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1 The unconscious
The birthplace of creativity
According to Jung, the creative process is born in the unconscious. In terms of narratives, the unconscious is also the moving force behind our charactersâ motivation, sense of direction, impulses, and both positive and negative emotions. The Jungian unconscious is, however, complex, and these motivations can come from one of two chambers: the collective, in which contents shared by all humankind, past and present, reside; or the personal, which is home to our unique issues and experiences.
The presence of the common psychological base â the collective unconscious â is important as it emphasizes the structural similarities of human narratives instead of concentrating on the cultural and personal differences. The collective unconscious consists of archetypes (discussed in detail in Chapter 2), whereas the personal unconscious is home to individual contents such as memories, fantasies and complexes (examined later in this chapter).
The collective unconscious
Jung defines the collective unconscious as a system that exists independently from the individual, has nothing to do with personal experience, and contains universal characters and behaviour patterns we all know and recognize (parental figures, romantic partner; growing up, falling in love, dealing with midlife crises, etc.). The collective unconscious is inherited, Jung argues (CW 9/I: para. 90).
It is thus an objective system, unknowable in its vastness. It is so much larger than individual consciousness that it is important to know yourself well in order to avoid being engulfed by it. Its influence, the effect of âa merging of mindsâ and âbeing at one with the worldâ, is exciting and addictive. Human consciousness, Jung keeps reminding his readers, is but a tiny island in the ocean that is the collective unconscious:
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(CW 9/I: 46)
Naturally, Jung realizes that a giant, objective (as he calls it) superstructure that has a âmindâ of its own and that is invisible to the human eye is a difficult and complex concept. Not all of his readers would be convinced. Some will start asking questions similar to the ones atheists ask believers: âHow do you know it exists if you cannot see it?â Jung attempts to forestall accusations of being unscientific by trying to give his concept a âbiologicalâ base. The unconscious, he says, is not a mystical concept; far from it:
(CW 9/I: para. 92)
Jung also gives his readers what he calls âempiricalâ (verifiable by observation) proofs of the existence of the collective unconscious. There are several such proofs. The first is dreams, in which archetypes appear to us involuntarily, which proves that they are products of nature (CW 9/I: para. 100).
Then there is âactive imaginationâ: âa sequence of fantasies produced by deliberate concentrationâ (CW 9/I: para. 101). Active imagination is a good way of making otherwise hidden and repressed fantasies conscious. Imagine that you saw a flock of brightly coloured hot air balloons high up in the sky. Suddenly you imagine yourself riding in one of these balloons, breathing in fresh air, feeling simultaneously excited and scared, looking at the little dots that are people, the moving dots that are cars, at the incredible puffed-up clouds above and the green and yellow patchwork of forests and farm fields below. Why are you having this fantasy? Is it because you are afraid of heights? Or perhaps you feel trapped in your job or relationship, and dream of escaping? Maybe you find everyday existence dull, and look to the skies for salvation from reality? Do you secretly dream of being âabove it allâ? In any case, stay with it, and let images and sensations flow out freely. Observe them, take note of them. Donât force them out or stifle them in. Stay in the moment and enjoy the rare meeting of the unconscious with consciousness.
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Active imagination is spontaneous creativity, but it can be managed and directed to produce a creative product. In several of his articles concerning the role of the collective unconscious in the creative process, Jung criticizes Freud and his disciples for looking for the artistâs personal problems (and particularly sexual issues) in the work of art. He believes that a novel or a painting is not simply a dump heap of its creatorâs unsolved, âdirtyâ problems such as a secret desire for the mother or the wish that the rival sibling might fall off the balcony, but a true expression of the force that is bigger than any personal problem: the collective unconscious. Its contents, archetypes, âappear . . . in the shaped material of art as the regulative principles that shape it; that is to say, only by inferences drawn from the finished work can we reconstruct the age-old original of the primordial imageâ (CW 15: para. 94). The magical process of the birth of works of art out of raw creativity will be discussed in detail in Chapter 5.
