Nietzsche e Jung: União de Opostos - Outros (2025)

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<p>d d d</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung considers the thought and personalities of two icons of</p><p>twentieth century philosophical and psychological thought, and reveals the</p><p>extraordinary connections between them.</p><p>Through a thorough examination of their work, Nietzsche & Jung succeeds in</p><p>illuminating complex areas of Nietzsche’s thought and resolving ambiguities</p><p>in Jung’s reception of these theories. The location and analysis of the role played</p><p>by opposites in the whole self according to Jung is considered, revealing the full</p><p>extent of Nietzsche’s influence. This rigorous and original analysis of Jungian</p><p>theory and its philosophical roots, supported by Jung’s seminars on Nietzsche’s</p><p>Zarathustra, leads to the development of a fresh interpretation of the theories</p><p>of both. The shared model of selfhood is put into practice as the personalities of</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung are evaluated according to the other’s criteria for mental</p><p>health, attempting to determine whether Nietzsche and Jung were themselves</p><p>whole.</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung demonstrates how our understanding of analytical</p><p>psychology can be enriched by investigating its philosophical roots, and considers</p><p>whether the whole self is a realistic possibility for each of us. This book will prove</p><p>fascinating reading for students in psychology, philosophy and religion as well as</p><p>practicing Jungian analysts.</p><p>Lucy Huskinson is a fellow of the Centre for Psychoanalytic Studies, University</p><p>of Essex. She has contributed articles for the Journal of Analytical Psychology and</p><p>Harvest Journal for Jungian Studies.</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung</p><p>The Whole Self in the Union of</p><p>Opposites</p><p>Lucy Huskinson</p><p>First published 2004 by Brunner-Routledge</p><p>27 Church Road, Hove, East Sussex BN3 2FA</p><p>Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada</p><p>by Brunner-Routledge</p><p>29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001</p><p>Brunner-Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group</p><p>© 2004 Lucy Huskinson</p><p>Typeset in Times by Keystroke, Jacaranda Lodge, Wolverhampton</p><p>Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow, Cornwall</p><p>Cover design by Hybert Design</p><p>All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced</p><p>or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means,</p><p>now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording,</p><p>or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in</p><p>writing from the publishers.</p><p>This publication has been produced with paper manufactured to strict</p><p>environmental standards and with pulp derived from sustainable forests.</p><p>British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data</p><p>A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library</p><p>Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data</p><p>Huskinson, Lucy, 1976–</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung : the whole self in the union of opposites / Lucy Huskinson.</p><p>p. cm.</p><p>Includes bibliographical references and index.</p><p>ISBN 1–58391–832–9 (hardback : alk. paper) — ISBN 1-58391-833-7</p><p>(pbk. : alk. paper)</p><p>1. Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, 1844–1900. 2. Jung, C. G. (Carl Gustav),</p><p>1875–1961. I. Title.</p><p>B3317.H87 2004</p><p>193—dc22</p><p>2004003889</p><p>ISBN 1-58391-832-9 (Hbk)</p><p>ISBN 1-58391-833-7 (Pbk)</p><p>This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004.</p><p>ISBN 0-203-50829-7 Master e-book ISBN</p><p>ISBN 0-203-59356-1 (Adobe eReader Format)</p><p>For David</p><p>My other half</p><p>With love</p><p>Contents</p><p>Preface ix</p><p>Abbreviations xiii</p><p>1 Introduction 1</p><p>PART I</p><p>Opposites in the whole self 9</p><p>2 Opposites in early Nietzsche: metaphysical, aesthetic and</p><p>psychological opposites 11</p><p>3 Opposites in Nietzsche post-1878: the denial of metaphysical</p><p>opposites 20</p><p>4 The Übermensch as a union of opposites 28</p><p>5 Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 35</p><p>6 The Self as a union of opposites 56</p><p>PART II</p><p>The potential influence of Nietzsche’s model on</p><p>that of Jung 67</p><p>7 The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung: the process</p><p>of uniting opposites 69</p><p>8 The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung: the whole</p><p>self in the union of opposites 87</p><p>PART III</p><p>Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model 107</p><p>9 Nietzsche’s madness: a Jungian critique of Nietzsche’s model 109</p><p>10 Nietzsche’s absolution: a metacritique of Jung’s critique of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model 122</p><p>11 Jung’s shadow: the ambiguities of Jung’s reception of</p><p>Nietzsche resolved 133</p><p>12 Jung’s madness: a Nietzschean critique of Jung’s model 151</p><p>PART IV</p><p>Conclusion 159</p><p>13 Whole selves: Nietzsche’s influence on Jung revisited 161</p><p>Notes 174</p><p>Bibliography 217</p><p>Index 229</p><p>viii Contents</p><p>Preface</p><p>I have left the writing of this preface to the end, and it has proved very tricky</p><p>to write, as I have found it surprisingly difficult to detach myself from the</p><p>content of this work and regard it as a finished product. This book is based on</p><p>my doctoral thesis, and the greater part of it was written immediately after my</p><p>doctoral examination. I therefore feel that I have been living and breathing its</p><p>pages for an exceptionally long time, and with its completion comes the personal</p><p>acknowledgement that my lively time as a university student is over. This book</p><p>has found its way through countless revisions, supervisory boards, conference</p><p>papers and sessions of ‘liquid compensation’ in the university bar. Indeed, I am</p><p>not certain at what point I decided to start writing it. Its conception had been</p><p>developing gradually through the different stages of my studies at the University</p><p>of Essex. And it is to the people who have contributed most to my learning during</p><p>this period (both academic and otherwise) that I wish to acknowledge my debt and</p><p>gratitude.</p><p>I came to the University of Essex in October 1995 to read Philosophy. The two</p><p>highlights of my studies were Freud and Nietzsche. At the time my enthusiasm for</p><p>Freud was impressive (more so than for Nietzsche, which had been somewhat</p><p>compromised by the fact that my undergraduate course was restricted to his</p><p>‘middle period’ – to Daybreak, Human, All Too Human and The Gay Science). My</p><p>studies on Freud led to a master’s degree in Psychoanalytic Studies in September</p><p>1998. It was here that I first came across Jungian theory. The more I read of Jung,</p><p>the more I thought back to Nietzsche, and I was surprised that I was quite alone</p><p>in making the connection. For me, the Jungian Self was clearly a reformulation of</p><p>the Nietzschean Übermensch. Under the supervision of Roderick Main I wrote my</p><p>dissertation on their similarities, which I soon discovered were vaster than I had</p><p>anticipated. I decided then to focus on the role of opposites in their projects, with</p><p>the greater focus on Jung.</p><p>In October 1999 I began my doctoral dissertation, Nietzsche and Jung: The</p><p>Whole Self in the Union of Opposites, back in the Philosophy Department, under</p><p>the joint supervision of Simon Critchley and Roderick Main. Near the beginning</p><p>of my research I became interested in the ambivalent usage of philosophical</p><p>criticism when applied to Jungian thought – how it can at once elucidate and distort</p><p>Jungian theory. This led me to write ‘The Self as Violent Other: The Problem of</p><p>Defining the Self’, Journal of Analytical Psychology, 2002. I think the writing</p><p>of this article displaced the general frustrations I would have otherwise felt when</p><p>writing the doctoral thesis – it was excruciating, while my doctoral thesis seemed</p><p>to flow.</p><p>My doctoral thesis was examined in 2003 by Stephen Houlgate (University</p><p>of Warwick) and Renos Papadopoulous (University of Essex), and I thank</p><p>them both for their constructive comments and invaluable insights, most of which</p><p>I have incorporated within this work. Most importantly, I want to thank Roderick</p><p>Main, who has been a scrupulous supervisor of my work throughout; I thank</p><p>him for his meticulous concern for detail, his encouragement and general top-</p><p>notch conversation. I also want to record a special thank you to Paul Bishop for</p><p>his correspondence when writing my doctoral thesis, and for his all-round good</p><p>sense of humour. The following people deserve a special mention for their indirect</p><p>contributions to the realization</p><p>the origin of his highly valued things, and in BGE he argues that the</p><p>metaphysician’s fundamental concern is to keep these valued things uncorrupted,</p><p>and thus unconnected to things of a lower value. The role of opposites changes in</p><p>these two accounts. In HAH the metaphysician’s belief in opposites is an innocent,</p><p>intellectual mistake based on insufficient observation; but in BGE it is an attempt</p><p>to express certain disputable value judgements. Things of the highest value are</p><p>supposed to be contaminated by things of a lower value; the metaphysical world</p><p>keeps the higher and lower values apart.</p><p>Nietzsche wants to be rid of the notions of the metaphysical world and of</p><p>objective, rigid opposites, for they promote a conception of the world that is both</p><p>false and ascetic. These notions, according to Nietzsche, are hostile to his inter-</p><p>pretation of life as a painful, fleeting world of becoming, for they overemphasize</p><p>objectivity and stability and that which has become. While the metaphysician</p><p>regards temporality as inferior to permanence, Nietzsche holds the inverse view.</p><p>For Nietzsche, all things are finite; they will be destroyed and replaced by other</p><p>things again and again; and the metaphysical unchanging world is a mere fiction</p><p>designed to protect the individual from the suffering that this continual destruction</p><p>brings. According to Nietzsche, it is individuals’ sense-experience that leads</p><p>them to believe that things in life are regular and stable; their language then goes</p><p>beyond this experience and strengthens the impression of regularity and stability</p><p>by abstracting from individual circumstances and describing them in terms of</p><p>universal qualities and properties. Language therefore falsifies life by simplifying</p><p>its complexities and distorting its unique character. Language, for Nietzsche,</p><p>is unable to express the instability of life: ‘Linguistic means of expression are</p><p>useless for expressing “becoming”; it accords with our inevitable need to preserve</p><p>ourselves to posit a crude world of stability, of “things”, etc.’ (WP, 715). Language</p><p>creates the illusion that there is a stable distinction between a subject and its</p><p>properties or activities; but for Nietzsche there exists only the chaotic array of</p><p>complex and unstable relations and activities, and these cannot be made into a</p><p>coherent structured whole. Truth therefore becomes a contentious issue for</p><p>Nietzsche, since life cannot be accurately represented by linguistic consciousness.</p><p>‘Truth’ must be interpreted as a hoard of metaphors, anthropomorphisms and</p><p>relative perceptions that over time have come to be seen as objective and binding.</p><p>According to Nietzsche, we must not seek knowledge of life that is a priori and</p><p>metaphysical; rather, we must seek experience of life and our own interpretation</p><p>of the world. We arrive at an interpretation through our feelings, sensations and</p><p>intuitions, and these constitute what is fundamentally ‘real’. If we are attentive</p><p>enough, we can sense these instincts to be more authentic and fundamental to life</p><p>than structured language.</p><p>Nietzsche’s ontology is intended to be non-metaphysical. While the meta-</p><p>physician’s language is literal and truth-seeking, Nietzsche’s is metaphorical; and</p><p>while the metaphysician’s conception of reality is static, unified and concerned</p><p>with being, Nietzsche’s is dynamic, pluralistic and concerned with becoming.</p><p>Opposites in Nietzsche post-1878 23</p><p>However, by making a distinction such as that between being and becoming, can</p><p>we not consider Nietzsche to be a metaphysician himself? Both Adorno and</p><p>Derrida claim that Nietzsche failed to recognize that, by operating with such</p><p>oppositional terms, he has retained metaphysical structures of thought. Adorno</p><p>writes: ‘By positing chaos in opposition to stability, Nietzsche’s critique fails to</p><p>reflect upon the metaphysical grounding of such an opposition’ (cited in Bauer,</p><p>1999, p. 83). Derrida writes:</p><p>There is no sense in doing without the concepts of metaphysics in order to</p><p>attack metaphysics. We have no language – no syntax and no lexicon – which</p><p>is alien to that history [of metaphysics]; we cannot utter a single destructive</p><p>proposition which has not already slipped into the forum, the logic, and the</p><p>implicit postulation of precisely what it seeks to contest.</p><p>(Derrida, 1978, p. 280)6</p><p>Furthermore, the very style of language that Nietzsche employs expresses</p><p>the opposites that we see it reject. Nietzsche’s use of aphorisms present arguments</p><p>that are contradicted time and time again; it is as if Nietzsche adopts opposition in</p><p>order to reject the confinement of committing himself to one fixed interpretation</p><p>of the world. By shifting from one perspective or interpretation to another, and</p><p>undermining positions he held elsewhere, Nietzsche is preserving the ‘fascination</p><p>of the opposing point of view’ (WP, 470).7 It would seem that Nietzsche cannot</p><p>reject metaphysical opposites without falling into contradiction and incon-</p><p>sistency.8</p><p>Nietzsche’s thought seems to be incoherent and contradictory, for he promotes</p><p>opposites at the same time as explicitly rejecting them. For example, he tells us</p><p>that great men develop through the ‘feelings’ that the ‘presence of opposites’</p><p>occasion (WP, 967); yet to see opposites in nature is ‘the imprecise way of observ-</p><p>ing’ nature (WS, 67). However, incoherence is avoided when different notions of</p><p>oppositional thought are identified. I believe that Nietzsche is not attempting</p><p>in HAH and BGE to destroy opposites altogether. (If he tried to do so he would be</p><p>setting up a value or system of thought in opposition to his own.) He is concerned,</p><p>rather, with the destruction of a particular notion of opposites. Nietzsche wants to</p><p>reject opposites that have an a priori, objective, static structure that exists</p><p>independently of the human being. These express the ascetic ideal and dictate</p><p>standards of value to the human being independently of his will; they inform him</p><p>that a certain thing is good but its opposite is not, and then insist that he choose</p><p>the former at the expense of the latter. Not all opposites presuppose a metaphys-</p><p>ical world that is beyond man, however. Nietzsche does not reject those opposites</p><p>that are essentially ‘anti-ascetic’, that value the human being as the source of</p><p>meaning. Indeed, opposites are promoted by Nietzsche if they represent the human</p><p>being as intrinsically valuable, and both elements in the opposition can be</p><p>experienced and actively affirmed: if only one element in the binary pair is</p><p>experienced and affirmed, then Nietzsche will reject the opposition.</p><p>24 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>Nietzsche’s refutation of metaphysics and its oppositions in favour of experi-</p><p>enceable, life-affirming opposition represents his ‘revaluation of values’. Meaning</p><p>is no longer sought as objective a priori truth, but is subjectively determined,</p><p>derived from a posteriori experience. According to Nietzsche, the only source</p><p>of authentic meaning is that of the instincts: ‘Nothing is “given” as real except</p><p>our world of desires and passions, that we can rise or sink to no other ‘reality’</p><p>than the reality of our drives’ (BGE, 36; cf. WP, 619). We are nothing more than</p><p>this natural ‘inner occurrence’ of primitive and sublimated bodily desires. We can</p><p>never fully know the content and character of these sensations. When we believe</p><p>we are following the logic of our interpretations, by the inherent rational connec-</p><p>tions between ideas, we are merely the victim of our anonymous conflicting</p><p>instincts, each of which is trying to assert its authority over the other, so that our</p><p>most valuable convictions are merely the ‘judgements of our muscles’ (WP, 314).</p><p>To be an individual is continually to wage the battle for supremacy as Will</p><p>to Power. Multitudes of opposing instincts in their dynamic conflict generate</p><p>energy to enforce unstable relationships of domination and subordination. These</p><p>shifting relations form the tenuous ‘hierarchy’ (Deleuze, 1983, p. 40) of values that</p><p>determine the characteristics of our individuality.</p><p>The individual is essentially</p><p>taking ‘sides against himself’ (AOM, preface 4) and is ‘torn back and forth</p><p>by conflicting motives’ (HAH, 107). In the establishment of the most power-</p><p>ful motive, we each have the potential to exhibit an almost infinite number</p><p>of characteristics, depending on the number of opposing instincts within our</p><p>psychological make-up and their hierarchical configuration. In contrast to the</p><p>metaphysician’s promotion of unity, Nietzsche prefers the multiple dynamic self.</p><p>He is ‘happy to harbour in himself not an “immortal soul”, which is a fixed unity</p><p>without change and without diversity, but many souls’ (AOM, 17). Individuals are</p><p>not determined by a metaphysical identity within or beyond them, but by physical</p><p>drives; any desire they may entertain for an immortal world of eternal truth is the</p><p>result of sublimated ‘spiritual’ drives, which ultimately express an all-too-human</p><p>phobia of death and destruction. Likewise,</p><p>Between good and evil actions there is no difference in kind, but at the most</p><p>one of degree. Good actions are sublimated evil ones; evil actions are</p><p>coarsened brutalized good ones.</p><p>(HAH, 107)</p><p>In renouncing the concrete antithesis of good and evil Nietzsche embraced the</p><p>subjectively determined opposition of good and bad, thereby rejecting meta-</p><p>physical value for the instinctual.</p><p>If individuals depend upon fixed values and a single interpretation of the</p><p>world, believing this to be the only permanent and unequivocal reality, they will</p><p>relinquish the need to look for new interpretations, and their creative instincts</p><p>will atrophy. To avoid such deterioration Nietzsche seeks an affirmation of the</p><p>greatest multiplicity of conflicting views and interpretations, for</p><p>Opposites in Nietzsche post-1878 25</p><p>the highest man would have the greatest multiplicity of drives, in the relatively</p><p>greatest strength that can be endured. Indeed, where the plant ‘man’ shows</p><p>himself strongest one finds instincts that conflict powerfully . . . but are</p><p>controlled.</p><p>(WP, 966)</p><p>A rich diversity of interpretations will be achieved when individuals promote</p><p>the Will to Power of conflicting instincts within them, for ‘the definite and to us</p><p>seemingly persistent qualities express only the momentary predominance of the</p><p>one fighter, but with that the war is not at an end; the wrestling continues to all</p><p>eternity’, continually producing more and more interpretations (PTAG, 5).</p><p>The change in Nietzsche’s thought about opposites is great. Perhaps the most</p><p>significant change is that the individual replaces the metaphysical world as the</p><p>standard for all meaning and value. This radical alteration in Nietzsche’s thought</p><p>is reflected in a variety of departures from his early account of opposites. The</p><p>tragic attitude, for example, is reinterpreted; the individual should no longer seek</p><p>to flee into a transcendent realm to escape confrontation with terrible reality, but</p><p>must now learn to find joy in that confrontation itself. The tragic attitude is now</p><p>equated with the heroism that revels in its own strength, which is powerful enough</p><p>to endure its confrontation with Dionysus. This attitude is a ‘pessimism of</p><p>strength’ that boldly confronts the inevitability of destruction and affirms this</p><p>destruction as a means to further heroic activity; suffering becomes valuable, for</p><p>it proves the worth of the tragic individual who endures it. The revised tragic</p><p>attitude does not make aestheticism necessary for the individual’s salvation from</p><p>terrible reality. According to early Nietzsche, art enables individuals to accept the</p><p>temporality of their existence by moving them to a psychological attitude that</p><p>regards life as intrinsically valuable despite the pains involved. According to</p><p>Nietzsche’s revised model, the psyche does not require art – in its capacity to veil</p><p>the harshness of reality – for its affirmation, as it is reliant only on its own energetic</p><p>strength.9 When they are at their most antagonistic, psychological opposites</p><p>provide individuals with the strength to relate to the world around them and</p><p>ultimately to affirm their temporal existence. We could therefore say that psycho-</p><p>logical opposition replaces aestheticism as mankind’s salvation. Psychological</p><p>opposition unites man with nature, not in terms of a ‘metaphysical comfort’ (BT,</p><p>17) that enables him to transcend humanity and become ‘primordial being itself’,</p><p>but by their common composition, of contradictory elements that are in continual</p><p>flux.</p><p>In accordance with the revision of the tragic attitude, the ‘internal structure’ of</p><p>tragedy – its Apollinian and Dionysian make-up – must also be revised. As</p><p>psychological impulses, the Apollinian and Dionysian require no further revision:</p><p>the Apollinian conscious feeling of being distinct from one’s environment, and the</p><p>Dionysian conscious feeling of being conjoined with the rest of reality, can stand.</p><p>But since psychology is now the only acceptable mode in which the Apollinian</p><p>and Dionysian impulses can be manifest, as metaphysical conditions of existence</p><p>26 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>they must be rejected. The Apollinian cannot establish the a priori determinations</p><p>of space, time and causality that make experience possible; neither can the</p><p>Dionysian be equivalent to the very essence of reality and the means by which the</p><p>individual can be conjoined to it. The Apollinian and Dionysian are diametrically</p><p>opposed psychological impulses: they do not determine different objective</p><p>realities outside the individual; they determine different subjective ‘feelings’</p><p>within the individual.</p><p>Nietzsche is not guilty of contradiction when he simultaneously rejects and</p><p>endorses opposites because, as we have seen, his rejection applies only to those</p><p>opposites that are static and ascetic in their presupposition of an objective world</p><p>above and beyond the individual. Psychological opposites are not in this category:</p><p>they are relative and in continual flux. Psychological opposites compete for</p><p>conscious expression; one will dominate, but this is only temporary, for their battle</p><p>is ongoing; the hierarchy is not static, it will change as the individual’s intuitions</p><p>and feelings change.</p><p>In Chapters 2 and 3 we have seen that opposites are significant to Nietzsche’s</p><p>thought. We have seen that Nietzsche values the creative tension that is generated</p><p>in the competition between opposites. Implicit within our discussion has been the</p><p>beginnings of a Nietzschean project or vision of human authenticity. For Nietzsche</p><p>praises powerful individuals who are able to harness the greatest tensions, for they</p><p>are able not only to endure, but also to rejoice in the suffering and terror of the</p><p>fleeting temporality of life. In Chapter 4 I shall describe Nietzsche’s vision of</p><p>human greatness. In particular we shall see how greatness is equated with</p><p>wholeness, and how competing opposites are celebrated in Nietzsche’s notion of</p><p>the whole self, the Übermensch.</p><p>Opposites in Nietzsche post-1878 27</p><p>Chapter 4</p><p>The Übermensch as a union of</p><p>opposites</p><p>Nietzsche does not explain in detail what he means by the Übermensch. This</p><p>scarcity of explanation, and wanton vagueness, has led to multiple interpretations</p><p>of what he might have had in mind, some of which are fanciful and even absurd.1</p><p>It is therefore essential that any attempt at an explanation be kept in check and</p><p>correspond appropriately to such meagre and piecemeal textual evidence as there</p><p>is. The fragments that Nietzsche provides imply a submerged richness of thought,</p><p>but we are denied any further insight into this thought, which is frustrating. Keith</p><p>May takes the sense of frustration further by maintaining that Nietzsche himself</p><p>does not know what the Übermensch means (May, 1990, pp. 167–168). Kurt</p><p>Rudolph Fischer, however, claims that this frustration and lack of definition are</p><p>necessary aspects of the Übermensch, for ‘it is part of the determination of the</p><p>“Übermensch” not to be determined’ (cited in Aschheim, 1992, p. 8).</p><p>It is in Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883) that the fragmentary description</p><p>of the</p><p>Übermensch appears. After this work, the term Übermensch does not appear again</p><p>in Nietzsche’s works except in Ecce Homo (1888), where he writes more about</p><p>TSZ than any of his other books. In his allusion to TSZ Nietzsche writes: ‘Here</p><p>man is overcome at every moment, the concept “superman” here becomes the</p><p>greatest reality’ (EH, ‘TSZ’, 6). Nietzsche chooses ‘Zarathustra’ as the prophet of</p><p>the Übermensch because he</p><p>was the first to see in the struggle between good and evil the essential wheel</p><p>in the working of things . . . Zarathustra created the most portentous error,</p><p>morality. Consequently he should also be the first to perceive that error.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 5n)</p><p>Zarathustra is thus seen by Nietzsche as having invented the opposites of good and</p><p>evil and then as having come back to try to unite them. Zarathustra returns</p><p>to improve on his former invention; in particular, to resolve the conflict between</p><p>good and evil because Christianity cannot do it. In TSZ, we see the Christian</p><p>point of view represented by the old man in the forest, who has no contact with the</p><p>world and with humanity (TSZ, prologue, 2). Because Christianity is no longer in</p><p>touch with the world, Zarathustra must be reborn; he must come back to show that</p><p>God is dead and that there is no difference between good and evil. His aspira-</p><p>tion is, therefore, to overcome the opposites of good and evil from a standpoint</p><p>that is beyond the opposites: he seeks a unification of opposites. Nietzsche saw in</p><p>Zarathustra the first one to make mankind conscious of itself. For, as we saw</p><p>in Chapters 2 and 3, it is Nietzsche’s claim that the individual needs to promote</p><p>conflict and opposition within himself if he is to aspire to greatness and fruition</p><p>(TI, ‘Morality as Anti-nature’, 3); and now Zarathustra explicitly proclaims</p><p>that ‘one must have chaos in one’ (TSZ, prologue, 5). Zarathustra is going to teach</p><p>the opposites; he will teach both wise and poor men ‘until the wise among</p><p>men have again become happy in their folly and the poor happy in their wealth’</p><p>(TSZ, prologue, 1). He is going to redress the balance; he is going to destroy a one-</p><p>sided outright dominance and replace it with a competitive opposition, a creative</p><p>tension that seeks strength in growth and productivity over that which seeks</p><p>strength in sheer magnitude. Zarathustra is going to turn one element into two</p><p>opposing elements, not in order to separate the two, but in order that they may be</p><p>complementary to one another and seek unification – a unification that, as we saw</p><p>in Chapter 2, following Heraclitus’ model of polarity, is ‘the diverging of a force</p><p>into two qualitatively different opposed activities that seek to reunite’ (PTAG, 5).</p><p>Christianity failed, therefore, because it promoted the metaphysical model of static</p><p>opposites, so that ‘good’ and ‘evil’ never sought unification. The thought of</p><p>Zarathustra and Christianity are in direct opposition. Zarathustra is the ‘dancing</p><p>star’ (TSZ, prologue, 5) who is fully conscious of his body and makes good use</p><p>of the conflict of which it is composed, while the Christian is defined by rigidity</p><p>and is taught to mortify and repress the flesh, so that he is divided and alienated</p><p>from his very humanity. The Übermensch that Zarathustra proclaims is not</p><p>like the Christian who promotes opposition and division against himself, thereby</p><p>promoting one side of his humanity and alienating another; rather the Übermensch</p><p>promotes opposition within himself (WP 966), thereby promoting every con-</p><p>flicting aspect of his humanity.</p><p>The Übermensch is anticipated in the thought of early Nietzsche, for it is the</p><p>Dionysian impulse that enables ‘nature which has become alienated, hostile,</p><p>or subjugated’ to celebrate ‘once more her reconciliation with her lost son, man’</p><p>(BT, 1). In complete contrast to Christianity, with its need to alienate man from</p><p>nature, the Übermensch proclaims: ‘Learn to become nature again yourselves</p><p>and then with and in nature let yourselves be transformed’ (UM, IV, 6). The</p><p>Übermensch is identified with nature itself, a ‘Dionysian’ nature. The Übermensch</p><p>is the one who has identified with primary unity, its pain and contradiction and</p><p>thereby ‘suffers in his own person the primordial contradiction that is concealed</p><p>in things’ (BT, 9). He is a tragic figure, or a tragic ‘artist’, who expresses nature’s</p><p>‘exuberant fertility’ and ‘creative joy’ and uses such power to substantiate his own</p><p>perfection.2</p><p>Nietzsche hoped that the future would be characterized by a ‘supra-national and</p><p>nomadic type of man’ who would possess ‘as its typical distinction a maximum</p><p>of the art and power of adaptation’ (BGE, 242). The Übermensch will draw upon</p><p>The Übermensch as a union of opposites 29</p><p>his creative capacities in order to unite the opposites within him; he will ‘edu-</p><p>cate himself’ and ‘draw forth and nourish all the forces which exist . . . and [will]</p><p>bring them to a harmonious relationship with one another’ (UM, III, 2). The</p><p>Übermensch, like his prophet Zarathustra, is conscious of his psychological make-</p><p>up, of how his instincts conflict, and of which ones are currently dominating</p><p>others. He is therefore in a position to recognize which weaker instincts should be</p><p>exaggerated in order to promote further conflict and strife, and a stronger capacity</p><p>for creation. By drawing upon his artistic ‘power of adaptation’, the Übermensch</p><p>increases opposition within him and thereby increases his capacity for creativity.3</p><p>This process never ends; overcoming the instincts is never an end in itself, but is</p><p>a means toward the higher goal of self-perfecting. Nietzsche writes:</p><p>The man who has overcome his passions has entered into possession of the</p><p>most fertile ground . . . to sow the seeds of good spiritual works in the soil of</p><p>the subdued passions is then the immediate urgent task. The overcoming itself</p><p>is only a means, not a goal; if it is not so viewed, all kinds of weeds and</p><p>devilish nonsense will quickly spring up in this rich soil now unoccupied, and</p><p>soon there will be more rank confusion than there ever was before.</p><p>(WS, 53)</p><p>Nietzsche says: ‘I believe that from the presence of opposites and from the feelings</p><p>they occasion that the great man, the bow with the greatest tension, develops’</p><p>(WP, 967). The greatest being is the one who unites the most antagonistic traits</p><p>(WP, 881, 966). Nietzsche observes that commonplace beings ‘perish when the</p><p>multiplicity of elements and the tension of opposites, i.e., the preconditions for</p><p>greatness in man, increases’ (WP, 881). The Übermensch must therefore be</p><p>preconditioned to be able to endure such inner tensions. In the commonplace</p><p>being ‘the tension, the range between the extremes . . . [is] less . . . the extremes</p><p>themselves are . . . obliterated to the point of similarity’ (TI, ‘Expeditions of an</p><p>Untimely Man’, 37). It is different for the Übermensch: ‘It is in precisely this</p><p>compass of space, in this access to opposites that Zarathustra feels himself to be</p><p>the highest species of all existing things’ (EH, ‘TSZ’, 6). The Übermensch,</p><p>however, does not merely represent opposites in their multitude; rather, he</p><p>symbolizes the unification and synthesis of opposites that is appropriate to the</p><p>further promotion of creativity. In other words, the Übermensch does not seek</p><p>a mere accumulation of antithetical elements, but an ‘increased co-ordination, of</p><p>a harmonizing of all the strong desires’ (WP, 800). Thus, ‘Greatness of character</p><p>does not consist in not possessing these affects – on the contrary, one possesses</p><p>them to the highest degree – but in having them under control’ (WP, 928). As we</p><p>saw in Chapter 2, Nietzsche’s notion of control is expressed in his concept of self-</p><p>mastery, which is itself explained in terms of equilibrium (WS, 22) and moderation</p><p>(BT, 25). He maintains that the most moderate will prove to be the strongest</p><p>(WP, 55). We also saw in that chapter that the Apollinian and Dionysian impulses</p><p>have to be balanced by one another if either is to be activated to its highest degree.</p><p>30 Opposites</p><p>in the whole self</p><p>The notion of complementary opposites is continued throughout Nietzsche’s</p><p>thought, including his idea of the Übermensch. The Übermensch must promote</p><p>both opposites in the binary pair, unlike the ‘typical man’, who</p><p>does not understand the necessity for the reverse side of things: that he</p><p>combats evils as if one could dispense with them; that he will not take the</p><p>one with the other . . . approving only of one part of [a thing’s] qualities and</p><p>wishing to abolish the others . . . the ideal conceived as something in which</p><p>nothing harmful, evil, dangerous, questionable, destructive would remain.</p><p>(WP, 881)</p><p>The Übermensch stands apart from this ideal. In Nietzsche’s words:</p><p>With every increase of greatness and height in man, there is also an increase</p><p>in depth and terribleness: one ought not to desire the one without the other –</p><p>or rather: the more radically one desires the one, the more radically one</p><p>achieves precisely the other.</p><p>(WP, 1027)</p><p>The tension between opposites must be maintained to generate dynamic cre-</p><p>ativity; the victory of one element over its opposite, as with the superiority of good</p><p>over evil in Christianity, will lead to stagnation and decay. The Übermensch,</p><p>accordingly, is beyond good and evil; he will unite good and evil and will embody</p><p>Zarathustra’s teaching that ‘the highest evil belongs to the highest goodness’ (TSZ,</p><p>II, ‘Of Self-Overcoming’). Nietzsche writes:</p><p>One cannot be one without being the other . . . with every growth of man, his</p><p>other side must grow too . . . That man must grow better and more evil is my</p><p>formula for this inevitability.</p><p>(WP, 881)</p><p>If the tension of opposites is the formula of human growth, then the Übermensch,</p><p>the master of humanity, would have the greatest concentration and tension of</p><p>contrary instincts. Nietzsche writes:</p><p>Most men represent pieces and fragments of man: one has to add them up for</p><p>a complete man to appear. Whole ages, whole peoples are in this sense</p><p>somewhat fragmentary; it is perhaps part of the economy of human evolution</p><p>that man should evolve piece by piece. But that should not make one forget</p><p>for a moment that the real issue is the production of the synthetic man.</p><p>(WP, 881)</p><p>The Übermensch is not the disorganized totality of unconnected fragments of</p><p>the mediocre man. He has synthesized every aspect of himself into a productive</p><p>The Übermensch as a union of opposites 31</p><p>whole; he is ‘a full, rich, great, whole human being in relation to countless</p><p>incomplete fragmentary men’ (WP, 997).4 The Übermensch encompasses the</p><p>fullest range of human capacities; he is synthetic because he must artificially</p><p>exaggerate weaker instincts so that a greater conflict of drives can be promoted</p><p>within him. Unlike the typical man who merely arranges the ‘pieces of mankind’,</p><p>the Übermensch possesses</p><p>the mighty capacity to draw together and unite, to reach the remotest threads</p><p>and to preserve the web from being blown away . . . who unites what he has</p><p>brought together into a living structure.</p><p>(UM, IV, 4)</p><p>Patricia Dixon (1999), in her discussion of the importance of harmonizing the</p><p>instincts for Nietzsche, traces the notion of ‘living structure’ to On the Genealogy</p><p>of Morals (1887), where Nietzsche describes</p><p>a ruling structure that lives, in which parts and functions are delimited and</p><p>co-ordinated, in which nothing whatever finds a place that has not first been</p><p>assigned a ‘meaning’ in relation to the whole.</p><p>(GM, II, 17)</p><p>Speaking through Nietzsche, Dixon asks: ‘Where . . . do we discover a harmo-</p><p>nious whole at all, a simultaneous sounding of many voices in one nature?’</p><p>Nietzsche replies:</p><p>[In] men in whom everything, knowledge, desire, love, hate strives towards a</p><p>central point, a root force, and where a harmonious system is constructed</p><p>through the compelling domination of this living centre.</p><p>(UM, III, 2; cited in Dixon, 1999, p. 332)</p><p>In The Gay Science (1882) Nietzsche further notes that</p><p>Many hecatombs of human beings were sacrificed before these impulses</p><p>learned to comprehend their coexistence and to feel that they were all</p><p>functions of one organizing force within one human being.</p><p>(GS, 113)</p><p>The ‘living structure’ of the Übermensch thus exhibits a unity dictated by a central</p><p>organizing power that gives the opposite instincts ‘their way and measure’ (WP,</p><p>84) and ‘precision and clarity of . . . direction’ (WP, 64), so that they can develop</p><p>and work for the whole. In other words, the Übermensch possesses ‘all the strong,</p><p>seemingly contradictory gifts and desires – but in such a way that they go together</p><p>beneath one yoke’ (WP, 848). As a ‘unifying principle’ Nietzsche must promote</p><p>one instinct above all others, one that can be justified as having static dominance,</p><p>32 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>one that destroys the ascetic ideal and expresses the individual’s life as inherently</p><p>valuable. In my reading of Nietzsche, this ‘central organizing power’ is the ‘power</p><p>of adaptation’ (BGE, 242), or the ‘Will to Power’ (which is described by Nietzsche</p><p>as ‘the strongest instinct’: TI, ‘What I Owe to the Ancients’, 3): that power that</p><p>increases the capacity for creation through the union of opposites.</p><p>Creation is precisely that which is required in Nietzsche’s ‘revaluation of</p><p>values’. Creation is the process and principle that enables the individual to travel</p><p>across the tightrope from the ‘mediocre, typical man’ to the noble Übermensch</p><p>and safely cross the abyss of nihilism.5 The effective expulsion of God from nature</p><p>has motivated individuals to recreate themselves, to get rid of ‘the shadow of God’</p><p>and the idealistic dependency that God decreed, and to return to the earth (TSZ,</p><p>prologue, 3), to become the first ‘natural’ man, the ‘Dionysian’ man.</p><p>The myth of Dionysus tells how he was born of an incestuous coupling between</p><p>Zeus and his daughter, Persephone. In her jealousy, Hera (the wife of Zeus)</p><p>aroused the Titans to attack the infant. These monstrous beings enticed Dionysus</p><p>with toys and cut him to pieces with knives.6 After the murder the Titans devoured</p><p>the dismembered corpse. But the heart of Dionysus was saved and brought to Zeus</p><p>by Athena. Dionysus was born again, for Zeus swallowed the heart and gave birth</p><p>to him with Semele. In his anger at the Titans, Zeus destroyed them with thunder</p><p>and lightning; but from their ashes humankind was born.7 Dionysus is thus a</p><p>man of ‘creation’, an embodiment of death and rebirth, and of those conditions</p><p>necessary for creation – pain and great suffering. Nietzsche continues the depiction</p><p>of Dionysian man:8</p><p>The word ‘Dionysian’ means: an urge to unity, a reaching out beyond</p><p>personality, the everyday, society, reality, across the abyss of transitoriness:</p><p>a passionate-painful overflowing into darker, fuller, more floating states;</p><p>an ecstatic affirmation of the total character of life as that which remains</p><p>the same, just as powerful, just as blissful, through all change; the great</p><p>pantheistic sharing of joy and sorrow that sanctifies and calls good even the</p><p>most terrible and questionable qualities of life; the eternal will to procreation,</p><p>to fruitfulness, to recurrence; the feeling of the necessary unity of creation and</p><p>destruction.</p><p>(WP, 1050)</p><p>Dionysus calls on mankind to unite with nature and to unite the good with</p><p>‘the most terrible’. The Dionysian man is reunited with humanity and all that</p><p>is passionate, chaotic and irrational within him. He must joyfully and tragically</p><p>restore himself to nature and experience ‘an ascent – up into a high, free, even</p><p>terrible nature and naturalness’ (WP, 120). This terrible experience must be</p><p>‘blissfully’ endured over and over again, for Dionysus affirms nothing more than</p><p>the tragedy of the eternal recurrence. There can be no self-overcoming without</p><p>struggle and suffering; there will always be obstacles within the individual’s path,</p><p>for self-overcoming is a process without end and without reward. The eternal</p><p>The Übermensch as a union of opposites 33</p><p>recurrence is, therefore, ultimately a teaching of strength through despair. The</p><p>Übermensch</p><p>is thus the</p><p>ideal of the most exuberant, most living and most world-affirming man, who</p><p>has not only learned to get on and treat with all that was and is but who wants</p><p>to have it again as it was and is to all eternity.</p><p>(BGE, 56)</p><p>The Übermensch is the being who promotes the ‘Yes-saying instinct’ as his</p><p>unifying principle (AC, 57; EH, ‘TSZ’, 6), which gives him the strength for amor</p><p>fati, to endure the unification of good and evil, to live a cursed existence, and to</p><p>transmute this into the Dionysian intoxication of tragic acceptance.</p><p>Nietzsche regarded Goethe as the exemplar of the Dionysian, ‘higher man’</p><p>(TI, ‘Expeditions of an Untimely Man’, 49). What Goethe ‘aspired to was totality;</p><p>he strove against the separation of reason, sensuality, feeling, will . . . he disci-</p><p>plined himself to a whole, he created himself’. Nietzsche awards him the highest</p><p>of all his honours:</p><p>A spirit thus emancipated stands in the midst of the universe with a joyful</p><p>and trusting fatalism, in the faith that only what is separate and individual</p><p>may be rejected, that in the totality everything is redeemed and affirmed –</p><p>he no longer denies . . . But such a faith is the highest of all possible faiths:</p><p>I have baptized it with the name of Dionysos.</p><p>(ibid.)</p><p>Goethe, according to Nietzsche, achieved humanity in its highest form: he exhibits</p><p>a unification of the greatest contrary instincts (that is, reason, sensuality, feeling,</p><p>and will) in the realization of Übermenschlichkeit. The Übermensch is the symbol</p><p>of human totality, the unification of opposite instincts in the pursuit of creation.</p><p>The individual who has realized such totality and unification of his human faculties</p><p>is no longer all-too-human; he is indeed the Übermensch.</p><p>34 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>Chapter 5</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian</p><p>model of the psyche</p><p>The interplay of opposites is crucial to Jungian psychology. Jung maintains:</p><p>‘Life is born only of the spark of opposites’ (Jung, 1917/1926/1943, par. 78). In</p><p>accordance with the notion that ‘there can be no reality without polarity’ (Jung,</p><p>1951, par. 423), the psyche is construed by Jung to be a living system of opposites.</p><p>Opposition is a necessary condition for the psyche as the very conflict and tension</p><p>initiated by antithetical forces creates the energy needed by the psyche to generate</p><p>its momentum and dynamism. Thus, the psyche ‘like any other energetic system</p><p>is dependent on the tension of opposites’ (Jung, 1954, par. 483).</p><p>According to Jung, personality is a manifestation of ‘definiteness, wholeness</p><p>and ripeness’ (Jung, 1934a, par. 288), and fundamental to its constitution are two</p><p>principal opposites: the conscious and the unconscious, those ‘real psychic facts</p><p>that determine . . . whole being’ (Jung, 1927, par. 491). The conscious represents</p><p>what we can know and experience, and the unconscious refers to all that remains</p><p>beyond our cognitive reach, that which is unknowable. The unconscious is, by</p><p>definition, irreducible to conscious terms; if an unconscious element is accessi-</p><p>ble from a conscious perspective, then it is ultimately reduced to the level of</p><p>consciousness and is no longer unconscious. Although the unconscious constitutes</p><p>a vast part of our psyche, we are alienated from it: it is wholly other.1 Conscious</p><p>and unconscious are antithetical to one another; the nature of either is defined as</p><p>opposite to the other. The former is familiar and the latter is unfamiliar. Although</p><p>consciousness and the unconscious are diametrically opposed, they are, according</p><p>to Jung, able to complement one another. Because the psyche is a self-regulating</p><p>system, and, as such, cannot function without opposition (Jung, 1917/1926/1943,</p><p>par. 92), it follows that the attitudes of consciousness and unconsciousness</p><p>compensate one another to achieve psychic balance. Since energy is generated</p><p>only through the tension of opposites, psychological growth necessitates the</p><p>discovery of the opposite attitude to that of the conscious mind:</p><p>The repressed content must be made conscious so as to produce a tension of</p><p>opposites, without which no forward movement is possible. The conscious</p><p>mind is on top, the shadow underneath, and just as high always longs for low</p><p>and hot for cold, so all consciousness, perhaps without being aware of it, seeks</p><p>its unconscious opposite, lacking which it is doomed to stagnation, congestion</p><p>and ossification.</p><p>(Jung, 1917/1926/1943, pars. 77–78)</p><p>Jung maintains that the attitude of the unconscious, and also its compensatory</p><p>function, is discovered through the interpretation of the conscious recollection of</p><p>the dream. The dream provides an active backdrop against which the interplay</p><p>of opposites can be examined.</p><p>Although Jung would be the first to agree with Freud’s famous dictum that</p><p>dream interpretation is the ‘royal road to the unconscious’ (Freud, 1900/1991,</p><p>p. 766; cf. Jung, 1916/1957, par. 152), he disagrees with Freud’s account of the</p><p>nature of the dream. While Freud regarded the dream as a repressed wish designed</p><p>so as to find a way into expression, Jung regarded the dream as a statement of fact,</p><p>of the way things are in the psyche. For Jung, the dream brings to consciousness</p><p>an image of the psychological state that has been neglected and made unconscious;</p><p>it is therefore an invaluable tool for understanding and diagnosing the personality.</p><p>The dream compensates the conscious attitude as it unites the one-sided conscious</p><p>orientation with its opposite, the unconscious attitude.2 According to Jung, the</p><p>dream achieves this reconciliation in one of three ways:</p><p>If the conscious attitude to the life situation is in large degree one-sided, then</p><p>the dream takes the opposite side. If the conscious has a position fairly near</p><p>the ‘middle’, the dream is satisfied with variations. If the conscious attitude is</p><p>‘correct’ (adequate), then the dream coincides with and emphasizes this</p><p>tendency, though without forfeiting its peculiar autonomy.</p><p>(Jung, 1945/1948, par. 546)</p><p>Dreams therefore provide what is missing in the psychic wholeness of the individ-</p><p>ual, and help to re-establish relations between consciousness and unconsciousness,</p><p>and secure overall psychic equilibrium.3 The dream is the mediator of opposites;</p><p>it controls the unconscious element in the binary pair, and through its manip-</p><p>ulation, the dream either reinforces the existing bond between the two opposites</p><p>or seeks its reconfiguration.</p><p>The compensatory relation itself – that which makes possible the stability and</p><p>cooperation of the opposites – depends upon what Jung calls the ‘transcendent</p><p>function’ (Jung, 1916/1957, par. 132). This is ‘a natural process, a manifestation</p><p>of the energy that springs from the tension of opposites, and it consists in a series</p><p>of fantasy-occurrences which appear spontaneously in dreams and visions’ (Jung,</p><p>1917/1926/1943, par. 121). It forms a basis for</p><p>a process not of dissolution but of construction, in which thesis and antithesis</p><p>both play their part. In this way it becomes a new content that governs the</p><p>whole attitude, putting an end to the division and forcing the energy of the</p><p>36 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>opposite into a common channel. The standstill is overcome and life can flow</p><p>on with renewed power towards new goals.</p><p>(Jung, 1921, par. 827)</p><p>The transcendent function is a twofold process: the spontaneous emergence of a</p><p>unifying symbol unites opposing elements; and from this union, it establishes</p><p>a new conscious attitude, one that is more integrated and enriched with those</p><p>elements that were hitherto unconscious. Ego-consciousness tends to focus</p><p>exclusively on adaptation to circumstances in its immediate environment, and fails</p><p>to integrate the unconscious material that is not relevant to its adaptation. The</p><p>ego can thus easily develop a one-sidedness that does not correspond to the overall</p><p>instinctive wholeness of the personality. The transcendent function enables the</p><p>personality to move from a one-sided attitude to a new, more complete, one (ibid.,</p><p>par. 145). By symbolically sketching new</p><p>possibilities of life (in ‘dreams and</p><p>visions’) it facilitates this transition and opens the way for further development.</p><p>The development of the personality is therefore advanced when the opposites</p><p>of conscious and unconscious complement one another. The conscious attitude</p><p>requires compensation from the unconscious attitude if it is to flourish, but this</p><p>does not mean that the unconscious attitude is privileged over consciousness.</p><p>Jung writes: ‘Unconscious compensation is only effective when it co-operates</p><p>with an integral consciousness; assimilation is never a question of “this or that”,</p><p>but always of “this and that”’ (Jung, 1934b, par. 338). Both opposites must be</p><p>regarded as having equal importance and must be integrally connected and move</p><p>on parallel lines if the personality is to remain mentally stable; if they split apart</p><p>or become dissociated, the personality will suffer from psychological disturbance</p><p>(cf. MHS, p. 52). If either reason or unconscious instinct is exaggerated, this one-</p><p>sidedness will lead to a pathological state: ‘Too much of the animal distorts the</p><p>civilized man, too much civilization makes sick animals’ (Jung, 1917/1926/1943,</p><p>par. 32).</p><p>According to Jung, Western civilization is guilty of exaggerating one opposite</p><p>over and above its counterpart. Jung sees the civilized individual as a ‘sick</p><p>animal’.4 Jung explains:</p><p>Serene and tragic at once, it was just this archaic man who, having started to</p><p>think, invented the dichotomy which Nietzsche laid at the door of Zarathustra:</p><p>the discovery of the pairs of opposites, the division into odd and even, above</p><p>and below, good and evil.</p><p>(Jung, 1921, par. 963)</p><p>Thereafter, ‘Western man became someone divided between his conscious</p><p>and unconscious personality . . . [and as a result] we in the West have come to</p><p>be highly disciplined, organized and rational’ (JS, p. 397), so that ‘in our time . . .