Stephen Gerringer
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Thank you for sharing this, Mars – though it needn’t change anything about the interpretation of a daily horoscope, unless one is in the habit of taking mythological symbols literally. They remain just as accurate (or inaccurate, depending on one’s views) as they have always been.
Of course, this is nothing new. The fact that the actual constellations that lay along the Sun’s elliptic as viewed from Earth do change position over time is something astrologers/astronomers have been aware of as long as they have been looking at the stars. Just as the Sun follows that path, so too the constellations from our perspective also appear to revolve around the Earth, albeit much more slowly. Where it only takes the Sun 365 and 1/4 days to complete a revolution, the full cycle of a zodiacal or Platonic year takes 25,920 years to return to its starting point. This is sometimes called “the precession of the equinoxes.”
When humans first started keeping detailed records of the positions of planets and stars thousands of years ago, the spring equinox (March 20 or 21) occurred when the Sun was in Aries. But the spring equinox stays in one sign only some 2,160 years (there is no sharp dividing line between one constellation and another, so it’s impossible to be exact; it’s not like the equinox changes from one sign to another at 3:14 on a Thursday in March in 2 B.C.).
So somewhere around the birth of Christ, give or take a century, the spring equinox moved from Aries into Pisces (given the overlap between the Piscean Age and the advent of Christianity, it may be more than coincidence that one of the early secret signs that persecuted Christians used in the first and second centuries to recognize one another was the simple drawing of a fish – astrology carried a lot more weight back in those days).
And then, right about now, the spring equinox is in the process of moving from Pisces into Aquarius, though exactly when that happens is a bit imprecise, for the reasons mentioned above; it maybe already has, or is just about to (hence the popular song in the U.S. from the sixties hippie rock opera, Hair: “This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius!”).
So even though I consider myself a Gemini, the Sun was actually in Taurus or maybe even Aries, and definitely not Gemini, when I was born – but that doesn’t mean I’m reading the wrong horoscope.
What the constellations originally marked was the time of year one was born – for me, late spring. I don’t find it any surprise that my personality and character traits overlap to a degree with others born the same time of year, or that my personality traits are very different from those of someone born in the dead of winter, or the heat of summer. Those are characteristics that have long been been associated with Geminis. Sure enough, I identify with those traits, and exhibited them long before I paid attention to signs and horoscopes – so I don’t see any need to upend tradition.
But do keep in mind astrology is more art than science, more poetry than algebra, relying heavily on the powers of the human imagination.
As Joseph Campbell observes about oracles (in a discussion of the I Ching),
The seeker is supposed to look for some sort of correspondence between all of this and his own case, the method of thought throughout being that of a broadly flung association of ideas. One has to feel, not think, one’s way into these secrets, letting each symbol grow into a cosmos of associated themes.”
Joseph Campbell, Masks of God, Vol. II: Oriental Mythology (revised edition c. 2021, p. 394)
Science has no more to do with that than it does telling us how we should feel about Picasso’s Guernica or Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. What counts for me is that astrology is a useful tool for reimagining and mythologizing my life.
But then, what else would you expect from a Gemini?
😄Philspar – one further anecdote re synchronicity. The same day I responded to your comment, sitting in that Airbnb in Harlem (3,000 miles away from my usual haunts), I received an email from a colleague looking up background of Campbell’s attendance in 1936 at an Orson Welles production of MacBeth staged in Harlem, funded by the WPA, with an all black cast (he was looking for info on how Campbell would have traveled to the event).
Unbeknownst to my correspondent, I was at that moment staying just blocks away from the site of the play (the long since razed Lafayette Theatre), and, on my arrival from Connecticut, had disembarked at the same Harlem-125th Street train station as Campbell.
I doubt this coincidence would have seemed meaningful to most people – but it bore significance for me. Nothing earthshaking, no major realizations, but a sweet sense of affirmation about it. Though my trip wasn’t intended to be Campbell-centric, there were all sorts of little synchronicities along this line throughout my time in New York (including an unexpected morning wandering the Columbia University campus where Joe matriculated, again just blocks from my lodging, as well six hours in the American Museum of Natural History (which during childhood fueled young Joe’s interest in all things Native American, as well as his love of science) and a visit to the New York Public Library (where Campbell began his research for every single book he wrote)
. . . nice little reminders of the path I walk.
Robert – I covered this title in a new post in this thread, and then I saw your question, so I’ll refer you to the brief review below of When Brains Dream: Exploring the Science & Mystery of Sleep by Antonio Zadra and Robert Stickgold (c. 2021). These two brain researchers share the most up-to-date science on the subject – a truly fascinating read.