Finally, there are more problematic âproofsâ of the existence of the collective unconscious, such as psychotic delusions, âfantasies observed in trance-like statesâ and âdreams of early childhood, from the third to the fifth yearâ (CW 9/I: para. 50). Yet, Jung takes these types of evidence very seriously because the information contained in them is not meaningless. They contain a grain of truth and therefore deserve to be treated with respect. In his autobiography Memories, Dreams, Reflections, he writes about a schizophrenic female patient who was convinced that she heard Godâs voice in her body. Instead of dismissing this claim as nonsensical, Jung decided to listen to the voice and even discovered that it made âsome very sensible remarksâ (Jung, 1962: 148).
Earlier in the book, he also recalls the case of a young woman who became mentally ill as a result of sexual abuse in the hands of her schoolmate as well as her brother. The traumatized patient was convinced that she lived on the moon, and that her heroic task was to kill a vampire who kidnapped women and children. After stalking her prey for several nights, she finally came face to face with the vampire:
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(1962: 151)
Even though the young woman was severely mentally ill, there is nothing unusual in this fantasy given the girlâs previous experiences with predatory males. Since the beginning of the nineteenth century when Romanticism made vampires into symbols of predatory behaviour, they have been associated with seduction and sexual aggression. One interpretation of the fantasy could be that the victim was trying to make sense of her terrifying experiences, and perhaps attempting to restore her trust in men. The dream could also be interpreted as a revenge fantasy in which the roles of the victim and the aggressor are reversed.
After she was discharged and took a job as a nurse in a sanatorium, she shot and lightly wounded an assistant doctor who, Jung writes euphemistically, âmade a somewhat rash approach to herâ (1962: 152). Jung was also shocked to learn that she was carrying the gun with her at all times in case she had to defend herself against sexual advances. The young womanâs perception of men as potentially dangerous was confirmed once more by the incident with the assistant doctor. In this light, the image of the vampire created by her unconscious to make sense of the situation, in metaphorical terms, is a lucid and understandable response of a victimized female to a shameful, scary and confusing situation.
The vampire fantasy goes beyond the experiences of the individual female in hostile circumstances (the personal unconscious), and potentially throws light on the position of women in patriarchal societies in general, or the role of women in social structures. Jung argues that psychosis contains âthe old human conflictsâ, and whereas patients may appear to be apathetic or irrational, âthere is more going on in their minds, and more that is meaningful, than there seems to beâ (1962: 149).
Thus, the collective unconscious finds its expression in dreams, active imagination and psychotic fantasies, and exists independently from the individual. It creates a universal picture of psychic life and reflects common experiences shared by all humankind. It needs to be treated with respect, despite our habit of dismissing things that look irrational to us, or things that we cannot control.
The personal unconscious
Whereas the collective unconscious contains general and universal patterns, and is shared by everyone, its personal counterpart reflects the issues of particular individuals. It rests below the threshold of consciousness, and is fairly superficial. Each of us has our own version of the personal unconscious as a direct response to our unique life. Jung explains its existence by the fact that human consciousness cannot hold many things at once, and some inevitably end up being repressed, forgotten or subliminally perceived (CW 7: para. 205). Instead of forever disappearing, this content, which cannot be kept in the congested consciousness because of the lack of space, ends up in this depository of human experiences â the personal unconscious.
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If the collective unconscious is home to the archetypes, which are shared by everyone, the personal unconscious contains personal issues such as memories or complexes, which are unique (Jacobi, 1942: 37). A complex is a constellation of sensitive issues in an individual, âa centre of functional disturbance, which becomes virulent in certain external and internal situations, when it may totally upset the psychic balance and dominate the whole personalityâ (Jacobi, 1942: 36). Complexes vary from individual to individual: one person may viciously compete with their father; another is obsessed with submissive women he can control; someone else may feel like a superhero or a saviour; a fourth thinks she is Mother Teresa. Popular culture seems to like the narrative potential of complexes. Any of Marvelâs characters (for instance, Spider-Man, Iron Man or Hulk) may be described as possessing (and being possessed by) a complex which prevents them from feeling normal: anger complex, invincibility complex, etc.
Our personal unconscious makes itself known when, for instance, we have a dream about our boss whom we hate; when we suddenly feel an urge to call our elderly parents just to make sure they are fine; or when we catch a peripheral glimpse of an attractive person on the underground, and surreptitiously look again. Although transparent and fairly superficial, these impulses nevertheless are not fully digested and accepted by consciousness.
