Excerpt
from
from
the Writings
of
C. G. Jung",
is drawn from
Chapter Five
of
"Aion:
Contributions
to the Symbolism
of the Self,
Bollingen Series XX,
Collected Works
of C. G. Jung,
Volume 9, Part II",
translated by
R.F.C. Hull,
1958?]
+
V.
of the Self
The
de-Christianization
of our world,
the Luciferian
development
of science
and technology,
and
the frightful
material
and
moral
destruction
left behind
by
the Second World War
have been compared
more than once
with
the eschatological
events
foretold
in
the New Testament.
These,
we know,
are concerned
with
the coming of
the Antichrist:
"This is
Antichrist,
who denieth
the Father
and the Son."
[Epistles
of St. John I: 2:22]
The Apocalypse
is full
of expectations
of terrible things
that
will take place
at
the end of time,
before
the marriage
of the Lamb.
This shows plainly
that
the anima christiana
has
a sure knowledge
not only
of the existence
of
an adversary
but also
of his future usurpation
of power.
Why --
my reader
will ask --
do I discourse
here
upon Christ
and
his adversary,
the Antichrist?
Our discourse
necessarily
brings us
to Christ,
because
he is
the still living
myth
of our culture.
He is
our
culture hero,
who,
regardless
of his
historical existence,
embodies
the myth
of
the divine
Primordial Man,
the mystic Adam.
It is he
who occupies
the center
of
the Christian mandala,
who is
the Lord
of the Tetramorph,
i.e., the four symbols
of the evangelists,
which are like
the four columns
of his throne.
He is
in us
and
we
in him.
His kingdom
is
'the pearl
of great price',
'the treasure
buried in the field',
'the grain
of mustard seed
which
will become
a great tree',
and
'the heavenly city'.
As Christ is
in us,
so also
is
his heavenly kingdom.
These few
familiar references
should be sufficient
to make
the psychological position
of
the Christ symbol
quite clear.
Christ
exemplifies
the archetype
of
the self.
He represents
a totality
of
a divine
or
heavenly kind,
a glorified man,
a son of God
sine macula peccati,
unspotted by sin.
As Adam
secundus
he
corresponds to
the first
Adam
before
the Fall,
when
the latter
was still
a pure image
of God,
of which
Tertullian says:
"And this
therefore
is to be
considered
as
the image
of God
in man,
that
the human spirit
has
the same
motions
and senses
as
God has,
though
not
in the same way
as God
has them."
Origen
is very much
more explicit:
The imago Dei
imprinted
on
the soul,
not
on the body,
is
an image
of
an image,
"for my soul
is not
directly
the image of God,
but
is made
after
the likeness
of
the former image.
Christ,
on
the other hand,
is
the true image
of God,
after whose
likeness
our inner man
is made,
invisible,
incorporeal,
incorrupt,
and immortal.
The God-image
in us
reveals itself
through
"prudentia, iustitia,
moderatio, virtus,
sapientia et disciplina."
[Prudence, Justice,
Moderation, Virtue,
Wisdom, and Discipline]
St. Augustine
distinguishes
between
the God-image
which
is Christ
and
the image
which is
implanted in man
as
a means
or possibility
of
becoming
like God.
The God-image
is not
in the corporeal man,
but
in
the anima rationalis
["reasoning spirit"],
the possession
of which
distinguishes man
from animals.
"The God-image
is within,
not
in the body ...
Where
the understanding is,
where
the mind is,
where
the power
of investigating Truth is,
there
God
has his image."
Therefore
we should
remind ourselves,
says Augustine,
that
we are fashioned
after
the image of God
nowhere
save
in the understanding.
"But
where man
knows himself
to be made
after
the image of God,
there he knows
there is
something more
in him
than
is given
to the beasts."
From this
it is clear
that
the God-image is,
so to speak,
identical with
the
anima rationalis.
The latter
is
the higher spiritual man,
the
homo coelesti
[Heavenly Man]
of St. Paul.
[First Corinthians 15:47]
Like Adam
before
the Fall,
Christ
is
an embodiment
of
the God-image,
whose totality
is
specially emphasized
by
St. Augustine.
"The Word,"
he says,
"took on
complete manhood,
as it were
in its fullness:
the soul
and
body
of a man.
