priestess; between him and her
  alone? Are the torches not extinguished, and does not the vast
  multitude regard as their salvation that which takes place between the
  two in the darkness?”[665]

That points undoubtedly to a ritual marriage, which was celebrated
subterraneously in mother earth. The Priestess of Demeter seems to be
the representative of the earth goddess, perhaps the furrow of the
field.[666] The descent into the earth is also the symbol of the
mother’s womb, and was a widespread conception under the form of cave
worship. Plutarch relates of the Magi that they sacrificed to Ahriman,
εἰς τόπον ἀνήλιον.[667] Lukian lets the magician Mithrobarzanes εἰς
χωρίον ἔρημον καὶ ὑλῶδες καὶ ἀνήλιον,[668] descend into the bowels of
the earth. According to the testimony of Moses of the Koran, the sister
Fire and the brother Spring were worshipped in Armenia in a cave. Julian
gave an account from the Attis legend of a κατάβασις εἰς ἄντρον,[669]
from whence Cybele brings up her son lover, that is to say, gives birth
to him.[670] The cave of Christ’s birth, in Bethlehem (‘House of
Bread’), is said to have been an Attis spelæum.

A further Eleusinian symbolism is found in the festival of Hierosgamos,
in the form of the _mystic chests_, which, according to the testimony of
Clemens of Alexandria, may have contained pastry, salt and fruits. The
synthema (confession) of the mystic transmitted by Clemens is suggestive
in still other directions:

  “I have fasted, I have drunk of the barleydrink, I have taken from the
  chest and after I have labored, I have placed it back in the basket,
  and from the basket into the chest.”

The question as to what lay in the chest is explained in detail by
Dieterich.[671] The labor he considers a phallic activity, which the
mystic has to perform. In fact, representations of the mystic basket are
given, wherein lies a phallus surrounded by fruits.[672] Upon the
so-called Lovatelli tomb vase, the sculptures of which are understood to
be Eleusinian ceremonies, it is shown how a mystic caressed the serpent
entwining Demeter. The caressing of the fear animal indicates a
religious conquering of incest.[673] According to the testimony of
Clemens of Alexandria, a serpent was in the chest. The serpent in this
connection is naturally of phallic nature, the phallus which is
forbidden in relation to the mother. Rohde mentions that in the
Arrhetophories, pastry, in the form of phalli and serpents, were thrown
into the cave near the Thesmophorion. This custom was a petition for the
bestowal of children and harvest.[674] The snake also plays a large part
in initiations under the remarkable title ὁ διὰ κόλπου θεός.[675]
Clemens observes that the symbol of the Sabazios mysteries is ὁ διὰ
κόλπων θεός, δράκων δὲ ἐστι καὶ οὗτος διελκόμενος τοῦ κόλπου τῶν
τελουμένων.[676]

Through Arnobius we learn:

  “Aureus coluber in sinum demittitur consecratis et eximitur rursus ab
  inferioribus partibus atque imis.”[677]

In the Orphic Hymn 52, Bacchus is invoked by ὑποκόλπιε,[678] which
indicates that the god enters into man as if through the female
genitals.[679] According to the testimony of Hippolytus, the hierophant
in the mystery exclaimed ἱερον ἔτεκε πότνια κοῦρον, Βριμὼ βριμόν (the
revered one has brought forth a holy boy, Brimos from Brimo). This
Christmas gospel, “Unto us a son is born,” is illustrated especially
through the tradition[680] that the Athenians “secretly show to the
partakers in the Epoptia, the great and wonderful and most perfect
Epoptic mystery, _a mown stalk of wheat_.”[681]

The parallel for the motive of death and resurrection is the motive of
losing and finding. The motive appears in religious rites in exactly the
same connection, namely, in spring festivities similar to the
Hierosgamos, where the image of the god was hidden and found again. It
is an uncanonical tradition that Moses left his father’s house when
twelve years old to teach mankind. In a similar manner Christ is lost by
his parents, and they find him again as a teacher of wisdom, just as in
the Mohammedan legend Moses and Joshua lose the fish, and in his place
Chidher, the teacher of wisdom, appears (like the boy Jesus in the
temple); so does the corn god, lost and believed to be dead, suddenly
arise again from his mother into renewed youth. (That Christ was laid in
the manger is suggestive of fodder. Robertson, therefore, places the
manger as parallel to the liknon.)

We understand from these accounts why the Eleusinian mysteries were for
the mystic so rich in comfort for the hope of a better world. A
beautiful Eleusinian epitaph shows this:

     “Truly, a beautiful secret is proclaimed by the blessed Gods!
     Mortality is not a curse, but death a blessing!”

The hymn to Demeter[682] in the mysteries also says the same:

       “Blessed is he, the earth-born man, who hath seen this!
       Who hath not shared in these divine ceremonies,
       He hath an unequal fate in the obscure darkness of death.”

Immortality is inherent in the Eleusinian symbol; in a church song of
the nineteenth century by Samuel Preiswerk we discover it again:

                 “The world is yours, Lord Jesus,
                 The world, on which we stand,
                 Because it is thy world
                 It cannot perish.
                 Only the wheat, before it comes
                 Up to the light in its fertility,
                 Must die in the bosom of the earth
                 First freed from its own nature.

                 “Thou goest, O Lord, our chief,
                 To heaven through thy sorrows,
                 And guide him who believes
                 In thee on the same path.
                 Then take us all equally
                 To share in thy sorrows and kingdoms,
                 Guide us through thy gate of death,
                 Bring thy world into the light.”

Firmicus relates concerning the Attis mysteries:

  “Nocte quadam simulacrum in lectica supinum ponitur et per numeros
  digestis fletibus plangitur; deinde cum se ficta lamentatione
  satiaverint, lumen infertur: tunc a sacerdote omnium qui flebant
  fauces unguentur, quibus perunctis sacerdos hoc lento murmure
  susurrat: ‘Θαρρεῖτε μύσται τοῦ Θεοῦ σεσωσμένου ἔσται γὰρ ἡμῖν ἐκ πόνου
  σωτηρία.’”[683]

Such parallels show how little human personality and how much divine,
that is to say, universally human, is found in the Christ mystery. No
man is or, indeed, ever was, a hero, for the hero is a god, and,
therefore, impersonal and generally applicable to all. Christ is a
“spirit,” as is shown in the very early Christian interpretation. In
different places of the earth, and in the most varied forms and in the
coloring of various periods, the Savior-hero appears as a fruit of the
entrance of the libido into the personal maternal depths. The Bacchian
consecrations represented upon the Farnese relief contain a scene where
a mystic wrapped in a mantle, drawn over his head, was led to Silen, who
holds the “λῖχνον” (chalice), covered with a cloth. The covering of the
head signifies death. The mystic dies, figuratively, like the seed corn,
grows again and comes to the corn harvest. Proclus relates that the
mystics were buried up to their necks. The Christian church as a place
of religious ceremony is really nothing but the grave of a hero
(catacombs). The believer descends into the grave, in order to rise from
the dead with the hero. That the meaning underlying the church is that
of the mother’s womb can scarcely be doubted. The symbols of Mass are so
distinct that the mythology of the sacred act peeps out everywhere. It
is the magic charm of rebirth. The veneration of the Holy Sepulchre is
most plain in this respect. A striking example is the Holy Sepulchre of
St. Stefano in Bologna. The church itself, a very old polygonal
building, consists of the remains of a temple to Isis. The interior
contains an artificial spelæum, a so-called Holy Sepulchre, into which
one creeps through a very little door. After a long sojourn, the
believer reappears reborn from this mother’s womb. An Etruscan ossuarium
in the archeological museum in Florence is at the same time a statue of
Matuta, the goddess of death; the clay figure of the goddess is hollowed
within as a receptacle for the ashes. The representations indicate that
Matuta is the mother. Her chair is adorned with sphinxes, as a fitting
symbol for the mother of death.

[Illustration: THE SO-CALLED HOLY SEPULCHRE OF S. STEFANO AT BOLOGNA]

Only a few of the further deeds of Hiawatha can interest us here. Among
these is the battle with Mishe-Nahma, the fish-king, in the eighth song.
This deserves to be mentioned as a typical battle of the sun-hero.
Mishe-Nahma is a fish monster, who dwells at the bottom of the waters.
Challenged by Hiawatha to battle, he devours the hero, together with his
boat:

                 “In his wrath he darted upward,
                 Flashing leaped into the sunshine,
                 Opened his great jaws, and swallowed
                 Both canoe and Hiawatha.

                 “Down into that darksome cavern
                 Plunged the headlong Hiawatha,
                 As a log on some black river
                 Shoots and plunges down the rapids,
                 Found himself in utter darkness,
                 Groped about in helpless wonder,
                 Till he felt a great heart beating,
                 Throbbing in that utter darkness.
                 And he smote it in his anger,
                 With his fist, the heart of Nahma,
                 Felt the mighty king of fishes
                 Shudder through each nerve and fibre.

                        ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

                 Crosswise then did Hiawatha
                 Drag his birch-canoe for safety,
                 Lest from out the jaws of Nahma,
                 In the turmoil and confusion,
                 Forth he might be hurled, and perish.”

It is the typical myth of the work of the hero, distributed over the
entire world. He takes to a boat, fights with the sea monster, is
devoured, he defends himself against being bitten or crushed[684]
(resistance or stamping motive); having arrived in the interior of the
“whale dragon,” he seeks the vital organ, which he cuts off or in some
way destroys. Often the death of the monster occurs as the result of a
fire which the hero secretly makes within him; he mysteriously creates
in the womb of death life, the rising sun. Thus dies the fish, which
drifts ashore, where, with the assistance of “birds,” the hero again
attains the light of day.[685] The bird in this sense probably means the
reascent of the sun, the longing of the libido, the rebirth of the
phœnix. (The longing is very frequently represented by the symbol of
hovering.) The sun symbol of the bird rising from the water is
(etymologically) contained in the singing swan. “Swan” is derived from
the root _sven_, like sun and tone. (See the preceding.) This act
signifies rebirth, and the bringing forth of life from the mother,[686]
and by this means the ultimate destruction of death, which, according to
a Negro myth, has come into the world, through the mistake of an old
woman, who, at the time of the general casting of skins (for men renewed
their youth through casting their skin like snakes), drew on, through
absent-mindedness, her old skin instead of a new one, and as a result
died. But the effect of such an act could not be of any duration. Again
and again troubles of the hero are renewed, always under the symbol of
deliverance from the mother. Just as Hera (as the pursuing mother) is
the real source of the great deeds of Hercules, so does Nokomis allow
Hiawatha no rest, and raises up new difficulties in his path, in form of
desperate adventures in which the hero may perhaps conquer, but also,
perhaps, may perish. The libido of mankind is always in advance of his
consciousness; unless his libido calls him forth to new dangers he sinks
into slothful inactivity or, on the other hand, childish longing for the
mother overcomes him at the summit of his existence, and he allows
himself to become pitifully weak, instead of striving with desperate
courage towards the highest. The mother becomes the demon, who summons
the hero to adventure, and who also places in his path the poisonous
serpent, which will strike him. Thus Nokomis, in the ninth song, calls
Hiawatha, points with her hand to the west, where the sun sets in purple
splendor, and says to him:

[Illustration: MATUTA, AN ETRUSCAN PIETÀ]

                “Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,
                Megissogwon, the Magician,
                Manito of Wealth and Wampum,
                Guarded by his fiery serpents,
                Guarded by the black pitch-water.
                You can see his fiery serpents,
                The Kenabeek, the great serpents,
                Coiling, playing in the water.”

This danger lurking in the west is known to mean death, which no one,
even the mightiest, escapes. This magician, as we learn, also killed the
father of Nokomis. Now she sends her son forth to avenge the father
(Horus). Through the symbols attributed to the magician it may easily be
recognized what he symbolizes. Snake and water belong to the mother, the
snake as a symbol of the repressed longing for the mother, or, in other
words, as a symbol of resistance, encircles protectingly and defensively
the maternal rock, inhabits the cave, winds itself upwards around the
mother tree and guards the precious hoard, the “mysterious” treasure.
The black Stygian water is, like the black, muddy spring of Dhulqarnein,
the place where the sun dies and enters into rebirth, the maternal sea
of death and night. On his journey thither Hiawatha takes with him the
magic oil of Mishe-Nahma, which helps his boat through the waters of
death. (Also a sort of charm for immortality, like the dragon’s blood
for Siegfried, etc.)

First, Hiawatha slays the great serpent. Of the “night journey in the
sea” over the Stygian waters it is written:

                 “All night long he sailed upon it,
                 Sailed upon that sluggish water,
                 Covered with its mould of ages,
                 Black with rotting water-rushes,
                 Rank with flags, and leaves of lilies,
                 Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,
                 Lighted by the shimmering moonlight
                 And by will-o’-the-wisps illumined,
                 Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled,
                 In their weary night encampments.”

The description plainly shows the character of a water of death. The
contents of the water point to an already mentioned motive, that of
encoiling and devouring. It is said in the “Key to Dreams of
Jagaddeva”:[687]

  “Whoever in dreams surrounds his body with bast, creepers or ropes,
  with snake-skins, threads, or tissues, dies.”

I refer to the preceding arguments in regard to this. Having come into
the west land, the hero challenges the magician to battle. A terrible
struggle begins. Hiawatha is powerless, because Megissogwon is
invulnerable. At evening Hiawatha retires wounded, despairing for a
while, in order to rest:

                “Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree,
                From whose branches trailed the mosses,
                And whose trunk was coated over
                With the Dead-man’s Moccasin-leather,
                With the fungus white and yellow.”

This protecting tree is described as coated over with the moccasin
leather of the dead, the fungus. This investing of the tree with
anthropomorphic attributes is also an important rite wherever tree
worship prevails, as, for example, in India, where each village has its
sacred tree, which is clothed and in general treated as a human being.
The trees are anointed with fragrant waters, sprinkled with powder,
adorned with garlands and draperies. Just as among men, the piercing of
the _ears was performed as an apotropaic charm against death, so does it
occur with the holy tree_. Of all the trees of India there is none more
sacred to the Hindoos than the Aswatha (Ficus religiosa). It is known to
them as Vriksha Raja (king of trees), Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesvar live
in it, and the worship of it is the worship of the triad. Almost every
Indian village has an Aswatha,[688] etc. This “village linden tree,”
well known to us, is here clearly characterized as the mother symbol; it
contains the three gods.

Hence, when Hiawatha retires to rest under the pine-tree,[689] it is a
dangerous step, because he resigns himself to the mother, whose garment
is the garment of death (the devouring mother). As in the whale-dragon,
the hero also in this situation needs a “helpful bird”; that is to say,
the helpful animals, which represent the benevolent parents:

                 “Suddenly from the boughs above him
                 Sang the Mama, the woodpecker;
                 ‘Aim your arrows, Hiawatha,
                 At the head of Megissogwon,
                 Strike the tuft of hair upon it,
                 At their roots the long black tresses;
                 There alone can he be wounded.’”

Now, amusing to relate, Mama hurried to his help. It is a peculiar fact
that the woodpecker was also the “Mama” of Romulus and Remus, who put
nourishment into the mouths of the twins with his beak.[690] (Compare
with that the rôle of the vulture in Leonardo’s dream. The vulture is
sacred to Mars, like the woodpecker.) With the maternal significance of
the woodpecker, the ancient Italian folk-superstition agrees: that from
the tree upon which this bird nested any nail which has been driven in
will soon drop out again.[691] The woodpecker owes its special
significance to the circumstance that he _hammers holes into trees_.
(“To drive nails in,” as above!) It is, therefore, understandable that
he was made much of in the Roman legend as an old king of the country, a
possessor or ruler of the holy tree, the primitive image of the
Paterfamilias. An old fable relates how Circe, the spouse of King Picus,
transformed him into the Picus Martius, the woodpecker. The sorceress is
the “new-creating mother,” who has “magic influence” upon the
sun-husband. She kills him, transforms him into the soul-bird, the
unfulfilled wish. Picus was also understood as the wood demon and
incubus, as well as the soothsayer, all of which fully indicate the
mother libido.[692] Picus was often placed on a par with Picumnus by the
ancients. Picumnus is the inseparable companion of Pilumnus, and both
are actually called _infantium dii_, “the gods of little children.”
Especially it was said of Pilumnus that he defended new-born children
against the destroying attacks of the wood demon, Silvanus. (Good and
bad mother, the motive of the two mothers.)

The benevolent bird, a wish thought of deliverance which arises from
introversion,[693] advises the hero to shoot the magician under the
hair, which is the only vulnerable spot. This spot is the “phallic”
point,[694] if one may venture to say so; it is at _the top of the
head_, at the _place where the mystic birth from the head takes place_,
which even to-day appears in children’s sexual theories. Into that
Hiawatha shoots (one may say, very naturally) three arrows[695] (the
well-known phallic symbol), and thus kills Megissogwon. Thereupon he
steals the magic wampum armor, which renders him invulnerable (means of
immortality). He significantly leaves the dead lying in the
water—because the magician is the fearful mother:

                   “On the shore he left the body,
                   Half on land and half in water,
                   In the sand his feet were buried,
                   And his face was in the water.”

Thus the situation is the same as with the fish king, because the
monster is the personification of the water of death, which in its turn
represents the devouring mother. This great deed of Hiawatha’s, where he
has vanquished the mother as the death-bringing demon,[696] is followed
by his marriage with Minnehaha.

A little fable which the poet has inserted in the later song is
noteworthy. An old man is transformed into a youth, by _crawling through
a hollow oak tree_.

In the fourteenth song is a description of how Hiawatha discovers
writing. I limit myself to the description of two hieroglyphic tokens:

                  “Gitche Manito the Mighty,
                  He, the Master of Life, was painted
                  As an egg, with points projecting
                  To the four winds of the heavens.
                  Everywhere is the Great Spirit,
                  Was the meaning of this symbol.”

The world lies in the egg, which encompasses it at every point; it is
the cosmic woman with child, the symbol of which Plato as well as the
Vedas has made use of. This mother is like the air, which is everywhere.
But air is spirit; the mother of the world is a spirit:

                    “Mitche Manito the Mighty,
                    He the dreadful Spirit of Evil,
                    As a serpent was depicted,
                    As Kenabeek, the great serpent.”

But the spirit of evil is fear, is the forbidden desire, the adversary
who opposes not only each individual heroic deed, but life in its
struggle for eternal duration as well, and who introduces into our body
the poison of weakness and age through the treacherous bite of the
serpent. It is all that is retrogressive, and as the model of our first
world is our mother, all retrogressive tendencies are towards the
mother, and, therefore, are disguised under the incest image.

In both these ideas the poet has represented in mythologic symbols the
libido arising from the mother and the libido striving backward towards
the mother.

There is a description in the fifteenth song how Chibiabos, Hiawatha’s
best friend, the amiable player and singer, the embodiment of the joy of
life, was enticed by the evil spirits into ambush, fell through the ice
and was drowned. Hiawatha mourns for him so long that he succeeds, with
the aid of the magician, in calling him back again. But the revivified
friend is only a spirit, and he becomes master of the land of spirits.
(Osiris, lord of the underworld; the two Dioscuri.) Battles again
follow, and then comes the loss of a second friend, Kwasind, the
embodiment of physical strength.

In the twentieth song occur famine and the death of Minnehaha, foretold
by two taciturn guests from the land of death; and in the twenty-second
song Hiawatha prepares for a final journey to the west land:

                 “I am going, O Nokomis,
                 On a long and distant journey,
                 To the portals of the Sunset,
                 To the regions of the home-wind,
                 Of the Northwest-Wind Keewaydin.

                 “One long track and trail of splendor,
                 Down whose stream, as down a river,
                 Westward, westward, Hiawatha
                 Sailed into the fiery sunset,
                 Sailed into the purple vapors,
                 Sailed into the dusk of evening.

                 “Thus departed Hiawatha,
                 Hiawatha the Beloved,
                 In the glory of the sunset,
                 In the purple mists of evening,
                 To the regions of the home-wind,
                 Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
                 To the Islands of the Blessed,
                 To the kingdom of Ponemah,
                 To the land of the Hereafter!”

The sun, victoriously arising, tears itself away from the embrace and
clasp, from the enveloping womb of the sea, and sinks again into the
maternal sea, into night, the all-enveloping and the all-reproducing,
leaving behind it the heights of midday and all its glorious works. This
image was the first, and was profoundly entitled to become the symbolic
carrier of human destiny; in the morning of life man painfully tears
himself loose from the mother, from the domestic hearth, to rise through
battle to his heights. Not seeing his worst enemy in front of him, but
bearing him within himself as a deadly longing for the depths within,
for drowning in his own source, for becoming absorbed into the mother,
his life is a constant struggle with death, a violent and transitory
delivery from the always lurking night. This death is no external enemy,
but a deep personal longing for quiet and for the profound peace of
non-existence, for a dreamless sleep in the ebb and flow of the sea of
life. Even in his highest endeavor for harmony and equilibrium, for
philosophic depths and artistic enthusiasm, he seeks death, immobility,
satiety and rest. If, like Peirithoos, he tarries too long in this place
of rest and peace, he is overcome by torpidity, and the poison of the
serpent paralyzes him for all time. If he is to live he must fight and
sacrifice his longing for the past, in order to rise to his own heights.
And having reached the noonday heights, he must also _sacrifice the love
for his own achievement_, for he may not loiter. The sun also sacrifices
its greatest strength in order to hasten onwards to the fruits of
autumn, which are the seeds of immortality; fulfilled in children, in
works, in posthumous fame, in a new order of things, all of which in
their turn begin and complete the sun’s course over again.

The “Song of Hiawatha” contains, as these extracts show, a material
which is very well adapted to bring into play the abundance of ancient
symbolic possibilities, latent in the human mind, and to stimulate it to
the creation of mythologic figures. But the products always contain the
same old problems of humanity, which rise again and again in new
symbolic disguise from the shadowy world of the unconscious. Thus Miss
Miller is reminded through the longing of Chiwantopel, of another mythic
cycle which appeared in the form of Wagner’s “Siegfried.” Especially is
this shown in the passage in Chiwantopel’s monologue, where he exclaims,
“There is not one who understands me, not one who resembles me, not one
who has a soul sister to mine.” Miss Miller observes that the sentiment
of this passage has the greatest analogy with the feelings which
Siegfried experienced for Brunhilde.

This analogy causes us to cast a glance at the song of Siegfried,
especially at the relation of Siegfried and Brunhilde. It is a
well-recognized fact that Brunhilde, the Valkyr, gives protection to the
birth (incestuous) of Siegfried, but while Sieglinde is the human
mother, Brunhilde has the rôle of “spiritual mother” (mother-imago);
however, unlike Hera towards Hercules, she is not a pursuer, but
benevolent. This sin, in which she is an accomplice, by means of the
help she renders, is the reason for her banishment by Wotan. The strange
birth of Siegfried from the sister-wife distinguishes him as Horus, as
the _reborn son_, a reincarnation of the retreating Osiris—Wotan. The
birth of the young son, of the hero, results, indeed, from mankind, who,
however, are merely the human bearers of the cosmic symbolism. Thus the
birth is protected by the spirit mother (Hera, Lilith): she sends
Sieglinde with the child in her womb (Mary’s flight) on the “night
journey on the sea” to the east:

                    “Onward, hasten;
                    Turn to the East.

                           ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

                    O woman, thou cherishest
                    The sublimest hero of the world
                    In thy sheltering womb.”

The motive of dismemberment is found again in the broken sword of
Siegmund, which was kept for Siegfried. From the dismemberment life is
pieced together again. (The Medea wonder.) Just as a smith forges the
pieces together, so is the dismembered dead again put together. (This
comparison is also found in “Timaios” of Plato: the parts of the world
joined together with pegs.) In the Rigveda, 10, 72, the creator of the
world, Brahmanaspati, is a smith.

                    “Brahmanaspati, as a blacksmith,
                    Welded the world together.”

The sword has the significance of the phallic sun power; therefore, a
sword proceeds from the mouth of the apocalyptic Christ; that is to say,
the procreative fire, the word, or the procreative Logos. In Rigveda,
Brahmanaspati is also a prayer-word, which possessed an ancient creative
significance:[697]

        “And this prayer of the singers, expanding from itself,
        Became a cow, which was already there before the world,
        Dwelling together in the womb of this god,
        Foster-children of the same keeper are the gods.”

                           —_Rigveda_ x: 31.

The Logos became a cow; that is to say, the mother, who is pregnant with
the gods. (In Christian uncanonical phantasies, where the Holy Ghost has
feminine significance, we have the well-known motive of the two mothers,
the earthly mother, Mary, and the spiritual mother, the Holy Ghost.) The
transformation of the Logos into the mother is not remarkable in itself,
because the origin of the phenomenon fire-speech seems to be the
mother-libido, according to the discussion in the earlier chapter. The
_spiritual is the mother-libido_. The significance of the sword, in the
Sanskrit conception, têjas, is probably partly determined by its
sharpness, as is shown above, in its connection with the libido
conception. The motive of pursuit (the pursuing Sieglinde, analogous to
Leto) is not here bound up with the spiritual mother, but with Wotan,
therefore corresponding to the Linos legend, where the father of the
wife is also the pursuer. Wotan is also the father of Brunhilde.
Brunhilde stands in a peculiar relation to Wotan. Brunhilde says to
Wotan:

  “Thou speakest to the will of Wotan By telling me what thou wishest:
  Who ... am I Were I not thy will?”

  _Wotan_:

  I take counsel only with myself, When I speak with thee....

Brunhilde is also somewhat the “angel of the face,” that creative will
or word,[698] emanating from God, also the Logos, which became the
child-bearing woman. God created the world through his word; that is to
say, his mother, the woman who is to bring him forth again. (He lays his
own egg.) This peculiar conception, it seems to me, can be explained by
assuming that the libido overflowing into speech (thought) has preserved
its sexual character to an extraordinary degree as a result of the
inherent inertia. In this way the “word” had to execute and fulfil all
that was denied to the sexual wish; namely, the return into the mother,
in order to attain eternal duration. The “word” fulfils this wish by
itself becoming the daughter, the wife, the mother of the God, who
brings him forth anew.[699]

Wagner has this idea vaguely in his mind in Wotan’s lament over
Brunhilde:

                  “None as she knew my inmost thought;
                  None knew the source of my will
                  As she;
                  She herself was
                  The creating womb of my wish;
                  And so now she has broken
                  The blessed union!”

Brunhilde’s sin is the favoring of Siegmund, but, behind this, lies
incest: this is projected into the brother-sister relation of Siegmund
and Sieglinde; in reality, and archaically expressed, Wotan, the father,
has entered into his self-created daughter, in order to rejuvenate
himself. But this fact must, of course, be veiled. Wotan is rightly
indignant with Brunhilde, for she has taken the Isis rôle and through
the birth of the son has deprived the old man of his power. The first
attack of the death serpent in the form of the son, Siegmund, Wotan has
repelled; he has broken Siegmund’s sword, but Siegmund rises again in a
grandson. This inevitable fate is always helped by the woman; hence the
wrath of Wotan.

At Siegfried’s birth Sieglinde dies, as is proper. The
foster-mother[700] is apparently not a woman, but a chthonic god, a
crippled dwarf, who belongs to that tribe which renounces love.[701] The
Egyptian god of the underworld, the crippled shadow of Osiris (who
celebrated a melancholy resurrection in the sexless semi-ape
Harpocrates), is the tutor of Horus, who has to avenge the death of his
father.

Meanwhile Brunhilde sleeps the enchanted sleep, like a Hierosgamos, upon
a mountain, where Wotan has put her to sleep[702] with the magic thorn
(Edda), surrounded by the flames of Wotan’s fire (equal to libido[703]),
which wards off every one. But Mime becomes Siegfried’s enemy and wills
his death through Fafner. Here Mime’s dynamic nature is revealed; he is
a masculine representation of the terrible mother, also a foster-mother
of demoniac nature, who places the poisonous worm (Typhon) in her son’s
(Horus’s) path. Siegfried’s longing for the mother drives him away from
Mime, and his travels begin with the mother of death, and lead through
vanquishing the “terrible mother”[704] to the woman:

               _Siegfried_:

                 Off with the imp!
                 I ne’er would see him more!
                 Might I but know what my mother was like
                 That will my thought never tell me!
                 Her eyes’ tender light
                 Surely did shine
                 Like the soft eyes of the doe!

Siegfried decides to separate from the demon which was the mother in the
past, and he gropes forward with the longing directed towards the
mother. Nature acquires a hidden maternal significance for him (“doe”);
in the tones of nature he discovers a suggestion of the maternal voice
and the maternal language:

                _Siegfried_:

                Thou gracious birdling,
                Strange art thou to me!
                Dost thou in the wood here dwell?
                Ah, would that I could take thy meaning!
                Thy song something would say—
                Perchance—of my loving mother!

This psychology we have already encountered in Hiawatha. By means of his
dialogue with the bird (bird, like wind and arrow, represents the wish,
the winged longing) Siegfried entices Fafner from the cave. His desires
turn back to the mother, and the chthonic demon, the cave-dwelling
terror of the woods, appears. Fafner is the protector of the treasure;
in his cave lies the hoard, the source of life and power. The mother
possesses the libido of the son, and jealously does she guard it.
Translated into psychological language, this means the positive
transference succeeds only through the release of the libido from the
mother-imago, the incestuous object in general. Only in this manner is
it possible to gain one’s libido, the incomparable treasure, and this
requires a mighty struggle, the whole battle of adaptation.[705] The
Siegfried legend has abundantly described the outcome of this battle
with Fafner. According to the Edda, Siegfried eats Fafner’s heart, the
seat of life. He wins the magic cap, through whose power Alberich had
changed himself into a serpent. This refers to the motive of casting the
skin, rejuvenation. By means of the magic cap one can vanish and assume
different shapes. The vanishing probably refers to dying and to the
invisible presence; that is, existence in the mother’s womb. A
luck-bringing cap, amniotic covering, the new-born child occasionally
wears over his head (the caul). Moreover, Siegfried drinks the dragon’s
blood, which makes it possible for him to understand the language of
birds, and consequently he enters into a peculiar relation with Nature,
a dominating position, the result of his knowledge, and finally wins the
treasure.

_Hort_ is a mediæval and Old High German word with the meaning of
“collected and guarded treasure”; Gothic, _huzd_; Old Scandinavian,
_hodd_; Germanic _hozda_, from pre-Germanic _kuzdhó_—for _kudtho_—“the
concealed.” Kluge[706] adds to this the Greek κεύθω, έκυθον = “to hide,
to conceal.” Also _hut_ (_hut_, to guard; English, hide), Germanic root
_hud_, from Indo-Germanic _kuth_ (questionable), to Greek κεύθω and
κύσθος, “cavity,” feminine genitals. Prellwitz,[707] too, traces Gothic
_huzd_, Anglo-Saxon _hyde_, English hide and hoard, to Greek κεύθω.
Whitley Stokes traces English hide, Anglo-Saxon _hydan_, New High German
_Hütte_, Latin _cûdo_ = helmet; Sanskrit _kuhara_ (cave?) to primitive
Celtic _koudo_ = concealment; Latin, _occultatio_.

The assumption of Kluge is also supported in other directions; namely,
from the point of view of the primitive idea:

  “There exists in Athens[708] a sacred place (a Temenos) of Ge, with
  the surname Olympia. Here the ground is torn open for about a yard in
  width; and they say, after the flood at the time of Deucalion, that
  the water receded here; and every year they throw into the fissure
  wheatmeal, kneaded with honey.”

We have observed previously that among the Arrhetophorian, pastry in the
form of snakes and phalli, was thrown into a crevice in the earth. This
was mentioned in connection with the ceremonies of fertilizing the
earth. We have touched slightly already upon the sacrifice in the earth
crevice among the Watschandies. The flood of death has passed
characteristically into the crevice of the earth; that is, back into the
mother again; because from the mother the universal great death has come
in the first place. The flood is simply the counterpart of the vivifying
and all-producing water: Ὠκεανοῦ, ὅσπερ γένεσις πάντεσσι τέτυκται.[709]
One sacrifices the honey cake to the mother, so that she may spare one
from death. Thus every year in Rome a gold sacrifice was thrown into the
lacus Curtius, into the former fissure in the earth, which could only be
closed through the sacrificial death of Curtius. He was the typical
hero, who has journeyed into the underworld, in order to conquer the
danger threatening the Roman state from the opening of the abyss.
(Kaineus, Amphiaraos.) In the Amphiaraion of Oropos those healed through
the temple incubation threw their gifts of gold into the sacred well, of
which Pausanias says:

  “If any one is healed of a sickness through a saying of the oracle,
  then it is customary to throw a silver or gold coin into the well;
  because here Amphiaraos has ascended as a god.”

It is probable that this oropic well is also the place of his
“Katabasis” (descent into the lower world). There were many entrances
into Hades in antiquity. Thus near Eleusis there was an abyss, through
which Aidoneus passed up and down, when he kidnapped Cora. (Dragon and
maiden: the libido overcome by resistance, life replaced by death.)
There were crevices in the rocks, through which souls could ascend to
the upper world. Behind the temple of Chthonia in Hermione lay a sacred
district of Pluto, with a ravine through which Hercules had brought up
Cerberus; in addition, there was an “Acherusian” lake.[710] This ravine
was, therefore, the entrance to the place where death was conquered. The
lake also belongs here as a further mother symbol, for symbols appear
massed together, as they are surrogates, and, therefore, do not afford
the same satisfaction of desire as accorded by reality, so that the
unsatisfied remnant of the libido must seek still further symbolic
outlets. The ravine in the Areopagus in Athens was considered the seat
of inhabitants of the lower world. An old Grecian custom[711] suggests a
similar idea. Girls were sent into a cavern, where a poisonous snake
dwelt, as a test of virginity. If they were bitten by the snake, it was
a token that they were no longer chaste. We find this same motive again
in the Roman legend of St. Silvester, at the end of the fifth
century:[712]

  “Erat draco immanissimus in monte Tarpeio, in quo est Capitolium
  collocatum. Ad hunc draconem per CCCLXV gradus, quasi ad infernum,
  magi cum virginibus sacrilegis descendebant semel in mense cum
  sacrificiis et lustris, ex quibus esca poterat tanto draconi inferri.
  Hic draco subito ex improviso ascendebat et licet non ingrederetur
  vicinos tamen aeres flatu suo vitiabat. Ex quo mortalitas hominum et
  maxima luctus de morte veniebat infantum. (Lilith motive.) Sanctus
  itaque Silvester cum haberet cum paganis pro defensione veritatis
  conflictum, ad hoc venit ut dicerent ei pagani: ‘Silvester descende ad
  draconem et fac eum in nomine Dei tui vel uno anno ab interfectione
  generis humani cessare.’”[713]

St. Peter appeared to Silvester in a dream and advised him to close his
door to the underworld with chains, according to the model in
Revelation, chap, xx:

  (1) “And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of the
  bottomless pit, and a great chain in his hand.

  (2) “And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the
  Devil and Satan, and bound him a thousand years.

  (3) “And cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a
  seal upon him.”

The anonymous author of a writing, “De Promissionibus,”[714] of the
beginning of the fifth century, mentions a very similar legend:

  “Apud urbem Romam specus quidam fuit in quo draco miræ magnitudinis
  mechanica arte formatus, gladium ore gestans,[715] oculis rutilantibus
  gemmis[716] metuendus ac terribilis apparebat. Hinc annuæ devotæ
  virgines floribus exornatæ, eo modo in sacrificio dabantur, quatenus
  inscias munera deferentes gradum scalæ, quo certe ille arte diaboli
  draco pendebat, contingentes impetus venientis gladii perimeret, ut
  sanguinem funderet innocentem. Et hunc quidam monachus, bene ob
  meritum cognitus Stiliconi tunc patricio, eo modo subvertit; baculo,
  manu, singulos gradus palpandos inspiciens, statim ut illum tangens
  fraudem diabolicam repperit, eo transgresso descendens, draconem
  scidit, misitque in partes: ostendens et hie deos non esse qui manu
  fiunt.”[717]

The _hero battling with the dragon has much in common with the dragon_,
and also he takes over his qualities; for example, invulnerability. As
the footnotes show, the similarity is carried still further (sparkling
eyes, sword in his mouth). Translated psychologically, the dragon is
merely the son’s repressed longing, striving towards the mother;
therefore, the son is the dragon, as even Christ is identified with the
serpent, which, once upon a time, similia similibus, had controlled the
snake plague in the Wilderness. John iii: 14. _As a serpent he is to be
crucified; that is to say, as one striving backwards towards the mother,
he must die hanging or suspended on the mother tree._ Christ and the
dragon of the Antichrist are in the closest contact in the history of
their appearance and their cosmic meaning. (Compare Bousset, the
Antichrist.) The legend of the dragon concealed in the Antichrist myth
belongs to the life of the hero, and, therefore, is immortal. In none of
the newer forms of myth are the pairs of opposites so perceptibly near
as in that of Christ and Antichrist. (I refer to the remarkable
psychologic description of this problem in Mereschkowski’s romance,
“Leonardo da Vinci.”) That the dragon is only an artifice is a useful
and delightfully rationalistic conceit, which is most significant for
that period. In this way the dismal gods were effectually vulgarized.
The schizophrenic insane readily make use of this mechanism, in order to
depreciate efficient personalities. One often hears the stereotyped
lament, “It is all a play, artificial, made up,” etc. A dream of a
“schizophrenic” is most significant; he is sitting in a dark room, which
has only a single small window, through which he can see the sky. The
sun and moon appear, but they are only made artificially from oil paper.
(Denial of the deleterious incest influence.)

The descent of the three hundred and sixty-five steps refers to the
sun’s course, to the cavern of death and rebirth. That this cavern
actually stands in a relation to the subterranean mother of death can be
shown by a note in Malalas, the historian of Antioch,[718] who relates
that Diocletian consecrated there a crypt to Hecate, to which one
descends by three hundred and sixty-five steps. Cave mysteries seem to
have been celebrated for Hecate in Samothrace as well. The serpent also
played a great part as a regular symbolic attribute in the service of
Hecate. The mysteries of Hecate flourished in Rome towards the end of
the fourth century, so that the two foregoing legends might indeed
relate to her cult. Hecate[719] is a real spectral goddess of night and
phantoms, a Mar; she is represented as riding, and in Hesiod occurs as
the _patron_ of riders. She sends the horrible nocturnal fear phantom,
the Empusa, of whom Aristophanes says that she appears inclosed in a
_bladder swollen with blood_. According to Libanius, the mother of
Aischines is also called Empusa, for the reason that “ἐκ σκοτεινῶν τόπων
τοῖς παισὶν καὶ ταῖς γυναιξίν ὡρμᾶτο.”[720]

Empusa, like Hecate, has _peculiar_ feet; one foot is made of brass, the
other of ass’ dung. Hecate has snakelike feet, which, as in the triple
form ascribed to Hecate, points to her phallic libido nature.[721] In
Tralles, Hecate appears next to Priapus; there is also a Hecate
Aphrodisias. Her symbols are the key,[722] the whip,[723] the
snake,[724] the dagger[725] and the torch.[726] As mother of death, dogs
accompany her, the significance of which we have previously discussed at
length. As guardian of the door of Hades and as Goddess of dogs, she is
of threefold form, and really identified with Cerberus. Thus Hercules,
in bringing up Cerberus, brings the conquered mother of death into the
upper world. As spirit mother (moon!), she sends madness, lunacy. (This
mythical observation states that “the mother” sends madness; by far the
majority of the cases of insanity consist, in fact, in the domination of
the individual by the material of the incest phantasy.) In the mysteries
of Cerberus, a rod, called λευκόφυλλος,[727] was broken off. This rod
protected the purity of virgins, and caused any one who touched the
plant to become insane. We recognize in this the motive of the sacred
tree, which, as mother, must not be touched, an act which only an insane
person would commit. Hecate, as nightmare, appears in the form of
Empusa, in a vampire rôle, or as Lamia, as devourer of men; perhaps,
also, in that more beautiful guise, “The Bride of Corinth.” She is the
mother of all charms and witches, the patron of Medea, because the power
of the “terrible mother” is magical and irresistible (working upward
from the unconscious). In Greek syncretism, she plays a very significant
rôle. She is confused with Artemis, who also has the surname ἑκάτη,[728]
“the one striking at a distance” or “striking according to her will,” in
which we recognize again her superior power. Artemis is the huntress,
with hounds, and so Hecate, through confusion with her, becomes
κυνηγετική, the wild nocturnal huntress. (God, as huntsman, see above.)
She has her name in common with Apollo, ἕκατος ἑκάεργος.[729] From the
standpoint of the libido theory, this connection is easily
understandable, because Apollo merely symbolizes the more positive side
of the same amount of libido. The confusion of Hecate with Brimo as
subterranean mother is understandable; also with Persephone and Rhea,
the primitive all-mother. Intelligible through the maternal significance
is the confusion with Ilithyia, the midwife. Hecate is also the direct
goddess of births, κουροτρόφος,[730] the multiplier of cattle, and
goddess of marriage. Hecate, orphically, occupies the centre of the
world as Aphrodite and Gaia, even as the world soul in general. On a
carved gem[731] she is represented carrying the cross on her head. The
beam on which the criminal was scourged is called ἑκάτη.[732] To her, as
to the Roman Trivia, the triple roads, or _Scheideweg_, “forked road,”
or crossways were dedicated. And where roads branch off or unite
sacrifices of dogs were brought her; there the bodies of the executed
were thrown; the sacrifice occurs at the _point of crossing_.
Etymologically, _scheide_, “sheath”; for example, sword-sheath, sheath
for water-shed and sheath for vagina, is identical with _scheiden_, “to
split,” or “to separate.” The meaning of a sacrifice at this place
would, therefore, be as follows: to offer something to the mother at the
place of junction or at the fissure. (Compare the sacrifice to the
chthonic gods in the abyss.) The Temenos of Ge, the abyss and the well,
are easily understood as the gates of life and death,[733] “past which
every one gladly creeps” (Faust), and sacrifices there his obolus or his
πελανοί,[734] instead of his body, just as Hercules soothes Cerberus
with the honey cakes. (Compare with this the mythical significance of
the dog!) Thus the crevice at Delphi, with the spring, Castalia, was the
seat of the chthonic dragon, Python, who was conquered by the sun-hero,
Apollo. (Python, incited by Hera, pursued Leta, pregnant with Apollo;
but she, on the floating island of Delos [nocturnal journey on the sea],
gave birth to her child, who later slew the Python; that is to say,
conquered in it the spirit mother.) In Hierapolis (Edessa) the temple
was erected above the crevice through which the flood had poured out,
and in Jerusalem the foundation stone of the temple covered the great
abyss,[735] just as Christian churches are frequently built over caves,
grottoes, wells, etc. In the Mithra grotto,[736] and all the other
sacred caves up to the Christian catacombs, which owe their significance
not to the legendary persecutions but to the worship of the dead,[737]
we come across the same fundamental motive. The burial of the dead in a
holy place (in the “garden of the dead,” in cloisters, crypts, etc.) is
restitution to the mother, with the certain hope of resurrection by
which such burial is rightfully rewarded. The animal of death which
dwells in the cave had to be soothed in early times through human
sacrifices; later with natural gifts.[738] Therefore, the Attic custom
gives to the dead the μελιτοῦττα, to pacify the dog of hell, the
three-headed monster at the gate of the underworld. A more recent
elaboration of the natural gifts seems to be the obolus for Charon, who
is, therefore, designated by Rohde as the second Cerberus, corresponding
to the Egyptian dog-faced god Anubis.[739] Dog and serpent of the
underworld (Dragon) are likewise identical. In the tragedies, the
Erinnyes are serpents as well as dogs; the serpents Tychon and Echnida
are parents of the serpents—Hydra, the dragon of the Hesperides, and
Gorgo; and of the dogs, Cerberus, Orthrus, Scylla.[740] Serpents and
dogs are also protectors of the treasure. The chthonic god was probably
always a serpent dwelling in a cave, and was fed with πελανοί.[741] In
the Asclepiadean of the later period, the sacred serpents were scarcely
visible, meaning that they probably existed only figuratively.[742]
Nothing was left but the hole in which the snake was said to dwell.
There the πελανοί[743] were placed; later the obolus was thrown in. The
sacred cavern in the temple of Kos consisted of a rectangular pit, upon
which was laid a stone lid, with a square hole; this arrangement serves
the purpose of a treasure house. The snake hole had become a slit for
money, a “sacrificial box,” and the cave had become a “treasure.” That
this development, which Herzog traces, agrees excellently with the
actual condition is shown by a discovery in the temple of Asclepius and
Hygieia in Ptolemais:

  “An encoiled granite snake, with arched neck, was found. In the middle
  of the coil is seen a narrow slit, polished by usage, just large
  enough to allow a coin of four centimeters diameter at most to fall
  through. At the side are holes for handles to lift the heavy pieces,
  the under half of which is used as a cover.”—_Herzog_, _Ibid._, p.
  212.

The serpent, as protector of the hoard, now lies on the treasure house.
The fear of the maternal womb of death has become the guardian of the
treasure of life. That the snake in this connection is really a symbol
of death, that is to say, of the dead libido, results from the fact that
the souls of the dead, like the chthonic gods, appear as _serpents_, as
dwellers in the kingdom of the mother of death.[744] This development of
symbol allows us to recognize easily the transition of the originally
very primitive significance of the crevice in the earth as mother to the
meaning of treasure house, and can, therefore, support the etymology of
_Hort_, “hoard, treasure,” as suggested by Kluge, κεύθω, belonging to
κὲῦθος, means the innermost womb of the earth (Hades); κύσθος, that
Kluge adds, is of similar meaning, cavity or womb. Prellwitz does not
mention this connection. Fick,[745] however, compares New High German
_hort_, Gothic _huzd_, to Armenian _kust_, “abdomen”; Church Slavonian
_čista_, Vedic _kostha_ = abdomen, from the Indo-Germanic root
_koustho -s_ = viscera, lower abdomen, room, store-room. Prellwitz
compares κύσθος κύστις = urinary bladder, bag, purse; Sanskrit
_kustha-s_ = cavity of the loins; then κύτος = cavity, vault; κύτις =
little chest, from κυέω = I am pregnant. Here, from κύτος = cave, κύυαρ
= hole, κύαθος = cup, κύλα - depression under the eye, κῦμα = swelling,
wave, billow, κῦρος = power, force, κύριος = lord, Old Iranian _caur_,
_cur_ = hero; Sanskrit _çura -s_ = strong, hero. The fundamental
Indo-Germanic roots[746] are _kevo_ = to swell, to be strong. From that
the above-mentioned κυέω, κύαρ, κῦρος and Latin _cavus_ = hollow,
vaulted, cavity, hole; _cavea_ = cavity, enclosure, cage, scene and
assembly; _caulæ_ = cavity, opening, enclosure, stall[747]; _kuéyô_ =
swell; participle, _kueyonts_ = swelling; _en-kueyonts_ = pregnant,
ἐγηυέων = Latin _inciens_ = pregnant; compare Sanskrit _vi-çvá-yan_ =
swelling; _kûro -s_ (_kevaro -s_), strong, powerful hero.

The treasure which the hero fetches from the dark cavern is swelling
life; it is himself, the hero, new-born from the anxiety of pregnancy
and the birth throes. Thus the Hindoo fire-bringer is called Mâtariçvan,
meaning the one swelling in the mother. The _hero striving towards the
mother is the dragon, and when he separates from the mother he becomes
the conqueror of the dragon_.[748] This train of thought, which we have
already hinted at previously in Christ and Antichrist, may be traced
even into the details of Christian phantasy. There is a series of
mediæval pictures[749] in which the communion cup contains a dragon, a
snake or some sort of small animal.[750]

The cup is the receptacle, the maternal womb, of the god resurrected in
the wine; the cup is the cavern where the serpent dwells, the god who
sheds his skin, in the state of metamorphosis; for Christ is also the
serpent. These symbolisms are used in an obscure connection in I
Corinthians, verse 10: Paul writes of the Jews who “were all baptized
unto Moses in the cloud and in the sea” (also reborn) and “did all drink
the same spiritual drink; for they drank of that spiritual rock that
followed them, and that rock was Christ.” They drank from the mother
(the generative rock, birth from the rock) the milk of rejuvenation, the
mead of immortality, and this Rock was Christ, here identified with the
mother, because he is the symbolic representative of the mother libido.
When we drink from the cup, then we drink from the mother’s breast
immortality and everlasting salvation. Paul wrote of the Jews that they
ate and then rose up to dance and to indulge in fornication, and then
twenty-three thousand of them were swept off by the plague of serpents.
The remedy for the survivors, however, was the sight of a serpent
hanging on a pole. From it was derived the cure.