Another incredibly helpful book on Dreams:
When Brains Dream: Exploring the Science & Mystery of Sleep by Antonio Zadra and Robert Stickgold (c. 2021)
I picked up this just published volume on the Yale campus a little over two weeks ago, and was immediately smitten, consuming much of it on a train to New York, and this past weekend over on the lengthy flight home to California. Zadra is a professor at the University of Montreal and a key researcher at the Center for Advanced Sleep in Medicine (he’s appeared on Nova on PBS and the BBC’s Horizon), and Stickgold is a professor at Harvard Medical School, and director of the Center for Sleep and Cognition – his writing has appeared in Scientific American and Newsweek.
Almost every single page is chock full of scientific info I did not know about the dream cycle, the physiological functions dream (from “housekeeping tasks” for the brain, to memory retention and more), as well as a survey of the field, discussions of Freud, Jung, and ways of working with dream. This is the most up-to-date science as to what dream researchers do know about dreams, what they suspect, and what mysteries remain . . . well worth the price.
Sunbug writes
Could one suppose when Parzeval was worried about ‘What others will think of me?’ That was coming from ‘ego’?
And when he ‘let that be,’ he could hear the Inner Call to something greater: the NEED for the Question which healed the land?”I believe you have articulated the heart of the matter, Sunbug (not that Wolfram von Eschenbach or the other Grail authors knew what the ego is in terms of the vocabulary of depth psychology, but that indeed seems the dynamic at work here).
Ego, essentially, is “I,” “me,” my perception of myself. What I believe others may think of me is definitely an ego concern. But compassion (Latin com – “with,” plus passion – “suffering”: “suffering with”), exemplified in the question “What ails thee?”, steps outside ego concerns.
Hello Tiago,
Please forgive the lag in my response. Your initial post coincided with my departure from California for Connecticut and New York City, a two week vacation with my wife and godson, which kept me away from the forums.
An argument could be made for each of the three terms you propose. I’m a little reticent about Symbolic Mythology, which may be overly broad: symbolism is embedded in every myth, so might not do enough to distinguish Campbell’s approach in a reader’s mind.
Personally, I like Perennial Mythology, but can see how that might require a detailed Perennial Philosophy 101 tutorial, as understood by Alduous Huxley and Ananda Coomaraswamy, or Marsilio and the neo-Platonists, among others.
Depth Mythology is apt, but could be just as difficult to explain (despite the resonance with depth psychology, most people, even those who have heard of Freud or Jung or Adler or Hillman and others, do not necessarily know what depth psychology is).
One possibility I could see is calling Campbell’s approach Archetypal Mythology – particularly given Campbell’s emphasis on recurring mythological motifs in myths across cultures. Many people who have never heard of the Perennial Philosophy or Depth Psychology have at least a vague notion of the term “archetype,” which is central to Campbell’s understanding, and relatively easy to explain (everyone understands the idea of “patterns” – I think of Ruth Benedict’s epic Patterns of Culture.)
But the term I’ve personally used most frequently the past couple decades to describe Campbell’s approach is Experiential Mythology. A living myth is not just an abstract tale, but the warp and woof of a culture – the fabric of life, as experienced by members of that culture. Similarly, Campbell’s emphasis on the Hero’s Journey and discovering one’s personal mythology is focused on the actual experience of the mythological dynamics of one’s life.
Obviously, “experiential mythology” has not caught on. I expect a generally accepted term will emerge over time, but imagine it will more likely be something Campbell-centric (in the way people refer to Jungian psychology, even though that’s a subset of depth psychology): maybe the Campbellian school of myth . .
Thanks, Shaheda,
Sidian makes a power point with his example of how dreams offer a glimpse into, and a means of engaging, our personal mythology.
Out of the myriad dreams I have recorded, the dream series I shared above proved pivotal my understanding of how dreams work. One can read all of what Jung, Hillman, and others say on the subject, but it’s all abstract until we see how those dynamics play out in our own experience of the dream world.
Thank you for sharing your insight about your own dream image. Makes sense – something in the underworld of the unconscious is frightening. As you note, the exterior world “promises peace, strength, security.” Adding a layer to that, one could observe that it’s becoming aware of that threat from within that you arrive at a place in harmony with nature (and indeed, what is the unconscious but part of the natural world – it’s only threatening to ego, one’s sense of oneself).
And I love your response: I trust your foray into active imagination aided that embrace of, and comfort with, the unconscious.
Hi Shaahayda,
I’ll field that question (I just arrived at our Airbnb in Harlem, and am about to go have an “experience,” but thought I would take a minute to check in).