And
if you would
have me
put it
more exactly --
since
even
a beast of the field
has
a "soul"
and a body --
when I say
a human soul
and
human flesh,
I mean
he
took upon him
a complete
human soul."
The God-image
in man
was not destroyed
by the Fall
but was
only damaged
and corrupted
("deformed"),
and
can be restored
through God's grace.
The scope
of the integration
is suggested by
the
descensus ad infernos,
the descent
of Christ's soul
to hell,
its work
of redemption
embracing
even the dead.
The psychological
equivalent
of this
is the integration
of
the collective
unconscious
which forms
an essential part
of
the individuation process.
St. Augustine
says:
"Therefore
our end
must be
our perfection,
but
our perfection
is Christ,"
since
he is
the perfect
God-image.
For this reason
he is also
called "King".
His bride (sponsa)
is
the human soul,
which
"in
an inwardly hidden
spiritual mystery
is
joined
to the Word,
that two
may be
one in flesh,"
to correspond
with
the mystic marriage
of
Christ and the Church.
Apart from
the continued
existence
of this
hieros gamos
in
the dogma
and rites
of the Church,
the symbolism
developed
in the course
of the Middle Ages
into the
alchemical conjunction
of opposites,
or
"chymical wedding",
thus
giving rise
on the one hand
to
the concept of
the lapis philosophorum,
signifying totality,
and
on the other hand
to the concept
of chemical combination.
The God-image
in man
that
was damaged
by
the first sin
can be
"reformed"
with
the help of God,
in accordance with
Romans 12:2:
"And be
not
conformed
to
this world,
but
be transformed
by
the renewal
of your mind,
that you
may prove
what is ...
the will of God."
(R.S.V.).
The totality images
which
the unconscious
produces
in the course
of
an individuation process
are similar
"reformations"
of an
a priori
archetype
(the mandala).
As I
have already
emphasized,
the spontaneous
symbols
of the self,
or
of wholeness,
cannot
in practice
be distinguished
from
a God-image.
Despite the word
metamorphousthe
("be transformed")
in
the Greek text
of
the above quotation,
the "renewal"
(anakainosis, reformatio)
of
the mind
is not meant
as
an actual alteration
of consciousness,
but rather
as the restoration
of
an original condition,
an apocatastasis
[a return to
the original state].
This is
in exact agreement
with
the empirical findings
of psychology,
that there is
an ever-present
archetype
of wholeness
which may
easily disappear
from
the purview
of consciousness
or
may never
be perceived at all
until
a consciousness
illuminated
by conversion
recognizes it
in the figure
of Christ.
As
a result of this
anamnesis
["a remembering"]
the original state
of oneness
with
the God-image
is restored.
It brings about
an integration,
a bridging
of the split
in the personality
caused by
the instincts
striving apart
in different
and
mutually contradictory
directions.
The only time
the split
does not occur
is when
a person is still
as
legitimately
unconscious
of
his instinctual life
as
an animal.
But it proves
harmful
and
impossible
to endure
when
an artificial
unconsciousness --
a repression --
no longer
reflects
the life
of the instincts.
There can be
no doubt
that
the original
Christian conception
of
the imago Dei
embodied
in Christ
meant
an all-embracing
totality
that
even includes
the animal side
of man.
Nevertheless
the Christ symbol
lacks
wholeness
in the modern
psychological sense,
since it
does not include
the dark side
of things
but
specifically
excludes it
in
the form of
a Luciferian opponent.
Although
the exclusion
of
the power of evil
was something
the Christian
consciousness
was
well aware of,
all it lost
in effect
was an
insubstantial shadow,
for,
through the doctrine
of
the privatio boni
[absence of good]
first propounded
by Origen,
evil
was characterized
as
a mere diminution of good
and thus
deprived of substance.
According to
the teachings
of the Church,
evil is simply
"The accidental
lack of perfection".
This assumption
resulted
in the proposition
omne bonum
a Deo,
omne malum
ab homine.
["All good
from God,
all evil
from man."]
Another
logical consequence
was
the subsequent
elimination
of the Devil
in certain
Protestant sects.
Thanks to
the doctrine
of
the privatio boni
[absence of good],
wholeness
seemed guaranteed
in
the figure of Christ.