[Illustration: THE DRAGON IN THE GOBLET]

  “The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the
  blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of
  the body of Christ? For we being many are one bread, and one body; for
  we are all partakers of one bread.”—_I Corinthians_ x: 16, 17.

Bread and wine are the body and the blood of Christ; the food of the
immortals who are brothers with Christ, ἀδελφοί, those who come from the
same womb. We who are reborn again from the mother are all heroes
together with Christ, and enjoy immortal food. As with the Jews, so too
with the Christians, there is imminent danger of unworthy partaking, for
this mystery, which is very closely related psychologically with the
subterranean Hierosgamos of Eleusis, involves a mysterious union of man
in a spiritual sense,[751] which was constantly misunderstood by the
profane and was retranslated into his language, where mystery is
equivalent to orgy and secrecy to vice.[752] A very interesting
blasphemer and sectarian of the beginning of the nineteenth century
named Unternährer has made the following comment on the last supper:

  “The communion of the devil is in this brothel. All they sacrifice
  here, they sacrifice to the devil and not to God. There they have the
  devil’s cup and the devil’s dish; _there they have sucked the head of
  the snake_,[753] there they have fed upon the iniquitous bread and
  drunken the wine of wickedness.”[754]

Unternährer is an adherent or a forerunner of the “theory of living
one’s own nature.” He dreams of himself as a sort of priapic divinity;
he says of himself:

  “Black-haired, very charming and handsome in countenance, and every
  one enjoys listening to thee on account of the amiable speeches which
  come from thy mouth; therefore the maids love thee.”

He preaches “the cult of nakedness.”

  “Ye fools and blind men, behold God has created man in his image, as
  male and female, and has blessed them and said, ‘Be fruitful and
  multiply and fill the earth, and make it subject to thee.’ Therefore,
  he has given the greatest honor to these poor members and has placed
  them naked in the garden,” etc.

  “Now are the fig leaves and the covering removed, because thou hast
  turned to the Lord, for the Lord is the Spirit, and where the spirit
  of the Lord is, there is freedom,[755] there the clearness of the Lord
  is mirrored with uncovered countenance. This is precious before God,
  and this is the glory of the Lord, and the adornment of our God, when
  you stand in the image and honor of your God, as God created you,
  naked and not ashamed.

  “Who can ever praise sufficiently in the sons and daughters of the
  living God those parts of the body which are destined to procreate?

  “In the lap of the daughters of Jerusalem is the gate of the Lord, and
  the Just will go into the temple there, to the altar.[756] And in the
  lap of the sons of the living God is the water-pipe of the upper part,
  which is a tube, like a rod, to measure the temple and altar. And
  under the water-tube the sacred stones are placed, as a sign and
  testimony of the Lord, who has taken to himself the seed of Abraham.

  “Out of the seeds in the chamber of the mother, God creates a man with
  his hands, as an image of himself. Then the mother house and the
  mother chamber is opened in the daughters of the Living God, and God
  himself brings forth a child through them. Thus God creates children
  from the stones, for the seed comes from the stones.”[757]

History teaches in manifold examples how the religious mysteries are
liable to change suddenly into sexual orgies because they have
originated from an overvaluation of the orgy. It is characteristic that
this priapic divinity[758] returns again to the old symbol of the snake,
which in the mystery enters into the faithful, fertilizing and
spiritualizing them, although it originally possessed a phallic
significance. In the mysteries of the Ophites, the festival was really
celebrated with serpents, in which the animals were even kissed.
(Compare the caressing of the snake of Demeter in the Eleusinian
mysteries.) In the sexual orgies of the modern Christian sects the
phallic kiss plays a very important rôle. Unternährer was an
uncultivated, crazy peasant, and it is unlikely that the Ophitic
religious ceremonies were known to him.

The phallic significance is expressed negatively or mysteriously through
the serpent, which always points to a secret related thought. This
related thought connects with the mother; thus, in a dream a patient
found the following imagery: “A serpent shot out from a moist cave and
bit the dreamer in the region of the genitals.” This dream took place at
the instant when the patient was convinced of the truth of the analysis,
and began to free himself from the bond of his mother complex. The
meaning is: I am convinced that I am inspired and poisoned by the
mother. The contrary manner of expression is characteristic of the
dream. At the moment when he felt the impulse to go forwards he
perceived the attachment to the mother. Another patient had the
following dream during a relapse, in which the libido was again wholly
introverted for a time: “She was entirely filled within by a great
snake; only one end of the tail peeped out from her arm. She wanted to
seize it, but it escaped her.” A patient with a very strong introversion
(catatonic state) complained to me that a snake was stuck in her
throat.[759] This symbolism is also used by Nietzsche in the “vision” of
the shepherd and the snake:[760]

  “And verily, what I saw was like nothing I ever saw before. I saw a
  young shepherd, writhing, choking, twitching with a convulsed face,
  from whose mouth hung a black, heavy serpent.

  “Did I ever see so much disgust and pallid fear upon a
  countenance?[761] Might he have been sleeping, and the snake crept
  into his mouth—there it bit him fast?

  “My hand tore at the serpent and tore—in vain!—I failed to tear the
  serpent out of his mouth. Then there cried out of me: ‘Bite! Bite! Its
  head off! Bite!’ I exclaimed; all my horror, my hate, my disgust, my
  compassion, all the good and bad cried out from me in one voice.

  “Ye intrepid ones around me! solve for me the riddle which I saw, make
  clear to me the vision of the lonesomest one.

  “For it was a vision and a prophecy; what did then I behold in
  parable? And who is it who is still to come?

  “Who is the shepherd into whose mouth crept the snake? Who is the man
  into whose throat all the heaviness and the blackest would creep?[762]

  “But the shepherd bit, as my cry had told him; he bit with a huge
  bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent—and sprang up.

  “No longer shepherd, no longer man, a transfigured being, an
  illuminated being, who laughed! Never yet on earth did a man laugh as
  he laughed!

  “O my brethren, I heard a laugh which was no human laughter—and now a
  thirst consumeth me, a longing that is never allayed.

  “My longing for this laugh eats into me. Oh, how can I suffer still to
  live! And how now can I bear to die!”[763]

The snake represents the introverting libido. Through introversion one
is fertilized, inspired, regenerated and reborn from the God. In Hindoo
philosophy this idea of creative, intellectual activity has even
cosmogenic significance. The unknown original creator of all things is,
according to Rigveda 10, 121, Prajâpati, the “Lord of Creation.” In the
various Brahmas, his cosmogenic activity was depicted in the following
manner

  “Prajâpati desired: ‘I will procreate myself, I will be manifold.’ He
  performed Tapas; after he had performed Tapas he created these
  worlds.”

The strange conception of Tapas is to be translated, according to
Deussen,[764] as “he heated himself with his own heat,[765] with the
sense of ‘he brooded, he hatched.’” Here the hatcher and the hatched are
not two, but one and the same identical being. As Hiranyagarbha,
Prajâpati is the egg produced from himself, the world-egg, from which he
hatches himself. He creeps into himself, he becomes his own uterus,
becomes pregnant with himself, in order to give birth to the world of
multiplicity. Thus Prajâpati through the way of introversion changed
into something new, the multiplicity of the world. It is of especial
interest to note how the most remote things come into contact. Deussen
observes:

  “In the degree that the conception of Tapas (heat) becomes in hot
  India the symbol of exertion and distress, the ‘tapo atapyata’ began
  to assume the meaning of self-castigation and became related to the
  idea that creation is an act of _self-renunciation_ on the part of the
  Creator.”

Self-incubation and self-castigation and introversion are very closely
connected ideas.[766] The Zosimos vision mentioned above betrays the
same train of thought, where it is said of the place of transformation:
ὁ τόπος τῆς ἀσκήσεως.[767] We have already observed that the place of
transformation is really the uterus. Absorption in one’s self
(introversion) is an entrance into one’s own uterus, and also at the
same time asceticism. In the philosophy of the Brahmans the world arose
from this activity; among the post-Christian Gnostics it produced the
revival and spiritual rebirth of the individual, who was born into a new
spiritual world. The Hindoo philosophy is considerably more daring and
logical, and assumes that creation results from introversion in general,
as in the wonderful hymn of Rigveda, 10, 29, it is said:

        “What was hidden in the shell,
        Was born through the power of fiery torments.
        From this first arose love,
        As the germ of knowledge,
        The wise found the roots of existence in non-existence,
        By investigating the hearts impulses.”[768]

This philosophical view interprets the world as an emanation of the
libido, and this must be widely accepted from the theoretic as well as
the psychologic standpoint, for the function of reality is an
instinctive function, having the character of biological adaptation.
When the insane Schreber brought about the end of the world through his
libido-introversion, he expressed an entirely rational psychologic view,
just as Schopenhauer wished to abolish through negation (holiness,
asceticism) the error of the primal will, through which the world was
created. Does not Goethe say:

                 “You follow a false trail;
                 Do not think that we are not serious;
                 Is not the kernel of nature
                 In the hearts of men?”

The hero, who is to accomplish the rejuvenation of the world and the
conquest of death, is the libido, which, brooding upon itself in
introversion, coiling as a snake around its own egg, apparently
threatens life with a poisonous bite, in order to lead it to death, and
from that darkness, conquering itself, gives birth to itself again.
Nietzsche knows this conception:[769]

          “How long have you sat already upon your misfortune.
          Give heed! lest you hatch an egg,
          A basilisk egg
          Of your long travail.”

The hero is himself a serpent, himself a sacrificer and a sacrificed.
The hero himself is of _serpent nature_; therefore, Christ compares
himself with the serpent; therefore, the redeeming principle of the
world of that Gnostic sect which styled itself the Ophite was the
serpent. The serpent is the Agatho and Kako demon. It is, indeed,
intelligible, when, in the Germanic saga, they say that the heroes had
serpents’ eyes.[770] I recall the parallel previously drawn between the
eyes of the Son of man and those of the Tarpeian dragon. In the already
mentioned mediæval pictures, the dragon, instead of the Lord, appeared
in the cup; the dragon who with changeful, serpent glances[771] guarded
the divine mystery of renewed rebirth in the maternal womb. In Nietzsche
the old, apparently long extinct idea is again revived:[772]

           “Ailing with tenderness, just as the thawing wind,
           Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his hill,
           Sweetened and cooked in his own juice,
           Beneath his summits,
           Beneath his ice he sits,
           Weary and happy,
           A Creator on his seventh day.
           Silence!
           It is my truth!
           From hesitating eyes—
           From velvety shadows
           Her glance meets mine,
           Lovely, mischievous, the glance of a girl.
           She divines the reason of my happiness,
           She divines me—ha! what is she plotting?
           A purple dragon lurks
           In the abyss of her maiden glance.[773]
           Woe to thee, Zarathustra,
           Thou seemest like some one
           Who has swallowed gold,
           Thy belly will be slit open.”[774]

In this poem nearly all the symbolism is collected which we have
elaborated previously from other connections. Distinct traces of the
primitive identity of serpent and hero are still extant in the myth of
Cecrops. Cecrops is himself half-snake, half-man. Originally, he
probably was the Athenian snake of the citadel itself. As a buried god,
he is like Erechtheus, a chthonic snake god. Above his subterranean
dwelling rises the Parthenon, the temple of the virgin goddess (compare
the analogous idea of the Christian church). The casting of the skin of
the god, which we have already mentioned in passing, stands in the
closest relation to the nature of the hero. We have spoken already of
the Mexican god who casts his skin. It is also told of Mani, the founder
of the Manichaean sect, that he was killed, skinned, stuffed and hung
up.[775] That is the death of Christ, merely in another mythological
form.[776]

Marsyas, who seems to be a substitute for Attis, the son-lover of
Cybele, was also skinned.[777] Whenever a Scythian king died, slaves and
horses were slaughtered, skinned and stuffed, and then set up
again.[778] In Phrygia, the representatives of the father-god were
killed and skinned. The same was done in Athens with an ox, who was
skinned and stuffed and again hitched to the plough.

In this manner the revival of the fertility of the earth was
celebrated.[779]

This readily explains the fragment from the Sabazios mysteries,
transmitted to us by Firmicus:[780] Ταῦρος δράκοντος καὶ πατὴρ ταύρου
δράκων[781].

The active fructifying (upward striving) form of the libido is changed
into the negative force striving downwards towards death. The hero as
zodion of spring (ram, bull) conquers the depths of winter; and beyond
the summer solstice is attacked by the unconscious longing for death,
and is bitten by the snake. However, he himself is the snake. But he is
at war with himself, and, therefore, the descent and the end appear to
him as the malicious inventions of the mother of death, who in this way
wishes to draw him to herself. The mysteries, however, consolingly
promise that there is no contradiction[782] or disharmony when life is
changed into death: ταῦρος δράκοντος καὶ πατήρ ταύρου δράκων.

Nietzsche, too, gives expression to this mystery:[783]

               “_Here do I sit now_,
               That is, I’m swallowed down
               By this the smallest oasis—
               —It opened up just yawning,
               Its loveliest maw agape.
               Hail! hail! to that whalefish,
               When he for his guests’ welfare
               Provided thus!

                      ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

               Hail to his belly
               If he had also
               Such a lovely oasis belly—
               The desert grows, woe to him
               Who hides the desert!
               Stone grinds on stone, the desert
               Gulps and strangles.
               The monstrous death gazes, glowing brown,
               And chews—his life is his chewing ...
               Forget not, O man, burnt out by lust,
               Thou art the stone, the desert,
               Thou art death!”

The serpent symbolism of the Last Supper is explained by the
identification of the hero with the serpent: The god is buried in the
mother: as fruit of the field, as food coming from the mother and at the
same time as drink of immortality he is received by the mystic, or as a
serpent he unites with the mystic. All these symbols represent the
liberation of the libido from the incestuous fixation through which new
life is attained. The liberation is accomplished under symbols, which
represent the activity of the incest wish.

It might be justifiable at this place to cast a glance upon
psychoanalysis as a method of treatment. In practical analysis it is
important, first of all, to discover the libido lost from the control of
consciousness. (It often happens to the libido as with the fish of Moses
in the Mohammedan legend; it sometimes “takes its course in a marvellous
manner into the sea.”) Freud says in his important article, “Zur Dynamik
der Übertragung”:[784]

  “The libido has retreated into regression and again revives the
  infantile images.”

This means, mythologically, that the sun is devoured by the serpent of
the night, the treasure is concealed and guarded by the dragon:
substitution of a present mode of adaptation by an infantile mode, which
is represented by the corresponding neurotic symptoms. Freud continues:

  “Thither the analytic treatment follows it and endeavors to seek out
  the libido again, to render it accessible to consciousness, and
  finally to make it serviceable to reality. Whenever the analytic
  investigation touches upon the libido, withdrawn into its
  hiding-place, a struggle must break out; all the forces, which have
  caused the regression of the libido, will rise up as resistance
  against the work, in order to preserve this new condition.”

Mythologically this means: the hero seeks the lost sun, the fire, the
virgin sacrifice, or the treasure, and fights the typical fight with the
dragon, with the libido in resistance. As these parallels show,
psychoanalysis mobiles a part of the life processes, the fundamental
importance of which properly illustrates the significance of this
process.

After Siegfried has slain the dragon, he meets the father, Wotan,
plagued by gloomy cares, for the primitive mother, Erda, has placed in
his path the snake, in order to enfeeble his sun. He says to Erda:

               _Wanderer_:

               All-wise one,
               Care’s piercing sting by thee was planted
               In Wotan’s dauntless heart
               With fear of shameful ruin and downfall.
               Filled was his spirit by tidings
               Thou didst foretell.
               Art thou the world’s wisest of women?
               Tell to me now
               How a god may conquer his care.

               _Erda_:

               Thou art not
               What thou hast said.

It is the same primitive motive which we meet Wagner: the mother has
robbed her son, the sun-god, of the joy of life, through a poisonous
thorn, and deprives him of his power, which is connected with the name.
Isis demands the name of the god; Erda says, “Thou art not what thou
hast said.” But the “Wanderer” has found the way to conquer the fatal
charm of the mother, the fear of death:

                  “The eternals’ downfall
                  No more dismays me,
                  Since their doom I willed.

                  “I leave to thee, loveliest Wälsung,
                  Gladly my heritage now.
                  To the ever-young
                  In gladness yieldeth the god!”

These wise words contain, in fact, the saving thought. It is not the
mother who has placed the poisonous worm in our path, but our libido
itself wills to complete the course of the sun to mount from morn to
noon, and, passing beyond noon, to hasten towards evening, not at war
with itself, but willing the descent and the end.[785]

Nietzsche’s Zarathustra teaches:

  “I praise thee, my death, the free death, which comes to me because I
  want it.

  “And when shall I want it?

  “He who has a goal and an heir wants death at the proper time for his
  goal and his heir.

  “And this is the great noonday, when man in the middle of his course
  stands between man and superman, and celebrates his path towards
  evening as his highest hope: because it is the path to a new morning.

  “He who is setting will bless his own going down because it is a
  transition: and the sun of his knowledge will be at high noon.”

Siegfried conquers the father Wotan and takes possession of Brunhilde.
The first object that he sees is her horse; then he believes that he
beholds a mail-clad man. He cuts to pieces the protecting coat of mail
of the sleeper. (Overpowering.) When he sees it is a woman, terror
seizes him:

                  “My heart doth falter and faint;
                  On whom shall I call
                  That he may help me?
                  Mother! Mother!
                  Remember me!

                  “Can this be fearing?
                  Oh, mother! Mother!
                  Thy dauntless child!
                  A woman lieth asleep:—
                  And she now has taught him to fear!

                  “Awaken! Awaken!
                  Holiest maid!
                  Then life from the sweetness of lips
                  Will I win me—
                  E’en tho’ I die in a kiss.”

In the duet which follows the mother is invoked:

                       “O mother, hail!
                       Who gave thee thy birth!”

The confession of Brunhilde is especially characteristic:

                   “O knewest thou—joy of the world,
                   How I have ever loved thee!
                   Thou wert my gladness,
                   My care wert thou!
                   Thy life I sheltered;
                   Or ere it was thine,
                   Or ere thou wert born,
                   My shield was thy guard.”[786]

The pre-existence of the hero and the pre-existence of Brunhilde as his
wife-mother are clearly indicated from this passage.

Siegfried says in confirmation:

                    “Then death took not my mother?
                    Bound in sleep did she lie?”

The mother-imago, which is the symbol of the dying and resurrected
libido, is explained by Brunhilde to the hero, as his own will:

                      “Thyself am I
                      If blest I be in thy love.”

The great mystery of the Logos entering into the mother for rebirth is
proclaimed with the following words by Brunhilde:

                   “O Siegfried, Siegfried,
                   Conquering light!
                   I loved thee ever,
                   For I divined
                   The thought that Wotan had hidden—
                   The thought that I dared
                   Not to whisper—[787]
                   That all unclearly
                   Glowed in my bosom
                   Suffered and strove;
                   For which I flouted
                   Him, who conceived it:[787]
                   For which in penance
                   Prisoned I lay,
                   While thinking it not
                   And feeling only,
                   For, in my thought,
                   Oh, should you guess it?
                   Was only my love for thee.”

The erotic similes which now follow distinctly reveal the motive of
rebirth:

                   _Siegfried_:
                     “A glorious flood
                     Before me rolls.
                     With all my senses
                     I only see
                     Its buoyant, gladdening billows.
                     Though in the deep
                     I find not my face,
                     Burning, I long
                     For the water’s balm;
                     And now as I am,
                     Spring in the stream.[788]
                     O might its billows
                     Engulf me in bliss.”

The motive of plunging into the maternal water of rebirth (baptism) is
here fully developed. An allusion to the “terrible mother” imago, the
mother of heroes, who teaches them fear, is to be found in Brunhilde’s
words (the horse-woman, who guides the dead to the other side):

                       “Fearest thou, Siegfried?
                       Fearest thou not
                       The wild, furious woman?”

The orgiastic “Occide moriturus” resounds in Brunhilde’s words:

                      “Laughing let us be lost—
                      Laughing go down to death!”

And in the words

                          “Light-giving love,
                          Laughing death!”

is to be found the same significant contrast.

The further destinies of Siegfried are those of the Invictus: the spear
of the gloomy, one-eyed Hagen strikes Siegfried’s vulnerable spot. The
old sun, who has become the god of death, the one-eyed Wotan, smites his
offspring, and once again ascends in eternal rejuvenation. The course of
the invincible sun has supplied the mystery of human life with beautiful
and imperishable symbols; it became a comforting fulfilment of all the
yearning for immortality, of all desire of mortals for eternal life.

Man leaves the mother, the source of libido, and is driven by the
eternal thirst to find her again, and to drink renewal from her; thus he
completes his cycle, and returns again into the mother’s womb. Every
obstacle which obstructs his life’s path, and threatens his ascent,
wears the shadowy features of the “terrible mother,” who paralyzes his
energy with the consuming poison of the stealthy, retrospective longing.
In each conquest he wins again the smiling love and life-giving
mother—images which belong to the intuitive depths of human feeling, the
features of which have become mutilated and irrecognizable through the
progressive development of the surface of the human mind. The stern
necessity of adaptation works ceaselessly to obliterate the last traces
of these primitive landmarks of the period of the origin of the human
mind, and to replace them along lines which are to denote more and more
clearly the nature of real objects.



                              CHAPTER VIII
                             THE SACRIFICE


After this long digression, let us return to Miss Miller’s vision. We
can now answer the question as to the significance of Siegfried’s
longing for Brunhilde. It is the striving of the libido away _from the
mother towards the mother_. This paradoxical sentence may be translated
as follows: as long as the libido is satisfied merely with phantasies,
it moves in itself, in its own depths, in the mother.[789] When the
longing of our author rises in order to escape the magic circle of the
incestuous and, therefore, pernicious, object, and it does not succeed
in finding reality, then the object is and remains irrevocably the
mother. Only the overcoming of the obstacles of reality brings the
deliverance from the mother, who is the continuous and inexhaustible
source of life for the creator, but death for the cowardly, timid and
sluggish.

Whoever is acquainted with psychoanalysis knows how often neurotics cry
out against their parents. To be sure, such complaints and reproaches
are often justified on account of the common human imperfections, but
still more often they are reproaches which should really be directed
towards themselves. Reproach and hatred are always futile attempts to
free one’s self apparently from the parents, but in reality from one’s
own hindering longing for the parents. Our author proclaims through the
mouth of her infantile hero Chiwantopel a series of insults against her
own family. We can assume that she must renounce all these tendencies,
because they contain an unrecognized wish. This hero, of many words, who
performs few deeds and indulges in futile yearnings, is the libido which
has not fulfilled its destiny, but which turns round and round in the
kingdom of the mother, and, in spite of all its longing, accomplishes
nothing. Only he can break this magic circle who possesses the courage
of the will to live and the heroism to carry it through. Could this
yearning hero-youth, Chiwantopel, but put an end to his existence, he
would probably rise again in the form of a brave man seeking real life.
This necessity imposes itself upon the dreamer as a wise counsel and
hint of the unconscious in the following monologue of Chiwantopel. He
cries sadly:

  “In all the world, there is not a single one! I have sought among a
  hundred tribes. I have watched a hundred moons, since I began. Can it
  be that there is not a solitary being who will ever know my soul? Yes,
  by the sovereign God, yes! But ten thousand moons will wax and wane
  before that pure soul is born. And it is from another world that her
  parents will come to this one. She will have pale skin and pale locks.
  She will know sorrow before her mother bears her. Suffering will
  accompany her; she will seek also, and she will find, no one who
  understands her. Temptation will often assail her soul—but she will
  not yield. In her dreams, I will come to her, and she will understand.
  _I have kept my body inviolate._ I have come ten thousand moons before
  her epoch, and she will come ten thousand moons too late. But she will
  understand! There is only once in all the ten thousand moons that a
  soul like hers is born.”

Thereupon a green _serpent darts from the bushes, glides towards him and
stings him on the arm, then attacks the horse, which succumbs first_.
Then Chiwantopel says to his horse:

  “‘Adieu, faithful brother! Enter into rest! I have loved you, and you
  have served me well. Adieu. Soon I will rejoin you!’ Then to the
  snake: ‘Thanks, little sister, you have _put an end to my
  wanderings_.’”

Then he cried with grief and spoke his prayer:

  “‘Sovereign God, take me soon! I have tried to know thee, and to keep
  thy law! O, do not suffer my body to fall into corruption and decay,
  and to furnish the vultures with food!’ A smoking crater is perceived
  at a distance, the rumbling of an earthquake is heard, followed by a
  trembling of the ground.”

Chiwantopel cries in the delirium of suffering, while the earth covers
his body:

  “I have kept my body inviolate. Ah! She understands. Ja-ni-wa-ma,
  Ja-ni-wa-ma, thou who comprehendeth me.”

Chiwantopel’s prophecy is a repetition of Longfellow’s “Hiawatha,” where
the poet could not escape sentimentality, and at the close of the career
of the hero, Hiawatha, he brings in the Savior of the white people, in
the guise of the arriving illustrious representatives of the Christian
religion and morals. (One thinks of the work of redemption of the
Spaniards in Mexico and Peru!) With this prophecy of Chiwantopel, the
personality of the author is again placed in the closest relation to the
hero, and, indeed, as the real object of Chiwantopel’s longing. Most
certainly the hero would have married her, had she lived at his time;
but, unfortunately, she comes too late. The connection proves our
previous assertion that the libido moves round in a circle. The author
loves herself; that is to say, she, as the hero, is sought by one who
comes too late. This motive of coming too late is characteristic of the
infantile love: the father and the mother cannot be overtaken. The
separation of the two personalities by ten thousand moons is a wish
fulfilment; with that the incest relation is annulled in an effectual
manner. This white heroine will seek without being understood. (She is
not understood, because she cannot understand herself rightly.) And she
will not find. But in dreams, at least, they will find each other, “and
she will understand.” The next sentence of the text reads:

  “I have kept my body inviolate.”

This proud sentence, which naturally only a woman can express, because
man is not accustomed to boast in that direction, again confirms the
fact that all enterprises have remained but dreams, that the body has
remained “inviolate.” When the hero visits the heroine in a dream, it is
clear what is meant. This assertion of the hero’s, that he has remained
inviolate, refers back to the unsuccessful attempt upon his life in the
previous chapter (huntsman with the arrow), and clearly explains to us
what was really meant by this assault; that is to say, the refusal of
the coitus phantasy. Here the wish of the unconscious obtrudes itself
again, after the hero had repressed it the first time, and thereupon he
painfully and hysterically utters this monologue. “Temptation will often
assail her soul—but it will not yield.” This very bold assertion
reduces—noblesse oblige—the unconscious to an enormous infantile
megalomania, which is always the case when the libido is compelled,
through similar circumstances, to regressions. “Only once in all the ten
thousand moons is a soul born like mine!” Here the unconscious ego
expands to an enormous degree, evidently in order to cover with its
boastfulness a large part of the neglected duty of life. But punishment
follows at its heels. Whoever prides himself too much on having
sustained no wound in the battle of life lays himself open to the
suspicion that his fighting has been with words only, whilst actually he
has remained far away from the firing-line. This spirit is just the
reverse of the pride of those savage women, who point with satisfaction
to the countless scars which were given them by their men in the sexual
fight for supremacy. In accordance with this, and in logical
continuation of the same, all that follows is expressed in figurative
speech. The orgiastic “Occide moriturus” in its admixture with the
reckless laughter of the Dionysian frenzy confronts us here in sorry
disguise with a sentimental stage trickery worthy of our posthumous
edition of “Christian morals.” In place of the positive phallus, the
negative appears, and leads the hero’s horse (his libido animalis), not
to satisfaction, but into eternal peace—also the fate of the hero. This
end means that the mother, represented as the jaws of death, devours the
libido of the daughter. Therefore, instead of life and procreative
growth, only phantastic self-oblivion results. This weak and inglorious
end has no elevating or illuminating meaning so long as we consider it
merely as the solution of an individual erotic conflict. The fact that
the symbols under which the solution takes place have actually a
significant aspect, reveals to us that behind the individual mask,
behind the veil of “individuation,” a primitive idea stands, the severe
and serious features of which take from us the courage to consider the
sexual meaning of the Miller symbolism as all-sufficient.

It is not to be forgotten that the _sexual phantasies of the neurotic
and the exquisite sexual language of dreams_ are regressive phenomena.
The sexuality of the unconscious is not what it seems to be; _it is
merely a symbol_; it is a thought bright as day, clear as sunlight, a
decision, a step forward to every goal of life—but expressed in the
unreal sexual language of the unconscious, and in the thought form of an
earlier stage; a resurrection, so to speak, of earlier modes of
adaptation. When, therefore, the unconscious pushes into the foreground
the coitus wish, negatively expressed, it means somewhat as follows:
under similar circumstances primitive man acted in such and such a
manner. The mode of adaptation which to-day is unconscious for us is
carried on by the savage Negro of the present day, whose undertakings
beyond those of nutrition appertain to sexuality, characterized by
violence and cruelty. Therefore, in view of the archaic mode of
expression of the Miller phantasy, we are justified in assuming the
correctness of our interpretation for the lowest and nearest plane only.
A deeper stratum of meaning underlies the earlier assertion that the
figure of Chiwantopel has the character of Cassius, who has a lamb as a
companion. Therefore, Chiwantopel is the portion of the dreamer’s libido
bound up with the mother (and, therefore, masculine); hence he is her
infantile personality, the childishness of character, which as yet is
unable to understand that one must leave father and mother, when the
time is come, in order to serve the destiny of the entire personality.
This is outlined in Nietzsche’s words:

  “Free dost thou call thyself? Thy dominant thought would I hear and
  not that thou hast thrown off a yoke. Art thou one who had the right
  to throw off a yoke? There are many who throw away their last value
  when they throw away their servitude.”

Therefore, when Chiwantopel dies, it means that herein is a fulfilment
of a wish, that this infantile hero, who cannot leave the mother’s care,
may die. And if with that the bond between mother and daughter is
severed, a great step forward is gained both for inner and outer
freedom. But man wishes to remain a child too long; he would fain stop
the turning of the wheel, which, rolling, bears along with it the years;
man wishes to keep his childhood and eternal youth, rather than to die
and suffer corruption in the grave. (“O, do not suffer my body to fall
into decay and corruption.”) Nothing brings the relentless flight of
time and the cruel perishability of all blossoms more painfully to our
consciousness than an inactive and empty life. _Idle dreaming is the
mother of the fear of death_, the sentimental deploring of what has been
and the vain turning back of the clock. Although man can forget in the
long- (perhaps too long) guarded feelings of youth, in the dreamy state
of stubbornly held remembrances, that the wheel rolls onward,
nevertheless mercilessly does the gray hair, the relaxation of the skin
and the wrinkles in the face tell us, that whether or not we expose the
body to the destroying powers of the whole struggle of life, the poison
of the stealthily creeping serpent of time consumes our bodies, which,
alas! we so dearly love. Nor does it help if we cry out with the
melancholy hero Chiwantopel, “I have kept my body inviolate”; flight
from life does not free us from the law of age and death. The neurotic
who seeks to get rid of the necessities of life wins nothing and lays
upon himself the frightful burden of a premature age and death, which
must appear especially cruel on account of the total emptiness and
meaninglessness of his life. If the libido is not permitted to follow
the progressive life, which is willing to accept all dangers and all
losses, then it follows the other road, sinking into its own depths,
working down into the old foreboding regarding the immortality of all
life, to the longing for rebirth.

Hölderlin exemplifies this path in his poetry and his life. I leave the
poet to speak in his song:

                             _To the Rose._

                 “In the Mother-womb eternal,
                   Sweetest queen of every lea,
                 Still the living and supernal
                   Nature carries thee and me.

                 “Little rose, the storm’s fierce power
                   Strips our leaves and alters us;
                 Yet the deathless germ will tower
                   To new blooms, miraculous.”

The following comments may be made upon the parable of this poem: The
rose is the symbol of the beloved woman (“Haidenröslein,” heather rose
of Goethe). The rose blooms in the “rose-garden” of the maiden;
therefore, it is also a direct symbol of the libido. When the poet
dreams that he is with the rose in the mother-womb of nature, then,
psychologically, the fact is that his libido is with the mother. Here is
an eternal germination and renewal. We have come across this motive
already in the Hierosgamos hymn (Iliad XIV): The nuptials in the blessed
West; that is to say, the union in and with the mother. Plutarch shows
us this motive in naïve form in his tradition of the Osiris myth; Osiris
and Isis copulating in the mother’s womb. This is also perceived by
Hölderlin as the enviable prerogative of the gods—to enjoy everlasting
infancy. Thus, in Hyperion, he says:

                 “Fateless, like the sleeping nursling,
                 Breathe the Heavenly ones;
                 Chastely guarded in modest buds,
                 Their spirits blossom eternally,
                 And their quiet eyes
                 Gaze out in placid
                 Eternal serenity.”

This quotation shows the meaning of heavenly bliss. Hölderlin never was
able to forget this first and greatest happiness, the dreamy picture of
which estranged him from real life. Moreover, in this poem, the ancient
_motive of the twins_ in the mother’s womb is intimated. (Isis and
Osiris in the mother’s womb.) The motive is archaic. There is a legend
in Frobenius of how the great serpent (appearing from the little serpent
in the hollow tree, through the so-called stretching out of the serpent)
has finally devoured all men (devouring mother—death), and only a
pregnant woman remains alive; she digs a ditch, covers it with a stone
(grave—mother’s womb), and, living there, she gives birth to twins, the
subsequent dragon-killers (the hero in double form, man and phallus, man
and woman, man with his libido, the dying and rising sun).

This existence together in the mother is to be found also very
beautifully expressed in an African myth (Frobenius):

  “In the beginning, Obatala, the heaven, and Odudua, the earth, his
  wife, lay pressed firmly together in a calabas.”

The guarding “in a modest bud” is an idea which has appeared already in
Plutarch, where it is said that the sun was born in the morning from a
flower bud. Brahma, too, comes from the bud, which also gave birth in
Assam to the first human pair.

                          _Humanity._

                        (An unfinished poem.)

  “Scarcely sprouted from the waters, O Earth,
  Are thy old mountain tops and diffuse odors,
  While the first green islands, full of young woods, breathe delight
  Through the May air over the Ocean.

  “And joyfully the eye of the Sun-god looked down
  Upon the firstlings of the trees and flowers;
  Laughing children of his youth, born from thee;
  When on the fairest of the islands....

         ·       ·       ·       ·       ·
  Once lay thy most beautiful child under the grapes;
  Lay after a mild night; in the dawn,
  In the daybreak a child born to thee, O Earth!
  And the boy looks up familiarly
  To his Father, Helios,
  And, tasting the sweet grapes,
  He picked the sacred vine for his nurse,
  And soon he is grown; the beasts
  Fear him, for he is different from them:
  This man; he is not like thee, the father,
  For the lofty soul of the father,
  Is in him boldly united with thy pleasures,
  And thy sadness, O Earth,
  He may resemble the eternal Nature,
  The mother of Gods, the terrible Mother.

  “Ah! therefore, O Earth,
  His presumption drives him away from thy breast,
  And thy gifts are vain, the tender ones;
  Ever and ever too high does the proud heart beat.

  “Out from the sweet meadow of his shores
  Man must go into the flowerless waters,
  And tho his groves shine with golden fruit,
  Like the starry night, yet he digs,
  He digs caves in the mountains, and seeks in the mines,
  Far from the sacred rays of his father,
  Faithless also to the Sun-god,
  Who does not love weaklings, and mocks at cares.

  “Ah! freer do the birds of the wood breathe:
  Although the breast of man heaves wilder and more proudly,
  His pride becomes fear, and the tender flowers
  Of his peace do not bloom for long.”

This poem betrays to us the beginning of the discord between the poet
and nature; he begins to be estranged from reality, the natural actual
existence. It is a remarkable idea how the little child chooses “the
vine for his nurse.” This Dionysian allusion is very old. In the
significant blessing of Jacob it is said of Judah (Genesis, chap. xlix,
verse 11):

  “Binding his foal unto the vine, and his ass’s colt unto the choice
  vine.”

A Gnostic gem has been preserved upon which there is a representation of
an ass suckling her foal, above which is the symbol of Cancer, and the
circumscription D.N.I.H.Y.X.P.S.: Dominus Noster Jesus Christus, with
the supplement Dei filius. As Justinus Martyr indignantly observes, the
connections of the Christian legend with that of Dionysus are
unmistakable. (Compare, for example, the miracle of the wine.) In the
last-named legend the ass plays an important rôle. Generally speaking,
the ass has an entirely different meaning in the Mediterranean countries
than with us—an economic one. Therefore, it is a benediction when Jacob
says (Genesis, chap. xlix, verse 14):

  “Issachar is a strong ass couching down between two burdens.”

The above-mentioned thought is altogether Oriental. Just as in Egypt the
new-born sun is a bull-calf, in the rest of the Orient it can easily be
an ass’s foal, to whom the vine is the nurse. Hence the picture in the
blessing of Jacob, where it is said of Judah:

  “His eyes are ruddy with wine and his teeth white with milk.”

The mock crucifix of the Palatine, with an ass’s head, evidently alludes
to a very significant background.

                         _To Nature._

         “While about thy veil I lingered, playing,
           And, like any bud, upon thee hung,[790]
         Still I felt thy heart in every straying
           Sound about my heart that shook and clung.
         While I groped with faith and painful yearning,
           To your picture, glowing and unfurled,
         Still I found a place for all my burning
           Tears, and for my love I found a world!

         “To the Sun my heart, before all others,
           Turned and felt its potent magicry;
         And it called the stars its little brothers,[791]
           And it called the Spring, God’s melody;
         And each breeze in groves or woodlands fruity
           Held thy spirit—and that same sweet joy
         Moved the well-springs of my heart with beauty—
           Those were golden days without alloy.

         “Where the Spring is cool in every valley,[792]
           And the youngest bush and twig is green,
         And about the rocks the grasses rally,
           And the branches show the sky between,
         There I lay, imbibing every flower
           In a rapt, intoxicated glee,
         And, surrounded by a golden shower,
           From their heights the clouds sank down to me.[793]

         “Often, as a weary, wandering river
           Longs to join the ocean’s placid mirth,
         I have wept and lost myself forever
           In the fulness of thy love, O Earth!
         Then—with all the ardor of my being—
           Forth I rushed from Time’s slow apathy,
         Like a pilgrim home from travel, fleeing
           To the arms of rapt Eternity.

         “_Blessed be childhood’s golden dreams, their power
           Hid from me Life’s dismal poverty_:
         _All the heart’s rich germs ye brought to flower;
           Things I could not reach, ye gave to me!_[794]
         In thy beauty and thy light, O Nature,
           Free from care and from compulsion free,
         Fruitful Love attained a kingly stature,
           Rich as harvests reaped in Arcady.

         “That which brought me up, is dead and riven,
           Dead the youthful world which was my shield;
         And this breast, which used to harbor heaven,
           Dead and dry as any stubble-field.
         Still my Springlike sorrows sing and cover
           With their friendly comfort every smart—
         But the morning of my life is over
           And the Spring has faded from my heart....

         “Shadows are the things that once we cherished;
           Love itself must fade and cannot bide;
         Since the golden dreams of youth have perished,
           Even friendly Nature’s self has died.
         Heart, poor heart, those days could never show it—
           How far-off thy home, and where it lies ...
         Now, alas, thou nevermore wilt know it
           If a dream of it does not suffice.”

                            _Palinodia._

    “What gathers about me, Earth, in your dusky, friendly green?
    What are you blowing towards me, Winds, what do you bring again?
    There is a rustling in all the tree-tops....

           ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

    “Why do you wake my soul?
    Why do ye stir in me the past, ye Kind ones?
    Oh, spare me, and let them rest; oh, do not mock
    Those ashes of my joy....

    “O change your changeless gods—
    And grow in your youth over the old ones.
    And if you would be akin to the mortals
    The young girls will blossom for you.
    And the young heroes will shine;
    And, sweeter than ever,
    Morning will play upon the cheeks of the happy ones;
    And, ravishing-sweet, you will hear
    The songs of those who are without care....

    “Ah, once the living waves of song
    Surged out of every bush to me;
    And still the heavenly ones glanced down upon me,
    Their eyes shining with joy.”

           ·       ·       ·       ·       ·


The separation from the blessedness of childhood, from youth even, has
taken the golden glamour from nature, and the future is hopeless
emptiness. But what robs nature of its glamour, and life of its joy, is
the poison of the retrospective longing, which harks back, in order to
sink into its own depths:

                              _Empedocles._

          “Thou seekest life—and a godly fire springs to thee,
          Gushing and gleaming, from the deeps of the earth;
          And, with shuddering longing,
          Throws thee down into the flames of Aetna.

          “So, through a queen’s wanton whim,
          Pearls are dissolved in wine—restrain her not!
          Didst thou not throw thy riches, Poet,
          Into the bright and bubbling cup!

          “Still thou art holy to me, as the Power of Earth
          Which took thee away, lovely assassin!...
          And I would have followed the hero to the depths,
          Had Love not held me.”

This poem betrays the secret longing for the maternal depths.[795]

He would like to be sacrificed in the chalice, dissolved in wine like
pearls (the “crater” of rebirth), yet love holds him within the light of
day. The libido still has an object, for the sake of which life is worth
living. But were this object abandoned, then the libido would sink into
the realm of the subterranean, the mother, who brings forth again:

                             _Obituary._

                         (Unfinished poem.)

 “Daily I go a different path.
 Sometimes into the green wood, sometimes to the bath in the spring;
 Or to the rocks where the roses bloom.
 From the top of the hill I look over the land,
 Yet nowhere, thou lovely one, nowhere in the light do I find thee;
 And in the breezes my words die away,
 The sacred words which once we had.

 “Aye, thou art far away, O holy countenance!
 And the melody of thy life is kept from me,
 No longer overheard. And, ah, where are
 Thy magic songs which once soothed my heart
 With the peace of Heaven?
 How long it is, how long!
 The youth is aged; the very earth itself, which once smiled on me,
 Has grown different.

 “Oh, farewell! The soul of every day departs, and, departing, turns to
    thee—
 And over thee there weeps
 The eye that, becoming brighter,
 Looks down,
 There where thou tarriest.”

This distinctly suggests a renunciation, an envy of one’s own youth,
that time of freedom which one would like to retain through a
deep-rooted dislike to all duty and endeavor which is denied an
immediate pleasure reward. Painstaking work for a long time and for a
remote object is not in the nature of child or primitive man. It is
difficult to say if this can really be called laziness, but it seems to
have not a little in common with it, in so far as the psychic life on a
primitive stage, be it of an infantile or archaic type, possesses an
extreme inertia and irresponsibility in production and non-production.

The last stanza portends evil, a gazing towards the other land, the
distant coast of sunrise or sunset; love no longer holds the poet, the
bonds with the world are torn and he calls loudly for assistance to the
mother:

                         _Achilles._

 “Lordly son of the Gods! Because you lost your loved one,
 You went to the rocky coast and cried aloud to the flood,
 Till the depths of the holy abyss heard and echoed your grief,
 From the far reaches of your heart. Down, deep down, far from the clamor
    of ships,
 Deep under the waves, in a peaceful cave,
 Dwelt the beautiful Thetis, she who protected you, the Goddess of the
    Sea,
 Mother of the youth was she; the powerful Goddess,
 She who once had lovingly nursed him,
 On the rocky shore of his island; she who had made him a hero
 With the might of her strengthening bath and the powerful song of the
    waves.
 And the mother, mourning, hearkened to the cry of her child,
 And rose, like a cloud, from the bed of the sea,
 Soothing with tender embraces the pains of her darling;
 And he listened, while she, caressing, promised to soften his grief.


 “Son of the Gods! Oh, were I like you, then could I confidently
 Call on the Heavenly Ones to hearken to my secret grief.
 But never shall I see this—I shall bear the disgrace
 As if I never belonged to her, even though she thinks of me with tears.
 Beneficent Ones! And yet Ye hear the lightest prayers of men.
 Ah, how rapt and fervently I worshipped you, holy Light,
 Since I have lived, the Earth and its fountains and woodlands,
 Father Ether—and my heart has felt you about me, so ardent and pure—
 Oh, soften my sorrows, ye Kind Ones,
 That my soul may not be silenced, may not be struck dumb too early;
 That I may live and thank Ye, O Heavenly Powers,
 With joyful songs through all the hurrying days.
 Thank ye for gifts of the past, for the joys of vanished Youth—
 And then, pray, take me, the lonely one,
 Graciously, unto yourselves.”

These poems describe more plainly than could be depicted with meagre
words the persistent arrest and the constantly growing estrangement from
life, the gradual deep immersion into the maternal abyss of the
individual being. The apocalyptic song of Patmos is strangely related to
these songs of retrogressive longing. It enters as a dismal guest
surrounded by the mist of the depths, the gathering clouds of insanity,
bred through the mother. In it the primitive thoughts of the myth, the
suggestion clad in symbols, of the sun-like death and resurrection of
life, again burst forth. Similar things are to be found in abundance
among sick people of this sort.

I reproduce some significant fragments from Patmos:

                       “Near is the God
                       And hard to comprehend,
                       But where Danger threatens
                       The Rescuer appears.”

These words mean that the libido has now sunk to the lowest depths,
where “the danger is great.” (Faust, Part II, Mother scene.) There “the
God is near”; there man may find the inner sun, his own nature, sun-like
and self-renewing, hidden in the mother-womb like the sun in the
nighttime:

            “... In Chasms
            And in darkness dwell
            The eagles; and fresh and fearlessly
            The Sons of the Alps pass swiftly over the abyss
            Upon lightly swinging bridges.”

With these words the dark phantastic poem passes on. The eagle, the bird
of the sun, dwells in darkness—the libido has hidden itself, but high
above it the inhabitants of the mountains pass, probably the gods (“Ye
are walking above in the light”), symbols of the sun wandering across
the sky, like the eagle flying over the depths:

            “... Above and around are reared
            The summits of Time,
            And the loved ones, though near,
            Live on deeply separated mountains.
            So give us waters of innocence,
            And give us wings of true understanding,
            With which to pass across and to return again.”

The first is a gloomy picture of the mountains and of time—although
caused by the sun wandering over the mountains, the following picture a
nearness, and at the same time separation, of the lovers, and seems to
hint at life in the underworld,[796] where he is united with all that
once was dear to him, and yet cannot enjoy the happiness of reunion,
because it is all shadows and unreal and devoid of life. Here the one
who descends drinks the waters of innocence, the waters of childhood,
the drink of rejuvenation,[797] so wings may grow, and, winged, he may
soar up again into life, like the winged sun, which arises like a swan
from the water (“Wings, to pass across and to return again”):

              “... So I spoke, and lo, a genie
              Carried me off, swifter than I had imagined,
              And farther than ever I had thought
              From my own house!
              It grew dark
              As I went in the twilight.
              The shadowy wood,
              And the yearning brooks of my home-land
              Grew vague behind me—
              And I knew the country no longer.”

After the dark and obscure words of the introduction, wherein the poet
expresses the prophecy of what is to come, the sun journey begins
(“night journey in the sea”) towards the east, towards the ascent,
towards the mystery of eternity and rebirth, of which Nietzsche also
dreams, and which he expressed in significant words:

  “Oh, how could I not be ardent for eternity, and for the nuptial ring
  of rings—the ring of the return! Never yet have I found the woman from
  whom I wish children, unless she would be this woman whom I love; for
  I love thee, O eternity.”

Hölderlin expresses this same longing in a beautiful symbol, the
individual traits of which are already familiar to us:

          “... But soon in a fresh radiance
          Mysteriously
          Blossoming in golden smoke,
          With the rapidly growing steps of the sun,
          Making a thousand summits fragrant,
          Asia arose!
          And, dazzled,
          I sought one whom I knew;
          For unfamiliar to me were the broad roads,
          Where from Tmolus
          Comes the gilded Pactol,
          And Taurus stands and Messagis—
          And the gardens are full of flowers.
          But high up in the light
          The silvery snow gleams, a silent fire;
          And, as a symbol of eternal life,
          On the impassable walls,
          Grows the ancient ivy.[798]
          And carried by columns of living cedars and laurels
          Are the solemn, divinely built palaces.”

The symbol is apocalyptic, the maternal city in the land of eternal
youth, surrounded by the verdure and flowers of imperishable
spring.[799] The poet identifies himself here with John, who lived on
Patmos, who was once associated with “the sun of the Highest,” and saw
him face to face:

      “There at the Mystery of the Vine they met,
      There at the hour of the Holy Feast they gathered,
      And—feeling the approach of Death in his great, quiet soul,
      The Lord, pouring out his last love, spoke,
      And then he died.
      Much could be said of it—
      How his triumphant glance,
      The happiest of all,
      Was seen by his companions, even at the last.

             ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

      Therefore he sent the Spirit unto them,
      And the house trembled, solemnly;
      And, with distant thunder,
      The storm of God rolled over the cowering heads
      Where, deep in thought,
      The heroes of death were assembled....
      Now, when he, in parting,
      Appeared once more before them,
      Then the kingly day, the day of the sun, was put out,
      And the gleaming sceptre, formed of his rays,
      Was broken—and suffered like a god itself.
      Yet it shall return and glow again
      When the right time comes.”

The fundamental pictures are the sacrificial death and the resurrection
of Christ, like the self-sacrifice of the sun, which voluntarily breaks
its sceptre, the fructifying rays, in the certain hope of resurrection.
The following comments are to be noted in regard to “the sceptre of
rays”: Spielrein’s patient says, “God pierces through the earth with his
rays.” The earth, in the patient’s mind, has the meaning of woman. She
also comprehends the sunbeam in mythologic fashion as something solid:
“Jesus Christ has shown me his love, by striking against the window with
a sunbeam.” Among other insane patients I have come across the same idea
of the solid substance of the sunbeam. Here there is also a hint of the
phallic nature of the instrument which is associated with the hero.
Thor’s hammer, which, cleaving the earth, penetrates deeply into it, may
be compared to the foot of Kaineus. The hammer is retained in the
interior of the earth, like the treasure, and, in the course of time, it
gradually comes again to the surface (“the treasure blooms”), meaning
that it was born again from the earth. (Compare what has been said
concerning the etymology of “swelling.”) On many monuments Mithra holds
a peculiar object in his hands, which Cumont compares to a half-filled
tube. Dieterich proves from his papyrus text that the object is the
shoulder of the bull, the bear constellation. The shoulder has an
indirect phallic meaning, for it is the part which is wanting in Pelops.
Pelops was slaughtered by his father, Tantalus, dismembered, and boiled
in a kettle, to make a meal for the gods. Demeter had unsuspectingly
eaten the shoulder from this feast, when Zeus discovered the outrage. He
had the pieces thrown back into the kettle, and, with the help of the
life-dispensing Clotho, Pelops was regenerated, and the shoulder which
was missing was replaced by an ivory one. This substitution is a close
parallel to the substitution of the missing phallus of Osiris. Mithra is
represented in a special ceremony, holding the bull’s shoulder over Sol,
his son and vice-regent. This scene may be compared to a sort of
dedication, or accolade (something like the ceremony of confirmation).
The blow of the hammer as a generating, fructifying, inspiring function
is retained as a folk-custom and expressed by striking with the twig of
life, which has the significance of a charm of fertility. In the
neuroses, the sexual meaning of castigation plays an important part, for
among many children castigation may elicit a sexual orgasm. The ritual
act of striking has the same significance of generating (fructifying),
and is, indeed, merely a variant of the original phallic ceremonial. Of
similar character to the bull’s shoulder is the cloven hoof of the
devil, to which a sexual meaning also appertains. The ass’s jawbone
wielded by Samson has the same worth. In the Polynesian Maui myth the
jawbone, the weapon of the hero, is derived from the man-eating woman,
Muriranga-whenua, whose body swells up enormously from lusting for human
flesh (Frobenius). Hercules’ club is made from the wood of the maternal
olive tree. Faust’s key also “knows the mothers.” The libido springs
from the mother, and with this weapon alone can man overcome death.

It corresponds to the phallic nature of the ass’s jawbone, that at the
place where Samson threw it God caused a spring to gush forth[800]
(springs from the horse’s tread, footsteps, horse’s hoof). To this
relation of meanings belongs the magic wand, the sceptre in general.
Σκῆτρον belongs to σκᾶπος, σκηπάνων, σκήπων = staff; σκηπτός =
stormwind; Latin _scapus_ = shaft, stock, scapula, shoulder; Old High
German _Scaft_ = spear, lance.[801] We meet once more in this
compilation those connections which are already well known to us:
Sun-phallus as tube of the winds, lance and shoulder-blade.

The passage from Asia through Patmos to the Christian mysteries in the
poem of Hölderlin is apparently a superficial connection, but in reality
a very ingenious train of thought; namely, the entrance into death and
the land beyond as a self-sacrifice of the hero, for the attainment of
immortality. At this time, when the sun has set, when love is apparently
dead, man awaits in mysterious joy the renewal of all life:

               “... And Joy it was
               From now on
               To live in the loving night and see
               The eyes of innocence hold the unchanging
               Depths of all wisdom.”

Wisdom dwells in the depths, the wisdom of the mother: being one with
it, insight is obtained into the meaning of deeper things, into all the
deposits of primitive times, the strata of which have been preserved in
the soul. Hölderlin, in his diseased ecstasy, feels once more the
greatness of the things seen, but he does not care to bring up to the
light of day that which he had found in the depths—in this he differs
from Faust.

              “And it is not an evil, if a few
              Are lost and never found, and if the speech
              Conceals the living sound;
              Because each godly work resembles ours;
              And yet the Highest does not plan it all—
              The great pit bears two irons,
              And the glowing lava of Aetna....
              Would I had the power
              To build an image and see the Spirit—
              See it as it was!”

He allows only one hope to glimmer through, formed in scanty words:

              “He wakes the dead;
              They who are not enchained and bound,
              They who are not unwrought.
              ... And if the Heavenly Ones
              Now, as I believe, love me—
              ... Silent is his sign[802]
              In the dusky sky. And one stands under it
              His whole life long—for Christ still lives.”

But, as once Gilgamesh, bringing back the magic herb from the west land,
was robbed of his treasure by the demon serpent, so does Hölderlin’s
poem die away in a painful lament, which betrays to us that no
victorious resurrection will follow his descent to the shadows:

               “... Ignominiously
               A power tears our heart away,
               For sacrifices the heavenly ones demand.”

This recognition, that man must sacrifice the retrogressive longing (the
incestuous libido) before the “heavenly ones” tear away the sacrifice,
and at the same time the entire libido, came too late to the poet.
Therefore, I take it to be a wise counsel which the unconscious gives
our author, to sacrifice the infantile hero. This sacrifice is best
accomplished, as is shown by the most obvious meaning, through a
complete devotion to life, in which all the libido unconsciously bound
up in familial bonds, must be brought outside into human contact. For it
is necessary for the well-being of the adult individual, who in his
childhood was merely an atom revolving in a rotary system, to become
himself the centre of a new system. That such a step implies the
solution or, at least, the energetic treatment of the individual sexual
problem is obvious, for unless this is done the unemployed libido will
inexorably remain fixed in the incestuous bond, and will prevent
individual freedom in essential matters. Let us keep in mind that
Christ’s teaching separates man from his family without consideration,
and in the talk with Nicodemus we saw the specific endeavor of Christ to
procure activation of the incest libido. Both tendencies serve the same
goal—the liberation of man; the Jew from his extraordinary fixation to
the family, which does not imply higher development, but greater
weakness and more uncontrolled incestuous feeling, produced the
compensation of the compulsory ceremonial of the cult and the religious
fear of the incomprehensible Jehovah. When man, terrified by no laws and
no furious fanatics or prophets, allows his incestuous libido full play,
and does not liberate it for higher purposes, then he is under the
influence of unconscious compulsion. For compulsion is the unconscious
wish. (Freud.) He is under the dominance of the libido εἱμαρμένη[803]
and his destiny does not lie in his own hands; his adventures, Τύχαι καὶ
Μοῖραι,[804] fall from the stars. His unconscious incestuous libido,
which thus is applied in its most primitive form, fixes the man, as
regards his love type, in a corresponding primitive stage, the stage of
ungovernableness and surrender to the emotions. Such was the psychologic
situation of the passing antiquity, and the Redeemer and Physician of
that time was he who endeavored to educate man to the sublimation of the
incestuous libido.[805] The destruction of slavery was the necessary
condition of that sublimation, for antiquity had not yet recognized the
duty of work and work as a duty, as a social need of fundamental
importance. Slave labor was compulsory work, the counterpart of the
equally disastrous compulsion of the libido of the privileged. It was
only the obligation of the individual to work which made possible in the
long run that regular “drainage” of the unconscious, which was inundated
by the continual regression of the libido. Indolence is the beginning of
all vice, because in a condition of slothful dreaming the libido has
abundant opportunity for sinking into itself, in order to create
compulsory obligations by means of regressively reanimated incestuous
bonds. The best liberation is through _regular work_.[806] Work,
however, is salvation only when it is a free act, and has in itself
nothing of infantile compulsion. In this respect, religious ceremony
appears in a high degree as organized inactivity, and at the same time
as the forerunner of modern work.

Miss Miller’s vision treats the problem of the sacrifice of the
infantile longing, in the first place, as an individual problem, but if
we cast a glance at the form of this presentation, then we will become
aware that here it must concern something, which is also a problem of
humanity in general. For the symbols employed, the serpent which killed
the horse[807] and the hero voluntarily sacrificing himself, are
primitive figures of phantasies and religious myths streaming up from
the unconscious.

In so far as the world and all within it is, above all, a thought, which
is credited with transcendental “substance” through the empirical need
of the same, there results from the sacrifice of the regressive libido
the creation of the world; and, psychologically speaking, the world in
general. For him who looks backward the world, and even the infinite
starry sky, is the mother[808] who bends over and encloses him on all
sides, and from the renunciation of this idea and from the longing for
this idea arises the image of the world. From this most simple
fundamental thought, which perhaps appears strange to us only because it
is conceived according to the _principle of desire and not the principle
of reality_,[809] results the significance of the cosmic sacrifice. A
good example of this is the slaying of the Babylonian primitive mother
Tiâmat, the dragon, whose body is destined to form the heaven and the
earth. We come upon this thought in its most complete form in Hindoo
philosophy of the most ancient date; namely, in songs of Rigveda. In
Rigveda 10: 81, 4, the song inquires:

 “What was the tree, what wood in sooth produced it, from which they
    fashioned out the earth and heaven?
 Ye thoughtful men inquire within your spirit, whereon he stood when he
    established all things.”

Viçvakarman, the All-Creator, who created the world from the unknown
tree, did so as follows:

          “He who, sacrificing, entered into all these beings
          As a wise sacrificer, our Father, who,
          Striving for blessings through prayer,
          Hiding his origin,
          Entered this lowly world,
          What and who has served him
          As a resting-place and a support?”[810]

Rigveda 10: 90, gives answer to these questions. Purusha is the primal
being who

                  “... covered earth on every side and
                  Spread ten fingers’ breadth beyond.”

One sees that Purusha is a sort of Platonic world soul, who surrounds
the world from without. Of Purusha it is said:

                  “Being born he overtopped the earth
                  Before, behind, and in all places.”

The mother symbolism is plain, it seems to me, in the idea of Purusha.
He represents the mother-imago and the libido of the child clinging to
her. From this assumption all that follows is very easily explained:

               “As sacrificial animal on the bed of straw
               Was dedicated the Purusha,
               Who was born on the straw,
               Whom the Gods, the Blest, and the Wise,
               Meeting there, sacrificed.”

This verse is very remarkable; if one wishes to stretch this mythology
out on the procrustean bed of logic, sore violence would have to be
committed. It is an incredibly phantastic conception that, beside the
gods, ordinary “wise men” unite in sacrificing the primitive being,
aside from the circumstance that, beside the primitive being, nothing
had existed in the beginning (that is to say, before the sacrifice), as
we shall soon see. If the great mystery of the mother sacrifice is meant
thereby, then all becomes clear:

               “From that great general sacrifice
               The dripping fat was gathered up.
               He formed the creatures of the air,
               And animals both wild and tame.
               From that great general sacrifice
               Richas and Sama-hymns were born;
               Therefrom the metres were produced,
               The Yajus had its birth from it.

               “The moon was gendered from his mind
               And from his eye the Sun had birth;
               Indra and Agni from his mouth
               Were born, and Vâyu from his breath.

               “Forth from his navel came midair;
               The sky was fashioned from his head;
               Earth from his feet, and from his ears
               The regions. Thus they formed the worlds.”

It is evident that by this is meant not a physical, but a psychological
cosmogony. The world arises when man discovers it. He discovers it when
he sacrifices the mother; that is to say, when he has freed himself from
the midst of his unconscious lying in the mother. That which impels him
forward to this discovery may be interpreted psychologically as the
so-called “Incest barrier” of Freud. The incest prohibition places an
end to the childish longing for the food-giving mother, and compels the
libido, gradually becoming sexual, into the path of the biological aim.
The libido forced away from the mother by the incest prohibition seeks
for the sexual object in the place of the forbidden mother. In this
wider psychologic sense, which expresses itself in the allegoric
language of the “incest prohibition,” “mother,” etc., must be understood
Freud’s paradoxical sentence, “Originally we have known only sexual
objects.”[811] This sentence must be understood psychologically
throughout, in the sense of a world image created from within outwards,
which has, in the first place, nothing to do with the so-called
“objective” idea of the world. This is to be understood as a new edition
of the subjective idea of the world corrected by reality. Biology, as a
science of objective experience, would have to reject unconditionally
Freud’s proposition, for, as we have made clear above, the function of
reality can only be partly sexual; in another equally important part it
is self-preservation. The matter appears different for that thought
which accompanies the biological function as an epiphenomenon. As far as
our knowledge reaches, the individual act of thought is dependent wholly
or in greatest part on the existence of a highly differentiated brain,
whereas the function of reality (adaptation to reality) is something
which occurs in all living nature as wholly independent from the act of
thought. This important proposition of Freud’s applies only to the act
of thought, for thinking, as we may recognize from manifold traces,
arose dynamically from the libido, which was split off from the original
object at the “incest barrier” and became actual when the first budding
sexual emotions began to flow in the current of the libido which goes to
the mother. Through the incest barrier the sexual libido is forced away
from the identification with the parents, and introverted for lack of
adequate activity. It is the sexual libido which forces the growing
individual slowly away from his family. If this necessity did not exist,
then the family would always remain clustered together in a solid group.
Hence the neurotic always renounces a complete erotic experience,[812]
in order that he may remain a child. Phantasies seem to arise from the
introversion of the sexual libido. Since the first childish phantasies
most certainly do not attain the quality of a conscious plan, and as
phantasies likewise (even among adults) are almost always the direct
derivates of the unconscious, it is, therefore, highly probable that the
first phantastic manifestations arise from an act of regression. As we
illustrated earlier, the regression goes back to the presexual stage, as
many traces show. Here the sexual libido obtains again, so to speak,
that universal capacity of application, or capacity for displacement,
which it actually possessed at that stage when the sexual application
was not yet discovered. Naturally, no adequate object is found in the
presexual stage for the regressive sexual libido, but only surrogates,
which always leave a wish; namely, the wish to have the surrogate as
similar as possible to the sexual goal. This wish is secret, however,
for it is really an incest wish. The unsatisfied unconscious wish
creates innumerable secondary objects, symbols for the primitive object,
the mother (as the Rigveda says, the creator of the world, “hiding his
origin,” enters into things). From this the thought or the phantasies
proceed, as a desexualized manifestation of _an originally sexual
libido_.

From the standpoint of the libido, the term “incest barrier” corresponds
to one aspect, but the matter, however, may be considered from another
point of view.

The time of undeveloped sexuality, about the third and the fourth year,
is, at the same time, considered externally, the period when the child
finds himself confronted with increased demands from the world of
reality. He can walk, speak and independently attend to a number of
other things. He sees himself in a relation to a world of unlimited
possibilities, but in which he dares to do little or nothing, because he
is as yet too much of a baby and cannot get on without his mother. At
this time mother should be exchanged for the world. Against this the
past rises as the greatest resistance; this is always so whenever man
would undertake a new adaptation. In spite of all evidence and against
all conscious resolutions, the unconscious (the past) always enforces
its standpoint as resistance. In this difficult position, precisely at
this period of developing sexuality, we see the dawning of the mind. The
problem of the child at this period is the discovery of the world and of
the great transsubjective reality. For that he must lose the mother;
every step out into the world means a step away from the mother.
Naturally, all that which is retrogressive in men rebels against this
step, and energetic attempts are made against this adaptation in the
first place. Therefore, this period of life is also that in which the
first clearly developed neuroses arise. The tendency of this age is one
directly opposed to that of dementia præcox. The child seeks to win the
world and to leave the mother (this is a necessary result). The dementia
præcox patient, however, seeks to leave the world and to regain the
subjectivity of childhood. We have seen that in dementia præcox the
recent adaptation to reality is replaced by an archaic mode of
adaptation; that is to say, the recent idea of the world is rejected in
favor of an archaic idea of the world. When the child renounces his task
of adaptation to reality, or has considerable difficulties in this
direction, then we may expect that the recent adaptation will again be
replaced by archaic modes of adaptation. It would, therefore, be
conceivable that through regression in children archaic products would
naturally be unearthed; that is to say, old ways of functioning of the
thought system, which is inborn with the brain differentiation, would be
awakened.

According to my available but as yet unpublished material, a remarkably
archaic and at the same time generally applicable character seems to
appertain to infantile phantasy, quite comparable with the products of
dementia præcox. It does not seem improbable that through regression at
this age those same associations of elements and analogies are
reawakened which formerly constituted the archaic idea of the world.
When we now attempt to investigate the nature of these elements, a
glance at the psychology of myths is sufficient to show us that the
archaic idea was chiefly sexual anthropomorphism. It appears that these
things in the unconscious childish phantasy play an extraordinary rôle,
as we can recognize from examples taken at random. Just as the sexualism
of neuroses is not to be taken literally but as regressive phantasy and
symbolic compensation for a recent unachieved adaptation, so is the
sexualism of the early infantile phantasy, especially the incest
problem, a regressive product of the revival of the archaic modes of
function, outweighing actuality. On this account I have expressed myself
very vaguely in this work, I am sure, in regard to the incest problem.
This is done in order not to be responsible for the idea that I
understand by it a gross sexual inclination towards the parents. The
true facts of the case are much more complicated, as my investigations
point out. Originally incest probably never possessed particularly great
significance as such, because cohabitation with an old woman for all
possible motives could hardly be preferred to mating with a young woman.
It seems that the mother has acquired incestuous significance only
psychologically. Thus, for example, the incestuous unions of antiquity
were not a result of a love inclination, but of a special superstition,
which is most intimately bound up with the mythical ideas here treated.
A Pharaoh of the second dynasty is said to have married his sister, his
daughter and his granddaughter; the Ptolemies were accustomed also to
marriage with sisters; Kambyses married his sister; Artaxerxes married
his two daughters; Qobad I (sixth century A. D.) married his daughter.
The Satrap Sysimithres married his mother. These incestuous unions are
explained by the circumstance that in the Zend Avesta the marriage of
relatives was directly commanded;[813] it emphasized the resemblance of
rulers to the divinity, and, therefore, was more of an artificial than a
natural arrangement, because it originated more from a theoretical than
from a biological inclination. (A practical impetus towards that lay
often in the peculiar laws of inheritance left over from the _Mutter
recht_, “maternal right” [matriarchal], period.) The confusion which
certainly frequently involved the barbarians of antiquity in regard to
the choice of their sexual objects cannot very well be measured by the
standard of present-day love psychology. In any case, the incest of the
semi-animal past is in no way proportionate to the enormous significance
of the incest phantasy among civilized people. This disproportion
enforces the assumption that the incest prohibition which we meet even
amongst relatively lower races concerns rather the mythical ideas than
the biological damage; therefore, the ethnical prohibition almost always
concerns the mother and seldom the father. Incest prohibition can be
understood, therefore, as a result of regression, and as the result of a
libidinous anxiety, which regressively attacks the mother. Naturally, it
is difficult or impossible to say from whence this anxiety may have
come. I merely venture to suggest that it may have been a question of a
primitive separation of the pairs of opposites which are hidden in the
will of life: the will for life and for death. It remains obscure what
adaptation the primitive man tried to evade through introversion and
regression to the parents; but, according to the analogy of the soul
life in general, it may be assumed that the libido, which disturbed the
initial equilibrium of becoming and of ceasing to be, had been stored up
in the attempt to make an especially difficult adaptation, and from
which it recedes even to-day.

After this long digression, let us turn back to the song of the Rigveda.
Thinking and a conception of the world arose from a shrinking back from
stern reality, and it is only after man has regressively assured himself
again of the protective parental power[814] that he enters life wrapped
in a dream of childhood shrouded in magic superstitions; that is to say,
“thinking,”[815] for he, timidly sacrificing his best and assuring
himself of the favor of the invisible powers, step by step develops to
greater power, in the degree that he frees himself from his
retrogressive longing and the original lack of harmony in his being.

Rigveda 10, 90, concludes with the exceedingly significant verse, which
is of greatest importance for the Christian mysteries as well:

 “Gods, sacrificing, rendered homage to the sacrifice: these were the
    earliest holy ordinances,
 The mighty ones attained the height of heaven, there where the Sâdhyas,
    goddesses of old, are dwelling.”

Through the sacrifice a fulness of power was attained, which extends up
to the power of the “parents.” Thus the sacrifice has also the meaning
of a psychologic maturation process.

In the same manner that the world originated through sacrifice, through
the renunciation of the retrospective mother libido, thus, according to
the teachings of the Upanishads, is produced the new condition of man,
which may be termed the immortal. This new condition is again attained
through a sacrifice; namely, through the sacrificial horse which is
given a cosmic significance in the teaching of the Upanishads. What the
sacrificial horse means is told by Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad 1: 1:

                                  “_Om!_

  “1. The dawn is truly the head of the sacrificial horse, the sun his
  eye, the wind his breath, his mouth the all-spreading fire, the year
  is the body of the sacrificial horse. The sky is his back, the
  atmosphere his body cavity, the earth the vault of his belly, the
  poles are his sides, the space between the poles his ribs, the seasons
  his limbs, the months and half-months his joints, day and night his
  feet, the stars his bones, the clouds his flesh, the food, which he
  digests, are the deserts; the rivers, his veins; liver and lungs, the
  mountains; the herbs and trees, his hair; the rising sun is his
  forepart, the setting sun his hind-part. When he shows his teeth, that
  is lightning; when he trembles, that is thunder; when he urinates,
  that is rain; his voice is speech.

  “2. The day, in truth, has originated for the horse as the sacrificial
  dish, which stands before him; his cradle is in the world-sea towards
  the East; the night has originated for him as the sacrificial dish,
  which stands behind him; its cradle is in the world-sea of the
  evening; these two dishes originated in order to surround the horse.
  As a charger he generated the gods, as champion he produced the
  Gandharvas, as a racer the demons, as horse mankind. The Ocean is his
  relative, the ocean his cradle.”

As Deussen remarks, the sacrificial horse has the significance of a
_renunciation of the universe_. When the horse is sacrificed, then the
world is sacrificed and destroyed, as it were—a train of thought which
Schopenhauer also had in mind, and which appears as a product of a
diseased mind in Schreber.[816] The horse in the above text stands
between two sacrificial vessels, from one of which it comes and to the
other of which it goes, just as the sun passes from morning to evening.
The horse, therefore, signifies the libido, which has passed into the
world. We previously saw that the “mother libido” must be sacrificed in
order to produce the world; here the world is destroyed by the repeated
sacrifice of the same libido, which once belonged to the mother. The
horse can, therefore, be substituted as a symbol for this libido,
because, as we saw, it had manifold connections with the mother.[817]
The sacrifice of the horse can only produce another state of
introversion, which is similar to that before the creation of the world.
The position of the horse between the two vessels, which represent the
producing and the devouring mother, hint at the idea of life enclosed in
the ovum; therefore, the vessels are destined to “surround” the horse.
That this is actually so the Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad 3: 3 proves:

  “1. From where have the descendants of Parikshit come, that I ask
  thee, Yâjñavalkya! From where came the descendants of Parikshit?

  “2. Yâjñavalkya spake: ‘He has told thee, they have come from where
  all come, who offer up the sacrificial horse. That is to say, this
  world extends so far as two and thirty days of the chariot of the Gods
  (the sun) reach. This (world) surrounds the earth twice around. This
  earth surrounds the ocean twice around. There is, as broad as the edge
  of a razor or as the wing of a fly, a space between (the two shells of
  the egg of the world). These were brought by Indra as a falcon to the
  wind: and the wind took them up into itself and carried them where
  were the offerers of the sacrificial horse. Somewhat like this he
  spoke (Gandharva to thee) and praised the wind.’

  “Therefore is the wind the special (vyashti) and the wind the
  universal (samashti). He, who knows this, defends himself from dying
  again.”

As this text tells us, the offerers of the sacrificial horse come in
that _narrowest fissure_ between the shells of the egg of the world, at
that place, where the shells _unite and where they are divided_. The
fissure (_vagina_) in the maternal world soul is designated by Plato in
“Timaeus” by Χ, the symbol of the cross. Indra, who as a falcon has
stolen the soma (the treasure attainable with difficulty), brings, as
Psychopompos, the souls to the wind, to the generating pneuma, which
carries them forward to the fissure or vagina, to the point of union, to
the entrance into the maternal egg. This train of thought of the Hindoo
philosophy briefly and concisely summarizes the sense of innumerable
myths; at the same time it is a striking example of the fact that
philosophy is internally nothing else but a refined and sublimated
mythology. It is brought to this refined state by the influence of the
corrector of reality.[818] We have emphasized the fact that in the
Miller drama the horse is the first to die, as the animal brother of the
hero. (Corresponding to the early death of the half-animal Eabani, the
brother friend of Gilgamesh.) This sacrificial death recalls the whole
category of mythological animal sacrifices. Volumes could be filled with
parallels, but we must limit ourselves here to suggestions. The
sacrificial animal, where it has lost the primitive meaning of the
simple sacrificial gift, and has taken a higher religious significance,
stands in a close relation to both the hero and the divinity. The animal
represents the god himself;[819] thus the bull[820] represents Zagreus,
Dionysus and Mithra; the lamb represents Christ,[821] etc. As we are
aware, the animal symbols represent the animal libido. The sacrifice of
the animal means, therefore, the sacrifice of the animal nature. This is
most clearly expressed in the religious legend of Attis. Attis is the
son lover of the divine mother, Agdistis Cybele. Agdistis was
characteristically androgynous,[822] as symbol of the mother-libido,
like the tree; really a clear indication that the mother-imago has in
addition to the significance of the likeness of the real mother the
meaning of the mother of humanity, the libido in general. Driven mad by
the insanity-breeding mother enamored of him, he emasculates himself,
and that under a pine tree. (The pine tree plays an important rôle in
his service. Every year a pine tree was wreathed about and upon it an
image of Attis was hung, and then it was cut down, which represents the
castration.) The blood, which spurted to the earth, was transformed into
budding violets. Cybele now took this pine tree, bore it into her cavern
and there wept over it. (Pietà.) The chthonic mother takes her son with
her into the cavern—namely, into the womb—according to another version.
Attis was transformed into the pine tree. The tree here has an
essentially phallic meaning; on the contrary, the attaching of the image
of Attis to the tree refers also to the maternal meaning. (“To be
attached to the mother.”) In Ovid (“Metamorphoses,” Book X) the pine
tree is spoken of as follows:

           “Grata deum matri, siquidem Cybeleius Attis
           Exuit hac hominem, truncoque induruit illo.”[823]

The transformation into the pine tree is evidently a burial in the
mother, just as Osiris was overgrown by the heather. Upon the Attis
bas-relief of Coblenz Attis appears _growing out of a tree_, which is
interpreted by Mannhardt as the “life-principle” of vegetation inherent
in the tree. It is probably a tree birth, just as with Mithra. (Relief
of Heddernheim.) As Firmicus observes, in the Isis and Osiris cult and
also in the cult of the virgin Persephone, tree and image had played a
rôle.[824] Dionysus had the surname Dendrites, and in Boeotia he is said
to have been called ἔνδενδρος, meaning “in a tree.” (At the birth of
Dionysus, Megaira planted the pine tree on the Kithairon.) The Pentheus
myth bound up with the Dionysus legend furnishes the remarkable and
supplementary counterpart to the death of Attis, and the subsequent
lamentation. Pentheus,[825] curious to espy the orgies of the Maenades,
_climbed upon a pine tree_, but he was observed by his mother; the
Maenades cut down the tree, and Pentheus, taken for an animal, was torn
by them in frenzy,[826] his own mother being the first to rush upon him.
In this myth the phallic meaning of the tree (cutting down, castration)
and its maternal significance (mounting and the sacrificial death of the
son) is present; at the same time the supplementary counterpart to the
Pietà is apparent, the “terrible mother.” The feast of Attis was
celebrated as a lamentation and then as a joy in the spring. (Good
Friday and Easter.) The priests of Attis-Cybele worship were often
eunuchs, and were called Galloi.[827] The archigallus was called Atys
(Attis).[828] Instead of the animal castration, the priests merely
scratched their arms until they bled. (Arm in place of phallus, “the
twisting of arms.”) A similar symbolism of the sacrificial impulse is
met in the Mithraic religion, where essential parts of the mysteries
consist in the catching and the subduing of the bull.

A parallel figure to Mithra is the primitive man Gayomard. He was
created together with his bull, and the two lived for six thousand years
in a blissful state. But when the world came into the cycle of the
seventh sign of the Zodiac (Libra) the evil principle entered. Libra is
astrologically the so-called positive domicile of Venus; the evil
principle, therefore, came under the dominion of the goddess of love
(destruction of the sun-hero through the mother-wife—snake, whore, etc).
As a result, after thirty years, Gayomard and his bull died. (The trials
of Zartusht lasted also thirty years; compare the span of Christ’s
life.) Fifty-five species of grain came from the dead bull, twelve kinds
of salubrious plants, etc. The sperma of the bull entered into the moon
for purification, but the sperma of Gayomard entered into the sun. This
circumstance possibly suggests a rather feminine meaning of bull. Gosh
or Drvâçpa is the soul of the bull, and was worshipped as a female
divinity. She would not, at first, from diffidence, become the goddess
of the herds, until the coming of Zarathustra was announced to her as
consolation. This has its parallel in the Hindoo Purâna, where the
coming of Krishna was promised the earth. (A complete analogy to
Christ.[829]) She, too, travels in her chariot, like Ardvîçûra, the
goddess of love. The soul of the bull is, therefore, decidedly feminine.
This myth of Gayomard repeats only in an altered form the primitive
conception of the closed ring of a male-female divinity, self-begetting
and forth-bringing.

Like the sacrificial bull, the fire, the sacrifice of which we have
already discussed in Chapter III, has a feminine nature among the
Chinese, according to the commentaries[830] of the philosopher
Tschwang-Tse:

  “The spirit of the hearth is called Ki. He is clad in bright red,
  which resembles fire, and appears as a lovely, attractive maiden.”

In the “Book of Rites” it is said:

  “Wood is burned in the flames for the spirit of Au. This sacrifice to
  Au is a sacrifice to old departed women.”

These spirits of the hearth and fire are the souls of departed cooks
and, therefore, are called “old women.” The kitchen god develops from
this pre-Buddhistic tradition and becomes later (male sex) the ruler of
the family and the _mediator between family and god_. Thus the old
feminine fire spirit becomes a species of Logos. (Compare with this the
remarks in Chapter III.)

From the bull’s sperma the progenitors of the cattle came, as well as
two hundred and seventy-two species of useful animals. According to
Mînôkhired, Gayomard had destroyed the Dév Azûr, who was considered the
demon of evil appetites.[831] In spite of the efforts of Zarathustra,
this demon remained longest on the earth. He was destroyed at last at
the resurrection, like Satan in the Apocalypse of John. In another
version it is said that Angromainyus and the serpent were left until the
last, so as to be destroyed by Ahuramazda himself. According to a
surmise by Kern, Zarathustra may mean “golden-star” and be identical
with Mithra. Mithra’s name is connected with neo-Persian _Mihr_, which
means “sun and love.”

In Zagreus we see that the bull is also identical with the god; hence
the bull sacrifice is a god sacrifice, but on a primitive stage. The
animal symbol is, so to speak, only a part of the hero; he sacrifices
only his animal; therefore, symbolically, renounces only his animal
nature. The internal participation in the sacrifice[832] is expressed
excellently in the anguished ecstatic countenance of the bull-slaying
Mithra. He does it willingly and unwillingly[833] hence the somewhat
hysterical expression which has some similarity to the well-known
mawkish countenance of the Crucified of Guido Reni. Benndorf says:[834]

  “The features, which, especially in the upper portion, bear an
  absolutely ideal character, have an extremely morbid expression.”

Cumont[835] himself says of the facial expression of the Tauroctonos:

  “The countenance, which may be seen in the best reproductions, is that
  of a young man of an almost feminine beauty; the head has a quantity
  of curly hair, which, rising up from the forehead, surrounds him as
  with a halo; the head is slightly tilted backwards, so that the glance
  is directed towards the heavens, and the contraction of the brows and
  the lips give a strange expression of sorrow to the face.”[836]

The Ostian head of Mithra Tauroctonos, illustrated in Cumont, has,
indeed, an expression which we recognize in our patients as one of
sentimental resignation. _Sentimentality is repressed brutality._ Hence
the exceedingly sentimental pose, which had its counterpart in the
symbolism of the shepherd and the lamb of contemporaneous Christianity,
with the addition of infantilism.[837]

Meanwhile, it is only his animal nature which the god sacrifices; that
is to say, his sexuality,[838] always in close analogy to the course of
the sun. We have learned in the course of this investigation that the
part of the libido which erects religious structures is in the last
analysis fixed in the mother, and really represents that tie through
which we are permanently connected with our origin. Briefly, we may
designate this amount of libido as “Mother Libido.” As we have seen,
this libido conceals itself in countless and very heterogeneous symbols,
also in animal images, no matter whether of masculine or feminine
nature—differences of sex are at bottom of a secondary value and
psychologically do not play the part which might be expected from a
superficial observation.

The annual sacrifice of the maiden to the dragon probably represented
the most ideal symbolic situation. In order to pacify the anger of the
“terrible mother” the most beautiful woman was sacrificed as symbol of
man’s libido. Less vivid examples are the sacrifice of the first-born
and various valuable domestic animals. A second ideal case is the
self-castration in the service of the mother (Dea Syria, etc.), a less
obvious form of which is circumcision. By that at least only a portion
is sacrificed.[839] With these sacrifices, the object of which in ideal
cases is to symbolize the libido drawing away from the mother, life is
symbolically renounced in order to regain it. By the sacrifice man
ransoms himself from the fear of death and reconciles the destroying
mother. In those later religions, where the hero, who in olden times
overcomes all evil and death through his labors, has become the divine
chief figure, he becomes the priestly sacrificer and the regenerator of
life. But as the hero is an imaginary figure and his sacrifice is a
transcendental mystery, the significance of which far exceeds the value
of an ordinary sacrificial gift, this deepening of the sacrificial
symbolism regressively resumes the idea of the human sacrifice. This is
partly due to the preponderance of phantastic additions, which always
take their subject-matter from greater depths, and partly due to the
higher religious occupation of the libido, which demanded a more
complete and equivalent expression. Thus the relation between Mithra and
his bull is very close. It is the hero himself in the Christian
mysteries who sacrifices himself voluntarily. The hero, as we have
sufficiently shown, is the infantile personality longing for the mother,
who as Mithra sacrifices the wish (the libido), and as Christ gives
himself to death both willingly and unwillingly. Upon the monuments of
the Mithraic religion we often meet a strange symbol: a crater (mixing
bowl) encoiled by a serpent, sometimes with a lion, who as antagonist
opposes the serpent.[840] It appears as if the two were fighting for the
crater. The crater symbolizes, as we have seen, the mother, the serpent
the resistance defending her, and the lion the greatest strength and
strongest will.[841] The struggle is for the mother. The serpent takes
part almost regularly in the Mithraic sacrifice of the bull, moving
towards the blood flowing from the wound. It seems to follow from that
that the life of the bull (blood) is sacrificed to the serpent.
Previously we have pointed out the mutual relationship between serpent
and bull, and found there that the bull symbolizes the living hero, the
shining sun, but that the serpent symbolizes the dead, buried or
chthonic hero, the invisible sun. As the hero is in the mother in the
state of death, the serpent is also, as the symbol of the fear of death,
the sign of the devouring mother. The sacrifice of the bull to the
serpent, therefore, signifies a willing renunciation of life, in order
to win it from death. Therefore, after the sacrifice of the bull,
wonderful fertility results. The antagonism between serpent and lion
over the crater is to be interpreted as a battle over the fruitful
mother’s womb, somewhat comparable to the more simple symbolism of the
Tishtriya song, where the demon Apaosha, the black horse, has possession
of the rain lake, and the white horse, Tishtriya, must banish him from
it. Death from time to time lays its destroying hand upon life and
fertility and the libido disappears, by entering into the mother, from
whose womb it will be born renewed. It, therefore, seems very probable
that the significance of the Mithraic bull sacrifice is also that of the
sacrifice of the mother who sends the fear of death. As the contrary of
the Occide moriturus is also intended here, so is the act of sacrifice
an impregnating of the mother; the chthonic snake demon drinks the
blood; that is to say, the libido (sperma) of the hero committing
incest. Life is thus immortalized for the hero because, like the sun, he
generates himself anew. After all the preceding materials, it can no
longer be difficult to recognize in the Christian mysteries the human
sacrifice, or the sacrifice of the son to the mother.[842] Just as Attis
emasculates himself on account of the mother, so does Christ himself
hang upon the tree of life,[843] the wood of martyrdom, the ἑκάτη,[844]
the chthonic mother, and by that redeems creation from death. By
entering again into the mother’s womb (Matuta, Pietà of Michelangelo) he
redeems in death the sin in life of the primitive man, Adam, in order
symbolically through his deed[845] to procure for the innermost and most
hidden meaning of the religious libido its highest satisfaction and most
pronounced expression. The martyrdom of Christ has in Augustine as well
actually the meaning of a Hierosgamos with the mother (corresponding to
the Adonis festival, where Venus and Adonis were laid upon the nuptial
couch):

  “Procedit Christus quasi sponsus de thalamo suo, præsagio nuptiarum
  exiit ad campum sæculi; pervenit usque ad crucis torum (torus has the
  meaning of bed, pillow, concubine, bier) et ibi firmavit ascendendo
  conjugium: ubi cum sentiret anhelantem in suspiriis creaturam
  commercio pietatis se pro conjuge dedit ad pœnam et copulavit sibi
  perpetuo iure matronam.”

This passage is perfectly clear. A similar death overtakes the Syrian
Melcarth, who, riding upon a sea horse, was annually burned. Among the
Greeks he is called Melicertes, and was represented riding upon a
dolphin. The dolphin is also the steed of Arion. We have learned to
recognize previously the maternal significance of dolphin, so that in
the death of Melcarth we can once more recognize the negatively
expressed Hierosgamos with the mother. (Compare Frazer “Golden Bough,”
IV, p. 87.) This figurative expression is of the greatest teleological
significance. Through its symbol it leads that libido which inclines
backward into the original, primitive and impulsive upwards to the
spiritual by investing it with a mysterious but fruitful function. It is
superfluous to speak of the effect of this symbol upon the unconscious
of Occidental humanity. A glance over history shows what creative forces
were released in this symbol.[846]

The comparison of the Mithraic and the Christian sacrifice plainly shows
wherein lies the superiority of the Christian symbol; it is the frank
admission that not only are the lower wishes to be sacrificed, but the
whole personality. The Christian symbol demands complete devotion; it
compels a veritable self-sacrifice to a higher purpose, while the
Sacrificium Mithriacum, remaining fixed on a primitive symbolic stage,
is contented with an animal sacrifice. The religious effect of these
symbols must be considered as an orientation of the unconscious by means
of imitation.

In Miss Miller’s phantasy there is internal compulsion, in that she
passes from the horse sacrifice to the self-sacrifice of the hero.
Whereas the first symbolizes renunciation of the sexual wishes, the
second has the deeper and ethically more valuable meaning of the
sacrifice of the infantile personality. The object of psychoanalysis has
frequently been wrongly understood to mean the renunciation or the
gratification of the ordinary sexual wish, while, in reality, the
problem is the sublimation of the infantile personality, or, expressed
mythologically, a sacrifice and rebirth of the infantile hero.[847] In
the Christian mysteries, however, the resurrected one becomes a
supermundane spirit, and the invisible kingdom of God, with its
mysterious gifts, are obtained by his believers through the sacrifice of
himself on the mother. In psychoanalysis the infantile personality is
deprived of its libido fixations in a rational manner; the libido which
is thus set free serves for the building up of a personality matured and
adapted to reality, who does willingly and without complaint everything
required by necessity. (It is, so to speak, the chief endeavor of the
infantile personality to struggle against all necessities and to create
coercions for itself where none exist in reality.)

The serpent as an instrument of sacrifice has already been abundantly
illustrated. (Legend of St. Silvester, trial of the virgins, wounding of
Rê and Philoctetes, symbolism of the lance and arrow.) It is the
destroying knife; but, according to the principle of the “Occide
moriturus” also the phallus, the sacrificial act represents a coitus act
as well.[848] The religious significance of the serpent as a
cave-dwelling, chthonic animal points to a further thought; namely, to
the creeping into the mother’s womb in the form of a serpent.[849] As
the horse is the brother, so the serpent is the sister of Chiwantopel.
This close relation refers to a fellowship of these animals and their
characters with the hero. We know of the horse that, as a rule, he is
not an animal of fear, although, mythologically, he has at times this
meaning. He signifies much more the living, positive part of the libido,
the striving towards continual renewal, whereas the serpent, as a rule,
represents the fear, the fear of death,[850] and is thought of as the
antithesis to the phallus. This antithesis between horse and serpent,
mythologically between bull and serpent, represents an opposition of the
libido within itself, a striving forwards and a striving backwards at
one and the same time.[851] It is not only as if the libido might be an
irresistible striving forward, an endless life and will for
construction, such as Schopenhauer has formulated in his world will,
death and every end being some malignancy or fatality coming from
without, but the libido, corresponding to the sun, also wills the
destruction of its creation. In the first half of life its will is for
growth, in the second half of life it hints, softly at first, and then
audibly, at its will for death. And just as in youth the impulse to
unlimited growth often lies under the enveloping covering of a
resistance against life, so also does the will of the old to die
frequently lie under the covering of a stubborn resistance against the
end.

[Illustration: PRIAPUS AND SERPENT]

This apparent contrast in the nature of the libido is strikingly
illustrated by a Priapic statuette in the antique collection at
Verona.[852] Priapus smilingly points with his finger to a snake biting
off his “membrum.” He carries a basket on his arm, filled with oblong
objects, probably phalli, evidently prepared as substitutes.

A similar motive is found in the “Deluge” of Rubens (in the Munich Art
Gallery), where a serpent emasculates a man. This motive explains the
meaning of the “Deluge”; the maternal sea is also the devouring
mother.[853] The phantasy of the world conflagration, of the cataclysmic
end of the world in general, is nothing but a mythological projection of
a personal individual will for death; therefore, Rubens could represent
the essence of the “Deluge” phantasy in the emasculation by the serpent;
for the serpent is our own repressed will for the end, for which we find
an explanation only with the greatest difficulty.

Concerning the symbolism of the serpent in general, its significance is
very dependent upon the time of life and circumstances. The repressed
sexuality of youth is symbolized by the serpent, because the arrival of
sexuality puts an end to childhood. To age, on the contrary, the serpent
signifies the repressed thought of death. With our author it is the
insufficiently expressed sexuality which as serpent assumes the rôle of
sacrificer and delivers the hero over to death and rebirth.

As in the beginning of our investigation the hero’s name forced us to
speak of the symbolism of Popocatepetl as belonging to the creating part
of the human body, so at the end does the Miller drama again give us an
opportunity of seeing how the volcano assists in the death of the hero
and causes him to disappear by means of an earthquake into the depths of
the earth. As the volcano gave birth and name to the hero, so at the end
of the day it devours him again.[854] We learn from the last words of
the hero that _his longed-for beloved_, she who alone understands him,
is called Ja-ni-wa-ma. We find in this name those lisped syllables
familiar to us from the early childhood of the hero, Hiawatha, Wawa,
wama, mama. The only one who really understands us is the mother. For
_verstehen_, “to understand” (Old High German _firstân_), is probably
derived from a primitive Germanic prefix _fri_, identical with περὶ,
meaning “roundabout.” The Old High German _antfristôn_, “to interpret,”
is considered as identical with _firstân_. From that results a
fundamental significance of the verb _verstehen_, “to understand,” as
“standing round about something.”[855] _Comprehendere_ and
κατασυλλαμβάνειν express a similar idea as the German _erfassen_, “to
grasp, to comprehend.” The thing common to these expressions is the
surrounding, the enfolding. And there is no doubt that there is nothing
in the world which so completely enfolds us as the mother. When the
neurotic complains that the world has no understanding, he says
indirectly that he misses the mother. Paul Verlaine has expressed this
thought most beautifully in his poem, “Mon Rêve Familier”:

                         _My Familiar Dream._

         “Often I have that strange and poignant dream
           Of some unknown who meets my flame with flame—
           Who, with each time, is never quite the same,
         Yet never wholly different does she seem.
         She understands me! Every fitful gleam
           Troubling my heart, she reads aright somehow:
           Even the sweat upon my pallid brow
         She soothes with tears, a cool and freshening stream.

         “If she is dark or fair? I do not know—
         Her name? Only that it is sweet and low,
           Like those of loved ones who have long since died.
         Her look is like a statue’s, kind and clear;
           And her calm voice, distant and dignified,
         Like those hushed voices that I loved to hear.”



                                 NOTES


                                 PART I


                              INTRODUCTION

Footnote 1:

  “Science of Language,” first series, p. 25.

Footnote 2:

  “Creative Evolution.”

Footnote 3:

  For a more complete presentation of Jung’s views consult his “Theory
  of Psychoanalysis” in the Nervous and Mental Disease Monograph Series,
  No. 19.

Footnote 4:

  He is said to have killed himself when he heard that she whom he so
  passionately adored was his mother.

Footnote 5:

  “Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales.” Tr. by W. A. White,
  M.D.

Footnote 6:

  “Dream and Myth.” Deuticke, Wien 1909.

Footnote 7:

  “The Myth of the Birth of the Hero.”

Footnote 8:

  “Die Symbolik in den Legenden, Märchen, Gebräuchen und Träumen.”
  _Psychiatrisch.-Neurologische Wochenschrift_, X. Jahrgang.

Footnote 9:

  “On the Nightmare.” _Amer. Journ. of Insanity_, 1910.

Footnote 10:

  _Jahrbuch_, 1910, Pt. II.

Footnote 11:

  “Die Frömmigkeit des Grafen Ludwig von Zinzendorf. Ein
  psychoanalytischer Beitrag zur Kenntnis der religiösen
  Sublimationprozesse und zur Erklärung des Pietismus.” Deuticke, Wien
  1910. We have a suggestive hint in Freud’s work, “Eine
  Kindheitserinnerung des Leonardo da Vinci.” Deuticke, Wien 1910.

Footnote 12:

  Compare Rank in _Jahrbuch_, Pt. II, p. 465.


                               CHAPTER I

Footnote 13:

  Compare Liepmann, “Über Ideenflucht,” Halle 1904; also Jung,
  “Diagnost. Assoc. Stud.,” p. 103: “Denken als Unterordnung unter eine
  herrschende Vorstellung”; compare Ebbinghaus, “Kultur der Gegenwart,”
  p. 221. Külpe (“Gr. d. Psychologie,” p. 464) expresses himself in a
  similar manner: “In thinking it is a question of an anticipatory
  apperception which sometimes governs a greater, sometimes a smaller
  circle of individual reproductions, and is differentiated from
  accidental motives of reproduction only by the consequence with which
  all things outside this circle are held back or repressed.”

Footnote 14:

  In his “Psychologia empirica meth. scientif. pertract.,” etc., 1732,
  p. 23, Christian Wolff says simply and precisely: “Cogitatio est actus
  animae quo sibi rerumque aliarum extra se conscia est.”

Footnote 15:

  The moment of adaptation is emphasized especially by William James in
  his definition of reasoning: “Let us make this ability to deal with
  novel data the technical differentia of reasoning. This will
  sufficiently mark it out from common associative thinking, and will
  immediately enable us to say just what peculiarity it contains.”

Footnote 16:

  “Thoughts are shadows of our experiences, always darker, emptier,
  simpler than these,” says Nietzsche. Lotze (“Logik,” p. 552) expresses
  himself in regard to this as follows: “Thought, left to the logical
  laws of its movement, encounters once more at the end of its regularly
  traversed course the things suppressed or hidden.”