</p><p>the intellect . . . is making darkness, because we’ve let it take too big a place’</p><p>(ibid., p. 420). Modern man has exaggerated and overdeveloped his rational</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 37</p><p>conscious side at the expense of his unconscious instinctual side and has thereby</p><p>exposed himself to a dangerous disequilibrium of opposites (Jung, 1957, par. 544).</p><p>Jung warns:</p><p>No matter how beautiful and perfect man may believe his reason to be, he can</p><p>always be certain that it is only one of the possible mental functions, and</p><p>covers only that one side of the phenomenal world which corresponds to it.</p><p>But the irrational, that which is not agreeable to reason, rings it about on all</p><p>sides. And the irrational is likewise a psychological function.</p><p>(Jung, 1917/1926/1943, par. 110; also see par. 201)</p><p>It needs only an almost imperceptible disturbance of equilibrium in a few of</p><p>our rulers’ heads to plunge the world into blood, fire, and radioactivity.</p><p>(Jung, 1957, par. 561)</p><p>Opposites within consciousness</p><p>The favouring of one opposite over its counterpart is not limited to the promotion</p><p>of reason and consciousness over instinct and the unconscious. It is also experi-</p><p>enced on a more fundamental level within the very structure of consciousness</p><p>itself, thereby making the prospect of the ‘sick animal’ more probable. The</p><p>possibility of a discordant relationship between the opposites of conscious and</p><p>unconscious is greatly increased when we note that consciousness is itself</p><p>composed of opposites, which can conflict with one another. According to Jung,</p><p>consciousness is structured according to the configuration of opposite forces</p><p>inherent within it, and this configuration determines the psychological ‘type’</p><p>of the individual’s personality, and whether he is healthy with ‘definiteness,</p><p>wholeness and ripeness’, or a ‘sick animal’.</p><p>The configuration of opposites within consciousness is regulated by a basic</p><p>attitude to external events, and certain properties or ‘functions’ of consciousness.</p><p>The ‘attitude-types’ are ‘distinguished by the direction of [the individual’s]</p><p>interest, or of the movement of libido’ and the ‘function-types’ are ‘those more</p><p>special types whose peculiarities are due to the fact that the individual adapts and</p><p>orientates himself chiefly by means of his most differentiated function’ (Jung,</p><p>1921, par. 556). Jung identifies two opposite attitude-types – introversion and</p><p>extraversion. The former refers to an abstracted attitude to the object whereby</p><p>the individual ‘is always intent on withdrawing libido from the object, as though</p><p>he had to prevent the object from gaining power over him’. The latter, in complete</p><p>contrast, refers to a positive attitude to the object; the extravert</p><p>affirms its importance to such an extent that his subjective attitude is</p><p>constantly related to and orientated by the object. The object can never have</p><p>enough value for him, and its importance must always be increased.</p><p>(ibid., par. 557)</p><p>38 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>Although one or the other of these opposite orientations determines individuals’</p><p>responses to the objects of their conscious experience, it also determines the</p><p>compensatory action of their unconscious. Where consciousness is extraverted</p><p>the unconscious is introverted, and conversely: the opposites counterbalance</p><p>one another. Jung therefore talks of an unconscious attitude as well as a conscious</p><p>attitude (ibid., pars. 568–576). The unconscious attitude impinges upon the</p><p>conscious attitude to such an extent that the opposite attitudes often get blurred</p><p>into one; it is therefore often difficult to decide which character traits belong to</p><p>the conscious personality and which belong to the unconscious personality (ibid.,</p><p>par. 576).</p><p>In addition to the two attitude-types, Jung identified four functions of</p><p>consciousness: thinking, feeling, sensation, and intuition. Jung writes:</p><p>The essential function of sensation is to establish that something exists,</p><p>thinking tells us what it means, feeling what its value is, and intuition surmises</p><p>whence it comes and whither it goes.</p><p>(Jung, 1921, par. 983)</p><p>These four functions divide into two antithetical pairs. Thinking and feeling are</p><p>both termed ‘rational’ because both work with evaluations and judgements;</p><p>thinking evaluates through cognition with the criteria of ‘true’ and ‘false’, feeling</p><p>evaluates through the emotions with the criteria of ‘pleasant’ and ‘unpleasant’.</p><p>Sensation and intuition are both termed ‘irrational’ because they operate according</p><p>to perception, which is not evaluated or interpreted; sensations perceive things</p><p>as they are and not otherwise, intuition also ‘perceives’ through its capacity for an</p><p>unconscious ‘inner perception’ of things.</p><p>Each one of us has within our ego-consciousness all four functions in anti-</p><p>thetical pairs and both opposing attitudes. No one attitude or function occurs in</p><p>its pure form. This means that the extravert cannot be entirely free from the</p><p>characteristics of introversion; in this case, the inferior introverted attitude is</p><p>simply demoted to the unconscious sphere where it can either compensate for</p><p>the dominant extraverted attitude or remain dormant and incapable of integration</p><p>within the ego. Similarly, we shall have a dominant mode of functioning from</p><p>one of the four functions outlined earlier. This dominant function will come</p><p>from one of the two pairs of rational or irrational functions. We shall also utilize</p><p>another function as an ‘auxiliary’ to serve the dominant function, though ‘naturally</p><p>only those functions can appear as auxiliary whose nature is not opposed to the</p><p>dominant function’ (Jung, 1921, par. 667). For example, the two basic functions</p><p>of thinking and feeling are evaluative and cannot be employed at the same time,</p><p>and cannot be simultaneously applied to the same object. The relatively uncon-</p><p>scious auxiliary function must come from the opposite pair of rational or irrational</p><p>functions, depending on which pair the superior function came from, so that if</p><p>I had a superior sensation function (from the irrational pair) my auxiliary function</p><p>would be from either thinking or feeling</p><p>(the rational pair).5</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 39</p><p>The unconscious functions group themselves in a similar pattern, in correlation</p><p>with the conscious orientation, so that the superior function pertains entirely to</p><p>the conscious realm, while its opposite, the inferior function, is confined to the</p><p>unconscious realm. The two other functions are partly conscious and partly</p><p>unconscious: the auxiliary function is relatively directed while its opposite, though</p><p>seldom available to consciousness, can be raised to consciousness (this is possible</p><p>because the auxiliary functions are not so opposed to one another as the dominant</p><p>and inferior functions).</p><p>The conscious attitude and function predominate over those of the uncon-</p><p>scious. If, however, the conscious attitude becomes overemphasized, so that one</p><p>conscious function is promoted over its opposite, this opposite function will set</p><p>up a compensatory drive, and will compel individuals, often by seemingly</p><p>incomprehensible acts, to take account of the reality which they have neglected.</p><p>The indirect manifestation of the unconscious takes the form of a disturbance</p><p>within conscious behaviour. If the functions fail to compensate one another, they</p><p>will be in a direct conflict with one another, thereby causing the opposites to split</p><p>apart. This conflict aims at mutual repression of the functions, and if one of the</p><p>functions becomes repressed, dissociation and splitting of the whole personality</p><p>ensues, leading to neurosis:</p><p>The acts that follow from such a condition are unco-ordinated, sometimes</p><p>pathological, having the appearance of symptomatic actions. Although in part</p><p>normal, they are based partly on the repressed opposite, which, instead of</p><p>working as an equilibrating force, has an obstructive effect, thus hindering the</p><p>possibility of further progress.</p><p>(Jung, 1928, para. 61)6</p><p>The healthy personality seeks a balance of opposites (comprising the two attitudes</p><p>and four functions of consciousness). The extreme promotion of only one opposite</p><p>will result in enantiodromia: a complete reversal of the dominant opposite, when</p><p>the unconscious inferior element overcomes the conscious dominant element</p><p>to become the dominant element itself. The dominant element, in either case,</p><p>generates a low level of energy, a state of entropy, which denies the psyche the</p><p>dynamism necessary for its capacity to create and develop further (Jung, 1930/</p><p>1950, par. 157). The ideal state of affairs is a union of opposites: the promotion of</p><p>both opposites. This union does not minimize the tension between opposite forces,</p><p>but increases it so that the production of psychic energy is maximized (Jung, 1942,</p><p>par. 154). A union of opposites is the envisioned goal of the Jungian psyche. But,</p><p>this goal is not a universal goal that is to be sought from the very start of life;</p><p>rather, Jung tells us, it is to be sought in the second half of life (at approximately</p><p>35 years: see note 10), with the focus of the first half of life surprisingly being that</p><p>which defines the ‘sick animal’: namely, promoting only one opposite in the binary</p><p>pair.</p><p>In the first half of life the essential task of the individual is to develop</p><p>40 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>ego-consciousness and consolidate a one-sided conscious attitude and dominant</p><p>function. This is a slow process of centring where individuals must differentiate</p><p>and isolate the function and attitude that will enable them, with most ease, to adapt</p><p>to the demands of their environment and establish their social position within</p><p>the world (their persona). For a certain one-sidedness and sense of discrimination</p><p>will be needed to fulfil certain conventional demands that are required in the</p><p>establishment of the persona. Only the dominant function and attitude inherent</p><p>within the individual’s psychic constitution can help him or her in this task.7 The</p><p>other attitude and functions are not yet required, and are thus relegated to the</p><p>unconscious (Jung, 1928a, par. 64).8 The need to confront the unconscious attitude</p><p>is periodic and arises only when the one-sidedness of the conscious attitude is</p><p>unable to adapt to the demands of reality, and consequently causes the individual</p><p>to feel that his life has become stale, unprofitable, and lacking in meaning.9 Jung</p><p>writes:</p><p>Thus it may easily happen that an attitude can no longer satisfy the demands</p><p>of adaptation because changes have occurred in the environmental conditions</p><p>which require a different attitude . . . the attitude breaks down and the pro-</p><p>gression of libido also ceases . . . The longer the stoppage lasts, the more the</p><p>value of the opposed positions increases . . . In proportion to the decrease</p><p>in value of the conscious opposites there is an increase in the value of all</p><p>psychic processes which are not concerned with outwards adaptation . . .</p><p>these psychic factors are for the most part unconscious. As the value of the</p><p>subliminal elements and of the unconscious increases, it is to be expected that</p><p>they will gain influence over the conscious mind.</p><p>(Jung, 1928a, pars. 61–62)</p><p>About a third of my cases are not suffering from any clinically definable</p><p>neurosis, but from the senselessness and aimlessness of their lives. I should</p><p>not object if this were called the general neurosis of our age. Fully two thirds</p><p>of my patients are in the second half of life . . . In the majority of my cases the</p><p>resources of the conscious mind are exhausted (or, in ordinary English, they</p><p>are ‘stuck’) . . . I only know one thing: when my conscious mind no longer</p><p>sees any possible road ahead and consequently gets stuck, my unconscious</p><p>psyche will react to the unbearable standstill.</p><p>(Jung, 1931b, pars. 83–84; also see Jung, 1928/1931, par. 160)</p><p>The unconscious contents that were originally unnecessary in the orientation of</p><p>the individual’s life now become essential if any progression is to be made in the</p><p>latter half of life. The notion of a human being as a ‘sick animal’ is therefore a</p><p>relative concept, for humans have the potential to develop beyond this particular</p><p>stage of life. If they fail to develop and continue to promote only one opposite at</p><p>a time when they must identify with both, they will remain steeped in neurosis.</p><p>This stage of ‘sickness’ is a necessary developmental stage in the individual’s life,</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 41</p><p>for it provides the incentive and trigger to start the process of psychic unification</p><p>and the realization of ‘wholeness and ripeness’ (Jung, 1934a, par. 288).10 The</p><p>establishment of ego-consciousness (and thus the promotion of a dominant</p><p>opposite) is a prerequisite in the development of the personality (Jung, 1957, par.</p><p>528); individuals who have not established a conscious orientation do not yet have</p><p>the capacity of regulation and the stability to enable them to seek their potential.</p><p>Sickness occurs not only when individuals fail to promote both opposites, but</p><p>also when they fail to identify a dominant element in the early stage of person-</p><p>ality development. Thus, we see Jung claim that the individual must seek first</p><p>to separate the opposites, and to promote one over the other, and then, when such</p><p>promotion leads to ‘stagnation, congestion and ossification’, to reunite the</p><p>opposites in order to maintain productivity and dynamism within the psyche.</p><p>Individuation: the interplay of opposites</p><p>Jung called the process when material of the unconscious compensates, and is</p><p>incorporated into consciousness, the process of individuation. The process of</p><p>individuation is therefore the dynamic interplay of opposites, in which opposites</p><p>are actively balanced to form a new unity. This unity is Jung’s conception of the</p><p>whole self, or ‘Self’:</p><p>Individuation means becoming a single, homogeneous being, and, in so far</p><p>as ‘individuality’ embraces our innermost, last, and incomparable uniqueness,</p><p>it also implies becoming one’s own self. We could therefore translate</p><p>individuation as ‘coming to selfhood’ or ‘self-realization’.</p><p>(Jung, 1928b, par. 266)</p><p>Self-realization implies an</p><p>understanding of the structures of opposites inherent</p><p>within the psyche.</p><p>We have seen that consciousness is composed of a series of innate functions</p><p>that are configured as pairs of opposites, and the structure of the unconscious, in</p><p>its role as counterweight to consciousness, is itself experienced by the individual</p><p>as a powerful antithetical force. As a force of compensation the unconscious,</p><p>though itself unknowable, must channel its energy in accordance with those</p><p>structures of consciousness that it will affect, and it is in this sense that I regard</p><p>the unconscious as also having ‘structure’ and direction. Indeed, Jung effectively</p><p>attributes a structure to the unconscious when he divides it into a personal and</p><p>collective realm:</p><p>[T]he personal unconscious . . . includes all those psychic contents which</p><p>have been forgotten during the course of the individual’s life . . . In addi-</p><p>tion it contains all subliminal impressions or perceptions which have too</p><p>little energy to reach consciousness. To these we must add unconscious</p><p>42 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>combinations of ideas that are feeble and too indistinct to cross over the</p><p>threshold . . . The other part of the unconscious is what I call the impersonal</p><p>or collective unconscious. As the name indicates, its contents are not personal</p><p>but collective; that is, they do not belong to one individual alone but to</p><p>a whole group of individuals, and generally to a whole nation, or even to</p><p>the whole of mankind . . . [I]t is the deposit of the psychic functioning of the</p><p>whole human race.</p><p>(Jung, 1920/1948, pars. 588–589; cf. Jung, 1934/1954, par. 42)</p><p>The personal unconscious is made up of all the forgotten and repressed material</p><p>unique to the individual, while the collective unconscious represents a deeper level</p><p>of unconsciousness – a ‘retreat farther and farther into darkness’ (Jung, 1940,</p><p>par. 291). This dark level of the psyche lacks individuality and uniqueness; it</p><p>is irreducible and incomprehensible to consciousness, and thus wholly unassail-</p><p>able by the ego. While the contents of the personal unconscious are subjective,</p><p>those of the collective unconscious are objective and autonomous. This is because</p><p>the collective unconscious is related to the phylogenetic instinctual base of the</p><p>human race. The contents of the collective unconscious are thus common to every</p><p>individual, and, unlike the personal unconscious that generates compensatory</p><p>activity according to the individual’s specific needs, the collective unconscious</p><p>provides undifferentiated compensation to every individual alike (as we shall</p><p>see later). The contents of the collective unconscious have never been conscious;</p><p>it operates independently of the ego and of all conscious processes. Its manifes-</p><p>tations appear in symbolic form, in fantasies and metaphor that have a universal</p><p>structure, applicable to every individual in every culture. For the process of</p><p>individuation to be successful, the individual must confront, and, to some extent,</p><p>understand, the collective realm together with its primordial images.11 It is</p><p>important for individuals to assert their individuality against the collective, to</p><p>differentiate themselves from it, in order to escape the collective ideal of inflation</p><p>and megalomania with its potential inflictions of grandiose delusions and psy-</p><p>choses. The collective realm is incapable of developing consciousness and</p><p>individuality; if individuals fail to develop this side of their personality they will</p><p>be effectively promoting the unconscious over and above consciousness, and will</p><p>then have to endure an inevitable ‘sickness’ (of an over-inflated ego).12</p><p>Jung gave the name ‘archetypes’ to the primordial images of the collective</p><p>unconscious. Archetypes are not inherent ideas as such but are ‘typical forms</p><p>of behaviour which, once they become conscious, naturally present themselves</p><p>as ideas and images, like everything else that becomes a content of conscious-</p><p>ness’ (Jung, 1947/1954, par. 435). They are typical forms of behaviour in that</p><p>they are ‘deposits of the constantly repeated experiences of humanity’ (Jung,</p><p>1917/1926/1943, par. 109). The archetype thus has the capacity and readiness to</p><p>produce the same mythical ideas and images over and over again. Archetypes have</p><p>an organizing influence on images and ideas; they are recurrent subjective fantasy-</p><p>ideas that are aroused by physical processes and entities found in the external</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 43</p><p>world. Though they themselves are not conscious, conscious images and ideas are</p><p>variations on them.</p><p>The process of individuation usually involves encountering a series of</p><p>archetypal visual ‘personifications’, which compensate consciousness and indicate</p><p>to the individual how the opposites are relating within him and how much progress</p><p>has been made toward their unification. Archetypes are symbolically translated</p><p>from their unconscious roots to consciousness, so that archetypes appear within</p><p>dreams and in other manifestations of the unconscious – in ‘visions, fantasies,</p><p>emotions, grotesque ideas, and so forth’ (Jung, 1932, par. 509). The individuation</p><p>process is a long and arduous process in which the opposites of consciousness and</p><p>the unconscious merge into a unity. A series of archetypal figures and situations</p><p>are encountered along the way, and are – if the conditions are appropriate –</p><p>accepted and assimilated into consciousness. According to Jung, the individual’s</p><p>‘acceptance’ of one archetype leads him to encounter others; this process culmi-</p><p>nates in the ‘acceptance’ of ‘the archetype of archetypes’, ‘the archetype par</p><p>excellence’ (Samuels, 1994, p. 87), the ‘Self’. The Self is the totality of the</p><p>personality, where all opposites are united, and consciousness is enriched in its</p><p>coordination with the personal and collective unconscious.</p><p>Jung does not explicitly define the process of individuation, so that we cannot</p><p>be certain of the specific stages involved in the gradual unification of opposites.</p><p>Jung makes it clear that he does not want to define each stage in terms of an</p><p>objective teleological formulation that applies to every individual: ‘How the</p><p>harmonizing of conscious and unconscious data is to be undertaken cannot be</p><p>indicated in the form of a recipe’ (Jung, 1939b, par. 524). It is also apparent that</p><p>the archetypal encounters do not necessarily form a linear sequence or process,</p><p>but can also be thought of as circular. According to this circular scheme, it would</p><p>seem that an encounter with a particular archetype could happen at any time. It</p><p>is not localized or allotted a specific place in the psychic order of things; rather</p><p>it spontaneously materializes at a time appropriate to the individual concerned.</p><p>However, more often than not we see in Jung’s writings allusion to a linear</p><p>sequence of archetypal encounters. The individuation process often begins with</p><p>the confrontation of the personal unconscious, where individuals assimilate their</p><p>neglected tendencies personified by the ‘shadow’ archetype (cf. Jung, 1917/1926/</p><p>1943, par. 103). After this, the collective unconscious must be confronted, where</p><p>the contra-sexual side of the individual is encountered, personified by the anima/</p><p>animus (thereby providing the undifferentiated compensation to every individual</p><p>alike). Finally, the archetype of the ‘Self’ is encountered. When this is accepted,</p><p>the individual accepts the totality of his being.13 Furthermore, Jung’s discussion</p><p>of the individuation process in Aion (CW 9ii, 1951) examines the archetypal</p><p>figures in this sequence, supporting the notion of a linear framework of experience.</p><p>According to this scheme, it is conceivable for individuals to estimate how far they</p><p>have progressed towards the Self, for it provides a teleological map to chart the</p><p>progressive stages of the merger between consciousness and the unconscious. That</p><p>is, by paying careful attention to the motifs of archetypal appearances within their</p><p>44 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>dreams, individuals should be able to</p><p>estimate which stage in the process of</p><p>individuation they have reached.14 Such clarity and accuracy would be unachie-</p><p>vable with a circular process.</p><p>The shadow is the first archetypal figure to be encountered in the individuation</p><p>process because it is the most accessible: ‘Its nature can in large measure be</p><p>inferred from the contents of the personal unconscious’ (Jung, 1951, par. 13). The</p><p>shadow is the most apparent archetype to the individual as it embodies the very</p><p>opposite of his conscious one-sided attitude; it is the inferior function and attitude</p><p>type within consciousness. To incorporate the shadow into consciousness is to</p><p>reject the ‘sick animal’ with his propensity to promote one opposite in the binary</p><p>pair, for its incorporation entails the acceptance of the neglected opposite, and thus</p><p>a unification of opposites. ‘With insight and good will’, Jung writes, ‘The shadow</p><p>can to some extent be assimilated into the conscious personality’ (ibid., par. 16).</p><p>However, Jung also notes that there can be resistance to this assimilation – notably</p><p>‘projection’, where some traits peculiar to the individual’s shadow are projected</p><p>outside of that individual and appear as traits within another person. The shadow</p><p>is often rejected because it is of a contrary nature and often appears alien or even</p><p>morally reprehensible. Projection works as a defence mechanism to remove the</p><p>shadow-elements out of consciousness and into the external world. Jung writes:</p><p>‘He must be convinced that he throws a very long shadow before he is willing to</p><p>withdraw his emotionally-toned projections from their object’ (ibid.). Jung</p><p>continues to say that these projections are</p><p>assumed to belong to the realm of the shadow, that is, to the negative side</p><p>of the personality. This assumption becomes untenable after a certain</p><p>point, because the symbols that then appear no longer refer to the same but</p><p>to the opposite sex, in a man’s case to a woman and vice versa. The source</p><p>of the projections is no longer the shadow – which is always the same sex</p><p>as the subject – but a contra-sexual figure.</p><p>(Jung, 1951, par. 19; cf. par. 422)</p><p>In the linear process of individuation, it is, therefore, through experiencing a</p><p>resistance in the shadow’s assimilation into consciousness that the archetype of</p><p>the anima (of a man) and the animus (of a woman) is encountered.</p><p>If the shadow is experienced first – as the antithesis of the conscious orientation</p><p>– the archetype of anima/animus is the second set of opposites to be experienced.</p><p>The incorporation of this archetype into consciousness signifies the union of</p><p>genders: the anima is the feminine component of the unconscious male psyche,</p><p>while the animus is the male component of the unconscious female psyche. The</p><p>former personifies ‘eros’ or love, while the latter is a personification of ‘spirit’ and</p><p>‘intellect’ (Jung, 1951, par. 29). The archetypal image of the anima is usually</p><p>singular to compensate the fundamental masculine tendency to discriminate, while</p><p>the image of the animus is usually plural to compensate the fundamental female</p><p>tendency to unify and synthesize (SNZ, II, pp. 1152–1153). The anima/animus</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 45</p><p>therefore, like the shadow, compensates the persona of the individual – his (one-</p><p>sided) conscious orientation. Jung writes:</p><p>The persona, the ideal picture of a man as he should be, is inwardly</p><p>compensated by feminine weakness and as the individual outwardly plays the</p><p>strong man, so he becomes inwardly a woman, i.e., the anima, for it is the</p><p>anima that reacts to the persona.</p><p>(Jung, 1928b, par. 309)</p><p>The persona and anima/animus are opposites; while the persona represents the</p><p>outer conscious attitude, the anima/animus represents the inner unconscious</p><p>attitude. The anima/animus contains within it all those human qualities that the</p><p>persona lacks. Thus, ‘If the persona is intellectual, the anima will quite certainly</p><p>be sentimental’; therefore</p><p>the character of the anima can be deduced from that of the persona.</p><p>Everything that should normally be in the outer attitude, but is conspicuously</p><p>absent, will invariably be found in the inner attitude.</p><p>(Jung, 1921, par. 806)</p><p>The anima/animus does not contain only negative attributes, as the shadow usually</p><p>does; it can have characteristics of a positive or negative nature depending on those</p><p>of the persona. The realization of the anima/animus together with the shadow is</p><p>essential to the dissolution of the one-sided persona and to the process of the</p><p>unification of opposites.</p><p>In this scheme it would seem that the process of uniting opposites begins</p><p>with a discovery of the personal unconscious, of which the shadow is part. This</p><p>is discovered by a matter of will: the individual must determine its content by</p><p>recognizing all aspects (attitudes and functions) of his or her whole personality,</p><p>and then by noting which are absent from the conscious orientation – some-</p><p>thing that is indicated by those unfavourable feelings that the individual might</p><p>unconsciously project on to others. The process continues with the discovery of</p><p>the collective unconscious, of which the anima/animus is part. This second stage</p><p>is triggered by the first. This happens, according to Jung, when the first stage</p><p>‘becomes untenable after a certain point’ (Jung, 1951, par. 19). The details of how</p><p>the transformation is made from the first stage to the second (from incorporating</p><p>the personal unconscious into consciousness to the incorporation of the collective</p><p>unconscious into consciousness) is not made clear by Jung. The implication is that</p><p>the resistance experienced in the first stage, caused by trying to incorporate the</p><p>shadow, somehow initiates archetypal activity from the anima/animus. However,</p><p>this implies that the shadow has not yet been successfully accepted into conscious-</p><p>ness, thereby making further progress in individuation unlikely.15 Likewise,</p><p>Jung tells us that once the anima/animus has been successfully incorporated into</p><p>46 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>consciousness ‘the unconscious again changes its dominant character and appears</p><p>again in a new symbolic form, representing the Self, the innermost nucleus of the</p><p>psyche’ (MHS, p. 196). It would therefore seem that the progressive stages in</p><p>the process of uniting opposites are not a matter for intellectual examination;</p><p>rather, the process is an unconscious one that is marked only by spontaneous</p><p>symbolic images that are linked by no definable causal relationship. The three</p><p>stages in the individuation process can thus be discussed as one. Once the inferior</p><p>unconscious traits (symbolized by both stages one and two: the archetypes of the</p><p>shadow and anima/animus) are made conscious, the psyche is no longer expressed</p><p>in one-sided terms as promoting one opposite, but is expressed as promoting an</p><p>equal balance between the opposites. The psyche’s oppositions are no longer</p><p>related by conflict but by compensation and unification, and this psychic state of</p><p>equilibrium is itself symbolized by stage three, the Self – the very centre of totality,</p><p>which embraces both consciousness and unconsciousness just as the ego is the</p><p>centre of the conscious mind (Jung, 1936a, par. 44).</p><p>It is not easy to decipher the movement between the stages (or even the stages</p><p>themselves) of the individuation process. I understand this movement as the</p><p>gradual unification of opposites, and I believe that a more thorough understanding</p><p>of this process can be found in Jung’s alchemical texts. Jung draws a parallel</p><p>between his individuation process and the alchemical process; although Jung’s</p><p>interpretation of the latter is riddled with obscure and often incomprehensible</p><p>symbols, I believe an overall scheme and structured stages, in which opposites are</p><p>progressively united, can be identified. Once we have established this, we should</p><p>be in a better position to understand the movement between the stages of the</p><p>individuation process.</p><p>The unification of opposites in alchemy</p><p>In alchemy Jung found a wealth of symbolism that he</p><p>recognized to be parallel to</p><p>the process of individuation. As we saw earlier, the unconscious communicates its</p><p>material to consciousness via the transcendent function, which spontaneously</p><p>produces symbols in dreams, fantasies and visions. We cannot rely solely upon</p><p>Jung’s ‘systematic’ discourse to understand the process of uniting opposites.</p><p>Indeed Jung points out many times that the psyche cannot be adequately described</p><p>in ‘scientific’ and ‘rational’ terms. An attempt at examining Jung’s difficult texts</p><p>on alchemy and its symbols may compensate for the structured exposition of his</p><p>thought.</p><p>The ancient art of alchemy was concerned with the complexities of change,</p><p>of the transformation from one state to another. Alchemists worked with metals,</p><p>and within their laboratories they tried to transform an ore of little value into silver</p><p>or gold (or the ‘Philosopher’s Stone’). But this ‘external work’ with matter was,</p><p>in many cases, intimately linked to an ‘inner work’ on the human personality. For</p><p>example, we often read of the ‘alchemical fire’ that is the ‘secret of the opus’. This</p><p>is clearly a physical fire that was controlled within a vessel as part of the ‘outer’</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 47</p><p>process; but it is also the heat-producing quality of meditation and imagination that</p><p>is linked with the ‘inner’ individuation process. Thus,</p><p>alchemy had a double face: on the one hand the practical chemical work in</p><p>the laboratory, on the other a psychological process, in part consciously</p><p>psychic, in part unconsciously projected and seen in the various transfor-</p><p>mations of matter.</p><p>(Jung, 1937a, par. 380)</p><p>As a method of understanding physical process, it is fair to say that alchemy is</p><p>now redundant: it inevitably gave way to modern chemistry due to its inferior</p><p>methodology (which lacked quantitative measurements), understanding and lack</p><p>of success in the transformation of matter. However, alchemy is still relevant in its</p><p>use as a tool for reflecting upon psychological change. Indeed, in Psychology and</p><p>Alchemy (CW 12, 1944a) Jung discusses how certain archetypal images that are</p><p>common in alchemy appear in the dreams of modern individuals who have no</p><p>knowledge of alchemical literature:</p><p>The world of alchemical symbols definitely does not belong to the rubbish</p><p>heap of the past, but stands in a very real and living relationship to our most</p><p>recent discoveries concerning the psychology of the unconscious.</p><p>(Jung, 1955–1956, p. xiii)</p><p>The ‘most recent discovery’, according to Jung, is of course his individuation</p><p>process.</p><p>The often cited saying ‘solve et coagula’ in alchemical texts describes the</p><p>process of uniting opposites that is common to alchemy and the individuation</p><p>process. Both the alchemist and the Jungian analyst see the essence of his art in</p><p>terms of separation, on the one hand, and synthesis and consolidation on the</p><p>other:</p><p>There was first of all an initial state in which opposite tendencies or forces</p><p>were in conflict . . . [and then] the great question of a procedure which would</p><p>be capable of bringing the hostile elements and qualities, once they were</p><p>separated, back to a unity again.</p><p>(ibid., p. xiv)</p><p>This procedure in alchemy is, unfortunately, highly confused and complex, so</p><p>that ‘hardly two authors are of the same opinion regarding the exact course of</p><p>the process and the sequence of its stages’ (Jung, 1937a, par. 333) and ‘It is</p><p>quite hopeless to try to establish any kind of order’ (Jung, 1937a, par. 401). It thus</p><p>seems that our quest for arriving at a definite structure to the process of uniting</p><p>the opposites by referring to the alchemical literature will fail. However, Jung</p><p>maintains that ‘the majority [of authors] are agreed on the principal points at</p><p>48 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>issue’ (ibid.). Thus, alchemists in general distinguish four stages to their work,</p><p>which correspond, Jung notes, to</p><p>the original colours mentioned in Heraclitus: melanosis (blackening), leukosis</p><p>(whitening), xanthosis (yellowing) and iosis (reddening) . . . [But] later, about</p><p>the fifteenth or sixteenth century, the colours were reduced to three, and the</p><p>xanthosis . . . gradually fell into disuse or was seldom mentioned.</p><p>(ibid.)</p><p>‘Colours’, Jung informs us, ‘are feeling-values’ (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 333).</p><p>For evidence he cites the fact that when patients sketch their dream images they</p><p>use colour at ‘the moment when merely intellectual interest gives way to emotional</p><p>participation’ (ibid.). Likewise, it is often the case that significant emotional</p><p>moments in the dream itself insist upon a specific colour for their expression. We</p><p>could thus say that the use of colour to denote stages in the alchemical process</p><p>indicates the transformation of the conscious mood or attitude in the individuation</p><p>process, with its gradual incorporation of unconscious material. Jung seems to</p><p>agree with this view:</p><p>Psychologically it means that during the assimilation of the unconscious the</p><p>personality passes through many transformations, which show it in different</p><p>lights and are followed by ever-changing moods.</p><p>(Jung, 1955–1956, par. 430)</p><p>The unconscious is gradually ‘illuminated’ in the developing personality, which</p><p>is characterized by a change in mood from black to white (or yellow) to red:</p><p>This dawning light corresponds to the albedo, the moonlight which in the</p><p>opinion of some alchemists heralds the rising sun, the growing redness</p><p>(rubedo) which now denotes an increase of warmth and light.</p><p>(ibid., par. 307)</p><p>The first ‘mood’ or stage of the alchemical process is black, which corresponds to</p><p>the lack of unconscious incorporation (the shadow of the individuation process or</p><p>the alchemical nigredo). The final stage is red, which corresponds to the fullest</p><p>expression or illumination. We can think of the red stage of enlightenment as the</p><p>Nietzschean ‘Daybreak’, when authentic values, which were once hidden, are at</p><p>last expressed, or in terms of the ‘blood’ that gives life to the whole individual, the</p><p>Self (cf. Jung, 1947/1954, par. 384).</p><p>In order to ascertain a more detailed explanation of the stages in the alchemical</p><p>process and their associated colours, we shall examine the external, chemical</p><p>method of transforming a base metal into a nobler metal. This is clearly described</p><p>by the historian Jack Lindsay, who is worth quoting at length.</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 49</p><p>Lead, a primary common metal, had to be broken up, changed, driven up the</p><p>scale, towards silver or gold; it had to change its colour. So fire was invoked;</p><p>and under its action the lead was reduced to a fluid state. The fluidity thus</p><p>brought about was what constituted the primary level, in which new</p><p>potentialities were actively present . . . Also the liquefaction of lead involved</p><p>its blackening. So the blackness of the liquid condition above all expressed</p><p>the attainment of a primary level, a state of chaos . . . Somehow the Primary</p><p>Black had to be transformed into White or Yellow, which expressed the</p><p>nobler metals. This could be done, it was believed, if one could find a metal</p><p>which had certain affinities with both the lower and higher substances, which</p><p>sympathized with both of them and which exerted its attractive power in both</p><p>directions (downwards and upwards).</p><p>By using the right kind of metal, in the right kind of proportions, one</p><p>could swing the balance towards the upper levels and thus transform the</p><p>material into the higher . . . The two materials, that of primary matter or liquid</p><p>blackness and that of the alloying and transforming addition, must have</p><p>something in common, some element of harmony . . . But if that were all, a</p><p>state of equilibrium was created and nothing happened; the first level was not</p><p>transcended. So one nature must conquer the other. The conquering act was</p><p>the moment of transformation, when the equilibrium was broken and a new</p><p>relationship established.</p><p>The new fused substance existed at a higher level and involved the creation</p><p>of a new quality, which revealed itself in the colour-change. But</p><p>of this book: Janet and Rachel Huskinson, Angus</p><p>Bain, Nick Joll, Robbo Mossop, Andy McGee, Clive Zammit, Barbara Brickman,</p><p>Marilyn Ward and, of course, Charmaine Coyle, my evil influence.</p><p>This work is dedicated to my husband, A. D. Smith, from whom I have learnt,</p><p>and continue to learn, the most valuable lessons. I also thank him for taking on the</p><p>unenviable task of reading through the ‘final’ drafts of this work (which was</p><p>impressively executed, with only three (audible) sighs). I would also like to</p><p>dedicate this work to those other characters of the Department of Philosophy at the</p><p>University of Essex at the time I read for my first degree, in particular to Peter</p><p>Dews, Mark Sacks, Tom Sorell, Simon Critchley, Mike Weston, Fiona Hughes,</p><p>Will Cartwright and Barbara Crawshaw at the helm.</p><p>Acknowledgements</p><p>In this book I have made particular reference to the following works:</p><p>The Will to Power by Friedrich Nietzsche, edited by W. Kaufmann, translated</p><p>by W. Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, copyright © 1967 Vintage Books, New</p><p>York. Permission applied for from Vintage Books, New York. Human, All Too</p><p>Human by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by R. J. Hollingdale, copyright © R. J.</p><p>Hollingdale 1996, Cambridge University Press. Used by permission of Cambridge</p><p>University Press. Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by</p><p>R. J. Hollingdale, copyright © R. J. Hollingdale 1973, Penguin Classics. Used</p><p>by permission of Penguin Books Ltd. Ecce Homo by Friedrich Nietzsche,</p><p>translated by R. J. Hollingdale, new introduction by Michael Tanner, copyright ©</p><p>R. J. Hollingdale 1992, introduction copyright © Michael Tanner, 1992, Penguin</p><p>Classics. Used by permission of Penguin Books Ltd. Thus Spoke Zarathustra by</p><p>Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by R. J. Hollingdale, copyright © R. J. Hollingdale</p><p>1961, 1969, Penguin Classics. Used by permission of Penguin Books Ltd. Twilight</p><p>of the Idols by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by R. J. Hollingdale, copyright ©</p><p>R. J. Hollingdale 1968, Penguin Classics. Used by permission of Penguin Books</p><p>x Preface</p><p>Ltd. Memories, Dreams, Reflections by C. G. Jung, edited by Aniela Jaffé, trans-</p><p>lated by Richard and Clara Winston, copyright © 1961, 1962, 1963 and renewed</p><p>1989, 1990, 1991 by Random House, Inc. Used by permission of Pantheon Books,</p><p>a division of Random House. Extracts from Jung’s Collected Works, copyright ©</p><p>1959, 1969, 1971, 1977 by Princeton University Press, published in the UK by</p><p>Routledge. Used by permission of Princeton University Press and Routledge.</p><p>Nietzsche’s Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1934–1939 by C. G. Jung,</p><p>edited by James Jarrett, two volumes, copyright © 1989 by Princeton University</p><p>Press, published in the UK by Routledge. Used by permission of Princeton</p><p>University Press and Routledge.</p><p>I wish to thank the Journal of Analytical Psychology for allowing me to</p><p>reproduce material from my article ‘The Self as Violent Other: The Problem of</p><p>Defining the Self’, Journal of Analytical Psychology, 2002. I also thank The</p><p>British Academy (The Arts and Humanities Research Board) for their financial</p><p>assistance when undertaking my doctoral research, which is incorporated within</p><p>this work.</p><p>Book cover: Untitled (for Francis) by Antony Gormley. Courtesy of the artist</p><p>and Jay Jopling/White Cube (London), copyright © Tate, London 2004.</p><p>Preface xi</p><p>Abbreviations</p><p>Nietzsche</p><p>Quotations are cited with reference to the following abbreviations.</p><p>AC The Anti-Christ (Der Antichrist, 1888), translated by R. J. Hollingdale,</p><p>Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990.</p><p>AOM Assorted Opinions and Maxims (Vermischte Meinungen und Sprüche,</p><p>HAH II, 1879), translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge University</p><p>Press, 1996.</p><p>BGE Beyond Good and Evil (Jenseits von Gut und Böse, 1886), translated</p><p>by R. J. Hollingdale, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990.</p><p>BT The Birth of Tragedy (Die Geburt der Tragödie, 1872), edited by</p><p>Michael Tanner, translated by Shaun Whiteside, Harmondsworth:</p><p>Penguin, 1993.</p><p>D Daybreak (Morgenröte, 1881), edited by Maudmarie Clark and Brian</p><p>Leiter, translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge University Press,</p><p>1997.</p><p>EH Ecce Homo (Ecce Hommo, 1888), translated by R. J. Hollingdale,</p><p>Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990.</p><p>GM I–IV The Genealogy of Morals (Zur Genealogie der Moral, 1887), translated</p><p>by Walter Kaufmann, New York: Random House, 1968.</p><p>GS The Gay Science (Die Fröhliche Wissenschaft, 1882), translated by</p><p>Walter Kaufmann, New York: Vintage, 1974.</p><p>HAH (I) Human, All Too Human (Menschliches, Allzumenschliches, 1878),</p><p>translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge University Press, 1996.</p><p>PTAG Philosophy in the Tragic Age of the Greeks (Die Philosophie im</p><p>tragischen Zeitalter der Griechen, 1873; unpublished by Nietzsche),</p><p>translated by M. Cowan, Washington, DC: Regnery, Gateway, 1962.</p><p>TI Twilight of the Idols (Götzen-Dämmerung, 1888), translated by R. J.</p><p>Hollingdale, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990.</p><p>TL On Truth and Lie in the Extra-Moral Sense (Über Wahrheit und</p><p>Lüge im aussermoralischen Sinne, 1873, unpublished by Nietzsche),</p><p>edited and translated by Daniel Breazeale, Atlantic Highlands, NJ:</p><p>Humanities Press, 1979.</p><p>TSZ (I–IV) Thus Spoke Zarathustra (Also sprach Zarathustra 1883–1885),</p><p>translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1969.</p><p>UM (I-IV) Untimely Meditations (Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen, 1873–1876),</p><p>translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge University Press, 1983.</p><p>WP The Will to Power (Der Wille zur Macht), edited by Walter</p><p>Kaufmann, translated by Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale,</p><p>New York: Vintage, 1967. This edition follows the 1911 German</p><p>edition.</p><p>WS The Wanderer and his Shadow (Der Wanderer und sein Schatten,</p><p>HAH II, 1880), translated by R. J. Hollingdale, Cambridge</p><p>University Press, 1996.</p><p>Jung</p><p>Quotations are cited with reference to the following abbreviations.</p><p>AP Analytical Psychology: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1925, edited</p><p>by William McGuire, London, 1984. Cited in the text with page</p><p>reference.</p><p>CW Collected Works, edited by Sir Herbert Read, Michael Fordham,</p><p>Gergard Adler and William McGuire, translated by R. F. C. Hull, 20</p><p>volumes, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1953–1983. Cited in</p><p>the text with volume number. Essays from the Collected Works are</p><p>cited in the text separately with date and paragraph number, their</p><p>relevant volume number is indicated in the bibliography.</p><p>JS Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters, edited by William</p><p>McGuire and R. F. C. Hull, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University</p><p>Press, 1977. Cited in the text with page reference.</p><p>MDR Memories, Dreams, Reflections, recorded and edited by Aniela Jaffé,</p><p>translated by Richard and Clara Winston, London: Fontana Press,</p><p>1983. Cited in the text with page reference.</p><p>MHS Man and his Symbols, written with M. L. von Franz, Joseph</p><p>Henderson, Jolande Jacobi and Aniela Jaffé. New York, edited by</p><p>C. G. Jung, London: Arkana, 1990. Cited in the text with page</p><p>reference.</p><p>MMSS Modern Man in Search of a Soul, translated by W. S. Dell and Cary</p><p>Baynes, London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1933.</p><p>SNZ Nietzsche’s Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1934–1939,</p><p>edited by James Jarrett, two volumes, London: Routledge, 1989.</p><p>Cited in the text with volume number and page reference.</p><p>xiv Abbreviations</p><p>Chapter 1</p><p>Introduction</p><p>This book concerns C. G. Jung’s peculiar relation to the work and personality</p><p>of Friedrich Nietzsche. Although the ambiguity that surrounds Sigmund Freud’s</p><p>reception of Nietzschean thought has been widely reported and to some degree</p><p>explained,1 the sense that one cannot but have of the even greater confusion and</p><p>contradiction that envelops Jung’s reception of Nietzsche has barely been inves-</p><p>tigated. Indeed, while Nietzsche’s anticipation of central themes of Freudian</p><p>psychoanalytic theory – including psychological drives, the unconscious, guilt,</p><p>repression, dreaming, wishing, projection and sublimation – has been extensively</p><p>reported, and is generally agreed to be beyond doubt, Nietzsche’s influence on</p><p>Jungian analytical psychology has received little</p><p>that was not</p><p>enough. The new state must be stabilized, so that it might provide the basis</p><p>for yet another upward movement.</p><p>(Lindsay, 1970, pp. 116–117; cited in Schwartz-Salant, 1995, pp. 8–9)</p><p>In Lindsay’s description of the alchemical process we can identify three prominent</p><p>stages of transformation. This triadic formula is implicit within alchemical texts</p><p>and, according to Lindsay, has been communicated within alchemical thinking</p><p>from its earliest forms in Bolos-Demokrites (200 BC), who is regarded as the</p><p>founder of alchemy (Lindsay, 1970, p. 103). This triadic principle is the Axiom of</p><p>Ostanes, which is stated thus: A nature is delighted by another nature, a nature</p><p>conquers another nature, a nature dominates another nature. If we transpose this</p><p>formula into the process of uniting opposites, we see that the first stage entails</p><p>the promotion of opposites. This is the ‘primary chaos’, which is a ‘mixture’ (ibid.,</p><p>p. 117) of the base black metal and its potential to be other (i.e. the nobler white</p><p>or yellow metal). It is interesting to note that the opposites must be created; they</p><p>exist from the beginning only in potentia. Jung supports this premise thus:</p><p>The division into two was necessary in order to bring the ‘one’ world out of</p><p>the state of potential into reality. Reality consists of a multiplicity of things.</p><p>But one is not a number, the first number is two, and with it multiplicity and</p><p>reality begin.</p><p>(Jung, 1955–1956, par. 659)</p><p>50 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>Lindsay tells us that the second stage of the process is defined by the ‘introduction</p><p>of a dynamic factor which changes the original relations’ (Lindsay, 1970, p. 117).</p><p>A third element is thus introduced to unite the opposites. This third element</p><p>corresponds to Jung’s transcendent function (Jung, 1921, par. 184), as it has</p><p>affinities with both opposites, and thus enables the original element to unite with</p><p>its potential. At this stage of the process we are told that the unification of</p><p>opposites might result in a static condition where no energy is created. Earlier we</p><p>saw that Jung regarded this condition as tantamount to the death of the psyche,</p><p>for ‘Like any other energetic system [the psyche] is dependent on the tension of</p><p>opposites’ (Jung, 1954, par. 483, italics mine). The unification of opposites in this</p><p>case would entail their merger without maintaining their essential difference;</p><p>the two opposites would merely blend into one. To counteract this, the notion of</p><p>‘conquering’ is introduced within this stage of the alchemical process. Here we</p><p>see that the opposites are not equivalent, they share a common value with the ‘third</p><p>thing’ that acts as a mediator between the two, but they themselves remain incom-</p><p>mensurable. Thus, in this stage one opposite will conquer or overcome the other</p><p>while maintaining their synthesis. The notion of domination of one opposite</p><p>over the other in this union is not, however, equivalent to Jung’s ‘sick animal’,</p><p>for the latter entails complete domination to the extent that the inferior opposite</p><p>is relegated to the unconscious when it should be consciously active. In the</p><p>alchemical model the inferior opposite is acknowledged and plays a significant</p><p>role; it is active in that it forges a tension with its superior counterpart, thereby</p><p>allowing the process to continue. Indeed, Lindsay implies that the process</p><p>continues so that the union of the opposites (the union of the base metal and its</p><p>potential to be nobler) ‘might provide the basis for yet another upward movement’.