One must,
however,
take evil
rather
more substantially
when
one meets it
on the plane
of
empirical psychology.
There
it is simply
the opposite
of good.
In the ancient world
the Gnostics,
whose arguments
were very much
influenced
by psychic experience,
tackled
the problem of evil
on a broader basis
than
the Church Fathers.
For instance,
one of the things
they taught
was
that Christ
"cast off
his shadow
from himself".
If we give this view
the weight
it deserves,
we can
easily recognize
the cut-off
counterpart
in the figure
of Antichrist.
The Antichrist
develops in legend
as
a perverse imitator
of Christ's life.
He is
a true
antimimon pneuma,
[counterfeit spirit]
an imitating spirit
of evil
who follows
in Christ's footsteps
like
a shadow
following
the body.
This complementing
of the bright
but
one-sided figure
of the Redeemer --
we even
find traces of it
in
the New Testament --
must be
of
especial significance.
And indeed,
considerable
attention
was paid to it
quite early.
If we see
the traditional
figure
of Christ
as a parallel
to
the psychic
manifestation
of
the self,
then
the Antichrist
would
correspond to
the shadow
of
the self,
namely,
the dark half
of
the human totality,
which
ought not to
be judged
too optimistically.
So far as we
can judge
from experience,
light and shadow
are
so evenly distributed
in man's nature
that
his
psychic totality
appears,
to say
the least of it,
in
a somewhat
murky light.
The psychological
concept
of the self,
in part derived
from
our knowledge
of
the whole man,
but
for the rest
depicting itself
spontaneously
in the products
of the unconscious
as
an archetypal
quaternity
[four part group]
bound together
by
inner antimonies,
cannot
omit the shadow
that
belongs to
the light figure,
for
without it
this figure
lacks body
and humanity.
In
the empirical self,
light and shadow
form
a paradoxical unity.
In
the Christian concept,
on
the other hand,
the archetype
is hopelessly split
into
two irreconcilable halves,
leading ultimately
to
a metaphysical
dualism --
the final separation
of
the kingdom of heaven
from
the fiery world
of the damned.
For anyone
who has
a positive attitude
towards
Christianity
the problem
of the Antichrist
is
a hard nut
to crack.
It is nothing less
than
the counterstroke
of the Devil,
provoked
by God's incarnation;
for
the Devil
attains
his true stature
as
the adversary
of Christ,
and hence
of God,
only after
the rise
of Christianity,
while
as late as
the Book of Job
he
was still
one of God's
sons
and
on familiar terms
with Yahweh.
Psychologically
the case
is clear,
since
the dogmatic figure
of Christ
is
so sublime
and spotless
that
everything else
turns dark
beside it.
It is, in fact,
so one-sidedly
perfect
that
it demands
a psychic complement
to
restore the balance.
This inevitable
opposition
led
very early
to the doctrine
of
the two sons
of God,
of whom
the elder
was called
Satanael.
The coming
of the Antichrist
is not just
a prophetic prediction --
it is
an inexorable
psychological law
whose existence,
though
unknown to the author
of
the Johannine Epistles,
brought him
a sure knowledge
of
the impending
enantiodromia
[rise of an
opposing force
to counter
the first].
Consequently
he wrote
as if he
were conscious
of
the inner necessity
for
this transformation,
though
we may be sure
that the idea
seemed to him
like
a Divine revelation.
In reality
every
intensified
differentiation
of
the Christ-image
brings about
a corresponding
accentuation
of its
unconscious
complement,
thereby
increasing
the tension
between
above and below.
In making
these statements
we are keeping
entirely within
the sphere
of
Christian psychology
and symbolism.
A factor
that
no one
has reckoned with,
however,
is
the fatality
inherent
in
the Christian
disposition itself
which leads
inevitably
to
a reversal
of its spirit --
not through
the obscure
workings of chance
but
in accordance
with
the psychological law.
The ideal
of spirituality
striving for
the heights
was
doomed to clash
with
the materialistic
earth-bound passion
to
conquer matter
and
master the world.
This change
became visible
at the time
of
the Renaissance.
The word means
"rebirth",
and
it referred to
the renewal
of
the antique spirit.