Footnote 17:

  Compare the remarks of Baldwin following in text. The eccentric
  philosopher Johann Georg Hamann (1730–88) even places intelligence and
  speech as identical (see Hamann’s writings, pub. by Roth, Berlin
  1821). With Nietzsche intelligence fares even worse as “speech
  metaphysics” (Sprachmetaphysik). Friedrich Mauthner goes the furthest
  in this conception (“Sprache und Psychologie,” 1901). For him there
  exists absolutely no thought without speech, and speaking is thinking.
  His idea of the “fetish of the word” governing in science is worthy of
  notice.

Footnote 18:

  Compare Kleinpaul: “Das Leben der Sprache,” 3 Bände. Leipzig 1893.

Footnote 19:

  “Jardin d’Épicure,” p. 80.

Footnote 20:

  Speech is generated by the intellect and in turn generates intellect.

Footnote 21:

  It is difficult to calculate how great is the seductive influence of
  the primitive word-meaning upon a thought. “Anything which has even
  been in consciousness remains as an affective moment in the
  unconscious,” says Hermann Paul (“Prinzipien der Sprachgeschichte,”
  4th ed., 1909, p. 25). The old word-meanings have an after-effect,
  chiefly imperceptible, “within the dark chamber of the unconscious in
  the Soul” (Paul). J. G. Hamann, mentioned above, expresses himself
  unequivocably: “Metaphysics reduces all catchwords and all figures of
  speech of our empirical knowledge to empty hieroglyphics and types of
  ideal relations.” It is said that Kant learned some things from
  Hamann.

Footnote 22:

  “Grundriss der Psychologie,” p. 365.

Footnote 23:

  “Lehrbuch der Psychologie,” X, 26.

Footnote 24:

  James Mark Baldwin: “Thought and Things, or Genetic Logic.”

Footnote 25:

  In this connection I must refer to an experiment which Eberschweiler
  (_Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Psychiatrie_, 1908) has made at my
  request, which discloses the remarkable fact that in an association
  experiment the intra-psychic association is influenced by phonetic
  considerations (“Untersuchungen über den Einfluss der sprachlichen
  Komponente auf die Assoziation,” _Allgemeine Zeitschrift für
  Psychiatrie_, 1908).

Footnote 26:

  So at least this form of thought appears to Consciousness. Freud says
  in this connection (“The Interpretation of Dreams,” tr. by Brill, p.
  418): “It is demonstrably incorrect to state that we abandon ourselves
  to an aimless course of ideas when we relinquish our reflections, and
  allow the unwilled ideas to emerge. It can be shown that we are able
  to reject only those end-presentations known to us, and that
  immediately upon the cessation of these unknown or, as we inaccurately
  say, unconscious end-presentations come into play which now determine
  the course of the unwilled ideas—a thought without end-presentation
  cannot be produced through any influence we can exert on our own
  psychic life.”

Footnote 27:

  “Grundriss der Psychologie,” p. 464.

Footnote 28:

  Behind this assertion stand, first of all, experiences taken from the
  field of the normal. The undirected thinking is very far removed from
  “meditation,” and especially so as far as readiness of speech is
  concerned. In psychological experiments I have frequently found that
  the subjects of the investigation—I speak only of cultivated and
  intelligent people, whom I have allowed to indulge in reveries,
  apparently unintentionally and without previous instruction—have
  exhibited affect-expressions which can be registered experimentally.
  But the basic thought of these, even with the best of intentions, they
  could express only incompletely or even not at all. One meets with an
  abundance of similar experiences in association experiments and
  psychoanalysis—indeed, there is hardly an unconscious complex which
  has not at some time existed as a phantasy in consciousness.

  However, more instructive are the experiences from the domain of
  psychopathology. But those arising in the field of the hysterias and
  neuroses, which are characterized by an overwhelming transference
  tendency, are rarer than the experiences in the territory of the
  introversion type of neuroses and psychoses, which constitute by far
  the greater number of the mental derangements, at least the collected
  Schizophrenic group of Bleuler. As has already been indicated by the
  term “introversion,” which I briefly introduced in my study,
  “Konflikte der kindlichen Seele,” pp. 6 and 10, these neuroses lead to
  an overpowering autoerotism (Freud). And here we meet with this
  unutterable purely phantastic thinking, which moves in inexpressible
  symbols and feelings. One gets a slight impression of this when one
  seeks to examine the paltry and confused expressions of these people.
  As I have frequently observed, it costs these patients endless trouble
  and effort to put their phantasies into common human speech. A highly
  intelligent patient, who interpreted such a phantasy piece by piece,
  often said to me, “I know absolutely with what it is concerned, I see
  and feel everything, but it is quite impossible for me to find the
  words to express it.” The poetic and religious introversion gives rise
  to similar experiences; for example, Paul, in the Epistle to the
  Romans viii:26—“For we know not what we should pray for as we ought:
  but the Spirit itself maketh intercession with groanings which cannot
  be uttered.”

Footnote 29:

  Similarly, James remarks, “The great difference, in fact, between that
  simple kind of rational thinking which consists in the concrete
  objects of past experience merely suggesting each other, and reason
  distinctively so called, is this, that whilst the empirical thinking
  is only reproductive, reasoning is productive.”

Footnote 30:

  Compare the impressive description of Petrarch’s ascent of Mt.
  Ventoux, by Jacob Burckhardt (“Die Kultur der Renaissance in Italien,”
  1869, p. 235):

  “One now awaits a description of the view, but in vain, not because
  the poet is indifferent to it, but, on the contrary, because the
  impression affects him all too strongly. His entire past life, with
  all its follies, passes before him; he recalls that it is ten years
  ago to-day that he, as a young man, left Bologna, and he turns a
  yearning glance toward Italy. He opens a book—‘Confessions of St.
  Augustine,’ his companion at that time—and his eye falls upon this
  passage in the tenth chapter: ‘and the people went there and admired
  the high mountains, the wide wastes of the sea and the mighty downward
  rushing streams, and the ocean and the courses of the stars, and
  forgot themselves.’ His brother, to whom he reads these words, cannot
  comprehend why, at this point, he closes the book and is silent.”

Footnote 31:

  Wundt gives a striking description of the scholastic method in his
  “Philosophische Studien,” XIII, p. 345. The method consists “first in
  this, that one realizes the chief aim of scientific investigation is
  the discovery of a comprehensive scheme, firmly established, and
  capable of being applied in a uniform manner to the most varied
  problems; secondly, in that one lays an excessive value upon certain
  general ideas, and, consequently, upon the word-symbols designating
  these ideas, wherefore an analysis of word-meanings comes, in extreme
  cases, to be an empty subtlety and splitting of hairs, instead of an
  investigation of the real facts from which the ideas are abstracted.”

Footnote 32:

  The concluding passage in “Traumdeutung” was of prophetic
  significance, and has been brilliantly established since then through
  investigations of the psychoses. “In the psychoses these modes of
  operation of the psychic mechanism, normally suppressed in the waking
  state, again become operative, and then disclose their inability to
  satisfy our needs in the outer world.” The importance of this position
  is emphasized by the views of Pierre Janet, developed independently of
  Freud, and which deserve to be mentioned here, because they add
  confirmation from an entirely different side, namely, the biological.
  Janet makes the distinction in this function of a firmly organized
  “inferior” and “superior” part, conceived of as in a state of
  continuous transformation.

  “It is really on this superior part of the functions, on their
  adaptation to present circumstances, that the neuroses depend. The
  neuroses are the disturbances or the checks in the evolution of the
  functions—the illnesses depending upon the morbid functioning of the
  organism. These are characterized by an alteration in the superior
  part of the functions, in their evolution and in their adaptation to
  the present moment—to the present state of the exterior world and of
  the individual, and also by the absence or deterioration of the old
  parts of these same functions.

  “In the place of these superior operations there are developed
  physical, mental, and, above all, emotional disturbances. This is only
  the tendency to replace the superior operations by an exaggeration of
  certain inferior operations, and especially by gross visceral
  disturbances” (“Les Névroses,” p. 383).

  The old parts are, indeed, the inferior parts of the functions, and
  these replace, in a purposeless fashion, the abortive attempts at
  adaptation. Briefly speaking, the archaic replaces the recent function
  which has failed. Similar views concerning the nature of neurotic
  symptoms are expressed by Claparède as well (“Quelques mots sur la
  définition de l’Hystérie,” _Arch. de Psychol._, I, VII, p. 169).

  He understands the hysterogenic mechanism as a “Tendance à la
  réversion”—as a sort of atavistic manner of reaction.

Footnote 33:

  I am indebted to Dr. Abraham for the following interesting
  communication: “A little girl of three and a half years had been
  presented with a little brother, who became the object of the
  well-known childish jealousy. Once she said to her mother, ‘You are
  two mammas; you are my mamma, and your breast is little brother’s
  mamma.’ She had just been looking on with great interest at the
  process of nursing.” It is very characteristic of the archaic thinking
  of the child for the breast to be designated as “mamma.”

Footnote 34:

  Compare especially Freud’s thorough investigation of the child in his
  “Analyse der Phobie eines fünfjährigen Knaben,” 1912 _Jahrbuch_, Pt.
  I. Also my study, “Konflikte der kindlichen Seele,” 1912 _Jahrbuch_,
  Pt. II, p. 33.

Footnote 35:

  “Human, All Too Human,” Vol. II, p. 27 and on.

Footnote 36:

  “Sammlung kleiner Schriften zur Neurosenlehre,” Pt. II, p. 205.

Footnote 37:

  “Der Künstler, Ansätze zu einer Sexualpsychologie,” 1907, p. 36.

Footnote 38:

  Compare also Rank’s later book, “The Myth of the Birth of the Hero.”

Footnote 39:

  “Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales,” 1908.

Footnote 40:

  “Dreams and Myths.”

Footnote 41:

  Compare with this “Konflikte der kindlichen Seele,” p. 6, foot.

Footnote 42:

  Compare Abraham, “Dreams and Myths.” New York 1913. The wish for the
  future is represented as already fulfilled in the past. Later, the
  childish phantasy is again taken up regressively in order to
  compensate for the disillusionment of actual life.

Footnote 43:

  Rank: “The Myth of the Birth of the Hero.”

Footnote 44:

  Naturally, it could not be said that because this was an institution
  in antiquity, the same would recur in our phantasy, but rather that in
  antiquity it was possible for the phantasy so generally present to
  become an institution. This may be concluded from the peculiar
  activity of the mind of antiquity.

Footnote 45:

  The Dioscuri married the Leucippides by theft, an act which, according
  to the ideas of higher antiquity, belonged to the necessary customs of
  marriage (Preller: “Griechische Mythologie,” 1854, Pt. II, p. 68).

Footnote 46:

  See S. Creuzer: “Symbolik und Mythologie,” 1811, Pt. III, p. 245.

Footnote 47:

  Compare also the sodomitic phantasies in the “Metamorphoses” of
  Apuleius. In Herculaneum, for example, corresponding sculptures have
  been found.

Footnote 48:

  Ferrero: “Les lois psychologiques du symbolisme.”

Footnote 49:

  With the exception of the fact that the thoughts enter consciousness
  already in a high state of complexity, as Wundt says.

Footnote 50:

  Schelling: “Philosophie der Mythologie,” Werke, Pt. II, considers the
  “preconscious” as the creative source, also H. Fichte (“Psychologie,”
  I, p. 508) considers the preconscious region as the place of origin of
  the real content of dreams.

Footnote 51:

  Compare, in this connection, Flournoy: “Des Indes à la planète Mars.”
  Also Jung: “Zur Psychologie und Pathologie sogenannter okkulter
  Phänomene,” and “Über die Psychologie der Dementia praecox.” Excellent
  examples are to be found in Schreber: “Denkwürdigkeiten eines
  Nervenkranken.” Mutze, Leipzig.

Footnote 52:

  “Jardin d’Épicure.”

Footnote 53:

  The figure of Judas acquires a great psychological significance as the
  priestly sacrificer of the Lamb of God, who, by this act, sacrifices
  himself at the same time. (Self-destruction.) Compare Pt. II of this
  work.

Footnote 54:

  Compare with this the statements of Drews (“The Christ Myth”), which
  are so violently combated by the blindness of our time. Clear-sighted
  theologians, like Kalthoff (“Entstehung des Christentums,” 1904),
  present as impersonal a judgment as Drews. Kalthoff says, “The sources
  from which we derive our information concerning the origin of
  Christianity are such that in the present state of historical research
  no historian would undertake the task of writing the biography of an
  historical Jesus.” Ibid., p. 10: “To see behind these stories the life
  of a real historical personage, would not occur to any man, if it were
  not for the influence of rationalistic theology.” Ibid., p. 9: “The
  divine in Christ, always considered an inner attribute and one with
  the human, leads in a straight line backward from the scholarly man of
  God, through the Epistles and Gospels of the New Testament, to the
  Apocalypse of Daniel, in which the theological imprint of the figure
  of Christ has arisen. At every single point of this line Christ shows
  superhuman traits; nowhere is He that which critical theology wished
  to make Him, simply a natural man, an historic individual.”

Footnote 55:

  Compare J. Burckhardt’s letter to Albert Brenner (pub. by Hans Brenner
  in the Basle _Jahrbuch_, 1901): “I have absolutely nothing stored away
  for the special interpretation of Faust. You are well provided with
  commentaries of all sorts. Hark! let us at once take the whole foolish
  pack back to the reading-room from whence they have come. What you are
  destined to find in Faust, that you will find by intuition. Faust is
  nothing else than pure and legitimate myth, a great primitive
  conception, so to speak, in which everyone can divine in his own way
  his own nature and destiny. Allow me to make a comparison: What would
  the ancient Greeks have said had a commentator interposed himself
  between them and the Oedipus legend? There was a chord of the Oedipus
  legend in every Greek which longed to be touched directly and respond
  in its own way. And thus it is with the German nation and Faust.”

Footnote 56:

  I will not conceal the fact that for a time I was in doubt whether I
  dare venture to reveal through analysis the intimate personality which
  the author, with a certain unselfish scientific interest, has exposed
  to public view. Yet it seemed to me that the writer would possess an
  understanding deeper than any objections of my critics. There is
  always some risk when one exposes one’s self to the world. The absence
  of any personal relation with Miss Miller permits me free speech, and
  also exempts me from those considerations due woman which are
  prejudicial to conclusions. The person of the author is on that
  account just as shadowy to me as are her phantasies; and, like
  Odysseus, I have tried to let this phantom drink only enough blood to
  enable it to speak, and in so doing betray some of the secrets of the
  inner life.

  I have not undertaken this analysis, for which the author owes me but
  little thanks, for the pleasure of revealing private and intimate
  matters, with the accompanying embarrassment of publicity, but because
  I wished to show the secret of the individual as one common to all.


                               CHAPTER II

Footnote 57:

  A very beautiful example of this is found in C. A. Bernoulli: “Franz
  Overbeck und Friedrich Nietzsche. Eine Freundschaft,” 1908 (Pt. I, p.
  72). This author depicts Nietzsche’s behavior in Basle society: “Once
  at a dinner he said to the young lady at his side, ‘I dreamed a short
  time ago that the skin of my hand, which lay before me on the table,
  suddenly became like glass, shiny and transparent, through which I saw
  distinctly the bones and the tissues and the play of the muscles. All
  at once I saw a toad sitting on my hand and at the same time I felt an
  irresistible compulsion to swallow the beast. I overcame my terrible
  aversion and gulped it down.’ The young lady laughed. ‘And do you
  laugh at that?’ Nietzsche asked, his deep eyes fixed on his companion,
  half questioning, half sorrowful. The young lady knew intuitively that
  she did not wholly understand that an oracle had spoken to her in the
  form of an allegory and that Nietzsche had revealed to her a glimpse
  into the dark abyss of his inner self.” On page 166 Bernoulli
  continues as follows: “One can perhaps see, behind that harmless
  pleasure of faultless exactness in dress, a dread of contamination
  arising from some mysterious and tormenting disgust.”

  Nietzsche went to Basle when he was very young; he was then just at
  the age when other young people are contemplating marriage. Seated
  next to a young woman, he tells her that something terrible and
  disgusting is taking place in his transparent hand, something which he
  must take completely into his body. We know what illness caused the
  premature ending of Nietzsche’s life. It was precisely this which he
  would tell the young lady, and her laughter was indeed discordant.

Footnote 58:

  A whole series of psychoanalytic experiences could easily be produced
  here to illustrate this statement.

Footnote 59:

  Ferenczi: “Introjektion und Übertragung,” _Jahrbuch_, Pt. I (1912).


                              CHAPTER III

Footnote 60:

  The choice of words and comparisons is always significant. A
  psychology of travels and the unconscious forces co-operating with
  them is yet to be written.

Footnote 61:

  This mental disturbance had until recently the very unfortunate
  designation, Dementia Praecox, given by Kraepelin. It is extremely
  unfortunate that this malady should have been discovered by the
  psychiatrists, for its apparently bad prognosis is due to this
  circumstance. Dementia praecox is synonymous with therapeutic
  hopelessness. How would hysteria appear if judged from the standpoint
  of psychiatry! The psychiatrist naturally sees in the institutions
  only the worst cases of dementia praecox, and as a consequence of his
  therapeutic helplessness he must be a pessimist. How deplorable would
  tuberculosis appear if the physician of an asylum for the incurable
  described the nosology of this disease! Just as little as the chronic
  cases of hysteria, which gradually degenerate in insane asylums, are
  characteristic of real hysteria, just so little are the cases of
  dementia praecox in asylums characteristic of those early forms so
  frequent in general practice, and which Janet has described under the
  name of Psychasthenia. These cases fall under Bleuler’s description of
  Schizophrenia, a name which connotes a psychological fact, and might
  easily be compared with similar facts in hysteria. The term which I
  use in my private work for these conditions is Introversion Neurosis,
  by which, in my opinion, the most important characteristic of the
  condition is given, namely, the predominance of introversion over
  transference, which latter is the characteristic feature of hysteria.

  In my “Psychology of Dementia Praecox” I have not made any study of
  the relationship of the Psychasthenia of Janet. Subsequent experience
  with Dementia Praecox, and particularly the study of Psychasthenia in
  Paris, have demonstrated to me the essential relationship of Janet’s
  group with the Introversion Neuroses (the Schizophrenia of Bleuler).

Footnote 62:

  Compare the similar views in my article, “Über die Psychologie der
  Dementia praecox,” Halle 1907; and “Inhalt der Psychose,” Deuticke,
  Wien 1908. Also Abraham: “Die psychosexuellen Differenzen der Hysterie
  und der Dementia praecox,” _Zentralblatt für Nervenheilkunde und
  Psychiatrie_, 1908. This author, in support of Freud, defines the
  chief characteristic of dementia praecox as Autoerotism, which as I
  have asserted is only one of the results of Introversion.

Footnote 63:

  Freud, to whom I am indebted for an essential part of this view, also
  speaks of “Heilungsversuch,” the attempt toward cure, the search for
  health.

Footnote 64:

  Miss Miller’s publication gives no hint of any knowledge of
  psychoanalysis.

Footnote 65:

  Here I purposely give preference to the term “Imago” rather than to
  the expression “Complex,” in order, by the choice of terminology, to
  invest this psychological condition, which I include under “Imago,”
  with living independence in the psychical hierarchy, that is to say,
  with that autonomy which, from a large experience, I have claimed as
  the essential peculiarity of the emotional complex. (Compare “The
  Psychology of Dementia Praecox.”) My critics, Isserlin especially,
  have seen in this view a return to medieval psychology, and they have,
  therefore, rejected it utterly. This “return” took place on my part
  consciously and intentionally because the phantastic, projected
  psychology of ancient and modern superstition, especially demonology,
  furnishes exhaustive evidence for this point of view. Particularly
  interesting insight and confirmation is given us by the insane
  Schreber in an autobiography (“Denkwürdigkeiten eines Nervenkranken,”
  Mutze, Leipzig), where he has given complete expression to the
  doctrine of autonomy.

  “Imago” has a significance similar on the one hand to the
  psychologically conceived creation in Spitteler’s novel “Imago,” and
  upon the other hand to the ancient religious conception of “imagines
  et lares.”

Footnote 66:

  Compare my article, “Die Bedeutung des Vaters für das Schicksal des
  Einzelnen.”

Footnote 67:

  As is well known, Anaxagoras developed the conception that the living
  primal power (Urpotenz) of νοῦς (mind) imparts movement, as if by a
  blast of wind, to the dead primal power (Urpotenz) of matter. There is
  naturally no mention of sound. This νοῦς, which is very similar to the
  later conception of Philo, the λόγος σπερματικός of the Gnostics and
  the Pauline πνεῦμα (spirit) as well as to the πνεῦμα of the
  contemporary Christian theologians, has rather the old mythological
  significance of the fructifying breath of the winds, which impregnated
  the mares of Lusitania, and the Egyptian vultures. The animation of
  Adam and the impregnation of the Mother of God by the πνεῦμα are
  produced in a similar manner. The infantile incest phantasy of one of
  my patients reads: “the father covered her face with his hands and
  blew into her open mouth.”

Footnote 68:

  Haydn’s “Creation” might be meant.

Footnote 69:

  See Job xvi: 1–11.

Footnote 70:

  I recall the case of a young insane girl who continually imagined that
  her innocence was suspected, from which thought she would not allow
  herself to be dissuaded. Gradually there developed out of her
  defensive attitude a correspondingly energetic positive erotomania.

Footnote 71:

  Compare the preceding footnote with the text of Miss Miller’s.

Footnote 72:

  The case is published in “Zur Psychologie und Pathologie sogenannter
  okkulter Phänomene.” Mutze, Leipzig 1902.

Footnote 73:

  Compare Freud’s “Analyse der Phobie eines fünfjährigen Knaben,”
  _Jahrbuch_, Vol. I, 1st half; also Jung: “Konflikte der kindlichen
  Seele,” _Jahrbuch_, II, Vol. I.

Footnote 74:

  Others do not make use of this step, but are directly carried away by
  Eros.

Footnote 75:

  The heaven above, the heaven below, the sky above, the sky below, all
  things above, all things below, decline and rise.

Footnote 76:

  “La sagesse et la destinée.”

Footnote 77:

  This time I shall hardly be spared the reproach of mysticism. But
  perhaps the facts should be further considered; doubtless the
  unconscious contains material which does not rise to the threshold of
  consciousness. The analysis dissolves these combinations into their
  historical determinants, for it is one of the essential tasks of
  analysis to render impotent by dissolution the content of the
  complexes competing with the proper conduct of life. Psychoanalysis
  works backwards like the science of history. Just as the largest part
  of the past is so far removed that it is not reached by history, so
  too the greater part of the unconscious determinants is unreachable.
  History, however, knows nothing of two kinds of things, that which is
  hidden in the past and that which is hidden in the future. Both
  perhaps might be attained with a certain probability; the first as a
  postulate, the second as an historical prognosis. In so far as
  to-morrow is already contained in to-day, and all the threads of the
  future are in place, so a more profound knowledge of the past might
  render possible a more or less far-reaching and certain knowledge of
  the future. Let us transfer this reasoning, as Kant has already done,
  to psychology. Then necessarily we must come to the same result. Just
  as traces of memory long since fallen below the threshold of
  consciousness are accessible in the unconscious, so too there are
  certain very fine subliminal combinations of the future, which are of
  the greatest significance for future happenings in so far as the
  future is conditioned by our own psychology. But just so little as the
  science of history concerns itself with the combinations for the
  future, which is the function of politics, so little, also, are the
  psychological combinations for the future the object of analysis; they
  would be much more the object of an infinitely refined psychological
  synthesis, which attempts to follow the natural current of the libido.
  This we cannot do, but possibly this might happen in the unconscious,
  and it appears as if from time to time, in certain cases, significant
  fragments of this process come to light, at least in dreams. From this
  comes the prophetic significance of the dream long claimed by
  superstition.

  The aversion of the scientific man of to-day to this type of thinking,
  hardly to be called phantastic, is merely an overcompensation to the
  very ancient and all too great inclination of mankind to believe in
  prophesies and superstitions.

Footnote 78:

  Dreams seem to remain spontaneously in the memory just so long as they
  give a correct résumé of the psychologic situation of the individual.

Footnote 79:

  How paltry are the intrinsic ensemble and the detail of the erotic
  experience, is shown by this frequently varied love song which I quote
  in its epirotic form:

                           EPIROTIC LOVE SONG

           (_Zeitschrift des Vereines für Volkskunde_, XII, p. 159.)

   O Maiden, when we kissed, then it was night; who saw us?
   A night Star saw us, and the moon,
   And it leaned downward to the sea, and gave it the tidings,
   Then the Sea told the rudder, the rudder told the sailor,
   The sailor put it into song, then the neighbor heard it,
   Then the priest heard it and told my mother,
   From her the father heard it, he got in a burning anger,
   They quarrelled with me and commanded me and they have forbidden me
   Ever to go to the door, ever to go to the window.
   And yet I will go to the window as if to my flowers,
   And never will I rest till my beloved is mine.

Footnote 80:

  Job xli: 13 (Leviathan).

  “21. His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.

  “22. In his neck remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned into joy
  before him.

  “24. His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the
  nether millstone.

  “25. When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid: by reason of
  breakings they purify themselves.

  “33. Upon earth there is not his like who is made without fear.

  “34. He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children
  of pride.”

Chapter xlii.

  “1. Then Job answered the Lord, and said,

  “2. I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be
  withholden from thee.”

Footnote 81:

The theriomorphic attributes are lacking in the Christian religion
except as remnants, such as the Dove, the Fish and the Lamb. The latter
is also represented as a Ram in the drawings in the Catacombs. Here
belong the animals associated with the Evangelists which particularly
need historical explanation. The Eagle and the Lion were definite
degrees of initiation in the Mithraic mysteries. The worshippers of
Dionysus called themselves βόες because the god was represented as a
bull; likewise the ἄρκτοι of Artemis, conceived of as a she-bear. The
Angel might correspond to the ἡλιόδρομοι of the Mithras mysteries. It is
indeed an exquisite invention of the Christian phantasy that the animal
coupled with St. Anthony is the pig, for the good saint was one of those
who were subjected to the devil’s most evil temptations.

Footnote 82:

Compare Pfister’s notable article: “Die Frömmigkeit des Grafen Ludwig
von Zinzendorf.” Wien 1910.

Footnote 83:

The Book of Job, originating at a later period under non-Jewish
influences, is a striking presentation of individual projection
psychology.

Footnote 84:

“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in
us” (_I John_ i: 8).

Footnote 85:

“Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows” (_Isaiah_ liii:
4).

Footnote 86:

“Bear ye one another’s burdens” (_Galatians_ vi: 2).

Footnote 87:

God is Love, corresponding to the platonic “Eros” which unites humanity
with the transcendental.

Footnote 88:

Compare Reitzenstein (“Die hellenistischen Mysterienreligionen,” Leipzig
and Berlin 1910, p. 20): “Among the various forms with which a primitive
people have represented the highest religious consecration, union with
God, belongs necessarily that of the sexual union, in which man
attributes to his semen the innermost nature and power of God. That
which was in the first instance wholly a sensual act becomes in the most
widely separated places, independently, a sacred act, in which the god
is represented by a human deputy or his symbol the Phallus.”

Footnote 89:

Take as an example among many others the striking psychologic
description of the fate of Alypius, in the “Confessions” of St.
Augustine (Bk. VI, Ch. 7): “Only the moral iniquity of Carthage,
expressed in the absolute wildness of its worthless spectacles, had
drawn him down into the whirlpool of this misery. [Augustine, at that
time a teacher of Logic, through his wisdom had converted Alypius.] He
rose up after those words from the depths of the mire, into which he had
willingly let himself be submerged, and which had blinded him with fatal
pleasure. He stripped the filth from off his soul with courageous
abstemiousness. All the snares of the Hippodrome no longer perplexed
him. Thereupon Alypius went to Rome in order to study law; there he
became a backslider. He was transported to an unbelievable degree by an
unfortunate passion for gladiatorial shows. Although in the beginning he
abominated and cursed these shows, one evening some of his friends and
fellow-students, whom he met after they had dined, in spite of his
passionate refusals and the exertion of all the power of his resistance,
dragged him with friendly violence to the Amphitheatre on the occasion
of a cruel and murderous exhibition. At the time he said to them, ‘If
you drag my body to that place and hold it there, can you turn my mind
and my eyes to that spectacle?’ In spite of his supplications they
dragged him with them, eager to know if he would be able to resist the
spectacle. When they arrived they sat down where place was still left,
and all glowed with inhuman delight. He closed his eyes and forbade his
soul to expose itself to such danger. O, if he had also stopped up his
ears! When some one fell in combat and all the people set up a mighty
shout, he stifled his curiosity and prepared proudly to scorn the sight,
confident that he could view the spectacle if he so desired. And his
soul was overcome with terrible wounds, like the wounds of the body
which he desired to see, and souls more miserable than the one whose
fall had caused the outcry, which pressing through his ears, had opened
his eyes, so that his weakness had been bared. Through this he could be
struck and thrown down, for he had the feeling of confidence more than
strength, and he was the weaker because he trusted himself to this and
not to Thee. When he saw the blood, then at the same time he drew in the
desire for blood, and no longer turned away but directed his looks
thither. The fury took possession of him and yet he did not know it; he
took delight in the wicked combat and was intoxicated by the bloody
pleasure. Now he was no longer the same as when he had come, and he was
the true accomplice of those who first had dragged him there. What more
is there to say? He saw, he cried out, he was inflamed, and he carried
away with him the insane longing, which enticed him again to return, not
only in the company of those who first had dragged him with them, but
going ahead of all and leading others.”

Footnote 90:

Destiny.

Footnote 91:

Compare the prayer of the so-called Mithraic Liturgy (pub. by
Dieterich). There, characteristic places are to be found, such for
instance as: τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης μου ψυχικῆς δυνάμεως ἤν ἐγὼ πάλιν
μεταπαραλήμψομαι μετὰ τὴν ἐνεστῶσαν καὶ κατεπείγουσάν με πικρὰν ἀνάγκην
ἁχρεοκόπητον (The human soul force which I, weighed down by guilt, would
again attain, because of the present bitter need oppressing me),
ἐπικαλοῦμαι ἕνεκα τῆς κατεπειγούσης καὶ πικρᾶς ἀπαραιτήτου ἀνάγκης (On
account of the oppressing bitter and inexorable need).

From the speech of the High Priest (Apuleius: “Metamorphoses,” lib. XI,
248) a similar train of thought may be gathered. The young philosopher
Lucius was changed into an ass, that continuously rutting animal which
Isis hated. Later he was released from the enchantment and initiated
into the mysteries of Isis. When he was freed from the spell the priest
speaks as follows: “Lubrico virentis aetatulae, ad serviles delapsus
voluptates, curiositatis improsperae sinistrum praemium reportasti.—Nam
in eos, quorum sibi vitas servitium Deae nostrae majestas vindicavit,
non habet locum casus infestus—in tutelam jam receptus es Fortunae, sed
videntis” (But falling into the slavery of pleasure, in the wantonness
of buxom youth, you have reaped the inauspicious reward of your
ill-fated curiosity—for direful calamity has no power over those whose
lives the majesty of our Goddess has claimed for her own service.—You
are now received under the guardianship of fortune, but of a fortune who
can see). In the prayer to the Queen of Heaven, Isis, Lucius says: “Qua
fatorum etiam inextricabiliter contorta retractas licia et Fortunae
tempestates mitigas, et stellarum noxios meatus cohibes” (By which thou
dost unravel the inextricably entangled threads of the fates, and dost
assuage the tempests of fortune and restrain the malignant influences of
the stars).—Generally it was the purpose of the rite to destroy the
“evil compulsion of the star” by magic power.

The power of fate makes itself felt unpleasantly only when everything
goes against our will; that is to say when we no longer find ourselves
in harmony with ourselves. As I endeavored to show in my article, “Die
Bedeutung des Vaters,” etc., the most dangerous power of fate lies in
the infantile libido fixation, localized in the unconscious. The power
of fate reveals itself at closer range as a compulsion of the libido;
wherefore Maeterlinck justly says that a Socrates could not possibly be
a tragic hero of the type of Hamlet. In accordance with this conception
the ancients had already placed εἱμαρμένη (destiny) in relation to
“Primal Light,” or “Primal Fire.” In the Stoic conception of the primal
cause, the warmth spread everywhere, which has created everything and
which is therefore Destiny. (Compare Cumont: “Mysterien des Mithra,” p.
83.) This warmth is, as will later be shown, a symbol of the libido.
Another conception of the Ananke (necessity) is, according to the Book
of Zoroaster, περὶ φύσεως (concerning nature), that the air as wind had
once a connection with fertility. I am indebted to Rev. Dr. Keller of
Zurich for calling my attention to Bergson’s conception of the “durée
créatrice.”

Footnote 92:

Power for putting in motion.

Footnote 93:

Schiller says in “Wallenstein”: “In your breast lie the constellations
of your fate.” “Our fates are the result of our personality,” says
Emerson in his “Essays.” Compare with this my remarks in “Die Bedeutung
des Vaters.”

Footnote 94:

The ascent to the “Idea” is described with unusual beauty in Augustine
(Bk. X, Ch. 8). The beginning of Ch. 8 reads: “I will raise myself over
this force of my nature, step by step ascending to Him who has made me.
I will come to the fields and the spacious palaces of my memory.”

Footnote 95:

The followers of Mithra also called themselves Brothers. In
philosophical speech Mithra was Logos emanating from God. (Cumont:
“Myst. des Mithra,” p. 102.)

Besides the followers of Mithra there existed many Brotherhoods which
were called Thiasai and probably were the organizations from which the
Church developed later. (A. Kalthoff: “Die Entstehung des
Christentums.”)

Footnote 96:

Augustine, who stood in close relation to that period of transition not
only in point of time but also intellectually, writes in his
“Confessions” (Bk. VI, Ch. 16):

“Nor did I, unhappy, consider from what source it sprung, that even on
these things, foul as they were, I with pleasure discoursed with my
carnal pleasures. And yet these friends I loved for themselves only, and
friends; nor could I, even according to the notions I then had of
happiness, be happy without friends, amid what abundance soever of I
felt that I was beloved of them for myself only. O, crooked paths! Woe
to the audacious soul, which hoped, by forsaking Thee, to gain some
better thing! Turned it hath, and turned again, upon back, sides, and
belly, yet all was painful, and Thou alone rest!” (Trans. by Pusey.)

It is not only an unpsychologic but also an unscientific method of
procedure to characterize offhand such effects of religion as
suggestion. Such things are to be taken seriously as the expression of
the deepest psychologic need.

Footnote 97:

Both religions teach a pronounced ascetic morality, but at the same time
a morality of action. The last is true also of Mithracism. Cumont says
that Mithracism owed its success to the value of its morale: “This
stimulated to action in an extraordinary degree” (“Myst. des Mithra”).
The followers of Mithra formed a “sacred legion” for battle against
evil, and among them were virgins (nuns) and continents (ascetics).
Whether these brotherhoods had another meaning—that is, an
economic-communistic one—is something I will not discuss now. Here only
the religious-psychologic aspects interest us. Both religions have in
common the idea of the divine sacrifice. Just as Christ sacrificed
himself as the Lamb of God, so did Mithra sacrifice his Bull. This
sacrifice in both religions is the heart of the Mysteries. The
sacrificial death of Christ means the salvation of the world; from the
sacrifice of the bull of Mithra the entire creation springs.

Footnote 98:

This analytic perception of the roots of the Mystery Religions is
necessarily one-sided, just as is the analysis of the basis of the
religious poem. In order to understand the actual causes of the
repression in Miss Miller one must delve into the moral history of the
present; just as one is obliged to seek in the ancient moral and
economic history the actual causes of repression which have given rise
to the Mystery cults. This investigation has been brilliantly carried
out by Kalthoff. (See his book, “Die Entstehung des Christentums,”
Leipzig 1904.) I also refer especially to Pohlmann’s “Geschichte des
antiken Kommunismus und Sozialismus”; also to Bücher: “Die Aufstände der
unfreien Arbeiter 143 bis 129 v. Chr.,” 1874.

The other cause of the enormous introversion of the libido in antiquity
is probably to be found in the fact that an unbelievably large part of
the people suffered in the wretched state of slavery. It is inevitable
that finally those who bask in good fortune would be infected in the
mysterious manner of the unconscious, by the deep sorrow and still
deeper misery of their brothers, through which some were driven into
orgiastic furies. Others, however, the better ones, sank into that
strange world-weariness and satiety of the intellectuals of that time.
Thus from two sources the great introversion was made possible.

Footnote 99:

Compare Freud: “The Interpretation of the Dream.”

Footnote 100:

Compare Freud: “Sublimation,” in “Three Contributions to the Sexual
Theory.”

Footnote 101:

In a manner which is closely related to my thought, Kalthoff
(“Entstehung des Christentums”) understands the secularizing of the
religious interest as a new incarnation of the λόγος (word). He says:
“The profound grasp of the soul of nature evidenced in modern painting
and poetry, the living intuitive feeling which even science in its most
austere works can no longer do without, enables us easily to understand
how the Logos of Greek philosophy which assigned its place in the world
to the old Christ type, clothed in its world-to-come significance
celebrated a new incarnation.”

Footnote 102:

It seems, on account of the isolation of the cult, that this fact was
the cause of its ruin as well, because the eyes of that time were
blinded to the beauty of nature. Augustine (Bk. X, Ch. 6) very justly
remarks: “But they [men] were themselves undone through love for her
[creation].”

Footnote 103:

Augustine (ibid.): “But what do I love when I love Thee, Oh God? Not the
bodily form, nor the earthly sweetness, nor the splendor of the light,
so dear to these eyes; nor the sweet melodies of the richly varied
songs; not the flowers and the sweet scented ointments and spices of
lovely fragrance; not manna and honey; not the limbs of the body whose
embraces are pleasant to the flesh. I do not love these when I love my
God, and yet the light, the voice, the fragrance, the food, the embrace
of my inner man; when these shine into my soul, which no space contains,
which no time takes away, where there is a fragrance which the wind does
not blow away, where there is a taste which no gluttony diminishes and
where harmony abides which no satiety can remove—that is what I love,
when I love my God.” (Perhaps a model for Zarathustra: “Die sieben
Siegel,” Nietzsche’s works, VI, p. 33 ff.)

Footnote 104:

Cumont: “Die Mysterien des Mithra. Ein Beitrag zur Religionsgeschichte
der römischen Kaiserzeit.” Übersetzt von Gehrich, Leipzig 1903, p. 109.

Footnote 105:

41st Letter to Lucilius.

Footnote 106:

Ibid.


                               CHAPTER IV

Footnote 107:

Complexes are apt to be of the greatest stability, although their
outward forms of manifestation change kaleidoscopically. A large number
of experimental studies have entirely convinced me of this fact.

Footnote 108:

Julian the Apostate made the last, unsuccessful attempt to cause the
triumph of Mithracism over Christianity.

Footnote 109:

This solution of the libido problem was brought about in a similar
manner by the flight from the world during the first Christian century.
(The cities of the Anchorites in the deserts of the Orient.) People
mortified themselves in order to become spiritual and thus escape the
extreme brutality of the decadent Roman civilization. Asceticism is
forced sublimation, and is always to be found where the animal impulses
are still so strong that they must be violently exterminated. The masked
self-murder of the ascetic needs no further biologic proof.

Chamberlain (“Foundations of the Nineteenth Century”) sees in the
problem a biologic suicide because of the enormous amount of
illegitimacy among Mediterranean peoples at that time. I believe that
illegitimacy tends rather to mediocrity and to living for pleasure. It
appears after all that there were, at that time, fine and noble people
who, disgusted with the frightful chaos of that period which was merely
an expression of the disruption of the individual, put an end to their
lives, and thus caused the death of the old civilization with its
endless wickedness.

Footnote 110:

  “The last age of Cumean prophecy has come already!
  Over again the great series of the ages commences:
  Now too returns the Virgin, return the Saturnian kingdoms;
  Now at length a new progeny is sent down from high Heaven.
  Only, chaste Lucina, to the boy at his birth be propitious,
  In whose time first the age of iron shall discontinue,
  And in the whole world a golden age arise: now rules thy Apollo.

  “Under thy guidance, if any traces of our guilt continue,
  Rendered harmless, they shall set the earth free from fear forever,
  He shall partake of the life of the gods, and he shall see
  Heroes mingled with gods, and he too shall be seen by them.
  And he shall rule a peaceful world with his father’s virtues.”

Footnote 111:

Δίκη (Justice), daughter of Zeus and Themis, who, after the Golden Age,
forsook the degenerate earth.

Footnote 112:

Thanks to this eclogue, Virgil later attained the honor of being a
semi-Christian poet. To this he owes his position as guide to Dante.

Footnote 113:

Both are represented not only as Christian, but also as Pagan. Essener
and Therapeuten were quasi orders of the Anchorites living in the
desert. Probably, as, for instance, may be learned from Apuleius
(“Metamorphoses,” lib. XI), there existed small settlements of mystics
or consecrated ones around the sacred shrines of Isis and Mithra. Sexual
abstinence and celibacy were also known.

Footnote 114:

            “Below the hills, a marshy plain
            Infects what I so long have been retrieving:
            This stagnant pool likewise to drain
            Were now my latest and my best achieving.
            To many millions following let me furnish soil.”

The analogy of this expression with the quotation above is striking.

Footnote 115:

Compare Breuer and Freud: “Studien über Hysterie”; also Bleuler: “Die
Psychoanalyse Freuds,” _Jahrbuch_, 1910, Vol. II, 2nd half.

Footnote 116:

Faust (in suicide monologue):

             “Out on the open ocean speeds my dreaming!
             The glassy flood before my feet is gleaming!
             A new day beckons to a newer shore!

             A fiery chariot, borne on buoyant pinions,
             Sweeps near me now; I soon shall ready be
             To pierce the ether’s high, unknown dominions,
             To reach new spheres of pure activity!
             This godlike rapture, this supreme existence
             Do I, but now a worm, deserve to track?
             Yes, resolute to reach some brighter distance;
             On Earth’s fair sun I turn my back!

                    ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

             Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil,
             Upon its tract to follow, follow soaring!
             Then would I see eternal Evening gild
             The silent world beneath me glowing.

                    ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

             And now before mine eyes expands the ocean,
             With all its bays in shining sleep!

                    ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

             The new-born impulse fires my mind,
             I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking.”

We see it is the same longing and the same sun.

Footnote 117:

Compare Jung: “Diagnost. Assoc. Stud.”; also “The Psychology of Dementia
Praecox,” Chs. II and III.

Footnote 118:

According to the Christian conception _God is Love_.

Footnote 119:

Apuleius (“Met.,” lib. XI, 257): “At manu dextera gerebam flammis
adultam facem: et caput decora corona cinxerat palmae candidae foliis in
modum radiorum prosistentibus. Sic ad instar solis exornato et in vicem
simulacri constituto” (Then in my right hand I carried a burning torch;
while a graceful chaplet encircled my head, the shining leaves of the
palm tree projecting from it like rays of light. Thus arrayed like the
sun, and placed so as to resemble a statue).

Footnote 120:

The parallel in the Christian mysteries is the crowning with the crown
of thorns, the exhibition and mocking of the Savior.

Footnote 121:

Sacred word.

Footnote 122:

I am a star wandering about with you, and flaming up from the depths.

Footnote 123:

In the same way the Sassanian Kings called themselves “Brothers of the
Sun and of the Moon.” In Egypt the soul of every ruler was a
reduplication of the Sun Horus, an incarnation of the sun.

Footnote 124:

“The rising at day out of the Underworld.” Erman: “Aegypten,” p. 409.

Footnote 125:

Compare the coronation above. Feather, a symbol of power. Feather crown,
a crown of rays, halo. Crowning, as such, is an identification with the
sun. For example, the spiked crown upon the Roman coins made its
appearance at the time when the Cæsars were identified with _Sol
invictus_ (“Solis invicti comes”). The halo is the same, that is to say,
an image of the sun, just as is the tonsure. The priests of Isis had
smooth-shaven heads like stars. (See Apuleius, “Metamorphoses.”)

Footnote 126:

Compare with this my statements in “Über die Bedeutung des Vaters für
das Schicksal des Einzelnen.” Deuticke, Wien.

Footnote 127:

In the text of the so-called Mithra Liturgy are these lines: “Εγώ εἴμι
σύμπλανος ὑμῖν ἀστὴρ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ βάθους ἀναλάμπων—ταῦτά σον εἰπόντος
εὐθέως ὁ δίσκος ἁπλωθήσεται” (I am a star wandering about with you and
flaming up from the depths. When thou hast said this, immediately the
disc of the sun will unfold). The mystic through his prayers implored
the divine power to cause the disc of the sun to expand. In the same way
Rostand’s “Chantecler” causes the sun to rise by his crowing.

“For verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed,
ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it
shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you” (Matthew xvii:
20).

Footnote 128:

Compare especially the words of the Gospel of John: “I and my Father are
one” (John x: 30). “He that hath seen me hath seen the Father” (John
xiv: 9). “Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me”
(John xiv: 11). “I came forth from the Father, and am come into the
world; again, I leave the world, and go to the Father” (John xvi: 28).
“I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God”
(John xx: 17).

Footnote 129:

See the footnote on p. 137 of text.

Footnote 130:

Hear me, grant me my prayer—Binding together the fiery bolts of heaven
with spirit, two-bodied fiery sky, creator of humanity, fire-breathing,
fiery-spirited, spiritual being rejoicing in fire, beauty of humanity,
ruler of humanity of fiery body, light-giver to men, fire-scattering,
fire-agitated, life of humanity, fire-whirled, mover of men who
confounds with thunder, famed among men, increasing the human race,
enlightening humanity, conqueror of stars.

Footnote 131:

Two-bodied: an obscure epithet, if one does not admit that the dual life
of the redeemed, taught in the mysteries of that time, was attributed to
God, that is to say, to the libido. Compare the Pauline conception of
the σῶμα σαρκικόν and πνευματικόν (carnal and spiritual body). In the
Mithraic worship, Mithra seems to be the divine spirit, while Helios is
the material god; to a certain extent the visible lieutenant of the
divinity. Concerning the confusion between Christ and Sol, see below.

Footnote 132:

Compare Freud: “Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory.”

Footnote 133:

Renan (“Dialogues et fragments philosophiques,” p. 168) says: “Before
religion had reached the stage of proclaiming that God must be put into
the absolute and ideal, that is to say, beyond this world, one worship
alone was reasonable and scientific: that was the worship of the sun.”

Footnote 134:

The path of the visible Gods will appear through the sun, the God my
father.

Footnote 135:

Buber: “Ekstat. Konfess.,” p. 51 and on.

Footnote 136:

“Liebesgesänge an Gott,” cited by Buber: “Ekstat. Konfess.,” p. 40. An
allied symbolism is found in Carlyle: “The great fact of existence is
great to him. Fly as he will, he can not get out of the awful presence
of this reality. His mind is so made; he is great by that first of all.
Fearful and wonderful, real is life, real is death, is this universe to
him. Though all men should forget its truth, and walk in a vain show, he
can not. At all moments the Flame-image glares in upon him” (“Heroes and
Hero-Worship”).

One can select from literature at random. For example, S. Friedländer
(Berlin-Halensee) says in _Jugend_, 1910, No. 35, p. 823: “Her longing
demands from the beloved only the purest. Like the sun, it burns to
ashes with the flame of excessive life, which refuses to be light,” and
so on.

Footnote 137:

Buber: Ibid., p. 45.

Footnote 138:

I emphasize this passage because its idea contains the psychological
root of the “Wandering of the soul in Heaven,” the conception of which
is very ancient. It is a conception of the wandering sun which from its
rising to its setting wanders over the world. The wandering gods are
representations of the sun, that is, symbols of the libido. This
comparison is indelibly impressed in the human phantasy as is shown by
the poem of Wesendonck:

GRIEF.

                  The sun, every evening weeping,
                  Reddens its beautiful eyes for you;
                  When early death seizes you,
                  Bathing in the mirror of the sea.

                  Still in its old splendor
                  The glory rises from the dark world;
                  You awaken anew in the morning
                  Like a proud conqueror.

                  Ah, why then should I lament,
                  When my heart, so heavy, sees you?
                  Must the sun itself despair?
                  Must the sun set?

                  And does death alone bear life?
                  Do griefs alone give joys?
                  O, how grateful I am that
                  Such pains have given me nature!

Another parallel is in the poem of Ricarda Huch:

          As the earth, separating from the sun,
          Withdraws in quick flight into the stormy night,
          Starring the naked body with cold snow,
          Deafened, it takes away the summer joy.
          And sinking deeper in the shadows of winter,
          Suddenly draws close to that which it flees,
          Sees itself warmly embraced with rosy light
          Leaning against the lost consort.
          Thus I went, suffering the punishment of exile,
          Away from your countenance, into the ancient place.
          Unprotected, turning to the desolate north,
          Always retreating deeper into the sleep of death;
          And then would I awake on your heart,
          Blinded by the splendor of the dawn.