</p><p>There is thus a more valued stage beyond the union of opposites. I believe this is</p><p>yet another unification of opposites, triggered off by the previous one.16 We</p><p>saw a similar pattern of progression earlier when the union of consciousness and</p><p>the personal unconscious (personified by the shadow) brought about the further</p><p>union of consciousness and the collective unconscious (personified by the</p><p>anima/animus). In this earlier case we were uncertain about how the second union</p><p>of opposites might be initiated by the first; but now we can turn to the Axiom of</p><p>Ostanes for a possible answer. Thus, the stabilization of the union of opposites</p><p>(expressed by the colour white or yellow, and the chemical composition of silver</p><p>or gold) provides the basis from which a further transformation can be made to a</p><p>more valued stage (expressed by the colour red, and the ‘Philosopher’s Stone’).</p><p>This process of transformation occurs as it did previously – the unvalued</p><p>white/yellow element, now regarded as the synthesis of opposites, contains within</p><p>it the potential to be other, the highly valued red stone, which is its opposite. And</p><p>the ‘third element’ is again introduced to transform the ‘mixture’ by uniting its</p><p>opposites.</p><p>The triadic formula of Ostanes, with its three-stage process of uniting opposites,</p><p>can be traced in the alchemical symbolism that Jung interprets as paralleling his</p><p>individuation process. Perhaps the simplest method to use to unravel the complex</p><p>symbolism is the colour key. We have already recognized that the original black</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 51</p><p>(lead) stage of the alchemical process corresponds to the shadow of the individ-</p><p>uation process, the white or yellow (silver or gold) stage to the anima/animus, and</p><p>the final red (philosopher’s stone) stage to the Self. The symbols of alchemy,</p><p>however, provide a more enriched explanation of this, which is summarized by</p><p>Jung as follows:</p><p>The nigredo or blackness is the initial state, either present from the beginning</p><p>as a quality of the prima materia, the chaos or massa confusa, or else</p><p>produced by the separation (solutio, separatio, divisio, putrefactio) of the</p><p>elements. If the separated condition is assumed at the start, as sometimes</p><p>happens, then a union of opposites is performed under the likeness of a union</p><p>of male and female (called the coniugium, matrimonium, coniunctio, coitus),</p><p>followed by the death of the product of the union (mortificatio, calcinatio,</p><p>putrfactio) and a corresponding nigredo. From this the washing (ablutio,</p><p>baptisma) either leads direct to the whitening (albedo), or else the soul</p><p>(anima) released at the ‘death’ is reunited with the dead body and brings about</p><p>its resurrection, or again the ‘many colours’ (omnes colores), or ‘peacock’s</p><p>tail’ (cauda pavonis), lead to the one white colour that contains all colours. At</p><p>this point the first main goal of the process is reached, namely the albedo,</p><p>tinctura, alba, lapis albus etc., highly prized by many alchemists as if it were</p><p>the ultimate goal. It is the silver or moon condition. The albedo is, so to speak,</p><p>the daybreak, but not until the rubedo is it sunrise . . . the rubedo then follows</p><p>direct from the albedo as the result of raising the heat of the fire to its highest</p><p>intensity. The red and the white are King and Queen, who may celebrate their</p><p>‘chymical wedding’ at this stage.</p><p>(Jung, 1937a, par. 334)</p><p>The first stage of the process is evident in the black prima materia or chaos, where</p><p>all elements are in total conflict so that the opposites repel one another and no</p><p>connection or relation between them is possible (ibid., par. 381). This original state</p><p>is symbolized in alchemy by many images. Perhaps the most common is that of</p><p>water: it is ‘a whirlpool in chaos’, the ‘material principle of all bodies’ is ‘eternal</p><p>water’, the ‘water of life’ (Jung, 1937a, pars. 433, 425). Water is construed by Jung</p><p>to be ‘an excellent symbol for the living power of the psyche’, particularly its</p><p>unconscious aspect (ibid., par. 94).</p><p>It is the role of the alchemical process to unite the opposites of the prima</p><p>material, and this is embodied in the union of opposite genders – in the ‘chymical</p><p>wedding’. In alchemy the union of man and woman represents the highest union</p><p>of opposites in which all other opposites become subsumed: ‘The brother–sister</p><p>pair stands allegorically for the whole conception of opposites’ (Jung, 1955–1956,</p><p>par. 436; Jung, 1944a, par. 43). Their ‘wedding’ is crucial to the process. It must</p><p>be noted</p><p>that in the above passage Jung speaks of this union immediately after the</p><p>initial stage of chaos and again between the stages of albedo and rubedo. It would</p><p>seem that either the initial union between the sexes is merely transitory and does</p><p>52 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>not enjoy complete satisfaction or ‘stability’ until the end of the process, or that</p><p>their ‘wedding’ occurs at each transformation. In support of the latter explanation,</p><p>the wedding is often referred to as the coniunctio, which, Jung says, is equivalent</p><p>to the transcendent function – that which enables the cooperation of opposites at</p><p>any and every stage (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 261). However, the wedding of king</p><p>and queen (Sol and Luna) is usually realized at the end of the process, culminating</p><p>in the birth of their child, which represents the ultimate alchemical goal. If this is</p><p>indeed the case, then the appearance of their wedding at the start (as the above</p><p>passage indicates) is confusing. This confusion adds to our earlier uncertainty as</p><p>to whether the individuation process is either a linear or circular process. Jung</p><p>himself confirms the confusion:</p><p>The displacement and overlapping of images are as great in alchemy as they</p><p>are in mythology and folklore. As these archetypal images are produced</p><p>directly by the unconscious, it is not surprising that they exhibit its contam-</p><p>ination of content to a very high degree.</p><p>(Jung, 1955–1956, par. 401)</p><p>We see that the chaotic, separated opposites find regulation and unity in the</p><p>wedding of male and female. In terms of the Axiom of Ostanes, the first stage is</p><p>in play, where a nature is delighted by another nature. In the wedding of male</p><p>and female, the third element that is common to both opposites and implements</p><p>their union, is the symbol of incest; we are thus informed that the king will marry</p><p>his mother (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 410), that there will be a ‘union of close blood-</p><p>relatives’ (Jung, 1946, par. 419), and a ‘union with one’s own being’ (ibid.). After</p><p>the wedding the union experiences ‘death’ and ‘a corresponding nigredo’. This</p><p>is because the king must die leaving the widowed queen in a transformed state</p><p>of pregnancy. These events culminate in the second phase of the process, the white</p><p>albedo stage, where a nature conquers another nature. Thus, in the union of male</p><p>and female, the female is stronger than the male; she conquers him to avoid their</p><p>complete merger into a static condition. The king is inferior, we are told, because</p><p>he is intrinsically weak: ‘The original imperfection of the king . . . becomes a</p><p>problem’ (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 368); ‘The old king lacked something, on which</p><p>account he grew senile’ (Jung, 1945/1954, par. 427). Indeed, the king is suffering</p><p>from the sickness of a one-sided conscious attitude:</p><p>With increasing one-sidedness the power of the king decays . . . the more</p><p>distinctly an idea emerges and the more consciousness gains in clarity, the</p><p>more monarchic becomes its content, to which everything contradictory must</p><p>submit . . . The king constantly needs the renewal that begins with a descent</p><p>into his own darkness, an immersion in his own depths, and with a reminder</p><p>that he is related by blood to his adversary.</p><p>(Jung, 1955–1956, par. 471)</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 53</p><p>The king must die so that he can be reborn in a nobler form, as a whole being. He</p><p>must suffer various fatalities at the hands of the queen, including ‘immersion in</p><p>the bath or sea’ (of ‘Luna unconsciousness’), ‘dissolution and decomposition’,</p><p>‘extinction of his light (Sol) in the darkness (Luna)’, and ‘incineration in the fire’.17</p><p>The death of the king ‘signifies the overcoming of the old and obsolete as well</p><p>as the dangerous preliminary stages [of the process of uniting opposites] which</p><p>are characterized by animal symbols’ (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 169). The king is</p><p>represented by a dragon, which</p><p>from inner necessity . . . destroyed itself and changed into the lion, and the</p><p>adept, drawn involuntarily into the drama, then felt the need to cut off his</p><p>paws . . . The dragon ate its own wings as the eagle did its feathers. These</p><p>grotesque images reflect the conflict of opposites into which the researcher’s</p><p>curiosity had led him.</p><p>(Jung, 1945/1954, par. 493; also see Jung, 1955–1956, par. 169)</p><p>The king’s murder by the queen is principally described as a drowning in a bath,</p><p>which is the return to the unconscious. The symbolic meaning of water is clearly</p><p>conveyed here – for the king represents the conscious extreme, and the water is</p><p>the (female) unconscious chaos that threatens to overcompensate. The king is</p><p>destroyed, but all is not lost, because the waters are baptismal and enable the king</p><p>to be reborn. The king is reborn as the child of the incestuous marriage between</p><p>himself (in his original inferior form) and the queen. As the unborn child of the</p><p>queen, the king experiences a ‘return to the dark initial state’, as he is again</p><p>immersed in her waters and the ‘amniotic fluid of the grave uterus’ (Jung, 1946,</p><p>par. 454).</p><p>The murder of the king by the superior queen describes the white albedo</p><p>stage of the alchemical process. Returning to the above passage (Jung, 1937a,</p><p>par. 334), we see that ‘the washing . . . leads direct to the whitening . . . the one</p><p>white colour that contains all colours’; and these ‘many colours’ are equivalent</p><p>to the ‘peacock’s tail’. In order to encourage the transformation to the final stage</p><p>of the alchemical process, in which the child is born, the queen consumes a special</p><p>‘pregnancy diet’ (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 388). This diet represents the third stage</p><p>in the triadic formula of Ostanes, where a nature dominates another nature. The</p><p>queen, by nourishing the unborn king inside her, expresses her dominance over</p><p>him. This nourishment takes the form of ‘peacock flesh’ and the ‘blood of the</p><p>green lion’ (ibid., par. 401).18 Thus, the queen expresses her domination over the</p><p>king by devouring that which represents all colours; that is, all the coloured stages</p><p>in the alchemical process. The queen contains everything within her; she is what</p><p>Jung refers to as the ‘one white colour that contains all colours’. The final stage in</p><p>the alchemical process occurs after the queen consumes the lion’s blood and</p><p>peacock’s flesh,19 when she gives birth to her son: the reborn king.</p><p>The king in his second birth is the hermaphrodite; he is both king and queen.</p><p>In this state, the king is no longer inferior to the queen, so she cannot dominate</p><p>54 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>him. This means the process of splitting and uniting opposites cannot continue:</p><p>‘Because the lapis [the child of Sol and Luna] is both male and female there is no</p><p>need for another coniunctio’ (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 524). In the alchemical</p><p>process the king passes through various stages of transformation characterized by</p><p>the dragon, lion, eagle and hermaphrodite. Each stage represents a greater degree</p><p>of insight as more of the unconscious is incorporated; the hermaphrodite king, as</p><p>the final stage, represents complete unconscious integration.</p><p>The complexities of alchemical symbolism are evident in the exposition I have</p><p>given. However, the triadic formula of Ostanes can be discerned within it, and this</p><p>alchemical method gives us insight into how the opposites are united. The parallels</p><p>between alchemical symbolism and the process of individuation are palpable, so</p><p>that, an examination of the former can elucidate the latter. Thus, although the</p><p>process of uniting opposites that underlies the progress of individuation is</p><p>obscured, Jung’s work on alchemy illuminates what he regarded as its essential</p><p>aspects.</p><p>In this chapter we have seen that opposites are significant to Jung’s thought.</p><p>We have seen that Jung values the creativity that is generated when opposites</p><p>balance and compensate one another. The development of the personality – the</p><p>individuation process – depends on a complementary relationship between</p><p>consciousness and the unconscious, where both opposites are given equal expres-</p><p>sion;</p><p>a disequilibrium or one-sidedness will result in an unhealthy psychological</p><p>disturbance.</p><p>We have seen that Jung does not explicitly define the stages of the individuation</p><p>process. I presented it as a linear process that proceeds through stages that</p><p>progressively reconcile opposites, culminating in the complete unification of</p><p>opposites where both opposites are fully expressed. We saw that these stages are</p><p>personified by particular archetypes in the individuation process and find their</p><p>parallel in particular colours and symbols in the alchemical process. The process</p><p>of individuation leads to the whole personality where consciousness is enriched in</p><p>its coordination with the personal and collective unconscious. Jung calls the whole</p><p>personality the Self, and in Chapter 6 we shall try to describe what Jung meant by</p><p>this. Certain similarities between the Self and Nietzsche’s Übermensch will</p><p>emerge.</p><p>Opposites in the Jungian model of the psyche 55</p><p>Chapter 6</p><p>The Self as a union of</p><p>opposites</p><p>The achievement of the Self marks the telos of the psyche, where the opposites</p><p>within the psyche are no longer related by conflict but by compensation. The Self</p><p>is thus ‘the container and the organizer of all opposites’ (Jung, 1946, par. 536). It</p><p>signifies the unification of opposites within the psyche, wherein the four functions,</p><p>two attitude-types, shadow, anima/animus and persona are integrated within the</p><p>wider unification of consciousness and the unconscious, thereby creating a new</p><p>and richer focus within the personality to balance the ego with its tendency to</p><p>prejudice.</p><p>It is generally thought that Jung primarily developed his concept of the Self</p><p>primarily from his own concept of the ‘transcendent function’, and from Eastern</p><p>Mysticism, which frequently refers to notions of totality (Jung, 1951, par. 350).</p><p>As we saw in Chapter 5 , the transcendent function is part of the symbol-forming</p><p>aspect of the unconscious that possesses a purposive tendency to hold both</p><p>conscious and unconscious together. Its purpose is to enable the psyche to realize</p><p>the Self – the ultimate psychic balance where all oppositions are resolved. In 1916</p><p>Jung wrote:</p><p>The shuttling to and fro of arguments and affects represents the transcendent</p><p>function of opposites. The confrontation of the two positions generates a</p><p>tension charged with energy and creates a living third thing . . . a movement</p><p>out of the suspension between opposites, a living birth that leads to a new</p><p>level of being, a new situation.</p><p>(Jung, 1916/1957, par. 189)</p><p>This ‘third thing’ and ‘new level of being’, which culminates in the unification</p><p>of opposites, is virtually identical with the Self. In this sense the Self (as with the</p><p>transcendent function) can be regarded as the mediator of opposites. It is equiv-</p><p>alent to the ‘third’ element that is introduced in the second stage of the alchemical</p><p>process of Ostanes, which, through its affinities with both opposites, enables their</p><p>unification (cf. Jung, 1946, par. 474). The Self is both a crucial ingredient within</p><p>the process of uniting opposites and the very end-product of this process, the union</p><p>of opposites itself.</p><p>Jung did not develop a substantial theory of the Self; and thus the notion of the</p><p>individuated personality, which has attained ‘Selfhood’, remains equally elusive.</p><p>In ‘The Undiscovered Self’ (1957) he bluntly states: ‘Since self-knowledge is a</p><p>matter of getting to know the individual facts, theories are of very little help’ (Jung,</p><p>1957, par. 493). We know that the Self is the ordering and unifying centre of the</p><p>total psyche, and that while the ego is the centre of the conscious personality, the</p><p>Self is the centre of both the conscious and unconscious personalities (Jung, 1936a,</p><p>par. 44); but this description leads only to an inadequate and limited analysis of</p><p>Selfhood. This is because the Self is only partly capable of being consciously</p><p>perceived, as its totality encompasses every psychic manifestation – including</p><p>those unconscious processes that remain ineffable and forever out of reach to ego</p><p>comprehension and understanding:</p><p>The self is a union of opposites par excellence . . . the self, however, is</p><p>absolutely paradoxical in that it presents in every respect thesis and antithesis,</p><p>and at the same time synthesis . . . it is itself both conflict and unity.</p><p>(Jung, 1944a, par. 22, italics mine)</p><p>Thus, the Self as a paradoxical entity evades logical explanation.1</p><p>A rational theory based on empirical data is useless for the depiction of the Self,</p><p>as it cannot be reduced to intellectual knowledge. Scientific discourse relies</p><p>heavily on abstract theorizing about well-defined data and seeks to exclude the</p><p>symbolic metaphors through which the unconscious finds expression. Indeed, Jung</p><p>writes that the Self is experienced as having</p><p>a value quality attached to it, namely its feeling-tone. This indicates the degree</p><p>to which the subject is affected by the process or how much it means to him</p><p>. . . In psychology one possesses nothing unless one has experienced it in</p><p>reality. Hence a purely intellectual insight is not enough.</p><p>(Jung, 1951, par. 61)</p><p>Trying to explain the Self is akin to explaining God. God, or the abstract idea of</p><p>God, is not contained in rational thought or empirical sense-data. He is found</p><p>through metaphors and symbols, as a force primarily experienced rather than</p><p>understood on a reductive level of intellect.</p><p>The experience of the Self, as with all numinous experiences of Otherness, is an</p><p>affective experience of immense proportion (Jung, 1951, par. 53). The Self is other</p><p>to the ego; it is an experience of the ‘not-me’ in the ‘me’, a religious experience.</p><p>Emmanuel Levinas takes up a similar idea in Totality and Infinity (1969) where</p><p>the contradictory elements of ‘Same’ (ego) and ‘Other’ (Self) can never exist as</p><p>a totality in union. The Same exists because the Other is irreconcilable with</p><p>it, otherwise both Same and Other would be part of a greater totality or whole</p><p>that would invade and invalidate their separateness. Levinas paradoxically says</p><p>they are related as a ‘relation without relation’ (ibid., pp. 79–80). It is a relation</p><p>The Self as a union of opposites 57</p><p>because an encounter does take place, and it is ‘without relation’ because that</p><p>encounter does not establish understanding: the Other remains resolutely Other.</p><p>This does not invalidate the Jungian interpretation where the Self encompasses the</p><p>ego in a totality, for the ego remains at all times an element separate to it. (If the</p><p>ego were identified with the Self, ego-inflation would result: Jung, 1951, par. 44).</p><p>The Levinasian discourse continues to parallel Jung’s and offers insight into the</p><p>nature of the Self. In his text Levinas proceeds by stating that the encounter</p><p>between the Same and Other is essentially of a violent nature.2 He writes:</p><p>‘Violence consists in welcoming a being to which [the mind] is inadequate’</p><p>(Levinas, 1969, p. 25). The encounter with the Other causes the Same to realize</p><p>its impotence; it creates a surplus value of infinity within the Same, which disrupts</p><p>the totality and self-containment of the Same.3 The Same cannot integrate the</p><p>Other and is reconditioned by it: ‘The I loses its hold before the absolutely Other</p><p>. . . [it] can no longer be powerful’ (ibid., p. 17). Thus, the Other overturns the very</p><p>egoism of the personality and puts consciousness into question; consciousness</p><p>must answer to the Other and realize that it is not in total possession of the world</p><p>(ibid., p. 173). Jung describes this encounter with the unconscious Other as a</p><p>wounding:</p><p>Whoever has suffered once from an intrusion of the unconscious has at least</p><p>a scar if not an open wound. His wholeness, as he understood it, the wholeness</p><p>of his ego personality, has been badly damaged, for it became obvious he was</p><p>not alone; something which he did not control was in the same house with</p><p>him, and that is of course wounding to the pride of the ego personality, a fatal</p><p>blow to his own monarchy.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1233; also see SNZ, I, p. 449)</p><p>The individual</p><p>must, therefore, acknowledge that he is a being of both conscious-</p><p>ness and unconsciousness, of Same and Other. Experience of the unconscious</p><p>directly affects the conscious ego; the ego is reformulated or damaged by the</p><p>ethical demand placed on it in the presence of the Other. Jung warns of this</p><p>potential danger many times. According to Jung, the individuation process is often</p><p>experienced as dangerous and violent. Jung writes:</p><p>The rediscovered unconscious often has a really dangerous effect on the</p><p>ego . . . In the same way that the ego suppressed the unconscious before, a</p><p>liberated unconscious can thrust the ego aside and overwhelm it. There is</p><p>a danger of the ego losing its head, so to speak, that it will not be able to</p><p>defend itself against the pressure of affective factors.</p><p>(Jung, 1916/1957, par. 183; also see Jung, 1951, par. 33)</p><p>The danger and pressure arise when the conscious attitude is confronted by its</p><p>shadow – those characteristics of a contrary nature that can appear alien and</p><p>morally reprehensible. The realization of the whole personality is a powerful</p><p>58 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>numinous experience that is dangerous and violent. As we saw in Chapter 5, the</p><p>alchemical process describes the rebirth of the ego ‘into’ the Self as a painful</p><p>experience, for the king (who represents ego-consciousness) must suffer an awful</p><p>death if he is to be reborn into a complete form. The death of the ego, as with the</p><p>death of the king, ‘signifies the overcoming of the old and the obsolete’ (Jung,</p><p>1955–1956, par. 169), and this entails a wounding from the might of the Self.</p><p>The ego experiences the king’s sufferings: of dissolution and decomposition, the</p><p>extinction of its light (its power and domination over all), and incineration in the</p><p>fire (in the greater power) (Jung, 1945/1954, par. 468). Within the individuation</p><p>process the Self forces the ego to acknowledge its impotence, and through its</p><p>affects it inflicts a radical change in the attitude of the ego. The ego is no longer</p><p>in its petty personal world – believing itself to be in total possession of the world</p><p>– as it was prior to individuation, but now participates freely in the wider world of</p><p>objective interests (Jung, 1929, par. 68). It sheds its limited subjectivity for ‘an</p><p>attitude that is beyond the reach of emotional entanglements and violent shocks’</p><p>(Jung, 1929, pars. 67–68). The king is thus reborn; his monarchy is revitalized so</p><p>that his power can no longer be questioned, for he has attained the ultimate power:</p><p>Selfhood.</p><p>The ego must try to accept its rebirth (Jung, 1951, par. 51) and try to ground</p><p>its experience of the Other in a framework to which it can relate. The two</p><p>opposing rational functions of thinking and feeling are required to secure this kind</p><p>of understanding (ibid., par. 52); but this is difficult to achieve (ibid., par. 58) as</p><p>it requires a personality that has already achieved a sufficient degree of indi-</p><p>viduation, where both functions have developed. If the ego does not try to accept</p><p>its rebirth and tries instead to ignore the experience of the Other, or tries to explain</p><p>it away as illusion, or reduce it to the level of the intellect, it will have to deal with</p><p>the consequential onslaught of ‘insanity’ and ‘destructive mass psychoses’ (Jung,</p><p>1929, pars. 52, 53). Here the Other and the ego can be regarded as opposites; when</p><p>the ego ignores the Other or reduces it to ego-consciousness it is equivalent to</p><p>the domination of one opposite over its counterpart, and neurosis will inevitably</p><p>follow. Likewise, the promotion of the Other over the ego will have similar results.</p><p>Thus, although the Self, as the unknowable Other, appears as a violent entity to</p><p>ego-consciousness, it cannot be wholly destructive. The Self does not seek</p><p>to eradicate all ego-consciousness, for the opposites of ego and Self are of equal</p><p>importance. As we saw in Chapter 5, ‘Unconscious compensation is only effective</p><p>when it co-operates with an integral consciousness. Assimilation is never</p><p>a question of “this or that”, but always of “this and that”’ (Jung, 1934, par. 338).</p><p>Therefore, the Self cannot kill the ego, for the ego is the Self’s feet (SNZ, II,</p><p>p. 978).</p><p>When the ego fails to accept its rebirth and is at a loss of understanding, the</p><p>psyche spontaneously produces a compensatory symbol, a symbol that expresses</p><p>totality (and thus the union of opposites). This symbolic framework enables the</p><p>ego to relate to the unconscious experience and protects it from the onslaught of</p><p>insanity that would otherwise overcome it.4 When this symbol of unification is</p><p>The Self as a union of opposites 59</p><p>manifest, the balance between the ego and the unconscious is restored. The</p><p>presence of these symbols provides an empirical grounding for Jung’s ‘theory’ of</p><p>the Self, for</p><p>although ‘wholeness’ seems at first sight to be nothing but an abstract idea,</p><p>it is nevertheless empirical in so far as it is anticipated by the psyche in the</p><p>form of spontaneous or autonomous symbols.</p><p>(ibid., par. 59)</p><p>An empirical grounding, however, does not mean that Jung is on his way to</p><p>establishing an objective theory of the Self that can be tested and qualified, because</p><p>these Self-symbols (or transcendent functions) remain numinous – they are</p><p>conscious interpretations of unconscious communications, the archetypal images</p><p>of the archetypal Self. These symbols are clothed with finite images that are</p><p>accessible to the ego, images that are subjectively defined by the ego according to</p><p>its response to the a priori archetype and its conscious attitude (Jung, 1951, par.</p><p>355);5 but the archetype in itself, behind this subjective clothing, can never be</p><p>attained. The Self remains elusive, concerned with individual facts that escape</p><p>testable theory (Jung, 1957, par. 493). It is experienced by the individual and</p><p>symbolically expressed in individual terms.</p><p>Symbols have a subjective power, and may thus be effective for one individual</p><p>and appear as a mere sign for another. Likewise, from an objective standpoint, one</p><p>symbol is only as appropriate as the next.6 An intellectual classification of symbols</p><p>will achieve little. Jung, however, is intent on making more of his ‘empirical</p><p>theory’ (Jung, 1951, par. 59), to the extent that he is guilty of objectifying the</p><p>subjective, by predetermining what is personal, in giving specific examples and an</p><p>overall schematization of Self-imagery. Jung attempts the very thing he maintains</p><p>should not be done: to establish a concrete theory of the Self, a theory of its</p><p>objective symbolic form. He states that the Self will appear in dreams as an</p><p>elephant, horse, bull, bear, white and black birds, fishes, and snakes</p><p>. . . tortoises, snails, spiders, and beetles. The principal plant symbols are</p><p>the flower and the tree. Of the inorganic products, the commonest are the</p><p>mountain and the lake.</p><p>(Jung, 1951, par. 356)</p><p>Here Jung is limiting Self-symbols to rigid, personal examples, and consequently</p><p>fails to acknowledge the subjective rule of symbolism, where a specific image may</p><p>not express the Self and the unification of opposites to every individual. It would</p><p>be more appropriate for Jung to express his ‘theory’ only with such abstract</p><p>statements as: ‘Anything that a man postulates as being a greater totality than</p><p>himself can become a symbol of the self’ (Jung, 1942/1948, par. 232). Or again:</p><p>‘the self can appear in all shapes from the highest to the lowest, inasmuch as they</p><p>transcend the scope of the ego personality in the manner of a daimonion’ (Jung,</p><p>60 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>1951, par. 356). These statements are detailed and yet flexible enough to be</p><p>applicable to every subjective symbolic formulation of the Self.</p><p>Jung is quite willing to give many examples of Self-symbols (most of which are</p><p>found in Aion, CW 9ii, 1951). Edward Edinger dramatically summarizes these</p><p>interchangeable images and themes of the Self as follows:</p><p>Such themes as wholeness, totality, the union of opposites, the central</p><p>generative point, the world navel, the axis of the universe,</p><p>the creative point</p><p>where God and man meet, the point where transpersonal energies flow into</p><p>personal life, eternity as opposed to the temporal flux, incorruptibility, the</p><p>inorganic united paradoxically with the organic, protective structures capable</p><p>of bringing order out of chaos, the transformation of energy, the elixir of life</p><p>– all refer to the Self, the central source of life energy, the fountain of our</p><p>being which is most simply described as God.</p><p>(Edinger, 1972, p. 4)</p><p>The God-image and the mandala sacred circle are the two Self-images that</p><p>fascinate Jung the most. The former led Jung to his somewhat controversial</p><p>response to the idea of theodicy by explaining God in terms of completion rather</p><p>than perfection, and of therefore harbouring an evil shadow side (Jung, 1951,</p><p>par. 123). Christ, as a Self-symbol, represents a personality greater than the</p><p>average individual (Jung, 1942/1954, par. 414; Jung, 1951, par. 42); but to be a</p><p>symbol of integration and unity Christ must be linked with His opposite – the</p><p>Antichrist – to convey good and evil. And the latter led Jung to his experience and</p><p>discovery of the Self, for in drawing mandalas every morning (in 1918–1919) he</p><p>came to realize that they are ‘cryptograms concerning the state of the Self’ (MDR,</p><p>p. 221), an illustration of his psychological disposition at that time. In these</p><p>mandalas he saw his whole being actively at work, and through them he acquired</p><p>a living conception of the Self. The mandala symbolizes a protective circle,7 which</p><p>would lessen the intensity of the violent experience of Otherness, and thus ‘protect</p><p>the unity of consciousness from being burst asunder by the unconscious’ (Jung,</p><p>1929, par. 47).</p><p>Symbols are psychic images that, through the purposive tendency of the</p><p>transcendent function, link opposites together: what is known to the unknown, the</p><p>rational to the irrational, and consciousness to unconsciousness. These Self-images</p><p>provide the ego with a subjective framework through which it can relate to the</p><p>Self, and come to terms with its impinging unconscious forces. The images are not</p><p>the actual Self; they are merely approximations representing states of relative</p><p>wholeness or ‘Self-ness’. It is impossible to arrive at the archetype-in-itself, we</p><p>can experience its effects only in its corresponding symbol, and there are an</p><p>infinite number of symbols that may apply. Such limitless conveyance of the Self</p><p>suggests to me that the Self is not such an unbroken and coherent entity as is often</p><p>thought. The images of the Self are not described theoretically, but metaphorically,</p><p>as a finite expression of something infinite. The union of opposites, as a symbolic</p><p>The Self as a union of opposites 61</p><p>representative of the Self, is thus only one subjective interpretation from an infinite</p><p>variety. In this sense it seems to have little prominence. However, if we regard</p><p>the union of opposites as the process through which the Self is realized, then</p><p>it assumes great significance. But this incurs a conceptual problem. For, if</p><p>we attribute value to the union of opposites because it produces the Self as its</p><p>‘end-product’, then we imply that it is not equivalent to the Self; we presuppose</p><p>that the process through which the ‘product’ is realized has an identity separate</p><p>from it.8 This problem can be avoided if we interpret the process as circular and</p><p>not linear. In this case the Self is identified with the process and yet also beyond</p><p>it; it is a synergy of the three elements of the process (the two opposites and</p><p>the ‘third’ alchemical mediator). This means the Self is not identified with any</p><p>of the three elements in isolation, neither is it identified with the sum of its</p><p>parts; rather the Self surpasses its parts, thereby making its constitution beyond</p><p>examination. Warren Colman adopts a similar approach to this in his analysis of</p><p>the Self. Colman explicitly defines the Self as both the product realized by the</p><p>process and the process of realization itself, as an organizing principle and that</p><p>which is organized. Colman maintains that there is no principle or archetypal</p><p>structure that is separate from that which it is organizing; the structure is inher-</p><p>ent in itself. He regards the Self as both ‘a tendency towards organization’ (the</p><p>process of uniting opposites) and ‘the structure of that organization’ (the Self).</p><p>‘In other words, the psyche is self-structuring and the name for that process is</p><p>the self’ (Colman, 2000, p. 14). Colman does not regard the end-product of the</p><p>process as separate from the process, but as the point at which the process ceases</p><p>to continue. The process of uniting opposites is therefore inextricably linked</p><p>with the Self; it is an expression of the Self’s activity, its ‘tendency towards</p><p>organization’.9</p><p>The Self is Other and no complete explanation of it can be determined; only its</p><p>partial representative elements can be examined, and if the Self is a ‘synergy’, the</p><p>examination of its parts will not give an accurate representation of the Self.</p><p>However, this has not deterred other commentators on Jung from attempting to do</p><p>so; they offer definitions of the Self by regarding one of its different aspects as the</p><p>principal aspect of the archetype. For example, Elie Humbert regards the Self</p><p>primarily as an ethical postulate. He writes: ‘If you were to ask what the other</p><p>self signifies for me, I should reply that it is, above all, the inner voice which tells</p><p>me frequently and precisely how I am to live’ (Humbert, 1980, p. 240). Indeed,</p><p>Jung himself describes the Self as ‘the will of God’ and an inner ‘absolute which</p><p>one must learn how to handle correctly’ (Jung, 1951, par. 51). As a God-image,</p><p>the Self provides an ethical challenge to confront one’s projections and resolve the</p><p>confrontational issues from within. Andrew Samuels also refers to the Self as a</p><p>religious challenge:</p><p>The self involves the potential to become whole or, experientially, to ‘feel’</p><p>whole – a part of feeling whole is feeling a sense of purpose, of sensing a</p><p>goal. Part of wholeness is to feel that life makes sense and of having an</p><p>62 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>inclination to do something about it when it does not, thus, to have a religious</p><p>capacity.</p><p>(Samuels, 1994, p. 91)</p><p>In support of his claim to a religious capacity he cites Jung as saying: ‘The self,</p><p>though on the one hand simple, is on the other hand an extremely composite thing,</p><p>a “conglomerate soul”’ (Jung, 1950, par. 634). Judith Hubback in ‘The Dynamic</p><p>Self’ (1998) takes a different stance and suggests that the Self is principally</p><p>associated not with its capacity to motivate, but with the movement it inspires.</p><p>Hubback thus focuses on the Self’s propensity to action and dynamism, an</p><p>interpretation that takes us away from the structural interpretation of the Self as</p><p>symbolic imagery. She notes that Jung’s descriptions of the Self in Aion culminate</p><p>in ‘numerous nouns and verbs (powerful ones), containing the elements of energy</p><p>and psychological action’. She proceeds to list these in their chronological order</p><p>as follows:</p><p>‘Integration’ and ‘assimilation’ (par. 43), ‘discrimination’ (par. 44), ‘energetic</p><p>tension’ (par. 53), ‘confronts’ (par. 59), ‘affected’ (par. 61), ‘relate’ (par. 65).</p><p>In the later chapter ‘The Structure and Dynamics of the Self’ there are: the</p><p>self ‘a dynamic process’ (par. 411), ‘move’ (par. 413) and ‘Sooner or later</p><p>nuclear physics and the psychology of the unconscious will draw closer</p><p>together as both of them . . . push forward into transcendental territory’ (par.</p><p>412).</p><p>(Hubback, 1998, p. 279)</p><p>The definitions of the Self, cited above as its principal (but incomplete) aspects,</p><p>refer either directly to the process of uniting opposites or to its experienced effects.</p><p>Thus, Humbert and Samuels refer to the sensing of a teleological purpose and</p><p>movement towards a personal whole with ethical connotations, and Hubback</p><p>refers to the process impersonally, in terms of its energetic movement and activity.</p><p>Each of these commentators equates the Self with its process of realization;</p><p>they</p><p>do not attempt to define the Self as distinct from the process of uniting opposites.</p><p>Although we noted that the process of uniting opposites, as a symbolic repre-</p><p>sentative of the Self, is only one subjective interpretation from an infinite variety,</p><p>it is significant that these commentators and I support Jung in raising it to a</p><p>prominent position. Indeed, although there are an infinite number of symbols, the</p><p>effectiveness of which are subjectively determined, some have greater significance</p><p>than others. For example, the symbol of the cross does not endure solely because</p><p>of one individual and his subjective determinations, but according to millions of</p><p>people who all share in its symbolism as a power of collective validity. Similarly,</p><p>the union of opposites is not ‘just another symbol’; it has enormous influence;</p><p>its connotations, unlike the particularity of the cross, range from the general to</p><p>the specific as its potency incorporates such notions as difference, relationships,</p><p>totality, unity, separateness, paradox, death, regeneration, dynamism and so on.</p><p>The Self as a union of opposites 63</p><p>The symbol of the union of opposites, as Jung himself maintains, conveys the</p><p>very meaning of life (cf. Jung, 1917/1926/1943, par. 78). I believe it is more</p><p>applicable than other Self-symbols that Jung describes. It is certainly more</p><p>pertinent than the ‘elephant, horse, bull, bear, white and black birds, fishes, and</p><p>snakes . . . tortoises, snails, spiders, and beetles . . . the flower and the tree . . . the</p><p>mountain and the lake’ (Jung, 1951, par. 356). It is perhaps also more powerful</p><p>than that of the mandala and God Himself, which, although equally effective</p><p>in the transformation of psychic energy, remain abstract images that are not</p><p>immediately entertained in the individual’s life. Thus, while the notion of oppo-</p><p>sition is empirically evident in life (‘the sad truth is that man’s real life consists of</p><p>a complex of inexorable opposites – day and night, birth and death, happiness and</p><p>misery, good and evil . . . life is a battle ground. It has always been, and always</p><p>will be’: MHS, p. 75), the notions of the ‘sacred circle’ and God remain obscure</p><p>and perhaps less likely to be identified by ego-consciousness. Just as Nietzsche</p><p>promoted the Will to Power over and above the other instincts as the ‘unifying</p><p>concept’ that organizes the instincts into a ‘hierarchy’, the symbol of the union of</p><p>opposites can be regarded as a more significant and powerful Self-symbol over and</p><p>above other Self-symbols. However, we must remember that this attempt, as with</p><p>any other attempt to rank symbols by value, can be justified only at a subjective</p><p>level.</p><p>The Self is susceptible to potential inconsistency because it is not grounded</p><p>within concrete theory, but within subjective interpretation. The Self is an elusive</p><p>entity, one that is defined by infinity and irreducible to intellectual terms. It is</p><p>effectively a transcendental postulate ‘which, although justifiable psychologically,</p><p>does not allow of scientific proof’ (Jung, 1928b, par. 405). This postulate serves</p><p>only to formulate and link together the psychic processes that have already been</p><p>theoretically established.</p><p>If the Self were available for an intellectual encounter it could be understood</p><p>without much difficulty, for its symbols are ‘formulations that can easily be</p><p>mastered by the philosophic intellect’ (Jung, 1951, par. 60) – though, as we have</p><p>seen, some can be mastered more easily than others. The intellect promotes the</p><p>illusion that one can be in possession of the Self and can master and manipulate it</p><p>accordingly,</p><p>But actually one has acquired nothing more than its name, despite the age-</p><p>old prejudice that the name magically represents the thing, and that it is</p><p>sufficient to pronounce the name in order to posit the thing’s existence . . . the</p><p>intellectual ‘grasp’ of a psychological fact produces no more than a concept</p><p>of it, and that concept is no more than a name, a flatus vocis.</p><p>(Jung, 1951, par. 60)</p><p>In terms of an intellectual theory, the Self is simply the ‘name’ given to that which</p><p>is unfathomable in the psyche, a metaphysical concept. But this is inappropriate</p><p>for Jung. For, even though the Self cannot be known, the Self is a concept or</p><p>64 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>postulate that is grounded neither in metaphysical speculation nor faith; rather,</p><p>according to Jung, an adequate picture of the Self is formed on the basis of a</p><p>thorough ‘experience’ of it: ‘Just as the concept arose out of an experience of</p><p>reality, so it can be elucidated only by further experience’ (ibid., par. 63; cf. Jung,</p><p>1931c, par. 1292; Jung, 1932, par. 501).10</p><p>The Self as a union of opposites 65</p><p>Part II</p><p>The potential influence of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model on that</p><p>of Jung</p><p>Chapter 7</p><p>The disagreement between</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung</p><p>The process of uniting opposites</p><p>In Part I of this book, I outlined the two models of opposites implicit in the</p><p>works of Nietzsche and Jung. In this part, the two models will be compared and</p><p>contrasted. In this chapter, I shall determine the differences between the two</p><p>models by examining the processes through which the opposites are united. I shall</p><p>also try to account for these differences by reference to the philosophical influ-</p><p>ences on the two models. Thus, the theories of opposites proposed by Plato, Kant,</p><p>Schopenhauer, Heraclitus and Aristotle will be juxtaposed with Nietzsche’s and</p><p>Jung’s. In Chapter 8, I shall focus on the similarities between the two models’</p><p>conception of the telos of the process – that is, their similar conceptions of the</p><p>union of opposites itself.</p><p>From Part I, it is evident that the models of opposites held by Nietzsche and</p><p>Jung do not adhere completely to the theory of incommensurable opposites that I</p><p>posed in Chapter 1 of this book. There the proto-theory held that (1) opposites</p><p>are incommensurable; (2) opposites are related only by contradiction; (3) there is</p><p>no primary member in the binary pair; and (4) a third point of reference is required</p><p>to maintain the opposition. Both Nietzsche’s and Jung’s model adamantly deny</p><p>(1) and (2) and agree with (3) in varying degrees. They are in disagreement over</p><p>(4), where Jung’s model is in favour but Nietzsche’s model is not.</p><p>According to Nietzsche and Jung, opposites are not static elements that are</p><p>incapable of any relationship other than contradiction and mutual difference. On</p><p>the contrary, it is fundamental to our argument that both Nietzsche’s and Jung’s</p><p>model of the whole self depend upon the productive and dynamic relationships</p><p>maintained by opposites. Both the Übermensch and the Self seek the union of</p><p>opposites and demand a relationship between opposites that generates the energy</p><p>necessary to satisfy their vast creative capacities.</p><p>Both Nietzsche and Jung endorse (3), according to which opposing elements</p><p>must be equally promoted. In Part I we saw that, according to Nietzsche, opposites</p><p>are established by the division of a single force into two. As a consequence, the</p><p>two opposites are of equal inherent value; they are dependent upon one another</p><p>because they are simply different modes, transitions or sublimations of the same</p><p>thing (WS, 67). Likewise, the presence of both the Apollinian and Dionysian</p><p>impulses are required if either impulse is to be activated to its highest degree,</p><p>without getting out of control and causing harm to the personality. Reason (the</p><p>Apollinian) depends on instinct (the Dionysian) for its continuous renewal, and</p><p>the instincts depend on reason as a vehicle for their expression. These opposing</p><p>impulses are of equal inherent value even though the quantity of either impulse</p><p>required for the growth of the personality may be unequal. In other words, although</p><p>the opposites are dependent upon one another, only so much Dionysian experience</p><p>is available to individual consciousness as can be controlled by the Apollinian;</p><p>in this sense the Dionysian is the primary impulse, while the Apollinian is merely</p><p>the vehicle through which it is attained.</p><p>Jung, for his part, valued his opposites equally as well. The relationship of</p><p>compensation that Jung posits between psychological opposites means that if</p><p>one opposite were to be accorded primacy over its counterpart, the psyche would</p><p>set up a compensatory drive to restore equal value to the neglected opposite.</p><p>Compensation is a process of equilibration. For Nietzsche and Jung, the presence</p><p>of both opposites, equally valued, is essential for the health and continued devel-</p><p>opment of the personality. To those individuals who value the opposites unequally,</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung issue a warning of impending psychological damage.</p><p>Nietzsche defines those who have too much of one thing as ‘inverse cripples’ (TSZ,</p><p>II, ‘Of Redemption’; ‘the one-sided mediocrity’: WP, 862). Jung equates such one-</p><p>sidedness with the pathological (MHS, p. 52): ‘Too much of the animal distorts the</p><p>civilized man, too much civilization makes sick animals’ (Jung, 1917/1926/1943,</p><p>par. 32).</p><p>Coming now to (4), Jung’s model, unlike Nietzsche’s, explicitly supports the</p><p>view that a third point of reference is required to maintain the opposites. Jung</p><p>writes:</p><p>If a union is to take place between opposites like . . . conscious and uncon-</p><p>scious . . . it will happen in a third thing, which represents not a compromise</p><p>but something new [and again] The confrontation of the two positions</p><p>generates a tension charged with energy and creates a living third thing . . . a</p><p>movement out of the suspension between opposites, a living birth that leads</p><p>to a new level of being, a new situation.</p><p>(Jung, 1916/1957, par. 189, italics mine)1</p><p>Jung never explains this ‘third thing’.2 These quotations obscure the nature of the</p><p>‘third thing’ further, as it is first described as an entity external to the opposites –</p><p>in which their union can take place – and it is then described as a product of the</p><p>opposites, as potentially inherent within them. We encountered similar obscurity</p><p>in our discussion of Jung’s notion of the Self, where we considered the Self as both</p><p>external to the process that unites opposites and the end-product of their union (and</p><p>thus potentially inherent within the opposites). Furthermore, in Chapter 6 we</p><p>referred to the Self, and the transcendent function, in terms of the ‘third thing’ and</p><p>the ‘new level of being’. The ‘third thing’ is, I believe, any representation of the</p><p>70 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>union of opposites: it is that which mediates between opposites and establishes</p><p>their union. We saw, in the second stage of the triadic alchemical formula of</p><p>Ostanes, the introduction of a mysterious third ‘dynamic factor’ that shares</p><p>affinities with the two chemical materials, thereby causing them to unite and</p><p>change their original properties. Likewise, dreams, the compensatory function, and</p><p>the psyche itself are all potential candidates for Jung’s elusive ‘third thing’. Indeed,</p><p>Jung writes:</p><p>The unknown third thing . . . finds more or less adequate expression in all</p><p>these similes, yet – to the perpetual vexation of the intellect – remains</p><p>unknown and not to be fitted into a formula.</p><p>(Jung, 1940, par. 267)</p><p>Nietzsche’s model is not so explicit in its acceptance of a ‘third thing’.</p><p>Nietzsche’s model is concerned only with the two opposites that neither originate</p><p>in an external source (which could be construed as a ‘third’ element) nor create</p><p>a ‘third’ and ‘new level of being’, for, according to Nietzsche, the opposites</p><p>originate in each other as two elements that have become separated from one</p><p>original source. Neither do Nietzsche’s opposites require an external medium</p><p>to encourage their unification, for we are told that once they have been formed</p><p>from out of the one original element they will seek to regain this original state</p><p>of oneness and achieve reunification (PTAG, 5). However, the process of opposites</p><p>seeking unification is not so self-propelling that it can pursue the ultimate</p><p>Nietzschean goal of Übermenschlichkeit on its own. Further encouragement</p><p>and initiative is required if the energy generated by the oppositional interplay is</p><p>to be appropriately harnessed. Nietzsche posits the Will to Power, the most</p><p>life-affirming of instincts, as an ordering principle to assign the opposites their</p><p>way and direction. Whether or not the Will to Power can be considered a ‘third’</p><p>mediating element in this model is, I think, unclear. In Chapter 3 we saw that</p><p>Nietzsche describes the opposites as belonging ‘together beneath one yoke’ (WP,</p><p>848). This ‘yoke’, which I take to be the Will to Power, is not necessarily separate</p><p>from the contrary instincts; rather, ‘the development of one definite will into many</p><p>forms’ (WP, 692, italics mine). The Will to Power can be regarded as that original</p><p>force that is divided into two opposing forces, seeking to reunite. The opposing</p><p>instincts cannot be considered separate from the Will to Power, Nietzsche states:</p><p>‘All driving force is the will to power . . . there is no other physical, dynamic or</p><p>psychic force except this’ (WP, 688).3 The Will to Power is not a separate ‘third</p><p>thing’ that mediates between the opposites; it is the quality inherent within them</p><p>– their founding force.</p><p>It is evident that neither Nietzsche’s nor Jung’s models of opposites conform to</p><p>the proto-theory that opposites are incommensurable. Out of its four principal</p><p>elements, only one (that there is no inherently primary member in the binary pair)</p><p>is accepted, in varying degree, by Nietzsche and Jung.