We know
today
that
this spirit
was chiefly
a mask;
it was not
the spirit of antiquity
that was reborn
but
the spirit
of medieval
Christianity,
which underwent
strange
pagan transformations,
exchanging
the heavenly goal
for an earthly one,
and
the vertical
of the Gothic style
for
the horizontal
of
world exploration
and
the investigation
of nature
(voyages
of discovery, etc.).
The subsequent
developments
that led to
the Enlightenment
and
the French Revolution
have produced
a world-wide situation
today
which
can only be called
"Antichristian"
in a sense
that
confirms
the early Christian
anticipation
of
the "end of time."
It is as if,
with
the coming
of Christ,
opposites
that were
latent
till then
had become
manifest,
or
as if
a pendulum
had swung
violently
to one side
and
were now
carrying out
the complementary
movement
in
the opposite direction.
No tree,
it is said,
can grow
to heaven
unless its roots
reach down
to hell.
The double meaning
of
this movement
lies in
the nature
of the pendulum.
Christ
is
without spot,
but
right at
the beginning of
his career
there occurs
the encounter
with Satan,
the Adversary,
who represents
the counter-pole
of that
tremendous tension
in the world psyche
which
Christ's advent
signified.
He is
the mysterium iniquitatis
["mystery of iniquity"]
that accompanies
the sol iustitiae
["sun of righteousness"]
as inseparably
as
the shadow
belongs to
the light,
in exactly
the same way,
so the Ebionites
[Jewish-Christian Gnostics]
and Euchites
[a Gnostic sect]
thought,
that
one brother
cleaves to
the other.
Both strive
for
a kingdom:
one for
the kingdom of heaven,
the other for
the
principatus huius mundi.
["the principles
of this world"]
We hear
of a reign
of
a "thousand years"
and of
a "coming
of the Antichrist"
just as if
a partition
of worlds
and epochs
had taken place
between
two royal brothers.
The meeting
with Satan
was
therefore
more than
mere chance;
it was
a link
in the chain.
[...]
+++
[Jung's
Chapter Five
("Christ,
a Symbol of the Self")
continues on,
although
this excerpt of it
must end here.]
+++
from
"Psyche and Symbol:
A Selectionfrom
the Writings
of
C. G. Jung",
edited
by
Violet S. de Laszlo,Doubleday Anchor Books,
New York, 1958[This
excerptis drawn from
Chapter Five
of
"Aion:
Contributions
to the Symbolism
of the Self,
Bollingen Series XX,
Collected Works
of C. G. Jung,
Volume 9, Part II",
translated by
R.F.C. Hull,
1958?]
+
V.
Christ,
a Symbolof the Self
The
de-Christianization
of our world,
the Luciferian
development
of science
and technology,
and
the frightful
material
and
moral
destruction
left behind
by
the Second World War
have been compared
more than once
with
the eschatological
events
foretold
in
the New Testament.
These,
we know,
are concerned
with
the coming of
the Antichrist:
"This is
Antichrist,
who denieth
the Father
and the Son."
[Epistles
of St. John I: 2:22]
The Apocalypse
is full
of expectations
of terrible things
that
will take place
at
the end of time,
before
the marriage
of the Lamb.
This shows plainly
that
the anima christiana
has
a sure knowledge
not only
of the existence
of
an adversary
but also
of his future usurpation
of power.
Why --
my reader
will ask --
do I discourse
here
upon Christ
and
his adversary,
the Antichrist?
Our discourse
necessarily
brings us
to Christ,
because
he is
the still living
myth
of our culture.
He is
our
culture hero,
who,
regardless
of his
historical existence,
embodies
the myth
of
the divine
Primordial Man,
the mystic Adam.
It is he
who occupies
the center
of
the Christian mandala,
who is
the Lord
of the Tetramorph,
i.e., the four symbols
of the evangelists,
which are like
the four columns
of his throne.
He is
in us
and
we
in him.
His kingdom
is
'the pearl
of great price',
'the treasure
buried in the field',
'the grain
of mustard seed
which
will become
a great tree',
and
'the heavenly city'.
As Christ is
in us,
so also
is
his heavenly kingdom.
These few
familiar references
should be sufficient
to make
the psychological position
of
the Christ symbol
quite clear.
Christ
exemplifies
the archetype
of
the self.