Footnote 139:

Translated by Dr. T. G. Wrench.

Footnote 140:

After you have said the second prayer, when silence is twice commanded;
then whistle twice and snap twice,[856] and straightway you will see
many five-pointed stars coming down from the sun and filling the whole
lower air. But say once again—Silence! Silence! and you, Neophyte, will
see the Circle and fiery doors cut off from the opening disc of the sun.

Footnote 141:

Five-fingered stars.

Footnote 142:

“Ecce Homo,” translated by A. M. Ludovici.

Footnote 143:

The water-god Sobk, appearing as a crocodile, was identified with Rê.

Footnote 144:

Erman: “Aegypten,” p. 354.

Footnote 145:

Erman: Ibid., p. 355.

Footnote 146:

Compare above ἀστέρας πενταδακτυλιαίους (“five-fingered stars”).

Footnote 147:

The bull Apis is a manifestation of Ptah. The bull is a well-known
symbol of the sun.

Footnote 148:

Amon.

Footnote 149:

Sobk of Faijum.

Footnote 150:

The God of Dedu in the Delta, who was worshipped as a piece of wood.
(Phallic.)

Footnote 151:

This reformation, which was inaugurated with much fanaticism, soon broke
down.

Footnote 152:

Apuleius, “Met.,” lib. XI, p. 239.

Footnote 153:

It is noteworthy that the humanists too (I am thinking of an expression
of the learned Mutianus Rufus) soon perceived that antiquity had but two
gods, that is, a masculine god and a feminine god.

Footnote 154:

Not only was the light- or fire-substance ascribed to the divinity but
also to the soul; as for example in the system of Mâni, as well as among
the Greeks, where it was characterized as a fiery breath of air. The
Holy Ghost of the New Testament appears in the form of flames around the
heads of the Apostles, because the πνεῦμα was understood to mean “fiery”
(Dieterich: Ibid., p. 116). Very similar is the Iranian conception of
Hvarenô, by which is meant the “Grace of Heaven” through which a monarch
rules. By “Grace” is understood a sort of fire or shining glory,
something very substantial (Cumont: Ibid., p. 70). We come across
conceptions allied in character in Kerner’s “Seherin von Prevorst,” and
in the case published by me, “Psychologie und Pathologie sogenannter
occulter Phänomene.” Here not only the souls consist of a spiritual
light-substance, but the entire world is constructed according to the
white-black system of the Manichæans—and this by a fifteen-year-old
girl! The intellectual over-accomplishment which I observed earlier in
this creation, is now revealed as a consequence of energetic
introversion, which again roots up deep historical strata of the soul
and in which I perceive a regression to the memories of humanity
condensed in the unconscious.

Footnote 155:

In like manner the so-called tube, the origin of the ministering wind,
will become visible. For it will appear to you as a tube hanging down
from the sun.

Footnote 156:

I add to this a quotation from Firmicus Maternus (Mathes. I, 5, 9, cit.
by Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” I, p. 40): “Cui (animo) descensus per
orbem solis tribuitur” (To this spirit the descent through the orb of
the sun is attributed).

Footnote 157:

St. Hieronymus remarks, concerning Mithra who was born in a miraculous
manner from a rock, that this birth was the result of “solo aestu
libidinis” (merely through the heat of the libido) (Cumont: “Textes et
Monuments,” I, p. 163).

Footnote 158:

Mead: “A Mithraic Ritual.” London 1907, p. 22.

Footnote 159:

I am indebted to my friend and co-worker, Dr. Riklin, for the knowledge
of the following case which presents an interesting symbolism. It
concerns a paranoic who passed over into a manifest megalomaniac in the
following way: She suddenly saw a _strong light_, a _wind blew_ upon
her, she felt as if “her heart turned over,” and from that moment she
knew that God had visited her and was in her.

I wish to refer here to the interesting correlation of mythological and
pathological forms disclosed in the analytical investigation of Dr. S.
Spielrein, and expressly emphasize that she has discovered the
symbolisms presented by her in the _Jahrbuch_, through independent
experimental work, in no way connected with my work.

Footnote 160:

“You will see the god youthful, graceful, with glowing locks, in a white
garment and a scarlet cloak, with a fiery helmet.”

Footnote 161:

“You will see a god very powerful, with a shining countenance, young,
with golden hair, clothed in white vestments, with a golden crown,
holding in his right hand a bullock’s golden shoulder, that is, the bear
constellation, which wandering hourly up and down, moves and turns the
heavens: then out of his eyes you will see lightning spring forth and
from his body, stars.”

Footnote 162:

According to the Chaldean teaching the sun occupies the middle place in
the choir of the seven planets.

Footnote 163:

The Great Bear consists of seven stars.

Footnote 164:

Mithra is frequently represented with a knife in one hand and a torch in
the other. The knife as an instrument of sacrifice plays an important
rôle in his myth.

Footnote 165:

Ibid.

Footnote 166:

Compare with this the scarlet mantle of Helios in the Mithra liturgy. It
was a part of the rites of the various cults to be dressed in the bloody
skins of the sacrificial animals, as in the Lupercalia, Dionysia and
Saturnalia, the last of which has bequeathed to us the Carnival, the
typical figure of which, in Rome, was the priapic Pulcinella.

Footnote 167:

Compare the linen-clad retinue of Helios. Also the bull-headed gods wear
white περιζώματα (aprons).

Footnote 168:

The title of Mithra in Vendidad XIX, 28; cit. by Cumont: “Textes et
Monuments,” p. 37.

Footnote 169:

The development of the sun symbol in Faust does not go as far as an
anthropomorphic vision. It stops in the suicide scene at the chariot of
Helios (“A fiery chariot borne on buoyant pinions sweeps near me now”).
The fiery chariot comes to receive the dying or departing hero, as in
the ascension of Elijah or of Mithra. (Similarly Francis of Assisi.) In
his flight Faust passes over the sea, just as does Mithra. The ancient
Christian pictorial representations of the ascension of Elijah are
partly founded upon the corresponding Mithraic representations. The
horses of the sun-chariot rushing upwards to Heaven leave the solid
earth behind, and pursue their course over a water god, Oceanus, lying
at their feet. (Cumont: “Textes et Monuments.” Bruxelles 1899, I, p.
178.)

Footnote 170:

Compare my article, “Psych. und Path. sog. occ. Phän.”

Footnote 171:

Quoted from Pitra: “Analecta sacra,” cit. by Cumont: “Textes et
Monuments,” p. 355.

Footnote 172:

Helios, the rising sun—the only sun rising from heaven!

Footnote 173:

Cited from Usener: “Weihnachtsfest,” p. 5.

Footnote 174:

“O, how remarkable a providence that Christ should be born on the same
day on which the sun moves onward, V. Kal. of April the fourth holiday,
and for this reason the prophet Malachi spoke to the people concerning
Christ: ‘Unto you shall the sun of righteousness arise with healing in
his wings,’ this is the sun of righteousness in whose wings healing
shall be displayed.”

Footnote 175:

The passage from Malachi is found in chap. iv, 2: “But unto you that
fear my name shall the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in His
wings” (feathers). This figure of speech recalls the Egyptian sun
symbol.

Footnote 176:

Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” t. I, p. 355. περὶ ἀστρονόμων.

Footnote 177:

“Moreover the Lord is born in the month of December in the winter on the
8th Kal. of January when the ripe olives are gathered, so that the oil,
that is the chrism, may be produced, moreover they call it the birthday
of the Unconquered One. Who in any case is as unconquered as our Lord,
who conquered death itself? Or why should they call it the birthday of
the sun; he himself is the sun of righteousness, concerning whom
Malachi, the prophet, spoke: ‘The Lord is the author of light and of
darkness, he is the judge spoken of by the prophet as the Sun of
righteousness.’”

Footnote 178:

“Ah! woe to the worshippers of the sun and the moon and the stars. For I
know many worshippers and prayer sayers to the sun. For now at the
rising of the sun, they worship and say, ‘Have mercy on us,’ and not
only the sun-gnostics and the heretics do this, but also Christians who
leave their faith and mix with the heretics.”

Footnote 179:

The pictures in the Catacombs contain much symbolism of the sun. The
Swastika cross, for example—a well-known image of the sun, wheel of the
sun, or sun’s feet—is found upon the garment of Fossor Diogenes in the
cemetery of Peter and Marcellinus. The symbols of the rising sun, the
bull and the ram, are found in the Orpheus fresco of the cemetery of the
holy Domitilla. Similarly the ram and the peacock (which, like the
phœnix, is the symbol of the sun) is found upon an epitaph of the
Callistus Catacomb.

Footnote 180:

Compare the countless examples in Görres: “Die christliche Mystik.”

Footnote 181:

Compare Leblant: “Sarcophages de la Gaule,” 1880. In the “Homilies” of
Clement of Rome (“Hom.,” II, 23, cit. by Cumont) it is said: Τῷ κυρίῳ
γεγονάσιν δώδεκα ἀπόστολοι τῶν τοῦ ἡλίου δώδεκα μηνῶν φέροντες τὸν
ἀριθμόν (The twelve apostles of the Lord, having the number of the
twelve months of the sun). As is apparent, this idea is concerned with
the course of the sun through the Zodiac. Without wishing to enter upon
an interpretation of the Zodiac, I mention that, according to the
ancient view (probably Chaldean), the course of the sun was represented
by a snake which carried the signs of the Zodiac on its back (similarly
to the Leontocephalic God of the Mithra mysteries). This view is proven
by a passage from a Vatican Codex edited by Cumont in another connection
(190, saec. XIII, p. 229, p. 85): “τότε ὁ πάνσοφος δημιουργὸς ἄκρῳ
νεύματι ἐκίνησε τὸν μέγαν δράκοντα σὺν τῷ κεκοσμημένῳ στεφάνῳ, λέγω δὴ
τὰ ἰβ’ ζῴδια, βαστάζοντα ἐπὶ τοῦ νώτου αὐτοῦ” (The all-wise maker of the
world set in motion the great dragon with the adorned crown, with a
command at the end. I speak now of the twelve images borne on the back
of this).

This inner connection of the ζῴδια (small images) with the zodiacal
snake is worthy of notice and gives food for thought. The Manichæan
system attributes to Christ the symbol of the snake, and indeed of the
snake on the tree of Paradise. For this the quotation from John gives
far-reaching justification (John iii:14): “And as Moses lifted up the
serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be lifted up.” An
old theologian, Hauff (“Biblische Real- und Verbalkonkordanz,” 1834),
makes this careful observation concerning this quotation: “Christ
considered the Old Testament story an unintentional symbol of the idea
of the atonement.” The almost bodily connection of the followers with
Christ is well known. (Romans xii:4): “For as we have many members in
one body, and all members have not the same office, so we being many are
one body in Christ, and every one members one of another.” If
confirmation is needed that the zodiacal signs are symbols of the
libido, then the sentence in John i:29, “Behold the Lamb of God, which
taketh away the sin of the world,” assumes a significant meaning.

Footnote 182:

According to an eleventh-century manuscript in Munich; Albrecht Wirth:
“Aus orientalischen Chroniken,” p. 151. Frankfurt 1894.

Footnote 183:

“To Zeus, the Great Sun God, the King, the Saviour.”

Footnote 184:

Abeghian: “Der armenische Volksglaube,” p. 41, 1899.

Footnote 185:

Compare Aigremont: “Fuss- und Schuhsymbolik,” Leipzig 1909.

Footnote 186:

Attis was later assimilated with Mithra. Like Mithra he was represented
with the Phrygian cap (Cumont: “Myst. des Mith.,” p. 65). According to
the testimony of Hieronymus, the manger (Geburtshöhle) at Bethlehem was
originally a sanctuary (Spelæum) of Attis (Usener: “Weihnachtsfest,” p.
283).

Footnote 187:

Cumont (“Die Mysterien des Mithra,” p. 4) says of Christianity and
Mithracism: “Both opponents perceived with astonishment how similar they
were in many respects, without being able to account for the causes of
this similarity.”

Footnote 188:

Our present-day moral views come into conflict with this wish in so far
as it concerns the erotic fate. The erotic adventures necessary for so
many people are often all too easily given up because of moral
opposition, and one willingly allows himself to be discouraged because
of the social advantages of being moral.

Footnote 189:

The poetical works of Lord Byron.

Footnote 190:

Edmond Rostand: “Cyrano de Bergerac,” Paris 1898.

Footnote 191:

The projection into the “cosmic” is the primitive privilege of the
libido, for it enters into our perception naturally through all the
avenues of the senses, apparently from without, and in the form of pain
and pleasure connected with the objects. This we attribute to the object
without further thought, and we are inclined, in spite of our
philosophic considerations, to seek the causes in the object, which
often has very little concern with it. (Compare this with the Freudian
conception of Transference, especially Firenczi’s remarks in his paper,
“Introjektion und Übertragung,” _Jahrbuch_, Vol. I, p. 422.) Beautiful
examples of direct libido projection are found in erotic songs:

          “Down on the strand, down on the shore,
          A maiden washed the kerchief of her lover;
          And a soft west wind came blowing over the shore,
          Lifted her skirt a little with its breeze
          And let a little of her ankles be seen,
          And the seashore became as bright as all the world.”

  (Neo-Grecian Folksong from Sanders: “Das Volksleben der Neugriechen,”
  1844, p. 81, cit. _Zeitschrift des Vereines für Volkskunde_, Jahrgang
  XII, 1902, p. 166.)

                 “In the farm of Gymir I saw
                 A lovely maiden coming toward me;
                 From the brilliance of her arm glowed
                 The sky and all the everlasting sea.”

  (From the Edda, tr. (into Ger.) by H. Gering, p. 53; _Zeitschrift für
  Volkskunde_, Jahrgang XII, 1902, p. 167.)

Here, too, belong all the miraculous stories of cosmic events, phenomena
occurring at the birth and death of heroes. (The Star of Bethlehem;
earthquakes, the rending asunder of the temple hangings, etc., at the
death of Christ.) The omnipotence of God is the manifest omnipotence of
the libido, the only actual doer of wonders which we know. The symptom
described by Freud, as the “omnipotence of thought” in Compulsion
Neuroses arises from the “sexualizing” of the intellect. The historical
parallel for this is the magical omnipotence of the mystic, attained by
introversion. The “omnipotence of thought” corresponds to the
identification with God of the paranoic, arrived at similarly through
introversion.

Footnote 192:

Comparable to the mythological heroes who after their greatest deeds
fall into spiritual confusion.

Footnote 193:

Here I must refer you to the blasphemous piety of Zinzendorf, which has
been made accessible to us by the noteworthy investigation of Pfister.

Footnote 194:

Anah is really the beloved of Japhet, the son of Noah. She leaves him
because of the angel.

Footnote 195:

The one invoked is really a star. Compare Miss Miller’s poem.

Footnote 196:

Really an attribute of the wandering sun.

Footnote 197:

Compare Miss Miller’s poem.

              “My poor life is gone,

                     ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

                        then having gained
              One raptured glance, I’ll die content,
              For I the source of beauty, warmth and life
              Have in his perfect splendor once beheld.”

Footnote 198:

The light-substance of God.

Footnote 199:

The light-substance of the individual soul.

Footnote 200:

The bringing together of the two light-substances shows their common
origin; they are the symbols of the libido. Here they are figures of
speech. In earlier times they were doctrines. According to Mechthild von
Magdeburg the soul is made out of love (“Das fliessende Licht der
Gottheit,” herausgegeben von Escherich, Berlin 1909).

Footnote 201:

Compare what is said above about the snake symbol of the libido. The
idea that the climax means at the same time the end, even death, forces
itself here.

Footnote 202:

Compare the previously mentioned pictures of Stuck: Vice, Sin and Lust,
where the woman’s naked body is encircled by the snake. Fundamentally it
is a symbol of the most extreme fear of death. The death of Cleopatra
may be mentioned here.

Footnote 203:

Encircling by the serpent.



                                PART II


                               CHAPTER I

Footnote 204:

This is the way it appears to us from the psychological standpoint. See
below.

Footnote 205:

Samson as Sun-god. See Steinthal: “Die Sage von Simson,” _Zeitschrift
für Völkerpsychologie_, Vol. II.

Footnote 206:

I am indebted for the knowledge of this fragment to Dr. Van Ophuijsen of
The Hague.

Footnote 207:

Rudra, properly father of the Maruts (winds), a wind or sun god, appears
here as the sole creator God, as shown in the course of the text. The
rôle of creator and fructifier easily belongs to him as wind god. I
refer to the observations in Part I concerning Anaxagoras and to what
follows.

Footnote 208:

This and the following passages from the Upanishads are quoted from:
“The Upanishads,” translated by R. G. S. Mead and J. C. Chattopâdhyâya.
London 1896.

Footnote 209:

In a similar manner, the Persian sun-god Mithra is endowed with an
immense number of eyes.

Footnote 210:

Whoever has in himself, God, the sun, is immortal, like the sun. Compare
Pt. I, Ch. 5.

Footnote 211:

Bayard Taylor’s translation of “Faust” is used throughout this
book.—TRANSLATOR.

Footnote 212:

He was given that name because he had introduced the phallic cult into
Greece. In gratitude to him for having buried the mother of the
serpents, the young serpents cleaned his ears, so that he became
clairaudient and understood the language of birds and beasts.

Footnote 213:

Compare the vase picture of Thebes, where the Cabiri are represented in
noble and in caricatured form (in Roscher: “Lexicon,” s. Megaloi Theoi).

Footnote 214:

The justification for calling the Dactyli thumbs is given in a note in
Pliny: 37, 170, according to which there were in Crete precious stones
of iron color and thumblike shape which were called Idaean Dactyli.

Footnote 215:

Therefore, the dactylic metre or verse.

Footnote 216:

See Roscher: “Lexicon of Greek and Roman Mythology,” s. Dactyli.

Footnote 217:

According to Jensen: “Kosmologie,” p. 292, Oannes-Ea is the educator of
men.

Footnote 218:

Inman: “Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism.”

Footnote 219:

Varro identifies the μεγάλοι θεοί with the Penates. The Cabiri might be
simulacra duo virilia Castoris et Pollucis in the harbor of Samothrace.

Footnote 220:

In Brasiae on the Laconian coast and in Pephnos some statues only a foot
high with caps on their heads were found.

Footnote 221:

That the monks have again invented cowls seems of no slight importance.

Footnote 222:

_Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse_, II, p. 187.

Footnote 223:

The typical motive of the youthful teacher of wisdom has also been
introduced into the Christ myth in the scene of the twelve-year-old
Jesus in the temple.

Footnote 224:

Next to this, there is a female figure designated as ΚΡΑΤΕΙΑ, which
means “one who brings forth” (Orphic).

Footnote 225:

Roscher: “Lexicon,” s. v. Megaloi Theoi.

Footnote 226:

Comrade—fellow-reveller.

Footnote 227:

Roscher: “Lexicon,” s. v. Phales.

Footnote 228:

Compare Freud’s evidence, _Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse_, I, p. 188. I
must remark at this place that etymologically penis and penates are not
grouped together. On the contrary, πέος, πόσυη, Sanskrit _pása-ḥ_, Latin
_penis_, were given with the Middle High German _visel_ (penis) and Old
High German _fasel_ the significance of fœtus, _proles_. (Walde: “Latin
Etymologie,” s. Penis.)

Footnote 229:

Stekel in his “Traumsymbolik” has traced out this sort of representation
of the genitals, as has Spielrein also in a case of dementia praecox.
1912 _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 369.

Footnote 230:

The figure of Κράτεια, the one who “brings forth,” placed beside it is
surprising in that the libido occupied in creating religion has
apparently developed out of the primitive relation to the mother.

Footnote 231:

In Freud’s paper (“Psychoanalytische Bemerkungen über einen Fall von
Paranoia usw.,” 1912 _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 68), which appeared
simultaneously with the first part of my book, he makes an observation
absolutely parallel to the meaning of my remarks concerning the “libido
theory” resulting from the phantasies of the insane Schreber: Schreber’s
divine rays composed by condensation of sun’s rays, nerve fibres and
sperma are really nothing else but the libido fixations projected
outside and objectively represented, and lend to his delusion a striking
agreement with our theory. That the world must come to an end because
the ego of the patient attracts all the rays to himself; that later
during the process of reconstruction he must be very anxious lest God
sever the connection of the rays with him: these and certain other
peculiarities of Schreber’s delusion sound very like the foregoing
endopsychic perceptions, on the assumption of which I have based the
interpretation of paranoia.

Footnote 232:

“Tuscalanarum quaestionum,” lib. IV.

Footnote 233:

From the good proceed desire and joy—joy having reference to some
present good, and desire to some future one—but joy and desire depend
upon the opinion of good; as desire being inflamed and provoked is
carried on eagerly toward what has the appearance of good, and joy is
transported and exults on obtaining what was desired: for we naturally
pursue those things that have the appearance of good, and avoid the
contrary—wherefore as soon as anything that has the appearance of good
presents itself, nature incites us to endeavor to obtain it. Now where
this strong desire is consistent and founded on prudence, it is by the
stoics called Bulesis and the name which we give it is volition, and
this they allow to none but their wise men, and define it thus; volition
is a reasonable desire; but whatever is incited too violently in
opposition to reason, that is a lust or an unbridled desire which is
discoverable in all fools.—_The Tusculan Disputation_, Cicero, page 403.

Footnote 234:

“Pro Quint.,” 14.

Footnote 235:

Libido is used for arms and military horses rather than for dissipations
and banquets.

Footnote 236:

Walde: “Latin Etymological Dictionary,” 1910. See libet. _Liberi_
(children) is grouped together with _libet_ by Nazari (“Riv. di Fil.,”
XXXVI, 573). Could this be proven, then Liber, the Italian god of
procreation, undoubtedly connected with _liberi_, would also be grouped
with _libet_. Libitina is the goddess of the dead, who would have
nothing in common with Lubentina and Lubentia (attribute of Venus),
which belongs to _libet_; the name is as yet unexplained. (Compare the
later comments in this work.) _Libare_ = to pour (to sacrifice?) and is
supposed to have nothing to do with _liber_. The etymology of _libido_
shows not only the central setting of the idea, but also the connection
with the German _Liebe_ (love). We are obliged to say under these
circumstances that not only the idea, but also the word _libido_ is well
chosen for the subject under discussion.

Footnote 237:

A corrected view on the conservation of energy in the light of the
theory of cognition might offer the comment that this picture is the
projection of an endopsychic perception of the equivalent
transformations of the libido.


                               CHAPTER II

Footnote 238:

Freud: “Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory,” p. 29. Translation by
Brill. “In a non-sexual ‘impulse’ originating from impulses of motor
sources we can distinguish a contribution from a stimulus-receiving
organ, such as the skin, mucous membrane, and sensory organs. This we
shall here designate as an erogenous zone; it is that organ the stimulus
of which bestows on the impulse the sexual character.”

Footnote 239:

Freud: Ibid., p. 14. “One definite kind of contiguity, consisting of
mutual approximation of the mucous membranes of the lips in the form of
a kiss, has among the most civilized nations received a sexual value,
though the parts of the body concerned do not belong to the sexual
apparatus but form the entrance to the digestive tract.”

Footnote 240:

See Freud: Ibid.

Footnote 241:

An old view which Möbius endeavored to bring again to its own. Among the
newcomers it is Fouillée, Wundt, Beneke, Spencer, Ribot and others, who
grant the psychologic primate to the impulse system.

Footnote 242:

Freud: Ibid., p. 25. “I must repeat that these psychoneuroses, as far as
my experience goes, are based on sexual motive powers. I do not mean
that the energy of the sexual impulse contributes to the forces
supporting the morbid manifestations (symptoms), but I wish distinctly
to maintain that this supplies the only constant and the most important
source of energy in the neurosis, so that the sexual life of such
persons manifests itself either exclusively, preponderately, or
partially in these symptoms.”

Footnote 243:

That scholasticism is still firmly rooted in mankind is only too easily
proven, and an illustration of this is the fact that not the least of
the reproaches directed against Freud, is that he has changed certain of
his earlier conceptions. Woe to those who compel mankind to learn anew!
“Les savants ne sont pas curieux.”

Footnote 244:

_Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 65.

Footnote 245:

Schreber’s case is not a pure paranoia in the modern sense.

Footnote 246:

Also in “Der Inhalt der Psychose,” 1908.

Footnote 247:

Compare Jung: “The Psychology of Dementia Praecox,” p. 114.

Footnote 248:

For example, in a frigid woman who as a result of a specific sexual
repression does not succeed in bringing the libido sexualis to the
husband, the parent imago is present and she produces symptoms which
belong to that environment.

Footnote 249:

Similar transgression of the sexual sphere might also occur in
hysterical psychoses; that indeed is included with the definition of the
psychosis and means nothing but a general disturbance of adaptation.

Footnote 250:

“Die psychosexuellen Differenzen der Hysterie und der Dementia praecox,”
_Zentralblatt für Nervenheilkunde und Psychiatrie_, 1908.

Footnote 251:

“Introjektion und Übertragung,” _Jahrbuch_, Vol. I, p. 422.

Footnote 252:

See Avenarius: “Menschliche Weltbegriffe,” p. 25.

Footnote 253:

“Welt als Wille und Vorstellung,” Vol. I, p. 54.

Footnote 254:

“Theogonie.”

Footnote 255:

Compare Roscher: “Lexicon,” p. 2248.

Footnote 256:

Drews: “Plotinus,” Jena 1907, p. 127.

Footnote 257:

Ibid., p. 132.

Footnote 258:

One substance in three forms.

Footnote 259:

Ibid., p. 135.

Footnote 260:

Plotinus: “Enneades,” II, 5, 3.

Footnote 261:

Plotinus: “Enneades,” IV, 8, 3.

Footnote 262:

“Enneades,” III, 5, 9.

Footnote 263:

Ibid., p. 141.

Footnote 264:

Naturally this does not mean that the function of reality owes its
existence to the differentiation in procreative instincts exclusively. I
am aware of the undetermined great part played by the function of
nutrition.

Footnote 265:

Malthusianism is the artificial setting forth of the natural tendency.

Footnote 266:

For instance, in the form of procreation as in general of the will.

Footnote 267:

Freud in his work on paranoia has allowed himself to be carried over the
boundaries of his original conception of libido by the facts of this
illness. He there uses libido even for the function of reality, which
cannot be reconciled with the standpoint of the “Three Contributions.”

Footnote 268:

Bleuler arrives at this conclusion from the ground of other
considerations, which I cannot always accept. See Bleuler, “Dementia
Praecox,” in Aschaffenburg’s “Handbuch der Psychiatrie.”

Footnote 269:

See Jung: “Kritik über E. Bleuler: Zur Theorie des schizophrenen
Negativismus.” _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 469.

Footnote 270:

Spielrein: “Über den psychologischen Inhalt eines Falles von
Schizophrenie.” _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 329.

Footnote 271:

His researches are in my possession and their publication is in
preparation.

Footnote 272:

Honegger made use of this example in his lecture at the private
psychoanalytic congress in Nürnberg, 1910.

Footnote 273:

Spielrein: Ibid., pp. 338, 353, 387. For soma as the “effusion of the
seed,” see what follows.

Footnote 274:

Compare Berthelot: “Les Alchémistes Grecs,” and Spielrein: Ibid., p.
353.

Footnote 275:

I cannot refrain from observing that this vision reveals the original
meaning of alchemy. A primitive magic power for generation, that is to
say, a means by which children could be produced without the mother.

Footnote 276:

Spielrein: Ibid., pp. 338, 345.

Footnote 277:

I must mention here those Indians who create the first people from the
union of a sword hilt and a shuttle.

Footnote 278:

Ibid., p. 399.


                              CHAPTER III

Footnote 279:

Naturally a precursor of onanism.

Footnote 280:

This true catatonic pendulum movement of the head, I saw arise in the
case of a catatonic patient, from the coitus movements gradually shifted
upwards. This Freud has described long ago as a shifting from below to
above.

Footnote 281:

She put the small fragments which fell out into her mouth and ate them.

Footnote 282:

“Dreams and Myths.” Vienna 1909. Translated by Wm. A. White, M.D.

Footnote 283:

A. Kuhn: “Mythologische Studien,” Vol. I: “Die Herabkunft des Feuers und
des Göttertrankes.” Gütersloh 1886. A very readable résumé of the
contents is to be found in Steinthal: “Die ursprüngliche Form der Sage
von Prometheus,” _Zeitschrift für Völkerpsychologie und
Sprachwissenschaft_, Vol. II, 1862; also in Abraham: Ibid.

Footnote 284:

Also mathnâmi and mâthayati. The root _manth_ or _math_ has a special
significance.

Footnote 285:

_Zeitschrift für vergleichende Sprachforschung_, Vol. II, p. 395, and
Vol. IV, p. 124.

Footnote 286:

I learn (that which is learned, knowledge; the act of learning), to take
thought beforehand, to Prometheus (forethought).

Footnote 287:

Prometheus, the herald of the Titans.

Footnote 288:

Bapp in Roscher’s “Lexicon,” Sp. 3034.

Footnote 289:

_Bhṛgu_ = φλεγυ, a recognized connection of sound. See Roscher: Sp.
3034, 54.

Footnote 290:

For the eagle as a fire token among the Indians, see Roscher: Sp. 3034,
60.

Footnote 291:

The stem _manth_ according to Kuhn becomes in German _mangeln_, _rollen_
(referring to washing). Manthara is the butter paddle. When the gods
generated the amrta (drink of immortality) by twirling the ocean around,
they used the mountain Mandara as the paddle (see Kuhn: Ibid., p. 17).
Steinthal calls attention to the Latin expression in poetical speech:
_mentula_ = male member, in which _ment_ (_manth_) was used. I add here
also, _mentula_ is to be taken as diminutive for _menta_ or _mentha_
(μίνθα), _Minze_. In antiquity the _Minze_ was called “Crown of
Aphrodite” (Dioscorides, II, 154). Apuleius called it “mentha venerea”;
it was an aphrodisiac. (The opposite meaning is found in Hippocrates: Si
quis eam saepe comedat, ejus genitale semen ita colliquescit, ut
effluat, et arrigere prohibet et corpus imbecillum reddit), and
according to Dioscorides, Minze is a means of preventing conception.
(See Aigremont: “Volkserotik und Pflanzenwelt,” Vol. I, p. 127). But the
ancients also said of Menta: “Menta autem appellata, quod suo odore
mentem feriat—mentae ipsius odor animum excitat.” This leads us to the
root _ment_—in Latin _mens_; English, mind—with which the parallel
development to _pramantha_, Προμηθεύς, would be completed. Still to be
added is that an especially strong chin is called _mento_ (_mentum_). A
special development of the chin is given, as we know, to the priapic
figure of Pulcinello, also the pointed beard (and ears) of the satyrs
and the other priapic demon, just as in general all the protruding parts
of the body can be given a masculine significance and all the receding
parts or depressions a feminine significance. This applies also to all
other animate or inanimate objects. See Maeder: _Psycho.-Neurol.
Wochenschr._, X. Jahrgang. However, this whole connection is more than a
little uncertain.

Footnote 292:

Abraham observes that in Hebrew the significance of the words for man
and woman is related to this symbolism.

Footnote 293:

“What is called the gulya (pudendum) means the yoni (the birthplace) of
the God; the fire, which was born there, is called ‘beneficent’”
(“Kâtyâyanas Karmapradîpa,” I, 7; translated by Kuhn: “Herabkunft des
Feuers,” p. 67). The etymologic connection between _bohren_—_geboren_ is
possible. The Germanic _bŏrôn_ (to bore) is primarily related to the
Latin _forare_ and the Greek φαράω = to plow. Possibly it is an
Indo-Germanic root _bher_ with the meaning to bear; Sanscrit _bhar-_;
Greek φερ-; Latin _fer-_; from this Old High German _beran_, English to
bear, Latin _fero_ and _fertilis_, _fordus_ (pregnant); Greek φορός.
Walde (“Latin Etym.,” s. Ferio) traces _forare_ to the root _bher-_.
Compare with this the phallic symbolism of the plough, which we meet
later on.

Footnote 294:

Weber: “Indische Studien,” I, 197; quoted by Kuhn: Ibid., p. 71.

Footnote 295:

“Rigveda,” III, 29—1 to 3.

Footnote 296:

Or mankind in general. Viçpatni is the feminine wood, viçpati, an
attribute of Agni, the masculine. In the instruments of fire lies the
origin of the human race, from the same perverse logic as in the
beforementioned shuttle and sword-hilt. Coitus as the means of origin of
the human race must be denied, from the motive, to be more fully
discussed later, of a primitive resistance against sexuality.

Footnote 297:

Wood as the symbol of the mother is well known from the dream
investigation of the present time. See Freud: “Dream Interpretation.”
Stekel (“Sprache des Traumes,” p. 128) explains it as the symbol of the
woman. Wood is also a German vulgar term for the breast. (“Wood before
the house.”) The Christian wood symbolism needs a chapter by itself. The
son of Ilâ: Ilâ is the daughter of Manus, the one and only, who with the
help of his fish has overcome the deluge, and then with his daughter
again procreated the human race.

Footnote 298:

See Hirt: “Etymologie der neuhochdeutschen Sprache,” p. 348.

Footnote 299:

The capitular of Charlemagne of 942 forbade “those sacrilegious fires
which are called Niedfyr.” See Grimm: “Mythologie,” 4th edition, p. 502.
Here there are to be found descriptions of similar fire ceremonies.

Footnote 300:

Kuhn: Ibid., p. 43.

Footnote 301:

Instead of preserving the divine faith in its purity, the reader will
call to mind the fact that in this year when the plague, usually called
Lung sickness, attacked the herds of cattle in Laodonia, certain bestial
men, monks in dress but not in spirit, taught the ignorant people of
their country to make fire by rubbing wood together and to set up a
statue of Priapus, and by that method to succor the cattle. After a
Cistercian lay brother had done this near Fentone, in front of the
entrance of the “Court,” he sprinkled the animals with holy water and
with the preserved testicles of a dog, etc.

Footnote 302:

Preuss: “Globus,” LXXXVI, 1905, S. 358.

Footnote 303:

Compare with this Friedrich Schultze: “Psychologie der Naturvölker,” p.
161.

Footnote 304:

This primitive play leads to the phallic symbolism of the plough. Ἀροῦν
means to plough and possesses in addition the poetic meaning of
impregnate. The Latin _arare_ means merely to plough, but the phrase
“fundum alienum arare” means “to pluck cherries in a neighbor’s garden.”
A striking representation of the phallic plough is found on a vase in
the archeological museum in Florence. It portrays a row of six naked
ithyphallic men who carry a plough represented phallically (Dieterich:
“Mutter Erde,” p. 107). The “carrus navalis” of our spring festival
(carnival) was at times during the Middle Ages a plough (Hahn: “Demeter
und Baubo,” quoted by Dieterich: Ibid., p. 109). Dr. Abegg of Zurich
called my attention to the clever work of R. Meringer (“Wörter und
Sachen. Indogermanische Forschungen,” 16, 179/84, 1904). We are made
acquainted there with a very far-reaching amalgamation of the libido
symbols with the external materials and external activities, which
support our previous considerations to an extraordinary degree.
Meringer’s assumption proceeds from the two Indo-Germanic roots, _ṷen_
and _ṷeneti_. Indo-Germanic _*uen Holz_, ai. ist. _van_, _vana_. Agni is
_garbhas vanām_, “fruit of the womb of the woods.”

Indo-Germanic _*ṷeneti_ signifies “he ploughs”: by that is meant the
penetration of the ground by means of a sharpened piece of wood and the
throwing up of the earth resulting from it. This verb itself is not
verified because this very primitive working of the ground was given up
at an early time. When a better treatment of the fields was learned, the
primitive designation for the ploughed field was given to the pasture,
therefore Gothic _vinja_, υομη, Old Icelandic _vin_, pasture, meadow.
Perhaps also the Icelandic _Vanen_, as Gods of agriculture, came from
that.

From _ackern_ (to plough) sprang _coïre_ (the connection might have been
the other way); also Indo-Germanic _*ṷenos_ (enjoyment of love), Latin
_venus_. Compare with this the root _ṷen_ = wood. _Coïre_ = passionately
to strive; compare Old High German _vinnan_, to rave or to storm; also
the Gothic _vēns_; ἐλπις = hope; Old High German _wân_ = expectation,
hope; Sanscrit _van_, to desire or need; further, _Wonne_ (delight,
ecstasy); Old Icelandic _vinr_ (beloved, friend). From the meaning
_ackern_ (to plough) arises _wohnen_ (to live). This transition has been
completed only in the German. From _wohnen_ → _gewöhnen_, _gewohnt sein_
(to be accustomed), Old Icelandic _vanr_ = _gewohnt_ (to be accustomed);
from _ackern_ further → _sich mühen_, _plagen_ (to take much trouble,
wearing work), Old Icelandic _vinna_, to work: Old High German _winnan_
(to toil hard, to overwork); Gothic _vinnan_, πάσχειν; _vunns_, πάθημα.
From _ackern_ comes, on the other hand, _gewinnen_, _erlangen_ (to win,
to attain), Old High German _giwinnan_, but also _verletzen_ (to
injure): Gothic _vunds_ (_wund_), wound. _Wund_ in the beginning, the
most primal sense, was therefore the ground torn up by the wooden
implement. From _verletzen_ (to injure) come _schlagen_ (to strike),
_besiegen_ (to conquer): Old High German _winna_ (strife); Old Saxon
_winnan_ (to battle).

Footnote 305:

The old custom of making the “bridal bed” upon the field, which was for
the purpose of rendering the field fertile, contains the primitive
thought in the most elementary form; by that the analogy was expressed
in the clearest manner: Just as I impregnate the woman, so do I
impregnate the earth. The symbol leads the sexual libido over to the
cultivation of the earth and to its fruitfulness. Compare with that
Mannhardt: “Wald- und Feldkulte,” where there are abundant
illustrations.

Footnote 306:

Spielrein’s patient (_Jahrbuch_, III, p. 371) associates fire and
generation in an unmistakable manner. She says as follows concerning it:
“One needs iron for the purpose of piercing the earth and for the
purpose of creating fire.” This is to be found in the Mithra liturgy as
well. In the invocation to the fire god, it is said: ὁ συνδήσας πνεύματι
τὰ πὑρινα κλεῖθρα τοῦ οὐρανοῦ (Thou who hast closed up the fiery locks
of heaven, with the breath of the spirit,—open to me). “With iron one
can create cold people from the stone.” The boring into the earth has
for her the meaning of fructification or birth. She says: “With the
glowing iron one can pierce through mountains. The iron becomes glowing
when one pushes it into a stone.”

Compare with this the etymology of _bohren_ and _gebären_ (see above).
In the “Bluebird” of Maeterlinck the two children who seek the bluebird
in the land of the unborn children, find a boy who bores into his nose.
It is said of him: he will discover a new fire, so as to warm the earth
again, when it will have grown cold.

Footnote 307:

Compare with this the interesting proofs in Bücher: “Arbeit und
Rhythmus,” Leipzig 1899.

Footnote 308:

Amusement is undoubtedly coupled with many rites, but by no means with
all. There are some very unpleasant things.

Footnote 309:

The Upanishads belong to the Brâhmana, to the theology of the Vedic
writings, and comprise the theosophical-speculative part of the Vedic
teachings. The Vedic writings and collections are in part of very
uncertain age and may reach back to a very distant past because for a
long period they were handed down only orally.

Footnote 310:

The primal and omniscient being, the idea of whom, translated into
psychology, is comprehended in the conception of libido.

Footnote 311:

Âtman is also considered as originally a bisexual being—corresponding to
the libido theory. The world sprang from desire. Compare
_Bṛihadâraṇyaka-Upaniṣhad_, I, 4, 1 (Deussen):

  “(1) In the beginning this world was Âtman alone—he looked around:
  Then he saw nothing but himself.

  “(2) Then he was frightened; therefore, one is afraid, when one is
  alone. Then he thought: Wherefore should I be afraid, since there is
  nothing beside myself?

  “(3) But also he had no joy, therefore one has no joy when one is
  alone. Then he longed for a companion.”

After this there follows the description of his division quoted above.
Plato’s conception of the world-soul approaches very near to the Hindoo
idea. “The soul in no wise needed eyes, because near it there was
nothing visible. Nothing was separate from it, nothing approached it,
because outside of it there was nothing” (“Timaios”).

Footnote 312:

Compare with this Freud’s “Three Contributions to the Sexual Theory.”

Footnote 313:

What seems an apparently close parallel to the position of the hand in
the Upanishad text I observed in a little child. The child held one hand
before his mouth and rubbed it with the other, a movement which may be
compared to that of the violinist. It was an early infantile habit which
persisted for a long time afterwards.

Footnote 314:

Compare Freud: “Bemerkungen über einen Fall von Zwangsneurose.” 1912
_Jahrbuch_, Vol. I, p. 357.

Footnote 315:

As shown above, in the child the libido progresses from the mouth zone
into the sexual zone.

Footnote 316:

Compare what has been said above about Dactyli. Abundant examples are
found in Aigremont: “Fuss- und Schuhsymbolik.”

Footnote 317:

When, in the enormously increased sexual resistance of the present day,
women emphasize the secondary signs of sex and their erotic charm by
specially designed clothing, that is a phenomenon which belongs in the
same general scheme for the heightening of allurement.

Footnote 318:

It is well known that the orifice of the ear has also a sexual value. In
a hymn to the Virgin it is called “quæ per aurem concepisti.” Rabelais’
Gargantua was born through his mother’s ear. Bastian (“Beiträge z.
vergl. Psychologie,” p. 238) mentions the following passage from an old
work, “There is not to be found in this entire kingdom, even among the
very smallest girls, a maiden, because even in her tender youth she puts
a special medicine into her genitals, also in the orifice of her ears;
she stretches these and holds them open continuously.”—Also the
Mongolian Buddha was born from the ear of his mother.

Footnote 319:

The driving motive for the breaking up of the ring might be sought, as I
have already intimated in passing, in the fact that the secondary sexual
activity (the transformed coitus) never is or would be adapted to bring
about that natural satiety, as is the activity in its real place. With
this first step towards transformation, the first step towards the
characteristic dissatisfaction was also taken, which later drove man
from discovery to discovery without allowing him ever to attain satiety.
Thus it looks from the biological standpoint, which however is not the
only one possible.

Footnote 320:

Translated by Mead and Chattopâdhyâya. Sec. 1, Pt. II.

Footnote 321:

In a song of the Rigveda it is said that the hymns and sacrificial
speeches, as well as all creation in general, have proceeded from the
“entirely fire consumed” Purusha (primitive man-creator of the world).

Footnote 322:

To shine; to show forth; reveal;—light.

Footnote 323:

I said; they said; a saying; an oracle.

Footnote 324:

Compare Brugsch: “Religion und Myth. d. alt. Aegypter,” p. 255 f., and
the Egyptian dictionary.

Footnote 325:

The German word “Schwan” belongs here, therefore it sings when dying. It
is the sun. The metaphor in Heine supplements this very beautifully.

                     “Es singt der Schwan im Weiher
                     Und rudert auf und ab,
                     Und immer leiser singend,
                     Taucht er ins Flutengrab.”

Hauptmann’s “Sunken Bell” is a sun myth in which bell = sun = life =
libido.

Footnote 326:

Why is it wonderful to understand the universe, if men are able? i.e.,
men in whose very being the universe exists and each one (of whom) is a
representative of God in miniature? Or is it right to believe that men
have sprung in any way except from heaven—He alone stands in the midst
of the citadel, a conqueror, his head erect and his shining eyes fixed
on the stars.

Footnote 327:

Loosely connected with ag-ilis. See Max Müller: “Vorl. über den Ursprung
und die Entwicklung der Religion,” p. 237.

Footnote 328:

An Eranian name of fire is _Nairyôçağha_ = masculine word. The Hindoo
_Narâçam̆sa_ means wish of men (Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,” II,
49). Fire has the significance of Logos (compare Ch. 7, “Siegfried”). Of
_Agni_ (fire), Max Müller, in his introduction to “The Science of
Comparative Religions,” says: “It was a conception familiar to India to
consider the fire upon the altar as being at the same time subject and
object. The fire burned the sacrifice and was thereby similar to the
priest, the fire carried the sacrifice to the gods, and was thereby an
intercessor between men and the gods: fire itself, however, represented
also something divine, a god, and when honor was to be shown to this
god, then fire was as much the subject as the object of the sacrifice.
Hence the first conception, that Agni sacrificed itself, i.e. that it
produced for itself its own sacrifice, and next that it brings itself to
the sacrifice.” The contact of this line of thought with the Christian
symbol is plainly apparent. Krishna utters the same thought in the
“Bhagavad-Gîtâ,” b. IV (translated by Arnold, London 1910):

                    “All’s then God!
            The sacrifice is Brahm, the ghee and grain
            Are Brahm, the fire is Brahm, the flesh it eats
            Is Brahm, and unto Brahm attaineth he
            Who, in such office, meditates on Brahm.”

The wise Diotima sees behind this symbol of fire (in Plato’s symposium,
c. 23). She teaches Socrates that Eros is “the intermediate being
between mortals and immortals, a great Demon, dear Socrates; for
everything demoniac is just the intermediate link between God and man.”
Eros has the task “of being interpreter and messenger from men to the
gods, and from the gods to men, from the former for their prayers and
sacrifices, from the latter for their commands and for their
compensations for the sacrifices, and thus filling up the gap between
both, so that through his mediation the whole is bound together with
itself.” Eros is a son of Penia (poverty, need) generated by Poros
intoxicated with nectar. The meaning of Poros is dark; πόρος means way
and hole, opening. Zielinski: “Arch. f. Rel. Wissensch.,” IX, 43 ff.,
places him with Phoroneus, identical with the fire-bringer, who is held
in doubt; others identify him with primal chaos, whereas others read
arbitrarily Κόρος and Μόρος. Under these circumstances, the question
arises whether there may not be sought behind it a relatively simple
sexual symbolism. Eros would be then simply the son of Need and of the
female genitals, for this door is the beginning and birthplace of fire.
Diotima gives an excellent description of Eros: “He is manly, daring,
persevering, a strong hunter (archer, compare below) and an incessant
intriguer, who is constantly striving after wisdom,—a powerful sorcerer,
poison mixer and sophist; and he is respected neither as an immortal nor
as a mortal, but on the same day he first blooms and blossoms, when he
has attained the fulness of the striving, then dies in it but always
awakens again to life because of the nature of his father (rebirth!);
attainment, however, always tears him down again.” For this
characterization, compare Chs. V, VI and VII of this work.

Footnote 329:

Compare Riklin: “Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales,”
translated by Wm. White, M.D., where a child is produced by the parents
placing a little turnip in the oven. The motive of the furnace where the
child is hatched is also found again in the type of the whale-dragon
myth. It is there a regularly recurring motive because the belly of the
dragon is very hot, so that as the result of the heat the hero loses his
hair—that is to say, he loses the characteristic covering of hair of the
adult and becomes a child. (Naturally the hair is related to the sun’s
rays, which are extinguished in the setting of the sun.) Abundant
examples of this motive are in Frobenius: “Das Zeitalter des
Sonnengottes,” Vol. I. Berlin 1904.

Footnote 330:

A potion of immortality.

Footnote 331:

This aspect of Agni is similar to Dionysus, who bears a remarkable
parallel to both the Christian and the Hindoo mythology.

Footnote 332:

“Now everything in the world which is damp, he created from sperma, but
this is the soma.” _Bṛihadâraṇyaka-Upaniṣhad_, 1–4.

Footnote 333:

The question is whether this significance was a secondary development.
Kuhn seems to assume this. He says (“Herabkunft des Feuers,” p. 18):
“However, together with the meaning of the root _manth_ already evolved,
there has also developed in the Vedas the conception of ‘tearing off’
due naturally to the mode of procedure.”

Footnote 334:

Examples in Frobenius: “Das Zeitalter des Sonnengottes.”

Footnote 335:

See in this connection Stekel: “Die sexuelle Wurzel der Kleptomanie,”
_Zeitschrift für Sexualwissenschaft_, 1908.

Footnote 336:

Even in the Roman Catholic church at various places the custom prevailed
for the priest to produce once a year the ceremonial fire.

Footnote 337:

I must remark that the designation of onanism as a “great discovery” is
not merely a play with words on my part. I owe it to two young patients
who pretended that they were in possession of a terrible secret; that
they had discovered something horrible, which no one had ever known
before, because had it been known great misery would have overtaken
mankind. Their discovery was onanism.