</p><p>Opposites have been subject to much philosophical examination, and their</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 71</p><p>union is a notion central to many works preceding Nietzsche and Jung. Thus, the</p><p>potential philosophical influences on Nietzsche and Jung are likely to be many.</p><p>Indeed, in his seminars on analytical psychology (1925), Jung points out that</p><p>the idea of the pairs of opposites is as old as the world, and if we treated it</p><p>properly, then we should have to go back to the earliest sources of Chinese</p><p>philosophy.</p><p>(Jung, 1925b/1991, p. 72)</p><p>However, both Nietzsche and Jung are conscious of specific influences on their</p><p>thought, and these will now be examined.4 By examining those works that have</p><p>directly influenced Nietzsche and Jung, we shall be able to account for the</p><p>differences between their models, specifically for the disagreement over elements</p><p>(3) and (4) of the proto-theory.</p><p>We have seen that the models of Nietzsche and Jung insist on equal inherent</p><p>value in the binary pair. For Jung, this equality is clearly expressed in the com-</p><p>pensatory activity of the psyche, but for the early Nietzsche it is expressed rather</p><p>ambiguously: rationality (as the Apollinian impulse) is given secondary status as</p><p>the mere ‘vehicle’ through which irrationality (the Dionysian) can be harnessed</p><p>and kept in check. I would argue that Nietzsche values rationality in terms of</p><p>its ‘necessity’ rather than for its own sake. It is valued as that which ‘dilutes’</p><p>the Dionysian experience, thereby enabling Dionysian creativity to be experi-</p><p>enced safely and in moderation. Nevertheless, rationality is valued as much as</p><p>irrationality. Dionysian creativity is the goal of the Nietzschean project, but it must</p><p>not be conceived as a goal in isolation or as the ultimate goal, for Apollinian</p><p>rationality is required for its realization. The ultimate goal for Nietzsche is a</p><p>union of both rational and irrational tendencies. Rationality is not a fixed value;</p><p>it both initiates growth and development in the irrational realm of the Dionysian,</p><p>and is itself prompted to grow and develop by that irrational realm. The Apollinian</p><p>and Dionysian ‘continually incite each other to new and more powerful births,</p><p>which perpetuate an antagonism’ (BT, 1). The Apollinian is as essential as the</p><p>Dionysian; their union constitutes a rebirth of both elements, and the birth of the</p><p>Übermensch.</p><p>If the opposite elements in the Nietzschean model have equal value, we need</p><p>to establish the value of rationality in respect of the Dionysian (which is already</p><p>justified as the</p><p>goal of Nietzsche’s project). The rational and irrational are equally</p><p>valued in the Nietzschean model, but the value of rationality is questioned none-</p><p>theless.5 By contrast, Jung, in arguing for equal value between the opposites,</p><p>appeals to external ‘rational’ sources to ground and justify what, we assume, he</p><p>considers to be an ‘irrational’ project. Thus, Nietzsche questions the authority of</p><p>rationality within his model, and Jung seeks to ground his own model according</p><p>to an external authority that is rational. Rationality for Nietzsche requires justifi-</p><p>cation; whereas, for Jung, rationality is what provides justification. Both Nietzsche</p><p>72 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>and Jung ultimately reject the notion that one opposite can have more value</p><p>over and above its counterpart, but in arriving at this thesis, Jung appeals to</p><p>external sources that contradict it. Although he rejects the primacy of rationality</p><p>over the irrational, Jung appeals to philosophical theories that specifically promote</p><p>this primacy, as direct influences in the development of his own archetypal theory</p><p>and consequent theory of opposites. Thus, as we shall see, the Platonic doctrine of</p><p>ideal Forms and the Kantian Idea of pure reason are contradictory to, and yet</p><p>integral to, the epistemological consolidation of Jung’s most fundamental pair of</p><p>opposites – the (rational and known) conscious ego and (irrational and unknown)</p><p>unconscious archetype. We shall also see that Nietzsche is vehemently opposed to</p><p>these rational doctrines; he rejects these positive influences on Jung outright, as</p><p>tools of asceticism and human degradation. Later in the chapter, we shall see that</p><p>the positive influences on Nietzsche’s model of opposites lie elsewhere.</p><p>Plato held the Heraclitean view of an eternally changing and unstable universe,</p><p>but he maintained that the universe itself was founded upon and substantiated</p><p>by unchanging objective and eternal Forms. Plato was concerned with establishing</p><p>a moral basis for human life, so he wanted to show that there are absolute</p><p>unmoving eternal factors that can secure it. Thus, according to Plato, essential</p><p>knowledge is a priori (Meno, 81E–86B), and because there is knowledge before</p><p>the fact of experience, it follows that, as with all ‘true’ knowledge, the moral law</p><p>is eternal (87A–D). In the Republic Plato argues for the correlation of the existence</p><p>of the eternal Forms with that of the immortal soul, so that true being is found in</p><p>these eternal Forms and not in the images that characterize the soul (500B–521B).</p><p>Thus, if human values are permanent and eternal, the mind must be construed as</p><p>separate from the temporal body, just as objects of thought must be independent</p><p>from the phenomenological objects in which they inhere. The mind and its Ideas</p><p>are therefore primary to the phenomenal world of objects, which are mere</p><p>representations or images of their eternal mental counterparts.</p><p>The concept that the ultimate structure of reality lies not in the materially</p><p>observable realm of the world but at a non-material level, which only our minds</p><p>can penetrate, is the crucial link between Plato’s notion of transcendent causes and</p><p>Jung’s notion of the archetype. The objective Forms and archetypes determine all</p><p>subsequent matter and ideas that can be directly experienced. The original Platonic</p><p>Idea and the Jungian archetype cannot be directly experienced themselves;</p><p>cognition must rely on the objects or images that clothe them and enable their</p><p>communication. Jung explicitly recognizes Plato as a source for his archetypal</p><p>theory:</p><p>In Plato, however, an extraordinarily high value is set on the archetypes as</p><p>metaphysical ideas, as ‘paradigms’, or models, while real things are held to</p><p>be only the copies of these model ideas. Medieval philosophy, from the time</p><p>of St. Augustine6 – from whom I have borrowed the idea of the archetype –</p><p>. . . still stands on Platonic footing</p><p>(Jung, 1919, par. 275)7</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 73</p><p>Plato’s doctrine is idealistic; he morally and epistemologically denies phenomenal</p><p>experience in favour of a true reality of pure rationality. Plato therefore posits a</p><p>dualistic world in which one opposite (the static world of Forms and Ideas) is</p><p>valued over and above its counterpart (the phenomenal world of change). As we</p><p>know, this contradicts the thesis of equality between opposites held by Jung</p><p>and Nietzsche. Jung cannot, therefore, endorse the Platonic model completely.</p><p>While Jung’s concept of the archetype partakes of the innate or a priori quality of</p><p>Plato’s doctrine of the Forms, he does not accept the eternal, unmoving grounds</p><p>of Plato’s vision of true being. Affectivity and dynamism are crucial to Jung’s</p><p>concept of the archetype and to his model of opposites in general. While Plato’s</p><p>Idea is a model of perfection, Jung’s archetype contains within it notions of</p><p>positive and negative (that depend upon the characteristics of the contrasting ego-</p><p>personality); although Jung regards the archetype as profoundly more creative than</p><p>its opposite counterpart (the ego), he does not regard it as more valuable. Likewise,</p><p>in Chapter 3 we saw Nietzsche reject the Platonic doctrine of the separation of true</p><p>reality from phenomenal experience with reference to the ascetic metaphysician</p><p>and his denial of the value inherent in ‘this’ world, and with reference to Socrates,</p><p>the ‘typical décadent’ (EH, ‘BT’, 1), who according to Nietzsche, is guilty of</p><p>promoting reason over and above the instincts. It would seem that both Nietzsche</p><p>and Jung reject Plato’s model of opposites because it seeks to uphold one opposite</p><p>as absolute perfection, compared to which the other opposite must fall short.</p><p>However, contrary to my interpretation, Marilyn Nagy argues that Jung’s</p><p>psychology is similar to the Platonic view, because they both have perfection as</p><p>its aim. Nagy argues that Jung’s reasons for positing the archetypes are the same</p><p>as Plato’s:</p><p>Jung wanted to save a place in the modern world for the human dream of</p><p>eternal life, for the human sense of an ultimate meaningfulness in life, for</p><p>human moral ideals.</p><p>(Nagy, 1991, p. 161)8</p><p>However, as I shall argue in Chapter 8, the project of Jung (and also of Nietzsche)</p><p>is defined in terms of completion rather than perfection. Also, while Plato</p><p>places ‘perfection’ in a realm that is ultimately antithetical to humanity (it is,</p><p>Plato maintains, accessible to the human mind, but only to its rational side;</p><p>his instinctual side is repudiated), both Nietzsche and Jung place it not only in</p><p>‘this’ world (thereby dissolving the Platonic dualism) but within the human</p><p>being as a whole – that which encompasses his rationality and irrationality. Both</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung would therefore regard the Platonic Form as too selective</p><p>and alienating. Furthermore, according to Plato, only the philosopher, with his</p><p>extensive rational and intellectual capacities, can have access to the eternal forms</p><p>and ultimate truths. Jung’s archetypes, however, are grounded within the collective</p><p>unconscious; they are thus typical patterns of behaviour that are grounded in a</p><p>realm of irrationality that is inherent within every individual: every human being</p><p>74 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>has access to the archetypes as they are ‘deposits of the constantly repeated experi-</p><p>ences of humanity’ (Jung, 1917/1926/1943, par. 109). Likewise, for Nietzsche,</p><p>the Will to Power is the ordering principle of life, and as such is ‘the highest of</p><p>all instincts’; as we saw in Chapter 2, Nietzsche insists that the instincts are</p><p>acknowledged in every aspect of life, so that ‘our most sacred convictions, the</p><p>unchanging elements in our supreme values, are judgements of our muscles’</p><p>(WP, 314, italics mine).</p><p>Plato’s doctrine of the Forms, although recognized explicitly by Jung as</p><p>influential on his archetypal theory, cannot provide solid foundation for his theory</p><p>of opposites. Plato is an even more unlikely precursor of Nietzsche. However,</p><p>Plato’s doctrine is reformulated by Kant,9</p><p>a thinker described by Jung as an even</p><p>greater influence on his archetypal theory than Plato.10</p><p>In The Critique of Pure Reason (1781), Kant writes: ‘What is an Idea to us,</p><p>was to Plato an idea in the divine understanding’ (A 568, B 569; cf. Jung,</p><p>1938/1954, par. 150.) It is not difficult to see how Kant’s Idea might be equated</p><p>with the Jungian archetype: they are both a priori regulative principles that order</p><p>our experience, and ‘principles of completeness’ (Kant, 1790, 3). Eugen Bär in</p><p>‘Archetypes and Ideas: Jung and Kant’ (1976), argues for their similarity in terms</p><p>of them being ‘logically isomorphic’ with one another. However, such correlation,</p><p>I contend, is not warranted. Further analysis will reveal that Jung’s archetype is in</p><p>stark contrast to Kant’s Idea, and Jung is wrong to appeal to Kant for justification</p><p>of his own theory.</p><p>Kant’s epistemology compounds both empiricism and rationalism, so that,</p><p>for Kant, reality is merely perceptive experience that has been conditioned</p><p>and structured by the a priori forms of intuitions of space and time, and by the</p><p>categories of thought, a priori concepts including substance and causality. These</p><p>forms of intuition and concepts do not exist in a world external to the individual,</p><p>they are not attributes of the physical world as it is in itself, but are inherent within</p><p>the individual as modes of perception and thought. Thus, knowledge is limited: we</p><p>can have knowledge only of the world of appearance; we cannot know things-</p><p>in-themselves as they are beyond sensory intuition and conceptualization. That</p><p>is, all judgements require an a priori ‘synthesis’ of intuitions and concepts:</p><p>‘Without sensibility no object would be given to us, without understanding no</p><p>object would be thought. Thoughts without contents are empty; intuitions without</p><p>concepts are blind’ (Kant, 1781, A 51, B 75). Concepts that are isolated from their</p><p>empirical conditions (i.e. unconditioned by the faculty of intuitions) are empty:</p><p>‘The pure concepts of the understanding can never admit of transcendental but</p><p>always only of empirical employment’ (A 246, B 303). However, according to</p><p>Kant, categories contain within themselves the tendency towards ‘unconditioned’</p><p>application; that is, reason operates beyond the limits of experience and inevitably</p><p>leads us to search for the ultimate unconditioned premise. Thus, our own ‘empiri-</p><p>cally limited’ point of view on the world creates the Idea of a world in its totality,</p><p>so that we always seek to know the world free from the limits of perspective: we</p><p>strive ‘to find for the conditioned knowledge of understanding, the unconditioned,</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 75</p><p>whereby its unity might be brought to completion’ (A 307, B 364). It is inevitable</p><p>for ‘pure reason’ to treat such an idea of unconditioned completeness as a possible</p><p>object of knowledge, and it thereby becomes the tool of illusion. Pure reason</p><p>makes judgements using concepts that have no empirical conditions.</p><p>Ideas have no independent empirical reality; they supposedly give an absolute</p><p>vantage point from which reality in its totality can be surveyed. But because the</p><p>Ideas have no empirical basis, are not subject to perception and conceptualization,</p><p>Kant rejects them as having constitutive status (as descriptions of reality). But he</p><p>did not wholly dismiss their worth. Kant found a legitimate use for the Ideas as</p><p>‘regulative principles’ (A 644, B 672), which, if regarded as true descriptions</p><p>of reality, could lead to the formulation of true hypotheses.11 As constitutive, the</p><p>Idea attempts to transcend experience into the illusory realm of reason; but as</p><p>regulative function the Idea leads us to propose further laws through which the</p><p>empirical world can become more intelligible:</p><p>[The Idea] does not show us how an object is constituted, but how, under its</p><p>guidance, we should seek to determine the constitution and connection of the</p><p>objects of experience.</p><p>(A 671, B 699)</p><p>Jung explicitly relates his own archetypal theory to Kantian philosophy: ‘There</p><p>are . . . innate possibilities of ideas, a priori conditions for fantasy-production,</p><p>which are somewhat similar to the Kantian categories’ (Jung, 1918, par. 14). For</p><p>Jung, the archetype is the form or condition of the imagination, just as the Kantian</p><p>categories govern the operation of the imagination in the synthesis of experience.</p><p>Indeed, Jung speaks of the archetypes precisely as ‘categories of the imagination’:</p><p>These are the universal dispositions of the mind, and they are to be understood</p><p>as analogous to Plato’s forms, in accordance with which the mind organizes</p><p>its contents. One could also describe these forms as categories analogous to</p><p>the logical categories, which are always and everywhere present as the basic</p><p>postulates of reason. Only, in the case of our ‘forms’, we are not dealing with</p><p>categories of reason but with categories of the imagination.</p><p>(Jung, 1935/1953, par. 845)</p><p>Thus, for Jung, the archetype is equivalent to a Kantian category; it is a principle</p><p>that is empirical and constitutive. However, Jung also attempts to explicitly</p><p>correlate the archetype with Kant’s Idea (Jung, 1921, par. 733), a dramatic move</p><p>that would make the archetype a concept of pure reason – that which is not</p><p>empirical and not constitutive but merely regulative. By correlating the archetype</p><p>with the Kantian Idea Jung contradicts his above quotation, for the Idea is precisely</p><p>that which ‘deals with reason’. In Psychological Types (1921) Jung defines Kant’s</p><p>Idea as ‘the ‘archetype of all practical employment of reason’, a transcendental</p><p>concept which as such exceeds the bounds of the experienceable’, and is ‘a rational</p><p>76 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>concept whose object is not to be found in experience’. Jung then proceeds to</p><p>quote the following extract from the Critique of Pure Reason:</p><p>Although we must say of the transcendental concepts of reason that they are</p><p>only ideas, this is not by any means to be taken as signifying that they are</p><p>superfluous and void. For even if they cannot determine any object, they may</p><p>yet, in a fundamental and unobserved way, be of service to the understanding</p><p>as a canon for its extended and consistent employment. The understanding</p><p>does not thereby obtain more knowledge of any object than it would have by</p><p>means of its own concepts, but for the acquiring of such knowledge it receives</p><p>better and more extensive guidance. Further – what we need here no more</p><p>than mention – concepts of reason may perhaps make a possible transition</p><p>from the concepts of nature to the practical concepts, and in that way may give</p><p>support to the moral ideas themselves</p><p>(A329; cited in Jung, 1921, par. 733)</p><p>From this extract it is clear that the Jungian archetype is, in fact, not equivalent or,</p><p>as Bär insists, ‘Logically isomorphic’, to the Kantian Idea. Jung’s self-proclaimed</p><p>allegiance to Kant is unfounded. As Jung notes four paragraphs later, ‘The Idea is</p><p>a psychological factor that not only determines thinking but, as a practical idea,</p><p>also conditions feeling’ (Jung, 1921, par. 737). Likewise, the archetypal idea, as</p><p>a counterpart to the archetypal image, ‘is the necessary counterpart of instinct’</p><p>(ibid., par. 754). The Jungian archetype, with its instinctive and emotionally</p><p>affective constitution, is therefore contrary to the Kantian Idea that constitutes</p><p>merely intellectual and practical functioning. Thus, the rationality and intellectual</p><p>functioning of the Kantian Idea is antithetical to the irrational feeling aspect of the</p><p>Jungian archetype. And this irrationality is antithetical to the practical, and thus</p><p>‘moral’, functioning of the Kantian Idea. Indeed, Jung’s archetypes have no direct</p><p>moral implications as such (ibid., par. 356).12 But it is not merely the absence</p><p>of irrational affective tendencies within the Kantian Idea that sets it apart from</p><p>that of Jung’s archetype. Indeed, perhaps the most significant difference between</p><p>Jung’s archetype and Kant’s Idea is that the latter has not a constitutive but</p><p>a</p><p>regulative function.13 Kant argues in the ‘paralogisms of pure reason’, the ‘antin-</p><p>omies of pure reason’ and the ‘ideal of pure reason’, that to consider the Idea as</p><p>an object leads to contradiction. Thus, as the above extract suggests, and as the</p><p>Critique of Practical Reason (1788) argues at length, pure reason leads us to form</p><p>the theological Idea, the cosmological Idea and the psychological Idea, but cannot</p><p>itself prove their reality. The importance of these Ideas is merely practical: they</p><p>have moral implications in their corresponding postulates of God, freedom</p><p>and immortality. The Ideas in the first Critique are expounded in the second</p><p>Critique as postulates of moral worth and not as objects defined empirically and</p><p>intellectually. For Jung, however, the archetype is constitutive: ‘[The archetypal]</p><p>is no conglomerate, however, but a homogeneous product with a meaning of its</p><p>own’ (Jung, 1921, par. 745).</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 77</p><p>Jung’s argument is therefore not a (Kantian) argument about the conditions</p><p>of experience, but an argument about what is beyond experience. The archetype is</p><p>at once constitutive and beyond experience. Because it is constitutive, Jung</p><p>is wrong to correlate it with Kant’s ‘Idea’, and because it is beyond experience,</p><p>Jung is wrong to correlate it with Kant’s ‘category’. I believe that Jung</p><p>misunderstands Kant because he compounds Kant’s Ideas (which are beyond</p><p>experience and the limits of knowledge) with Plato’s Ideas (which are constitutive</p><p>and the objects of knowledge par excellence).14 Our exposition is thus far from</p><p>Bär’s insistence on the archetype being logically isomorphic with Kant’s Idea;</p><p>instead it is in sceptical allegiance with Stephanie de Voogd who maintains that</p><p>although ‘Jung thought himself a Kantian . . . he was in fact a most un-Kantian</p><p>Kantian’ (Voogd, 1977, p. 176; see also J. J. Clark, 1992, p. 32; Bishop, 1995,</p><p>p. 29).</p><p>It would seem that Jung is unjustified in appealing to the reductive doctrines of</p><p>rationality posited by Plato and Kant for support of his own archetypal theory.</p><p>Plato’s original doctrine and its reformulation in Kant correlate with the Jungian</p><p>archetype only in so far as they maintain that the ultimate structure of reality</p><p>lies not in that which is materially observable but at a non-material level that</p><p>is accessible only to our minds. However, to conclude from this that the ‘Ideas’ of</p><p>Plato, Kant and Jung are interchangeable is a mistake. Jung, by referring to Plato</p><p>and Kant for support and justification for his own theory, is in fact negating his</p><p>own theory.15 Jung is in effect trying to superimpose two doctrines that accord</p><p>primacy to one opposite (rationality) in the binary pair (rationality–irrationality)</p><p>on to his own contrasting doctrine that values the opposites equally. The archetype,</p><p>as a constitutive concept that is both beyond experience and rooted within the</p><p>collective realm of the irrational unconscious, cannot pertain to pure rationality;</p><p>the archetype necessarily encompasses both of those oppositions posited by Plato</p><p>and Kant because it values them both equally.</p><p>I believe that a more appropriate influence on Jung’s archetype is Schopenhauer.</p><p>Schopenhauer conflates the doctrines of Plato and Kant but arrives at an original</p><p>doctrine of his own, one that admits irrationality and the equality of opposites,</p><p>thereby justifying in part Jung’s comment that ‘the great find resulting from my</p><p>researches was Schopenhauer’ (MDR, p. 87). Jung correlates Schopenhauer’s</p><p>‘Idea’ or ‘intellect’ (that which is ‘not something absolutely a priori but . . .</p><p>secondary and derived’) with his archetypal image (Jung, 1921, par. 751).16 Jung</p><p>then proceeds to correlate Schopenhauer’s ‘Will’ (the non-rational source of</p><p>all phenomena) with the archetype in itself. Schopenhauer praised Kant for</p><p>showing that we cannot have direct knowledge of thing in themselves and</p><p>that reality is reduced to what can be experienced; but Schopenhauer believed</p><p>that our individual experience of self-consciousness, of Will, leads us to the</p><p>‘real nature of things’. Our motives spring from a psychological source, and the</p><p>world is an expression of this Will. The Will is the Kantian thing-in-itself and</p><p>grounds all life and the appearance of reality (Schopenhauer, 1818, vol. II, ch.</p><p>XXXVIII, p. 443).</p><p>78 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Schopenhauer alludes directly to the unconscious as a real affective realm</p><p>equivalent to the Will (ibid., ch. XIX, pp. 238–239, ch. XIV, p. 136). Both the</p><p>archetype and Will are therefore vehicles of the unconscious. Similarly, in both</p><p>models the intellect with its capacity for reason and understanding carries the</p><p>weight of consciousness. Schopenhauer does not posit the Will and intellect as</p><p>direct opposites, but notes their essential contrast:</p><p>The will is metaphysical, the intellect physical; the intellect, like its objects,</p><p>is mere phenomenon, the will alone is thing-in-itself . . . the will is the sub-</p><p>stance of man, the intellect the accident; the will is the matter, the intellect is</p><p>the form; the will is warmth, the intellect is light.</p><p>(ibid., vol. 2, ch. XIX, p. 201; also see vol. 1, par. 39, p. 203)17</p><p>In accordance with Nietzsche and Jung’s insistence on equality in opposites,</p><p>Schopenhauer claims that his ‘quasi-opposites’ of Will and Idea/intellect/body do</p><p>not try to overcome one another. The development of the intellect does not demand</p><p>the demise of the will:</p><p>The higher the consciousness has risen, the more distinct and connected</p><p>are the thoughts, the clearer the perceptions, the deeper and profounder the</p><p>sensations. In this way everything gains more depth: emotion, sadness, joy</p><p>and sorrow.</p><p>(ibid., vol. 2, ch. XXII, p. 281)</p><p>Likewise, ‘The will manifests [the] self-affirmation of one’s body’ (ibid., vol. 1,</p><p>par. 62, p. 334). Schopenhauer therefore employs compensation within his</p><p>opposites, as Jung came to do later: as the intellect reaches a higher level of</p><p>development, the feelings do also.</p><p>Jung’s insistence on appealing to the rational doctrines of Plato and Kant</p><p>to support his archetypal theory of opposites can be attributed to psychological</p><p>insecurity on Jung’s part. Jung was so determined to ground his theory in experi-</p><p>ence away from accusations of metaphysics and mysticism, that his theory makes</p><p>repeated allusions to (what he considers to be) ‘Kantian rationalism’. In contrast,</p><p>for Nietzsche, a move towards Kant is a move towards metaphysics, a move of</p><p>mistaken evaluation that ultimately rejects the union of opposites.</p><p>Jung’s appeal to Plato and Kant is more persuasive if we regard their doctrines</p><p>not in terms of the intrinsic value they place on either opposite in the binary pair,</p><p>but in terms of their (and Schopenhauer’s) general epistemological influence in</p><p>consolidating the Jungian opposites: that is, the influence of the a priori unknown</p><p>(the unconscious archetype in itself) and the empirically known (the conscious</p><p>ego). However, Nietzsche would not recommend such appropriation; he would</p><p>again condemn Jung’s influences, for it is this abstract metaphysical and a priori</p><p>basis, and consequent division into metaphysical and epistemological opposites,</p><p>that Nietzsche refutes. By rejecting metaphysical truths and promoting empirical</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 79</p><p>truths, Nietzsche redirects ultimate meaning from the transcendent world beyond</p><p>humanity into the phenomenal world of representation and into humanity itself.</p><p>The abolition of one opposite in the binary pair requires the abolition of both</p><p>opposites, so that when Nietzsche abolishes the a priori, ‘real’ world-in-itself, he</p><p>also abolishes the world of appearance – the metaphysical opposition therefore</p><p>dissolves (TI, ‘How the “Real World” At Last Became a Myth’). Thus, according</p><p>to Nietzsche, Plato, Kant and Schopenhauer are guilty of making human reality</p><p>meaningless by promoting a ‘superior’ metaphysical realm and consequent ascetic</p><p>dualism.18</p><p>It must be noted that Nietzsche does not reject</p><p>attention, and even less by way</p><p>of thorough evaluation.2 This is surprising, almost embarrassing, as the similarities</p><p>between the thought of Nietzsche and Jung are obvious. Indeed, Jung’s affinity</p><p>with the German philosopher, and his acceptance of philosophical speculation in</p><p>general, is used by him to criticize and dissociate his theory from that of Freud.3</p><p>For example, although Freud borrowed the Nietzschean term ‘das Es’ (translated</p><p>in the English editions of Freud’s works as the ‘Id’) to refer to an unconscious</p><p>source of energy, the nature of this energy is significantly different for the two</p><p>thinkers. Jung, on the other hand, endorses Nietzsche’s conception, and for Jung</p><p>this constitutes a fundamental difference between his theory and that of Freud.</p><p>Freud maintains that the unconscious consists of nothing but residues of the</p><p>conscious mind that have become repressed. Simply put, this means that the value</p><p>of the psyche is identified with consciousness or the ego. Nietzsche disagrees with</p><p>this claim. Unlike Freud, Nietzsche recognizes that the unconscious exhibits</p><p>contents that are wholly unlike those of consciousness and are ungraspable by</p><p>the ego. A significant implication of this difference is that in Freud’s model the</p><p>unconscious has no autonomy, for it is simply a product of consciousness, or a</p><p>container of its remnants. In Nietzsche’s model, on the other hand, the unconscious</p><p>is an autonomous entity that can function in opposition to consciousness. The</p><p>Freudian understanding of the unconscious reveals a rigid framework of rational-</p><p>ism that gives primacy to the ego, which is in contrast to Nietzsche’s richer</p><p>framework that recognizes other sources of knowledge considered irrational, such</p><p>as emotion, imagination and intuition.</p><p>The difference between Nietzschean psychology and Freudian psychoanalysis</p><p>is more profound than is often realized and, as we shall see in the course of this</p><p>inquiry, it is unwise to regard Nietzsche simply as a forerunner to psychoanalysis.</p><p>Nietzsche’s conception of the unconscious is not the ‘classical’ one adopted by</p><p>Freud, among others, but is more like that particular notion of an autonomous and</p><p>collective unconscious that marks the very separation of Jungian ‘analytical</p><p>psychology’ from traditional ‘psychoanalysis’.4</p><p>By enlarging the boundaries of the ‘productive’ psyche to include non-rational</p><p>sources of knowledge, Nietzsche and Jung have effectively enlarged the capacity</p><p>for personal growth and creativity. Thus, while Freud’s understanding of the</p><p>personality is essentially ‘reductive’, with its motivation being exclusively sexual,</p><p>and with the communication of the unconscious having been filtered through signs,</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung’s understanding of the personality is ‘constructive’, with the</p><p>focus being on its potential – specifically, its potential for becoming whole – and</p><p>so encourages unconscious communication through symbolic language. The</p><p>difference between the sign and the symbol is significant in that the former is</p><p>a conscious construct – a fixed reference that conceals something knowable –</p><p>whereas the latter is in part conscious and in part unconscious – a dynamic living</p><p>entity that expresses something that is not fully graspable. In the Freudian model,</p><p>the interpretation of the sign simply leads to the unmasking of a repressed conflict</p><p>or wish; by contrast, the symbol in the Nietzschean and Jungian model facilitates</p><p>psychic growth by naturally uniting consciousness with the unconscious.</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung place the symbol at the heart of their interpretation of</p><p>psychic development. However, to leave Nietzsche and Jung coupled together</p><p>in this way would be inadequate, for the very meaning of the symbol, and its</p><p>subsequent implications for psychic development, are different for the two</p><p>thinkers. And this is where our inquiry begins. For we shall see that the contra-</p><p>diction and confusion that penetrate Jung’s reception of Nietzsche are rooted in</p><p>his misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s conception of the symbol. It is Jung’s</p><p>misinterpretation of the Nietzschean symbol as a mere conscious construct – a sign</p><p>– that confuses Jung’s subsequent reading of Nietzsche. Perhaps more signifi-</p><p>cantly, this misinterpretation allows Jung, who was personally troubled by the</p><p>prospect of his own mental illness, to distance himself from the insane personality</p><p>of Nietzsche – for Jung regarded Nietzsche’s madness (diagnosed by Jung as</p><p>ego-inflation) as an inevitable consequence of Nietzsche having denied the</p><p>creativity of the symbol.</p><p>Jung’s reception of Nietzsche’s work and personality is peculiar because, on</p><p>the one hand, Jung readily acknowledges his debt to Nietzsche’s influence and the</p><p>similarity of their ideas, but, on the other hand, he wildly misinterprets Nietzsche’s</p><p>ideas. Now, it is not simply the case that Jung is a bad philosopher and so makes</p><p>excusable mistakes in reasoning or interpretation; rather Jung overlooks obvious</p><p>passages in Nietzsche’s work that immediately overturn Jung’s criticism of it. One</p><p>has an overwhelming sense that Jung is purposely selective in his reading of</p><p>Nietzsche. It is true that Nietzsche’s aphoristic style of writing, together with his</p><p>2 Introduction</p><p>avoidance of presenting one systematic viewpoint, easily lead to misinterpreta-</p><p>tion. It is relatively simple to find passages in Nietzsche that support or reject</p><p>most philosophical outlooks.5 Yet in Jung’s interpretation of Nietzsche (which</p><p>depends principally on Thus Spoke Zarathustra, a work that is not aphoristic</p><p>but a continuous text) one has a distinct sense of Jung ‘cutting and pasting’</p><p>according to his needs, and of his own personal unease with some of the material</p><p>presented in Nietzsche – material that Jung often skates over at an alarming rate.</p><p>Furthermore, Jung’s denigration of Nietzsche’s personality and of his personal</p><p>life in general is laboured and unnecessary, and often diverts the reader from</p><p>Jung’s own argument. There is thus an interesting taint and ambivalence in Jung’s</p><p>reception of Nietzsche. Consciously he can be seen to endorse Nietzsche’s views;</p><p>here there is a sense of affinity, of wanting to get close to Nietzsche. And yet there</p><p>is also a sense of rejection at an unconscious level, which expresses itself as an</p><p>enforced difference in his misrepresentation and misinterpretation of Nietzschean</p><p>theory.</p><p>Our inquiry will analyse in detail Jung’s ambivalent relationship with</p><p>Nietzsche’s work and personality, and it will attempt to explain the reasons that</p><p>lie behind the ambivalence. It will do this through a close examination and</p><p>evaluation of what I consider to be their similar models of psychological health</p><p>and illness. By first identifying aspects of affinity in their models, we shall be in</p><p>a better position to see where Jung’s favourable reception of Nietzsche begins to</p><p>waver.</p><p>I shall argue that, for Nietzsche and Jung, the goal or height of human health</p><p>and potential is the realization of the whole self, which they refer to as the</p><p>‘Übermensch’ and ‘Self’ respectively.6 This achievement is marked by creativity,</p><p>which is achieved by the cultivation and balance of all antithetical psychological</p><p>impulses – both rational and irrational – within the personality, and it is in this</p><p>sense that I shall refer to the whole self as a union of opposites. Specifically, the</p><p>whole self comprises the dynamic syntheses of Apollinian and Dionysian impulses</p><p>in the Nietzschean Übermensch, and consciousness and the unconscious in the</p><p>Jungian Self. When the opposites fail to synthesize, or when only one opposite</p><p>in the pair is present, Nietzsche and Jung warn of impending psychological</p><p>damage.</p><p>A few paragraphs earlier I noted that, for Nietzsche and Jung, the symbol is a</p><p>source of creativity; as we shall see in the course of our inquiry, they also regard</p><p>it as that which mediates between the opposites, thereby enabling their synthesis.</p><p>The symbol is therefore integral to mental health. Earlier I also mentioned that the</p><p>meaning of the symbol is different for either</p><p>the a priori because it is</p><p>an ‘unknown’ quality. Indeed, Nietzsche anticipates Jung in his promotion of an</p><p>unknown unconscious agency:</p><p>For the longest time, conscious thought was considered thought itself. Only</p><p>now does the truth dawn on us that by far the greatest part of our spirit’s</p><p>activity remains unconscious.</p><p>(GS, 333)</p><p>And again: ‘What we call consciousness constitutes only one state of our spiritual</p><p>and psychic world . . . and not by any means the whole of it’ (GS, 357).19 Both</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung accept the existence of the unconscious as unknowable</p><p>and boundless. What Nietzsche rejects in a priori metaphysical models is that</p><p>which is more highly valued than the human being. The unknown unconscious</p><p>(both personal and collective) that Jung posits is not rejected by Nietzsche</p><p>in this context, for it is inherent within the individual; and the a priori arche-</p><p>types, although autonomous things-in-themselves, are also inherent within the</p><p>individual (as ‘the ancestral heritage of possibilities of representation’: Jung, 1928,</p><p>par. 22).20</p><p>While Nietzsche, in his model of opposites, immediately rejects the ‘meta-</p><p>physical’ philosophies of Plato, Kant and Schopenhauer, thereby developing his</p><p>model outside a priori notions and giving both opposites in the binary pair an</p><p>empirical grounding, Jung approached these philosophers with interest, and</p><p>incorporated the a priori as a ‘power unknown’, into his model. We could thus</p><p>say that Nietzsche turned away from these philosophers due to their insistence</p><p>on the existence of an a priori metaphysical world that is of higher value than the</p><p>individual, and Jung turned towards them due to their insistence on the a priori</p><p>as an unknown ordering quality. However, both Nietzsche and Jung accept the</p><p>existence of the unconscious, which is by nature an unknown and irrational</p><p>quality, and both maintain that there cannot be a metaphysical world of higher</p><p>value than the individual. Therefore, although Jung approached these ‘meta-</p><p>physical’ philosophers as positive influences on his model, he developed it away</p><p>from their thought, in a manner that would not displease Nietzsche. Jung sought</p><p>to change the location of the unknown, a priori notion from an abstract realm</p><p>beyond the individual to one that directly ‘affects’ the individual (contra Plato and</p><p>80 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Kant) in a manner that is life enhancing (contra Schopenhauer). The Jungian</p><p>archetype, as one opposite in the binary pair, correlates with the Platonic Form</p><p>only so far as its a priori organizing aspect is concerned. As an affective principle</p><p>of the collective unconscious, the archetype certainly does not correlate with the</p><p>Form’s purely rational and unchanging status. Neither does it lie in a world</p><p>abstracted from the individual, and accessible only to a minority. Instead, the</p><p>archetype is available to everybody through their collective ancestral heritage.</p><p>Similarly, the Kantian thing-in-itself is the concern of pure rationality, but unlike</p><p>the Platonic Form, the thing-in-itself can never be experienced – it has no</p><p>constitution, it is a regulative function that cannot be empirically established, but</p><p>is deduced as a transcendent postulate. The Schopenhauerian Will is a more</p><p>appropriate model for the Jungian archetype. The Will is inherent within the</p><p>individual as an a priori organizing force that is irrational, affective and dynamic.</p><p>However, it does not exemplify all significant aspects of the Jungian model,</p><p>for Schopenhauer tells us that the Will is blind and, as the reality underlying all</p><p>phenomena, it is essentially pessimistic and self-negating. In contrast, the Jungian</p><p>archetypes are teleological and optimistic as they encourage the individual towards</p><p>greater self-integration. Jung therefore concedes that</p><p>Schopenhauer made a . . . heroic attempt [‘to try to solve the problem of</p><p>opposites’], but he annihilates the whole world; he annuls all existence in</p><p>order to settle the conflict of man, and that is going too far.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 120; also see MDR, p. 88)</p><p>Both Nietzsche and Jung agree with aspect (3) of the proto-theory – that there is</p><p>no primary member in the binary pair. While Jung ironically and inconsistently</p><p>relies on the rationally reductive doctrines of Kant and Plato in the consolidation</p><p>of his theory of equal opposites, Nietzsche rejects them outright because of this</p><p>contradiction. We shall now examine the specific philosophical influences on</p><p>Nietzsche’s and Jung’s model of opposites to try to account for their disagreement</p><p>on element (4) of the proto-theory – whether or not a third point of reference is</p><p>required to maintain the opposites.</p><p>Perhaps the most influential of theories explicitly acknowledged by both Nietzsche</p><p>and Jung is that of Heraclitus (540–480/470 BC), whose doctrine of the tension of</p><p>opposites as the basic life force is fundamental to their thought.21 I believe that</p><p>it is in Nietzsche and Jung’s different reception of Heraclitus that we see their</p><p>principal disagreement (on the need for a third thing to maintain the opposites)</p><p>manifest.</p><p>Heraclitus’ philosophy is concerned with the principle of change. Plato cites</p><p>Heraclitus as saying: ‘Everything gives way and nothing stands fast’ (Plato,</p><p>Cratylus, 402A). Heraclitus views the world as being in a state of permanent</p><p>flux; he believes – something that Nietzsche himself was to enlarge upon – that</p><p>everything supposedly permanent (‘being’) is simply change in slow motion</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 81</p><p>(‘becoming’). All structures undergo slow dissolution and alteration; they are</p><p>‘coming-to-be and passing-away’. However, this flux is not a random series of</p><p>events; rather, Heraclitus posits the existence of a hidden ‘latent structure’ in</p><p>nature that ‘masters’ these events (Fragments 123, 54). This fundamental structure</p><p>is the union of opposites, and as the fundamental force of life, it does not change;</p><p>rather, it is what incites change in the world. According to Heraclitus, ‘When one</p><p>listens, not to me but to the logos [to ‘reasonable proportion’ or ‘rationality’], it</p><p>is wise to agree that all things are one’ (Fragment 50). The union of opposites, as</p><p>the fundamental structure of the world, substantiates this claim of monism. When</p><p>Heraclitus states that ‘all human laws are nourished [trephontai] by one divine</p><p>law’ (Fragment 114) he is expressing his idea that all things, all contradictions,</p><p>are organized and fulfilled in one unity – the union of opposites – where plurality</p><p>is nourished by a single source. The influence of Heraclitus upon Nietzsche</p><p>is profound. In Chapter 2 we saw Nietzsche base his theory of opposites on what</p><p>he regarded as a ‘Heraclitean observation’: that the world of ‘coming-to-be and</p><p>passing away’ is a matter of polarity where ‘the diverging of a force into two</p><p>qualitatively different opposed activities . . . seek to re-unite’ (PTAG, 5). I would</p><p>even contend that Heraclitus’ notion provides the grounding for the entire</p><p>Nietzschean model, for in the rawest of terms Nietzsche’s model is that of</p><p>Heraclitus, with the name ‘Will to Power’ given to that ‘one divine law that</p><p>nourishes all human laws’. Thus, Nietzsche speaks of a ‘multiplicity connected by</p><p>a common mode of nutrition [Ernährungs-Vorgang], we call life’ (WP, 641) and</p><p>‘life is will to power’ (BGE, 259). And again:</p><p>Our entire instinctual life [is] the development and ramification of one basic</p><p>form of will – as will to power . . . one [can] trace all organic functions back</p><p>to this will to power and [can] also find in it the solution to the problem of</p><p>procreation and nourishment.</p><p>(BGE, 36)</p><p>The Heraclitean notion that everything is one was of great interest to Nietzsche,</p><p>not only as a template for his own notion of the Will to Power, but also because</p><p>it gave him a solution to counter the metaphysician’s dualistic view of the world</p><p>and the ensuing problem of asceticism: ‘Heraclitus denied the duality of totally</p><p>diverse worlds . . . He no longer distinguished a physical world from a metaphys-</p><p>ical</p><p>one, a realm of definite qualities from an undefinable “indefinite”’ (PTAG, 5).</p><p>Nietzsche’s rejection of static and metaphysical opposites is a continuation of</p><p>Heraclitus’ insistence that all opposites are relative. On this matter Heraclitus</p><p>writes:</p><p>A road: uphill, downhill, one and the same (Fragment 60).</p><p>Beginning is together with end [on a circle] (Fragment 103).</p><p>Into rivers, the same ones, on those who step in, different and different waters</p><p>flow (Fragment 12).</p><p>82 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>The path of the carding rollers [cylindrical rollers used in carding felt],</p><p>straight and crooked (Fragment 59).</p><p>Physicians cut and burn people, and ask for a fee on top of that (Fragment</p><p>58).22</p><p>From these fragments it is evident that Heraclitus promotes opposites that are</p><p>interdependent, coexistent, relative and liable to change into one another. (For</p><p>example, the road can be either ‘uphill’ or ‘downhill’ relative to the direction one</p><p>is travelling in; its unity supports both directions at the same time; they are both</p><p>present as potentialities.) The agreement of Nietzsche and Jung on these points has</p><p>already been discussed, though their agreement with Heraclitus on the latter point</p><p>requires further elucidation.</p><p>Heraclitus’ ancient commentators report Heraclitus as calling the occasion</p><p>where one opposite suddenly reverses and assumes the character of its opposite</p><p>counterpart enantiodromia. In the Jungian model, where opposites are related</p><p>by compensation, we could expect enantiodromia to happen frequently (though</p><p>of course the frequency would depend upon the psychic make-up of personal-</p><p>ity concerned). So, when consciousness becomes overwhelmed by a dominant</p><p>function (for example the ‘thinking function’), the psyche immediately sets up a</p><p>compensatory drive to overturn the discrepancy and increase the value of the</p><p>neglected unconscious opposite (the ‘feeling function’). The value of the opposite</p><p>functions has now reversed. Jung himself refers to enantiodromia, and defines</p><p>it as ‘running counter to’ and ‘the emergence of the unconscious opposite in the</p><p>course of time’ (Jung, 1921, pars. 708–709). Nietzsche does not refer to the</p><p>concept explicitly, though its meaning did not escape him; he notes: ‘The more</p><p>one develops a drive, the more attractive does it become to plunge for once into</p><p>its opposite’ (WP, 92) and ‘Extreme positions are not succeeded by moderate ones,</p><p>but by extreme positions of the opposite kind’ (WP, 55).</p><p>The fact that opposites can change into one another supports the idea that</p><p>opposites are of inherent equal value. This is a significant aspect of Nietzsche’s</p><p>and Jung’s model, and, according to ancient commentators, it also seems to have</p><p>been significant to Heraclitus before them. For example, Simplicus, in his</p><p>commentary on Aristotle’s Categories, attributes to ‘the Heracliteans’ the view</p><p>that ‘if either of the opposites should fail, there would be complete and utter</p><p>destruction of everything’ (Commentaria in Aristotelem Graea, vol. VIII, p. 412;</p><p>cited in Wheelwright, 1959, p. 140). Likewise, according to Aristotle, Heraclitus</p><p>supports his repudiation of Homer’s remark (in Iliad, xviii), by arguing that ‘there</p><p>could be no harmony without both low and high notes, nor could life exist without</p><p>both male and female’ (Eudemian Ethics, VII, 1235A).</p><p>According to Heraclitus, everything is one. All opposites are part of one original</p><p>force or unity. The flux experienced around us is a process of change that occurs</p><p>from one quality to its opposite, which is initiated by the original unity of which</p><p>they are part. Heraclitus described this process as a ‘turning back on itself’: ‘The</p><p>diverging structure that agrees with itself, [must] turn back on itself, such as that</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 83</p><p>of the bow or lyre’ (Fragment 51). Philip Wheelwright (1959) interprets ‘turning</p><p>back on itself’, in the case of the bow, as the movement of its parts – ‘both relative</p><p>to one another and to their own previous movements, when the bow is used’ – and</p><p>in the case of the lyre, with its ‘vibrating strings or the up-and-down movements</p><p>of [its] melody’ (p. 96). In terms of a union of opposites in general, the original</p><p>unity – that ‘nourishing one divine law’ – causes the opposites to interact in such</p><p>a way that energy and movement is generated, most likely in a cyclical movement</p><p>where either opposite comes to dominate. As Nietzsche describes the Heraclitean</p><p>process: ‘[The opposites] at any given moment [are] like wrestlers of whom</p><p>sometimes the one, sometimes the other is on top’ (PTAG, 5). Change, for</p><p>Heraclitus, is an alteration from one ontological opposite to another, so that ‘cool</p><p>things become warm, the warm grows cool; the moist dries, the parched becomes</p><p>moist’ (Fragment 126). However, as the proto-theory suggests, it is logically</p><p>incorrect to say that ‘the warm becomes cool’; a thing cannot turn into its own</p><p>opposite, it is rather a matter of ‘what was once warm becomes cool’.23 In forming</p><p>a conception of change, and a movement from one opposite to another, we must,</p><p>as the proto-theory states, introduce the notion of a third element into the rela-</p><p>tionship: a third element in which both opposites inhere. While the Jungian model</p><p>refers to this third thing (as that which compensates and mediates between the</p><p>opposites), the Heraclitean and Nietzschean models do not. Both Heraclitus and</p><p>Nietzsche simply rely upon the totality of the opposites to form a unity, and expect</p><p>movement to occur from out of this isolated duality. Heraclitus posits a ‘turning</p><p>back on itself’ motion inherent within the opposites themselves, and he describes</p><p>the union of opposites as a ‘divine nourishing force’, which suggests an in-built</p><p>teleology. Nietzsche’s Will to Power, as we have argued, is merely a development</p><p>of this nourishing force, which is the ordering force inherent in the contradic-</p><p>tory instincts of the übermenschlich personality. In contrast, Jung’s model has</p><p>developed away from its Heraclitean ‘roots’, and has found influence elsewhere.</p><p>Such influence, I believe, must include that of Aristotle, who anticipated Jung’s</p><p>criticism of the Heraclitean/Nietzschean model by claiming that opposites</p><p>should not be thought dyadically, as two elements in isolation, but as a triadic</p><p>arrangement. Aristotle writes:</p><p>It is hard to conceive how density and rarity, for instance, each retaining its</p><p>essential nature, could in anyway act upon each other. The same difficulties</p><p>hold for every other pair of opposites: Love is not to be thought of as gathering</p><p>up Strife and creating something out of it, nor can Strife do this to Love, but</p><p>rather both of them must operate on a third something.24</p><p>(Physics I, vi, 189a, italics mine)</p><p>But for Heraclitus and Nietzsche there is no need for ‘a third something’; to them</p><p>every change is a battle between two opposites without the referee that stands</p><p>logically outside the process. The battle of conflict between two elements is all that</p><p>is required; it is the ultimate condition of everything.