In all three cases, we may not even realize what we are doing, or why we are doing it. The information accompanying these events may not be fully available to consciousness. This is because we are trying to protect ourselves from unpleasant thoughts or emotional disasters; or perhaps this particular impulse or feeling is on its way to reach the threshold of consciousness, but is not yet there. In contrast with Freudâs famous view of subliminal contents as being caused by unpleasant and therefore repressed childhood experiences, Jung emphasizes that the hidden thoughts are not necessarily repressed thoughts â they may simply be not developed or ripe enough for us to understand, and are âwaitingâ for the right moment to become visible:
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According to this theory, the unconscious contains only those parts of the personality which could just as well be conscious, and have been suppressed only through the process of education. Although from one point of view the infantile tendencies of the unconscious are the most conspicuous, it would nonetheless be a mistake to define or evaluate the unconscious entirely in those terms. The unconscious has still another side to it: it includes not only repressed contents, but all psychic material that lies below the threshold of consciousness. It is impossible to explain the subliminal nature of all this material on the principle of repression.
(CW 7: para. 202â3)
Instead, Jung argues, some materials, such as an uncomfortable hunch or a pleasant sensation about a particular situation, âhave not yet reached the threshold of consciousnessâ (CW 7: para. 204). In this way, Jung adds a holistic dimension to the relationship between consciousness and the personal unconscious. They are simply engaging in dynamics, in a conversation; they are constantly managing and exchanging ideas, thoughts, feelings, premonitions, sensations, memories and intuitions.
In this way, we may dislike our boss but cannot express this hostility openly for fear of confrontation and possible damage. We may even lie to ourselves that she is likeable and has a range of positive qualities which offset the negative ones. Alternatively, we may not be aware of our feelings, and once this information reaches consciousness, we may take action â raise a complaint, confront the boss, or even resign.
We also love our parents and are afraid that they may die suddenly from a heart attack; perhaps we even feel guilty for not visiting them as often as we should. Or maybe the fear has nothing to do with repressed guilt, and is simply a realistic assessment of the situation by our personal unconscious. After all, we have to be prepared for all eventualities.
Finally, flirting with strangers on public transport is never a good idea as they are not likely to respond to our advances. On the other hand, we may simply not be aware of the impulse. Contents do not have to be repressed in order to be unconscious. They may just be waiting for the right moment to engage in a conversation with consciousness.
Jungâs Romantic vision of the psyche
Jungâs vision of the unconscious can be seen as ecological as well as in tune with nineteenth-century Romanticism, a movement that warned the Western world of the dangers of modernity and lamented the demise of nature and the ruination of beautiful rural landscapes caused by the Industrial Revolution. The Jungian philosopher Susan Rowland writes that âJung takes a Romantic sensibility into anxieties about modernity and popular cultureâ (Rowland, 2005: 12).
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Very much like the Romantics, Jung warns his readers about the dangers of modernity and urges them not to place too much confidence in the power of civilization and rationality. Consciousness, Jung maintains throughout his writings, is too self-assured. It tends to overestimate its own ability to handle instincts, feelings, emotions and projections. This overconfidence leads to inability to handle unconscious contents (dreams, fears, visions) when they arrive. Very often, these contents are simply repressed instead of being made conscious because âit suits our hypertrophied and hubristic modern consciousness not to be mindful of the dangerous autonomy of the unconscious and to treat it negatively as an absence of consciousnessâ (CW 11: para. 141). Here, once more, Jung identifies consciousness as the driver of modernity and warns against the possible consequences of over-reliance on the rational approach to internal and external worlds.
Yet, Jung does not just criticize consciousness for being too arrogant and modernity for being disrespectful towards mother nature. We need both, consciousness and the unconscious, to maintain the psychic balance. Without consciousness, âthings go less wellâ (CW 8: 695). Consciousness also makes us aware of the dangers of identification with other human beings â of mass projections when whole nations are swept by an ideology, or when âthe otherâ is made into a scapegoat and blamed for a particular nationâs failures. Consciousness makes it possible to analyse our feelings and emotions, and to disentangle them from those expressed by the people in our immediate environment or in mass media. It protects us from becoming âpart of the herd, from submersion into a common unconsciousnessâ (CW 10: para. 150). Every step i...