Footnote 338:

One must in fairness, however, consider that the demands of life,
rendered still more severe by our moral code, are so heavy that it
simply is impossible for many people to attain that goal which can be
begrudged to no one, namely the possibility of love. Under the cruel
compulsion of domestication, what is left but onanism, for those people
possessed of an active sexuality? It is well known that the most useful
and best men owe their ability to a powerful libido. This energetic
libido longs for something more than merely a Christian love for the
neighbor.

Footnote 339:

I am fully conscious that onanism is only an intermediate phenomenon.
There always remains the problem of the original division of the libido.

Footnote 340:

In connection with my terminology mentioned in the previous chapter, I
give the name of autoerotic to this stage following the incestuous love.
Here I emphasize the erotic as a regressive phenomenon; the libido
blocked by the incest barrier regressively takes possession of an older
way of functioning anterior to the incestuous object of love. This may
be comprehended by Bleuler’s terminology, Autismus, that is, the
function of pure self-preservation, which is especially distinguished by
the function of nutrition. However, the terminology “autismus” cannot
very well be longer applied to the presexual material, because it is
already used in reference to the mental state of dementia praecox where
it has to include autoerotism plus introverted desexualized libido.
Autismus designates first of all a pathological phenomenon of regressive
character, the presexual material, however, of a normal functioning, the
chrysalis stage.


                               CHAPTER IV

Footnote 341:

Therefore that beautiful name of the sun-hero Gilgamesh: Wehfrohmensch
(pain-joy human being). See Jensen: “Gilgamesh Epic.”

Footnote 342:

Compare here the interesting researches of H. Silberer. 1912 _Jahrbuch_,
Vol. I, p. 513.

Footnote 343:

See Bleuler: _Psychiatr.-neurol. Wochenschrift_, XII. Jahrgang, Nr. 18
to 21.

Footnote 344:

Compare with this my explanations in _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 469.

Footnote 345:

Compare the exhortation by Krishna to the irresolute Arjuna in
Bhagavad-Gîtâ: “But thou, be free of the pairs of opposites!” Bk. II,
“The Song Celestial,” Edwin Arnold.

Footnote 346:

“Pensées,” LIV.

Footnote 347:

See the following chapter.

Footnote 348:

Compare John Müller: “Über die phantastischen Gesichtserscheinungen,”
Coblenz 1826; and Jung: “Occult Phenomena,” in Collected Papers on
Analytic Psychology.

Footnote 349:

Also the related doctrine of the Upanishad.

Footnote 350:

Bertschinger: “Illustrierte Halluzinationen,” _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p.
69.

Footnote 351:

How very important is the coronation and sun identification, is shown
not alone from countless old customs, but also from the corresponding
ancient metaphors in the religious speech: the Wisdom of Solomon v: 17:
“Therefore, they will receive a beautiful crown from the hand of the
Lord.” _I Peter_ v: 4: “Feed the flock of God ... and when the chief
shepherd shall appear ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not
away.”

In a church hymn of Allendorf it is said of the soul: “The soul is
liberated from all care and pain and in dying it has come to the _crown
of joy_; she stands as bride and queen in the _glitter of eternal
splendor_, at the side of the great king,” etc. In a hymn by Laurentius
Laurentii it is said (also of the soul): “The crown is entrusted to the
brides because they conquer.” In a song by Sacer we find the passage:
“Adorn my coffin with garlands just as a conqueror is adorned,—from
those springs of heaven, my soul has attained the eternally green crown:
the true glory of victory, coming from the son of God who has so cared
for me.” A quotation from the above-mentioned song of Allendorf is added
here, in which we have another complete expression of the primitive
psychology of the sun identification of men, which we met in the
Egyptian song of triumph of the ascending soul.

(Concerning the soul, continuation of the above passage:) “It [the soul]
sees a clear countenance [sun]: his [the sun’s] joyful loving nature now
restores it through and through: it is a _light in his light_.—Now the
_child can see the father_: He feels the gentle emotion of love. Now he
can understand the word of Jesus. He himself, the father, has loved you.
An unfathomable sea of benefits, an abyss of eternal waves of blessing
is disclosed to the enlightened spirit: he beholds the countenance of
God, and knows what signifies _the inheritor of God in light and the
co-heir of Christ_.—The feeble body rests on the earth: it sleeps until
Jesus awakens it. _Then will the dust become the sun_, which now is
covered by the dark cavern: Then shall we come together with all the
pious, who knows how soon, and will be for eternity with the Lord.” I
have emphasized the significant passages by italics: they speak for
themselves, so that I need add nothing.

Footnote 352:

In order to avoid misunderstanding I must add that this was absolutely
unknown to the patient.

Footnote 353:

The analysis of an eleven-year-old girl also confirms this. I gave a
report of this in the I Congrès International de Pédologie, 1911, in
Brussels.

Footnote 354:

The identity of the divine hero with the mystic is not to be doubted. In
a prayer written on papyrus to Hermes, it is said: σὺ γὰρ ἐγὼ καὶ ἐγὼ
σύ· τὸ σόν ὄνομα ἐμὸν καὶ τὸ ἐμὸν σὸν· ἐγὼ γὰρ εἰμι τὸ εἴθολόν σου (For
thou art I and I am thou, thy name is mine, and mine is thine; for I am
thy image). (Kenyon: Greek Papyrus, in the British Museum, 1893, p. 116,
Pap. CXXII, 2. Cited by Dieterich: “Mithrasliturgie,” p. 79.) The hero
as image of the libido is strikingly illustrated in the head of Dionysus
at Leiden (Roscher, I, Sp. 1128), where the hair rises like flame over
the head. He is—like a flame: “Thy savior will be a flame.” Firmicus
Maternus (“De Errore Prof. Relig.,” 104, p. 28) acquaints us with the
fact that the god was saluted as bridegroom, and “young light.” He
transmits the corrupt Greek sentence, δε νυνφε χαιρε νυνφε νεον φως,
with which he contrasts the Christian conception: “Nullum apud te lumen
est nec est aliquis qui sponsus mereatur audire: unum lumen est, unus
est sponsus. Nominum horum gratiam Christus accepit.” To-day Christ is
still our hero and the bridegroom of the soul. These attributes will be
confirmed in regard to Miss Miller’s hero in what follows.

Footnote 355:

The giving of a name is therefore of significance in the so-called
spiritual manifestations. See my paper, 1902, “Occult Phenomena,”
Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology.

Footnote 356:

The ancients recognized this demon as συνοπαδός, the companion and
follower.

Footnote 357:

A parallel to these phantasies are the well-known interpretations of the
Sella Petri of the pope.

Footnote 358:

When Freud called attention through his analytic researches to the
connection between excrements and gold, many ignorant persons found
themselves obliged to ridicule in an airy manner this connection. The
mythologists think differently about it. De Gubernatis says that
excrement and gold are always associated together. Grimm tells us of the
following magic charm: “If one wants money in his house the whole year,
one must eat lentils on New Year’s Day.” This notable connection is
explained simply through the physiological fact of the indigestibility
of lentils, which appear again in the form of coins. Thus one becomes a
mint.

Footnote 359:

A French father who naturally disagreed with me in regard to this
interest in his child mentioned, nevertheless, that when the child
speaks of cacao, he always adds “lit”; he means caca-au-lit.

Footnote 360:

Freud: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. I, p. 1. Jung: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. II, p. 33. See
third lecture delivered at Clark University, 1909.

Footnote 361:

I refer to the previous etymologic connection.

Footnote 362:

Compare Bleuler: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 467.

Footnote 363:

“Genius and Insanity.”

Footnote 364:

Here again is the connection with antiquity, the infantile past.

Footnote 365:

This fact is unknown to me. It might be possible that in some way the
name of the legendary man who invented the cuneiform characters has been
preserved (as, for example, Sinlikiunnini as the poet of the Gilgamesh
epic). But I have not succeeded in finding anything of that sort.
However, Ashshurbanaplu or Asurbanipal has left behind that marvellous
cuneiform library, which was excavated in Kujundschik. Perhaps
“Asurubama” has something to do with this name. Further there comes into
consideration the name of Aholibamah, which we have met in Part I. The
word “Ahamarama” betrays equally some connections with Anah and
Aholibamah, those daughters of Cain with the sinful passion for the sons
of God. This possibility hints at Chiwantopel as the longed-for son of
God. (Did Byron think of the two sister whores, Ohola and Oholiba?
Ezeck. xxiii:4.)

Footnote 366:

The race does not part with its wandering sun-heroes. Thus it was
related of Cagliostro, that he once drove at the same time four white
horses out of a city from all the city gates simultaneously (Helios!).

Footnote 367:

Mysticism.

Footnote 368:

Agni, the fire, also hides himself at times in a cavern. Therefore he
must be brought forth again by generation from the cavity of the female
wood. Compare Kuhn: “Herabk. des Feuers.”

Footnote 369:

We = Allah.

Footnote 370:

The “two-horned.” According to the commentaries, this refers to
Alexander the Great, who in the Arabian legends plays nearly the same
rôle as the German Dietrich von Bern. The “two-horned” refers to the
strength of the sun-bull. Alexander is often found upon coins with the
horns of Jupiter Ammon. It is a question of identification of the ruler
around whom so many legends are clustered, with the sun of spring in the
signs of the bull and the ram. It is obvious that humanity had a great
need of effacing the personal and human from their heroes, so as finally
to make them, through a μετάστασις (eclipse), the equal of the sun, that
is to say, completely into a libido-symbol. If we thought like
Schopenhauer, then we would surely say, Libido-symbol. But if we thought
like Goethe, then we would say, Sun; for we exist, because the sun sees
us.

Footnote 371:

Vollers: “Chidher. Archiv für Religionswissenschaft,” p. 235, Vol. XII,
1909. This is the work which is my authority on the Koran commentaries.

Footnote 372:

Here the ascension of Mithra and Christ are closely related. See Part I.

Footnote 373:

A parallel is found in the Mithra mysteries! See below.

Footnote 374:

Parallel to this are the conversations of Mohammed with Elias, at which
the sacramental bread was served. In the New Testament the awkwardness
is restricted to the proposal of Peter. The infantile character of such
scenes is shown by similar features, thus by the gigantic stature of
Elias in the Koran, and also the tales of the commentary, in which it is
stated that Elias and Chidher met each year in Mecca, conversed and
shaved each other’s heads.

Footnote 375:

On the contrary, according to Matthew xvii: 11, John the Baptist is to
be understood as Elias.

Footnote 376:

Compare the Kyffhäuser legend.

Footnote 377:

Vollers: Ibid.

Footnote 378:

Another account says that Alexander had been in India on the mountain of
Adam with his “minister” Chidher.

Footnote 379:

These mythological equations follow absolutely the rule of dreams, where
the dreamer can be resolved into many analogous forms.

Footnote 380:

“He must grow, but I must waste away.”—_John_ iii: 30.

Footnote 381:

Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” p. 172.

Footnote 382:

The parallel between Hercules and Mithra may be drawn even more closely.
Like Hercules, Mithra is an excellent archer. Judging from certain
monuments, not only the youthful Hercules appears to be threatened by a
snake, but also Mithra as a youth. The meaning of the ἄθλος of Hercules
(the work) is the same as the Mithraic mystery of the conquering and
sacrifice of the bull.

Footnote 383:

These three scenes are represented in a row on the Klagenfurt monument.
Thus the dramatic connection of these must be surmised (Cumont: “Myst.
des Mithras”).

Footnote 384:

Also the triple crown.

Footnote 385:

The Christian sequence is John—Christ, Peter—Pope.

Footnote 386:

The immortality of Moses is proven by the parallel situation with Elias
in the transfiguration.

Footnote 387:

See Frobenius: “Das Zeitalter des Sonnengottes.”

Footnote 388:

Therefore the fish is the symbol of the “Son of God”; at the same time
the fish is also the symbol of the approaching world-cycle.

Footnote 389:

Riklin: “Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism.”

Footnote 390:

Inman: “Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism.”

Footnote 391:

The amniotic membrane(?).

Footnote 392:

The Etrurian Tages, who sprang from the “freshly ploughed furrow,” is
also a teacher of wisdom. In the Litaolane myth of the Basutos, there is
a description of how a monster devoured all men and left only one woman,
who gave birth to a son, the hero, in a stable (instead of a cave: see
the etymology of this myth). Before she had arranged a bed for the
infant out of the straw, he was already grown and spoke “words of
wisdom.” The quick growth of the hero, a frequently recurring motive,
appears to mean that the birth and apparent childhood of the hero are so
extraordinary because his birth really means his rebirth, therefore he
becomes very quickly adapted to his hero rôle. Compare below.

Footnote 393:

Battle of Rê with the night serpent.

Footnote 394:

Matthew iii: 11.

Footnote 395:

“Das Gilgameshepos in der Weltliteratur,” Vol. I, p. 50.

Footnote 396:

The difference between this and the Mithra sacrifice seems to be
extraordinarily significant. The Dadophores are harmless gods of light
who do not participate in the sacrifice. The animal is lacking in the
sacrifice of Christ. Therefore there are two criminals who suffer the
same death. The scene is much more dramatic. The inner connection of the
Dadophores to Mithra, of which I will speak later, allows us to assume
the same relation of Christ to the criminals. The scene with Barabbas
betrays that Christ is the god of the ending year, who is represented by
one of the thieves, while the one of the coming year is free.

Footnote 397:

For example, the following dedication is found on a monument: D. I. M.
(Deo Invicto Mithrae) Cautopati. One discovers sometimes Deo Mithrae
Caute or Deo Mithrae Cautopati in a similar alternation as Deo Invicto
Mithrae—or sometimes Deo Invicto—or, merely, Invicto. It also appears
that the Dadophores are fitted with knife and bow, the attributes of
Mithra. From this it is to be concluded that the three figures represent
three different states of a single person. Compare Cumont: “Textes et
Monuments,” p. 208.

Footnote 398:

Of the threefold Mithra.

Footnote 399:

Cited by Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” p. 208.

Footnote 400:

Having expanded himself threefold, he departed from the sun.

Footnote 401:

Now these differences in the seasons refer to the Sun, which seems at
the winter solstice an infant, such as the Egyptians on a certain day
bring out of their sanctuaries; at the vernal equinox it is represented
as a youth. Later, at the summer solstice, its age is represented by a
full growth of beard, while at the last, the god is represented by the
gradually diminishing form of an old man.

Footnote 402:

Ibid.

Footnote 403:

Taurus and Scorpio are the equinoctial signs for the period from 4300 to
2150 B.C. These signs, long since superseded, were retained even in the
Christian era.

Footnote 404:

Under some circumstances, it is also sun and moon.

Footnote 405:

In order to characterize the individual and the all-soul, the personal
and the super-personal, Atman, a verse of the _Shvetâshvatara-Upanishad_
(Deussen) makes use of the following comparison:

              “Zwei schön beflügelte verbundne Freunde
              Umarmen einen und denselben Baum;
              Einer von ihnen speist die süsse Beere,
              Der andre schaut, nicht essend, nur herab.”

  (Two closely allied friends, beautifully winged, embrace one and the
  same tree; One of them eats the sweet berries, the other not eating
  merely looks downwards.)

Footnote 406:

Among the elements composing man, in the Mithraic liturgy, fire is
especially emphasized as the divine element, and described as τὸ εἰς
ἐμὴν κρᾶσιν θεοδώρητον (The divine gift in my composition). Dietrich:
Ibid., p. 58.

Footnote 407:

Threefold God.

Footnote 408:

It is sufficient to point to the loving interest which mankind and also
the God of the Old Testament has for the nature of the penis, and how
much depends upon it.

Footnote 409:

The testicles easily count as twins. Therefore in vulgar speech the
testicles are called the Siamese twins. (“Anthropophyteia,” VII, p. 20.
Quoted by Stekel: “Sprache des Traumes,” p. 169.)

Footnote 410:

“Recherches sur le culte, etc., de Vénus,” Paris, 1837. Quoted by Inman:
“Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism,” New York, p. 4.

Footnote 411:

The androgynous element is not to be undervalued in the faces of Adonis,
Christ, Dionysus and Mithra, and hints at the bisexuality of the libido.
The smooth-shaven face and the feminine clothing of the Catholic priest
contain a very old female constituent from the Attis-Cybele cult.

Footnote 412:

Stekel (“Sprache des Traumes”) has again and again noted the Trinity as
a phallic symbol. For example, see p. 27.

Footnote 413:

Sun’s rays = Phalli.

Footnote 414:

In a Bakairi myth a woman appears, who has sprung from a corn mortar. In
a Zulu myth it is said: A woman is to catch a drop of blood in a vessel,
then close the vessel, put it aside for eight months and open it in the
ninth month. She follows the advice, opens the vessel in the ninth
month, and finds a child in it. (Frobenius: “Das Zeitalter des
Sonnengottes” [The Age of the Sun-God], I, p. 237.)

Footnote 415:

Inman: Ibid., p. 10, Plate IX.

Footnote 416:

Roscher: “Lexicon,” Sp. 2733/4. See section, Men.

Footnote 417:

A well-known sun animal, frequent as a phallic symbol.

Footnote 418:

Like Mithra and the Dadophores.

Footnote 419:

The castration in the service of the mother explains this quotation in a
very significant manner: Exod. iv: 25: “Then Zipporah took a sharp
stone, and cut off her son’s foreskin and cast it at his feet and said,
Surely, a bloody husband art thou to me.” This passage shows what
circumcision means.

Footnote 420:

Gilgamesh, Dionysus, Hercules, Christ, Mithra, and so on.

Footnote 421:

Compare with this, Graf: “R. Wagner im Fliegenden Holländer: Schriften
zur angewandten Seelenkunde.”

Footnote 422:

I have pointed out above, in reference to the Zosimos vision, that the
altar meant the uterus, corresponding to the baptismal font.


                               CHAPTER V

Footnote 423:

Freud: “Dream Interpretation.”

Footnote 424:

I am indebted to Dr. Abegg in Zürich for the knowledge of Indra and
Urvarâ, Domaldi and Râma.

Footnote 425:

Medieval Christianity also considered the Trinity as dwelling in the
womb of the holy Virgin.

Footnote 426:

“Symbolism,” Plate VII.

Footnote 427:

Another form of the same motive is the Persian idea of the tree of life,
which stands in the lake of rain, Vourukasha. The seeds of this tree
were mixed with water and by that the fertility of the earth was
maintained. “Vendîdâd,” 5, 57, says: The waters flow “to the lake
Vourukasha, down to the tree Hvâpa; there my trees of many kinds all
grow. I cause these waters to rain down as food for the pure man, as
fodder for the well-born cow. (Impregnation, in terms of the presexual
stage.) Another tree of life is the white Haoma, which grows in the
spring Ardvîçura, the water of life.” Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,”
I, 465, 467.

Footnote 428:

Excellent examples of this are given in the work of Rank, “The Myth of
the Birth of the Hero,” translated by Wm. White.

Footnote 429:

Shadows probably mean the soul, the nature of which is the same as
libido. Compare with this Part I.

Footnote 430:

But I must mention that Nork (“Realwörterbuch,” sub. Theben und Schiff)
pleads that Thebes is the ship city; his arguments are much attacked.
From among his arguments I emphasize a quotation from Diodorus (I, 57),
according to which Sesostris (whom Nork associates with Xisuthros) had
consecrated to the highest god in Thebes a vessel 280 els long. In the
dialogue of Lucius (Apuleius: “Metam.,” lib. II, 28), the night journey
in the sea was used as an erotic figure of speech: “Hac enim sitarchia
navigium Veneris indiget sola, ut in nocte pervigili et oleo lucerna et
vino calix abundet” (For the ship of Venus needs this provision in order
that during the night the lamp may abound with oil and the goblet with
wine). The union of the coitus motive with the motive of pregnancy is to
be found in the “night journey on the sea” of Osiris, who in his
mother’s womb copulated with his sister.

Footnote 431:

Very illuminating psychologically is the method and the manner in which
Jesus treats his mother, when he harshly repels her. Just as strong and
intense as this, has the longing for her imago grown in his unconscious.
It is surely not an accident that the name Mary accompanies him through
life. Compare the utterance of Matthew x: 35: “I have come to set a man
at variance with his father, a daughter with her mother. He who loves
father and mother more than me is not worthy of me.” This directly
hostile purpose, which calls to mind the legendary rôle of Bertran de
Born, is directed against the incestuous bond and compels man to
transfer his libido to the Saviour, who, dying, returning into his
mother and rising again, is the hero Christ.

Footnote 432:

Genitals.

Footnote 433:

The horns of the dragon have the following attributes: “They will prey
upon woman’s flesh and they will burn with fire.” The horn, a phallic
emblem, is in the unicorn the symbol of the Holy Ghost (Logos). The
unicorn is hunted by the archangel Gabriel, and driven into the lap of
the Virgin, by which was understood the immaculate conception. But the
horns are also sun’s rays, therefore the sun-gods are often horned. The
sun phallus is the prototype of the horn (sun wheel and phallus wheel),
therefore the horn is the symbol of power. Here the horns “burn with
fire” and prey upon the flesh; one recognizes in this a representation
of the pains of hell where souls were burnt by the fire of the libido
(unsatisfied longing). The harlot is “consumed” or burned by unsatisfied
longing (libido). Prometheus suffers a similar fate, when the eagle,
sun-bird (libido), tears his intestines: one might also say, that he was
pierced by the “horn.” I refer to the phallic meaning of the spear.

Footnote 434:

In the Babylonian underworld, for example. The souls have a feathery
coat like birds. See the Gilgamesh epic.

Footnote 435:

In a fourteenth-century Gospel at Bruges there is a miniature where the
“woman” lovely as the mother of God stands with half her body in a
dragon.

Footnote 436:

τὸ ἀρνίον, little ram, diminutive of the obsolete ἀρήν = ram. (In
Theophrastus it occurs with the meaning of “young scion.”) The related
word ἀρνίς designates a festival annually celebrated in honor of Linos,
in which the λίνος, the lament called Linos, was sung as a lamentation
for Linos, the new-born son of Psamathe and Apollo, torn to pieces by
dogs. The mother had exposed her child out of fear of her father
Krotopos. But for revenge Apollo sent a dragon, Poine, into Krotopos’
land. The oracle of Delphi commanded a yearly lament by women and
maidens for the dead Linos. A part of the honor was given to Psamathe.
The Linos lament is, as Herodotus shows (II, 79), identical with the
Phœnician, Cyprian and Egyptian custom of the Adonis-(Tammuz) lament. As
Herodotus observes, Linos is called Maneros in Egypt. Brugsch points out
that Maneros comes from the Egyptian cry of lamentation, _maa-n-chru_:
“come to the call.” Poine is characterized by her tearing the children
from the womb of all mothers. This ensemble of motives is found again in
the Apocalypse, xii: 1–5, where it treats of the woman, whose child was
threatened by a dragon but was snatched away into the heavens. The
child-murder of Herod is an anthropomorphism of this “primitive” idea.
The lamb means the son. (See Brugsch: “Die Adonisklage und das
Linoslied,” Berlin 1852.) Dieterich (Abraxas: “Studien zur
Religionsgeschichte des späteren Altertums,” 1891) refers for an
explanation of this passage to the myth of Apollo and Python, which he
reproduces as follows: “To Python, the son of earth, the great dragon,
it was prophesied that the son of Leto would kill him; Leto was pregnant
by Zeus: but Hera brought it about that she _could give birth only there
where the sun did not shine_. When Python saw that Leto was pregnant, he
began to pursue her in order to kill her, but Boreas brought Leto to
Poseidon. The latter brought her to Ortygia and covered the island with
the waves of the sea. When Python did not find Leto, he returned to
Parnassus. Leto brought forth upon the island thrown up by Poseidon. The
fourth day after the birth, Apollo took revenge and killed the Python.”
The birth upon the hidden island belongs to the motive of the “night
journey on the sea.” The typical character of the “island phantasy” has
for the first time been correctly perceived by Riklin (1912 _Jahrbuch_,
Vol. II, p. 246). A beautiful parallel for this is to be found, together
with the necessary incestuous phantasy material, in H. de Vere Stacpool:
“The Blue Lagoon.” A parallel to “Paul and Virginia.”

Footnote 437:

Revelation xxi: 2: “And the holy city, the new Jerusalem, I saw coming
down from the _heaven of God, prepared as a bride adorned for her
bridegroom_.”

Footnote 438:

The legend of Saktideva, in Somadeva Bhatta, relates that the hero,
after he had escaped from being devoured by a huge fish (terrible
mother), finally sees the golden city and marries his beloved princess
(Frobenius, p. 175).

Footnote 439:

In the Apocryphal acts of St. Thomas (2nd century) the church is taken
to be the virgin mother-spouse of Christ. In an invocation of the
apostle, it is said:

       Come, holy name of Christ, thou who art above all names.
       Come, power of the highest and greatest mercy,
       Come, dispenser of the greatest blessings,
       Come, gracious mother.
       Come, economy of the masculine.
       Come, woman, thou who disclosest the hidden mysteries....

In another invocation it is said:

        Come, greatest mercy,
        Come, spouse (literally community) of the male,
        Come, woman, thou who knowest the mystery of the elect,
        Come, woman, thou who showest the hidden things
        And who revealest the unspeakable things, holy
        Dove, thou who bringest forth the twin nestling,
        Come, mysterious mother, etc.

F. C. Conybeare: “Die jungfräuliche Kirche und die jungfräuliche
Mutter.” _Archiv für Religionswissenschaft_, IX, 77. The connection of
the church with the mother is not to be doubted, also the conception of
the mother as spouse. The virgin is necessarily introduced to hide the
incest idea. The “community with the male” points to the motive of the
continuous cohabitation. The “twin nestlings” refer to the old legend,
that Jesus and Thomas were twins. It plainly expresses the motive of the
Dioscuri. Therefore, doubting Thomas had to place his finger in the
wound at the side. Zinzendorf has correctly perceived the sexual
significance of this symbol that hints at the androgynous nature of the
primitive being (the libido). Compare the Persian legend of the twin
trees Meschia and Mechiane, as well as the motive of the Dioscuri and
the motive of cohabitation.

Footnote 440:

Compare Freud: “Dream Interpretation.” Also Abraham: “Dreams and Myths,”
pp. 22 f.

Footnote 441:

The sea is the symbol of birth.

Footnote 442:

_Isaiah_ xlviii:1. “Hear ye this, O house of Jacob, which are called by
the name of Israel and are come forth out of the waters of Judah.”

Footnote 443:

Wirth: “Aus orientalischen Chroniken.”—The Greek “Materia” is ὕλη, which
means wood and forest; it really means moist, from the Indo-Germanic
root _sū_ in ὕω, “to make wet, to have it rain”; ὑετός = rain; Iranian
_suth_ = sap, fruit, birth; Sanscrit _súrā_ = brandy; _sutus_ =
pregnancy; _sūte_, _sūyate_ = to generate; _sutas_ = son; _sūras_ =
soma; υἱός = son; (Sanscrit, _sūnús_; gothic, _sunus_).

Footnote 444:

Κοίμημα means cohabitation, κοιμητήριον bedchamber, hence coemeterium =
cemetery, enclosed fenced place.

Footnote 445:

Nork: “Realwörterbuch.”

Footnote 446:

In a myth of Celebes, a dove maiden who was caught in the manner of the
swan maiden myth, was called Utahagi after a white hair which grew on
its crown and in which there was magic strength. Frobenius, p. 307.

Footnote 447:

Referring to the phallic symbolism of the finger, see the remarks about
the Dactyli, Part II, Chap. I: I mention at this place the following
from a Bakairi myth: “Nimagakaniro devoured two finger bones, many of
which were in the house, because Oka used them for his arrow heads and
killed many Bakairi whose flesh he ate. The woman became pregnant from
the finger bone and only from this, not from Oka” (quoted by Frobenius,
p. 236).

Footnote 448:

Further proof for this in Prellwitz: “Griechische Etymologie.”

Footnote 449:

Siecke: “Der Gott Rudra in Rigveda”: _Archiv für Religionswissenschaft_,
Vol. I, p. 237.

Footnote 450:

The fig tree is the phallic tree. It is noteworthy that Dionysus planted
a fig tree at the entrance to Hades, just as “Phalli” are placed on
graves. The cyprus tree consecrated to Aphrodite grew to be entirely a
token of death, because it was placed at the door of the house of death.

Footnote 451:

Therefore the tree at times is also a representation of the sun. A
Russian riddle related to me by Dr. Van Ophuijsen reads: “What is the
tree which stands in the middle of the village and is visible in every
cottage?” Answer: “The sun and its light.” A Norwegian riddle reads:

               “A tree stands on the mountain of Billings,
               It bends over a lake,
               Its branches shine like gold:
               You won’t guess that to-day.

  In the evening the daughter of the sun collected the golden branches,
  which had been broken from the wonderful oak.

                     Bitterly weeps the little sun
                     In the apple orchard.
                     From the apple tree has fallen
                     The golden apple,
                     Do not weep, little sun,
                     God will make another
                     Of gold, of bronze, of silver.”

The picking of the apple from the paradise tree may be compared with the
fire theft, the drawing back of the libido from the mother. (See the
explanations which follow concerning the specific deed of the hero.)

Footnote 452:

The relation of the son to the mother was the psychologic basis of many
religions. In the Christian legend the relation of the son to the mother
is extraordinarily clear. Robertson (“Evangelical Myths”) has hit upon
the relation of Christ to the Marys, and he conjectures that this
relation probably refers to an old myth “where a god of Palestine,
perhaps of the name Joshua, appears in the changing relation of lover
and son towards a mythical Mary. This is a natural process in the oldest
theosophy and one which appears with variations in the myths of Mithra,
Adonis, Attis, Osiris and Dionysus, all of whom were brought into
relation (or combination) with mother goddesses and who appear either as
a consort or a feminine eidolon in so far as the mothers and consorts
were identified as occasion offered.”

Footnote 453:

Rank has pointed out a beautiful example of this in the myth of the swan
maiden. “Die Lohengrinsage: Schriften zur angewandten Seelenkunde.”

Footnote 454:

Muther (“Geschichte der Malerei,” Vol. II) says in the chapter: “The
First Spanish Classic”: “Tieck once wrote: Sexuality is the great
mystery of our being. Sensuality is the first moving wheel in our
machinery. It stirs our being and makes it joyous and living. Everything
we dream of as beautiful and noble is included here. Sexuality and
sensuousness are the spirit of music, of painting and of all art. All
wishes of mankind rotate around this center like moths around a burning
light. The sense of beauty and the feeling for art are only other
expressions of it. They signify nothing more than the impulse of mankind
towards expression. I consider devoutness itself as a diverted channel
of the sexual desire.” Here it is openly declared that one should never
forget when judging the ancient ecclesiastic art that the effort to
efface the boundaries between earthly and divine love, to blend them
into each other imperceptibly, has always been the guiding thought, the
strongest factor in the propaganda of the Catholic church.

Footnote 455:

That which is born of the flesh is flesh and that which is born of the
spirit is spirit; the spirit bloweth where it listeth.

Footnote 456:

We will not discuss here the reasons for the strength of the phantasy.
But it does not seem difficult to me to imagine what sort of powers are
hidden behind the above formula.

Footnote 457:

Lactantius says: “When all know that it is customary for certain animals
to conceive through wind and breath of air, why should any one consider
it miraculous for a virgin to be impregnated by the spirit of God?”
Robertson: “Evang. Myth.,” p. 31.

Footnote 458:

Therefore the strong emphasis upon affiliation in the New Testament.

Footnote 459:

The mystic feelings of the nearness of God; the so-called personal inner
experience.

Footnote 460:

The sexual mawkishness is everywhere apparent in the lamb symbolism and
the spiritual love-songs to Jesus, the bridegroom of the soul.

Footnote 461:

Usener: “Der heilige Tychon,” 1907.

Footnote 462:

Compare W. P. Knight: “Worship of Priapus.”

Footnote 463:

Or in the compensating organizations, which appear in the place of
religion.

Footnote 464:

The condition was undoubtedly ideal for early times, where mankind was
more infantile in general: and it still is ideal for that part of
humanity which is infantile; how large is that part!

Footnote 465:

Compare Freud: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 1.

Footnote 466:

Here it is not to be forgotten we are moving entirely in the territory
of psychology, which in no way is allied to transcendentalism, either in
positive or negative relation. It is a question here of a relentless
fulfilment of the standpoint of the theory of cognition, established by
Kant, not merely for the theory, but, what is more important, for the
practice. One should avoid playing with the infantile image of the
world, because all this tends only to separate man from his essential
and highest ethical goal, moral autonomy. The religious symbol should be
retained after the inevitable obliteration of certain antiquated
fragments, as postulate or as transcendent theory, and also as taught in
precepts, but is to be filled with new meaning according to the demand
of the culture of the present day. But this theory must not become for
the “adult” a positive creed, an illusion, which causes reality to
appear to him in a false light. Just as man is a dual being, having an
intellectual and an animal nature, so does he appear to need two forms
of reality, the reality of culture, that is, the symbolic transcendent
theory, and the reality of nature which corresponds to our conception of
the “true reality.” In the same measure that the true reality is merely
a figurative interpretation of the appreciation of reality, the
religious symbolic theory is merely a figurative interpretation of
certain endopsychic apperceptions. But one very essential difference is
that a transcendental support, independent in duration and condition, is
assured to the transubjective reality through the best conceivable
guarantees, while for the psychologic phenomena a transcendental support
of subjective limitation and weakness must be recognized as a result of
compelling empirical data. Therefore true reality is one that is
relatively universally valid; the psychologic reality, on the contrary,
is merely a functional phenomenon contained in an epoch of human
civilization. Thus does it appear to-day from the best informed
empirical standpoint. If, however, the psychologic were divested of its
character of a biologic epiphenomenon in a manner neither known nor
expected by me, and thereby was given the place of a physical entity,
then the psychologic reality would be resolved into the true reality; or
much more, it would be reversed, because then the psychologic would lay
claim to a greater worth, for the ultimate theory, because of its
directness.

Footnote 467:

“De Isid. et Osir.”

Footnote 468:

In the fourth place Isis was born in absolute humidity.

Footnote 469:

The great beneficent king, Osiris.

Footnote 470:

Erman: “Aegypten,” p. 360.

Footnote 471:

Here I must again recall that I give to the word “incest” more
significance than properly belongs to the term. Just as libido is the
onward driving force, so incest is in some manner the backward urge into
childhood. For the child, it cannot be spoken of as incest. Only for the
adult who possesses a completely formed sexuality does the backward urge
become incest, because he is no longer a child but possesses a sexuality
which cannot be permitted a regressive application.

Footnote 472:

Compare Frobenius: “Das Zeitalter des Sonnengottes.”

Footnote 473:

Compare the “nightmare legends” in which the mare is a beautiful woman.

Footnote 474:

This recalls the phallic columns placed in the temples of Astarte. In
fact, according to one version, the wife of the king was named Astarte.
This symbol brings to mind the crosses, fittingly called έγκολπια
(pregnant crosses), which conceal a secret reliquary.

Footnote 475:

Spielrein (_Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 358) points out numerous indications
of the motive of dismemberment in a demented patient. Fragments of the
most varied things and materials were “cooked” or “burnt.” “The ash can
become man.” The patient saw children dismembered in glass coffins. In
addition, the above-mentioned “washing,” “cleaning,” “cooking” and
“burning” has, besides the coitus motive, also the pregnancy motive; the
latter probably in a predominating measure.

Footnote 476:

Later offshoots of this primitive theory of the origin of children are
contained in the doctrines of Karma, and the conception of the Mendelian
theory of heredity is not far off. One only has to realize that all
apperceptions are subjectively conditioned.

Footnote 477:

Demeter assembled the limbs of the dismembered Dionysus and from them
produced the god anew.

Footnote 478:

Compare Diodorus: III, 62.

Footnote 479:

Yet to be added is the fact that the cynocephalic Anubis as the restorer
of the corpse of Osiris (also genius of the dog star) had a compensatory
significance. In this significance he appears upon many sarcophagi. The
dog is also a regular companion of the healing Asclepius. The following
quotation from Petronius best supports the Creuzer hypothesis (“Sat.,”
c. 71): “Valde te rogo, ut secundum pedes statuae meae catellam
pingas—ut mihi contingat tuo beneficio post mortem vivere” (I beseech
you instantly to fasten beside the feet of my statue a dog, so that
because of your beneficence I may attain to life after death). See Nork:
Ibid., about dog.

Moreover, the relation of the dog to the dog-headed Hecate, the goddess
of the underworld, hints at its being the symbol of rebirth. She
received as Canicula a sacrificial dog to keep away the pest. Her close
relation to Artemis as goddess of the moon permits her opposition to
fertility to be glimpsed. Hecate, is also the first to bring to Demeter
the news of her stolen child (the rôle of Anubis!). Also the goddess of
birth Ilithyia received sacrifices of dogs, and Hecate herself is, on
occasions, goddess of marriage and birth.

Footnote 480:

Frobenius (Ibid., p. 393) observes that frequently the gods of fire
(sun-heroes) lack a member. He gives the following parallel: “Just as
the god wrenches out an arm from the ogre (giant), so does Odysseus
pluck out the eye of the noble Polyphemus, whereupon the sun creeps up
mysteriously into the sky. Might the fire-making, twisting and wrenching
out of the arm be connected?” This question is by this clearly illumined
if we assume, corresponding to the train of thought of the ancients,
that the wrenching out of the arm is really a castration. (The symbol of
the robbery of the force of life.) It is an act corresponding to the
Attis castration because of the mother. From this renunciation, which is
really a symbolic mother incest, arises the discovery of fire, as
previously we have already suspected. Moreover, mention must be made of
the fact that to wrench out an arm, means first of all merely
“overpowering,” and on that account can happen to the hero as well as to
his opponent. (Compare, for examples, Frobenius: Ibid., pp. 112, 395.)

Footnote 481:

Compare especially the description of the cup of Thebes.

Footnote 482:

Professor Freud has expressed in a personal discussion the idea that a
further determinate for the motive of the dissimilar brothers is to be
found in the elementary observance towards birth and the after-birth. It
is an exotic custom to treat the placenta as a child!

Footnote 483:

Brugsch: “Religion und Mythologie der alten Aegypter,” p. 354.

Footnote 484:

Ibid., p. 310.

Footnote 485:

In the conception of Âtman there is a certain fluid quality in so far as
he really can be identified with Purusha of the Rigveda. “Purusha covers
all the places of the earth, flowing about it ten fingers high.”

Footnote 486:

Brugsch: Ibid., p. 112.

Footnote 487:

In Thebes, where the chief god is Chnum, the latter represents the
breath of the wind in his cosmic component, from which later on “the
spirit of God floating over the waters” has developed; the primitive
idea of the cosmic parents, who lie pressed together until the son
separates them. (Compare the symbolism of Âtman above.)

Footnote 488:

Brugsch: Ibid., p. 128.

Footnote 489:

Servian song from Grimm’s “Mythology,” II, p. 544.

Footnote 490:

Frobenius: Ibid.

Footnote 491:

Compare the birth of the Germanic Aschanes, where rock, tree and water
are present at the scene of birth. Chidher too was found sitting on the
earth, the ground around covered with flowers.

Footnote 492:

Most singularly even in this quotation, V. 288, the description is found
of Sleep sitting high up in a pine tree. “There he sat surrounded by
branches covered with thorny leaves, like the singing bird, who by night
flutters through the mountains.” It appears as if the motive belongs to
a hierosgamos. Compare also the magic net with which Hephaestos enfolds
Ares and Aphrodite “in flagranti” and kept them for the sport of the
gods.

Footnote 493:

The rite of enchaining the statues of Hercules and the Tyrian Melkarth
is related to this also. The Cabiri too were wrapt in coverings.
Creuzer: “Symbolik,” II, 350.

Footnote 494:

Fick: “Indogermanisches Wörterbuch,” I, p. 132.

Footnote 495:

Compare the “resounding sun.”

Footnote 496:

The motive of the “striking rocks” belongs also to the motive of
devouring (Frobenius: Ibid., p. 405). The hero in his ship must pass
between two rocks which strike together. (Similar to the biting door, to
the tree trunk which snaps together.) In the passage, generally the tail
of the bird is pinched off (or the “poop” of the ship, etc.); the
castration motive is once more clearly revealed here, for the castration
takes the place of mother incest. The castration is a substitution for
coitus. Scheffel employs this idea in his well-known poem: “A herring
loved an oyster, etc.” The poem ends with the oyster biting off the
herring’s head for a kiss. The doves which bring Zeus ambrosia have also
to pass through the rocks which strike together. The “doves” bring the
food of immortality to Zeus by means of incest (entrance into the
mother) very similar to Freya’s apples (breasts). Frobenius also
mentions the rocks or caves which open only at a magic word and are very
closely connected with the rocks which strike together. Most
illuminating in this respect is a South African myth (Frobenius, p.
407): “One must call the rock by name and cry loudly: Rock Utunjambili,
open, so that I may enter.” But the rock answers when it will not open
to the call. “The rock will not open to children, it will open to the
swallows which fly in the air!” The remarkable thing is, that no human
power can open the rock, only a formula has that power—or a bird. This
wording merely says that the opening of the rock is an undertaking which
cannot really be accomplished, but which one wishes to accomplish.

(In Middle High German, to wish is really “to have the power to create
something extraordinary.”) When a man dies, then only the wish that he
might live remains, an unfulfilled wish, a fluttering wish, wherefore
souls are birds. The soul is wholly only libido, as is illustrated in
many parts of this work; it is “to wish.” Thus the helpful bird, who
assists the hero in the whale to come again into the light, who opens
the rocks, is the wish for rebirth. (For the bird as a wish, see the
beautiful painting by Thoma, where the youth longingly stretches out his
arms to the birds who pass over his head.)

Footnote 497:

Melian Virgins.

Footnote 498:

Grimm: “Mythology,” I, p. 474.

Footnote 499:

In Athens there was a family of Αἰγειρότομοι = hewn from poplars.

Footnote 500:

Hermann: “Nordische Mythologie,” p. 589.

Footnote 501:

Pregnant.

Footnote 502:

Javanese tribes commonly set up their images of God in an artificial
cavity of a tree. This fits in with the “little hole” phantasy of
Zinzendorf and his sect. See Pfister: “Frömmigkeit des Grafen von
Zinzendorf.” In a Persian myth, the white Haoma is a divine tree,
growing in the lake Vourukasha, the fish Khar-mâhî circles protectingly
around it and defends it against the toad Ahriman. It gives eternal
life, children to women, husbands to girls and horses to men. In the
Minôkhired the tree is called “the preparer of the corpse” (Spiegel:
“Erân. Altertumskunde,” II, 115).

Footnote 503:

Ship of the sun, which accompanies the sun and the soul over the sea of
death to the rising.

Footnote 504:

Brugsch: Ibid., p. 177.

Footnote 505:

Similarly _Isaiah_ li: 1: “... look unto the rock whence ye are hewn,
and to the hole of the pit whence ye are digged.” Further proof is found
in A. von Löwis of Menar: “Nordkaukasische Steingeburtssagen,” _Archiv
für Religionswissenschaft_, XIII, p. 509.

Footnote 506:

Grimm: “Mythology,” I, p. 474.

Footnote 507:

“Das Kreuz Christi. Rel.-hist.-kirchl.-archaeol. Untersuchungen,” 1875.

Footnote 508:

The legend of Seth is found in Jubinal: “Mystères inédits du XV.
siècle,” Part II, p. 16. Quoted from Zöckler: Ibid., p. 241.

Footnote 509:

The guilt is as always, whenever possible, thrown upon the mother. The
Germanic sacred trees are also under the law of an absolute taboo: no
leaf may be taken from them, and nothing may be picked from the ground
upon which their shadows fall.

Footnote 510:

According to the German legend (Grimm: Vol. II, p. 809), the redeeming
hero will be born when the tree, which now grows as a weak shoot from
the wall, has become large, and when from its wood the cradle can be
made in which the hero can be rocked. The formula reads: “A linden shall
be planted, which shall bear on high two boughs from the wood of which a
“poie” shall be made; the child who will be the first to lie therein is
destined to be taken by the sword from life to death, and then salvation
will enter in.” In the Germanic legends, the appearance of a future
event is connected most remarkably with a budding tree. Compare with
this the designation of Christ as a “branch” or a “rod.”

Footnote 511:

Herein the motive of the “helpful bird” is apparent. Angels are really
birds. Compare the bird clothing of the souls of the underworld, “soul
birds.” In the sacrificium Mithriacum, the messenger of the gods (the
“angel”) is a raven, the winged Hermes, etc.

Footnote 512:

See Frobenius: Ibid.

Footnote 513:

The close connection between δελφίς = Dolphin and δελφύς = uterus is
emphasized. In Delphi there is the cavity in the earth and the Tripod
δελφινίς = a delphic table with three feet in the form of a Dolphin. See
in the last chapter Melicertes upon the Dolphin and the fiery sacrifice
of Melkarth.

Footnote 514:

See the comprehensive collection of Jones. On the nightmare.

Footnote 515:

Riklin: “Wish Fulfilment and Symbolism in Fairy Tales.”

Footnote 516:

Laistner: “Das Rätsel der Sphinx.”

Footnote 517:

Freud: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. I, June: “Mental Conflicts in Children”:
Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology.

Footnote 518:

“Epistola de ara ad Noviomagum reperta,” p. 25. Quoted by Grimm:
“Mythology,” Vol. II.

Footnote 519:

Even to-day the country people drive off these nymphs (mother goddesses,
Maira) by throwing a bone of the head of a horse upon the roof—bones of
this kind can often be seen throughout the land on the farmhouses of the
country people. By night, however, they are believed to ride at the time
of the first sleep, and they are believed to tire out their horses by
long journeys.

Footnote 520:

Grimm: Ibid., Vol. II, p. 1041.

Footnote 521:

Compare with that the horses whose tread causes springs to flow.

Footnote 522:

Compare Herrmann: “Nord. Myth.,” p. 64, and Fick: “Vergleich. Wörterb.
d. indogerm. Sprache,” Vol. I.

Footnote 523:

Parallel is the mantic significance of the delphic chasm, Mîmir’s brook,
etc. “Abyss of Wisdom,” see last chapter. Hippolytos, with whom his
stepmother was enamoured, was placed after death with the wise nymph,
Egeria.

Footnote 524:

That these matrons should declare by lots whether it would be to their
advantage or not to engage in battle.

Footnote 525:

Example in Bertschinger: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, Part I.

Footnote 526:

Compare the exotic myths given by Frobenius (“Zeitalter des
Sonnengottes”), where the belly of the whale is clearly the land of
death.

Footnote 527:

One of the fixed peculiarities of the Mar is that he can only get out of
the hole, through which he came in. This motive belongs evidently as the
projected wish motive in the rebirth myth.

Footnote 528:

According to Gressmann: “Altorient. Text. und Bild.,” Vol. I, p. 4.

Footnote 529:

Abyss of wisdom, book of wisdom, source of phantasies. See below.

Footnote 530:

Cleavage of the mother, see Kaineus; also rift, chasm = division of the
earth, and so on.

Footnote 531:

“Schöpfung und Chaos.” Göttingen, 1895, p. 30.

Footnote 532:

Brugsch: Ibid., p. 161.

Footnote 533:

“In a Pyramid text, which depicts the battle of the dead Pharaoh for the
dominance of heaven, it reads: Heaven weeps, the stars tremble, the
guards of the gods tremble and their servants flee, when they see the
king rise as a spirit, as a god, who lives upon his fathers and conquers
his mothers.” Cited by Dieterich: “Mithrasliturgy,” p. 100.

Footnote 534:

Book II, p. 61.

Footnote 535:

By Ares, the Egyptian Typhon is probably meant.

Footnote 536:

In the Polynesian Maui myth, the act of the sun-hero is very plain: he
robs his mother of her girdle. The robbery of the veil in myths of the
type of the swan maiden has the same significance. In an African myth of
Joruba, the sun-hero simply ravishes his mother (Frobenius).

Footnote 537:

The previously mentioned myth of Halirrhotios, who destroyed himself
when he wished to cut down the holy tree of Athens, the Moria, contains
the same psychology, also the priestly castration (Attis castration) in
the service of the great mother. The ascetic self-torture in
Christianity has its origin, as is self-evident, in these sources
because the Christian form of symbol means a very intensive regression
to the mother incest.

Footnote 538:

The tearing off from the tree of life is just this sin.

Footnote 539:

Compare Kuhn: “Herabkunft des Feuers.”

Footnote 540:

Nork: “Wörterbuch s. v. Mistel.”

Footnote 541:

Therefore in England mistletoe boughs were hung up at Christmas.
Mistletoe as rod of life. Compare Aigremont: “Volkserotik und
Pflanzenwelt.”