</p><p>84 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung were influenced greatly by Heraclitus, though I believe his</p><p>influence was more strongly felt by Nietzsche, as Jung was drawn elsewhere.25</p><p>Though verging on supposition, this conjecture is supported by the difference in</p><p>tone of their celebratory statements about Heraclitus (see note 21) (and also by the</p><p>fact that Nietzsche refers to Heraclitus more often). One can sense the excitement</p><p>that Nietzsche feels about Heraclitus, for ‘the world really needs Heraclitus’,</p><p>and in his excitement Nietzsche even suggests that his own theories might have</p><p>been taught by him (EH, ‘BT’, 3). (This can be construed as self-praise, as</p><p>Nietzsche states that ‘Heraclitus will always be right’: TI, ‘“Reason” in</p><p>Philosophy’, 2.) Jung, on the other hand, is more methodical and impersonal in his</p><p>praise of Heraclitus, heralding him as the discoverer of the regulative function of</p><p>opposites (Jung, 1917/1926/1943, par. 111). In his autobiography</p><p>MDR, when</p><p>Jung cites those philosophers who have had most influence upon his thought, he</p><p>mentions Heraclitus only in the company of other ancient Greek thinkers; he does</p><p>not single him out: ‘Above all I was attracted to the thought of Pythagoras,</p><p>Heraclitus, Empedocles, and Plato, despite the longwindedness of Socratic</p><p>dialogue’. Jung continues by saying that Heraclitus’ ideas and the ideas of these</p><p>other thinkers ‘were beautiful and academic, like pictures in a gallery, but some-</p><p>what remote’ (p. 87, italics mine). For Jung to regard Heraclitus’ thought as remote</p><p>implies that it is wholly unsuitable to his psychoanalysis, which is meant for</p><p>practical application (for ‘the psyche is a living system of opposites’). Heraclitus</p><p>left Jung unsatisfied. Unlike Jung, Nietzsche found satisfaction in Heraclitus, and</p><p>had no need to seek the elusive ‘third thing’. Aristotle, we have seen, anticipates</p><p>the ‘third thing’ necessary to Jung’s model of opposites. Although Jung does not</p><p>cite him as an explicit influence on his work, we can deduce from MDR (where he</p><p>claims to have been, between the ages of 16 and 19, particularly attracted to ancient</p><p>Greek philosophy), that he must certainly have been familiar with Aristotelian</p><p>philosophy. Furthermore, the teleological movement that we have identified in</p><p>Jung’s model of opposites is distinctly Aristotelian.26 Aristotle provides Jung with</p><p>the support to develop his theory of opposites beyond Nietzsche and Heraclitus,</p><p>and for introducing the notion of a third thing into the original duality</p><p>Let us now conclude the discussion thus far. The Nietzschean and Jungian models</p><p>of opposites are not so far from one another. They both seek conflict and tension</p><p>within opposites in order to create a dynamic dialectic that motivates, not just the</p><p>rational capacity of the individual, but the whole individual in action (contra</p><p>Plato and Kant). The tension is productive; that is, the antithetical forces of con-</p><p>sciousness and unconsciousness do not work in total opposition to one another,</p><p>but against one another, in a productive manner to reveal an energetic synthesis</p><p>within the individual that affirms life as meaningful (contra Schopenhauer). Both</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung found influence in Heraclitus; though Jung, unsatisfied with</p><p>Heraclitus’ notion of ‘one force divided into two opposites that seek to reunite’,</p><p>sought to develop his theory of opposites further, by incorporating the notion of</p><p>‘triadicy’, which concerned Aristotle before him.</p><p>The disagreement between Nietzsche and Jung 85</p><p>Jung relies on a third thing that is external to the opposites but has affinities</p><p>with them, which enables it to act as their mediator and cause their eventual union.</p><p>For Jung, the opposites can be united only through the ‘third thing’ – through their</p><p>‘synthesis’: an already existing union of opposites. For Jung, an a priori union of</p><p>opposites must already be posited before any further unions can take place</p><p>(cf. Jung, 1946, par. 378). ‘As one alchemist says, one must start with a bit of the</p><p>Philosopher’s stone if one is to find it’ (Edinger, 1994a, p. 6). Thus, the psyche</p><p>‘has purposive orientation’ and contains within it ‘something like a preliminary</p><p>exercise or sketch, or a plan roughed out in advance’ (Jung, 1916/1948, par. 493;</p><p>cf. par. 456), and it proceeds to work according to this pre-designated teleological</p><p>scheme. The Self is the very telos of the psyche, it is the archetype of completeness</p><p>and the union of opposites, and as such it is the required pre-designated union of</p><p>opposites that enables all further unions to take place. By positing a pre-designated</p><p>union of opposites, we are further encouraged to conceive the individuation</p><p>process as circular rather than linear.</p><p>Nietzsche’s model does not adopt this a priori, pre-designated union of</p><p>opposites. For Nietzsche, as with Heraclitus before him, the union of opposites</p><p>takes place within the opposites themselves; they do not appeal to an external</p><p>mediator. The Übermensch is not predetermined. The Übermensch must be</p><p>created (TSZ, prologue, 9; see Chapter 4) and not discovered, as Jung would have</p><p>it (Jung, 1942/1954, par. 400). In the Nietzschean model, the ‘union of opposites’</p><p>is not an a priori starting point, but an (a posteriori) end-product of the two oppo-</p><p>sites acting alone. This implies that the opposites are more potent for Nietzsche</p><p>than for Jung, for the energetic passage to Übermenschlichkeit is inherent in the</p><p>opposites themselves; in the Jungian model the opposites depend on an external</p><p>force for their energy.</p><p>In this chapter we have examined the differences between Nietzsche’s and Jung’s</p><p>model of opposites in terms of the process through which the opposites are united.</p><p>We have also examined their particular philosophical influences to account for</p><p>these differences. What we have yet to consider is the profound influence that</p><p>Nietzsche himself had upon Jung. The remaining pages of this book will, in effect,</p><p>go some way toward explaining this. We have seen Jung reformulate the doctrines</p><p>of Plato, Kant and Schopenhauer in his archetypal theory, thereby creating a more</p><p>‘Nietzsche-friendly’ model of opposites; in Chapter 8 we shall see Jung develop</p><p>Nietzsche’s model further, as he incorporates its essential aspects into his own</p><p>model. Our analysis will focus on the explicit affinities between Nietzsche and</p><p>Jung’s concept of the union of opposites.</p><p>86 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Chapter 8</p><p>The similarities between</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung</p><p>The whole self in the union of</p><p>opposites</p><p>In Chapter 7 we examined the differences between Nietzsche’s and Jung’s models</p><p>according to the process through which the opposites are united, and we accounted</p><p>for these differences according to their different philosophical influences. In this</p><p>chapter we shall consider one way in which Nietzsche and Jung converge in their</p><p>treatment of the union of opposites, and the extent to which these similarities are</p><p>a consequence of Nietzsche’s influence on Jung.</p><p>For both Nietzsche and Jung the union of opposites represents the whole self –</p><p>the Übermensch and Self respectively. Jung actually names Nietzsche as an</p><p>authority on the notion of the union of opposites: ‘Nietzsche . . . understands that</p><p>the self consists in pairs of opposites and that it is in a way a reconciliation of</p><p>opposites’ (SNZ, I, p. 433; cf. 117, 1364). Further analysis of ‘reconciliation’ will,</p><p>I believe, help to confirm that Nietzsche’s influence on Jung is significant</p><p>Neither Nietzsche nor Jung provides a detailed description of the union</p><p>of opposites; this is both frustrating and unfortunate. Jung at least acknowledges</p><p>this problem and admits in detail that the Self cannot be examined because it</p><p>is composed of unconscious and thus unknowable elements. Nietzsche, for his</p><p>part, fails to explain why the Übermensch is addressed (principally in TSZ) only</p><p>in ambiguous, scattered passages. In Chapters 4 and 6 we tried to arrive at a close</p><p>interpretation of the Übermensch and Self based on the available texts. Although</p><p>my interpretations elucidate the concepts further, they do not amount to a ‘com-</p><p>plete’ and detailed account. Nevertheless, I believe we are in a position to identify</p><p>the main affinities between the two philosophers. With reference principally to the</p><p>notes of Jung’s Seminars on Nietzsche’s Zarathustra (1934–1939/1989), I shall</p><p>identify apparent affinities between the Übermensch and Self, and ask whether</p><p>Jung would acknowledge them.</p><p>Nietzsche’s and Jung’s notion of the union of opposites converge in six areas.1</p><p>These are (1) the quality of the relationship between opposites (distinct from</p><p>the process of their unification); (2) the value of completion over perfection,</p><p>and the implications of this for morality; (3) the privilege and exclusivity of the</p><p>union and its political implications; (4) the dangerous implications of the union;</p><p>(5) the particular opposites that are united; and (6) the notion of the Dionysian.</p><p>Also, not explicit in Nietzsche’s model of opposites</p><p>but peripheral to its dis-</p><p>cussion, is (7) Nietzsche’s anticipation of the fundamental tenets of Jung’s</p><p>individuation process and of analytical psychology in general.</p><p>The quality of the relationship between opposites</p><p>and the value of completion over perfection</p><p>Although the actual processes through which the opposites are united are different</p><p>in Nietzsche and Jung, the quality of the relationship between opposites is the</p><p>same. Both Nietzsche and Jung seek a dynamic union that promotes competition</p><p>and a ‘controlled’ tension between opposites (WP, 55, 881, 966; TI, ‘Morality as</p><p>Anti-Nature’, 3; TSZ, prologue, 5; Jung, 1917/1926/1943, pars. 78, 80; cf. Jung,</p><p>1916/1957, par. 189). The union is highly creative, never static, and it continually</p><p>seeks enrichment. Such creativity and enrichment are achievable through the</p><p>continual interplay of opposites, as they battle for power over one another. The</p><p>fact that both Nietzsche and Jung in general promote equality between opposites</p><p>so that one element cannot completely dominate its opposite counterpart, and</p><p>require all (psychological) opposites to be present (WP, 966, 976; cf. Jung, 1946,</p><p>par. 536) guarantees that the competition between the opposites will be intense.</p><p>The Übermensch and Self will therefore promote the strongest antagonism in the</p><p>guise of multiple tensions that are ‘directed’ or ‘harnessed’ towards maximum</p><p>creativity.2 These two facts also indicate that the Übermensch and Self are not</p><p>aspirations to human perfection. Perfection is an unsurpassable condition that is</p><p>pure and unchanging, and excludes everything negative; the union of opposites,</p><p>on the other hand, gives positive and negative equal value, and its aim, ‘creativity’,</p><p>requires continual change. ‘Perfection’ is not only detrimental to the union of</p><p>opposites but actually threatens it completely, as it seeks to promote only one</p><p>opposite. The fact that neither the Übermensch nor the Self discriminates between</p><p>values means that their actions are outside moral considerations; they are not moral</p><p>entities, but are ‘beyond good and evil’. They do not seek the summum bonum</p><p>alone but also seek the greatest evil; their aspiration is therefore not ‘perfection’</p><p>but ‘completion’ – more specifically, a totality that promotes the greatest com-</p><p>petition and creation within its elements.3</p><p>Jung’s interpretation of Nietzsche runs contrary to mine. According to Jung,</p><p>Nietzsche’s Übermensch is merely an attempt to unite the opposites, an attempt</p><p>that ultimately fails. It culminates not in an expression of wholeness and unity but</p><p>in an ‘unsatisfactory one-sidedness’ (SNZ, I, p. 397; cf. II, pp. 1099, 1292). Jung’s</p><p>Self, on the other hand, is supposed to achieve wholeness and avoid one-sidedness.</p><p>Jung is effectively charging Nietzsche’s project with inner inconsistency and</p><p>paradox, for he maintains that the Übermensch fails to exhibit those characteristics</p><p>which its own teaching has explicitly deemed necessary – the promotion of both</p><p>opposites in the binary pair.4 If correct, this criticism is highly damaging to</p><p>Nietzsche’s project, for the promotion of only one opposite element not only limits</p><p>(1) the quality of the relationship between opposites, by prohibiting the dynamic</p><p>88 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>interplay between elements but also destroys (2) the possibility of completion in</p><p>a union of opposites. In Chapter 7 I argued that Nietzsche’s model lacks the</p><p>mysterious ‘third’ thing that is essential to the process of unification in the Jungian</p><p>model. This ‘third’ thing is the ‘unifying symbol’ or ‘transcendent function’ that</p><p>makes possible the mediation and reconciliation of opposites.</p><p>In Jungian terms, Nietzsche’s model identifies the opposites and recognizes</p><p>the need for their reconciliation (ibid., I, pp. 120, 433), but fails to effect the</p><p>reconciliation. The opposites can never form a productive relationship; they are</p><p>not a dynamic and balanced binary pair but remain separated, so that only one</p><p>opposite can be promoted at any one time. The lack of a mediating force also</p><p>means that the opposites cannot be harnessed, controlled or directed; they will</p><p>behave erratically or become static (cf. ibid., II, p. 1006). Jung writes:</p><p>For those who have a symbol, the passing from one side to the other, the</p><p>transmutation, is easier. In other words, those who have no symbol will find</p><p>it very difficult to make the transition . . . Nietzsche . . . was without a symbol</p><p>and so, naturally, to make the transition, to leave one condition and to enter</p><p>another mental condition, would be exceedingly difficult, if not wholly</p><p>impossible. In this case it was impossible.</p><p>(SNZ, II, pp. 1248–1250; cf. Jung, 1934/1954, par. 61;</p><p>also see Frey, 1971, p. 319)5</p><p>It is apparent, therefore, that Jung rejects my attribution of affinities (1) and (2)</p><p>to his and Nietzsche’s models. (As we shall see later, Jung’s conviction that</p><p>Nietzsche’s project is one-sided has further implication for affinities (4), (5)</p><p>and (6).)</p><p>The privilege and exclusivity of the union</p><p>Because the Übermensch and Self express ‘evil’ and ‘negativity’, individuals must</p><p>actively confront such unpleasant feelings within themselves if they are to endure</p><p>them and control them to their advantage.6 Individuals are thus in a difficult and</p><p>dangerous position, for they must assimilate what conventional morality has taught</p><p>them to reject, without being seduced into an over-identification with it by its</p><p>‘forbidden’ power. Overcoming the negative element in the union of opposites</p><p>is therefore a test of emotional strength, and forms, I believe, the first stage in the</p><p>development of the Übermensch and Self. For Nietzsche it marks the moment</p><p>where ‘commonplace beings perish’ (WP, 881); and for Jung it is manifest in the</p><p>archetype of the shadow, the first archetype encountered in the individuation</p><p>process. This stage filters out the ‘commonplace beings’ from those individuals</p><p>who have the capacity for Übermenschlichkeit and Selfhood.</p><p>The Übermensch and Self are beyond the reach of the average person. They are</p><p>realizable only by a select few (in the above argument of (1) and (2), those with</p><p>extensive emotional strength). The union of opposites is thus privileged and</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 89</p><p>exclusive (3).7 The Übermensch and Self represent the elite – they are individuals</p><p>separated from the ‘herd’ or ‘aggregations of half-baked mass-men’ (Jung, 1946,</p><p>par. 539). The ‘commonplace being’ is not an individual per se; rather, according</p><p>to Jung, an individual’s own ego-consciousness is determined by the social group,</p><p>so that his true self lies dormant and unconscious beneath the more powerful</p><p>unconscious forces of the group: ‘He is a mere particle that has forgotten what it</p><p>is to be human and has lost its soul’ (Jung, 1946, par. 539; ‘a blind brute’, Jung,</p><p>1944b, par. 563; cf. Freud, 1922, pp. 99–106). A movement towards individuality</p><p>therefore involves a movement away from the unconscious affects of the group.</p><p>As Jung writes:</p><p>Every step towards fuller consciousness [to the Self] removes him from his</p><p>original, purely animal participation mystique with the herd, from submersion</p><p>in a common unconsciousness. Every step forward means tearing oneself</p><p>loose from the maternal womb of unconsciousness in which the mass of men</p><p>dwell.</p><p>(Jung, 1928/1931, par. 150; also see Jung, 1947/1954, par. 410;</p><p>Jung, 1933/1934, par. 326; Jung, 1943, par. 248)</p><p>But such forward steps are not taken easily, for only someone who is exceptionally</p><p>‘creative’, ‘proficient in the highest degree’, ‘organized in his individuality’ and</p><p>‘capable of self reflection’ can resist the unconscious of ‘the organized mass’</p><p>(Jung, 1928/1931, par. 153; Jung, 1957, par. 540).8 According to Jung, ‘Nature is</p><p>aristocratic’, so that the ‘one person of value [who exhibits these traits] outweighs</p><p>ten lesser ones’ (Jung, 1928b, par. 236). Nietzsche’s Zarathustra fits in with Jung’s</p><p>elitist claim for the individual over the herd. The prologue of TSZ ends with</p><p>Zarathustra considering</p><p>whether he should seek a minority audience of kindred</p><p>spirits instead of the masses. Likewise, the teaching about the Will to Power in</p><p>TSZ is not for everyone. Zarathustra addresses his discovery of the Will to Power</p><p>only to ‘you who are wisest’ (TSZ, II, ‘Of Self-Overcoming’).</p><p>The political implications of this elitism must now be addressed. The</p><p>Übermensch and Self are fully-fledged ‘individuals’, above the collective group;</p><p>they are, Jung and Nietzsche argue, more conscious and more intelligent. One</p><p>might think that such individuals are particularly well suited to govern society.</p><p>Nietzsche succumbs to such a thought. Jung, however, does not. For Jung, the</p><p>separation of the individual from the herd is the goal of individual completion.</p><p>This is because the herd tends to repress the individual’s instincts so that he</p><p>is determined only by the totality of ego-consciousness – the social persona. Once</p><p>the negative effects of society (as over-identification with the persona) are</p><p>removed, individuals are free to explore their unrepressed individuality. Their</p><p>social persona is still active, but it is no longer dominant. For Nietzsche, on the</p><p>other hand, the individual, as Übermenschlichkeit, is separated from the herd so</p><p>that he can overpower it. In Nietzsche’s ideal vision, society is now dictated to,</p><p>and (over-)identified with the Übermensch. Nietzsche has effectively transformed</p><p>90 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>a not unrealistic project of individual completion into the exceptionally fanciful</p><p>goal of ‘social completion’ and even world domination (WP, 960, 978; cf. WP,</p><p>862).</p><p>Both Nietzsche and Jung acknowledge that over-identification with the social</p><p>group is detrimental to individual completion, but they differ in their treatment of</p><p>the social group. In the Jungian model, the conscious social persona is not rejected</p><p>outright in favour of an exploration of the unconscious depths of the individual.</p><p>Rather, the opposites need to be rebalanced; the individual adheres to both his</p><p>‘inner vocation’ (Jung, 1934a, pars. 300–301, 318) and to his ‘social instinct’</p><p>(Jung, 1916b, par. 437–507) expressed by the ‘external’ ethics of society. In the</p><p>Nietzschean model, the social group is denied, replaced and superseded by its</p><p>opposite – the governing Übermensch. (Nietzsche therefore appears to promote</p><p>one opposite over the other; for, in Jungian terms, the social persona is totally</p><p>rejected and reformulated by its opposite – the hitherto asocial Übermensch.) The</p><p>Übermensch is not at all limited by external social ethics, for he determines them;</p><p>he follows his own self-created values, rooted within his Will to Power.9</p><p>Jung certainly recognizes the elitism of Nietzsche’s works (cf. SNZ, I, p. 665),</p><p>though to argue that Nietzsche was an influential source for elitism in his own</p><p>model is naive. However, as Bishop notes, the ideas at the core of Jung’s pre- and</p><p>post-war essays, particularly ‘Wotan’ (1936) and ‘After the Catastrophe’ (1945),</p><p>were discussed in and developed at the same time as his seminars on Nietzsche’s</p><p>TSZ (Bishop, 1995, p. 285; 1999a, p. 220). Furthermore, Bishop claims that Jung</p><p>develops his understanding of Nietzsche’s Dionysus by relating him to his analysis</p><p>of the rise of Fascism, explicitly with reference to the political activity taking hold</p><p>of Switzerland (Bishop, 1999a, p. 218). Jung associates Dionysus with the</p><p>Teutonic war-god Wotan, the god of thunder.10 In his examination of Nietzsche’s</p><p>TSZ Jung finds many Wotanic images,11 which have political and psychological</p><p>connotations for him (SNZ, I, p. 500; II, p. 868). In the figure of Wotan we see a</p><p>direct connection between Nietzsche and Jung and the political (and psycho-</p><p>logical) ideology of elitism.</p><p>I have argued that both Nietzsche and Jung promote elitism, and while</p><p>Nietzsche is not the only influence on Jung in this connection, he does leave</p><p>his mark. There remains the question of the relationship of both figures to the</p><p>ideology of National Socialism. This is a complex issue, which has generated</p><p>much discussion, and it would take too long to consider it in depth here. However,</p><p>it is interesting to note that while Jung is implicitly against the social elitism of</p><p>Nietzsche, Jung hints at a possible explanation for Nietzsche’s unrealistic claims</p><p>and interestingly notes that although ‘those occupying the highest positions in</p><p>government’ can make use of their ‘individuality’ by ‘manipulating state doctrine</p><p>to their own will in the name of state policy’, such individuals (ones similar to the</p><p>Übermensch, who dictates to society his own values and is therefore ‘the state</p><p>policy itself’) are ‘more likely to be the slaves of their own fictions’. The leader</p><p>nearly always ‘becomes the victim of his own inflated ego-consciousness’ (Jung,</p><p>1957, par. 500). This</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 91</p><p>means that the whole nation is by way of becoming a herd of sheep,</p><p>constantly relying on a shepherd to drive them into good pastures. The</p><p>shepherd’s staff soon becomes a rod of iron, and the shepherds turn into</p><p>wolves.</p><p>(ibid., par. 413)</p><p>Far from being the overtly ‘more conscious and intelligent individual’ ideally</p><p>suited to ruling Nietzsche’s aristocratic society, the Übermensch is here demoted</p><p>to a ‘slave’ with an ‘inflated ego-consciousness’.12</p><p>The dangerous implications of the union, the</p><p>particular opposites that are united, and the</p><p>notion of the Dionysian</p><p>Nietzsche’s and Jung’s notions of the union of opposites also converge in the idea</p><p>of the Dionysian, which combines areas (4) and (5): the Dionysian is dangerous,</p><p>and it exhibits pairs of opposites that are peculiar to both the Übermensch and</p><p>Self.13</p><p>In Chapter 2 I analysed the concept of the Dionysian as the opposite of</p><p>the Apollinian in early Nietzsche; together they formed ‘tragic’ being, antici-</p><p>pating Nietzsche’s later formulation of the Übermensch. However, Nietzsche</p><p>later revises his concept of the Dionysian to incorporate the Apollinian impulse</p><p>within it (Dionysus promotes completion above perfection: SNZ, I, p. 480). So that</p><p>‘Dionysus’ versus Apollo in Nietzsche’s first book and Dionysus versus the</p><p>Crucified in the last line of Nietzsche’s last book do not mean the same thing. The</p><p>former is the deity of formless chaos that opposes Apollinian form and beauty,</p><p>and the latter represents ‘passion controlled’ – as opposed to the extirpation of the</p><p>passions (which Nietzsche associated with Christianity). The revised concept is a</p><p>union of opposites, of both Dionysian and Apollinian impulses, and this later</p><p>concept of the Dionysian is the sixth area of convergence between the Übermensch</p><p>and Self.</p><p>According to (later) Nietzsche,</p><p>the word ‘Dionysian’ means: [i] an urge to unity, [ii] a reaching up beyond</p><p>personality, the everyday, society, reality, across the abyss of transitoriness:</p><p>[iii] a passionate-painful overflowing into darker, fuller, more floating states;</p><p>[iv] an ecstatic affirmation of the total character of life as that which remains</p><p>the same, just as powerful, just as blissful, through all change; [v] the great</p><p>pantheistic sharing of joy and sorrow that sanctifies and calls good even the</p><p>most terrible and questionable qualities of life; the eternal will to procreation,</p><p>to fruitfulness, to recurrence; the feeling of the necessary unity of creation and</p><p>destruction.</p><p>(WP, 1050)</p><p>92 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>The Übermensch and Self convey everything in this definition of the Dionysian</p><p>according to Nietzsche. The significance of (i) for the Übermensch and Self has</p><p>already been made apparent in their quest for wholeness, completion and unifi-</p><p>cation of opposites; and they express (ii) in that they bring out the highest potential</p><p>of individuals, and therefore elevate individuals beyond the ‘commonplace beings’</p><p>that identify solely with ‘herd’ mentality and the social persona.</p><p>The significance of definitions (iii), (iv) and (v) of Nietzsche’s ‘Dionysian’ for</p><p>the Übermensch and Self have yet to be brought out in detail. We shall see that</p><p>the</p><p>Übermensch and Self are both ‘Dionysian’ because they are both ‘dangerous’. We</p><p>shall see that definition (iv) of the ‘Dionysian’ refers to Nietzsche’s notion of the</p><p>Eternal Recurrence, a motif significant for both the Übermensch and Self. Lastly,</p><p>we shall see that definition (v) exhibits particular opposites that are united in the</p><p>Übermensch and Self.</p><p>Dionysian danger</p><p>The Dionysian is dangerous because it poses the threat of the loss of individuality.</p><p>We see that it demands ‘a reaching up beyond personality’, which is described</p><p>as a ‘passionate-painful overflowing into darker, fuller, more floating states’.</p><p>In Chapter 2 we saw that (the earlier Nietzschean notion of) the Dionysian</p><p>impulse expresses itself in intoxication, so that the whole structure of individuation</p><p>collapses to make room for a rediscovered universal harmony that is at one with</p><p>nature (cf. Jung, 1936a, par. 118). I have argued that the Übermensch and Self</p><p>are in a continual dynamic state of creation; they are defined by reformulation</p><p>– by birth, death and rebirth. They must therefore find identity, ‘unity’ and ‘rebirth’</p><p>within chaos, for if they cannot, they will fail to ‘ecstatically affirm life’ and will</p><p>effectively ‘die’.14 I have argued that the first stage in the passage to Über-</p><p>menschlichkeit and Selfhood (that is, confronting evil and negativity) is marked</p><p>with danger, for Nietzsche warns us the ‘commonplace man’ will ‘perish’ here. As</p><p>Dionysian men of creation, the Übermensch and Self will also perish, but this does</p><p>not mark their end; they perish so as to be born again and again (cf. the notion that</p><p>strife leads ‘to new and more powerful births’: BT, 1).</p><p>Suffering, pain and death precede rebirth. Dionysus represents each of these</p><p>things, which are illustrated in the mythological story of his birth from the</p><p>incestuous coupling between Zeus and his daughter Persephone, his horrific</p><p>mutilation and murder by the Titans, and his rebirth to Zeus and Semele (see</p><p>Chapters 2 and 4). The Übermensch and Self are expressions of this continuous</p><p>Dionysian cycle of destruction and creativity: the Übermensch is ‘Dionysus torn</p><p>into pieces . . . a promise of life: it will be eternally reborn and return again from</p><p>destruction (WP, 1052; cf. UM, III, 1).15 As we saw in Chapter 6, the rebirth of the</p><p>ego as Self is a typical dangerous Dionysian experience:</p><p>The rediscovered unconscious often has a really dangerous effect on the ego.</p><p>In the same way that the ego suppressed the unconscious before, a liberated</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 93</p><p>unconscious can thrust the ego aside and overwhelm it. There is a danger of</p><p>the ego losing its head, so to speak, that it will not be able to defend itself</p><p>against the pressure of affective factors.</p><p>(Jung, 1916/1957, par. 183)16</p><p>The dangerous Dionysian experience is also manifest in the (psychological)</p><p>alchemical parallel of the death of the ego and rebirth of the Self: in the various</p><p>sufferings of the king (the ego) who must die so that he can be reborn in a complete</p><p>form (and conceived, as Dionysus had been, from an incestuous coupling: cf. Jung,</p><p>1955–1956, par. 436; Jung, 1917/1926/1943, par. 43). The death of the ego/king</p><p>‘signifies the overcoming of the old and the obsolete’ (Jung, 1955–1956, par. 169),</p><p>and thus the dynamics of creation; but before it/he dies it/he must experience a</p><p>wounding from the might of the Self (represented by immersion in the bath or sea</p><p>of the unconscious, dissolution and decomposition, extinction of light, and</p><p>incineration in the fire).</p><p>Jung explicitly acknowledges the danger of Dionysus in Nietzsche’s model, and</p><p>we can regard this as the underlying theme of SNZ. Jung insists that Nietzsche</p><p>over-identifies with Dionysus at the expense of Apollo because he believes</p><p>Nietzsche’s model promotes the irrational over the rational. Nietzsche’s project is</p><p>thereby identified with what he himself calls ‘that horrible mixture of sensuality</p><p>and cruelty which has always seemed to me the real “witches” brew’ (BT, 2).17</p><p>Opposites in Dionysian affirmation</p><p>In Chapter 4 we saw that, according to Nietzsche, Dionysus is intimately linked</p><p>with the notion of the Eternal Recurrence. The two concepts are connected with</p><p>the affirmation of life even when it seems most terrible. The significance of (iv) in</p><p>Nietzsche’s definition of the ‘Dionysian’ is precisely this link with the Eternal</p><p>Recurrence, and (v) describes some of those profound oppositions that are united</p><p>in Dionysian affirmation.</p><p>Dionysus represents all that is natural; he seeks (contra Christianity) a union</p><p>of mankind and nature so that ‘nature which has become alienated, hostile, or</p><p>subjugated, celebrates once more her reconciliation with her lost son, man’ (BT,</p><p>1; cf. GS, 109). Dionysus is therefore the redeeming symbol that saves us from the</p><p>asceticism of those metaphysical doctrines that Nietzsche rejects (see Chapter 3).</p><p>As Dionysian individuals, the Übermensch and Self promote the ‘natural body’ as</p><p>inherently valuable. The Übermensch is ‘the meaning of the earth’ (TSZ, prologue,</p><p>3); in connection with the Self, Jung comments:</p><p>It is the head of earth which gives meaning to the earth. The body is the</p><p>guarantee of consciousness, and consciousness is the instrument by which the</p><p>meaning is created. There would be no meaning if there were no conscious-</p><p>ness, and since there is no consciousness without body, there can be no</p><p>meaning without the body.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 350; see also SNZ, I, pp. 63–66; Jung, 1907, pars. 86–87)</p><p>94 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Dionysus therefore calls for nature to be reunited with meaning, and spirit with</p><p>body, for it is ‘the mysterious truth that the spirit is the life of the body seen from</p><p>within and the body the outward manifestation of the life of the spirit – the two</p><p>being really one’ (Jung, 1928/1931, par. 195; also see TSZ, I, ‘Of the Despisers of</p><p>the Body’).18 He also calls on us to affirm those profound psychological opposites</p><p>in (v): to unite ‘joy’ with ‘sorrow’, that which is ‘good’ with ‘the most terrible’,</p><p>and ‘creation’ with ‘destruction’.</p><p>Dionysian individuals are those who are reunited with humanity and all that is</p><p>passionate, chaotic and irrational within themselves. They must joyfully and</p><p>tragically restore themselves to nature and experience ‘an ascent-up into a high,</p><p>free, even terrible nature and naturalness’ (WP, 120). This terrible experience must</p><p>be ‘blissfully’ endured over and over again, for Dionysus affirms nothing more</p><p>than the tragedy of the Eternal Recurrence. There can be no ‘reaching up beyond</p><p>personality’ without struggle and suffering. There will always be obstacles within</p><p>the individual’s path; the Eternal Recurrence is therefore a teaching of strength</p><p>through despair. Nietzsche tells us that the Übermensch is the</p><p>ideal of the most exuberant, most living and most world-affirming man, who</p><p>has not only learned to get on and treat with all that was and is but who wants</p><p>to have it again as it was and is to all eternity.</p><p>(BGE, 56)</p><p>The Übermensch (as with the Self) is he who promotes the ‘Yes-saying instinct’</p><p>as his unifying principle (AC, 57; EH, ‘TSZ’, 6). This is what gives him the</p><p>strength for amor fati: to endure the unification of good and evil, to live a cursed</p><p>existence and to then transmute it into the Dionysian intoxication of tragic</p><p>acceptance (‘It is the man without amor fati who is the neurotic’: Jung, 1934a, par.</p><p>312). Nietzsche therefore seeks the</p><p>Dionysian world of the eternally self-creating, the eternally self-destroying,</p><p>this mystery world of the twofold voluptuous delight, my ‘beyond good and</p><p>evil’, without goal, unless the joy of the circle is itself a goal; without will,</p><p>unless a ring feels good will toward itself.</p><p>(WP, 1067; cf. TI, ‘What I Owe to the Ancients’, 4, 5)</p><p>Although Jung does not promote the anti-teleological doctrine behind Nietzsche’s</p><p>Eternal Recurrence,19 its symbolism is central to the conveyance of his own</p><p>Dionysian notion of totality.20 Jung interprets the Eternal Recurrence as an</p><p>effect</p><p>accompanying Dionysian Rebirth (SNZ, I, pp. 191–192; cf. Jung, 1940/1950,</p><p>par. 210), and he adopts its symbolic representation, the ‘circle’ or ‘ring’ (see</p><p>Nietzsche’s quote above), as an archetypal image of the Self. In Chapter 5 I alluded</p><p>to the mandala sacred circle as a principal symbol of the Self; the Eternal</p><p>Recurrence is another representation of this:</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 95</p><p>Nietzsche’s idea of the Eternal Recurrence . . . belongs with this symbolism</p><p>of the ring, the ring of rings, the ring of Eternal Recurrence. Now this ring is</p><p>the idea of totality and it is the idea of individuation naturally, an individ-</p><p>uation symbol.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1044)</p><p>The affinities that I have posited between Nietzsche and Jung are extensive.</p><p>Even the language and ideas used by Jung to express the totality of the Self are</p><p>startlingly similar to those of Nietzsche (see note 20). This might lead one to</p><p>conclude that Jung had found Nietzsche’s argument convincing, and perhaps</p><p>even appropriated it. Such an inference is not entirely correct. For I have</p><p>interpreted the Eternal Recurrence as a unifying symbol; but in our discussion of</p><p>affinities (1) and (2) we saw that, according to Jung, Nietzsche ‘was without a</p><p>symbol’, which meant that it was ‘impossible’ for him to form a totality and unite</p><p>the opposites (SNZ, II, pp. 1248–1250; cf. Jung, 1934/1954, par. 61; Frey, 1971,</p><p>p. 319). According to Jung, there can be no correlation between Nietzsche’s</p><p>model, which lacks totality, and his own notion of the Self, which is totality.</p><p>However, in the passage just quoted, we see Jung contradict himself and agree</p><p>with my interpretation, for he allows Nietzsche the unifying symbol, thereby</p><p>encouraging us to believe that he is convinced by Nietzsche’s thought. This</p><p>contradiction needs to be resolved.</p><p>In Chapter 6 we saw that the symbol is subjectively defined, so that it can be</p><p>effective for the individual at one time, but have the status of a mere ‘sign’ at</p><p>another. The demotion of symbol into sign occurs when it fails to promote growth</p><p>and enrichment of the personality. Jung’s apparent indecision over whether</p><p>Nietzsche has or lacks a symbol is, I suggest, not a logical matter, but has to do</p><p>with Jung’s psychological disposition when he made his different interpretations:</p><p>in his seminars of 5 May 1937 and 18 May 1938 respectively. Jung’s reception of</p><p>Nietzsche’s project is ambiguous, and much hangs on this ambiguity; for if Jung</p><p>does acknowledge Nietzsche as having a unifying symbol of totality, Nietzsche’s</p><p>project may not be doomed, as Jung claims. Nietzsche’s one-sidedness could be</p><p>overcome in a union of opposites after all.</p><p>However, there is more to Jung’s criticism of one-sidedness than has so</p><p>far emerged; Jung also denies that Nietzsche’s project unites the particular</p><p>opposites of spirit and body. I argued that while the Übermensch and Self promote</p><p>the ‘natural body’ as inherently valuable, Jung maintains that the Übermensch</p><p>promotes it too vigorously, so that it over-identifies with the body and does not</p><p>adequately support its spiritual opposite, God. The fact that Nietzsche insists that</p><p>God is dead, and that Jung rediscovered Him as a guiding principle of unity within</p><p>the depths of the unconscious (for the Self is a God-image) crudely demonstrates</p><p>their different outlooks. Jung, however, maintains that ‘Nietzsche never gets rid</p><p>of him [God] . . . Unnamed and not visible, he is still there’ (SNZ, II, p. 843). To</p><p>take his criticism of Nietzsche further, Jung names Nietzsche’s God as Dionysus,</p><p>the god of the body (cf. SNZ, II, p. 1129).</p><p>96 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>If this is right, Nietzsche never completely excludes the notion of spirit from his</p><p>model; rather, he too readily conflates the spirit with the body, so that the body</p><p>becomes deified (SNZ, II, p. 816).21 In TSZ we see Zarathustra proclaim:</p><p>The awakened, the enlightened man says: I am body entirely, and nothing</p><p>beside; and soul is only a word for something in the body . . . Your little</p><p>intelligence, my brother, which you call ‘spirit’, is also an instrument of</p><p>your body, a little instrument and toy of your great intelligence. You say ‘I’</p><p>and you are proud of this word. But greater than this . . . is your body . . . [The</p><p>Self] lives in your body, he is your body.</p><p>(TSZ, I, ‘Of the Despisers of the Body’)</p><p>In response to this passage, in which the spirit is portrayed as a mere plaything of</p><p>the body, Jung accuses Nietzsche of ‘every unspeakable crime’ (SNZ, I, p. 372).</p><p>Indeed, such secondary identification – ‘identifying the ego with the self and</p><p>therefore with the Superman’ – can only ‘lead to an explosion’ (ibid., p. 392).22</p><p>Thus, according to Jung, Nietzsche’s model self-destructs because of its one-sided</p><p>orientation towards Dionysus at the expense of Apollinian control and spirit.</p><p>The ‘Dionysian’, then, connects Nietzsche’s and Jung’s models of the union of</p><p>opposites, despite Jung’s insistence that the value they each place upon it is</p><p>significantly different. The connection is strengthened through the personality of</p><p>Goethe, who represents their respective notions of a whole self, of ‘Dionysian</p><p>man’. According to Nietzsche, Goethe</p><p>did not sever himself from life, he placed himself within it; nothing could</p><p>discourage him and he took as much as possible upon himself, above himself,</p><p>within himself. What he aspired to was totality.</p><p>(TI, ‘Expeditions of an Untimely Man’, 49)</p><p>Goethe was a rare example, for Nietzsche, of the unification of ‘reason, sensu-</p><p>ality, feeling, will’ (ibid.), which correspond almost exactly to the four Jungian</p><p>functions of thinking, feeling, sensation and intuition. Goethe was someone</p><p>who, exceptionally, ‘strove against separation’, ‘affirmed the whole’ and ‘created</p><p>his own Self’ (ibid.). According to Jung, Goethe was an example of the ‘great</p><p>personality’, of the individual who followed his ‘inner vocation’ and differentiated</p><p>his ego from the ‘voice of the group’; he thus sought ‘individual wholeness’ over</p><p>the ‘wholeness of the group’ (Jung, 1934a, pars. 301–302). Similarly, Goethe’s</p><p>writings can be regarded as an outward manifestation of his inner totality; for, in</p><p>parallel to that of Nietzsche and Jung, it explains the ‘whole’ personality in terms</p><p>of a union of opposites.23 Both the personality and works of Goethe were described</p><p>by Nietzsche as exhibiting ‘the highest of all possible faiths: I have baptized it with</p><p>the name Dionysos’ (TI, ‘Expeditions of an Untimely Man’, 49).</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 97</p><p>The ‘Nietzschean Self ’</p><p>In The Dionysian Self (1995), Paul Bishop offers two reasons why Jung should</p><p>refer to Nietzsche as a predecessor to his own analytical psychology. First,</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung agree on ‘the preeminence of psychology, whatever the</p><p>difference in their psychological outlooks’; and second, ‘Nietzschean imagery</p><p>. . . influenced the characterizations of two Jungian archetypes: the Old Wise</p><p>Man and the Anima’ (Bishop, 1995, pp. 192–193). This second point is certainly</p><p>evident, but it understates the case. Roderick Peters is more realistic when he</p><p>raises the stakes by claiming: ‘The Superman . . . is to be understood as the Self,</p><p>[and] the doctrine preached by Zarathustra is none other than the doctrine</p><p>of individuation’ (Peters, 1991, p. 125; cf. Casement, 2001, pp. 47–48; Storr, 1996,</p><p>p. 10; Thatcher, 1977, p. 256; SNZ, I, pp. 60–61, 721; see also note 26).</p><p>Nietzsche’s influence on Jung’s project is much greater than Bishop here</p><p>intimates. In this chapter we have examined what I believe are six significant</p><p>affinities between the models of Nietzsche and Jung, and I have tried to deter-</p><p>mine whether or not the incidence of these themes is the consequence of a direct</p><p>influence Nietzsche had upon Jung. Now we shall examine Jung’s model of the</p><p>Self directly, to determine Nietzsche’s influence in its formulation: that is, to</p><p>determine exactly how Nietzsche ‘understands that the Self . . . is a reconciliation</p><p>of opposites’ (SNZ, I,</p><p>p. 433; cf. 117, 1364). I shall argue that, although Jung does</p><p>not fully acknowledge it, Nietzsche anticipates the principal aspects of the Self’s</p><p>realization: its psychic foundation, the ‘collective unconscious’; the process of</p><p>‘individuation’; the typological arrangement of the Self; and the particular arche-</p><p>types encountered in the individuation process (the shadow, the anima/animus</p><p>and the Self).</p><p>The collective unconscious and the process of</p><p>individuation</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung can both be regarded as philosophers and psychologists who</p><p>acknowledge the existence and value of the unknowable unconscious mind.</p><p>Nietzsche’s conception of the unconscious is not, however, the ‘traditional’ notion</p><p>adopted by Freud, among others, but is that particular notion of an autonomous</p><p>and collective unconscious that marks the very separation of Jungian ‘analytical</p><p>psychology’ from traditional ‘psychoanalysis’ (preface to the second edition of</p><p>‘The Relations between the Ego and the Unconscious’: Jung, 1917/1926/1943,</p><p>pp. 121–123).24</p><p>In Chapter 5 we saw that, according to Jung, the autonomous and collective</p><p>unconscious is related directly to the phylogenetic instinctual base of the human</p><p>race; it is defined as ‘the ancestral heritage of possibilities of representation . . .</p><p>common to all men, and perhaps even to all animals’ (Jung, 1928a, par. 22). How-</p><p>ever, before Jung, Nietzsche not only recognized the autonomy of the unconscious</p><p>drives that ‘command’ the ego (TSZ, I, ‘Of the Despisers of the Body’; EH, ‘Why</p><p>98 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>I am So Wise’, 9) and ‘act contrary to our advantage, against the ego: and often</p><p>for the ego’ (WP, 372; also see GS, 8); he also anticipated Jung’s notion of the</p><p>unconscious as a collective ancestral store or ‘an accumulated ancestral estate in</p><p>which everyone has his share’ (TL, 173; cf. BGE, 20; WP, 490). Thus, Jung starts</p><p>with the premise, ‘The autonomy of the unconscious . . . begins where emotions</p><p>are generated’ (Jung, 1939b, par. 497), and Nietzsche anticipates the conclusion:</p><p>during such emotional ‘outbursts of passion . . . a man rediscovers his own and</p><p>mankind’s prehistory’ (D, 312). Furthermore, Nietzsche remarks personally:</p><p>‘I have discovered for myself that the human and animal past, indeed the whole</p><p>primal age and past of all sentient being continues in me to invent, to love, to hate,</p><p>and to infer’ (GS, 54). Indeed, Jung claims that it was the discovery of the collec-</p><p>tive unconscious that caused Nietzsche to exclaim, ‘I am every name in history.’</p><p>For Jung notes, ‘Whoever speaks in primordial images speaks with a thousand</p><p>voices’ (Jung, 1922, par. 129; cited in Dixon, 1999, p. 205).25 In his early work,</p><p>Psychology of the Unconscious (1912), Jung explicitly refers to two passages in</p><p>Nietzsche’s HAH to explain his own notion of ‘archaic images’ (which he would</p><p>later describe as the images or ‘archetypes’ of the ‘collective unconscious’). Thus,</p><p>in ‘Dream and Culture’, Nietzsche states: ‘In sleep and dreams we repeat once</p><p>again the curriculum of earlier mankind’ (HAH, 12), and in ‘Logic of the Dream’,</p><p>he writes: ‘In my opinion, the conclusions man still draws in dreams to the present</p><p>day for many millennia mankind also drew when awake’ (HAH, 13).</p><p>In Chapter 5 we saw that the collective unconscious translates its material to</p><p>consciousness through ‘archetypes’ (those primordial images and ideas that are</p><p>‘deposits of the constantly repeated experiences of humanity’) and the reception</p><p>of these archetypal images marks the progressive development of the individuation</p><p>process. I believe that there are intimations of this process and its archetypal</p><p>representations in Nietzsche’s work. They are not obvious, and few commentaries</p><p>on Jung (and even fewer on Nietzsche) have acknowledged them. Fewer still have</p><p>actually analysed these intimations in detail.26 I shall now attempt a through</p><p>examination of them.</p><p>Nietzsche alludes frequently to what he calls ‘the fundamental law of your own</p><p>true self’, which is itself an unconscious project that must be developed and</p><p>worked upon if it is to be realized. He refers to consciousness as our ‘last and latest</p><p>development’, as ‘what is most unfinished’ (GS, 11), and in WP, 680 he writes:</p><p>‘His highest interest, his highest expression of power [is] not judged from the</p><p>consciousness but from the centre of the whole individuation.’ Ironically, I have</p><p>found that the anticipation of Jung’s individuation process in Nietzsche’s writings</p><p>has been given most prominence by those Nietzschean commentators who have</p><p>no apparent knowledge of Jung’s model. For example, G. A. Morgan, in What</p><p>Nietzsche Means (1943), writes:</p><p>To become himself the individual must find himself but not too soon.</p><p>[Nietzsche’s] recipe is: to live through a series of temporary ‘selves’ each of</p><p>which is effective because it is believed permanent at the time, under the</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 99</p><p>guidance of the ultimate self which finally makes itself known and uses the</p><p>previous selves as functions.</p><p>(Morgan, 1943, pp. 202–203)</p><p>Alexander Nehamas, in Nietzsche: Life as Literature (1985), has this to say:</p><p>The unity [of the self] is a matter of incorporating more and more character</p><p>traits under a constantly expanding and evolving rubric . . . Nietzsche does</p><p>not think of unity as a state of being that follows and replaces an earlier</p><p>process of becoming. Rather, he seems to think of it as a continual process of</p><p>integrating one’s character traits, habits, and patterns of action with one</p><p>another. This process can also reach backward and integrate even a discarded</p><p>characteristic into the personality by showing that it was necessary for one’s</p><p>subsequent development.</p><p>(Nehamas, 1985, pp. 183–185)</p><p>These two passages could sit comfortably within the text of a Jungian com-</p><p>mentary. If we replace the name ‘Nietzsche’ for ‘Jung’ we have two descriptions</p><p>of Jung’s process of individuation.27</p><p>We do not, however, need to turn to secondary literature to situate Jung’s</p><p>individuation process in Nietzsche’s writings, for Nietzsche himself does this</p><p>particularly well in his autobiography (subtitled: ‘How to Become What One Is’).</p><p>Here Nietzsche talks about</p><p>the organizing ‘idea’ destined to rule [which] grows and grows in the depths</p><p>– it begins to command, it slowly leads back from sidepaths and wrong</p><p>turnings, it prepares individual qualities and abilities which will one day prove</p><p>themselves indispensable as means to achieving the whole – it constructs the</p><p>ancillary capacities one after the other before it gives any hint of the</p><p>dominating task, of the ‘goal’, ‘objective’, ‘meaning’.</p><p>(EH, ‘Why I am so Clever’, 9)</p><p>The process of individuation is that process of ‘organizing’, ‘growing’, ‘com-</p><p>manding’, ‘preparing’ and ‘constructing’ the ‘goal’, ‘objective’ and ‘meaning’ of</p><p>the Self. The Self, Nietzsche tells us, is grown in the (unconscious) ‘depths’, and</p><p>is a whole constructed from many parts: of ‘individual qualities’ and ‘ancillary</p><p>capacities’. According to Jung, the individual qualities of the Self comprise: the</p><p>four functions of thinking, feeling, sensation and intuition (one of which will act,</p><p>according to Nietzsche, as the ‘dominant task’: cf. the Jungian ‘dominant</p><p>function’), and another as an ‘ancillary capacity’ (cf. the ‘auxiliary function’,</p><p>which will ‘serve the dominant function’: Jung, 1921, par. 668), the two attitude</p><p>types of introversion and extraversion, and the archetypes of the shadow and the</p><p>anima/animus.</p><p>100 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>I shall now explain how these ‘individual qualities’ of the Jungian Self are</p><p>anticipated in Nietzsche. We shall then be in a position to indicate how much</p><p>influence Nietzsche exerted on the formulation of the Jungian Self, and how</p><p>exactly ‘Nietzsche: his Zarathustra, in particular, brings to light the contents of</p><p>the collective unconscious of our time, and [how] in him we find the same</p><p>distinguishing features’ (Jung, 1921, par. 322).</p><p>The typological arrangement of the Self</p><p>According</p><p>to Jung, the psyche is composed of two attitude-types and four</p><p>functions that are configured in pairs of opposites. According to Nietzsche, the</p><p>‘psyche’ is composed of one principal pair of opposites – the Apollinian and</p><p>Dionysian impulses. These can be regarded as the prima materia from which Jung</p><p>creates his own opposing impulses.</p><p>In his essay ‘A Contribution to the Study of Psychological Types’ (1913),</p><p>Jung equates the Dionysian and Apollinian impulses with his two attitude types.</p><p>The Dionysian is equated with extraversion because Dionysus is the investment</p><p>of libido in as many objects in the world outside the self as possible, or the</p><p>‘plunging into the multiplicity of the objective world’ (Jung, 1913, par. 876),</p><p>and the Apollinian is equated with introversion because Apollo is a withdrawal</p><p>of the libido into oneself or ‘shut up within oneself’ (ibid.). However, in 1921, in</p><p>Psychological Types (CW, 6), Jung uses Nietzsche’s distinction between the</p><p>Dionysian and Apollinian to develop his model further. Jung devotes a whole,</p><p>albeit brief, chapter to ‘The Apollinian and the Dionysian’ (pars. 223–242), and</p><p>throughout he refers to passages in The Birth of Tragedy where Nietzsche</p><p>specifically alludes to the relationship between Dionysus and Apollo. Jung’s</p><p>revision of both his ‘typological’ theory and his interpretation of Nietzsche’s</p><p>opposing impulses is announced when Jung claims that it is now necessary to go</p><p>beyond the distinction between introversion and extraversion. He has in mind a</p><p>new set of opposites that goes beyond ‘logical and rational elaboration’ (in other</p><p>words, beyond ‘thinking and feeling’: the two functions which Jung had already</p><p>adopted at this stage): namely, the so-called ‘aesthetic’ functions. This new set of</p><p>psychological functions Jung claims to have derived directly from Nietzsche:</p><p>Nietzsche’s concepts [the Apollinian and Dionysian] thus lead us to the</p><p>principles of a third and fourth psychological type, which one might call</p><p>‘aesthetic’ types as opposed to rational types (thinking and feeling). These are</p><p>the intuitive and sensation types.