He represents
a totality
of
a divine
or
heavenly kind,
a glorified man,
a son of God
sine macula peccati,
unspotted by sin.
As Adam
secundus
he
corresponds to
the first
Adam
before
the Fall,
when
the latter
was still
a pure image
of God,
of which
Tertullian says:
"And this
therefore
is to be
considered
as
the image
of God
in man,
that
the human spirit
has
the same
motions
and senses
as
God has,
though
not
in the same way
as God
has them."
Origen
is very much
more explicit:
The imago Dei
imprinted
on
the soul,
not
on the body,
is
an image
of
an image,
"for my soul
is not
directly
the image of God,
but
is made
after
the likeness
of
the former image.
Christ,
on
the other hand,
is
the true image
of God,
after whose
likeness
our inner man
is made,
invisible,
incorporeal,
incorrupt,
and immortal.
The God-image
in us
reveals itself
through
"prudentia, iustitia,
moderatio, virtus,
sapientia et disciplina."
[Prudence, Justice,
Moderation, Virtue,
Wisdom, and Discipline]
St. Augustine
distinguishes
between
the God-image
which
is Christ
and
the image
which is
implanted in man
as
a means
or possibility
of
becoming
like God.
The God-image
is not
in the corporeal man,
but
in
the anima rationalis
["reasoning spirit"],
the possession
of which
distinguishes man
from animals.
"The God-image
is within,
not
in the body ...
Where
the understanding is,
where
the mind is,
where
the power
of investigating Truth is,
there
God
has his image."
Therefore
we should
remind ourselves,
says Augustine,
that
we are fashioned
after
the image of God
nowhere
save
in the understanding.
"But
where man
knows himself
to be made
after
the image of God,
there he knows
there is
something more
in him
than
is given
to the beasts."
From this
it is clear
that
the God-image is,
so to speak,
identical with
the
anima rationalis.
The latter
is
the higher spiritual man,
the
homo coelesti
[Heavenly Man]
of St. Paul.
[First Corinthians 15:47]
Like Adam
before
the Fall,
Christ
is
an embodiment
of
the God-image,
whose totality
is
specially emphasized
by
St. Augustine.
"The Word,"
he says,
"took on
complete manhood,
as it were
in its fullness:
the soul
and
body
of a man.
And
if you would
have me
put it
more exactly --
since
even
a beast of the field
has
a "soul"
and a body --
when I say
a human soul
and
human flesh,
I mean
he
took upon him
a complete
human soul."
The God-image
in man
was not destroyed
by the Fall
but was
only damaged
and corrupted
("deformed"),
and
can be restored
through God's grace.
The scope
of the integration
is suggested by
the
descensus ad infernos,
the descent
of Christ's soul
to hell,
its work
of redemption
embracing
even the dead.
The psychological
equivalent
of this
is the integration
of
the collective
unconscious
which forms
an essential part
of
the individuation process.
St. Augustine
says:
"Therefore
our end
must be
our perfection,
but
our perfection
is Christ,"
since
he is
the perfect
God-image.
For this reason
he is also
called "King".
His bride (sponsa)
is
the human soul,
which
"in
an inwardly hidden
spiritual mystery
is
joined
to the Word,
that two
may be
one in flesh,"
to correspond
with
the mystic marriage
of
Christ and the Church.
Apart from
the continued
existence
of this
hieros gamos
in
the dogma
and rites
of the Church,
the symbolism
developed
in the course
of the Middle Ages
into the
alchemical conjunction
of opposites,
or
"chymical wedding",
thus
giving rise
on the one hand
to
the concept of
the lapis philosophorum,
signifying totality,
and
on the other hand
to the concept
of chemical combination.
The God-image
in man
that
was damaged
by
the first sin
can be
"reformed"
with
the help of God,
in accordance with
Romans 12:2:
"And be
not
conformed
to
this world,
but
be transformed
by
the renewal
of your mind,
that you
may prove
what is ...
the will of God."
(R.S.V.).
The totality images
which
the unconscious
produces
in the course
of
an individuation process
are similar
"reformations"
of an
a priori
archetype
(the mandala).
As I
have already
emphasized,
the spontaneous
symbols
of the self,
or
of wholeness,
cannot
in practice
be distinguished
from
a God-image.