Footnote 542:

Just as the tree has the phallic nature as well as a maternal
significance, so in myths the demonic old woman (she may be favorable or
malicious) often has phallic attributes, for example, a long toe, a long
tooth, long lips, long fingers, pendulous breasts, large hands, feet,
and so on. This mixture of male and female motive has reference to the
fact that the old woman is a libido symbol like the tree, generally
determined as maternal. The bisexuality of the libido is expressed in
its clearest form in the idea of the three witches, who collectively
possessed but one eye and one tooth. This idea is directly parallel to
the dream of a patient, who represented her libido as twins, one of
which is a box, the other a bottle-like object, for eye and tooth
represent male and female genitals. Relative to eye in this connection,
see especially the Egyptian myths: referring to tooth, it is to be
observed that Adonis (fecundity) died by a boar’s tooth, like Siegfried
by Hagen’s spear: compare with this the Veronese Priapus, whose phallus
was bitten by a snake. Tooth in this sense, like the snake, is a
“negative” phallus.

Footnote 543:

Compare Grimm: Vol. II, Chap, iv, p. 802. The same motive in another
application is found in a Low-Saxon legend: Once a young ash tree grew
unnoticed in the wood. Each New Year’s Eve a white knight upon a white
horse rides up to cut down the young shoot. At the same time a black
knight arrives and engages him in combat. After a lengthy conflict, the
white knight succeeds in overcoming the black knight and the white
knight cuts down the young tree. But sometime the white knight will be
unsuccessful, then the ash will grow, and when it becomes large enough
to allow a horse to be tied under it, then a powerful king will come and
a tremendous battle will occur (destruction of the world).

Footnote 544:

Chantepie de la Saussaye: “Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte,” Vol. II,
p. 185.

Footnote 545:

Further examples in Frobenius: Ibid., passim.

Footnote 546:

See Jensen: “Gilgameshepos.”

Footnote 547:

In a Schlesian passionale of the fifteenth century Christ dies on the
same tree which was connected with Adam’s sin. Cited from Zöckler:
Ibid., p. 241.

Footnote 548:

For example, animal skins were hung on the sacrificial trees and
afterwards spears were thrown at them.

Footnote 549:

“Geschichte der amerikanischen Urreligionen,” p. 498.

Footnote 550:

Stephens: “Central America” (cited by Müller: Ibid., p. 498).

Footnote 551:

Zöckler: “Das Kreuz Christi,” p. 34.

Footnote 552:

H. H. Bancroft: “Native Races of the Pacific States of North America,”
II, 506. (Cited by Robertson: “Evang. Myths,” p. 139.)

Footnote 553:

Rossellini: “Monumenti dell’ Egitto, etc.” Tom. 3. Tav. 23. (Cited by
Robertson: Ibid., p. 142.)

Footnote 554:

Zöckler: Ibid., p. 7. In the representation of the birth of a king in
Luxor one sees the following: The logos and messenger of the gods, the
bird-headed Thoth, makes known to the maiden Queen Mautmes that she is
to give birth to a son. In the following scene, Kneph and Athor hold the
Crux ansata to her mouth so that she may be impregnated by this in a
spiritual (symbolic) manner. Sharp: “Egyptian Mythology,” p. 18. (Cited
by Robertson: “Evangelical Myths,” p. 43.)

Footnote 555:

The statues of the phallic Hermes used as boundary stones were often in
the form of a cross with the head pointed (W. Payne Knight: “Worship of
Priapus,” p. 30). In Old English the cross is called rod.

Footnote 556:

Robertson (Ibid., p. 140) mentions the fact that the Mexican priests and
sacrificers clothed themselves in the skin of a slain woman, and placed
themselves with arms stretched out like a cross before the god of war.

Footnote 557:

“Indian Antiquities,” VI, 49.

Footnote 558:

The primitive Egyptian cross form is meant: Τ.

Footnote 559:

Zöckler: Ibid., p. 19. The bud is plainly phallic. See the
above-mentioned dream of the young woman.

Footnote 560:

I am indebted for my information about these researches to Professor
Fiechter of Stuttgart.

Footnote 561:

Zöckler: Ibid., p. 33.

Footnote 562:

The sacrifice is submerged in the water, that is, in the mother.

Footnote 563:

Compare later the moon as gathering place of souls (the devouring
mother).

Footnote 564:

Compare here what Abraham has to say in reference to pupilla (“Dreams
and Myths”).

Footnote 565:

Retreat of Rê upon the heavenly cow. In a Hindoo rite of purification,
the penitent must creep through an artificial cow in order to be born
anew.

Footnote 566:

Schultze: “Psychologie der Naturvölker.” Leipzig 1900, p. 338.

Footnote 567:

Brugsch: Ibid., p. 290.

Footnote 568:

One need not be amazed at this formula because it is the animal in us,
the primitive forces of which appear in religion. In this connection
Dieterich’s words (“Mithrasliturgie,” p. 108) take on an especially
important aspect. “The old thoughts come _from below_ in new force in
the history of religion. The revolution _from below_ creates a new life
of religion in primitive indestructible forms.”

Footnote 569:

Dispute between Mary and the Cross in R. Morris: “Legends of the Holy
Rood.” London 1871.

Footnote 570:

A very beautiful representation of the blood-red sun sinking into the
sea.

Footnote 571:

Jesus appears here as branch and bud in the tree of life. Compare here
the interesting reference in Robertson: “Evangelical Myths,” p. 51, in
regard to “Jesus, the Nazarene,” a title which he derives from Nazar or
Netzer = branch.

Footnote 572:

In Greece, the pale of torture, on which the criminal was stretched or
punished, was termed ἑκάτη (Hecate), the subterranean mother of death.

Footnote 573:

Diez: “Etym. Wörterbuch der romanischen Sprachen,” p. 90.


                               CHAPTER VI

Footnote 574:

Witches easily change themselves into horses, therefore the nail-marks
of the horseshoe may be seen upon their hands. The devil rides on
witch-horses, priests’ cooks are changed after death into horses, etc.
Negelein, _Zeitschrift des Vereines für Volkskunde_, XI, p. 406.

Footnote 575:

Just so does the mythical ancient king Tahmuraht ride upon Ahriman, the
devil.

Footnote 576:

The she-asses and their foals might belong to the Christian sun myth,
because the Zodiacal sign Cancer (Summer solstice) was designated in
antiquity as an ass and its young. (Compare Robertson: “Evangelical
Myths,” p. 19.)

Footnote 577:

Also a centaur.

Footnote 578:

Compare the exhaustive presentation of this theme in Jähn’s “Ross und
Reiter.”

Footnote 579:

Sleipnir is eight-footed.

Footnote 580:

Negelein: Ibid., p. 412.

Footnote 581:

Negelein: Ibid., p. 419.

Footnote 582:

I have since learned of a second exactly similar case.

Footnote 583:

Come, O Dionysus, in thy temple of Elis, come with the Graces into thy
holy temple: come in sacred frenzy with the bull’s foot.

Footnote 584:

Preller: “Griech. Mythologie,” I, I, p. 432.

Footnote 585:

See further examples in Aigremont: “Fuss- und Schuhsymbolik.”

Footnote 586:

Aigremont: Ibid., p. 17.

Footnote 587:

Negelein: Ibid., p. 386.

Footnote 588:

Ample proofs of the Centaurs as wind gods are to be found in E. H.
Meyer: “Indogermanische Mythen,” p. 447.

Footnote 589:

This is an especial motive, which must have something typical in it. My
patient (“Psychology of Dementia Praecox,” p. 165) also declared that
her horses had “half-moons” under their skin, like “little curls.” In
the songs of Rudra of the Rigveda, of the boar Rudra it is said that his
hair was “wound up in the shape of shells.” Indra’s body is covered with
eyes.

Footnote 590:

This change results from a world catastrophe. In mythology the verdure
and the upward striving of the tree of life signify also the
turning-point in the succession of the ages.

Footnote 591:

Therefore the lion was killed by Samson, who later harvested the honey
from the body. The end of summer is the plenteousness of the autumn. It
is a close parallel to the sacrificium Mithriacum. For Samson, see
Steinthal: “Die Sage von Simson,” _Zeitschrift für Völkerpsych._, Vol.
II.

Footnote 592:

The present time is indicated by the head of the lion—because his
condition is strong and impetuous.

Footnote 593:

Time is thought by the wickedest people to be a divinity who deprives
willing people of essential being; by good men it is considered to be
the Cause of the things of the world, but to the wisest and best it does
not seem time, but God.

Footnote 594:

Philo: “In Genesim,” I, 100. (Cited by Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” I,
p. 82.)

Footnote 595:

Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,” Vol. II, p. 193. In the writings
ascribed to Zoroaster, Περὶ Φύσεως, the Ananke, the necessity of fate,
is represented by the air. Cumont: Ibid., I, p. 87.

Footnote 596:

Spielrein’s patient (_Jahrbuch_, III, p. 394) speaks of horses, who eat
men, also exhumed bodies.

Footnote 597:

Negelein: Ibid., p. 416.

Footnote 598:

“Fight,” she said, “and fight bravely, for I will not give away an inch
nor turn my back. Face to face, come on if you are a man! Strike home,
do your worst and die! The battle this day is without quarter ... till,
weary in body and mind, we lie powerless and gasping for breath in each
other’s arms.”

Footnote 599:

P. Thomas a Villanova Wegener: “Das wunderbare äussere und innere Leben
der Dienerin Gottes Anna Catherina Emmerich.” Dülmen i. W. 1891.

Footnote 600:

The heart of the mother of God is pierced by a sword.

Footnote 601:

Corresponding to the idea in Psalm xi:2, “For lo, the wicked bend their
bow, they make ready their arrow upon the string, that they may privily
shoot at the upright in heart.”

Footnote 602:

K. E. Neumann: “The Speeches of Gautama Buddha,” translated from the
German collection of the fragments of Suttanipāto of the Pāli-Kanon.
München 1911.

Footnote 603:

With the same idea of an endogenous pain Theocritus (27, 28) calls the
birth throes “Arrows of the Ilithyia.” In the sense of a wish the same
comparison is found in Jesus Sirach 19:12. “When a word penetrates a
fool it is the same as if an arrow pierced his loins.” That is to say,
it gives him no rest until it is out.

Footnote 604:

One might be tempted to say that these were merely figuratively
expressed coitus scenes. But that would be a little too strong and an
unjustifiable accentuation of the material at issue. We cannot forget
that the saints have, figuratively, taught the painful domestification
of the brute. The result of this, which is the progress of civilization,
has also to be recognized as a motive for this action.

Footnote 605:

Apuleius (“Metam.,” Book II, 31) made use of the symbolism of bow and
arrow in a very drastic manner, “Ubi primam sagittam saevi Cupidinis in
ima praecordia mea delapsam excepi, arcum meum en! Ipse vigor attendit
et oppido formido, ne nervus rigoris nimietate rumpatur” (When I pulled
out the first arrow of fierce Cupid that had entered into my inmost
breast, behold my bow! Its very vigor stretches it and makes me fear
lest the string be broken by the excessive tautness).

Footnote 606:

Thus the plague-bringing Apollo. In Old High German, arrow is called
“strala” (_strahlen_ = rays).

Footnote 607:

Spielrein’s patient (_Jahrbuch_, III, p. 371) has also the idea of the
cleavage of the earth in a similar connection. “Iron is used for the
purpose of penetrating into the earth ... with iron man can ... create
men ... the earth is split, burst open, man is divided ... is severed
and reunited. In order to make an end of the burial of the living, Jesus
Christ calls his disciples to penetrate into the earth.”

The motive of “cleavage” is of general significance. The Persian hero
Tishtriya, who also appeared as a white horse, opens the rain lake, and
thus makes the earth fruitful. He is called Tîr = arrow. He was also
represented as feminine, with a bow and arrow. Mithra with his arrow
shot the water from the rock, so as to end the drought. The knife is
sometimes found stuck in the earth. In Mithraic monuments sometimes it
is the sacrificial instrument which kills the bull. (Cumont: Ibid., pp.
115, 116, 165.)

Footnote 608:

The result is doubtful: the body borne down by the weight of the forest
is carried into empty Tartaros: Ampycides denies this: from out of the
midst of the mass, he sees a bird with tawny feathers issue into the
liquid air.

Footnote 609:

Spielrein’s patient also states that she has been shot through by God.
(3 shots:) “then came a resurrection of the spirit.” This is the
symbolism of introversion.

Footnote 610:

This is also represented mythologically in the legend of Theseus and
Peirithoos, who wished to capture the subterranean Proserpina. With this
aim they enter a chasm in the earth in the grove Kolonos, in order to
get down to the underworld; when they were below they wished to rest,
but being enchanted they hung on the rocks, that is to say, they
remained fixed in the mother and were therefore lost for the upperworld.
Later Theseus was freed by Hercules (revenge of Horus for Osiris), at
which time Hercules appears in the rôle of the death-conquering hero.

Footnote 611:

This formula applies most directly to dementia praecox.

Footnote 612:

See Roscher: s. v. Philoktetes, Sp. 2318, 15.

Footnote 613:

When the Russian sun-hero Oleg stepped on the skull of the slain horse,
a serpent came out of it and bit him on the foot. Then he became sick
and died. When Indra in the form of Çyena, the falcon, stole the soma
drink, Kriçanu, the herdsman, wounded him in his foot with his arrow
(“Rigveda,” I, 155; IV, 322).

Footnote 614:

Similar to the Lord of the Grail who guards the chalice, the mother
symbol. The myth of Philoctetes is taken from a more involved
connection, the Hercules myth. Hercules has two mothers, the benevolent
Alcmene and the pursuing Hera (Lamia), from whose breast he has absorbed
immortality. Hercules conquered Hera’s serpent while yet in the cradle;
that is to say, conquered the “terrible mother,” the Lamia. But from
time to time Hera sent to him attacks of madness, in one of which he
killed his children (Lamia motive). According to an interesting
tradition, this deed occurred at the moment when Hercules refused to
perform a great act in the service of Eurystheus. As a result of the
refusal, the libido, in readiness for the work, regressed in a typical
manner to the unconscious mother-imago, which resulted in madness (as
to-day), during which Hercules identifies himself with Lamia (Hera) and
murders his own children. The delphic oracle communicates to him the
fact that he is named Hercules because he owes his immortal fame to
Hera, who through her persecution compelled him to great deeds. It can
be seen that “the great deed” really means the conquering of the mother
and through her to win immortality. His characteristic weapon, the club,
he cuts from the maternal olive tree. Like the sun, he possessed the
arrows of Apollo. He conquered the Nemean lion in his cave, which has
the signification of “the grave in the mother’s womb” (see the end of
this chapter). Then follows the combat with the Hydra, the typical
battle with the dragon; the complete conquering of the mother. (See
below.) Following this, the capture of the Cerynean doe, whom he wounded
with an arrow in the foot. This is what generally happens to the hero,
but here it is reversed. Hercules showed the captured Erymanthian boar
to Eurystheus, whereupon the latter in fear crept into a cask. That is,
he died. The Stymphalides, the Cretan bull, and the man-devouring horse
of Diomedes are symbols of the devastating powers of death, among which
the latter’s relation to the mother may be recognized especially. The
battle for the precious girdle of the Amazon queen Hippolyte permits us
to see once more very clearly the shadow of the mother. Hippolyte is
ready to give up the girdle, but Hera, changing herself into the form of
Hippolyte, calls the Amazons against Hercules in battle. (Compare Horus,
fighting for the head ornament of Isis, about which there is more later.
Chap. 7.) The liberation of Hesione results from Hercules journeying
downwards with his ship into the belly of the monster, and killing the
monster from within after three days labor. (Jonah motive; Christ in the
tomb or in hell; the victory over death by creeping into the womb of the
mother, and its destruction in the form of the mother. The libido in the
form of the beautiful maiden again conquered.) The expedition to Erythia
is a parallel to Gilgamesh, also to Moses, in the Koran, whose goal was
the confluence of the two seas: it is the journey of the sun to the
Western sea, where Hercules discovered the straits of Gibraltar (“to
that passage”: Faust), and with the ship of Helios set out towards
Erythia. There he overcame the gigantic guardian Eurytion (Chumbaba in
the Gilgamesh epic, the symbol of the father), then the triune Geryon (a
monster of phallic libido symbolism), and at the same time wounded Hera,
hastening to the help of Geryon by an arrow shot. Then the robbery of
the herd followed. “The treasure attained with difficulty” is here
presented in surroundings which make it truly unmistakable. Hercules,
like the sun, goes to death, down into the mother (Western sea), but
conquers the libido attached to the mother and returns with the
wonderful kine; he has won back his libido, his life, the mighty
possession. We discover the same thought in the robbery of the golden
apples of Hesperides, which are defended by the hundred-headed dragon.
The victory over Cerberus is also easily understood as the victory over
death by entrance into the mother (underworld). In order to come to his
wife Deianira, he has to undergo a terrible battle with a water god,
Achelous (with the mother). The ferryman Nessus (a centaur) violates
Deianira. With his sun arrows Hercules killed this adversary, but Nessus
advised Deianira to preserve his poisoned blood as a love charm. When
after the insane murder of Iphitus Delphi denied him the speech of the
oracle, he took possession of the sacred tripod. The delphic oracle then
compelled him to become a slave of Omphale, who made him like a child.
After this Hercules returned home to Deianira, who presented him with
the garment poisoned with Nessus’ blood (the Isis snake), which
immediately clung so closely to his skin that he in vain attempted to
tear it off. (The casting of the skin of the aging sun-god; Serpent, as
symbol of rejuvenation.) Hercules then ascended the funeral pyre in
order to destroy himself by fire like the phœnix, that is to say, to
give birth to himself again from his own egg. No one but young
Philoctetes dared to sacrifice the god. Therefore Philoctetes received
the arrows of the sun and the libido myth was renewed with this Horus.

Footnote 615:

Apes, also, have an instinctive fear of snakes.

Footnote 616:

How much alive are still such primitive associations is shown by
Segantini’s picture of the two mothers: cow and calf, mother and child
in the same stable. From this symbolism the surroundings of the
birthplace of the Savior are explained.

Footnote 617:

The myth of Hippolytos shows very beautifully all the typical parts of
the problem: His stepmother Phaedra wantonly falls in love with him. He
repulses her, she complains to her husband of violation; the latter
implores the water god Poseidon to punish Hippolytos. Then a monster
comes out of the sea. Hippolytos’ horses shy and drag Hippolytos to
death. But he is resuscitated by Aesculapius and is placed by the gods
with the wise nymph, Egeria, the counsellor of Numa Pompilius. Thus the
wish is fulfilled; from incest, wisdom has come.

Footnote 618:

Compare Hercules and Omphale.

Footnote 619:

Compare the reproach of Gilgamesh against Ishtar.

Footnote 620:

Spielrein’s patient is also sick from “a snake bite.” _Jahrbuch_, III,
p. 385.

Footnote 621:

The entirely introverted patient of Spielrein uses similar images: she
speaks of “a rigidity of the soul on the cross,” of “stone figures”
which must be “ransomed.”

I call attention here to the fact that the symbolisms mentioned above
are striking examples of Silberer’s “functional category.” They depict
the condition of introversion.

Footnote 622:

W. Gurlitt says: “The carrying of the bull is one of the difficult ἆθλα”
(services) which Mithra performed in the service of freeing humanity;
“somewhat corresponding, if it is permitted to compare the small with
the great, with the carrying of the cross by Christ” (Cumont: “Textes et
Monuments,” I, 72). Surely it is permissible to compare the two acts.

Man should be past that period when, in true barbaric manner, he
haughtily scorned the strange gods, the “dii minorum gentium.” But man
has not progressed that far, even yet.

Footnote 623:

Robertson (“Evangelical Myths,” p. 130) gives an interesting
contribution to the question of the symbol of the carrying of the cross.
Samson carried the “pillars of the gates from Gaza and died between the
columns of the temple of the Philistines.” Hercules, weighted down by
his burden, carried his columns to the place (Gades), where he also died
according to the Syrian version of the legend. The columns of Hercules
mark the western point where the sun sinks into the sea. In old art he
was actually represented carrying the two columns under his arms in such
a way that they exactly formed a cross. Here we perhaps have the origin
of the myth of Jesus, who carries his own cross to the place of
execution. It is worth noting that the three synoptics substitute a man
of the name of Simon from Cyrene as bearer of the cross. Cyrene is in
Libya, the legendary scene upon which Hercules performed the labor of
carrying the columns, as we have seen, and Simon (Simson) is the nearest
Greek name-form for Samson, which in Greek might have been read Simson,
as in Hebrew. But in Palestine it was Simon, Semo or Sem, actually a
name of a god, who represented the old sun-god Semesch, who was
identified with Baal, from whose myth the Samson myth has doubtless
arisen. The god Simon enjoyed especial honor in Samaria. “The cross of
Hercules might well be the sun’s wheel, for which the Greeks had the
symbol of the cross. The sun’s wheel upon the bas-relief in the small
metropolis at Athens contains a cross, which is very similar to the
Maltese cross.” (See Thiele: “Antike Himmelsbilder,” 1898, p. 59.)

Footnote 624:

The Greek myth of Ixion, who was bound to the “four-spoked wheel,” says
this almost without disguise. Ixion first murdered his stepfather, but
later was absolved from guilt by Zeus and blessed with his favor. But
the ingrate attempted to seduce Hera, the mother. Zeus deceived him,
however, allowing the goddess of the clouds, Nephele, to assume Hera’s
form. (From this connection the centaurs have arisen.) Ixion boasted of
his deed, but Zeus as a punishment plunged him into the underworld,
where he was bound to a wheel continually whirled around by the wind.
(Compare the punishment of Francesca da Rimini in Dante and the
“penitents” by Segantini.)

Footnote 625:

Cited from _Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse_, Jahrgang II, p. 365.

Footnote 626:

The symbolism of death appearing in abundance in dreams has been
emphasized by Stekel (“Sprache des Traumes,” p. 317).

Footnote 627:

Compare the Cassius scene above.


                              CHAPTER VII

Footnote 628:

A direct unconstrained expression of sexuality is a natural occurrence
and as such neither unbeautiful nor repulsive. The “moral” repression
makes sexuality on one side dirty and hypocritical, on the other
shameless and obtrusive.

Footnote 629:

Compare what is said below concerning the motive of fettering.

Footnote 630:

The sacrilegious assault of Horus upon Isis, at which Plutarch (“De Isis
et Osiris”) stands aghast; he expresses himself as follows concerning
it. “But if any one wishes to assume and maintain that all this has
really happened and taken place with respect to blessed and imperishable
nature, which for the most part is considered as corresponding to the
divine; then, to speak in the words of Aeschylus, ‘he must spit out and
clean his mouth.’” From this sentence one can form a conception of how
the well-intentioned people of ancient society may have condemned the
Christian point of view, first the hanged God, then the management of
the family, the “foundation” of the state. The psychologist is not
surprised.

Footnote 631:

Compare the typical fate of Theseus and Peirithoos.

Footnote 632:

Compare the example given for that in Aigremont: “Fuss- und
Schuhsymbolik.” Also Part I of this book; the foot of the sun in an
Armenian folk prayer. Also de Gubernatis: “Die Tiere in der
Indo-Germanischen Mythologie,” Vol. I, p. 220 ff.

Footnote 633:

Rohde: “Psyche.”

Footnote 634:

Porphyrius (“De antro nympharum.” Quoted by Dieterich: “Mithraslit.,” p.
63) says that according to the Mithraic doctrine the souls which pass
away at birth are destined for winds, because these souls had taken the
breath of the wind into custody and therefore had a similar nature:
“ψυχαῖς δ’ εἰς γένεσιν ἰούσαις καὶ ἀπὸ γενέσεως χωριζομέναις εἰκότως
ἔταξαν ἀνέμους διὰ τὸ ἐφελκεσθαι καὶ αὐτὰς πνεῦμα καὶ οὐσίαν ἔχειν
τοιαύτην—(The souls departing at birth and becoming separated, probably
become winds because of inhaling their breath and becoming the same
substance).

Footnote 635:

In the Mithraic liturgy the generating breath of the spirit comes from
the sun, probably “from the tube of the sun” (see Part I). Corresponding
to this idea, in the Rigveda the sun is called the One-footed. Compare
with that the Armenian prayer, for the sun to allow its foot to rest
upon the face of the suppliant (Abeghian: “Der armenische Volksglaube,”
1899, p. 41).

Footnote 636:

Firmicus Maternus (Mathes., I, 5, 9): “Cui (animo) descensus per orbem
solis tribuitur, per orbem vero lunae praeparatur ascensus” (For which
soul a descent through the disc of the sun is devised, but the ascent is
prepared through the disc of the moon). Lydus (“De mens.,” IV, 3) tells
us that the hierophant Praetextatus has said that Janus despatches the
diviner souls to the lunar fields: τὰς θειοτέρας ψυχὰς ἐπὶ τὴν σεληνικὸν
χόρον ἀποπέμπει. Epiphanius (Haeres LXVI, 52): ὅτι ἐκ τῶν ψυχῶν ὁ δίσκος
[τῆς σελήνης] ἀποπίμπλαται. Quoted by Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” I,
I, p. 40. In exotic myths it is the same with the moon. Frobenius:
Ibid., p. 352 ff.

Footnote 637:

“The Light of Asia, or The Great Renunciation” (Mahâbhinish-kramana).

Footnote 638:

One sees upon corresponding representations how the elephant presses
into Maya’s head with its trunk.

Footnote 639:

Rank: “The Myth of the Birth of the Hero,” translated by W. White.

Footnote 640:

The speedy dying of the mother or the separation from the mother belongs
to the myth of the hero. In the myth of the swan maiden which Rank has
analyzed very beautifully, there is the wish-fulfilling thought, that
the swan maiden can fly away again after the birth of the child, because
she has then fulfilled her purpose. Man needs the mother only for
rebirth.

Footnote 641:

Indian word for the rustle of the wind in the trees.

Footnote 642:

Means sound of the waves.

Footnote 643:

An introjection of the object into the subject in the sense of Ferenczi,
the “gegenwurf” or “widerwurf” (Objektum) of the mystics Eckart and
Böhme.

Footnote 644:

Karl Joël (“Seele und Welt,” Jena 1912) says (p. 153): “Life does not
diminish in artists and prophets, but is enhanced. They are the leaders
into the lost Paradise, which now for the first time becomes Paradise
through rediscovery. It is no more the old dull unity of life towards
which the artist strives and leads, it is the sentient reunion, not the
empty but the full unity, not the unity of indifference but the unity of
difference.” “All life is the raising of the equilibrium and the pulling
backwards into equilibrium. Such a return do we find in religion and
art.”

Footnote 645:

By the primal experience must be understood that first human
differentiation between subject and object, that first conscious placing
of object, which is not psychologically conceivable without the
presupposition of an inner division of the animal “man” from himself, by
which precisely is he separated from nature which is at one with itself.

Footnote 646:

Crêvecoeur: “Voyage dans la Haute Pensylvanie,” I, 362.

Footnote 647:

The dragons of the Greek (and Swiss) legends live in or near springs or
other waters of which they are often the guardians.

Footnote 648:

Compare the discussion above about the encircling and devouring motive.
Water as a hindrance in dreams seems to refer to the mother, longing for
the mother instead of positive work. The crossing of water—overcoming of
the resistance; that is to say the mother, as a symbol of the longing
for inactivity like death or sleep.

Footnote 649:

Compare also the Attic custom of stuffing a bull in spring, the customs
of the Lupercalia, Saturnalia, etc. I have devoted to this motive a
separate investigation, therefore I forego further proof.

Footnote 650:

In the Gilgamesh epic, it is directly said that it is immortality which
the hero goes to obtain.

Footnote 651:

Sepp: “Das Heidentum und dessen Bedeutung für das Christentum,” Vol.
III, 82.

Footnote 652:

Compare the symbolism of the arrow above.

Footnote 653:

This thought is generally organized in the doctrine of pre-existence.
Thus in any case man is his own generator, immortal and a hero, whereby
the highest wishes are fulfilled.

Footnote 654:

Frazer: “Golden Bough,” IV, 297.

Footnote 655:

“Thou seekest the heaviest burden, there findest thou thyself”
(Nietzsche: “Zarathustra”).

Footnote 656:

It is an unvarying peculiarity, so to speak, that in the whale-dragon
myth, the hero is very hungry in the belly of the monster and begins to
cut off pieces from the animal, so as to feed himself. He is in the
nourishing mother “in the presexual stage.” His next act, in order to
free himself, is to make a fire. In a myth of the Eskimos of the Behring
Straits, the hero finds a woman in the whale’s belly, the soul of the
animal, which is feminine (Ibid, p. 85). (Compare Frobenius: Ibid,
passim.)

Footnote 657:

The carrying of the tree played an important part, as is evident from a
note in Strabo X, in the cult of Dionysus and Ceres (Demeter).

Footnote 658:

A text on the Pyramids, which treats of the arrival of the dead Pharaoh
in Heaven, depicts how Pharaoh takes possession of the gods in order to
assimilate their divine nature, and to become the lord of the gods: “His
servants have imprisoned the gods with a chain, they have taken them and
dragged them away, they have bound them, they have cut their throats,
and taken out their entrails, they have dismembered them and cooked them
in hot vessels. And the king consumed their force and ate their souls.
The great gods form his breakfast, the medium gods his dinner, the
little gods his supper—the king consumes everything that comes in his
way. Greedily he devours everything and his magic power becomes greater
than all magic power. He becomes the heir of the power, he becomes
greater than all heirs, he becomes the lord of heaven, he eats all
crowns and all bracelets, he eats the wisdom of every god, etc.”
(Wiedemann: “Der alte Orient,” II, 2, 1900, p. 18). This impossible
food, this “Bulimie,” strikingly depicts the sexual libido in regression
to the presexual material, where the mother (the gods) is not the object
of sex but of hunger.

Footnote 659:

The sacramental sacrifice of Dionysus-Zagreus and the eating of the
sacrificial meat produced the “νέος Διόνυσος” the resurrection of the
god, as plainly appears from the Cretan fragments of the Euripides
quoted by Dieterich (Ibid., p. 105):

                     ἁγνὸν δὲ βιον τείνων, ἐξ οὐ
                     Διὸς Ιδαίου μύστης γενόμην
                     καὶ νυκτιπόλου Ζαγρέως βούτας
                     τοὺς ὠμοφάγους δαῖτας τελέσας.

  (Living a blameless life whereby I became an initiate of the Idaean
  Zeus, I celebrated the carnivorous banquet of Zagreus, the wandering
  herdsman of the night.)

The mystics took the god into themselves by eating the uncooked meat of
the sacrificial animal.

Footnote 660:

Richter: 14, 14.

Footnote 661:

Thou boy eternal, thou most beautiful one seen in the heavens, without
horns standing, with thy virgin head, etc.

Footnote 662:

Orphic Hymn, 46. Compare Roscher: “Lexicon,” sect. on Iakchos.

Footnote 663:

A winnowing fan used as cradle.

Footnote 664:

A close parallel to this is the Japanese myth of Izanagi, who, following
his dead spouse into the underworld, implored her to return. She is
ready, but beseeches him, “Do not look at me.” Izanagi produces light
with his reed, that is to say, with a masculine piece of wood (the
fire-boring Phallus), and thus loses his spouse. (Frobenius: Ibid., p.
343.) Mother must be put in the place of spouse. Instead of the mother,
the hero produces fire; Hiawatha, maize; Odin, Runes, when he in torment
hung on the tree.

Footnote 665:

Quoted from De Jong: “Das antike Mysterienwesen.” Leiden 1910, p. 22.

Footnote 666:

A son-lover from the Demeter myth is Iasion, who embraces Demeter upon a
thrice-ploughed cornfield. (Bridal couch in the pasture.) For that
Iasion was struck by lightning by Zeus (Ovid: “Metam.,” IX).

Footnote 667:

In a sunless place.

Footnote 668:

Descend into a sunless desert place.

Footnote 669:

Descent into a cave.

Footnote 670:

See Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” I, p. 56.

Footnote 671:

“Mithraslit.,” p. 123.

Footnote 672:

For example upon a Campana relief in Lovatelli (“Antichi monumenti,”
Roma, 1889, I, IV, Fig. 5). Likewise the Veronese Priapus has a basket
filled with phalli.

Footnote 673:

Compare Grimm: II, IV, p. 899: Either by the caressing or kissing of a
dragon or a snake, the fearful animal was changed into a beautiful woman
whom the hero wins in this way.

Footnote 674:

The mother, the earth, is the distributor of nourishment. The mother in
presexual material has this meaning. Therefore St. Dominicus was
nourished from the breasts of the mother of God. The sun wife, Namaqua,
consists of bacon. Compare with this the megalomanic ideas of my
patient, who asserted: “I am Germania and Helvetia made exclusively from
‘sweet butter’” (“Psychology of Dementia Praecox”).

Footnote 675:

He who achieved divinity through the womb.

Footnote 676:

He who achieved divinity through the womb; he is a serpent, and he was
drawn through the womb of those who were being initiated.

Footnote 677:

The golden serpent is crowded into the breast of the initiates and is
then drawn out through the lowest parts.

Footnote 678:

O Fœtus, he who is in the vagina or womb.

Footnote 679:

Compare the ideas of Nietzsche: “Piercing into one’s own pit,” etc. In a
prayer to Hermes in a London papyrus it is said: ἐλθέ μοι, κύρίε Ἑρμῆ,
ὡς τὰ βρέφη εἰς τὰς κοιλίας τῶν γυναικῶν (Come to me, Lord Hermes, as
the foetus into the womb of the mother). Kenyon: “Greek Papyrus in the
British Museum,” 1893, p. 116; Pap. CXXII, Z. 2 ff. Cited by Dieterich:
Ibid., p. 97.

Footnote 680:

Compare De Jong: Ibid., p. 22.

Footnote 681:

The typical grain god of antiquity was Adonis, whose death and
resurrection was celebrated annually. He was the son-lover of the
mother, for the grain is the son and fructifier of the womb of the earth
as Robertson very correctly remarks (“Evangelical Myths,” p. 36).

Footnote 682:

De Jong: Ibid., p. 14.

Footnote 683:

On a certain night an image is placed lying down in a litter; there is
weeping and lamentations among the people, with beatings of bodies and
tears. After a time, when they have become exhausted from the
lamentations, a light appears; then the priest anoints the throats of
all those who were weeping, and softly whispers, “Take courage, O
initiates of the Redeemed Divinity; you shall achieve salvation through
your grief.”

Footnote 684:

Faust:

      “There whirls the press, like clouds on clouds unfolding,
      Then with stretched arm swing high the key thou’rt holding!”

Footnote 685:

As an example among many, I mention here the Polynesian Rata myth cited
by Frobenius: Ibid., pp. 64–66: “With a favorable wind the boat was
sailing easily away over the Ocean, when Nganaoa called out one day: ‘O
Rata, here is a fearful enemy who rises up from the Ocean!’ It was an
open mussel of huge dimensions. One shell was in front of the boat, the
other behind it, and the vessel was directly between. The next moment
the horrible mussel would have clapped its shells together and ground
the boat and occupants to pieces in its grip. But Nganaoa was prepared
for this possibility. He grasped his long spear and quickly plunged it
into the belly of the animal so that the creature, instead of snapping
together, at once sank back to the bottom of the sea. After they had
escaped from this danger they continued on their way. But after a while
the voice of the always watchful Nganaoa was again to be heard. ‘O Rata,
once more a terrible enemy rushes upwards from the depths of the ocean.’
This time it was a mighty octopus, whose gigantic tentacles already
surrounded the boat, in order to destroy it. At this critical moment,
Nganaoa seized his spear, and plunged it into the head of the octopus.
The tentacles sank away limp and the dead monster rose to the surface of
the water. Once more they continued on their journey, but a yet greater
danger awaited them. One day the valiant Nganaoa called out, ‘O Rata,
here is a great whale!’ The huge jaws were wide open, the lower jaw was
already under the boat, and the upper one over it. One moment more and
the whale would have devoured them. Now Nganaoa ‘the dragon slayer’
broke his spear into two parts, and at the moment when the whale was
about to devour them, he stuck the two pieces into the jaws of the foe
so that he could not close his jaws. Nganaoa quickly sprang into the
jaws of the great whale (devouring of the hero) and looked into its
belly, and what did he see? There sat both his parents, his father,
Tairitokerau, and his mother, Vaiaroa, who had been gulped down into the
depths of this monster. The oracle has come true. The voyage has come to
its end. Great was the joy of the parents of Nganaoa when they saw their
son. They were convinced that their freedom was at hand. And Nganaoa
resolved upon revenge. He took one of the two pieces from the jaws of
the animal—one was enough to make it impossible for the whale to close
his jaws and so keep a passage free for Nganaoa and his parents. He
broke this part of the spear in two, in order to use them as wood to
produce fire by rubbing. He commanded his father to hold one firmly
below, while he himself managed the upper one, until the fire began to
glimmer (production of fire). Now when he blew this into flames, he
hastened to heat the fatty part (heart) of the belly with the fire. The
monster, writhing with pain, sought help swimming to the nearest land
(journey in the sea). As soon as he reached the sandbank (land) father,
mother and son walked onto the land through the open jaws of the dying
whale (slipping out of the hero).”

Footnote 686:

In the New Zealand Maui myth (quoted by Frobenius: Ibid., p. 66 ff.) the
monster to be conquered is the grandmother Hine-nui-te-po. Maui, the
hero, says to the birds who assist him: “My little friends, now when I
creep into the jaws of the old woman, you must not laugh, but when I
have been in and come out again, from her mouth, then you may greet me
with jubilant laughter.” Then Maui actually creeps into the mouth of the
sleeping old woman.

Footnote 687:

Published and prepared by Julius v. Negelein, in “Relig. Geschichte.”
Vers. u. Vorarb. von Dieterich und Wünsch, Vol. XI. Giessen 1912.

Footnote 688:

Quoted, J. v. Negelein: “Der Traumschlüssel des Jagaddeva,” p. 256.

Footnote 689:

The pine-tree speaks the significant word, “Minne-wawa!”

Footnote 690:

In a fairy tale, the bird comes to the tree which grows upon the grave
of the mother in order to give help.

Footnote 691:

Roscher: s. “Picus,” Sp. 2494, 62. Probably a symbol of rebirth.

Footnote 692:

The father of Picus is called Sterculus or Sterculius, a name which is
clearly derived from stercus = excrementum; he is also said to be the
devisor of manure. The primitive creator who also created the mother did
so in the manner of infantile creation, which we have previously
learned. The supreme god laid an egg, his mother, from which he was
again produced—this is an analogous train of thought.

Footnote 693:

Introversion = to enter the mother; to sink into one’s own inner-world,
or source of the libido, is symbolized by creeping in, passing through,
boring. (Scratching behind the ear = making fire.) Boring into the ear,
scratching with the nails, swallowing serpents. Thus the Buddhist legend
is understandable. When Gautama had spent the whole day sitting in deep
reflection under the sacred tree, at evening he became Buddha, the
illumined one.

Footnote 694:

Compare φαλλός (phallus) above and its etymological connection.

Footnote 695:

Spielrein’s patient received from God three wounds through her head,
breast and eye. “Then there came a resurrection of the Spirit”
(_Jahrbuch_, III, p. 376).

In the Tibetan myth of Bogda Gesser Khan the sun-hero shoots his arrow
into the forehead of the demoniacal old woman, who devours it and spits
it up again. In a Calmuc myth, the hero shoots the arrow into the eye
emitting rays, which is found on the forehead of the bull. Compare with
that the victory of Polyphemus, whose character is signified upon an
Attic vase because with it there is also a snake (as symbol of the
mother. See the explanation of the sacrificium Mithriacum).

Footnote 696:

In the form of the father, for Megissogwon is the demon of the west,
like Mudjekeewis.

Footnote 697:

Compare Deussen: “Geschichte der Philosophie,” Vol. I, p. 14.

Footnote 698:

An analogy is Zeus and Athene. In Rigveda 10, 31, the word of prayer
becomes a pregnant cow. In Persian it is the “Eye of Ahura”; Babylonian
_Nabu_: the word of fate; Persian _vohu mano_: the good thought of the
creator God; in Stoic conceptions, Hermes is _logos_ or world intellect;
in Alexandria the Σοφία, in the Old Testament it is the angel of
Jehovah, or the countenance of God. Jacob wrestled with the angel during
the night at the ford of Jabbok, after he had crossed the water with all
that he possessed. (Night journey on the sea, battle with the night
snake, combat at the ford like Hiawatha.) In this combat, Jacob
dislocated his thigh. (Motive of the twisting out of the arm. Castration
on account of the overpowering of the mother.) This “face” of God was
compared in the old Jewish philosophy to the mystic Metatron, the prince
of the face of God (Josiah 5, 14), who brings “the prayer to God” and
“in whom is the name of God.” The Naassens (Ophits) called the Holy
Ghost the “first word,” the mother of all that lives; the Valentinians
comprehended the descending dove of Pneuma as “the word of the mother
from above, the Sophia.” (Drews: “Christ Myth,” I, pp. 16, 22, 80.) In
Assyria, Gibil, the fire god, had the rôle of Logos. (Tiele: “Assyr.
Gesch.”) In Ephrem, the Syrian writer of hymns, John the Baptist says to
Christ: “A spark of fire in the air waits for thee over the Jordan. If
thou followest it and willst be baptised, then take possession of
thyself, wash thyself, for who has the power to take hold of burning
fire with his hands? Thou, who art wholly fire, have mercy upon me.”
Usener: “Religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen.” Cited by Drews: Ibid.,
p. 81.

Footnote 699:

Perhaps the great significance of the name arose from this phantasy.

Footnote 700:

Grimm mentions the legend that Siegfried was suckled by a doe. (Compare
Hiawatha’s first deed.)

Footnote 701:

Compare Grimm’s “Mythology.” Mime or Mîmir is a gigantic being of great
wisdom, “a very old Nature God,” with whom the Norse gods associate.
Later fables make of him a demon and a skilful smith (closest relation
to Wieland). Just as Wotan obtained advice from the wise woman (compare
the quotation from Julius Cæsar about the German matron), so does Odin
go to the brook of Mîmir in which wisdom and judgment lie hidden, to the
spiritual mother (mother-imago). There he requests a drink (drink of
immortality), but no sooner does he receive it than he sacrifices his
eye to the well (death of the sun in the sea). The well of Mîmir points
undoubtedly to the mother significance of Mîmir. Thus Mîmir gets
possession of Odin’s other eye. In Mîmir, the mother (wise giant) and
the embryo (dwarf, subterranean sun, Harpocrates) is condensed;
likewise, as mother, he is the source of wisdom and art. (“Mother-imago”
therefore may be translated as “phantasy” under certain circumstances.)

Footnote 702:

The magic sleep is also present in the Homeric celebration of the
Hierosgamos. (See above.)

Footnote 703:

This is proved by Siegfried’s words:

                         “Through furious fire
                         To thee have I fared;
                         Nor birny nor buckler
                         Guarded my breast:
                         The flames have broken
                         Through to my heart,
                         My blood doth bound
                         In turbulent streams;
                         A raving fire
                         Within me is kindled.”

Footnote 704:

The cave dragon is the “terrible mother.” In the German legends the
maiden to be rescued often appears as a snake or dragon, and must be
kissed in this form, through which the dragon is changed into a
beautiful woman. A fish’s or a serpent’s tail is attributed to certain
wise women. In the “golden mountain” a king’s daughter was bewitched
into a snake. In the Oselberg near Dinkelsbühl there lives a snake with
a woman’s head and a bunch of keys around her neck. (Grimm.)

Footnote 705:

Faust (II Part):

             Doch im Erstarren such ich nicht mein Heil,
             Das Schaudern ist der Menschheit bestes Teil;
             Wie auch die Welt ihm das Gefühl verteure,
             Ergriffen, fühlt er tief das Ungeheure.

Footnote 706:

“Etymol. Wörterbuch der deutschen Sprache,” sub. Hort.

Footnote 707:

“Griechische Etymologie,” sub. κεύθω.

Footnote 708:

Pausanias: I, 18, 7.

Footnote 709:

Ocean, who arose to be the producer of all.

Footnote 710:

Rohde: “Psyche,” IV. Aufl., Vol. I, p. 214.

Footnote 711:

J. Maehly: “Die Schlange im Mythus und Kultus der klassischen Völker,”
1867.

Footnote 712:

Duchesne: “Lib. pontifical.,” I, S. CIX. Cited by Cumont: “Textes et
Monuments,” Vol. I, p. 351.

Footnote 713:

There was a huge dragon on Mount Tarpeius, where the Capitolium stands.
Once a month, with sacrilegious maidens, the priests descended 365 steps
into the hell of this dragon, carrying expiatory offerings of food for
the dragon. Then the dragon suddenly and unexpectedly arose, and, though
he did not come out, he poisoned the air with his breath. Thence came
the mortality of man and the deepest sorrow for the death of the
children. When, for the defence of truth, St. Silvester had had a
conflict with the heathen, it came to this that the heathen said:
“Silvester, go down to the dragon, and in the name of thy God make him
desist from the killing of mankind.”

Footnote 714:

Cited by Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” Vol. I, p. 351.

Footnote 715:

Like his counterpart, the apocalyptic “son of man,” from whose mouth
proceeds a “sharp two-edged sword.” Rev. i:16. Compare Christ as serpent
and the Antichrist seducing the people. Rev. xx:3. We come across the
same motive of the guardian dragon who pierces women, in the myth from
Van Diemen’s Land: “A horn-back lay in the cavity of a rock, a huge
horn-back! The horn-back was large and he had a very long spear. From
his cavity he espied the women; he saw them dive into the water, he
pierced them with his spear, he killed them, he carried them away. For
some time they were to be seen no longer.” The monster was then killed
by the two heroes. They made fire(!) and brought the women to life
again. (Cited by Frobenius: Ibid., p. 77.)

Footnote 716:

The eyes of the Son of man are like a flame of fire. Rev. i:15.

Footnote 717:

Near the city of Rome there was a certain cavern in which appeared a
dragon of remarkable size, mechanically produced, brandishing a sword in
his mouth, his eyes glittering like gems, fearful and terrible. Hither
came virgins every year, devoted to this service, adorned with flowers,
who were given to him in sacrifice. Bringing these gifts, they
unknowingly descended the steps to a point where, with diabolical
cunning, the dragon was suspended, striking those who came a blow with
the sword, so that the innocent blood was shed. Now, there was a certain
monk who, on account of his good deeds, was well known to Stilico, the
patrician; he killed this dragon as follows: He examined each separate
step carefully, both with a rod and his own hand, until, discovering the
false step, he exposed the diabolical fraud. Then, jumping over this
step, he went down and killed the dragon, cutting him to pieces,
demonstrating that one who could be destroyed by human hand could not be
a divinity.

Footnote 718:

Cited by Cumont: “Textes et Monuments,” I, p. 352.

Footnote 719:

Compare Roscher: “Lexicon,” I, 2, 1885.

Footnote 720:

Out of dark places she rushes on children and women.

Footnote 721:

The triple form also related to the moon (waxing, full, and waning
moon). However, such cosmic relations are primarily projections of
metapsychology.

Footnote 722:

Faust (II Part): The Scene of the mothers: The key belongs to Hecate,
προθυραία, as the guardian of Hades, and psychopompic Divinity. Compare
Janus, Peter and Aion.

Footnote 723:

Attribute of the “terrible mother”: Ishtar has “tormented the horse with
goad and whip and tortured him to death.” (Jensen: “Gilgamesh Epic,” p.
18.) Also an attribute of Helios.

Footnote 724:

Phallic symbol of fear.

Footnote 725:

Murderous weapon as symbol of the fructifying phallus.

Footnote 726:

Plato has already testified to this as a phallic symbol, as is mentioned
above.

Footnote 727:

White-leaved.

Footnote 728:

Far-shooting Hecate.

Footnote 729:

Far-shooting, the far-darting.

Footnote 730:

Goddess of birth.

Footnote 731:

Cited by Roscher: I, 2, Sp. 1909.

Footnote 732:

Hecate.

Footnote 733:

Compare the symbolism in the hymn to Mary of Melk (12th century).

                        “Santa Maria,
                        Closed gate
                        Opened to God’s command—
                        Sealed fountain,
                        Barred garden,
                        Gate of Paradise.”

The same symbolism occurs in an erotic verse:

                “Maiden, may I enter with you
                Into your rose garden,
                There, where the little red roses grow,
                Those delicate and tender roses,
                With a tree close by,
                Whose leaves sway to and fro,
                And a cool little brook
                Which lies directly beneath it.”

Footnote 734:

Sacrificial cakes offered to the gods.

Footnote 735:

Herzog: “Aus dem Asklepieion von Kos.” _Archiv für
Religionswissenschaft_, Vol. X, H. 2, p. 219 ff.