</p><p>(Jung, 1921, par. 240)</p><p>The two categories of intuition and sensation are associated with Apollo and</p><p>Dionysus, respectively: ‘The Apollinian mode is an inner perception, an intuition</p><p>of ideas’, and ‘Dionysian feeling has the thoroughly archaic character of affective</p><p>sensation’ (ibid., par. 238). The Apollinian impulse represents order, measure and</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 101</p><p>controlled proportion; it is thus a mode of inner perception and intuition of the</p><p>world of ideas. In contrast, the Dionysian impulse is ‘a flood of overpowering</p><p>universal feeling which bursts forth irresistibly, intoxicating the senses’ (ibid., par.</p><p>234).28</p><p>Jung appropriates the Apollinian and Dionysian impulses from Nietzsche</p><p>to describe and determine the two attitude types and two functions of intuition</p><p>and sensation, which, together with the functions of thinking and feeling,</p><p>ground Jung’s theory of typology. Nietzsche’s influence therefore infiltrates the</p><p>Jungian process of diagnosing both the individual’s conscious orientation (his</p><p>psychological ‘type’) and his unconscious orientation (those shadow aspects</p><p>which he will incorporate in the process of individuation). Indeed, Nietzsche can</p><p>be seen to perform a similar diagnosis of his own for, in an early essay of his, he</p><p>claims that the pre-Socratic philosophers represent ‘all the eternal types’ (as well</p><p>as ‘the archetypes of all philosophical thought’: PTAG, 1), and he singles out</p><p>Heraclitus as an example of the eternal intuitive type (PTAG, 5).</p><p>The particular archetypes encountered in the</p><p>individuation process (and within the Self)</p><p>Not only does Nietzsche anticipate Jung’s typological framework, but also he</p><p>seems to make use of archetypes that are specific to Jung’s individuation process</p><p>and to the constitution of the Self: the shadow and anima/animus. However, Jung</p><p>insists that Nietzsche does not understand what these archetypes represent, and</p><p>consequently fails to acknowledge them in his own psyche. I, on the contrary,</p><p>disagree with Jung’s claim; I believe that Nietzsche was aware of their meaning</p><p>(perhaps only intuitively) and that he incorporated their message within his</p><p>writings, admittedly without giving them the detailed examination that Jung</p><p>provided.</p><p>The first archetype to be encountered in the Jungian journey to the Self is the</p><p>shadow, the ‘guilt-laden personality’ that contains the negative and morally</p><p>reprehensible tendencies of the individual. Nietzsche not only acknowledged this</p><p>‘dark side’ of the personality, but also called it the ‘shadow’. In TSZ, part IV,</p><p>Nietzsche makes the Jungian shadow speak:</p><p>If you do not like me . . . I praise you in your good taste in that . . . I have</p><p>striven with you into all that was forbidden, worst, most remote: and if</p><p>anything in me be a virtue, it is that I have feared no prohibition . . . I have</p><p>pursued the most dangerous desires – truly, I once went beyond every crime</p><p>. . . ‘Nothing is true, everything is permitted’: thus I told myself.</p><p>(TSZ, IV, ‘The Shadow’)29</p><p>Nietzsche first refers to the shadow in The Wanderer and his Shadow (1880),</p><p>where he describes the intimate connection between light and dark:</p><p>102 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Close beside dark and gloomy men there is to be found, almost as a rule and</p><p>as though tied to them, a soul of light. It is as if it were the negative shadow</p><p>they cast . . . Men press towards the light, not so as to see better, but so as to</p><p>shine better.</p><p>(WS, 258; cf. 254)</p><p>Nietzsche pursues the link between shadow and that which ‘shines’, so that in</p><p>TSZ its resonance is Jungian. He now regards the appearance of the shadow as</p><p>denoting the arrival of the Übermensch: ‘For a shadow came to me – the most</p><p>silent, the lightest of all things once came to me! The beauty of the Superman came</p><p>to me as a shadow’ (TSZ, II, ‘On the Blissful Islands’; EH, ‘TSZ’, 8; compare</p><p>Jung: ‘the shadow contains the self. Behind the shadow looms up the self’: SNZ,</p><p>I, p. 123).</p><p>Jung does not accept Nietzsche’s use of the term ‘shadow’ as a source of</p><p>his own (SNZ, I, p. 703). Jung claims that he ‘cannot remember [this latter]</p><p>passage’ (ibid.). Such a claim is surprising when we consider how close it is to</p><p>his own. Moreover, Jung not only considers Nietzsche’s ‘ugliest man’ (described</p><p>in the section of TSZ that immediately follows ‘The Shadow’) to be an early</p><p>personification of his shadow (Jung, 1921, par. 906; SNZ, I, p. 702; cf. SNZ, I,</p><p>p. 143: that ‘sort of miserable Christian’), but he also believes that Nietzsche is the</p><p>first thinker of ‘our age’ to have ‘discovered’ this notion (Jung, 1921, pars. 208,</p><p>322).30</p><p>The second archetype to be encountered in the individuation process is the</p><p>anima/animus, the personality that is contra-sexual to the conscious personality.</p><p>Jung writes:</p><p>Every man carries within him the eternal image of a woman . . . a deposit,</p><p>as it were, of all the impressions ever made by a woman . . . Since this image</p><p>is unconscious, it is always unconsciously projected upon the person or the</p><p>beloved, and is one of the chief reasons for passionate attraction or aversion.</p><p>(Jung, 1925a, par. 338)</p><p>Nietzsche’s description of this archetype is very similar:31</p><p>Everyone bears within him a picture of woman derived from his mother: it is</p><p>this which determines whether, in his dealings with women, he respects them</p><p>or despises them or is in general indifferent to them.</p><p>(HAH, 380; cf. HAH, 412; AOM, 272)</p><p>Nietzsche has Zarathustra tells us that we have within us ‘the eternal-womanly’</p><p>(TSZ, II, ‘Of Poets’; cf. BGE, 231). Furthermore, both Nietzsche and Jung claim</p><p>that the image of the eternal woman originates with the mother (cf. Jung, 1951,</p><p>par. 24). Nietzsche further claims that women have a similar contra-sexual</p><p>counterpart. After citing Goethe’s phrase ‘the eternal-womanly draws us upward’,</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 103</p><p>Nietzsche adds: ‘I do not doubt that every nobler</p><p>woman will resist this belief,</p><p>for that is precisely what she believes of the eternal manly’ (BGE, 236; cited in</p><p>Dixon, 1999, p. 216). However, Jung does not acknowledge these Nietzschean</p><p>counterparts of his own ideas.32</p><p>Jung does explicitly acknowledge the influence of the following notions</p><p>from Nietzsche: the autonomous and collective unconscious; the idea that an</p><p>unconscious teleological process is at work within the individual to create the ‘true</p><p>self’; and Nietzsche’s early theory of ‘typology’. However, Jung is reluctant to</p><p>acknowledge a debt to Nietzsche’s early notions of the shadow (which Jung</p><p>acknowledges only implicitly and ambiguously) and the anima/animus (which</p><p>Jung does not acknowledge at all).33 There is no doubt, however, that Jung</p><p>endorses Nietzsche’s early conception of the Self, which is grounded in all of these</p><p>things.</p><p>Indeed, Nietzsche’s prefigurations of Jung’s Self are explicit throughout his</p><p>writings. In addition to what I have already quoted, Nietzsche, early in his writings,</p><p>speaks of</p><p>‘I’: of course, this self is not the same as that of the waking, empirically real</p><p>man, but the only truly existent and eternal self resting at the basis of things.</p><p>(BT, 5)</p><p>Later in his writings he describes the Self as a homecoming:</p><p>It is returning, at last it is coming home to me – my own Self and those parts</p><p>of it that have long been abroad and scattered among all things and accidents.</p><p>(TSZ, III, ‘the Wanderer)34</p><p>But perhaps the most explicit passage is to be found in TSZ, I, ‘On the Despisers</p><p>of the Body’, where Zarathustra dismisses the body and soul dualism of the child</p><p>in favour of the esoteric declarations of the mysterious ‘one who knows’. Here</p><p>Nietzsche writes:</p><p>The Self is always listening and seeking: it compares, subdues, conquers,</p><p>destroys. It rules and is also the Ego’s ruler. Behind your thoughts and</p><p>feelings, my brother, stands a mighty commander, an unknown sage – he is</p><p>called Self. He lives in your body, he is your body. There is more reason in</p><p>your body than in your best wisdom . . . Your Self laughs at your Ego and its</p><p>proud leapings. ‘What are these leapings and flights of thought to me?’ it says</p><p>to itself. ‘A by-way to my goal. I am the Ego’s leading-string and I prompt its</p><p>conceptions!’ The Self says to the Ego: ‘Feel pain!’ . . . The Self says to the</p><p>Ego: ‘Feel joy!’ . . . The creative Self created for itself esteem and disesteem,</p><p>it created for itself joy and sorrow. The creative body created spirit for itself,</p><p>as a hand of its will. Even in your folly and contempt, you despisers of the</p><p>body, you serve your Self. I tell you: your Self itself wants to die and turn</p><p>104 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>away from life . . . I do not go your way, you despisers of the body! You are</p><p>not bridges to the Superman!</p><p>Here Nietzsche implicitly equates the Self with the Übermensch. The ‘despisers</p><p>of the body’ are denied access to the Übermensch by Zarathustra because they</p><p>themselves have denied the Self access to life. According to Jung, ‘What</p><p>[Nietzsche] says about the self here is absolutely to the point’ (SNZ, 1, p. 397).</p><p>Jung is quite willing to acknowledge Nietzsche as a specific influence for his</p><p>concept of the Self. Thus, we have already noted that Jung believes that ‘Nietzsche</p><p>. . . understands that the Self consists in pairs of opposites and that it is in a way a</p><p>reconciliation of opposites’ (SNZ, I, p. 433). Furthermore, it was through reading</p><p>Nietzsche, particularly TSZ, that Jung derived his concept of the Self:</p><p>Of course I knew that Nietzsche had [the concept of the Self] because I read</p><p>Zarathustra for the first time when I was only twenty-three . . . I was already</p><p>interested in the concept of the self, but I was not clear how I should</p><p>understand it . . . The concept of the self continued to recommend itself to me</p><p>nevertheless. I thought Nietzsche meant a sort of thing-in-itself behind the</p><p>psychological phenomenon.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 391; cf. ibid., p. 120)</p><p>However, TSZ could not originally have brought Nietzsche’s concept of the Self</p><p>to Jung’s attention, for in his autobiography Jung tells us ‘Thoughts Out of Season</p><p>was the first volume that fell into my hands. I was carried away by its enthusiasms,</p><p>and soon afterwards read Thus Spoke Zarathustra’ (MDR, p. 123).</p><p>If we look at the Untimely Meditations we find Nietzsche’s even earlier</p><p>discussions of the character and cultivation of the ‘true self’. It is the thesis of the</p><p>third meditation, Schopenhauer as Educator (1874), that true education involves</p><p>the liberation of the self from everything foreign to it, including those elements of</p><p>it that one judges to be incompatible with one’s true and future self. The third</p><p>meditation certainly has Jungian resonances, for genuine selfhood is described as</p><p>an infinite process of self-development and overcoming. The ‘true’ self is neither</p><p>an externally given and unchangeable ‘essence’, nor a random and freely willed</p><p>‘construct’; it is something that the individual has to ‘become’; but, paradoxically,</p><p>it is also what he already is. Nietzsche writes: ‘Your true nature lies, not concealed</p><p>deep within you, but immeasurably high above you, or at least above that which</p><p>you usually take yourself to be’ (UM, III, 1). One must ‘seek with all [one’s] might</p><p>. . . a higher self as yet concealed’ within one’s ‘deepest and innermost core’</p><p>(UM, III, 6).</p><p>From our analysis of the seven affinities between Nietzsche and Jung only one is</p><p>explicitly acknowledged by Jung, and then only in part. Jung tells us that his notion</p><p>of the Self can be found in Nietzsche’s work and, indeed, we have found that</p><p>Nietzsche anticipates the features of its fundamental composition and structure.</p><p>The similarities between Nietzsche and Jung 105</p><p>However, at this level of analysis, Jung’s reception of Nietzsche is surprisingly</p><p>ambivalent. Jung recognizes the foundations of the collective unconscious, the</p><p>individuation process and typological theory present in Nietzsche’s work, but his</p><p>recognition of the archetype of the shadow is most ambiguous, and he completely</p><p>fails to acknowledge Nietzsche’s anticipation of the anima. Jung’s ambivalence</p><p>and reluctance to draw certain parallels between his model and Nietzsche’s is</p><p>sustained in relation to the other six affinities that we examined. Thus, although</p><p>Jung acknowledges that both he and Nietzsche promote elitism, Jung’s model</p><p>breaks sharply from Nietzsche’s in its implications: Nietzsche’s model promotes</p><p>an elitism beyond the individual and into society, which Jung repudiates.</p><p>Similarly, although Jung acknowledges that both models exhibit ‘Dionysian’</p><p>danger, Jung maintains that only his model can contain such danger, while</p><p>Nietzsche’s cannot. This last point helps to explain why Jung denies the remaining</p><p>affinities that I have posited. For, according to Jung, the excessive danger of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model consists of its failure to promote both opposites in the binary</p><p>pair, landing it in one-sidedness. Jung believes that Nietzsche’s over-identification</p><p>with the irrational Dionysian side prevents his model from realizing a controlled</p><p>union of opposites, including that essential union of body and spirit.</p><p>Far from supporting my claim of a significant Nietzschean influence, Jung, it</p><p>would seem, has tried to distance himself from Nietzsche. The two models are</p><p>perhaps not easily reconciled, and it is indeed unfair to try to force their merger.</p><p>Although Nietzsche contributes to Jung’s concept of the Self (indeed perhaps more</p><p>than Jung himself admits), he obviously does not anticipate it completely.</p><p>Nietzsche’s philosophy leads to analytical psychology, but cannot be reduced to</p><p>it; both remain projects in their own right.35</p><p>So far, I have attempted to expound the models of opposites implicit within the</p><p>works of Nietzsche and Jung by exposing their influences, differences and</p><p>affinities. In this chapter I have proposed an explicit link between the two in the</p><p>form of a significant Nietzschean influence on Jung. However, although similar in</p><p>content and aim, the</p><p>thinker; later our inquiry will evaluate</p><p>the implications of this difference for their models of the whole self. In particular,</p><p>we shall see that the conceptions of the Übermensch and the Self diverge most</p><p>profoundly by virtue of the different conceptions that Nietzsche and Jung have</p><p>of where the symbol stands in relation to the interplay of opposites, and thus, how</p><p>the personality should attempt to harness the energy generated by the symbol.</p><p>According to Jung, the symbol is ‘a third thing’ that lies outside of the opposites;</p><p>Introduction 3</p><p>creativity must come from outside the individual, so that the whole self is a matter</p><p>of discovery. For Nietzsche, however, the symbol is inherent within the opposites</p><p>themselves, so that creativity is found within the individual, and the whole self is</p><p>a matter of creation.7 It is precisely because Jung could not find a symbol operating</p><p>outside Nietzsche’s opposites that he believed the opposites were incapable</p><p>of synthesis, and that Nietzsche’s psychological breakdown or stagnation was</p><p>inevitable.</p><p>The structure of our inquiry</p><p>We shall begin our inquiry with the location and analysis of opposites in the whole</p><p>self according to Nietzsche and Jung. Part I will engage with the controversial</p><p>issue of the meaning and constitution of the Nietzschean Übermensch and the</p><p>Jungian Self.8 In Chapters 2 and 3 I analyse the development in Nietzsche’s</p><p>thought concerning the validity of the concept of opposites, and try to explain why</p><p>Nietzsche first accepts opposites that are metaphysical, aesthetic and psycho-</p><p>logical, but eventually recognizes only psychological opposites. Chapter 4 argues</p><p>that the Übermensch is a whole self that seeks to configure (psychological)</p><p>opposites into a union. In Chapter 5 I turn to Jung’s model of the psyche, and</p><p>analyse the compensatory function of opposites, with reference to the alchemical</p><p>coniunctio oppositorum. Chapter 6 argues that the Self is a whole self that seeks a</p><p>configuration of opposites into a balanced union.</p><p>Part II examines the Nietzschean Übermensch and Jungian Self according to</p><p>their similarities and differences. Here I shall begin to expose the ambiguous</p><p>relation between the two models and the potentiality of a Jungian critique of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model. Chapter 7 identifies the differences between the two models</p><p>by examining the respective processes through which the opposites are united.</p><p>I shall try to account for these differences by relating them to the avowed</p><p>philosophical influences on Nietzsche and Jung. We shall examine the theories of</p><p>opposites proposed by Plato, Kant, Schopenhauer, Heraclitus and Aristotle</p><p>and contrast them with those of Nietzsche and Jung. In Chapter 8 I identify seven</p><p>similarities between the two models according to the end-product of the process,</p><p>that is, what results from the union of opposites.9 We shall consider the quality of</p><p>the relationship between opposites; the value of completion over perfection, and</p><p>its moral implications; the privilege and exclusivity of the union, and its political</p><p>implications; the dangerous implications of the union for the personality; the</p><p>particular opposites that are united; and the notion of the Dionysian. Also, not</p><p>explicit in Nietzsche’s model of opposites but beneath its surface is Nietzsche’s</p><p>anticipation of the fundamental tenets of Jung’s ‘individuation process’ and ana-</p><p>lytical psychology in general. In this chapter I shall ask whether these similarities</p><p>reflect Nietzsche’s influence on Jung.</p><p>In order to expose fully the similarities and differences in the Nietzschean and</p><p>Jungian models of the whole self, it is profitable to evaluate them from each other’s</p><p>perspective. Thus in Part III I assess Jung’s critique of Nietzsche’s model and offer</p><p>4 Introduction</p><p>a Nietzschean critique of Jung’s model. Chapter 9 examines Jung’s criticisms of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model and his subsequent diagnosis of Nietzsche’s madness, through</p><p>an examination of his seminars on Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra. In Chapter</p><p>10 I argue that Jung’s interpretation of Nietzsche’s thought and his diagnosis</p><p>of Nietzsche’s personality is flawed and based upon wild misinterpretations.</p><p>Chapter 11 tries to explain why Jung might want to deny Nietzsche’s influence</p><p>upon his own model despite their significant affinities. In keeping with Jung’s</p><p>and Nietzsche’s insistence that the author is identified with his work,10 I put</p><p>forward an argument about Jung’s psychological disposition, which I derive from</p><p>an examination of SNZ,11 focusing on those passages of TSZ he analyses and,</p><p>principally, those he chooses to omit. In Chapter 12 I continue to enlarge upon</p><p>the differences between Nietzsche and Jung by criticizing the Jungian model</p><p>from a Nietzschean perspective. Part III, as a whole, will put their models of</p><p>selfhood to the test by actively evaluating or ‘diagnosing’ the personalities</p><p>of Nietzsche and Jung according to each other’s criteria for mental health and</p><p>illness. In other words, we shall determine whether or not Nietzsche and Jung are</p><p>themselves whole – whether the former can aspire to Selfhood and the latter to</p><p>Übermenschlichkeit. This will enable us to consider in the concluding Chapter 13</p><p>whether the whole self is a realistic possibility, for Nietzsche, for Jung and for us.</p><p>In Chapter 13 we shall also look to the future of analytical psychology and ask how</p><p>Nietzschean philosophy might enrich its further development.</p><p>Before we embark on our inquiry, however, I think it is worth turning to a</p><p>problematic issue that is central to it, but that will find resolution in the pages that</p><p>follow. This is the notion of a union of opposites.12</p><p>Opposites as incommensurable</p><p>To help us in our examination of the interplay of opposites in the models of</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung, I here sketch a view embodying commonly held conceptions</p><p>of opposites, which has, as one of its consequences, the view that opposites are</p><p>incommensurable and incapable of uniting to form a whole – a view that I shall</p><p>employ as a comparison in the discussion of the two models. I term the view in</p><p>question the ‘proto-theory’.</p><p>For Nietzsche and Jung, a self becomes whole when it dynamically synthesizes</p><p>its antithetical psychological material. But in abstract terms opposites cannot</p><p>be reconciled or united to form a coherent whole. Opposites are defined as such</p><p>because they are incommensurable.13 To say they can merge is to introduce</p><p>compatibility between them and to deny their essential contrast and conflict.14 We</p><p>can thus put forward a theory of opposites, contra Nietzsche and Jung, in which a</p><p>union of opposites is a chimera.</p><p>Opposites are required in the definition and identification of all things.</p><p>Something is determined as what it is in relation to what it is not.15 Opposing</p><p>elements define one another. Opposites are inextricably linked and cannot be</p><p>separated, because they entail one another. Although opposing forces must be</p><p>Introduction 5</p><p>intimately connected in this way, they remain, at all times, at an incommensurable</p><p>distance from one another in a relationship defined by contradiction. Moreover,</p><p>there is no primary member in a pair of opposites. Since opposition is a sym-</p><p>metrical relation, to regard one side as primary would remove the notion of</p><p>‘opposition’ itself. In other words, for one side to be accorded primacy over the</p><p>other implies that the two sides are not equally balanced in opposition to one</p><p>another after all. Furthermore, a third point of reference is required to validate</p><p>the two sides, creating not a dyadic relationship of opposites but a triadic</p><p>relationship consisting of one member that enables the comparison of the other</p><p>two members.16 Opposites, by definition, remain in a relationship of conflict and</p><p>total difference; the one exists because it is essentially not the other; to reduce them</p><p>to commensurable terms and to attribute greater qualitative value to one side is</p><p>absurd.</p><p>Our proto-theory is therefore divided into four elements: opposites are</p><p>incommensurable; opposites are related only</p><p>two models seem to be linked tenuously. In order to bring</p><p>them closer together we must change our method of analysis from one of direct</p><p>comparison to an assessment of each from the perspective of the other. That will</p><p>put us in a position to evaluate the two more fully.</p><p>106 Potential influence of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Part III</p><p>Jung’s rejection of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Chapter 9</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness</p><p>A Jungian critique of Nietzsche’s</p><p>model</p><p>Part III will attempt to test both Nietzsche’s and Jung’s model of opposites, and</p><p>critically evaluate them from each other’s perspective. In accordance with their</p><p>common insistence that the author is to be identified with his work, each criticism</p><p>will comment upon the thinker’s model and the thinker himself. By evaluating</p><p>each model by cross-examination we hope to arrive at a closer understanding of</p><p>Nietzsche’s influence on Jung’s model and on Jung himself. We therefore hope</p><p>to resolve the ambiguous relationship that was revealed by the method of direct</p><p>comparison employed in Chapter 8. The first chapter in this part will focus upon</p><p>a Jungian critique of Nietzsche’s model and will offer a Jungian ‘diagnosis’ of</p><p>Nietzsche’s personality. We shall see that, according to Jung, Nietzsche’s model</p><p>fails to unite the opposites and is essentially one-sided, and that this failure is the</p><p>cause of Nietzsche’s eventual mental collapse. Nietzsche, far from attaining</p><p>Selfhood in the union of opposites, is, in Jungian terms, an ‘un-individuated’ and</p><p>neurotic personality. In Chapter 10 I shall criticize this Jungian interpretation and</p><p>explain why I believe Jung misunderstands Nietzsche and his model. We shall see</p><p>that Nietzsche’s model does not fail for the reasons Jung puts forward and we shall</p><p>therefore try, in Chapter 11, to understand why Jung is reluctant to acknowledge</p><p>those affinities between his own model and Nietzsche’s that I proposed in Chapter</p><p>8. Finally, Chapter 12 will focus upon a Nietzschean critique of Jung’s model and</p><p>will offer a Nietzschean ‘diagnosis’ of Jung’s personality. I shall argue that Jung</p><p>fails to adhere to the teaching of the Will to Power, so that, far from attaining</p><p>Übermenschlichkeit in the union of opposites, Jung is, in Nietzschean terms, a</p><p>‘commonplace being’ or ‘inverse cripple’.</p><p>Jungian critique of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>In Chapter 8 we saw the beginnings of a Jungian attack on Nietzsche’s model. Jung</p><p>maintains that although Nietzsche ‘is actually at grips with the problem [of the</p><p>union of opposites]’ (SNZ, I, p. 120), and ‘understands that the Self . . . [is] a</p><p>reconciliation of opposites’ and thus a solution to the problem (ibid., p. 433), he</p><p>believes that Nietzsche ultimately fails in its actualization (ibid., p. 117). I believe</p><p>that according to Jung, the Übermensch fails to unite the opposites principally</p><p>because it merely promotes one opposite element at the expense of the other, and</p><p>it lacks the mysterious ‘third’ thing, the unifying symbol that would enable the</p><p>appropriate balance. Jung thus charges Nietzsche’s project with one-sidedness.</p><p>The crux of Jung’s critique rests on Nietzsche’s insistence on, and response to, the</p><p>death of God; it is this premise that compels Nietzsche’s model into the two errors</p><p>above.</p><p>According to Jung, ‘God is a fact that has always happened’ (SNZ, I, p. 335;</p><p>Frey-Rohn, 1988, p. 85). God ‘is a very definite psychological fact’ (SNZ, II,</p><p>p. 903). God’s existence, therefore, cannot be determined in any way by the finite</p><p>individual, and thus Jung cannot condone Nietzsche for proclaiming that God</p><p>is dead and that He was merely a conjecture or ‘invention’ of mankind (ibid., pp.</p><p>329, 341). By eliminating God, Nietzsche promotes finitude and the human being</p><p>as the source of all meaning; the ‘definite psychological fact’ of God, as Jung</p><p>would have it, is now found within mankind, so that ‘man is now responsible for</p><p>all that God once was’ (SNZ, I, p. 50). The ‘meaning of the earth’, as Zarathustra</p><p>proclaims, becomes the assurance of genuine value, and this value is embodied</p><p>within the Übermensch, Nietzsche’s ‘Dionysian’ god, the deification of man (ibid.,</p><p>p. 333). It is Nietzsche’s rejection of God and consequent need to replace Him with</p><p>a deification of the body, with ‘superhumanity’, that Jung criticizes. By elevating</p><p>the individual to the position of God, Nietzsche denies the possibility of anything</p><p>beyond the individual, that which is ‘unknown’ and unconscious to him. Jung</p><p>writes:</p><p>One cannot feel a presence if one is God, because it is then one’s own</p><p>presence and there is no other. If all is conscious, one knows of no presence</p><p>because one is everything, so long as one is identical with the deity there is</p><p>no presence.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1174; cf. p. 67)</p><p>According to Jung, the deification of the body is merely the deification of</p><p>consciousness: Nietzsche’s Übermensch ‘is the man with an absolutely superior</p><p>consciousness’. He lacks unconscious insight (SNZ, I, p. 350; also see Jung, 1928b,</p><p>par. 388), and consequently lacks ‘real knowledge of the human soul’ (SNZ, II,</p><p>p. 903).</p><p>According to Jung, the notion of ‘body’ is not to be equated with ‘soul’, it is</p><p>simply ‘the guarantee of consciousness’ (ibid., p. 350) and ‘a biological function’</p><p>(ibid., p. 397) that the Self directs to its own purpose (SNZ, I, p. 372; cf. p. 403).</p><p>In Chapter 8 we saw Jung criticize Nietzsche for reversing the situation and</p><p>making the Self a mere plaything of the body (TSZ, I, ‘Of the Despisers of the</p><p>Body’). According to Jung, the body can only enable the physical ‘outward</p><p>manifestation’ of the Self (Jung, 1928/1931, par. 195; cf. SNZ, II, pp. 64, 65, 978).</p><p>It is not the totality of the Self, for the Self is also identified with an ‘inner spiritual</p><p>manifestation’ (ibid.). In other words, it is both conscious and unconscious. Jung</p><p>criticizes Nietzsche for conflating the two and for endowing</p><p>110 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>the body with a creative faculty or a meaningful faculty, which, even with a</p><p>tremendous effort of imagination, cannot be put into it . . . it is not really the</p><p>body which restores damaged tissues; it is a peculiar vital principle which</p><p>does the job and it should not be put down to the chemistry of the body.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 397)</p><p>This ‘vital principle’ is that ‘spiritual’ faculty which is ‘outwardly expressed’</p><p>by the body, but is not identified with it. (If it is to be ‘located’ at all it would be</p><p>found in the ‘inner manifestation’ or unconscious aspect of the Self.) By contrast,</p><p>Nietzsche locates the vital principle and ‘instinct of inwardness’ (Frey-Rohn,</p><p>1988, pp. 93–94) in the body. According to Jung, there is no room for ‘spirit’ as</p><p>an active and productive force in Nietzsche’s model, for Nietzsche equates spirit</p><p>with abstract thought and ‘little reason’, which has subordinate significance as a</p><p>function of the mind and ‘instrument of the body’ (TSZ, I, ‘Of the Despisers of the</p><p>Body’). There is only ‘body’, which culminates in ‘great reason’ and ‘instinctive</p><p>wisdom’ (ibid.). For Nietzsche, meaning and reality are identified with the</p><p>definiteness of the bodily instincts. Nietzsche’s model therefore ‘determines</p><p>physiologically “the inmost parts”, “the entrails” of every soul’ (Frey-Rohn, 1988,</p><p>p. 97, italics mine; cf. SNZ, I, p. 393). According to Jung, by promoting the bodily</p><p>instincts as the source of all meaning, Nietzsche’s model is exposed to the chaos</p><p>and tension of multiple conflicting values, which consciousness alone cannot</p><p>harness. His ‘physiological’ model will inevitably fail to regulate and balance the</p><p>opposites and will destruct under its own weight. For</p><p>the individual ego is much too small, its brain is much too feeble, to</p><p>incorporate all the projections withdrawn from the world. Ego and brain burst</p><p>asunder in the effort.</p><p>(Jung, 1938/1940, par. 145)1</p><p>According to Jung, Nietzsche’s model is one-sided because he deifies the body</p><p>so that nothing meaningful can exist outside of it; Nietzsche does not explicitly</p><p>admit a spiritual realm outside of the body and thus ‘unknowable’ and ‘uncon-</p><p>scious’ to the body.2 Jung regards the body in Nietzsche’s model as being both</p><p>wholly conscious and irrational, which is a fateful and unproductive combina-</p><p>tion that sees consciousness fall apart under the tension of opposite impulses.</p><p>Nietzsche’s model fails to unite the opposites because it merely promotes one</p><p>opposite element at the expense of the other – body above spirit and conscious</p><p>above unconscious.</p><p>According to Jung, Nietzsche’s model would have successfully united the</p><p>opposites, if it had acknowledged God as a ‘definite fact’. Jung is critical of</p><p>Nietzsche because he believes that Nietzsche is concerned only with the aesthetic</p><p>approach to things, and consciously ignores the religious meaning of the symbol</p><p>of redemption – that is the ‘psychological fact of God’ (Jung, 1921, p. 141n; cf.</p><p>Frey-Rohn, 1988, p. 28). In his analysis of BT, Jung claims that with Nietzsche</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness 111</p><p>‘the religious viewpoint is entirely overlooked and is replaced by the aesthetic’;</p><p>‘Nietzsche quite forgets that in the struggle between Apollo and Dionysus and</p><p>their ultimate reconciliation the problem for the Greeks was never an aesthetic one,</p><p>but was essentially religious’ (Jung, 1921, par. 231). Although</p><p>aestheticism can, of course, take the place of the religious function . . . and</p><p>may be a very noble substitute, it is nevertheless only a compensation for</p><p>the real thing that is lacking. Moreover, Nietzsche’s later ‘conversion’</p><p>to Dionysus best shows that the aesthetic substitute did not stand the test</p><p>of time.</p><p>(Jung, 1921, p. 141n)</p><p>It is thus only ‘God’ that is credited by Jung as the real ‘unifying symbol’, that</p><p>mysterious ‘third thing’ of Chapter 5 that mediates between the opposites and</p><p>enables the reconciliation between Apollo and Dionysus.</p><p>In Chapter 6 we saw that the symbol is a union of conscious and unconscious</p><p>elements; thus if Nietzsche’s model is entirely identified with the conscious body,</p><p>it cannot begin to generate that which enables the union of opposites. According</p><p>to Jung, Nietzsche’s model is an attempt to build a conscious structure ‘against the</p><p>unconscious’ (SNZ, II, p. 1250) and its main constituents – the Übermensch and</p><p>the teachings of the Will to Power and Eternal Recurrence – are merely ‘inven-</p><p>tions’ or ‘bold attempts’ of consciousness to deny the unconscious its expression.</p><p>Just as God is the unifying symbol in Jung’s model but a mere ‘conscious</p><p>invention’ in Nietzsche’s model, the Will to Power (which I interpreted in Chapter</p><p>4 to be Nietzsche’s ‘unifying principle’, and ‘the central organizing power’ and</p><p>‘power of adaptation’: BGE, 242; cf. WP, 848) is demoted to a mere ‘conscious</p><p>invention’ by Jung. Jung is critical of Nietzsche for rejecting the power of</p><p>symbol (God) in favour of a mere sign (exemplified by the ‘Will to Power’), a</p><p>move that inevitably leads to the separation of opposites. The Übermensch, Eternal</p><p>Recurrence and Will to Power, like</p><p>any structure built over against the unconscious . . . no matter how bold, will</p><p>always collapse because it has no feet, no roots. Only something that is rooted</p><p>in the unconscious can live, because that is its origin.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1250)</p><p>According to Jung, only a symbol can unite the opposites, and ‘a symbol is never</p><p>an invention. It happens to man’ (ibid., p. 1251).</p><p>In Chapter 7 I argued that the Self, as the telos of Jung’s model, is predetermined</p><p>and must be discovered, whereas the Übermensch, as the telos of Nietzsche’s</p><p>model, is not predetermined and must be created. We can now appreciate the</p><p>significance of this difference for Jung. Nietzsche defines the Übermensch as that</p><p>which the individual heroically endeavours to create beyond himself (TSZ,</p><p>prologue, 3), but according to Jung, such a definition must be rejected outright.</p><p>112 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>This is because creativity is a notion that is validated by God alone, for only God</p><p>can ‘create beyond’ Himself (SNZ, I, pp. 55, 61). The individual cannot generate</p><p>creative processes; rather they must originate outside of the individual:</p><p>You cannot rule them; they create what they choose . . . so creating some-</p><p>thing beyond ourselves is only a formulation which comes from the idea that</p><p>we are creating. We are not creating. We are only instrumental in the creative</p><p>process: it creates in us, through us.</p><p>(ibid., p. 61; cf. p. 723; p. 675: ‘creative power is almost</p><p>a metaphysical concept’)</p><p>According to Jung, the ‘creative person’ – who aspires to Übermenschlichkeit –</p><p>is a ‘victim’ (ibid., p. 720), his life is defined by ‘self-destruction’ (ibid., p. 57; cf.</p><p>p. 116), for ‘if you know you are creative and enjoy being creative, you will be</p><p>crucified afterwards, because anybody identified with God will be dismembered’</p><p>(ibid., p. 58). Creativity is an autonomous process of the collective uncon-</p><p>scious that cannot be consciously willed: it is ‘discovered’ working within the</p><p>individual.3 Nietzsche, in identifying the Übermensch with the capacity to ‘create</p><p>beyond himself’, is criticized by Jung for attempting to make consciousness</p><p>the overriding source of meaning. His model lacks the essential unconscious</p><p>compensation, which engenders the symbol and appropriates the balance of</p><p>opposites.</p><p>Neurotic Nietzsche</p><p>Far from realizing self-completion in the union of opposites, we can interpret</p><p>the Übermensch as a worthy candidate for Jung’s one-sided ‘sick animal’ (Jung,</p><p>1917/1926/1943, par. 32) – a description that could also be used to describe</p><p>its author. Indeed, Jung interprets the Übermensch as a projection of Nietzsche’s</p><p>own pathology. Nietzsche’s model is thereby construed as a ‘symptom’ of his</p><p>own neurosis.4 Thus we see that Nietzsche’s rejection of God as a ‘definite psy-</p><p>chological fact’ has repercussions not only for his intellectual model but also</p><p>for the psychological model of his own mind – the two simply being different</p><p>expressions of the same thing:</p><p>If you knew what reality that fact possesses which has been called God,</p><p>you would know that you could not possibly get away from it. But you</p><p>have lost sight of it; you don’t know what that thing means and so it gets you</p><p>unconsciously, and then without knowing it you are transformed into God</p><p>almighty, as happened to Nietzsche. It got into him to such an extent that he</p><p>went crazy and signed his letters ‘the dismembered Zagreus’ or ‘Christ</p><p>Dionysus’, because he became identical with the God he had eliminated.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 903)</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness 113</p><p>[I]f he does not know what he has done by saying that God is dead, he can</p><p>have an inflation of his whole personality. Then his unconscious will get</p><p>inflated; he will be hampered by the continuous presence of God in the</p><p>unconscious, which is of course the most terrible thing.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 51; cf. SNZ, II, p. 929; p. 1519)</p><p>Nietzsche, by explicitly denying one opposite in the binary pair, initiates its</p><p>overwhelming compensation. By consciously focusing too much on the body,</p><p>Nietzsche has relegated its spiritual counterpart to the unconscious where it has</p><p>become autonomous and seeks continual expression. Enantiodromia is certainly</p><p>at play here. However, this is not the full extent of the matter for, as I have argued,</p><p>Nietzsche, by proclaiming the death of God, is not simply rejecting one opposite</p><p>in the binary pair, he is also rejecting the ‘unifying’ symbol, which regulates the</p><p>opposites. God is a symbol of the Self; it is therefore an affective archetypal</p><p>experience of unequalled numinosity and power. Any attempt to deny its need</p><p>for expression will inevitably lead to profound psychological disturbance (see</p><p>Chapter 6): to the onslaught of ‘insanity’ and ‘destructive mass psychoses’ (Jung,</p><p>1929, pars. 52, 53). According to Frey-Rohn, a healthy psyche is acquired only</p><p>when the ‘fact’ of God is accepted ‘both externally and internally’ (Frey-Rohn,</p><p>1988, p. 85). She maintains that Nietzsche failed to do this on both accounts.</p><p>(In terms of the scheme I am presenting, Nietzsche rejects the fact of God in</p><p>both his ‘external’ intellectual</p><p>model and in his own ‘internal’ psychological</p><p>make-up.) Such failure, she notes, is expressed either in ‘deflation and despair’ or</p><p>the divination of the ego (‘inflation’); in Nietzsche’s case it was the latter, so that</p><p>‘he overestimates his own personality to a dangerous extent, losing his detachment</p><p>from things human and claiming for himself the power that belongs to God alone’</p><p>(ibid.). According to a Jungian diagnosis, Nietzsche went insane because he</p><p>identified himself with the autonomous complex of a god-like being, with his</p><p>Übermensch, and literally became that ‘man with absolutely superior conscious-</p><p>ness’ (SNZ, I, p. 350) or inflated ego. By identifying himself with the ‘unifying</p><p>symbol’ Nietzsche had effectively cut himself off from the vital regulating powers</p><p>that it possessed; he removed the possibility of relating to a reality autonomous</p><p>and external to himself (SNZ, II, p. 1174; cf. TSZ, III, ‘The Convalescent’, 3: ‘For</p><p>me – how could there be an outside-of-me. There is no outside!’), and thereby</p><p>rejected the capacity for creation that, according to Jung, must come from this</p><p>external source (SNZ, I, p. 61; cf. II, p. 723).</p><p>Jung criticized Nietzsche for not acknowledging the unconscious at work</p><p>within him and for not attributing it with the creative and regulative power that</p><p>it deserves. As we saw in Chapter 5, the conscious and unconscious must interact</p><p>and compensate each other if the personality is to aspire towards ‘definiteness,</p><p>wholeness and ripeness’ (Jung, 1934a, par. 288). Nietzsche, by having an inflated</p><p>consciousness – in which ‘consciousness takes too many unconscious contents</p><p>upon itself’ (Jung, 1945/1948, par. 563) – is effectively denying its essential</p><p>interaction and compensation. That is, ‘inflated consciousness . . . loses the faculty</p><p>114 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>of discrimination’ (ibid.). Conscious and unconscious merge in an unhealthy</p><p>relationship that denies their essential difference and dynamic interaction.</p><p>Thus Spoke Zarathustra forms the basis of Jung’s critique of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>and his diagnosis of Nietzsche’s psychological disturbance. Jung regards TSZ as</p><p>a philosophical text and an unconscious account of Nietzsche’s psychological</p><p>disposition. This is because it expounds the central tenets of Nietzsche’s teachings</p><p>in a manner that is not rigid and ‘intellectual’ but more ‘poetical’, and in a manner</p><p>that grants expression to the unconscious: ‘Zarathustra is a most passionate</p><p>confession from beginning to end, and moreover it is an experience: his life flows</p><p>into these chapters’ (SNZ, I, p. 461; cf. 483); in TSZ ‘it will be shown clearly how</p><p>the thing that was denied was working in Nietzsche’ (SNZ, II, p. 931). According</p><p>to Jung, TSZ will demonstrate the affective experience of the unconscious at work</p><p>in its author, in both its personal manifestation (Nietzsche’s ‘shadow’) and its</p><p>collective archetypal manifestation, as the anima and Self or ‘God-image’. In</p><p>Chapter 8 we saw Nietzsche’s model anticipate Jung’s in terms of the collective</p><p>unconscious and the individuation process. Now I shall describe how Nietzsche’s</p><p>own psychology can be diagnosed according to the Jungian model. The results of</p><p>this diagnosis will go towards explaining Jung’s reluctance to acknowledge</p><p>Nietzsche as a serious influence on his model.</p><p>Nietzsche’s rejection of his shadow and anima</p><p>In Chapter 8 we saw that Jung integrates Nietzsche’s early formulations of</p><p>the Apollinian and Dionysian impulses into his own typological theory that he</p><p>uses to diagnose the individual’s conscious orientation (psychological ‘type’)</p><p>and unconscious orientation (shadow). We also saw that Nietzsche adopts a similar</p><p>method of diagnosis in his examination of Heraclitus and the pre-Socratic</p><p>philosophers. However, to suggest that Nietzsche therefore anticipated Jung’s</p><p>whole typological theory is excessive. According to Jung, Nietzsche was aware</p><p>only of the conscious orientation and not its compensating unconscious counter-</p><p>part. Thus, although we see Nietzsche refer to Heraclitus as an eternal intuitive</p><p>type (PTAG, 5), he does not refer to the unconscious orientation – in particular,</p><p>Heraclitus’ need to promote a more ‘sensationalist’ disposition. More signifi-</p><p>cantly, however, Jung believes that Nietzsche fails to acknowledge his own</p><p>unconscious orientation working within him.</p><p>Jung deduces that Nietzsche was an introverted intuitive type: ‘Nietzsche in</p><p>the time when he wrote Zarathustra was absolutely identical with intuition, using</p><p>only that function, to the very exhaustion of his brain’ (SNZ, II, p. 1082; see also</p><p>SNZ, II, cf. p. 1195; Jung, 1921, par. 146). In terms of his work</p><p>Nietzsche as an intuitive simply touches upon a thing and off he goes. He</p><p>does not dwell upon the subject, though in the long run one can say he really</p><p>does dwell upon it by amplification. But he doesn’t deal with things in a</p><p>logical way, going into the intellectual process of elucidation; he just catches</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness 115</p><p>such an intuition on the wing and leaves it, going round and round amplifying,</p><p>so that in the end we get a complete picture but by intuitive means, not by</p><p>logical means.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1083; cf. p. 1047; I, p. 81)</p><p>Jung’s interpretation provides an answer to why Nietzsche does not offer a</p><p>thorough definition of the Übermensch: because Nietzsche is too dependent on his</p><p>intuitive function, the central themes of his project escape thorough intellectual</p><p>examination. I believe, it is Nietzsche’s profound intuition and consequent lack</p><p>of sensation (i.e. that which is concerned with factual detail, ‘rational moderation</p><p>and conciseness’: Jung, 1921, par. 242) that allows us to regard him as anticipating</p><p>Jungian theory at the same time as Jung rejects him as an explicit influence. In</p><p>other words, Nietzsche’s intuition enables him to have great insight into the themes</p><p>of psychology, but his lack of sensation prevents him from consolidating his</p><p>insights into convincing theory. Jung is therefore reluctant to endorse Nietzsche</p><p>because he ‘doesn’t realize the full extent of what he is saying and moves on</p><p>quickly’ (SNZ, II, p. 1047).5</p><p>Jung gave the name ‘shadow’ to the unconscious orientation. Although, in</p><p>Chapter 8, we saw Nietzsche intuit the existence of this aspect of the personality</p><p>and even call it the ‘shadow’, Jung maintains that he does not realize its full</p><p>implications, including the fact that it is actively working within him. This is</p><p>because Nietzsche’s inflated personality and consequent need to become ‘some-</p><p>thing marvellous and great’ (the Übermensch) forbids him from accepting that</p><p>which is inferior and lowly, and thus from accepting both opposites in the binary</p><p>pair (see SNZ, II, p. 1292). Jung equates human greatness with wholeness, and this</p><p>is achieved only through the union of opposites. Jung reminds us:</p><p>The superior thing can only be created if it is built upon the inferior thing. The</p><p>inferior thing must be accepted in order to build the superior . . . You must</p><p>not be afraid of the dirt; one has to accept the ugliest man if one wants to</p><p>create.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1006; cf. I, p. 124)</p><p>Furthermore, Jung notes that when Nietzsche talks about the Übermensch (in terms</p><p>of ‘creative love’), he ‘gets an intuition of imminent danger, of a thunder-cloud:</p><p>namely, the possibility of the revolution of the inferior man or the impossibility of</p><p>accepting the ugliest man’ (ibid.; cf. TSZ, II, ‘Of the Compassionate’).6</p><p>As much as Nietzsche is identified with Zarathustra, his ‘great man’, he is also</p><p>affected by the compensation of the shadow, the ‘ugliest man’. The former</p><p>overwhelms him in his inflation and the latter overwhelms him to the extent that</p><p>Nietzsche used every imaginable trick [‘and the most acrobatic feats’,</p><p>SNZ, II, p. 1504] to defend himself against the onslaught. He belittled the</p><p>shadow and made light of him, he ridiculed him and projected the shadow into</p><p>116 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>everybody. [As a result . . . ] he accuses and criticizes everybody,</p><p>the</p><p>mediocrity of the world and of all those qualities which adhere to Nietzsche</p><p>himself.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1361; cf. I, p. 120)</p><p>Nietzsche’s critique of all that is mediocre in the world is therefore interpreted</p><p>by Jung as a projection of all that Nietzsche unconsciously reviles as mediocre in</p><p>himself (cf. ibid., p. 1343; p. 1457; p. 1113; pp. 989–990). To support this claim</p><p>Jung, throughout SNZ, refers to passages in TSZ in which Nietzsche is particularly</p><p>drawn to his shadow, which he would not have been had the world been genuinely</p><p>mediocre and not made as such by his own projections. For example, in the chapter</p><p>‘Of Passing By’, we are told that Zarathustra comes to the gate of the great city</p><p>‘unawares’. His reasons for entering the city are made all the more questionable</p><p>when we note that in the preceding chapters he has been reviling the small people</p><p>who live in small houses in the city where he has to stoop low to enter. Jung</p><p>interprets Zarathustra’s movements in terms of an unconscious draw or ‘secret</p><p>wish’, ‘fascination’ and ‘unholy attraction’ to get in contact with the inferior man</p><p>(SNZ, II, pp. 1389, 1390), for ‘the city is the connection with all that rabble, the</p><p>crowd of miserable non-entities that he has reviled, and yet he cannot let them go’</p><p>(ibid.). Furthermore, this unusual need to visit the city is acknowledged by the</p><p>‘foaming fool’ whom Zarathustra meets at the gate to the city. The fool says to</p><p>Zarathustra:</p><p>Oh Zarathustra, here is the great city: here you have nothing to seek and</p><p>everything to lose. Why do you want to wade through this mire? Take pity on</p><p>your feet! Spit rather upon the gate of the city – turn back!’ Jung praises the</p><p>fool, this ‘shadow’, for being ‘very helpful in telling Zarathustra not to repeat</p><p>the same nonsense, not to go into the city to revile those people because he is</p><p>really reviling himself.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1395)</p><p>By failing to accept his shadow-personality, Nietzsche has effectively fallen at</p><p>the first stage in the development of the Self. Nietzsche fails to incorporate the</p><p>negative element in the union of opposites; he promotes only that which is</p><p>consciously strong and superior. He does not attempt to exercise his emotional</p><p>strength, which would enable the overcoming of the inferior shadow, and because</p><p>this capacity remains dormant within him, Nietzsche can also be accused of failing</p><p>in his quest to become übermenschlich, for, as we saw earlier, the test of emo-</p><p>tional strength marks that point where ‘commonplace beings perish’ (WP, 881).</p><p>According to my interpretation of Jung’s critique, therefore, the Übermensch,</p><p>far from being the whole self, is merely a one-sided inflation that ignores its</p><p>compensating opposite, the inferior shadow. There is no difference between the</p><p>Übermensch and the commonplace being (cf. SNZ, I, p. 336; II, p. 1231); for the</p><p>great man is he who unites both inferior and superior. Because the Übermensch</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness 117</p><p>promotes the superior at the expense of the inferior, it is an inferior entity itself</p><p>– as is Nietzsche, for he is the inflated embodiment of the Übermensch. Likewise,</p><p>the Will to Power, as the most fundamental teaching of the Übermensch, is merely</p><p>a conscious power-attitude that Nietzsche constructs to conceal his unconscious</p><p>inferior feelings within him – for ‘the more one has feelings of inferiority, the more</p><p>one has a power attitude, and the more one has a power attitude, the more one</p><p>has feelings of inferiority’ (SNZ, II, p. 1213). Indeed, Nietzsche’s dependence</p><p>on the power attitude may appear indisputable. He tells us that ‘the world is</p><p>will to power and nothing besides! And you yourselves are also this will to power</p><p>– and nothing besides!’ (WP, 1067). Indeed, Jung interprets Nietzsche’s great</p><p>dependence on ‘the power aspect of things’ as ‘a great mistake’, and the conse-</p><p>quence of Nietzsche’s being ‘blindfolded by his own complex . . . he most</p><p>beautiful inferiority complex you can imagine’ (SNZ, II, p. 1213). He thus</p><p>makes tremendous noise with his words . . . to make an impression, to show</p><p>what he is and to make everybody believe it. So no one can conclude as to the</p><p>abysmal intensity of his feelings of inferiority.</p><p>(ibid., p. 1214; cf. I, pp. 28–30; II, p. 1255)</p><p>If Nietzsche had recognized the negative projections of his shadow as his own,</p><p>he might have progressed significantly in his own process of individuation towards</p><p>Selfhood and the union of opposites. Earlier I suggested that one encounters the</p><p>anima in the individuation process after the shadow has been successfully</p><p>incorporated into consciousness. If this is correct, then it is no surprise that Jung</p><p>believes Nietzsche also fails to acknowledge his own anima. The reason behind</p><p>Nietzsche’s failure to incorporate and relate to his anima is no different from that</p><p>in the case of his shadow. Nietzsche is utterly unconscious of his anima because</p><p>he is completely identified with it (SNZ, I, p. 734; see also Jung, 1955–1956, par.</p><p>330) and ‘if one identifies with the anima, one is in trouble, neurotic, a sack full</p><p>of moods, a most unaccountable being, most unreliable – everything wrong under</p><p>the sun’ (SNZ, II, p. 1048). Jung does not examine Nietzsche’s anima to the same</p><p>extent as his shadow; instead he simply illustrates his point by citing analogous</p><p>instances from TSZ.7 Perhaps the most considered illustration from Jung is his</p><p>response to the chapter ‘The Dance Song’, where Zarathustra comes across several</p><p>girls dancing in a meadow. Jung interprets these girls as ‘a plurality of anima</p><p>figures’ (SNZ, II, p. 1152), which he regards as ‘a very particular condition of the</p><p>anima’, for ‘the anima by definition is always one’ (only the female animus is</p><p>plural). Jung questions Nietzsche’s unusual ‘collective’ disposition towards his</p><p>anima, and confirms that his anima is in ‘a very primitive condition, inferior’ and</p><p>‘very unconscious’:</p><p>A multiplicity of anima figures is only to be met with in cases where the</p><p>individual is utterly unconscious of his anima. In a man who is completely</p><p>identical with the anima, you might find that plurality, but the moment he</p><p>118 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>becomes conscious of that figure, she assumes a personality and is definitely</p><p>one . . . you can conclude that Nietzsche/Zarathustra is profoundly uncon-</p><p>scious of the fact of the anima.</p><p>(SNZ, II, pp. 1152–1153)</p><p>Insane Nietzsche</p><p>Nietzsche fails in the process of individuation (to acknowledge both the shadow</p><p>and anima) and consequently cannot realize the Self within him. He is resigned to</p><p>a neurotic life that is grounded in continual psychological disturbance, in imbal-</p><p>ance and one-sidedness. Moreover, according to Jung’s diagnosis of Nietzsche,</p><p>this neurosis must inevitably lead to the onslaught of ‘insanity’ and ‘destructive</p><p>mass psychoses’ (Jung, 1929, pars. 52, 53), as the unconscious threatens to over-</p><p>compensate.</p><p>Just as Jung uses TSZ to formulate his diagnosis of Nietzsche’s neurosis, he</p><p>cites many passages in TSZ to demonstrate Nietzsche’s encroaching insanity,</p><p>the full realization of which was to occur three years after he wrote TSZ, in early</p><p>1889, when he wrote his last work, EH. One significant passage of TSZ cited by</p><p>Jung is from the prologue where Zarathustra says to the dying tightrope walker,</p><p>‘Thy soul will be dead even sooner than thy body’ (TSZ, prologue, 6). According</p><p>to Jung,</p><p>This is the prophetic word [that] prophesizes Nietzsche’s fate [for] his soul</p><p>died in 1889 when his general paralysis began, but [his body] lived on for</p><p>eleven years more. So the fate of that rope-dancer symbolically anticipates the</p><p>fate that overcame Nietzsche – Nietzsche himself is the rope-dancer and the</p><p>same fate will befall him.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 115; cf. p. 136)</p><p>Before the tightrope walker begins his fateful walk along the rope that ‘was</p><p>stretched between two towers’ (TSZ, prologue, 6), Zarathustra tells us that the</p><p>rope represents mankind’s journey towards the Übermensch, for ‘man is a rope,</p><p>fastened between animal and Superman – a rope over an</p><p>abyss. A dangerous</p><p>going-across, a dangerous wayfaring’ (ibid., 4). According to Jung, the tightrope</p><p>walker’s attempt to cross the rope is ‘the reality test’ of the Übermensch; it is</p><p>‘Nietzsche’s attempt to become the Superman’ (SNZ, I, p. 112). So, when the</p><p>walker falls and dies, Jung would have us construe the Übermensch as an</p><p>impossible goal, one that will never be realized.8</p><p>But perhaps the most eloquent of prophecies that Jung cites occurs later in TSZ,</p><p>in a chapter called ‘The Prophet’. Here Zarathustra recounts a dream where he is</p><p>in a hill-fortress of death. Nietzsche writes:</p><p>Up there I guarded death’s coffins: the musty vaults stood full of these</p><p>symbols of death’s victory. Life overcome regarded me from glass coffins. I</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness 119</p><p>breathed the odour of dust-covered eternities: my soul lay sultry and dust-</p><p>covered. And who could have ventilated his soul there? Brightness of</p><p>midnight was all around me; solitude crouched beside it; and, as a third, the</p><p>rasping silence of death, the worst of my companions. I carried keys, the</p><p>rustiest of all keys; and I could open with them the most creaking of all doors</p><p>. . . And I turned the key and tugged at the door and exerted myself. But it did</p><p>not open by so much as a finger’s breadth: Then a raging wind tore the door</p><p>asunder: whistling, shrilling and piercing it threw me to a black coffin: And</p><p>in the roaring and whistling and shrilling, the coffin burst asunder and vomited</p><p>forth a thousand peals of laughter. And from a thousand masks of children,</p><p>angels, owls, fools, and child-sized butterflies it laughed and mocked and</p><p>roared at me.</p><p>(TSZ, II, ‘The Prophet’)</p><p>Nietzsche adds: ‘Zarathustra did not yet know the interpretation of his dream.’</p><p>Zarathustra is in hell itself, where he watches the graves in order to bring up a</p><p>fearful secret hidden below. When the door flies open, we see that the secret is</p><p>a merciless laughing wind. According to Jung, this wind is insanity itself (SNZ, II,</p><p>p. 1226). Insanity is the secret, the utter destruction of his mind. Jung proceeds</p><p>to tells us that Nietzsche, when he was about 15 years of age, already had such an</p><p>experience (ibid., p. 1227). He tells us in his autobiography (though this is missed</p><p>out in the English translation) that he had a dream about taking a walk in the night</p><p>with his friend, Wilhelm Pindar (and Jung comments that something similar</p><p>undoubtedly happened to him in reality). In the dream they were walking in a</p><p>dark wood when they heard a terrible cry issuing from a nearby lunatic asylum.</p><p>They then go astray in the wood and meet a wild hunter who suddenly picks up a</p><p>whistle and blows the most awful whistling sound, causing Nietzsche to lose</p><p>consciousness. Now, this shrieking and whistling from the dream-lunatic asylum</p><p>and the hunter are prophetic cries that warn Nietzsche of the impending reality of</p><p>the lunatic asylum. Jung interprets the hunter who approaches Nietzsche as Wotan,</p><p>the old wind god breaking forth, the god of inspiration, of madness, intoxication</p><p>and wildness. The shrieking and whistling of the wind in a nocturnal wood, that</p><p>dark and impenetrable place, is symbolic of the unconscious. It is thus the</p><p>unconscious itself that bursts forth and forces the doors to fly open with a thousand</p><p>laughters. It is a horrible foreboding of his insanity, and Nietzsche admits that he</p><p>does not know the interpretation of his experience. Instead, Nietzsche twists the</p><p>meaning of Zarathustra’s dream to sound favourable to him. He interprets</p><p>Zarathustra himself as the wind, and concludes that he has dreamt of his enemies,</p><p>but he does not acknowledge the enemy to be himself, his unconscious.</p><p>According to Jung, Nietzsche’s insanity is fully realized in his last work Ecce</p><p>Homo. Frey-Rohn notes that in EH</p><p>Nietzsche’s identification with the symbol of the self reaches its climax . . .</p><p>the entire piece is the expression of his self-advancement, his untimeliness</p><p>120 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>and his corresponding withdrawal from contemporary events. Loathing for</p><p>humanity alternates with glorification of his own greatness . . . [EH] demon-</p><p>strates both the strongest possible claims to power and the most hopeless</p><p>feeling of impotence . . . It was clearly the suffering of an ego overpowered by</p><p>the greater personality.</p><p>(Frey-Rohn, 1988, pp. 255, 264)9</p><p>Nietzsche’s insistence on self-glorification and his conviction that he had a mission</p><p>to fulfil is most apparent in this work. Nietzsche, after all, comes ‘from the heights</p><p>that no bird ever reached in its flight, [he] knows abysses into which no foot ever</p><p>strayed’ (‘Why I Write Such Good Books’, 3). Aside from those chapters which</p><p>address the content of Nietzsche’s other main works, the remaining four chapters</p><p>are arrogantly entitled ‘Why I am So Wise’, ‘Why I am So Clever’, ‘Why I Write</p><p>Such Good Books’ and ‘Why I am a Destiny’. Furthermore, in the final chapter,</p><p>where he refers to his world-historical importance, Nietzsche proclaims that the</p><p>arrogance he was fully aware of possessing should not be interpreted negatively,</p><p>but rather as positive proof of his greatness.10</p><p>In EH Nietzsche equates his greatness with Dionysus. His neurotic delusions</p><p>of self-importance are caused, according to Jung, by his complete identification</p><p>with his god Dionysus.11 At the start of EH Nietzsche describes himself as a</p><p>‘disciple of the philosopher Dionysus’, and the very end sees Dionysus declare war</p><p>on the crucified Christ. Furthermore, at the time of writing EH Nietzsche began to</p><p>sign his letters ‘the dismembered Zagreus’ or ‘Christ Dionysus’ (SNZ, II, p. 903).</p><p>One letter in particular reveals his disturbing state of god-like delusion. On</p><p>6 January 1889, Nietzsche writes to Jakob Burckhardt:</p><p>Actually in the end I would much rather be a Basle professor than God; but</p><p>I have not dared push my private egoism so far as to desist for its sake from</p><p>the creation of the world. You see, one must make sacrifices, however and</p><p>wherever one lives.</p><p>(Nietzsche, 1969, p. 346)</p><p>According to Jung’s model of opposites and its critical ‘diagnosis’, Nietzsche’s</p><p>model fails to unite the opposites and, as a result, far from attaining Selfhood</p><p>in the union of opposites, Nietzsche is an ‘un-individuated’ and neurotic person.</p><p>In Chapter 10 I shall criticize Jung’s interpretations and put forward reasons why,</p><p>I believe, Jung misunderstands both Nietzsche and his model. We shall see that</p><p>Nietzsche’s model does not fail for the reasons Jung puts forward.</p><p>Nietzsche’s madness 121</p><p>Chapter 10</p><p>Nietzsche’s absolution</p><p>A metacritique of Jung’s critique of</p><p>Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Nietzsche: ‘Do not, above all, confound me with what I am not!’</p><p>(EH, ‘Foreword’, 1)</p><p>According to Jung, Nietzsche’s model fails to unite the opposites for two reasons:</p><p>it is one-sided, as it promotes one opposite at the expense of the other (the</p><p>conscious body over the unconscious spirit) and it lacks the essential unifying</p><p>symbol (God), which would appropriate the balance between opposites. Jung’s</p><p>evaluation of Nietzsche’s model is incorrect. I intend to show in this chapter that</p><p>Nietzsche’s model does acknowledge a spiritual, creative realm outside the body,</p><p>and that this vital principle works symbolically to unite the opposites. We shall</p><p>also see that Nietzsche’s insanity was not, as Jung claims, the result of a one-</p><p>sided ego-inflation. Our analysis of their affinities in Chapter 8 uncovered an</p><p>ambivalence and resistance in Jung’s reception of Nietzsche’s model. In this</p><p>chapter, we shall try to reunite their models in the face of an even more explicit</p><p>resistance from Jung. I shall try to diagnose this resistance in Chapter 11, by</p><p>hypothesizing an unconscious personal need on Jung’s part to dissociate himself</p><p>from Nietzsche in his work.</p><p>Jung praises Nietzsche for discovering the existence of the collective and</p><p>autonomous unconscious, and criticizes him for not admitting a spiritual realm</p><p>outside of the body, of which it was unconscious. Jung escapes contradiction here</p><p>by maintaining that Nietzsche</p><p>only ‘intuits’ the existence of the unconscious:</p><p>he does not grasp its essential meaning, and therefore does not acknowledge</p><p>its implications – in particular, the fact that it is active within himself, that he is</p><p>identifiable with more than mere ‘body’ (SNZ, II, p. 1147). Although Jung’s</p><p>interpretation is at first sight sound, it is untenable. Nietzsche certainly intuits the</p><p>autonomous unconscious of Jung’s model, but his insight into the dynamics of</p><p>the unconscious is more than intuitive. Nietzsche is aware of the essential meaning</p><p>of the unconscious, and not only ‘admits a spiritual realm outside of the body’</p><p>but also critically applies his model to himself. Let us now consider these claims</p><p>in turn.</p><p>The spiritual realm in Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Jung is too hasty in denying the spiritual component of Nietzsche’s model. Indeed,</p><p>Nietzsche clearly acknowledges the value of the spiritual realm. More specifically,</p><p>he gives it the same value as the physical body; he acknowledges the autonomous</p><p>unconscious (which, in Jungian terms, correlates with the existence of God); and</p><p>he is hospitable to the religious viewpoint.</p><p>Jung is exaggerating when he says that, for Nietzsche, spirit becomes a mere</p><p>‘plaything of the body’ and is not autonomous of it. The passage that he cites to</p><p>support his claim is TSZ, I, ‘On the Despisers of the Body’, where Nietzsche</p><p>writes:</p><p>The enlightened man says: I am the body entirely, and nothing beside; and</p><p>soul is only a word for something in the body . . . ‘Spirit’, is also an instrument</p><p>of your body, a little instrument and toy of your great intelligence.</p><p>Admittedly, Nietzsche here makes the spirit subordinate to the body. However,</p><p>Jung fails to acknowledge the particular context in which Nietzsche is writing this</p><p>passage. Nietzsche is writing to those metaphysicians and ‘despisers of the body’</p><p>who wrongly promote the spirit over the body; he therefore purposely accentuates</p><p>the value of the body and plays down that of the spirit in an act of compensation</p><p>to redress the balance (something that Jung would have endorsed). Nietzsche in</p><p>fact promotes spirit and body equally; so that, contrary to Jung’s own argument,</p><p>we see Jung cite this chapter again a mere two weeks/seminars later to demonstrate</p><p>Nietzsche’s anticipation of the Self. Jung is adamant that Nietzsche argues for a</p><p>‘sort of thing-in-itself behind the psychological phenomenon’ (SNZ, I, p. 391).</p><p>Now, a thing-in-itself, by definition, cannot be identified with the body. Indeed, in</p><p>the same chapter Nietzsche writes: ‘The Self . . . rules and is also the Ego’s ruler</p><p>. . . it says to itself . . . I am the Ego’s leading-string and I prompt its conceptions’.</p><p>Nietzsche clearly postulates here something beyond the ego; something, indeed,</p><p>that would seem to have a ‘spiritual’ status. So the Nietzschean Self is not, as Jung</p><p>argues, identified with consciousness alone. When Nietzsche writes that the Self,</p><p>as ‘an unknown [unconscious] sage’, ‘lives in your body, he is your body’, he is</p><p>not referring to a body that is merely ego-conscious or ‘physiological’; the body,</p><p>for Nietzsche, is also unconscious, it contains a spiritual realm that acts upon</p><p>consciousness.1 Jung is wrong to claim that Nietzsche seeks to overvalue the body</p><p>by elevating it to a spiritual level. Rather, Nietzsche’s position is similar to Jung’s:</p><p>they both argue for a spiritual realm that is contained within the body and yet</p><p>separate from it. In line with Nietzsche’s claim that the Self ‘lives in your body,</p><p>he is your body’ and that ‘the Self seeks with the eyes of sense, it listens too with</p><p>the ears of the spirit’, Jung admits that ‘the spirit is the life of the body seen from</p><p>within and the body the outward manifestation of the life of the spirit – the two</p><p>being really one’ (Jung, 1928/1931, par. 195). For both Nietzsche and Jung, the</p><p>body and the spirit are united in the realization of the Self; they are two different</p><p>(and equal) ways of expressing the whole Self.</p><p>Nietzsche’s absolution 123</p><p>The spirit in the body is the unconscious, and in Chapter 8 we saw Nietzsche</p><p>and Jung agree on the nature of this unconscious realm as collective and auto-</p><p>nomous. According to Jung, ‘We cannot tell whether God and the unconscious are</p><p>two different entities’ (Jung, 1952b, par. 757); God is that affective autonomous</p><p>unconscious force within the individual that encourages personal growth and</p><p>development. It is therefore not illogical to conclude that God is also at work</p><p>within the depths of Nietzsche’s model, within the autonomous unconscious realm</p><p>of the ‘body’, within the Übermensch itself. If this is correct, then Nietzsche’s</p><p>model has the reconciliatory symbol that, according to Jung, makes possible the</p><p>union of opposites. Against this view Jung cites Nietzsche as proclaiming the</p><p>death of God. Jung argues that by eliminating God from his model, Nietzsche is</p><p>without the unifying symbol and his project must inevitably fail. However, Jung</p><p>fails to understand that in proclaiming the death of God, Nietzsche is only</p><p>proclaiming the death of the Christian God, which he considers to be a false idea</p><p>of God.</p><p>According to Nietzsche, Christianity has become disconnected from its</p><p>authentic values: ‘We see the religious community of Christianity shaken to its</p><p>lowest foundations; the faith in God has collapsed’ (GS, 358). Thus, the Christian</p><p>God is dead because He is no longer feared. This means He can no longer spur the</p><p>individual on to acts of spiritual strength and growth; the task of personal salvation</p><p>thereby loses its significance. By adhering to the Christian God, we deny God’s</p><p>essential attributes, and thus worship a false god. Thus Nietzsche writes: ‘What</p><p>sets us apart is not that we recognize no God . . . but that we find that which has</p><p>been reverenced as God not godlike’ (AC, 47; cf. 16, 18). Dixon (1999) argues</p><p>that, for Nietzsche, belief in God constitutes an existential affirmation, and</p><p>not a matter of adherence to the central tenets of faith and ritual. Nietzsche is</p><p>particularly appalled by the values promoted in the Christian faith, for he regards</p><p>it as having degenerated into a superficial religion of sentimentality. Nietzsche is</p><p>disgusted that</p><p>anti-Christians through and through, still call themselves Christians today</p><p>and go to Communion . . . Being a soldier, being a judge, being a patriot;</p><p>defending oneself; preserving one’s honour; desiring to seeks one’s advan-</p><p>tage; being proud. The practice of every hour, every instinct, every valuation</p><p>which leads to action is today anti-Christian: what a monster of falsity modern</p><p>man must be that he is none the less not ashamed to be called Christian!</p><p>(AC, 38)</p><p>Nietzsche rejects the Christian ideal ‘not with the aim of destroying it but only</p><p>of putting an end to its tyranny and clearing the way for new ideals, for more</p><p>robust ideals’ (WP, 361). Nietzsche is an atheist only in so far as he rejects what</p><p>he considers to be a false idea of God; such a rejection initiates in Nietzsche the</p><p>need to find the true God. Nietzsche has not killed God; Christianity has killed</p><p>Him. The true God will be found in the revaluation of values. The more robust</p><p>124 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>ideal to which Nietzsche refers is a return to a noble religion, a noble spiritual</p><p>strength, which is not a dogma but a way of life (Dixon, 1999, p. 118). Nietzsche</p><p>is, of course, referring to the Will to Power. Nietzsche tells us that God is found</p><p>in the Will to Power (cf. WP, 639, 1037). The Will to Power generates the energy</p><p>for life; it is ‘life at its highest potency’ (WP, 639). For Nietzsche, God is</p><p>equivalent to life, and God is not yet dead, for: ‘Life is only lying hidden, in prison,</p><p>it has not yet withered away and died’ (UM, II, 10).</p><p>Jung is thus wrong to assert that Nietzsche lacks the unifying symbol because</p><p>his God is dead. In fact the positions of Jung and Nietzsche are similar. Jung</p><p>supports Nietzsche’s view that Christianity’s ideal is sentimental and weak. Jung</p><p>writes:</p><p>Christian civilization has proved hollow</p><p>to a terrifying degree: it is all veneer,</p><p>but the inner man has remained untouched and therefore unchanged. His soul</p><p>is out of key with his external beliefs; in his soul the Christian has not kept</p><p>pace with external developments. Yes, everything is to be found outside –</p><p>. . . in Church and Bible – but never inside.</p><p>(Jung, 1944, par. 12; cf. Jung, 1938/1940, par. 52)</p><p>In this sense Jung, by the same token, admits that God is dead; and he too turns to</p><p>a revaluation of values grounded in psychology:</p><p>I am not, however, addressing myself to the happy possessors of faith, but to</p><p>those many people for whom the light has gone out, the mystery has faded,</p><p>and God is dead . . . To gain an understanding of religious matters, probably</p><p>all that is left us today is the psychological approach.</p><p>(Jung, 1938/1940, par. 148; cited in Bishop, 1999a, p. 224)2</p><p>Jung’s interpretation of Nietzsche is ill considered. First, he takes Nietzsche’s</p><p>argument out of context and wrongly concludes that the body is made superior</p><p>to spirit. Then he admits a position contrary to his main thesis: that God and his</p><p>‘contents’ are present within Nietzsche’s model. What is more, he does so in a</p><p>manner that suggests he does not think this particularly relevant. That is, he</p><p>mentions this position only briefly in response to a question raised by a member</p><p>of his seminar; he does not offer the information spontaneously, and he does not</p><p>argue through the significant (and potentially devastating) implications it has</p><p>for his overall thesis and criticism of Nietzsche. Jung interprets Nietzsche’s</p><p>god as Dionysus, the god of the body, and in Chapter 8 we saw that Jung does</p><p>not acknowledge Nietzsche’s later usage of the term ‘Dionysus’ as ‘passion</p><p>controlled’ (WP, 1050) – that is, a union of Apollo and Dionysus; Jung recognizes</p><p>only his earlier formulation as ‘impassioned dissolution’ (Jung, 1936a, par. 118),</p><p>that one-sided ‘barbarian’ (Jung, 1921, par. 346). This is relevant to the current</p><p>argument, for it is Jung’s interpretation of Nietzsche’s Dionysus that causes him</p><p>to find in Nietzsche’s model a mere sign and not the required symbol. In other</p><p>words, a symbol requires both conscious and unconscious elements. But this finds</p><p>Nietzsche’s absolution 125</p><p>full expression not in the Dionysus of BT (1872) but in the Dionysus of WP, 1050</p><p>(1888). If Jung had acknowledged this later formulation, he might have also</p><p>acknowledged Nietzsche’s reconciliatory symbol.</p><p>Jung further misinterprets Nietzsche as failing to acknowledge the value</p><p>of religion. Jung insists that in Nietzsche ‘the religious viewpoint is entirely</p><p>overlooked and is replaced by the aesthetic’ (Jung, 1921, par. 231) so that (in BT)</p><p>‘Nietzsche quite forgets that in the struggle between Apollo and Dionysus and</p><p>their ultimate reconciliation the problem for the Greeks was never an aesthetic one,</p><p>but was essentially religious’. Jung then attempts to correct Nietzsche by claiming</p><p>that ‘Greek tragedy arose out of an originally religious ceremony’. However, these</p><p>comments are strongly at variance with the fact that Nietzsche recognized the</p><p>religious origins of Greek tragedy. As M. S. Silk and J. P. Stern note: ‘It is in the</p><p>area of Greek religion, especially religious attitudes to life, that Nietzsche’s</p><p>reinterpretation of Greece has had the greatest impact on classical studies’ (Silk</p><p>and Stern, 1981, p. 159; cited in Dixon, 1999, p. 67). Moreover, they note that</p><p>Nietzsche</p><p>devotes as much space to Greek religion as to any other aspect of Greece,</p><p>tragedy included. Above all, much of the discussion of tragedy itself is vitally</p><p>concerned with religion . . . Nietzsche affirms the generic religious ground</p><p>and the ‘theological’ significance of tragedy.</p><p>(Silk and Stern, 1981, p. 265)3</p><p>Jung’s claim that Nietzsche replaced the religious viewpoint with the aesthetic also</p><p>fails to recognize the profound relationship between the two in Nietzsche’s work.</p><p>So that, when Nietzsche refers to ‘art’ in BT, he refers to ‘art in the metaphysical,</p><p>broadest and profoundest sense’ (BT, 15). Art, for Nietzsche, has a religious</p><p>context; it is a ‘higher conception of art’.4</p><p>It should be apparent that Nietzsche does not fail to acknowledge the value of</p><p>the spiritual realm; his model does not identify solely with the body, and he</p><p>expresses the need for a noble religion, where God equates with life. This means</p><p>that Nietzsche is not as far as Jung suggests he is from establishing the creative</p><p>capacity or reconciliatory symbol required to unite the opposites. Indeed, it is my</p><p>contention that the symbol is very much present in Nietzsche’s model, though Jung</p><p>is not ready to admit as much. However, Jung does quietly acknowledge that</p><p>Nietzsche had not got rid of God completely – which, despite Jung’s protests,</p><p>means that the symbol is present yet hidden:</p><p>It is a funny thing, however, that throughout the whole of Zarathustra you get</p><p>a feeling as if this god whom he calls dead were not absolutely dead. He is</p><p>somehow lurking in the background as the great unknowable one of whom</p><p>you should not speak . . . he is taboo . . . Nietzsche’s God exists somewhere</p><p>and has contents but he must be careful not to mention them.</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 72; see also p. 843; cf. pp. 1515, 1013)</p><p>126 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Jung further contradicts himself in his seminars on TSZ when he suggests that</p><p>the symbol is indeed present within Nietzsche’s work. Jung first maintains (on</p><p>18 May 1938) that the Übermensch and Eternal Recurrence are merely ‘inven-</p><p>tions’ and ‘bold attempts’ of consciousness to deny the unconscious its expression,</p><p>and they cannot constitute ‘symbols’ because ‘a symbol is never a [conscious]</p><p>invention’ (SNZ, II, p. 1250) – it is unconscious and ‘happens to man’. But later</p><p>(2 November 1938) Jung claims that the Übermensch and Eternal Recurrence have</p><p>‘prevailed for many centuries . . . the idea of the eternal return is as old as mankind</p><p>practically’ (SNZ, II, p. 1388). This second passage gives Nietzsche’s ideas</p><p>archetypal status; they now constitute unconscious symbols. Furthermore, Jung</p><p>interprets Zarathustra as an archetypal saving symbol, for ‘Zarathustra appears</p><p>[in TSZ] in the moment when something has happened which made his presence</p><p>necessary . . . [he is] a new revelation, to give birth to a new truth’ (SNZ, I, p. 24;</p><p>cf. Jung’s description of the ‘third thing’ as ‘a new level of being, a new situation’:</p><p>Jung, 1916/1957, par. 189). And this archetypal ‘birth’ and ‘new truth’ can refer</p><p>only to the Übermensch, Will to Power, and Eternal Recurrence – the teachings of</p><p>Zarathustra the prophet.</p><p>If we are right about Nietzsche’s promoting a spiritual realm, then Jung is wrong</p><p>to charge his model with one-sidedness, and as lacking the principle necessary for</p><p>uniting the opposites. By the same token, Jung cannot conclude that Nietzsche’s</p><p>insanity was the result of this disposition to one-sidedness. According to Jung,</p><p>Nietzsche went mad because he could not recognize the unconscious as an</p><p>autonomous realm within him; instead he identified directly with it, thereby</p><p>elevating body to the level of spirit (inflation). We have found, however, that</p><p>Nietzsche did distinguish between the body and spirit and attributed equal value</p><p>to both of them. Moreover, as I shall now argue, Nietzsche critically applied his</p><p>model to himself; that is, he did not have an ego-inflation, because he was able to</p><p>differentiate himself (his ego) from the collective ‘spiritual’ realm.</p><p>Jung’s misdiagnosis: Nietzsche critically applies his</p><p>model to himself</p><p>According to Jung, Nietzsche had a ‘pathological’ case of ego-inflation that led</p><p>to the ‘splitting’ of his mind.5 This, Jung believes, is directly related to Nietzsche’s</p><p>‘innate weakness of personality’ – that is, his having an ego so weak that is</p><p>incapable of distinguishing what properly belongs to itself from what belongs to</p><p>the objective transpersonal psyche (Jung, 1938/1940, pars. 144, 145). Jung argues</p><p>that, when dealing with extreme cases of inflation such as Nietzsche’s, ‘it is</p><p>far</p><p>more necessary to strengthen and consolidate the ego than to understand and</p><p>assimilate the products of the unconscious’ (Jung, 1934/1950, par. 621) and this</p><p>is possible only when a critical line of demarcation is drawn between the ego and</p><p>the unconscious (Jung, 1951, par. 44; Jung, 1928b, par. 381). However, according</p><p>to Jung, Nietzsche lacked an adequate capacity for critical discrimination, self-</p><p>knowledge and self-criticism.</p><p>Nietzsche’s absolution 127</p><p>In his essay ‘On the Psychology of the Unconscious’ (1917/1926/1943),</p><p>Jung observes that ‘the only thing’ that could have helped Nietzsche avoid his</p><p>‘transformation into a superhuman entity’ was ‘cautious self-criticism’ (Jung,</p><p>1917/1926/1943, par. 41). He continues to note that: ‘Nietzsche, as a philologist,</p><p>could have adduced a few obvious classical parallels which would certainly have</p><p>calmed his mind’. Both of these comments are shallow, and demonstrate a serious</p><p>lack of judgement on Jung’s part – for Nietzsche demonstrates precisely those</p><p>things that Jung claims he lacks. Not only was Nietzsche exceptionally self-</p><p>critical,6 but also he was aware of the dangers of ego-inflation, and even cites</p><p>historical examples to warn the reader of such dangers! Patricia Dixon, in Sailing</p><p>a Deeper Night (1999), cites sufficient evidence to clear Nietzsche of the Jungian</p><p>charge of inflation and neurotic one-sidedness (pp. 263–266). Following her lead</p><p>will, in effect, enable us to admit the possibility of Nietzsche’s unhindered</p><p>development towards Selfhood.</p><p>In Ecce Homo, Nietzsche insists that the journey toward self-realization should</p><p>not proceed too quickly, in order to protect the integrity of ego consciousness:</p><p>The entire surface of consciousness – consciousness is a surface – has to be</p><p>kept clear of any of the great imperatives. Even the grand words, the grand</p><p>attitudes must be guarded against! All of them represent a danger that the</p><p>instinct will ‘understand itself’ too early.</p><p>(EH, ‘Why I Am So Clever’, 9; cf. WS, 297)</p><p>This argument runs throughout Nietzsche’s work, and can be seen as early as 1873,</p><p>where Nietzsche insists on the need for self-possession in both the philosopher</p><p>and dramatic artist (PTAG, 3). In BT Nietzsche warns of the dangers of promoting</p><p>the Dionysus at the expense of Apollo. The strict balance between Apollo</p><p>and Dionysus is particularly relevant to self-knowledge. For Nietzsche warns</p><p>that excessive knowledge of the unconscious, which cannot be contained by</p><p>consciousness (i.e. Dionysus without Apollo), will throw individuals into the</p><p>destructive abyss of their own mental downfall:</p><p>Wisdom, and particularly Dionysian wisdom, is an unnatural abomination;</p><p>that he who by means of his knowledge plunges nature into the abyss of</p><p>destruction must also suffer the dissolution of nature in his own person.</p><p>(BT, 9)</p><p>Indeed, Nietzsche later insists that ‘the god of Delos’ (Apollo) is ‘necessary to heal</p><p>your dithyrambic madness!’ (BT, 25). This is made all the more relevant to our</p><p>argument when we note that over the doors of the temple of Apollo at Delphi two</p><p>commandments were inscribed: ‘Know Thyself’ and ‘Nothing in Excess’.</p><p>In HAH, Nietzsche’s warnings against the dangers of ego-inflation are most</p><p>explicit. The following passage alone is enough to put Jung’s judgement in</p><p>doubt:</p><p>128 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>It is in any event a dangerous sign when a man is assailed by awe of himself</p><p>. . . when the sacrificial incense which is properly rendered only to a god,</p><p>penetrates the brain of the genius, so that his head begins to swim and he</p><p>comes to regard himself as something supra-human. The consequences that</p><p>slowly result are: the feeling of irresponsibility, of exceptional rights,</p><p>the belief that he confers a favour by his mere presence, insane rage when</p><p>anyone attempts even to compare him with others, let alone to rate him</p><p>beneath them, or to draw attention to lapses in his work. Because he ceases to</p><p>practise criticism of himself, at last one pinion after the other falls out of his</p><p>plumage . . . in the case of every ‘genius’ who believes in his own divinity</p><p>the poison shows itself to the same degree that the ‘genius’ grows old: one</p><p>may recall, for example, the case of Napoleon, whose nature certainly grew</p><p>into the mighty unity that sets him apart from all men of modern times</p><p>precisely through his belief in himself and his star . . . until in the end,</p><p>however, this same belief went over into an almost insane fatalism, robbed</p><p>him of his acuteness and swiftness of perception, and became the cause of his</p><p>destruction.</p><p>(HAH, 164)</p><p>Here Nietzsche not only underlines the need for self-criticism in the avoidance of</p><p>ego-inflation, but also cites the historical example of Napoleon to support and</p><p>justify his argument.</p><p>Jung’s judgement on Nietzsche’s failure to refer to historical precedents is</p><p>further confounded when we note that Nietzsche explicitly promotes the study of</p><p>history as offering endless opportunities to explicate the workings and conclusions</p><p>of psychological theory:</p><p>Direct observation is not nearly sufficient for us to know ourselves: we require</p><p>history, for the past continues to flow within us in a hundred waves; we</p><p>ourselves are, indeed, nothing but that which at every moment we experience</p><p>of this continued flowing.</p><p>(AOM, 223; cf. GS, 357, 377, 83; BGE, 224)</p><p>Indeed, in addition to the example of Napoleon, which is the most significant</p><p>historical allusion he makes to ego-inflation, Nietzsche, in BT, addresses the</p><p>specific problem of ego-inflation with reference to the Greeks and Titans. After</p><p>exclaiming that individuation knows but one law – ‘measure’, which demands</p><p>‘self-knowledge’ in order to maintain it – Nietzsche makes a distinction between,</p><p>on the one hand, the Greeks, who insist ‘know thyself’ and ‘nothing in excess’ and,</p><p>on the other hand, the ‘overweening pride and excess’ of the Titans and barbarians</p><p>who ‘succumbed to the self-oblivion of the Dionysian states, forgetting the</p><p>precepts of Apollo’ (BT, 4).7</p><p>Jung concludes his discussion of Nietzsche’s ego-inflation by describing it in</p><p>Nietzsche’s absolution 129</p><p>terms that do not accord with Nietzsche’s often celebrated status as the ‘untimely’</p><p>critic of contemporary culture. Jung tells us that</p><p>an inflated consciousness is always egocentric and conscious of nothing but</p><p>its own existence. It is incapable of learning from the past, incapable of under-</p><p>standing contemporary events, and incapable of drawing right conclusions</p><p>about the future.</p><p>(Jung, 1944b, par. 563)</p><p>Nietzsche, however, was profoundly critical of this age, and did not seek to</p><p>promote himself personally so much as the development of the ‘future-individual’</p><p>– the Ubermensch – who would not fall victim to the degenerate decadence that</p><p>Nietzsche associates with individuals of the past and his own day. These ideas</p><p>come together in the chapter ‘Of the Land of Culture’ in part two of TSZ. Here he</p><p>writes: ‘The men of the present . . . are strange to me and a mockery; and I have</p><p>been driven from fatherlands and motherlands. So now I love only my children’s</p><p>land.’ This remark is particularly significant for our argument, for this chapter is</p><p>one of six chapters that are explicitly omitted in Jung’s commentary and analysis</p><p>of TSZ, for no justifiable reason. Jung tells us he is ‘bored’ and ‘lacks enthusiasm’</p><p>and will only ‘do what the Germans call Die Rosinen aus dem Kuchen picken [“to</p><p>pick the plums out of the cake”]’ (SNZ, II, p. 1209).</p><p>Jung goes on to note that the feeling of ‘god-almightiness’ that affected</p><p>Nietzsche was, at a cultural level, also the cause of the Second World War:</p><p>A war of monumental frightfulness on the stage of Europe – a war that nobody</p><p>wanted – nobody dreamed of asking exactly who or what had caused the war</p><p>and its continuation. Nobody realized that European man was possessed by</p><p>something that robbed him of all free will. And this state of unconscious</p><p>possession will continue undeterred until we Europeans become scared of our</p><p>‘god-almightiness’.</p><p>(Jung, 1944b,</p><p>par. 563)</p><p>But this same charge against Nietzsche is precisely that which Nietzsche himself</p><p>levels against humanity. According to Nietzsche,</p><p>The most fatal kind of megalomania there has ever been on earth [occurred</p><p>when] man began to reverse values according to his own image, as if he were</p><p>the meaning, the salt, the measure, and the standard of all the rest.</p><p>(WP, 202; cf. AC, 44)</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung are therefore in agreement with one another, although Jung</p><p>does not realize it, and wrongly associates Nietzsche’s Übermensch with the very</p><p>notion of humanity that Nietzsche strongly rejects (Jung, 1945/1954, pars. 437,</p><p>439). The Übermensch does not represent a one-sided inflated state to compensate</p><p>130 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>for Nietzsche’s supposed feelings of inferiority; rather, it represents the realization</p><p>and balance of both opposites, and is the product of a personal and cultural concern</p><p>for unity and the whole self.</p><p>Nietzsche did not have an inflated consciousness, as Jung argues; such a diagnosis</p><p>is unjustified.8 There are other, more reasonable explanations for Nietzsche’s</p><p>mental breakdown.9 These include paresis, a brain disease caused by syphilis,</p><p>which induces dementia;10 a paralytic stroke caused by a possible inherited mental</p><p>disorder;11 a manic-depressive disorder caused by his cyclotymic personality of</p><p>great mood swings (Cybulska, 2000, pp. 571–575). Finally, Dixon interestingly</p><p>argues that Nietzsche’s extreme loneliness intensified during the last years of</p><p>his sane life, and ‘Nietzsche’s mental collapse had to do with his inability to</p><p>communicate his thoughts’ (Dixon, 1999, pp. 255–258). Indeed, Dixon cites</p><p>compelling evidence to support her argument in the form of many letters written</p><p>by Nietzsche.12</p><p>Conclusion: the affinities between the models of</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung revisited</p><p>According to Jung, Nietzsche’s model is a failure for two reasons: it is one-sided,</p><p>as it promotes one opposite at the expense of the other, in particular the conscious</p><p>body over the unconscious spirit, and it lacks the essential unifying symbol that</p><p>would enable the appropriate balance between opposites. In this chapter we have</p><p>found Jung’s argument to be inadequate on both counts. Nietzsche’s model does</p><p>not fail for the reasons Jung gives. Furthermore, Nietzsche is not guilty of neurotic</p><p>one-sidedness.</p><p>In Chapter 8 we found that Jung is strangely reluctant to acknowledge what I</p><p>believe are great affinities between his and Nietzsche’s models of the union of</p><p>opposites. In this chapter we have concluded that Jung’s criticisms, and his reasons</p><p>for separating his model from that of Nietzsche, are suspect, and can be dismissed</p><p>with relative ease. Indeed, there seems to be a peculiar and almost forced</p><p>ambiguity in Jung’s reception of Nietzsche.</p><p>In Chapter 8 we tried to bring the models of Nietzsche and Jung together by</p><p>positing certain affinities between them, but we noted a significant resistance</p><p>preventing us from doing this. While we found that both models require the notion</p><p>of ‘Dionysian danger’, Jung claims that Nietzsche’s model is too dangerous, and</p><p>this interpretation of Jung had significant consequences for the remaining affinities</p><p>that we posited (for the one-sided exaggeration of Dionysus effectively nullified</p><p>Nietzsche’s project as the ‘controlled’ ‘union’ of opposites, and subsequently</p><p>removed the potential for its parallel and comparison with that of Jung). In this</p><p>chapter I have evaluated Jung’s claim by analysing the extent to which Dionysian</p><p>danger is crucial to Nietzsche’s model; that is, whether or not it compromises the</p><p>goal of a union of opposites. I have concluded that Nietzsche’s model does not</p><p>suffer from the level of danger that Jung claims, and consequently does not fail to</p><p>Nietzsche’s absolution 131</p><p>unite the opposites (for Nietzsche does not extol the Dionysian at the expense of</p><p>the Apollinian, but seeks a balance of both). There is, therefore, no apparent reason</p><p>why Jung should deny the affinities that we originally posited in Chapter 8.</p><p>Nietzsche and Jung demonstrate in their models the same quality of relation-</p><p>ship between opposites; the same value of completion over perfection; the same</p><p>notion of privilege and exclusivity of the union; the same dangerous implications</p><p>of the union; the same particular opposites that are united (i.e. unconscious</p><p>and conscious, body and spirit); and the same notion of the Dionysian. Further-</p><p>more, not only did Nietzsche, contrary to Jung’s interpretation, anticipate the</p><p>fundamental tenets of Jung’s individuation process and analytical psychology in</p><p>general, but also, as we have found in this chapter, he was able to apply this</p><p>process self-critically to himself, and he was aware of the need to differentiate</p><p>himself from the collective unconscious. We can conclude that Jung and Nietzsche</p><p>argue for the same thing, though Jung continually denies this fact by separating</p><p>his theory from Nietzsche’s. This latter claim is difficult to prove, though the many</p><p>surprising errors of reasoning and outright exaggerations in Jung’s interpretation</p><p>and criticism of Nietzsche’s thought give substance to my speculation. Jung was</p><p>either incompetent or had something to hide! In the next chapter I attempt to</p><p>expose what that something might be.</p><p>132 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Chapter 11</p><p>Jung’s shadow</p><p>The ambiguities of Jung’s reception of</p><p>Nietzsche resolved</p><p>Jung: Now the time is up and I have told you a very great deal, but do not</p><p>assume that I have told you all!</p><p>(AP, p. 34; Lecture 4, 13 April 1925)</p><p>Jung’s critique of Nietzsche’s model and his diagnosis of Nietzsche’s ego-inflation</p><p>are derived from Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Jung focuses on this work because its</p><p>poetic style gives him access to Nietzsche’s unconscious, and the motivations</p><p>for his philosophical ideas (SNZ, I, p. 461). I believe Jung’s analysis of Nietzsche</p><p>is inadequate on two counts. First, a thorough interpretation of Nietzsche’s</p><p>philosophical theories demands more than a close inspection of TSZ; his more</p><p>‘theoretical’ or ‘philosophical’ works should also be consulted. Second, I have</p><p>found that Jung’s inspection of TSZ is not as thorough as his seminar commen-</p><p>taries suggest, for he is selective in the passages of TSZ that he considers. An</p><p>examination of the passages he chooses to omit supports my claim that Jung’s</p><p>presentation of Nietzsche is purposely exaggerated to cover up the fact that the</p><p>theories and personalities of Nietzsche and Jung are similar. In other words, I</p><p>believe that Jung sets out to present Nietzsche as the definitive neurotic, and to</p><p>hide any evidence that his diagnosis of Nietzsche is really a self-diagnosis.</p><p>I shall argue that Nietzsche is, effectively, a shadow personality of Jung, and</p><p>that the ambiguity in Jung’s reception of Nietzsche can be explained in terms of a</p><p>conscious need, on Jung’s part, to reject that which he unconsciously identifies</p><p>with. Jung would unconsciously accept those affinities between his model and</p><p>Nietzsche’s that I argue for in Chapter 8, but he consciously rejects them out of a</p><p>fear of the implications. An explicit identification with Nietzsche’s model would</p><p>be nothing less than identification with (the insanity of) Nietzsche himself.</p><p>First we shall first focus on Jung’s ‘unconscious reception’ of Nietzsche in</p><p>SNZ, and then seek support for my claims in an early case-history of Jung’s – the</p><p>fantasies of Miss Frank Miller.</p><p>Jung’s unconscious reception of Nietzsche in SNZ</p><p>My belief that Jung’s Seminars on Nietzsche’s Zarathustra harbour hidden</p><p>psychological truths about their author is in keeping with the air of mystery that</p><p>has surrounded this work since its publication in 1989.1 Bishop comments on</p><p>its ‘occult status’ (Bishop, 1994, p. 93),2 and attributes this to the fact that the</p><p>seminar notes were for the exclusive use of ‘members of the Seminar with the</p><p>understanding that [they were] not to be loaned and that no part of [them was] to</p><p>be copied or quoted for publication without Professor Jung’s</p><p>written permission’</p><p>(cited in Jarrett, introduction to SNZ, 1989, p. ix). Such restrictions lasted until</p><p>1957, and even then the seminar notes were available only to individuals under-</p><p>going Jungian analysis or training. Jung did not want these notes to fall into the</p><p>hands of those who would interpret them in a non-Jungian way – that is, those that</p><p>were not in awe of the ‘great man’,3 and who might see his faults or anything he</p><p>might wish to hide. My suggestion is lent credibility by Jarrett, who maintains that</p><p>the seminar notes ‘afforded an opportunity to get acquainted with Professor Jung</p><p>. . . speaking extemporaneously and with considerable informality’. Just as Jung</p><p>believed the poetic style of TSZ gave access to the unconscious mind of its author,</p><p>Jung’s seminars, written not in rigid and prepared prose but as free-flowing</p><p>conversation, permit a potential Jungian analysis of Jung himself. In other words,</p><p>just as TSZ lends itself to a Jungian diagnosis of Nietzsche the author, SNZ</p><p>provokes a Jungian self-diagnosis in turn. The seminar notes were thus kept safe</p><p>among Jung’s disciples. Any potentially damaging revelation could be contained,</p><p>for ‘Jung directed the literary material down the interpretative paths he wished to</p><p>follow, and one has the distinct sense that Jung never lost control over the</p><p>discussion’ (Bishop, 1994, p. 97, italics mine).4</p><p>Roderick Peters has also claimed that Jung’s reception of Nietzsche is</p><p>incoherent but, while I have found the incoherence surprising and often extreme,</p><p>Peters does not, for</p><p>anyone who says enough to fill 1,500 pages is going to contradict themselves</p><p>[and] Jung certainly does. Ideas are approached now from this perspective,</p><p>now from that; often they seem to be irreconcilable; in almost every seminar</p><p>one at least of the members exclaims ‘But I thought you said . . . ’ Jung</p><p>usually responds by reminding his listeners of the difference between seeing</p><p>things from the point of view of the ego on the one hand, and from that of the</p><p>self on the other.</p><p>(Peters, 1991, p. 126–7)</p><p>Peters does note, however, that although Jung’s approach is often illuminating,</p><p>‘there are times when it feels as if he has to be the one who knows’ (ibid.). I believe</p><p>Jung’s ‘superior knowledge’ (superior enough to override apparent contradictions)</p><p>and tendency to ‘control’ the discussion can be read as an attempt on Jung’s part</p><p>to hide or divert the seminars away from what he did not want to talk about: his</p><p>own psychological disposition.</p><p>134 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Jung would have been most familiar with the fact of Nietzsche’s neurotic</p><p>behaviour and mental collapse, to the extent that one could argue that he was</p><p>socially conditioned into thinking of Nietzsche as an object of hostility, aversion</p><p>and ridicule. Jung tells us that he had ‘hesitated’ to read Nietzsche, not only</p><p>because he felt he was ‘insufficiently prepared’, but also because Nietzsche had an</p><p>unsavoury reputation. Jung tells us:</p><p>At that time [Nietzsche] was much discussed, mostly in adverse terms, by the</p><p>allegedly competent philosophy students, from which I was able to deduce the</p><p>hostility he aroused in the higher echelons. The supreme authority, of course,</p><p>was Jakob Burckhardt, whose various critical comments on Nietzsche were</p><p>bandied about. Moreover, there were some persons at the university who had</p><p>known Nietzsche personally and were able to retail all sorts of unflattering</p><p>tidbits about him.</p><p>(MDR, p. 122)</p><p>Nietzsche’s reputation had a double effect on Jung; for while it attracted him to</p><p>Nietzsche and became ‘the strongest incentive’ for him to study Nietzsche’s</p><p>works, it also kept him at a distance. Jung notes:</p><p>But I was held back by a secret fear that I might perhaps be like him . . . he</p><p>had had inner experiences, insights which he had unfortunately attempted to</p><p>talk about, and had found that no one understood him. Obviously he was, or</p><p>at least was considered to be, an eccentric, a sport of nature, which I did not</p><p>want to be under any circumstances. I feared I might be forced to recognize</p><p>that I too was another such strange bird . . . [Nietzsche] could well afford to</p><p>be something of an eccentric, but I must not let myself find out how far I might</p><p>be like him.</p><p>(MDR, pp. 122–123)</p><p>Here we see the beginnings of Jung’s ambiguous relationship with Nietzsche, and</p><p>I believe it is in Jung’s ‘secret fear’ of being like Nietzsche – of being ‘forced to</p><p>recognize’ that he too was ‘an eccentric’ – that we find the explanation of Jung’s</p><p>reluctance to acknowledge the great affinities between their models of the whole</p><p>self.</p><p>Jung was indeed similar to Nietzsche. He knew that, like himself, Nietzsche had</p><p>rebelled against the religious ideas of his pastor father.5 But perhaps their most</p><p>significant similarity, which establishes their associations with madness, is the fact</p><p>that they had not one but two personalities. Jung claims that</p><p>I always knew that I was two persons. One was the son of my parents, who</p><p>went to school and was less intelligent, attentive, hard-working, decent, and</p><p>clean than many other boys. The other was grown up – old, in fact – sceptical,</p><p>mistrustful, remote from the world of men, but close to nature, the earth, the</p><p>Jung’s shadow 135</p><p>sun, the moon, the weather, all living creatures, and above all close to the</p><p>night, to dreams, and whatever ‘God’ worked directly in him.</p><p>(MDR, p. 61)</p><p>It is significant that Jung associates his second personality with God, for it is the</p><p>very identification of personality with God that, according to Jung, caused</p><p>Nietzsche’s ego-inflation and eventual mental demise. Jung tells us:</p><p>nature seemed, like myself . . . [to be] created by [God] as an expression of</p><p>Himself . . . it seemed to me that the high mountains, the rivers, lakes, trees,</p><p>flowers, and animals [i.e. all those things related to his second personality]</p><p>. . . exemplified the essence of God.