Chapter 6: Sun Worship
If one honors God, the sun or the fire, then one honors one's own vital force, the libido.
-- C. G. Jung, Psychology of the Unconscious, 1911
Not even the most recent scientific discoveries ... which teach us how we live, and move, and have our being in the sun, how we bum it, how we breathe it, how we feed on it-give us any idea of what this source of light and life, this silent traveller, this majestic ruler, this departing friend or dying hero, in his daily or yearly course, was to the awakening consciousness of mankind. People wonder why so much of the old mythology, the daily talk, of the Aryans, was solar: -- what else could it have been?
-- Friedrich Max Muller, Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion, 1878
What I am now about to say I consider to be of the greatest importance for all things "that breathe and move upon the earth" ... but above all others it is of importance to myself. For I am a follower of King Helios. And of this fact I possess within me, known to myself alone, proofs more certain than I can give. But this, at least, I am permitted to say without sacrilege, that from my childhood an extraordinary longing for the rays of the god penetrated deep into my soul.
-- Julian, Emperor of Rome, "Hymn to King Helios," 362 C.E.
Who can possibly understand the true source of the archaic, rejuvenating energies that pulsed through C. G. Jung in the years following his encounters with Otto Gross and Sabina Spielrein? Not only did sexual energy surge through him with a power that frightened him, but terrifying, decidedly Wagnerian visions of Teutonic figures such as Wotan and Siegfried and of the cosmic dramas of Greek mythology dominated both his waking fantasies and his nocturnal dreams. He had been a man who prided himself on the rational control of his thoughts, of his ability to maintain composure in the face of psychosis, a man who devalued a spontaneous fantasy life as weak, sick, repulsive. But soon he found that he could not regulate the swirling modem chaos in his own psyche.
Between September 1909, when it was clear that the transformational process had begun, and September 1912, when he published his confirmation of his loss of faith in Freud and in the Judeo-Christian god, Jung's attitude toward the unconscious mind changed profoundly. At first believing the unconscious mind to be an entirely personal and individual warehouse of memories, he came to see it as the source of ancestral wishes and tendencies -- and even experiences -- that were inherited biologically through a type of vitalistic mechanism, a generalized life-force called the libido. By September 1912 he made it clear to Freud and to his own circle in Zurich that this powerful energy of life was not only the sex drive, as Freud had maintained, but should be viewed as a more generalized force of nature whose currents carried ancestral spiritual longings through biological channels.
During these three years, Jung developed the idea that the unconscious mind was the result of a long, phylogenetic, evolutionary process. Just as the human body is a living museum of evolutionary history, so too is the human psyche. And since the most potent ideas of human concern are religious ones, we should discover the spiritual symbols of our ancestors deep within the unconscious mind of each individual. That is, looking at the evolutionary development of the human species, the most recent, and therefore most powerful, influences on present human experience would be racial or tribal ones. In Jung's new view, religious needs were biologically based. The peoples of pagan antiquity, closer to our prehistoric ancestors, celebrated their sexuality in their spirituality and were therefore less plagued by neuroses and psychoses than modem Europeans. Jung forged these insights into the theory that a life could only be meaningful if one's religious beliefs and sexual practices resonated with those of one's racial ancestors.
Polygamy unblocked the rays of this inner source of light and heat that had been eclipsed by centuries of monotheism and the monogamy crushingly demanded by Judeo-Christianity. Otto Gross had taught him that, but Gross fused this knowledge of the morally corrosive effect of polygamy with efforts to bring about an associated change in political consciousness and thereby incite revolution and anarchy. What Jung desired instead were additional psychotherapeutic methods to effect spiritual rebirth. He sought potent new symbols of transformation to bring about changes of consciousness in large numbers of people. He became increasingly certain of his own destiny as the man who would deliver such redemption to humanity but was uncertain of the means of achieving it. After a dream pointed the way, he knew the secret he was looking for was buried in the accounts of pagan regeneration.
Once Jung charged down this intellectual path there was no stopping him. To be sure, a multitude of others had preceded him on this quest. In German Europe at that time legions of scientists and artists, bohemians and bourgeoisie, were fervently seeking much the same thing. And, when we listen carefully to their voices through the cacophony of historical events that took shape beginning in 1933, we can hear the faint singing of their hymns to the sun."I often feel 1am wandering alone through a strange country"
It all began with a dream aboard the ship that carried Jung and Freud back to Europe after they attended the Clark University Conference in September 1909. Jung found himself descending layer by layer -- spatially and temporally -- into the foundations of a large old house. As the story is told in MDR, Jung left a "rococo style salon" on the top floor for a fifteenth- or sixteenth-century dwelling on the ground floor.  He then descended a stone stairway that led to a room from "Roman times," and then farther down to a "low cave cut into the rock" where, at the lowest levels, he found the remnants of a primitive culture: pottery, scattered human bones, and "two human skulls."