Footnote 736:

A Mithraic sanctuary was, when at all possible, a subterranean grotto;
often the cavern was merely an artificial one. It is conceivable that
the Christian crypts and subterranean churches are of similar meaning.

Footnote 737:

Compare Schultze: “Die Katakomben,” 1882, p. 9.

Footnote 738:

In the Taurobolia a bull was sacrificed over a grave, in which lay the
one to be consecrated. His initiation consisted in being covered with
the blood of the sacrifice. Also a regeneration and rebirth, baptism.
The baptized one was called _Renatus_.

Footnote 739:

Additional proof in Herzog: Ibid., p. 224.

Footnote 740:

Ibid., p. 225.

Footnote 741:

Ritual sacrificial food offered to the gods.

Footnote 742:

Indeed sacred serpents were kept for display and other purposes.

Footnote 743:

Ritual sacrificial food offered to the gods.

Footnote 744:

Rohde: “Psyche,” chap. 1, p. 244.

Footnote 745:

Vol. I, p. 28.

Footnote 746:

Fick. Compare “Wörterbuch,” I, p. 424.

Footnote 747:

Compare the stable cleaning of Hercules. The stable, like the cavern, is
a place of birth. We find stable and cavern in Mithracism combined with
the bull symbolism, as in Christianity. (See Robertson: “Christ and
Krishna.”) In a Basuto myth, the stable birth also occurs. (Frobenius.)
The stable birth belongs to the mythologic animal fable; therefore the
legend of the conceptio immaculata, allied to the history of the
impregnation of the barren Sarah, appears very early in Egypt as an
animal fable. Herodotus, III, 28, relates: “This Apis or Epaphos is a
calf whose mother was unable to become impregnated, but the Egyptians
said that a ray from heaven fell upon the cow, and from that she brought
forth Apis.” Apis symbolizes the sun, therefore his signs: upon the
forehead a white spot, upon his back a figure of an eagle, upon his
tongue a beetle.

Footnote 748:

According to Philo, the serpent is the most spirited of all animals; its
nature is that of fire, the rapidity of its movements is great and this
without need of any especial limbs. It has a long life and sheds age,
with its skin. Therefore it was inculcated in the mysteries, because it
is immortal. (Maehly: “Die Schlange in Mythologie und Kultus der
klassischen Völker,” 1867, p. 7.)

Footnote 749:

For example, the St. John of Quinten Matsys (see illustration); also two
pictures by an unknown Strassburg master in the Gallery at Strassburg.

Footnote 750:

“And the woman—having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and
filthiness of her fornication” (Rev. xvii:4). The woman is “drunken with
the blood of the saints and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus”: a
striking image of the terrible mother (here, cup = genitals). In the
Tibetan myth of Bogda Gesser Khan there is a beetle (treasure attainable
with difficulty), which the demoniac old woman guards. Gesser says to
her: “Sister, never since I was born have you shown me the beetle my
soul.” The mother libido is also the soul. It is significant that the
old woman desired the hero as a husband. (Frobenius.)

Footnote 751:

This is also the significance of the mysteries. Their purpose is to lead
the useless, regressive incestuous libido over the bridges of symbolism
into rational activity, and through that transform the obscure
compulsion of the libido working up from the unconscious into social
communion and higher moral endeavor.

Footnote 752:

An excellent example of this is the description of the orgies of the
Russian sectarian by Mereschkowski, in his book, “Peter the Great and
Alexei.” In the cult of the Asiatic Goddesses of love (Anaïtis, Mylitta,
etc.), prostitution in the temple was an organized institution. The
orgiastic cult of Anâhita (Anaïtis) has been preserved in modern sects,
with the Ali Illâhîja, the so-called “extinguishers of light”; with the
Yezêds and Dushikkurds, who celebrate nocturnal religious orgies which
end in a wild sexual debauch, during which incestuous unions also occur.
(Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,” II, p. 64.) Further examples are to be
found in the valuable work of Stoll (“Das Sexualleben in der
Völkerpsychologie,” Leipzig 1908).

Footnote 753:

Concerning the kiss of the snake, compare Grimm, II, p. 809. By this
means, a beautiful woman was set free. The sucking refers to the
maternal significance of the snake, which exists along with the phallic.
It is a coitus act on the presexual stage. Spielrein’s insane patient
(_Jahrbuch_, III, p. 344) says as follows: “Wine is the blood of
Jesus.—The water must be blessed, and was blessed by him. The one buried
alive becomes the vineyard. That wine becomes blood—the water is mingled
with ‘childishness’ because God says, ‘become like little children.’
There is also a spermatic water which can be drunken with blood. That
perhaps is the water of Jesus.” Here we find a commingling of all the
various meanings of the way to win immortality. Wiedemann (“Der alte
Orient,” II, 2, p. 18; cited by Dieterich: Ibid., p. 101) asserts that
it is an Egyptian idea that man draws in the milk of immortality by
suckling the breast of a goddess. (Compare with that the myth of
Hercules, where the hero attains immortality by a single draw at the
breast of Hera.)

Footnote 754:

From the writings of the sectarian Anton Unternährer: “Geheimes Reskript
der bernischen Regierung an die Pfarr- und Statthalterämter,” 1821. I
owe the knowledge of this fragment to Rev. Dr. O. Pfister.

Footnote 755:

Nietzsche: “Zarathustra”: “And I also give this parable to you: Not a
few who wished to drive out the devil from themselves, by that lead
themselves into the slough.”

Footnote 756:

Compare the vision of Zosimos.

Footnote 757:

The significance of the communion ritual as a unio mystica with God is
at bottom sexual and very corporeal. The primitive significance of the
communion is that of a Hierosgamos. Therefore in the fragment of the
Attis mysteries handed down by Firmicus it is said that the mystic eats
from the Tympanon, drinks from the Kymbalon, and he confesses: ὑπὸ τὸν
παστὸν ὑπέδυον, which means the same as: “I have entered the bridal
chamber.” Usener (in Dieterich: Ibid., p. 126) refers to a series of
quotations from the patristic literature, of which I mention merely one
sentence from the speeches of Proclus of Constantinople: ἡ παστας εν ἡ ὁ
λογος ενυμφευσατο την σακρα (The bridal chamber in which the Logos has
espoused the flesh). The church is also to some extent the bridal
chamber, where the spirit unites with the flesh, really the Cömeterium.
Irenaeus mentions some more of the initiatory customs of certain gnostic
sects, which were undoubtedly nothing but spiritual weddings. (Compare
Dieterich: Ibid., p. 127 ff.) In the Catholic church, even yet, a
Hierosgamos is celebrated on the installation of a priest. A young
maiden there represents the church as bride.

Footnote 758:

Compare also the phantasies of Felicien Rops: The crucified Priapus.

Footnote 759:

Compare with that the symbolism in Nietzsche’s poem: “Why enticest thou
thyself into the paradise of the old serpent?”

Footnote 760:

“Thus Spake Zarathustra.”

Footnote 761:

Nietzsche himself must have shown at times a certain predilection for
loathsome animals. Compare C. A. Bernoulli: “Franz Oberbeck und
Friedrich Nietzsche,” Vol. I, p. 166.

Footnote 762:

I recall Nietzsche’s dream, which is cited in Part I of this book.

Footnote 763:

The Germanic myth of Dietrich von Bern, who had fiery breath, belongs to
this idea: He was wounded in the forehead by an arrow, a piece of which
remained there fixed; from this, he was called the immortal. In a
similar manner, half of Hrûngnir’s wedge-shaped stone fastened itself in
Thor’s head. See Grimm: “Mythology,” I, p. 309.

Footnote 764:

“Geschichte der Philosophie,” Vol. I, p. 181.

Footnote 765:

Sa tapo atapyata.

Footnote 766:

The Stoic idea of the creative primal warmth, in which we have already
recognized the libido (Part I, Chap. IV), belongs in this connection,
also the birth of Mithra from a stone, which resulted _solo aestu
libidinis_ (through the heat of the libido only).

Footnote 767:

The place of discipline.

Footnote 768:

In the accurate prose translation this passage reads: “There Kâma
developed from him in the beginning” (Deussen: “Gesch. d. Phil.,” Vol.
I, p. 123). Kâma is the libido. “The sages found the root of being in
the non-being, in the heart, searching with introspection.”

Footnote 769:

“Fame and Eternity.”

Footnote 770:

Grimm: “Mythology,” III. The heroes have serpent’s eyes, as do the
kings: ormr î auga. Sigurdr is called Ormr î Auga.

Footnote 771:

Nietzsche’s

                                     “In the green light,
             Happiness still plays around the brown abyss.
             His voice grows hoarse,
             His eye flashes verdigris!”

Footnote 772:

From “The Poverty of the Richest.”

Footnote 773:

Nietzsche’s “Fragments of Dionysus-Dithyrambs.”

              “Heavy eyes,
              Which seldom love:
              But when they love, it flashes out
              Like a gold mine
              Where a dragon guards the treasure of love.”

Footnote 774:

He is pregnant with the sun.

Footnote 775:

Galatians iii:27 alludes to this primitive idea: “For as many of you as
have been baptized into Christ have _put on_ Christ.”

Footnote 776:

Just as is Mânî so is Marsyas a crucified one. (See Robertson:
“Evangelical Myths,” p. 66.) Both were hung, a punishment which has an
unmistakable symbolic value, because the suspension (“to suffer and fear
in the torment of suspension”) is the symbol of an unfulfilled wish.
(See Freud: “The Interpretation of Dreams.”) Therefore Christ, Odin,
Attis hung on trees (= mother). The Talmudic Jesus ben Pandira
(apparently the earliest historic Jesus) suffered a similar death, on
the eve of a Passover festival in the reign of Alexander Jannaeus
(106–79 B.C.). This Jesus may have been the founder of the “Essenes,” a
sect (see Robertson: “Evang. Myths,” p. 123) which stood in a certain
relation to subsequent Christianity. The Jesus ben Stada identified with
the preceding Jesus, but removed into the second Christian century, was
also hung. Both were first stoned, a punishment which was, so to speak,
a bloodless one like hanging. The Christian church, which spills no
blood, therefore burned. This may not be without significance for a
peculiar ceremony reported from Uganda: “When a king of Uganda wished to
live forever, he went to a place in Busiro, where a feast was given by
the chiefs. At the feast the Mamba Clan was especially held in honor,
and during the festivities a member of this clan was secretly chosen by
his fellows, caught by them, and beaten to death with their fists; no
stick or other weapon might be used by the men appointed to do the deed.
After death, the victim’s body was flayed and the skin made into a
special whip, etc. After the ceremony of the feast in Busiro, with its
strange sacrifice, the king of Uganda was supposed to live forever, but
from that day he was never allowed to see his mother again.” (Quoted
from Frazer: “Golden Bough,” Part IV, p. 415.) The sacrifice, which is
chosen to purchase everlasting life for another, is here given over to a
bloodless death and after that skinned. That this sacrifice has an
absolutely unmistakable relation to the mother—as we already know—is
corroborated very plainly by Frazer.

Footnote 777:

Frazer: “Adonis, Attis, Osiris,” p. 242.

Footnote 778:

Frazer: Ibid., p. 246.

Footnote 779:

Frazer: Ibid., p. 249.

Footnote 780:

Cited by Dieterich in “Mithrasliturgie,” p. 215.

Footnote 781:

The bull, father of the serpent, and the serpent, father of the bull.

Footnote 782:

Another attempt at solution seems to be the Dioscuri motive: The sun
consists of two brothers similar to each other, the one mortal, the
other immortal. This motive is found, as is well known, in the two
Açvins, who, however, are not further differentiated. In the Mithraic
doctrine, Mithra is the father, Sol the son, and yet both are one as ὁ
μέγας θεὸς Ἥελιος Μίθρας. The motive of twins emerges, not infrequently,
in dreams. In a dream, where it is related that a woman had given birth
to twins, the dreamer found, instead of the expected children, a box and
a bottle-like object. Here the twins had male and female significance.
This observation hints at a possible significance of the Dioscuri as the
sun and its re-bearing mother—daughter (?).

Footnote 783:

Among the daughters of the desert.

Footnote 784:

_Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse_, Vol. II, p. 169.

Footnote 785:

This problem has frequently been employed in the ancient sun myths. It
is especially striking that the lion-killing heroes, Samson and
Hercules, are weaponless in the combat. The lion is the symbol of the
most intense summer heat, astrologically he is the Domicilium Solis.
Steinthal (_Zeitschrift für Völkerpsychologie_, Vol. II, p. 133) reasons
about this in a most interesting manner, which I quote word for word:

“When the Sun-god fights against the summer heat, he fights against
himself; when he kills it, he kills himself. Most certainly! The
Phœnician, Assyrian and Lydian ascribes self-destruction to his sun-god,
for he can comprehend the lessening of the sun’s heat only as a
self-murder. He believed that the sun stood at its highest in the summer
and its rays scorched with destroying heat: thus does the god burn
himself, but he does not die, only rejuvenates himself.—Also Hercules
burns himself, but ascends to Olympus in the flames. This is the
contradiction in the pagan gods. They, as forces of nature, are helpful
as well as harmful to men. In order to do good and to redeem they must
work against themselves. The opposition is dulled, when either of the
two sides of the forces of nature is personified in an especial god, or
when the power of nature is conceived of as a divine personage; however,
each of its two modes of action, the benevolent and the injurious, has
an especial symbol. The symbol is always independent, and finally is the
god himself; and while originally the god worked against himself,
destroyed himself, now symbol fights against symbol, god against god, or
the god with the symbol.”

Certainly the god fights with himself, with his other self, which we
have conceived of under the symbol of mother. The conflict always
appears to be the struggle with the father and the conquering of the
mother.

Footnote 786:

The old Etruscan custom of covering the urn of ashes, and the dead
buried in the earth, with the shield, is something more than mere
chance.

Footnote 787:

Incest motive.

Footnote 788:

Compare the idea of the Phœnix in the Apocalypse of Baruch, Part I of
this book.


                              CHAPTER VIII

Footnote 789:

The kingdom of the mother is the kingdom of the (unconscious) phantasy.

Footnote 790:

Behind nature stands the mother, in continuation of our earlier
discussions and in the foregoing poem of Hölderlin. Here the mother
hovers before the poet’s mind as a tree, on which the child hangs like a
blossom.

Footnote 791:

Once he called the “stars his brothers.” Here I must call to mind the
remarks in the first part of this work, especially that mystic
identification with the stars: εγω ειμι συμπλανος ὑμιν αστερ (I am a
star who wanders together with you). The separation and differentiation
from the mother, the “individuation” creates that transition of the
subjective into the objective, that foundation of consciousness. Before
this, man was one with the mother. That is to say, with the world as a
whole. At that period man did not know the sun as brother. This occurred
for the first time, when after the resulting separation and placing of
the object, the libido, regressing to the infantile, perceived in that
first state its possibilities and the suspicion of his relationship to
the stars forced itself upon him. This occurrence appears not
infrequently in the introversion psychoses. A young peasant, an ordinary
laboring man, developed an introversion psychosis (Dementia Praecox).
His first feelings of illness were shown by a special connection which
he felt with the sun and the stars. The stars became full of meaning to
him, and the sun suggested ideas to him. This apparently entirely new
perception of nature is met with very often in this disease. Another
patient began to understand the language of birds, which brought him
messages from his beloved (mother). Compare Siegfried.

Footnote 792:

The spring belongs to the idea as a whole.

Footnote 793:

This idea expresses the divine-infantile blessedness, as in Hyperion’s
“Song of Fate.”

                  “You wander above there in the light
                  Upon soft clouds, blessed genii!
                  Shining breezes of the gods
                  Stir you gently.”

Footnote 794:

This portion is especially noteworthy. In childhood everything was given
him, and man is disinclined to obtain it once more for himself, because
it is won only through “toil and compulsion”: even love costs trouble.
In childhood the well of the libido gushed forth in bubbling fulness. In
later life it involves hard work to even keep the stream flowing for the
onward striving life, because with increasing age the stream has a
growing inclination to flow back to its source, if effectual mechanisms
are not created to hinder this backward movement or at least to organize
it. In this connection belongs the generally accepted idea, that love is
absolutely spontaneous; only the infantile type of love is something
absolutely spontaneous. The love of an adult man allows itself to be
purposefully directed. Man can also say “I will love.” The heights of
culture are conditioned by _the capacity for displacement of the
libido_.

Footnote 795:

Motive of immortality in the fable of the death of Empedocles. Horace:
_Deus immortalis haberi—Dum cupit Empedocles ardentem frigidus
Aetnam—Insiluit_ (Empedocles deliberately threw himself into the glowing
Aetna because he wanted to be believed an immortal god).

Footnote 796:

Compare the beautiful passage in the journey to Hades of Odysseus, where
the hero wishes to embrace his mother.

  “But I, thrilled by inner longing,
  Wanted to embrace the soul of my departed mother.
  Three times I endeavored, full of passionate desire for the embrace:
  Three times from my hands she escaped
  Like nocturnal shades and the images of dreams,
  And in my heart sadness grew more intense.” (“Odyss.,” XI, 204.)

The underworld, hell, is indeed the place of unfulfilled longing. The
Tantalus motive is found through all of hell.

Footnote 797:

Spielrein’s patient (_Jahrbuch_, III, p. 345) speaks in connection with
the significance of the communion of “the water mixed with childishness;
spermatic water, blood and wine.” P. 368 she says: “The souls fallen
into the water are saved by God, they fall into the deep abyss—The souls
were saved by the son of God.”

Footnote 798:

The φάρμακον ἀθανασίας, the drink of Soma, the Haoma of the Persians,
might have been made from Ephedra vulgaris. Spiegel: “Erân.
Altertumskunde,” I, p. 433.

Footnote 799:

Like the heavenly city in Hauptmann’s “Hannele”:

 “Salvation is a wonderful city,
 Where peace and joy never end,
 Its houses are marble, its roofs are gold,
 But wine flows in silver fountains,
 Flowers are strewed upon the white, white streets,
 Continually from the towers sound the wedding bells.
 Green as May are the battlements, shining with the light of early
    morning.
 Giddy with butterflies, crowned with roses.

        ·       ·       ·       ·       ·

 There below, hand in hand,
 The festive people wander through the heavenly land,
 The wide, wide sea is filled with red, red wine,
 They plunge in with shining bodies!
 They plunge into the foam and the splendor,
 The clear purple covers them entirely,
 And they exulting arise from the flood,
 Thus they are washed by Jesus’ blood.”

Footnote 800:

Richter: 15, 17.

Footnote 801:

Prellwitz: “Griech. Etym.,” s. σκήπτω.

Footnote 802:

Of the father.

Footnote 803:

Fate.

Footnote 804:

Chances and fates.

Footnote 805:

This was really the purpose of all mysteries. They create symbolisms of
death and rebirth for the practical application and education of the
infantile libido. As Frazer (“The Golden Bough,” I, p. 442) points out,
exotic and barbaric peoples have in their initiatory mysteries the same
symbolism of death and resurrection, just as Apuleius (“Metam.,” XI, 23)
says of the initiation of Lucius into the Isis mysteries: “Accessi
confinium mortis et calcato Proserpinae limine per omnia vectus elementa
remeavi” (I have reached the confines of death and trodden the threshold
of Proserpina; passing through all the elements, I have returned).
Lucius died figuratively (ad instar voluntariae mortis) and was born
anew (renatus).

Footnote 806:

This does not hinder the modern neurasthenic from making work a means of
repression and worrying about it.

Footnote 807:

Compare Genesis xlix: 17: “Dan shall be a serpent by the way, an adder
in the path, that biteth the horse heels, so that his rider shall fall
backward.”

Footnote 808:

Compare with this the Egyptian representation of the Heaven as woman and
cow.

Footnote 809:

Freud: “Formulierungen über die zwei Prinzipien des psychischen
Geschehens,” 1912 _Jahrbuch_, p. 1 ff.

Footnote 810:

This form of question recalls the well-known Indian symbol of the
world-bearing animal: an elephant standing upon a tortoise. The elephant
has chiefly masculine-phallic significance and the tortoise, like every
shell animal, chiefly feminine significance.

Footnote 811:

_Zentralblatt für Psychoanalyse_, Vol. II, p. 171.

Footnote 812:

The neurotic Don Juan is no evidence to the contrary. That which the
“habitué” understands by love is merely an infirmity and far different
from that which love means!

Footnote 813:

Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,” II, 667.

Footnote 814:

Freud: “Eine Kindheitserinnerung des Leonardo da Vinci,” p. 57: “The
almighty, just God and benevolent nature appear to us as a great
sublimation of father and mother, rather than revivals and reproductions
of the early childish ideas of them. Religiousness leads biologically
back to the long-continued helplessness and need of the offspring of
man, who, when later he has recognized his real loneliness, and weakness
against the great powers of life, feels his condition similar to that of
childhood, and seeks to disavow this forlorn state by regressive renewal
of the infantile protective powers.”

Footnote 815:

Nietzsche: “Fröhliche Wissenschaft,” Aphorism 157. “Mentiri—give
heed!—he muses: immediately he will have a lie prepared. This is a stage
of culture, upon which whole peoples have stood. One should ponder over
what the Romans meant by mentiri!” Actually the Indo-Germanic root
_méntis_, men, is the same for mentiri, memini and mens. See Walde:
“Lat. Etym.,” sub. mendax, memini und mens.

Footnote 816:

See Freud: _Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 60.

Footnote 817:

Bundehesh, XV, 27. The bull Sarsaok was sacrificed at the destruction of
the world. But Sarsaok was the originator of the race of men: he had
brought nine of the fifteen human races upon his back through the sea to
the distant points of the compass. The primitive bull of Gayomart has,
as we saw above, most undoubtedly female and maternal significance on
account of his fertility.

Footnote 818:

If for Silberer the mythological symbolism is a process of cognition on
the mythological stage (_Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 664), then there
exists, between this view and mine, only a difference of standpoint,
which determines a different manner of expression.

Footnote 819:

This series of representations begins with the totem meal.

Footnote 820:

Taurus is astrologically the Domicilium Veneris.

Footnote 821:

There comes from the library of Asurbanipal an interesting
Sumeric-Assyrian fragment (Cuneiform Inscr., I, IV, 26, 6. Quoted by
Gressmann: “Altorient. Text. und Bild.,” I, p. 101):

        “To the wise man he said:
        A lamb is the substitute for a man.
        He gives a lamb for his life,
        He gives the heads of lambs for the heads of men,” etc.

Footnote 822:

Compare the remarkable account in Pausanias: VI, 17, 9 ff. “While
sleeping, the sperma of Zeus has flowed down upon the earth; in time has
arisen from this a demon, with double generative organs; that of a man,
and that of a woman. They gave him the name of Agdistis. But the gods
changed Agdistis and cut off the male organs. Now when the almond tree
which sprang forth from this bore ripe fruit, the daughter of the
spring, Sangarios, took of the fruit. When she placed it in her bosom,
the fruit disappeared at once; but she found herself pregnant. After she
had given birth to the child, a goat acted as protector: when he grew
up, he was of superhuman beauty, so that Agdistis fell in love with the
boy. His relatives sent the full-grown Attis to Pessinus, in order to
marry the king’s daughter. The wedding song was beginning when Agdistis
appeared and in delirium Attis castrated himself.”

Footnote 823:

Beloved of the mother of the gods, inasmuch as the Cybeline Attis sheds
his human shape in this way and stiffens into this tree trunk.

Footnote 824:

Firmicus: “De error. prof. rel.,” XXVIII. Quoted by Robertson: “Evang.
Myths,” p. 136, and Creuzer: “Symbolik,” II, 332.

Footnote 825:

Pentheus, as a hero with a serpent nature; his father was Echion, the
adder.

Footnote 826:

The typical sacrificial death in the Dionysus cult.

Footnote 827:

In the festival processions they wore women’s clothes.

Footnote 828:

In Bithynia Attis was called πάπας (papa, pope) and Cybele, Mã. In the
early Asiatic religions of this mother-goddess, there existed fish
worship and prohibition against fish as food for the priests. In the
Christian religion, it is noteworthy that the son of Atargatis,
identified with Astarte, Cybele, etc., is called Ἰχθύς (Creuzer:
“Symbolik,” II, 60). Therefore, the anagram of the name of Christ =
ΙΕΣΟΥΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ ΘΕΟΥ ΥΙΟΣ ΣΩΤΕΡ = ΙΧΘΥΣ.

Footnote 829:

Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,” 2, 76.

Footnote 830:

A. Nagel: “Der chinesische Küchengott Tsau-kyun.” _Archiv für
Religionswissenschaft_, XI, 23 ff.

Footnote 831:

In Spiegel’s “Parsigrammatik,” pp. 135, 166.

Footnote 832:

Porphyrius says: ὡς καὶ ὁ ταῦρος δημιουργὸς ὡν ὁ Μίθρας καὶ γενέσεως
δεσπότης (As the bull is the Creator, Mithra is the Lord of birth).

Footnote 833:

The death of the bull is voluntary and involuntary. When Mithra
strangles the bull, a scorpion bites the bull in the testicles (autumn
equinox).

Footnote 834:

Benndorf: “Bildwerke des Lateran Museum,” No. 547.

Footnote 835:

“Textes et Monuments,” I, 182.

Footnote 836:

In another place Cumont speaks of “the sorrowful and almost morbid grace
of the features of the hero.”

Footnote 837:

Infantilism is merely the result of the much deeper state of
introversion of the Christian in contrast to the other religions.

Footnote 838:

The libido nature of the sacrificed is unquestionable. In Persia, a ram
helped the first people to the first sin, cohabitation: it is also the
first animal which they sacrificed (Spiegel: “Erân. Altertumskunde,”
Vol. I, p. 511). The ram is the same as the paradisical serpent, which
was Christ according to the Manichaean version. The ancient Meliton of
Sardes taught that Christ was a lamb, similar to the ram in the bush,
which Abraham sacrificed in place of his son. Here the bush is analogous
to the cross (Fragment V, quoted by Robertson: Ibid).

Footnote 839:

See above. “Blood bridegroom of the mother.” From Joshua v: 2 we learn
that Joshua again instituted the circumcision and redemption of the
first-born: “With this he must have substituted for the sacrifice of
children, which earlier it was the custom to offer up to Jehovah, the
sacrifice of the male foreskin” (Drews: “Christusmythe,” I, p. 47).

Footnote 840:

See Cumont: Ibid., p. 100.

Footnote 841:

The Zodiacal sign of the sun’s greatest heat.

Footnote 842:

This solution apparently concerns only the dogmatic symbolism. I merely
intimate that this sacrificial death was related to a festival of
vegetation or of Spring, from which the religious legend originated. The
folk customs contain in variations these same fundamental thoughts.
(Compare with that Drews: “Christusmythe,” I, p. 37).

Footnote 843:

A similar sacrificial death is that of Prometheus. He was chained to a
rock. In another version his chains were drawn through a pillar, which
hints at the enchainment to a tree. That punishment was his which Christ
took upon himself willingly. The fate of Prometheus therefore recalls
the misfortune of Theseus and Peirithoos, who remain bound to the rock,
the chthonic mother. According to Athenaeus, Jupiter commanded
Prometheus, after he had freed him, to wear a willow crown and an iron
ring, by which his lack of freedom and slavery was symbolically
represented. (Phoroneus, who in Argos was worshipped as the bringer of
fire, was the son of Melia, the ash, therefore tree-enchained.)
Robertson compares the crown of Prometheus to the crown of thorns of
Christ. The devout carry crowns in honor of Prometheus, in order to
represent the captivity (“Evangelical Myths,” p. 126). In this
connection, therefore, the crown means the same as the betrothal ring.
These are the requisites of the old Hierosgamos with the mother; the
crown of thorns (which is of Egyptian derivation according to Athenaeus)
has the significance of the painful ascetic betrothal.

Footnote 844:

Hecate.

Footnote 845:

The spear wound given by Longinus to Christ is the substitute for the
dagger thrust in the Mithraic bull sacrifice: “The jagged tooth of the
brazen wedge” was driven through the breast of the enchained and
sacrificed Prometheus (Aeschylus: “Prometheus”).

Footnote 846:

Mention must also be made of the fact that North German mythology was
acquainted with similar thoughts regarding the fruitfulness of the
sacrificial death on the mother: Through hanging on the tree of life,
Odin obtained knowledge of the Runes and the inspiring, intoxicating
drink which invested him with immortality.

Footnote 847:

I have refrained in the course of this merely orienting investigating
from referring to the countless possibilities of relationship between
dream symbolism and the material disclosed in these connections. That is
a matter of a special investigation. But I cannot forbear mentioning
here a simple dream, the first which a youthful patient brought to me in
the beginning of her analysis. “She stands between high walls of snow
upon a railroad track with her small brother. A train comes, she runs
before it in deadly fear and leaves her brother behind upon the track.
She sees him run over, but after the train has passed, the little fellow
stands up again uninjured.” The meaning of the dream is clear: the
inevitable approach of the “impulse.” The leaving behind of the little
brother is the repressed willingness to accept her destiny. The
acceptance is symbolized by the sacrifice of the little brother (the
infantile personality) whose apparently certain death becomes, however,
a resurrection. Another patient makes use of classical forms: she
dreamed of a mighty eagle, which is wounded in beak and neck by an
arrow. If we go into the actual transference phantasy (eagle =
physician, arrow = erotic wish of the patient), then the material
concerning the eagle (winged lion of St. Mark, the past splendor of
Venice; beak = remembrances of certain perverse actions of childhood)
leads us to understand the eagle as a composition of infantile memories,
which in part are grouped around the father. The eagle, therefore, is an
infantile hero who is wounded in a characteristic manner on the phallic
point (beak). The dream also says: I renounce the infantile wish, I
sacrifice my infantile personality (which is synonymous with: I paralyze
it, castrate the father or the physician). In the Mithra mysteries, in
the introversion the mystic himself becomes ἀετός, the eagle, this being
the highest degree of initiation. The identification with the
unconscious libido animal goes very far in this cult, as Augustine
relates: “alii autem sicut aves alas percutiunt vocem coracis imitantes,
alii vero leonum more fremunt” (Some move the arms like birds the wings,
imitating the voice of the raven, some groan like lions).

Footnote 848:

Miss Miller’s snake is green. The snake of my patient is also green. In
“Psychology of Dementia Praecox,” p. 161, she says: “Then a little green
snake came into my mouth; it had the finest, loveliest sense, as if it
had human understanding; it wanted to say something to me, almost as if
it had wished to kiss me.” Spielrein’s patient says of the snake: “It is
an animal of God, which has such wonderful colors, green, blue and
white. The rattlesnake is green; it is very dangerous. The snake can
have a human mind, it can have God’s judgment; it is a friend of
children. It will save those children who are necessary for the
preservation of human life” (_Jahrbuch_, Vol. III, p. 366). Here the
phallic meaning is unmistakable. The snake as the transformed prince in
the fairy tale has the same meaning. See Riklin: “Wish Fulfilment and
Symbolism in Fairy Tales.”

Footnote 849:

A patient had the phantasy that she was a serpent which coiled around
the mother and finally crept into her.

Footnote 850:

The serpent of Epidaurus is, in contrast, endowed with healing power.
_Similia similibus._

Footnote 851:

This Bleuler has designated as Ambivalence or ambitendency. Stekel as
“Bi-polarity of all psychic phenomena” (“Sprache des Traumes,” p. 535).

Footnote 852:

I am indebted for permission to publish a picture of this statuette to
the kindness of the director of the Veronese collection of antiques.

Footnote 853:

The “Deluge” is of one nature with the serpent. In the Wöluspa it is
said that the flood is produced when the Midgard serpent rises up for
universal destruction. He is called “Jörmungandr,” which means,
literally, “the all-pervading wolf.” The destroying Fenris wolf has also
a connection with the sea. Fen is found in Fensalir (Meersäle), the
dwelling of Frigg, and originally meant sea (Frobenius: Ibid., p. 179).
In the fairy stories of Red Riding Hood, a wolf is substituted in place
of a serpent or fish.

Footnote 854:

Compare the longing of Hölderlin expressed in his poem “Empedocles.”
Also the journey to hell of Zarathustra through the crater of the
volcano. Death is the entrance into the mother, therefore the Egyptian
king, Mykerinos, buried his daughter in a gilded wooden cow. That was
the guarantee of rebirth. The cow stood in a state apartment and
sacrifices were brought to it. In another apartment near the cow were
placed the images of the concubines of Mykerinos (Herodotus, II, p. 129
f).

Footnote 855:

Kluge: “Deutsche Etymologie.”

Footnote 856:

The whistling and snapping is a tasteless, archaic relic, an allurement
for the theriomorphic divinity, probably also an infantile reminiscence
(quieting the child by whistling and snapping). Of similar significance
is the roaring at the divinity. (“Mithr. Lit.,” p. 13): “You are to look
at him and give forth a long roar, as with a horn, using all your
breath, pressing your sides, and kiss the amulet ... etc.” “My soul
roars with the voice of a hungry lion,” says Mechthild von Magdeburg.
“As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after
God.”—_Psalms_ xlii: 2. The ceremonial custom, as so often happens, has
dwindled into a figure of speech. Dementia praecox, however, revivifies
the old custom, as in the “Roaring miracle” of Schreber. See the
latter’s “Denkwürdigkeiten eines Nervenkranken,” by which he demands
that God, i.e. the Father, so inadequately oriented with humanity, take
notice of his existence.

The infantile reminiscence is clear, that is, the childish cry to
attract the attention of the parent to himself; the whistling and
smacking for the allurement of the theriomorphic attribute, the “helpful
animal.” (See Rank: “The Myth of the Birth of the Hero.”)



                                 INDEX


Abegg, 182

Abélard, 16

Abraham, 6, 29, 143, 151, 162

Activity, displaced rhythmic, 160

Adaptation to environment, 14

Agni, 164, 185

Agriculture, 173

Aitareyopanishad, 178

Ambitendency, 194

Amenhotep IV, 106

Analogy, importance of, 156

Analysis of dreams, 9

Antiquity, brutality of, 258

Anxiety, representations of, 292

Arnold, Sir Edwin, 273, 355

Art, instinct of, 145
  first, 177

Asceticism, 91

Asterius, Bishop, 375

Augustine, 90, 114

Autismus, 152

Autoerotism, 176

Autonomy, moral, 262

Avenarius, R., 146

Aztec, 205


Baldwin, Mark, 17

Baptism, 357

Bergerac, Cyrano de, 43, 60, 119

Bergson, Henri, 314

Bertschinger, 203

Bhagavad-Gîtâ, 195

Bingen, Hildegarde von, 101

Bleuler, Prof., 152, 194

“Book of the Dead, Egyptian,” 278, 289, 314

Boring, act of, 157, 177

Bousset, 402

Brihadâranyaka-Upanishad, 174, 178, 313, 466

Bruno, Giordano, 25

Buddha, 273, 323, 344, 355

Bundehesh, 277

Burckhardt, Jacob, 40, 83

Byron’s “Heaven and Earth,” 117


Cæsar, Julius, 317

Cannegieter, 281

Causation, law of, 59

Cave worship, 375

Chidher, 216, 219

Child, development of, 461

Childhood, valuations, 211

Children, analysis of, 207
  regression in, 462

Christ, 30, 90, 135, 185, 217, 219, 225, 245, 252, 278, 344, 357, 372
  and Antichrist, 403
  death and resurrection, 449
  sacrifice of, 475

Christianity, 78, 80, 85, 255

Chrysostomus, John, 113

Cicero, 136

City, mother symbolism of, 234, 241

Cohabitation, continuous, 236, 298

Coitus play, 167
  wish, meaning of, 339

Communion cup, 410

Complex, 37
  law of return, 56, 67
  mass, 43
  mother, 208
  nuclear, 195
  of representation, 70, 76, 95

Compulsion, unconscious, 454

Condensation, 6

Conflict, internal, 196, 328

Consciousness, birth of, 361

Creation, by means of thought, 58, 62
  ideal, 64
  from introversion, 416, 456
  from mother, 286, 371
  through sacrifice, 466

Creuzer, 268

Cross, 264, 278
  meaning of, 296

Cult, Father-Son, 166
  Earth, 173

Cumont, Franz, 83, 221, 225, 450, 473
Cyrano de Bergerac, 43, 60, 119, 317


Dactyli, 132

Death, fear of, 304, 434
  phantasies, 117
  voluntary, 423
  wish for, 320, 419

Dementia præcox, 141, 159, 461

Destiny of man, 390, 427

Deussen, 415, 466

Dieterich, 376, 450

Dismemberment, motive of, 267

Displaced rhythmic activity, 160

Domestication of man, 267, 304

Dragon, psychologic meaning, 402, 410

Dream, analysis, 9
  interpretation of, 8
  Nietzsche, 28
  regression, 26
  sexual assault, 10
  sexual language of, 433
  source of, 9
  symbolism, 8, 12, 233

Drews, 147

Drexler, 275


Eleusinian mysteries, 373

Emmerich, Katherine, 322

Erman, 106

Erotic fate, 117
  impression, 54, 67

Eusebius of Alexandria, 114

Evolution, 144


Fairy tales, interpretation of, 281

Family, separation from, 344

Fasting, 369

Father, 62, 98, 293
  Imago, 55
  transference, 71

Faust, 68, 88, 130, 181, 231, 245, 250, 283, 305, 349

Fear, as forbidden desire, 389

Ferenczi, 47, 146

Ferrero, Guglielmo, 34

Finger sucking, 177

Firdusi, 315

Fire, onanistic phase of, 174
  preparations of, 163, 165, 172
  sexual significance, 167, 172

Firmicus, 379, 419

Flournoy, 37

France, Anatole, 15, 37

Francis of Assisi, 97

Frazer (“Golden Bough”), 367, 478

Freud, Sigmund, 12, 26, 29, 35, 37, 67, 71, 73, 81, 133, 139, 151, 189,
   232, 281, 367, 421, 459
  interpretation of the dream, 3
  “Leonardo da Vinci,” 7
  source of the dream, 9

Frobenius, 237, 275, 280, 436


Galileo, 146

Gilgamesh, 365

God, as creator and destroyer, 70
  as sun, 127
  “becoming one with,” 96
  crucified, 295
  fertilizing, 348
  love of, 200
  of creation, 69, 394
  vs. erotic, 94

Goethe, 417

Gunkel, 286


Hand, erotic use of, 176
  symbolism of, 206

Hartmann, 198

Hauptmann, Gerhart, 330

Hecate, mysteries of, 403

Heine, 353

Helios, 96, 110, 221

Herd instinct, 201

Hero, 32, 191, 200, 379
  as wanderer, 231
  betrayal of, 38
  birth of, 356
  psychologic meaning, 135
  sacrifice of, 452
  teleological meaning, 347

Herodotus, 290

Herzog, 408

Hesiod, 147

Hiawatha, song of, 346

Hierosgamos, 274, 376

Hölderlin, 182, 435, 436, 437, 440, 442, 443, 444, 445, 448, 452

Homosexuality, 34

Honegger, 108, 154

Humboldt, 349

Hypnagogic vision, 197


Idea, independence of, 84

Iliad, 274

Imago, Father, 55

Immortality, 227, 427

Incest barrier, 72, 100, 266, 458, 461
  phantasy, 3, 63, 404
  problem, 171, 195, 230, 250, 289, 364, 454, 463

Incestuous component, 172

Independence, battle for, 344

Infantilism, 319, 431, 479

Inman, 184, 236

Introjection, 146

Introversion, 37, 50, 98, 193, 201, 329, 367, 415
  hysterical, 151
  willed, 336

Isis, 96, 264


Jaehns, 311

James, William, 21

Janet, Pierre, 142

Jensen, 225

Jew, Wandering, 215, 225

Job, Book of, 58, 60, 68, 326

Jodl, 17

Joël, Karl, 360

Jones, 6


Kathopanishad, 130

Kepler, 25

Kluge, 409

Koran, 216

Kuhn, Adalbert, 162

Kulpe, 21


Laistner, 281

Lajard, 229

Lamia, 280

Language, 15
  vs. Speech, 16

Legends, Judas, 37

Lenclos, Ninon de, 4

Libido, 20, 47, 67, 71, 78, 94, 96, 101, 120, 128, 157, 193, 228, 249
  as hero, 417
  definition of, 135
  descriptive conception, 144
  desexualized, 149
  genetic conception, 144
  in opposition, 292, 308, 329
  in resistance, 422
  introverting, 415
  liberation of, 420
  mother, 289, 469, 474
  repressed objects of, 203
  transference of, 368
  transformation of, 171

Licentiousness, 258

Life, fear of, 335
  natural conception of, 343

Lilith, 279

Logos, 63

Lombroso, 212

Longfellow’s “Hiawatha,” 346

Lord’s Supper, 372

Love, 193
  infantile, 431

Lucius, 106


Macrobius, 226, 314

Maeder, 6

Maeterlinck, 64

Magdeburg, Mechthild von, 190, 314

Manilius, 182

Mary, 283, 302

Matthew, Gospel of, 92

Maurice, 297

Mauthner, Franz, 19

Maya, 283

Mayer, Robert, 138

Mead, 109

Meliton, 113

Mereschkowski, 403

Messiah, 79

Miller, Miss Frank, 41

Milton, 52

Mind, archaic tendencies, 35
  infantile, 36

Mithra, 104, 110, 217, 221, 245, 278, 293, 372, 450, 471

Mithracism, 78, 82, 85, 89, 96, 101, 108, 221, 225, 269, 314

Moral autonomy, 262

Mother, 98, 230, 241, 283
  heavens as, 301, 456
  imago, 250, 303, 319
  libido, 469, 474
  longing for, 335, 371, 428
  love, 338
  of humanity, 201
  terrible, 196, 202, 243, 267, 280, 364, 405
  transference, 71
  twofold, 356, 387, 428
  wisdom of, 452

Motive of dismemberment, 267
  embracing and entwining, 272

Mörike, 11, 354

Mouth, erotic importance of, 176
  as instrument of speech, 176

Müller, 295

Music, origin of, 165

Mysticism, 101

Mythology, 24, 240
  Hindoo, 128

Myths, as dream images, 29
  of rebirth, 272
  religious, 262


Nakedness, cult of, 412

Naming, importance of, 208

Narcissus state, 337

Neuroses, hysteria and compulsion, 142

Nietzsche, 16, 23, 28, 72, 102, 104, 195, 327, 328, 337, 345, 414, 417,
   418, 420, 423, 434, 447
  on dreams, 28

Nodfyr, 166


Oedipus, 3, 202

Oegger, Abbi, 37

Onanism, 158, 175, 186

Osiris, 264, 436

Ovid, 325, 373, 469


“Paradise Lost,” 52

Paranoia, 140

Paranoidian mechanism, 73

Pausanias, 274

Persecution, fear of, 332

Personality, dissociated, 37

Peter, 221, 222

Pfister, 6, 56

Phallic, cult, 33
  symbolism, 228, 248, 310

Phallus, 105, 132
  negative, 334
  Sun, 108

Phantasy, how created, 31
  infantile, 462
  onanistic, 175
  sexual, 140
  source of, 32, 460
  thinking, 22

Philo of Alexandria, 113, 315

Pick, 37

Pindar, 325

Plato, 147, 388
  Symposium, 34, 298

Plotinus, 147

Plutarch, 311, 375, 436

Poe, 66

Polytheism, 106

Pope, Roman, 200

Preiswerk, Samuel, 378

Presexual stage, 161, 171, 369

Primitive, reduction to, 259

Procreation, self, 358

Projection, 73

Prometheus, 162

Psychic energy, 142

Psychoanalysis, 75, 421
  object of, 479

Psychoanalytic thinking, 257

Psychology, unconscious, 197

Psychopathology, 50


Ramayana, 239

Rank, 6, 12, 29, 356

“Raven, The,” 66

Reality, adaptation to, 461
  corrective of, 146, 261
  function of, 144, 150, 416
  principle of, 146

Rebirth, 240, 251, 272, 351
  battle for, 364

Regression, 26, 27, 172, 173
  to the mother, 369

Religion, benefits of, 99
  and morality, 85
  as a pose, 82, 260
  sexuality, 78
  source of, 474
  vs. orgies, 412

Renan, 127

Renunciation, 444

Repression, 6, 67, 73, 150, 161, 342

Resistance, 196

Resistance to primitive sexuality, 156

Revelation, 111, 244

Rhythm, sexual, 165

Rigveda, 165, 247, 367, 393, 415, 416, 456, 465

Riklin, 6, 29, 281

Robertson, 378

Rochefoucauld, La, 195

Rodhe, 376, 407

Roscher, 326

Rose, symbolism of, 436

Rostand, 43

Rudra, 128


Sacrifice, 287, 294, 391, 452, 465, 478
  Christian vs. Mithraic, 478
  of bull, 473
  retrogressive longing, 453, 465

Sainthood, difficulty of, 322

Schmid, 188

Scholasticism, 22

Schopenhauer, 16, 136, 146, 198, 416, 467, 480

Science, 23, 84
  vs. Mythology, 24

Self-consciousness, creation of, 303

Self-control, 73

Seneca, 78, 83, 85, 96

Sentimentality, 474

Serpent, 292

Sexual assault dream, 10
  impulse, derivatives of, 144, 149
  problem, treatment of, 454

Sexuality, and nutrition, 161
  and religion, 78
  cult of, 256
  importance of, 342
  resistance to primitive, 156, 170

Shakespeare, 317
  “Shvetâshvataropanishad,” 128
  “Siegfried,” Wagner’s, 391

Silberer, 6, 234

Snake, phallic meaning of, 110, 413
  as symbol of death, 408

Sodomy, 34

Soma, 185

Somnambulism, intentional, 192

Sophocles, 332

Soul, conception of, 299

Speech, 14
  origin of, 178

Sphinx, 202

Spielrein, 154, 449

St. Augustine, 82

Stage, presexual, 161, 171, 369

Steinthal, 156

Stekel, 12

Subject vs. object, 360

Sublimation, 64, 150, 254

Suckling, act of, 160

Sun, 95, 217, 223, 390, 427
  as God, 99, 127
  energy, 128
  hero, 112, 115, 191, 231
  night journey of, 237
  phallus, 108
  worship, 114

Surrogates, archaic, 154

Symbolism, Christian, 115
  Christian vs. Mithraic, 478
  of arrow, 321, 366
  „ city, 234, 241
  „ crowd, 233
  „ dreams, 8, 12
  „ eating, 372
  „ every-day thought, 13
  „ eyes, 301
  „ fish, 223
  „ forest, 307
  „ horse, 308
  „ libido, 105
  „ light, 112
  „ moon, 352
  „ mother, 241, 278
  „ mystery, 233
  „ serpent, 333, 414, 417, 479
  „ sun, 390
  „ sword, 393
  „ trees, 246, 264, 385
  phallic, 33, 228, 248

Symbols, use of, 249, 262, 400

Symean, 101


Tertullian, 114

Theatre, 43

Thinking, 13
  act of, 459
  archaic, 28
  directed or logical, 14, 36
  dream, 22
  intensive, 13
  limitations of, 19
  of children, 27
  origin of, 465
  phantastic, 22, 31, 36
  psychoanalytic, 257

Time, symbol of, 313

Transference, 75, 76, 171, 201
  real, 77, 78, 84
  to nature, 82

Transformation, 155

Treading, symbolic meaning of, 349

Treasure, difficult to attain, 186, 365
  guardian of, 293, 408

Tree of Death, 278

Tree of Life, 246

Trinity, 147, 225


Unconscious, 197, 201

Upanishad, 131, 247, 466


Verlaine, Paul, 483

Vinci, Leonardo da, 7, 403

Virgil, 90

Virgin Mother, 63

Vollers, 221


Wagner’s “Siegfried,” 391

Waitz, 353

Water, symbolism of, 244, 384, 388

Watschandies, 167

Weber, 165

Will, conception of, 146
  duality of, 194
  original division of, 171

Wind as creator, 108, 354

Wirth, 115

Woman, misunderstood, 342

Work as a duty, 455

World as mother, 456

Wundt, 17


Zarathustra, 423

Zend Avesta, 464

Zosimos vision, 416

Zöckler, 278, 296

------------------------------------------------------------------------



                           TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. P. 113, changed “cuis” to “cuius”.
 2. P. 113, changed “phopheta” to “propheta”.
 3. P. 144, changed “genetic definition of the libido” to “generic
    definition of the libido”.
 4. P. 520, changed “αὸν” to “σόν”.
 5. P. 548, changed “κεὺθω” to “κεύθω”.
 6. P. 549, changed “he pieced them” to “he pierced them”.
 7. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 8. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 9. Footnotes were re-indexed using numbers and the page footnotes were
    collected together with the end notes.
10. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.



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