</p><p>(MDR, p. 62)</p><p>Jung goes on to note that</p><p>besides his [sc. Jung’s number one personality’s] world there existed another</p><p>realm, like a temple in which anyone who entered was transformed and</p><p>suddenly overpowered by a vision of the whole cosmos, so that he could only</p><p>marvel and admire, forgetful of himself. Here lived the ‘Other’ . . . it was as</p><p>though the human mind looked down upon Creation simultaneously with</p><p>God.</p><p>(MDR, p. 62)</p><p>This realm of the Other is that Dionysian realm of the Übermensch; it is the</p><p>‘transformation’ of the human being into God.6 According to Jung, Nietzsche has</p><p>two personalities, the first being himself and the second being Zarathustra, the</p><p>timeless, eternal counterpart that brought about Nietzsche’s transformation and</p><p>destruction with its all-too-powerful archetypal force. Jung notes that ‘my No. 2</p><p>now corresponded to Zarathustra’ and ‘Zarathustra’, he tells us, ‘was morbid’. He</p><p>asks himself: ‘Was my No. 2 also morbid?’; and he writes that</p><p>this possibility filled me with a terror which for a long time I refused to admit</p><p>but the idea cropped up again and again and in inopportune moments,</p><p>throwing me into a cold sweat, so that in the end I was forced to reflect on</p><p>myself.</p><p>It is clear that Jung suspected he might suffer the same fate as Nietzsche; but</p><p>I believe his period of self-reflection did not extend to SNZ and his critique</p><p>of Nietzsche’s model of opposites. Although Jung’s ‘autobiography’ (MDR)</p><p>acknowledges the link between himself and the insane Nietzsche, there is no</p><p>acknowledgement of it in SNZ. This is surprising, as the main argument and</p><p>purpose of SNZ is to chart and explain Nietzsche’s madness.7 On the contrary, in</p><p>SNZ Jung adopts a completely different stance towards Nietzsche: he criticizes</p><p>136 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>Nietzsche’s model of opposites as one-sided, and promotes his own method and</p><p>model as a successful attempt to do what Nietzsche failed to do. Thus, Jung</p><p>insinuates that he is nothing like Nietzsche: that he is not a psychologically</p><p>unbalanced person.</p><p>Jung did, however, have what can be considered a mental breakdown – his</p><p>‘confrontation</p><p>by contradiction; there is no primary</p><p>member in the binary pair; and a third point of reference is required to define</p><p>opposites as ‘opposite’. These are the four elements of the proto-theory that I shall</p><p>utilize in my evaluation of the models of Nietzsche and Jung.</p><p>A word of warning should perhaps be given to the reader of the following</p><p>pages. The inquiry that follows is a philosophical critique of Jungian thought; as</p><p>with any method of inquiry, it has both positive and negative attributes. As</p><p>a method of elucidation, philosophical criticism is both a help and a hindrance</p><p>to Jungian thought. While it can substantiate claims and expose their flaws, it</p><p>can also distort them, for Jungian psychology is reliant upon symbolic imagery</p><p>to convey that which cannot be expressed by philosophical explanation and</p><p>abstraction.17 An attempt to apply intellectual judgement here would reduce the</p><p>symbol to a sign and thereby forfeit its essential numinous quality.18 Thus,</p><p>philosophical criticism can enrich Jungian thought only in so far as it can inform</p><p>us of its meaning and logical coherence; and it can suggest further developments</p><p>of Jungian theory only by intellectually reflecting on its present status and then</p><p>explicating its implications. In other words, the method of our inquiry is prin-</p><p>cipally rational and evaluative; as such it loses the sense of the irrational and</p><p>the experiential when it translates psychological language to that of philosophy.</p><p>An example of such distortion occurs in my discussion of the opposites. In order</p><p>to elucidate and evaluate the arguments of Nietzsche and Jung on opposites, the</p><p>opposites are often presented as if they constituted an abstract philosophical</p><p>theory, or even a mere mechanism. In other words, they are given a status that is</p><p>too precise, too intellectual and too reductive of what Nietzsche and Jung had in</p><p>mind. To them the opposites were living, and their affects experienced. The proto-</p><p>theory that I have presented here is intended to be abstract and reductive, in that it</p><p>attempts to define opposition in general, beyond the psychological arena. The</p><p>proto-theory is used to contrast the conception of opposites held by Nietzsche and</p><p>6 Introduction</p><p>Jung. This runs the danger of making the theories of Nietzsche and Jung appear</p><p>abstract. However, as we shall see, because the theories of Nietzsche and Jung run</p><p>counter to elements of the proto-theory, their sense of dynamism, creativity and</p><p>spontaneity is retained.</p><p>Introduction 7</p><p>Part I</p><p>Opposites in the whole</p><p>self</p><p>Chapter 2</p><p>Opposites in early Nietzsche</p><p>Metaphysical, aesthetic and</p><p>psychological opposites</p><p>Nietzsche regarded life and its experiences as a dynamic interplay of opposites</p><p>in which thesis and antithesis are drawn together in energy-creating conflict. This</p><p>fundamental condition is a reflection of ‘the primordial contradiction that is</p><p>concealed in things’ (BT, 9). Nietzsche says that all reality – that is ‘our empirical</p><p>existence, and that of the world in general’ – is a ‘representation of the primary</p><p>unity’ (BT, 4).1 This primal unity is a dynamic interplay of the separation and</p><p>reunification of opposites, which reflects the Heraclitean notion of polarity, where</p><p>‘polarity [is] the diverging of a force into two qualitatively different opposed</p><p>activities that seek to reunite’ (PTAG, 5). According to Nietzsche, opposites have</p><p>an equal inherent value, so that one polar element cannot dominate and annihilate</p><p>its counterpart. Nietzsche does not regard opposites as static values that remain</p><p>antagonistic and incapable of equilibrium. They are, rather, experienced as relative</p><p>and complementary to one another:</p><p>Everlastingly, a given quality contends against itself and separates into</p><p>opposites; everlastingly these opposites seek to reunite. Ordinary people fancy</p><p>they see something rigid, complete and permanent; in truth, however, light</p><p>and dark, bitter and sweet are attached to each other and interlocked at any</p><p>given moment like wrestlers of whom sometimes the one, sometimes the other</p><p>is on top.</p><p>(PTAG, 5)</p><p>The wrestling of opposite forces exhibits the strife that is necessary for all</p><p>existence: for ‘everything that happens, happens in accordance with this strife’</p><p>(ibid.). Reality is therefore a flux of contradictions, and the authentic individual,</p><p>as an inhabitant of this reality, must not only acknowledge its nature but also seek</p><p>to promote similar opposition within himself. According to Nietzsche, ‘Each one</p><p>of us . . . must organize the chaos within him’ (UM, II, 10); and again, ‘One is</p><p>fruitful only at the cost of being rich in contradictions; one remains young only</p><p>on condition the soul does not relax, does not long for peace’ (TI, ‘Morality as</p><p>Anti-Nature’, 3). Individuals who do not seek opposition might be satisfied,</p><p>but they will ‘become nothing’ (HAH, 626); their experience of ‘happiness’ will</p><p>merely contribute to Nietzsche’s later concept of the ‘herd ideal’ (WP, 696).</p><p>To overcome the self-satisfaction of the all-too-human masses, individuals must</p><p>cease to be content with being a mere ‘creature’ and take on the role of ‘creator’.</p><p>They must seek growth through the energy of conflict, and ‘and thus master the</p><p>tremendous abundance of an apparently chaotic wilderness and . . . bring together</p><p>in unity that which was formerly thought to be set irreconcilably asunder’ (UM,</p><p>IV, 5). According to Nietzsche, growth is enhanced through inner conflict that is</p><p>engendered by opposition. This is because opposites create in their conflict not</p><p>merely ‘energy’, but a ‘mutual energy’ that does not seek to establish a superior</p><p>element but maintains the existence of both polar extremes. The value of the</p><p>individual as creator is determined by the intensity of oppositions contained within</p><p>him.2</p><p>The ideas that strife leads ‘to new and more powerful births’ (BT, 1) and that</p><p>the greatest human achievements arise from the fullest tension of opposites is</p><p>the underlying theme of The Birth of Tragedy (1872). Here Nietzsche argues</p><p>that existence is justified only as an aesthetic phenomenon. In the absence of</p><p>this aesthetic conception of reality, the individual is forced to acknowledge ‘the</p><p>impermanence of everything actual, which constantly acts and comes-to-be but</p><p>never is’, and this is a ‘terrible, paralyzing thought’ (PTAG, 5). Life appears as if</p><p>it were an amoral game, ready to deceive (PTAG, 6); it forever seeks the</p><p>destruction of the individual and all that seeks identity, form and shape. Incredibly,</p><p>Nietzsche says that the individual should not respond to this state of affairs with</p><p>an attitude that is ‘gloomy, melancholy, tearful, sombre, atrabilarious, pessimistic,</p><p>and altogether hateful’ (ibid.). Instead he should adopt a response similar to that</p><p>held by the early Greeks and joyfully affirm the horror of life in its devastation. In</p><p>Greek tragedy suffering is transcended by an affirmation of the life force behind</p><p>it; an affirmation that despite every phenomenological change, life is at bottom</p><p>joyful and powerful, so that in its very expression</p><p>nature cries to us with its true, undissembled voice: ‘Be as I am! Amid the</p><p>ceaseless flux of phenomena I am the eternally creative primordial mother,</p><p>eternally impelling to existence, eternally finding satisfaction in this change</p><p>of phenomena!’</p><p>(BT, 16)</p><p>Nietzsche’s analysis of Greek tragedy argues that aesthetic phenomena are</p><p>central to the meaning of life. Nietzsche views art as the vehicle through which</p><p>individuals can accept the temporality of their existence; art moves individuals</p><p>to a psychological attitude that awakens and reinforces the sense that life is</p><p>intrinsically valuable and meaningful despite the pains involved. Such an aesthetic</p><p>experience, or ‘tragic world view’ (ibid.),3 is crucial in enabling individuals to</p><p>regard both their own existence and the existence of the world in general as joyous</p><p>and wonderful. The Greeks had come face to face with the horrors and absurdities</p><p>of life; such horror induces inaction because nothing can be done about</p><p>with the unconscious’ – and when he came out of it he realized that</p><p>his wife and family provided the ‘guarantee’ that he was in fact in a very different</p><p>situation from Nietzsche, for his family</p><p>were actualities which made demands upon me and proved to me again and</p><p>again that I really existed, that I was not a blank page whirling about in the</p><p>winds of spirit, like Nietzsche . . . my family and my profession always</p><p>remained a joyful reality and a guarantee that I also had a normal existence.</p><p>(MDR, p. 214)8</p><p>Jung insinuates that he could not be destroyed by the onslaught of the unconscious</p><p>as Nietzsche had been, because he was not as isolated as Nietzsche. (Cf. Chapter</p><p>10, where Nietzsche’s madness is understood as resulting from his extreme</p><p>isolation and loneliness.)</p><p>Jung’s secret fear revealed in SNZ</p><p>Although Jung does not comment on his ‘fear’ of being identified with Nietzsche’s</p><p>madness in SNZ, it can be located as hidden, almost unconscious, within his</p><p>commentary, in terms of what Jung does and does not say. That is, it emerges in</p><p>his unnecessary denigration of Nietzsche’s character and in those passages of TSZ</p><p>he chooses not to discuss.</p><p>What Jung does say</p><p>Throughout SNZ Jung attacks Nietzsche’s personality and appearance.9 Jung’s</p><p>comments are often exaggerated. They not only are unnecessary to his argument,</p><p>but also threaten to invalidate it by exposing his own shadow side. That is,</p><p>according to Jung, traits peculiar to the individual’s shadow are always projected</p><p>and appear to be traits within another individual (Jung, 1951, par. 16). Those</p><p>shadow elements within Jung’s own personality (those personal characteristics</p><p>which he consciously rejects and ‘fears’ to acknowledge) are projected as a</p><p>defence mechanism on to Nietzsche. We see Jung in his very first seminar</p><p>introduce his audience to the personality of Nietzsche by focusing only on his</p><p>negative attributes. Nietzsche was ‘always alone’ because</p><p>he could not stand people. He was desirous of having friends, always seeking</p><p>a friend, but when such a poor fellow turned up, he was never good enough</p><p>and Nietzsche got impatient right away . . . he was absolutely unable to accept</p><p>Jung’s shadow 137</p><p>people . . . He was terribly, recklessly impulsive . . . He liked to be invited to</p><p>certain social gatherings, but if there was a piano, he played madly; he went</p><p>at it till his fingers bled.</p><p>(SNZ, I, pp. 16–17; also see MDR, p. 122)</p><p>Jung appears to recognize one positive aspect of Nietzsche’s personality: that</p><p>‘he was quite funny’.10 But Jung relates this to Nietzsche’s physical appearance,</p><p>and ridicules him: ‘And with that moustache!’ Jung continues his exaggerated,</p><p>one-sided negative portrayal of Nietzsche, or ‘Mr. Friedrich Nietzsche’ as he later</p><p>refers to him (SNZ, I, p. 169, italics mine: Jung seems to be enforcing a common</p><p>courtesy upon Nietzsche, thereby implying he is not worthy of it, of being a</p><p>‘gentleman’). Nietzsche’s life ‘was as poor and miserable as possible, a sick</p><p>neurotic existence’ (SNZ, I, p. 60), one that could never achieve Übermen-</p><p>schlichkeit. Indeed, in his criticism of Zarathustra’s inability to explain what the</p><p>Übermensch actually entails, Jung suddenly refers back to Nietzsche and asks him</p><p>directly:</p><p>How can you become the Superman? For it is expected of you . . . personally,</p><p>Friedrich Nietzsche. How do you get beyond your migraines, your vomiting</p><p>and sleeplessness and chloral and all the other narcotics, and your terrible</p><p>sensitiveness and irritability?</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 83)</p><p>The list of Nietzsche’s physical and psychological disorders is laboured. It is as if</p><p>Jung wants to jeer momentarily at Nietzsche – something that might be considered</p><p>a projection from Jung. Indeed, Jung discusses the relationship between uncon-</p><p>trolled emotion and projection immediately before admitting his irritation at</p><p>Nietzsche for being psychologically unaware. Thus:</p><p>Whatever arouses emotions has touched upon the unconscious. When you</p><p>get an emotional impression on something, you can be sure that you have</p><p>instantly made a projection; otherwise you would not have an emotion . . . It</p><p>is very curious that Nietzsche, a highly intelligent man, had not a scientific</p><p>mind. He could not accept psychological facts in a scientific way and take</p><p>them for what they are . . . That is the most unspeakably foolish and irritating</p><p>way in which he screws himself into his madness, an awful fatality . . . And</p><p>the fatality does not consist of anything tragic or great; it consists of a lack of</p><p>intelligence, the lack of a scientific and philosophical attitude.</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1237)</p><p>In addition to the personal taunts, Jung makes snide comments about TSZ. For</p><p>example, he says that ‘any damned nonsense can be justified by Zarathustra’</p><p>(SNZ, I, p. 476). Such a remark clearly expresses Jung’s personal frustration with</p><p>Nietzsche’s work. This frustration is associated with supposed feelings of boredom</p><p>138 Jung’s rejection of Nietzsche’s model</p><p>in Jung: ‘And when I looked through the chapters we have dealt with and those we</p><p>have still to deal with, I must tell you frankly, I got bored stiff’ (SNZ, II, p. 1209).</p><p>And again: ‘[Nietzsche] became so negative and sterile that it was even boring’</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1424; cf. p. 626).11 The control Jung tries to exert over Nietzsche in</p><p>order to portray himself in a more favourable light is most evident. In addition to</p><p>the put-downs of Nietzsche’s personality and style of writing, Jung attempts to</p><p>raise himself above Nietzsche. Jung claims to know exactly what and how</p><p>Nietzsche feels; there is no admission of speculation, his insistence is categorical:</p><p>he states time and again, ‘That is the way Nietzsche felt’ (SNZ, I, p. 59). A</p><p>particularly interesting and perhaps revealing example of Jung’s claim to authority</p><p>over Nietzsche is found in an allusion he makes to the anima. Throughout SNZ</p><p>Jung claims that Nietzsche was not conscious of his anima, and was therefore</p><p>unconsciously possessed by it (SNZ, I, pp. 533, 597, 631) and in a late seminar</p><p>Jung claims that he himself is aware of his anima and, in ironic tones, he implicitly</p><p>concludes that he is, in contrast to Nietzsche, a ‘real man’:</p><p>The effeminisation of men was not so obvious [in Nietzsche’s time], but</p><p>as a matter of fact there is something very peculiar about the men of</p><p>today: there are very few real men. This comes from the fact . . . that most</p><p>of them are possessed by the anima – practically all. Of course I exclude</p><p>myself !</p><p>(SNZ, II, p. 1349, italics mine)12</p><p>What Jung does not say</p><p>I believe that Jung’s secret fear of being identified with Nietzsche’s madness</p><p>is expressed in those passages he chooses to omit from his analysis and seminar</p><p>discussion. In these passages we find evidence to suggest his diagnosis of</p><p>Nietzsche is a self-diagnosis.13 Jung’s seminars ended on 15 February 1939, due</p><p>to the start of the Second World War in that same year. By then he had reached</p><p>TSZ, III, chapter 56, ‘Of Old and New Law Tables’, section 12, leaving unanalysed</p><p>eighteen sections of chapter 56, the four remaining chapters of part three, and the</p><p>whole of part four.14 Those chapters of TSZ, including the whole of part four, are</p><p>not of concern to us.15 Our argument is concerned only with those passages that</p><p>Jung chose to omit. It is chapters 35–39 and 50, together with fragments of other</p><p>chapters ignored, that I shall examine.16</p><p>Jung says that he got ‘bored stiff’ with the style of TSZ, and made the decision</p><p>not to go ‘further into the actual detail’ of the text but ‘to pick the plums out of the</p><p>cake’ (SNZ, II, p. 1209). So Jung leaves out most of chapter 34 (‘Of Self-</p><p>Overcoming’) and notes that</p><p>there is nothing very important in the next chapter, ‘The Sublime Ones’</p><p>[chapter 35] nor in the following one, ‘The Land of Culture’ [chapter 36], nor</p><p>in that chapter called ‘Immaculate Perception’ [chapter 37] . . . Then, in</p><p>Jung’s shadow 139</p><p>the chapter called ‘Scholars’ [chapter 38], he chiefly realizes professional</p><p>resentments, and in the chapter called ‘Poets’ [chapter 39], he</p><p>it; action</p><p>12 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>therefore requires illusion. The salvation and solace for this state of mind is art,</p><p>which converts ideas of loathing into ideas that are acceptable. In art horror is</p><p>tamed and made sublime; what was disgusting is made humorous.</p><p>Greek tragedy itself, in its attempt to transform the horror of the meaning-</p><p>lessness of oppositional interplay into joyful experience, generates further</p><p>experience of opposites. For example, the spectator of tragedy experiences a</p><p>satisfying sense of illumination, even of ‘omniscience’ (BT, 22), and yet has the</p><p>impulse to find satisfaction with something deeper:</p><p>He beholds the transfigured world of the stage and nevertheless denies it. He</p><p>sees the tragic hero before him, in epic clearness and beauty, and nevertheless</p><p>rejoices in his annihilation. He comprehends the action deep down, and yet</p><p>likes to flee into the incomprehensible. He feels the actions of the hero to be</p><p>justified, and is nevertheless still more elated when these actions annihilate</p><p>their agent. He shudders at the sufferings which will befall the hero, and yet</p><p>anticipates in them a higher, much more overpowering joy. He sees more</p><p>extensively and profoundly than ever, and yet wishes he were blind.</p><p>(BT, 22)</p><p>These opposite feelings are experienced not only by the spectator of tragedy but</p><p>also by the tragic artist. Artists find pleasure in the appearances they are creating,</p><p>and yet they negate this pleasure for the higher satisfaction of their destruction.</p><p>The experience of tragedy therefore generates opposition in the psychological</p><p>make-up of the individual. The individual experiences a contradictory hybrid</p><p>of fear and pleasure in the tragic performance, and it is in terms of this opposi-</p><p>tion that tragedy arises and is able to transfigure what would otherwise be an</p><p>experience of pure fear at the meaningless flux of life. In other words, the tragic</p><p>performance neutralizes fear by introducing its binary opposite, pleasure, into the</p><p>experience, thereby enabling the individual to affirm life as both joyful and</p><p>powerful.</p><p>I contend that, in Nietzsche’s reading, Greek tragedy generates opposition</p><p>within the individual to enable the individual to affirm the interplay of opposite</p><p>forces that constitutes the flux of life around him. However, Nietzsche’s view of</p><p>tragedy does not correlate with the notion of opposites only according to its effects</p><p>and ultimate aim. Indeed, the very ‘essence’ (BT, 12) or internal structure of</p><p>tragedy is itself composed of two opposing principles – the Apollinian and the</p><p>Dionysian. And it is because tragedy contains within it the complete integration of</p><p>these opposing perspectives that Nietzsche considers it to be the highest of art</p><p>forms.</p><p>Apollo and Dionysus as opposites</p><p>The Apollinian and the Dionysian are diametrically opposed tendencies or</p><p>impulses of art, man, and life. The nature of any art varies according to the</p><p>Opposites in early Nietzsche 13</p><p>level at which the two impulses are functioning: often the two ‘run parallel to</p><p>each other, for the most part at variance; and they continually incite each other</p><p>to new and more powerful births, which perpetuate an antagonism’, and it is in</p><p>these variable degrees of antagonism that art offers a ‘superficial reconciliation’</p><p>(BT, 1). When the two impulses are at total variance and are operating singularly</p><p>they constitute a pure form of art, the classic examples of which, according to</p><p>Nietzsche, are sculpture and epic poetry (as pure Apollinian art) and fine music</p><p>(as pure Dionysian art). But when the two opposing impulses unite in equal degree,</p><p>through a ‘metaphysical miracle of the Hellenic “will”’, art in its highest form</p><p>is created. The union of the Dionysian and Apollinian, as the essence of tragic art,</p><p>represents the highest meaning for the individual, as it is only through this meta-</p><p>physical union that mankind is able to affirm its existence.</p><p>Nietzsche derives the names of the two impulses from the Greek deities Apollo</p><p>and Dionysus. In ancient Greek religion each divinity had a set of functions and</p><p>identifiable characteristics. Apollo is in many instances a god of higher civilization</p><p>(for example, of medicine, healing and law), while Dionysus is a god of more</p><p>primitive civilization (of nature and natural fertility, wine, music and orgiastic</p><p>worship). Nietzsche regarded these two gods as representative of two powerful</p><p>extremes, the relation of which determines not only forms of art, but also</p><p>fundamental levels of experience. On an elemental level, Nietzsche considered the</p><p>Apollinian and Dionysian impulses to be present in dreams and intoxication</p><p>respectively.</p><p>Dreams give an immediate apprehension of form. Nietzsche says that ‘in my</p><p>experience’ dreams have one kind of reality and at the same time they induce the</p><p>feeling that there is another deeper reality underlying it.4 This is analogous to life</p><p>itself, for life as we know and experience it can be considered an illusion, a world</p><p>of appearance that lies between us and the very ground of being, a metaphysical</p><p>world of primordial unity of all individual things. Apollo is the sun-god, a symbol</p><p>of brightness and appearance; and the Apollinian is the sphere of individuation,</p><p>restraint, form, beauty and illusion. Nietzsche states that Apollo is ‘the soothsaying</p><p>god’ (BT, 1), the god of the Delphic oracle; but although Apollinian images seem</p><p>to offer higher truth, they remain at the level of mere appearance.</p><p>In contrast to the Apollinian ‘dream-image’, the Dionysian impulse expresses</p><p>itself in intoxication. In this formless state individuals lose themselves and the</p><p>structure of individuation collapses in favour of a rediscovered universal harmony</p><p>that is at one with nature. Nietzsche demands that man becomes reunited with</p><p>nature – we must begin ‘to “naturalize” humanity in terms of a pure, newly dis-</p><p>covered, newly redeemed nature’ (GS, 109), in such a way that ‘nature which has</p><p>become alienated, hostile, or subjugated, celebrates once more her reconciliation</p><p>with her lost son, man’ (BT, 1). In its fullest sense this Dionysian reunion with</p><p>nature is an ecstatic experience with mystical implications, an experience of</p><p>supreme intensity and savagery – ‘that horrible mixture of sensuality and cruelty</p><p>which has always seemed to me the real “witches” brew’ (BT, 2). Dionysian</p><p>impulses can be aroused directly by intoxicants and by the approach of spring with</p><p>14 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>its promise of rebirth, and they find collective expression in orgiastic festivities</p><p>with their song, dance and sexual licence.</p><p>The Dionysian experience is antithetical to that of the Apollinian in that it runs</p><p>contrary to all distinction and particularity: to limit, form, contrast and convention.</p><p>The Dionysian impulse is an expression of the ‘real’ world that admits of no</p><p>illusion and appearance. It is that sea of contradiction, or ‘mixed drink which</p><p>must be constantly stirred’ (PTAG, 5). The Dionysian is the meaningless world</p><p>from which man requires aesthetic salvation; it is therefore intolerable to the</p><p>individual in its pure form. Apollinian form is required to stabilize the horror of</p><p>the Dionysian and prevent the dissolution of individuality. The Apollinian,</p><p>manifest both in its unconscious form in dreams and in its consciously artistic</p><p>form, serves to conceal the horrific character of life by transforming it into images</p><p>that are joyful and idealized. Nietzsche praises the Apollinian impulse because it</p><p>protects the individual from the terrors of nature by using illusion to creatively</p><p>falsify reality without denying its true nature; it does not try to convince us that</p><p>life is rational and subject to critical improvements as Socrates had done. The</p><p>Dionysian impulse similarly does not try to conceal or deny life but expresses</p><p>its irrational and chaotic energy. The Dionysian impulse helps the individual to</p><p>confront life, but instead of removing the immediate terror of life, it clothes this</p><p>terror in a sense of bliss. This is achieved through</p><p>the Dionysian capacity to reveal</p><p>a further dimension of reality that would otherwise remain inaccessible to us: it is</p><p>in the realm of collectivity (where individuality forms a cosmic unity with nature)</p><p>that we feel bliss. This realm, or ‘primal unity’ as Nietzsche calls it, is equivalent</p><p>to the Schopenhauerian ‘Will’ or Kantian ‘thing-in-itself’, in that it constitutes</p><p>mankind’s true and real nature. And it is through the Dionysian impulse that man</p><p>blends with the authentic nature of reality. This is an experience of transcendence</p><p>through intoxication, which can be only temporary; a temporary experience of</p><p>becoming a higher being, one that is able to withstand, and even exalt, the terror</p><p>of life.5</p><p>Nietzsche uses Apollo and Dionysus to elaborate his theory of two opposing</p><p>impulses in art, man, and life, but he does so without any consistent historical</p><p>justification. These impulses are ‘reinterpretations’, ‘inventions’ and ‘two new</p><p>composites which carry the Greek gods’ names as symbols’ (Silk and Stern, 1981,</p><p>p. 167). Indeed, Nietzsche adds three new aspects to the function of Apollo.</p><p>Nietzsche’s Apollo is (1) god of dreams, (2) god of appearance and illusion, and</p><p>(3) god of visual art form; these three combine in what Nietzsche calls the</p><p>Apollinian ‘world of visual imagery’. But these three aspects are not generally</p><p>acknowledged or supported by historical evidence. Apollo is the god of prophecy</p><p>but his prophecy is not characteristically mediated through dreams;6 Nietzsche’s</p><p>claim for (2) depends solely upon a semantic ambiguity where ‘Der Schein’</p><p>refers to both ‘a glimmer of light’ and ‘illusion’ or ‘appearance’. In contrast</p><p>to Nietzsche’s claim for (3), there was no ancient Greek god of visual art, and</p><p>if Apollo were to be associated with art it would be with music.7 He also fails</p><p>to recognize Apollo’s well-attested ecstatic character, and instead attributes this</p><p>Opposites in early Nietzsche 15</p><p>and the title ‘god of music’ to Dionysus, the deity that Nietzsche believes to be</p><p>opposite to Apollo. However, ‘Dionysus was no more of a god of music than</p><p>Apollo was god of the visual arts’ (Silk and Stern, 1981, p. 175). Nietzsche</p><p>acknowledges that ‘Dionysus possesses the dual nature of a cruel, depraved demon</p><p>and a mild, gentle ruler’, but he does not expand upon this duality; he is too</p><p>preoccupied with Dionysus’ orgiastic aspect to develop his connection with</p><p>fertility. Overall, Nietzsche is more content to elaborate the paradoxical com-</p><p>bination of horror and rapture. It might seem that Nietzsche’s lack of fidelity</p><p>to Greek tradition is irrelevant for our purpose. However, I believe Nietzsche’s</p><p>misrepresentation of the deities is significant. Untouched by Nietzsche’s manip-</p><p>ulations the deities and their characteristics are distinct from one another; so that,</p><p>as expounded in Plato’s Laws, Apollo would be a proponent of the Olympian</p><p>(or ‘Uranian’) religion, the religion of heaven, and Dionysus would be a proponent</p><p>of the chthonic religion, the religion of the earth (828C).8 Yet, in Nietzsche’s</p><p>hands, the deities appear in greater contrast: the irrational impulses that were once</p><p>in Apollo are now extracted and attributed to Dionysus, whose original penchant</p><p>for irrationality is now magnified to a greater degree. It would seem that Nietzsche</p><p>wants to channel the symbolism of the two deities towards abstract notions of the</p><p>rational (the Apollinian impulse) and the irrational or instinctual (the Dionysian</p><p>impulse).9</p><p>The nature of the opposites that feature in Nietzsche’s early work fall within</p><p>the categories of metaphysics, psychology and aesthetics. Nietzsche makes a claim</p><p>in metaphysics when he argues that the fundamental condition of the universe</p><p>is one of eternal flux and conflict between opposites (BT, 9). These metaphys-</p><p>ical opposites are later made analogous to opposites of a psychological nature</p><p>when Nietzsche asks the individual to reflect the condition of the universe and</p><p>promote opposition within himself (TI, ‘Morality as Anti-Nature’, 3; WP, 966).</p><p>Psychological opposition is again introduced through the effects of the tragic</p><p>performance upon the spectator and tragic artist alike; it is also linked with</p><p>metaphysics and aesthetics through the Apollinian and Dionysian, which are at the</p><p>very core of tragedy.</p><p>As we have seen, the Apollinian and Dionysian are diametrically opposed</p><p>tendencies of art, man, and life in general. There is an overlap between the</p><p>aesthetic, psychological and metaphysical aspects of these impulses:10 the</p><p>Apollinian and Dionysian have a complex significance that simultaneously covers</p><p>all three fields. On the aesthetic level, the two terms refer to any artistic or cultural</p><p>tendencies and manifestations that are the outcome of those impulses. On the</p><p>psychological level they are creative human impulses, which comprise modes of</p><p>perceiving, experiencing, expressing and responding to reality. As modes of self-</p><p>consciousness, the Apollinian impulse corresponds to feeling oneself to be distinct</p><p>from one’s environment, while the Dionysian impulse corresponds to the mental</p><p>state of feeling conjoined to the rest of reality. On the metaphysical level, they</p><p>denote the conditions of existence apprehended through the operation of the</p><p>impulses, or the impulses themselves as universal principles of the eternal cosmos.</p><p>16 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>The Apollinian designates a specific consciousness of the world, an orientation</p><p>or principle of individuation, that enables the individual to identify and relate to</p><p>objects by establishing the a priori determinations of space, time and causality that</p><p>make experience possible. The object that is experienced is an illusion that is</p><p>created by the subjective perception of the individual; the Apollinian conscious</p><p>orientation is therefore subjective. The subject–object relationship is based on</p><p>subjectivity, so that the perceived object is not the thing-in-itself, but merely the</p><p>individual’s interpretation of it. The thing-in-itself is the ‘primary unity’ (BT, 4),</p><p>that sea of contradictory impulses with no agency behind it. This metaphysical</p><p>unity is beyond experience and blindly acts upon the individual in a horrific way.</p><p>As an aesthetic impulse, the Apollinian consciousness interprets an object as</p><p>beautiful. Nietzsche’s understanding of beauty is taken from Schopenhauer</p><p>and concerns an appearance of the ideal. Thus, when the Apollinian interprets an</p><p>object as beautiful, it perceives the object’s spirit appearing through matter; the</p><p>object is beautiful because it expresses its essence. In contrast, the Dionysian is</p><p>not dependent on such subjective interpretation. According to Nietzsche, its art</p><p>form is music and, for Schopenhauer, music is the direct copy of the Will (BT, 16).</p><p>The Dionysian therefore takes the individual to the very essence of reality, and it</p><p>metaphysically transmutes him into the collective realm of unity with nature. Art</p><p>for Nietzsche is religious. Nietzsche says that artists transcend themselves: ‘In art,</p><p>man takes delight in himself as perfection’ (TI, ‘Expeditions of an Untimely Man’,</p><p>9); authentic art involves a transcendence that enriches and transforms: ‘This</p><p>compulsion to transform into the perfect is – art’ (ibid.).</p><p>The Apollinian and Dionysian are a priori structures that determine reality.</p><p>However, as objective structures, the Apollinian and Dionysian go against</p><p>Nietzsche’s insistence that opposites are not ‘rigid, complete and permanent’ but</p><p>are relative, so that ‘light and dark, bitter and sweet are attached to each other</p><p>and interlocked at any given moment like wrestlers of whom sometimes the</p><p>one, sometimes the other is on top’ (PTAG, 5).11 The Apollinian and Dionysian</p><p>impulses are diametrically opposed, ‘rigid and permanent’ structures that deter-</p><p>mine very different realities from one another; but as we have seen with Greek</p><p>tragedy, they are not so ‘detached’ from one another that they cannot relate and</p><p>‘interlock’ with each other. Nietzsche writes: ‘Polarity [is] the diverging of a force</p><p>into</p><p>two qualitatively different opposed activities that seek to reunite’ (PTAG, 5).</p><p>The opposites of the Apollinian and Dionysian are therefore dependent upon</p><p>one another. The Dionysian on its own is dangerous: it is barbaric and shatters</p><p>subjectivity; it therefore needs the Apollinian.12 Likewise Nietzsche argues that</p><p>the Apollinian achievement cannot be appreciated fully until its source of nour-</p><p>ishment, the Dionysian, is recognized. Dionysian music activates Apollinian</p><p>drama to the highest degree – the drama acquires a supreme vividness and an</p><p>intense metaphysical significance that is unattainable through words and actions</p><p>alone. Indeed, the Dionysian and Apollinian are dependent upon one another more</p><p>determinately. Only so much Dionysian experience is available to individual</p><p>consciousness as can be controlled by the Apollinian: ‘Where the Dionysian</p><p>Opposites in early Nietzsche 17</p><p>powers rise up as impetuously as we experience them now, Apollo, too, must</p><p>already have descended among us’ (BT, 25).</p><p>As psychological and aesthetic realities the Apollinian and the Dionysian are of</p><p>equal value (even if the Dionysian is more powerful once its effects are felt): ‘The</p><p>two art drives must unfold their powers in a strict proportion, according to the law</p><p>of eternal justice’ (ibid.). Or, in other words, in both creative and intellectual</p><p>undertakings, reason depends on the instincts for continuous renewal, and the</p><p>instincts depend on reason as a vehicle for their expression. On a metaphysical</p><p>level, however, they are not of equal value.13 Ontologically the Dionysian is</p><p>primary: it is the ground of the world and of all existence, and it is the original</p><p>power that calls into being the entire world of phenomena (BT, 25). In this respect</p><p>the Apollinian is secondary; it is the individuated response of the Dionysian, the</p><p>source of the illusion through which the Dionysian world must be transformed.</p><p>It is secondary even if mundane existence almost submerges the Dionysian</p><p>and allows the everyday experience of particularity and distinctions to proceed</p><p>unchallenged (BT, 1). As we saw at the beginning of this chapter, Nietzsche</p><p>believes that the ‘synthesis’ of opposites and ‘contrary drives’ generates the energy</p><p>necessary for the individual to grow and develop towards his full potential as</p><p>‘master of the earth’ (WP, 966). The correct synthesis of the Apollinian and</p><p>Dionysian is vital to the growth of the individual, and this synthesis is determined</p><p>by the law of ‘eternal justice’ (BT, 25) which corresponds to the ‘mysterious</p><p>primordial unity’ manifested in the world and in the human psyche (BT, 1) and</p><p>also to ‘the discipline of self-mastery’ (D, 109). Both justice and self-mastery are</p><p>founded upon the principle of equilibrium (WS, 22), which, in turn, is maintained</p><p>by the observance of measure, or the law of ‘strict proportion’ (BT, 25). ‘Measure</p><p>and moderation’, Nietzsche says, are ‘two very exalted things’ (AOM, 230), which</p><p>are critical in maintaining the appropriate interaction of opposites (HAH, 276). The</p><p>failure to adopt them will lead to an exaggeration of one opposite at the expense</p><p>of the other, which Nietzsche considers to be an unhealthy weakness. In response</p><p>to the question ‘who will prove to be the strongest?’ Nietzsche answers: ‘The</p><p>most moderate; those who do not require any extreme articles of faith’ (WP, 55).14</p><p>The greatest self-mastery would culminate in the maintenance of the Apollinian</p><p>and Dionysian at their most antagonistic: the most Dionysian energy that the</p><p>Apollinian can control. Likewise, the weak individual would fail to unite the two</p><p>impulses and would experience a lack of limit and proportion. Nietzsche regarded</p><p>Socratism as having created this weakness; with the advent of Socratism came the</p><p>dissolution of the powerful union of the Apollinian and the Dionysian and the</p><p>promotion of an Apollinian one-sidedness.</p><p>The rationality of Socrates created the downfall of Greek tragedy, for tragedy</p><p>became diverted from its course by a new insatiable desire for knowledge (BT,</p><p>11–15). Socrates thought that only the knowledgeable can be virtuous, and this</p><p>thought was reflected in the tragedies of Euripides, which demanded intelligibility</p><p>as a prerequisite of beauty.15 Greek drama had thereby alienated itself from</p><p>instinctive and unconscious Dionysian wisdom. Socrates had contempt for tragedy</p><p>18 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>and the instincts (BT, 13) as he thought they had no concern for truth; instead</p><p>Socrates introduced a dialectical tendency (the Platonic dialogue), which was</p><p>inherently optimistic, for it presupposed that problems of existence could be</p><p>solved by the active, rational mind. When tragedy came to an end at the end of the</p><p>fifth century, it was replaced by the ‘New Comedy’ (BT, 11) that introduced a</p><p>mundane naturalism. Comedy staged the mediocrity of ordinary life, where</p><p>characters were able to ‘speak’, to debate and philosophize; the hero, became the</p><p>cheerful slave with no responsibility or aspiration, an attitude that aspires towards</p><p>simple satisfaction in the trivialities of the passing moment.</p><p>According to Nietzsche, since Socrates Western culture has become</p><p>increasingly drawn to a one-sided Apollinian tendency. In Twilight of the Idols</p><p>(1888) Nietzsche says that through the ‘tyranny of reason’ Socrates repressed</p><p>‘the instincts’ and ‘the unconscious’ and thereby created a division within the</p><p>psyche (TI, ‘The Problem of Socrates’). This destruction of psychic integrity is the</p><p>origin of ‘bad conscience’ (GM, II). The elevation and separation of consciousness</p><p>(‘thinking, inferring, reckoning’) from the instincts (the ‘regulating, unconscious</p><p>and infallible drives’) induced ‘the gravest and uncanniest illness, from which</p><p>humanity has not yet recovered’ (GM, II, 16). This event is described by Nietzsche</p><p>as ‘an abrupt break’ and ‘sudden leap and fall’ into a new condition of existence</p><p>(ibid.), a condition of ‘decadence’ and nihilism. The problem of decadence is</p><p>essentially a problem of fragmentation and one-sidedness. In a letter to Carl Fuchs</p><p>(winter 1884–1885), Nietzsche defines it as ‘a change in perspective: the particular</p><p>is seen too sharply, the whole is seen too dully’ (Middleton, in Nietzsche, 1969,</p><p>p. 233). Socrates, in seeking to promote the Apollinian above the Dionysian, is</p><p>therefore described by Nietzsche as ‘a typical décadent’ (EH, ‘BT’, 1). Further-</p><p>more, the faith in reason over instinct leads to nihilism (BGE, 1; GM, III, 24, 25,</p><p>27), for the exaggeration of theoretical abstraction and rationality diminishes</p><p>creative vitality and takes away meaning and value from life:</p><p>The fundamental mistake is simply that, instead of understanding con-</p><p>sciousness as a tool and particular aspect of the total life, we posit it as the</p><p>standard and the condition of life that is of supreme value: it is the erroneous</p><p>perspective of a parte ad totum [from a part to the whole].</p><p>(WP, 707; see also BGE, 205; UM, IV, 8)</p><p>Nietzsche therefore seeks the ‘whole’ individual, that is, a moderated collaboration</p><p>of the Apollinian and Dionysian instincts, with as much Dionysian energy as the</p><p>Apollinian can harness. He therefore does not value the irrational over the rational,</p><p>but seeks a unification of the two.</p><p>Opposites in early Nietzsche 19</p><p>Chapter 3</p><p>Opposites in Nietzsche</p><p>post-1878</p><p>The denial of metaphysical opposites</p><p>In Chapter 2 we saw that opposites play a fundamental role in Nietzsche’s</p><p>early philosophy; Nietzsche upholds opposites that are aesthetic, metaphysical</p><p>and psychological in nature. However, from Human, All Too Human (1878)</p><p>Nietzsche’s attitude towards opposites changes dramatically; he no longer insists</p><p>on their promotion but emphatically denies their value for life. Nietzsche’s attitude</p><p>towards opposites from his ‘middle’ period onwards is ambiguous for, in direct</p><p>contrast with his early works, Nietzsche repudiates opposites because they</p><p>presuppose a metaphysical reality; and yet it is my assertion that he still values</p><p>psychological opposites. Nietzsche rejects his</p><p>previously held notion that oppo-</p><p>sites are an inextricable blend of the aesthetic, metaphysical and psychological, in</p><p>favour of one that is purely psychological.1 In this chapter I shall address the</p><p>apparent contradictions found within Nietzsche’s view of opposites. We shall</p><p>decide whether Nietzsche’s argument for psychological opposites is coherent and</p><p>valid when viewed from the wider context of his dismissal of metaphysics, or if</p><p>his argument is itself trapped within the very metaphysical confines of which he</p><p>is critical. We shall also re-examine Nietzsche’s earlier conception of opposites in</p><p>light of this later conception to determine what, if anything, can be recovered from</p><p>it in the wake of his rejection of metaphysics.</p><p>In Human, All Too Human (1878) and Beyond Good and Evil (1886), Nietzsche</p><p>equates belief in opposites with metaphysics: ‘The fundamental faith of the</p><p>metaphysicians is the faith in antithetical values’ (BGE, 2). Nietzsche argues that</p><p>philosophical problems still take the same form as they did two thousand years</p><p>ago: that is, ‘How can something originate from its opposite’ (HAH, 1). Nietzsche</p><p>claims that metaphysics answers this question by denying that ‘the one originates</p><p>from the other’,2 and thereby assumes ‘for the more highly valued thing, a</p><p>miraculous source in the very kernel and essence of the thing-in-itself’ (ibid.), and</p><p>for the unconnected lower-valued things, an uninspiring source in ‘this’ world of</p><p>mere appearance and illusion. Nietzsche regards this antithesis, which sets up a</p><p>‘true’ ideal world in opposition to ‘this’ empirically determined world, as the</p><p>principal example of what goes wrong when opposites are affirmed.3 In other</p><p>words, Nietzsche thinks the value-judgements held by metaphysicians devalue</p><p>life, for the things that they value are denied any connection with life. If their</p><p>valued things were connected with this world they would consequently lose their</p><p>value. Metaphysicians’ faith in values defined by opposition is a faith in the ascetic</p><p>ideal, a faith that things of the highest value are negations of things in this world;</p><p>human existence is deprived of value, for value resides in that which negates this</p><p>world. Likewise, knowledge for the metaphysicians is a priori, and therefore</p><p>cannot be determined empirically or be dependent upon human experience, for this</p><p>would result in a knowledge that is mistaken and illusory. This point is made</p><p>explicit by the ascetic priest who, when induced to philosophize, will vent his</p><p>‘innermost contrariness’ upon what is felt to be most real, and will therefore ‘look</p><p>for error precisely where the instinct of life most unconditionally posits truth’</p><p>(GM, I, 11). To believe in a metaphysical world, according to Nietzsche, is to</p><p>believe that our best empirical theory is radically false, and that a priori knowledge</p><p>is essentially different from that which satisfies our cognitive interests. Knowledge</p><p>of the metaphysical world would be ‘the most useless of all knowledge: more</p><p>useless even than knowledge of the chemical composition of water must be to the</p><p>sailor in danger of shipwreck’ (HAH, 9).</p><p>Nietzsche wants to separate himself from the asceticism of opposites and the</p><p>metaphysical tradition from which they arise. To confirm his intention he names</p><p>his thought ‘historical philosophy’ as a foil for ‘metaphysical philosophy’ (HAH,</p><p>1). This ‘historical philosophy’, Nietzsche writes,</p><p>which can no longer be separated from natural science, the youngest of all</p><p>philosophical methods, has discovered . . . that there are no opposites, except</p><p>in the customary exaggeration of popular or metaphysical interpretations, and</p><p>. . . a mistake in reasoning lies at the bottom of this antithesis.</p><p>(HAH, 1)</p><p>Nietzsche claims that opposites, the problem which gives rise to metaphysics, is</p><p>simply a cognitive error: metaphysical oppositions are posited in order to explain</p><p>the origin of things that are highly valued. Nietzsche attempts to undermine the</p><p>metaphysical project by demonstrating it to be cognitively superfluous. He does</p><p>this by dismissing metaphysics in favour of a more naturalistic interpretation</p><p>of things of the highest value, an explanation that reunites these things with their</p><p>apparent opposite, thereby demonstrating what was hitherto considered a highly-</p><p>valued metaphysical ideal to be ‘human, alas all too human’ (EH, ‘HAH’, 1).</p><p>Nietzsche claims that, according to his ‘historical philosophy’, ‘there exists, strictly</p><p>speaking, neither an unegoistic action nor completely disinterested contempla-</p><p>tion; both are only sublimations’ (HAH, 1). What appear to be opposites are in</p><p>fact simply different modes of the same thing, thus ‘“warm and cold” . . . are not</p><p>opposites, but differences of degree [or] transitions’ (WS, 67). Nietzsche rejects</p><p>the inference to a metaphysical world by arguing that there are no opposites,</p><p>and that things come from their apparent opposite simply through a process of</p><p>sublimation. He thereby provides an alternative answer to the metaphysician’s</p><p>Opposites in Nietzsche post-1878 21</p><p>original question (‘How can something originate in its opposite?’) and understands</p><p>metaphysics to be founded by a ‘mistake in reasoning’ – the belief that something</p><p>that is only the sublimation of another thing is really its opposite or negation.</p><p>Human, All Too Human therefore regards metaphysics as based on a simple</p><p>cognitive error: the metaphysician fails to solve the problem concerning the origin</p><p>of opposites due to mistaken observations.</p><p>Nietzsche’s refutation of opposites turns from a declaration in Human, All Too</p><p>Human to critical engagement in Beyond Good and Evil.4 While in HAH Nietzsche</p><p>is content with exposing the metaphysical world as cognitively superfluous (HAH</p><p>does not discard the metaphysical world completely),5 BGE sees him attempt to</p><p>abolish the existence of the metaphysical world altogether. In BGE, Nietzsche no</p><p>longer needs to argue that there are no opposites, or that apparent opposites are</p><p>interconnected, in order to deny a metaphysical world, for the focus is no longer</p><p>on the cognitive error of the metaphysician. Indeed, the metaphysician does not</p><p>seek a ‘true’ metaphysical world; what he seeks, according to Nietzsche, is to keep</p><p>the things he most values free from the corruption of being connected to the things</p><p>he does not value. Nietzsche writes:</p><p>It has gradually become clear to me what every great philosopher has hitherto</p><p>been: a confession on the part of its author and a kind of involuntary and</p><p>unconscious memoir; moreover, that the moral (or immoral) intentions in</p><p>every philosophy have every time constituted the real germ of life out of</p><p>which the entire plant has grown. To explain how a philosopher’s most</p><p>remote metaphysical assertions have actually been arrived at, it is always</p><p>well (and wise) to ask oneself first: what morality does this (does he –) aim</p><p>at? I accordingly do not believe a ‘drive to knowledge’ to be the father of</p><p>philosophy, but that another drive has, here as elsewhere, only employed</p><p>knowledge (and false knowledge!) as a tool</p><p>(BGE, 6)</p><p>The basis of a great philosophy for Nietzsche, therefore, can never be an innocent</p><p>cognitive error. Philosophers seek truth and knowledge not for their intrinsic value</p><p>but as instruments for what they consider to be a higher purpose. Nietzsche claims</p><p>that in the case of great philosophy, knowledge, mistakes and cognitive problems</p><p>are employed in the process of constructing the world so that it reflects the</p><p>philosopher’s values and ideals. Philosophical ‘truth’ is merely a vehicle through</p><p>which the philosopher can express his subjective interpretation and perspective on</p><p>the world; likewise, the reality of opposites,</p><p>on which the metaphysicians have set their seal, are . . . merely foreground</p><p>valuations, merely provisional perspectives, perhaps moreover the</p><p>perspectives of a hole-and-corner [clandestine and underhand].</p><p>(BGE, 2)</p><p>22 Opposites in the whole self</p><p>In HAH Nietzsche argues that the metaphysician’s fundamental concern is to</p><p>explain</p>