The book has long been out of print. Those prices aren’t Amazon prices – they are third party book sellers Amazon allows on their platform for out-of-print books. The range of prices depends on the condition of the book, so you need to check each individual description. The highest price might be never used like new, and the lowest price might be used and in poor condition. When I’m buying from third party sellers, what I purchase depends on what I’m looking for – if I just want a copy to read and mark up, maybe a low priced used book in good condition will work; if it’s something I want to last forever (like one of Jung’s collected works, or his rare dream seminar volume) I’m willing to pay more for one in better condition.
We have no more control over those prices than what someone at a garage sale charges for a Joseph Campbell volume they own.
However, the Campbell essay that’s in “In All Her Names” is the one on the number of the Goddess in Campbell’s The Mythic Dimension, so if you just want the Joe essay, that’s the volume you want (also available as an Ebook through JCF).
Hey Philspar,
In reply to your questions re synchronicitities (“Are these well-timed & coincidental observations also our human mind projecting significance and looking for connections and patterns? Or could these actually be messages coming from outside the recipient from ‘elsewhere’?”), my answer to both would be yes.
To fully grok the mythic imagination, the ability to embrace paradox is a must.
That’s the short answer. There’s a longer one wanting to emerge, but I’m sitting an Airbnb in Harlem, about to go have an experience . . .
Current favorite quote today:
The waters of the fountains of inspiration dispensed to artists by the Muses, the liquor in the little pails of the guides and guardians of the mysteries, the drink of the gods, and the distillate of love are the same, in various strengths, to wit, ambrosia (Sanskrit, ‘amrta,’ ‘immortality’), the potion of deathless life experienced here and now. It is milk, it is wine, it is tea, it is coffee, it is anything you like, when drunk with a certain insight–life itself, when experienced from a certain depth and height.”
Joseph Campbell, in Creative Mythology (Vol. IV of The Masks of God), p. 80
So many places we could go, so little time (too many balls in the air for me at the moment to devote the time I would like to this discussion).
Bouncing back briefly to my initial post, I do appreciate Jung’s lifelong struggle to come to terms with Christianity – and it was lifelong, starting with his earliest years – not just recalling how much “I hated going to church” in Memories, Dreams, Reflections, but recounting a pivotal daydream on the cusp of adolescence, when he spent days trying to repress a fantasy image of God on his golden throne in heaven dropping a divine turd on the local cathedral below, shattering its roof, and triggering thoughts he was still working out in Aion, “Answer to Job,” and Mysterium Coniunctionis some sixty-odd years later.
I do agree that we are products of our culture, which has been shaped by our myths and our history. Even if we push back against that, reject it, we still have to take it into account, a point James Hillman makes in an interview with Italian psychologist and author Laura Pozzo
L.P. We are not practicing Christians. . . .
J.H. Yes, we are, because we are behaving Christians, we behave Christianity––we suffer in a Christian way, we judge in a Christian way, we regard ourselves in a Christian way. We have to see this, or we remain unconscious, and that means our unconscious is primarily Christianity. Psychotherapy can’t move anything, anybody anywhere, until it sees this Christian unconsciousness and that is why Freud had to attack religion and Jung had to try to move Christianity. ” (Inter Views 78)
But our culture and its institutions are a product of Greek myth and culture as well. Our democracy has its origins in Athens, not Jerusalem – on Mars Hill rather than Golgotha. For generations, our children have learned about Greek myths and the Norse pantheon in school (reinforced by popular culture), rather than Hindu mythology or African tales (though those are finally appearing in education and media as well).
This too is our mytho-history.
Christianity’s core texts were originally written in Greek, drawing on prevailing mythological motifs (for instance, the resonance between the Apostle Paul and the imagery of the Greek mystery religions) . . . but Christianity literalized the myths (in the primary definition of the verb).
As Hillman notes,
“. . unlike Buddhism, say, or even Judaism, Christianism lives myths deliberately, insisting they are not myths, and this has dreadful paranoid consequences. We see it in the ego-self axis: this is a mythical fiction, but it is presented as empirical fact.” (Inter Views 84)
Why do I keep returning to the concept of mytho-history? Well, on the one hand, I believe mytho-history is a concept central to your understanding – and when readers understand what this is and why it’s a key concept, I believe it clears up much of the “obscurantism” you note has been laid at your door. However, it’s likely many who read your current essay might not have read others of yours referencing the same concept, and even fewer may have seen the COHO thread this winter where you discussed this, so it’s worth bringing up again, for I find yours a fresh, complex, and nuanced perspective worth sharing.