Despite the word
metamorphousthe
("be transformed")
in
the Greek text
of
the above quotation,
the "renewal"
(anakainosis, reformatio)
of
the mind
is not meant
as
an actual alteration
of consciousness,
but rather
as the restoration
of
an original condition,
an apocatastasis
[a return to
the original state].
This is
in exact agreement
with
the empirical findings
of psychology,
that there is
an ever-present
archetype
of wholeness
which may
easily disappear
from
the purview
of consciousness
or
may never
be perceived at all
until
a consciousness
illuminated
by conversion
recognizes it
in the figure
of Christ.
As
a result of this
anamnesis
["a remembering"]
the original state
of oneness
with
the God-image
is restored.
It brings about
an integration,
a bridging
of the split
in the personality
caused by
the instincts
striving apart
in different
and
mutually contradictory
directions.
The only time
the split
does not occur
is when
a person is still
as
legitimately
unconscious
of
his instinctual life
as
an animal.
But it proves
harmful
and
impossible
to endure
when
an artificial
unconsciousness --
a repression --
no longer
reflects
the life
of the instincts.
There can be
no doubt
that
the original
Christian conception
of
the imago Dei
embodied
in Christ
meant
an all-embracing
totality
that
even includes
the animal side
of man.
Nevertheless
the Christ symbol
lacks
wholeness
in the modern
psychological sense,
since it
does not include
the dark side
of things
but
specifically
excludes it
in
the form of
a Luciferian opponent.
Although
the exclusion
of
the power of evil
was something
the Christian
consciousness
was
well aware of,
all it lost
in effect
was an
insubstantial shadow,
for,
through the doctrine
of
the privatio boni
[absence of good]
first propounded
by Origen,
evil
was characterized
as
a mere diminution of good
and thus
deprived of substance.
According to
the teachings
of the Church,
evil is simply
"The accidental
lack of perfection".
This assumption
resulted
in the proposition
omne bonum
a Deo,
omne malum
ab homine.
["All good
from God,
all evil
from man."]
Another
logical consequence
was
the subsequent
elimination
of the Devil
in certain
Protestant sects.
Thanks to
the doctrine
of
the privatio boni
[absence of good],
wholeness
seemed guaranteed
in
the figure of Christ.
One must,
however,
take evil
rather
more substantially
when
one meets it
on the plane
of
empirical psychology.
There
it is simply
the opposite
of good.
In the ancient world
the Gnostics,
whose arguments
were very much
influenced
by psychic experience,
tackled
the problem of evil
on a broader basis
than
the Church Fathers.
For instance,
one of the things
they taught
was
that Christ
"cast off
his shadow
from himself".
If we give this view
the weight
it deserves,
we can
easily recognize
the cut-off
counterpart
in the figure
of Antichrist.
The Antichrist
develops in legend
as
a perverse imitator
of Christ's life.
He is
a true
antimimon pneuma,
[counterfeit spirit]
an imitating spirit
of evil
who follows
in Christ's footsteps
like
a shadow
following
the body.
This complementing
of the bright
but
one-sided figure
of the Redeemer --
we even
find traces of it
in
the New Testament --
must be
of
especial significance.
And indeed,
considerable
attention
was paid to it
quite early.
If we see
the traditional
figure
of Christ
as a parallel
to
the psychic
manifestation
of
the self,
then
the Antichrist
would
correspond to
the shadow
of
the self,
namely,
the dark half
of
the human totality,
which
ought not to
be judged
too optimistically.
So far as we
can judge
from experience,
light and shadow
are
so evenly distributed
in man's nature
that
his
psychic totality
appears,
to say
the least of it,
in
a somewhat
murky light.
The psychological
concept
of the self,
in part derived
from
our knowledge
of
the whole man,
but
for the rest
depicting itself
spontaneously
in the products
of the unconscious
as
an archetypal
quaternity
[four part group]
bound together
by
inner antimonies,
cannot
omit the shadow
that
belongs to
the light figure,
for
without it
this figure
lacks body
and humanity.
In
the empirical self,
light and shadow
form
a paradoxical unity.
In
the Christian concept,
on
the other hand,
the archetype
is hopelessly split
into
two irreconcilable halves,
leading ultimately
to
a metaphysical
dualism --
the final separation
of
the kingdom of heaven
from
the fiery world
of the damned.