At the same time, what intrigues me about the concept of mytho-history is the path it offers believers out of an exclusively literal interpretation of the Judeo-Christian narrative. What I wonder is at work here – what is this image intending to convey? I mentioned in my previous post some relatively conservative theologians, like William Lane Craig, who are now open to mythologizing some aspects of Christian belief. Will this continue, with mytho-history perhaps growing in acceptance, or at least being able to co-exist alongside a more fundamentalist theology – or will it fade away? No idea – but I do believe this embrace of mythologization is a plus (mythologizing going on all the time, in all of us and each of us and the collective culture as well, under the surface anyway).
Jung certainly mythologized the Christian message. I do love his work, but one of the reasons I embrace Hillman is that, like him, I see Jung’s idea of the Self as sharing a more-or-less monotheistic perspective with Christianity. The idea of a unitary Self is a useful tool, but that does not strike me as the goal of psyche;I embrace the plurality of the self, and the many Gods, not just One (not that I exclude the one who thinks He – or They – is the only One).
But that’s just my perspective. I am loving hearing your thoughts, and learning from you – which is the idea behind “conversations of a higher order” – we all have much to teach and learn from each other.
Campbell touches on this in the brief introduction to “The Cities of God,” Chapter Two of Oriental Mythology (the second volume in The Masks of God series).
And then here is a brief statement about the transition from the earlier perspective held by primal peoples and shamanic culture to the second, world-negating reversal of that attitude:
“From what we know of the temper of early cultures, it is safe to assume that the myths, rites, and philosophies first associated with these symbols were rather positive than negative in their address to the pains and pleasures of existence. However, in the period of Pythagoras in Greece (c. 582–500? b.c.) and the Buddha in India (563–483 B.C.), there occurred what I have called the Great Reversal.”
Life became known as a fiery vortex of delusion, desire, violence, and death, a burning waste. ‘All things are on fire,’ taught the Buddha in his sermon at Gaya, and in Greece the Orphic saying ‘Soma sema: The body is a tomb’ gained currency at this time, while in both domains the doctrine of reincarnation, the binding of the soul forever to this meaningless round of pain, only added urgency to the quest for some means of release. In the Buddha’s teaching, the image of the turning spoked wheel, which in the earlier period had been symbolic of the world’s glory, thus became a sign, on one hand, of the wheeling round of sorrow, and, on the other, release in the sunlike doctrine of illumination. And in the classical world the turning spoked wheel appeared also at this time as an emblem rather of life’s defeat and pain than of victory and exhilaration in the image and myth of Ixion (Figure 68), bound by Zeus to a blazing wheel of eight spokes, to be sent whirling for all time through the air.” (Creative Mythology 420)
And then in the essay entitled “Mythological Themes in Creative Literature and Art” in The Mythic Dimension, in the very first section on “The Four Functions of Mythology,” Campbell also addresses these three perspectives. (The third appears in the prevailing Judeo-Christian belief system that has played such a role in shaping so much of modern culture today: Christianity generally doesn’t embrace the natural world and our natural impulses – nor do they renounce it; rather, the dominant attitude is one of a need to “correct” or fix nature.)
You can also purchase and download Audio Lecture I.2.1 – The Thresholds of Mythology – and to hear Joseph Campbell discuss this.
I’m sure there are more, but that’s all I can come up with at the moment. I trust that helps, Tiago.
Hi Sidian,
Considering “Personal Mythology” is in the title, I moved this into the Exploring Your Personal Mythology forum for housekeeping purposes (though, with a different title, it could have fit nicely as well in the Myths, Dreams, Reflections forum).
Dreams are indeed the royal road into the unconscious. As Joseph Campbell observed (which of course you know), “Myths are public dreams; dreams are private myths.”
I love the way your correspondent’s own dream provided an image to help her deal with the shadow energies constellated in her nightmares – and the example of using active imagination you supplied, drawing on a sharkskin dreamsuit that offers her protection.
Over the past three decades I have recorded more than 1,000 dreams in a dozen dream journals, and have many examples I could share. The following, though, is an early one that made a deep impression on me:
Roughly 28 years ago I was nearing the end of what proved to be a brief fling with “Julie,” who, at twenty-three, was thirteen years my junior (relationship in lieu of a sporty red convertible?). Ours was a tenuous mismatch that could not sustain Julie’s interest; however, infatuated and in denial, I was the only member in my circle of friends who did not anticipate the inevitable.
Then, one night, I dreamt I was invisible, and had broken into a large warehouse, a place I did not belong. The night watchman glances inside, but cannot see me as I dash into a room off the main hall (I remain invisible even to myself). However, the Watchman releases the guard dog, a large, menacing, black Doberman, to sweep the building. The dog enters the room where I hide and somehow senses me: bristling and vicious, it tries to attack – so I bludgeon the beast to death with a fire extinguisher!
(Not my typical behavior – as St. Augustine said, thank God we can’t be held accountable for our dreams!)
I found this imagery disturbing. Here is a snarling black dog, a gatekeeper of sorts, which threatens me. I couldn’t help but think of Cerberus, the sharp-fanged, triple-headed, black hound guarding the entrance to Hades.
Could it be that I can’t “see” myself because of something I am unconscious of – and this content in my unconscious (clad in the skin of that vicious, snarling Doberman) appears so threatening to ego (my sense of myself) that I forcefully, violently repress it?
But I had no idea what, specifically, I could not see in waking life (I guess that’s why it’s called the unconscious), so I decided to sleep on it.
Two nights later I dreamt that I was at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into a dark subway tunnel – and somewhere loose in the tunnel is a large, silver-gray timber wolf. I slip quietly down the steps and carefully close and latch a huge cage door at the bottom of the stairs, thinking to lock the wolf in the subway . . . but when I turn around, I realize the wolf waits for me at the top of the stairs – I have locked it out with me, in the daylight world!
Notice how the image of the black Doberman, bred to be vicious and deadly, has morphed into a silver wolf, a creature more in tune with nature – suggesting a subtle shift in accent – though what is unknown, what must emerge from below, is still threatening enough to ego that I want to keep it locked in the unconscious (the subway). However, working with the earlier dream, going into the underworld of the unconscious, playing with and reflecting on its images (suggested by that hesitant descent into the subway) served to release what is repressed into the light of day.
As I pondered the second dream, I gradually realized that I had been denying the reality of my collapsing relationship. After several days of reflection I finally opened an honest discussion with Julie, and we came to a mutual parting of the ways. Yes, it was awkward and uncomfortable – but, had I continued to ignore the relationship’s trajectory, I would have felt shattered and heartbroken, perhaps reacting in blind desperation, and facing far deeper, longer lasting wounds. Instead, I was surprised to feel a measure of bittersweet relief.
That night the dream series wrapped up with me walking out of Julie’s shower and across the street. Though in the dream it was about 4 a.m., there were two workmen, wearing overalls, on hands and knees in the gutter clearing out the debris clogging the storm drain. A golden retriever puppy nipped playfully at their heels while they worked. The workmen found the happy pup a bit distracting, but were more amused than irritated.
Hmm . . . undertaking this interior work clears an obstruction in my psyche and shifts my perspective, thus inaugurating a change in circumstance in waking life.
Keep in mind that I am by no means a qualified psychotherapist, but am simply speaking from my own experience. Certainly this dream series addresses the personal level Campbell mentions to Moyers in The Power of Myth (e.g. “Will I marry this girl?”); nevertheless, the archetypal level is represented as well. Notice how mythological themes play through the dreams, and how, though details of an image may differ from dream to dream – depending on what is being emphasized – the underlying motif remains in play: the snarling Doberman, the aloof timber wolf, and the playful golden puppy are all different inflections of the same archetypal pattern (Cerberus/Anubis; dog as psychopomp or guide of souls, etc.); similarly, the warehouse, the subway, and the storm drain all suggest the Underworld of the unconscious.
And making the unconscious conscious, tending to my dreams and bringing those dream contents into awareness, observing them, working with them, midwifed resolution of impending crisis in the waking world.
Even though the details of that brief, romantic relationship have faded into memory, Julie became one of my closest friends – but, just as important, the recurring and enduring nature of archetypal patterns in dream and myth remain etched in awareness yet today.
Thanks, Larry,
for sharing your experience of Jungian analysis, which is such a useful tool for reflection.
Of course, it’s not an either/or situation; reflection can take many forms (the word-limit placed on MythBlast essays makes it difficult for Professor Peterson to explore every possibility). Transpersonal psychologists are also helpful in providing guidance; within the Twelve Step tradition, many find their sponsor and the collective meetings invaluable aids in reflection (indeed, considering Jung’s influence in the founding of Alcoholics Anonymous, no surprise that program fosters deep reflection that can transform one’s life).
For myself, the past three decades I scribble anywhere from 2,000 to 5,000 words a month of reflections in my personal journal. It took a lot of work to be able to let go and trust the process to bypass ego, but this has made all the difference for me (amazing the depth of wisdom in one’s own soul, once we learn to step out of our own way). As Campbell notes, the mentor within (what Campbell’s and Jung’s good friend Heinrich Zimmer termed “the regent within”) has much to offer.
But, especially when starting out and facing the Gorgon’s gaze, an outer guide, like your Jungian analyst, is so essential to, as you put it, evade “avoidance and deflection” and help us push through those barriers.