For anyone
who has
a positive attitude
towards
Christianity
the problem
of the Antichrist
is
a hard nut
to crack.
It is nothing less
than
the counterstroke
of the Devil,
provoked
by God's incarnation;
for
the Devil
attains
his true stature
as
the adversary
of Christ,
and hence
of God,
only after
the rise
of Christianity,
while
as late as
the Book of Job
he
was still
one of God's
sons
and
on familiar terms
with Yahweh.
Psychologically
the case
is clear,
since
the dogmatic figure
of Christ
is
so sublime
and spotless
that
everything else
turns dark
beside it.
It is, in fact,
so one-sidedly
perfect
that
it demands
a psychic complement
to
restore the balance.
This inevitable
opposition
led
very early
to the doctrine
of
the two sons
of God,
of whom
the elder
was called
Satanael.
The coming
of the Antichrist
is not just
a prophetic prediction --
it is
an inexorable
psychological law
whose existence,
though
unknown to the author
of
the Johannine Epistles,
brought him
a sure knowledge
of
the impending
enantiodromia
[rise of an
opposing force
to counter
the first].
Consequently
he wrote
as if he
were conscious
of
the inner necessity
for
this transformation,
though
we may be sure
that the idea
seemed to him
like
a Divine revelation.
In reality
every
intensified
differentiation
of
the Christ-image
brings about
a corresponding
accentuation
of its
unconscious
complement,
thereby
increasing
the tension
between
above and below.
In making
these statements
we are keeping
entirely within
the sphere
of
Christian psychology
and symbolism.
A factor
that
no one
has reckoned with,
however,
is
the fatality
inherent
in
the Christian
disposition itself
which leads
inevitably
to
a reversal
of its spirit --
not through
the obscure
workings of chance
but
in accordance
with
the psychological law.
The ideal
of spirituality
striving for
the heights
was
doomed to clash
with
the materialistic
earth-bound passion
to
conquer matter
and
master the world.
This change
became visible
at the time
of
the Renaissance.
The word means
"rebirth",
and
it referred to
the renewal
of
the antique spirit.
We know
today
that
this spirit
was chiefly
a mask;
it was not
the spirit of antiquity
that was reborn
but
the spirit
of medieval
Christianity,
which underwent
strange
pagan transformations,
exchanging
the heavenly goal
for an earthly one,
and
the vertical
of the Gothic style
for
the horizontal
of
world exploration
and
the investigation
of nature
(voyages
of discovery, etc.).
The subsequent
developments
that led to
the Enlightenment
and
the French Revolution
have produced
a world-wide situation
today
which
can only be called
"Antichristian"
in a sense
that
confirms
the early Christian
anticipation
of
the "end of time."
It is as if,
with
the coming
of Christ,
opposites
that were
latent
till then
had become
manifest,
or
as if
a pendulum
had swung
violently
to one side
and
were now
carrying out
the complementary
movement
in
the opposite direction.
No tree,
it is said,
can grow
to heaven
unless its roots
reach down
to hell.
The double meaning
of
this movement
lies in
the nature
of the pendulum.
Christ
is
without spot,
but
right at
the beginning of
his career
there occurs
the encounter
with Satan,
the Adversary,
who represents
the counter-pole
of that
tremendous tension
in the world psyche
which
Christ's advent
signified.
He is
the mysterium iniquitatis
["mystery of iniquity"]
that accompanies
the sol iustitiae
["sun of righteousness"]
as inseparably
as
the shadow
belongs to
the light,
in exactly
the same way,
so the Ebionites
[Jewish-Christian Gnostics]
and Euchites
[a Gnostic sect]
thought,
that
one brother
cleaves to
the other.
Both strive
for
a kingdom:
one for
the kingdom of heaven,
the other for
the
principatus huius mundi.
["the principles
of this world"]
We hear
of a reign
of
a "thousand years"
and of
a "coming
of the Antichrist"
just as if
a partition
of worlds
and epochs
had taken place
between
two royal brothers.
The meeting
with Satan
was
therefore
more than
mere chance;
it was
a link
in the chain.
[...]
+++
[Jung's
Chapter Five
("Christ,
a Symbol of the Self")
continues on,
although
this excerpt of it
must end here.]
+++
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