In MDR, Jung credits this dream for giving him his first idea of a collective unconscious. In a 1925 lecture in which he gave a slightly different version of it, he told his audience that he had "a strongly impersonal feeling about the dream," indicating, at least to him, that it was less a product of his own personal unconscious than something akin to a message from the great beyond.  Later in life he told E. A. Bennett something different that calls into question the mystical nature of Jung's interpretation. In Bennett's account, Jung associates the supposedly "impersonal" material from the collective unconscious with some very personal thoughts: "When he reflected on it," wrote Bennett, "later the house had some associations in his mind with his uncle's very old house in Basel which was built in the old moat of the town and had two cellars; the lower one was very dark and like a cave."  In any event, the dream did stir something in Jung that put him on a different track entirely.
Immediately after his return home, Jung began to visit archeological sites so that he could observe ongoing excavations. He began an intensive study of mythology and Hellenistic spiritual practices in the classical scholarship of his day. "Archeology or rather mythology has got me in its grip," Jung wrote to Freud on October 14, 1909.  This became a familiar theme in their correspondence over the next two and a half years.
As a boy, Jung had wanted to become a classical philologist or an archeologist. His newfound project reawakened these childhood fantasies. "All my delight in archeology (buried for years) has sprung into life again," he told Freud.  Soon, however, his study of mythology took on an almost obsessive quality, and mythological figures began to intrude in his daily fantasies and dreams. On February 20,1910, he told Freud, "All sorts of things are cooking in me, mythology in particular."  By April 17, he was afraid of the effect that his researches might have been having on his mental state: "At present I am pursuing my mythological dreams with almost autoerotic pleasure, dropping only meager hints to my friends .... I often feel I am wandering alone through a strange country, seeing wonderful things that no one else has seen before and no one needs to see .... I don't yet know what will come of it. I must just let myself be carried along, trusting to God that in the end I shall make a landfall somewhere."  By February 15, 1912, Jung was in a panic. "I am having grisly fights with the hydra of mythological fantasy and not all its heads are cut off yet. Sometimes I feel like calling for help when I am too hard-pressed by the welter of material. So far I have suppressed the urge." 
Jung's efforts were not in vain. Even as early as the end of November 1909 it was clear that he had developed a new theory for psychoanalysis that would have profound racial implications for its future.The phylogenetic unconscious
In the spring of 1909, Jung had resigned from his post at the Burgholzli and saw patients privately in his consulting room at his new home in Kusnacht, approximately seven miles southeast of Zurich. Although not a move of great distance spatially, it was for Jung, psychologically. From his new home on Lake Zurich, in a letter to Sigmund Freud, Jung outlined for the very first time the contours of his new racial theory of the unconscious:
I feel more and more that a thorough understanding of the psyche (if possible at all) will only come through history or with its help. Just as an understanding of anatomy and ontogenesis is possible only on the basis of phylogenesis and comparative anatomy. For this reason, antiquity now appears to me in a new and significant light. What we now find in the individual psyche -- in compressed, stunted, or one-sidedly differentiated form -- may be seen spread out in all its fullness in times past. Happy is the man who can read these signs! The trouble is that our philology has been as hopelessly inept as our psychology. Each has failed the other. 
By Christmas, Jung had employed the assistance of one of his young psychiatrists at the Burgholzli, Johann Jakob Honegger. As he told Freud (December 25, 1909), he entrusted to Honegger everything that he knew "so that something good may come of it." By now Jung was even more convinced that he was on the verge of a breakthrough, for he was having "the most marvelous visions, glimpses of far-ranging interconnections which I am at present incapable of grasping." Again he confirmed to Freud the new direction of his thinking: "It has become quite clear to me that we shall not solve the ultimate secrets of neurosis and psychosis without mythology and the history of civilization, for embryology goes hand in hand with comparative anatomy." 
One of Jung's strengths -- and indeed his "genius" -- was his remarkable ability to synthesize highly complex and seemingly unrelated fields of inquiry. Early in his career, Jung attempted to use the lessons learned from his experimental researches using the word-association test to explain the phenomenon of hysterical "repressions" in psychoanalysis and the alternate personalities of "spirits" that arose during mediumistic trances. His theory that the normal human mind was made up of unconscious complexes -- semiautonomous clusters of images, thoughts, and feelings organized around a specific motif or thematic core -- was his overarching explanation for these phenomena. Later, when he first consciously identified himself with Freud and the psychoanalytic movement, he tried to integrate that complex theory with psychoanalysis in a wide range of publications, his most famous being a small book on the psychology of dementia praecox. 
By November 1909, Jung's clinical experience had stimulated him to cast his intellectual net even wider. What Jung already saw as his intellectual "project" was nothing less than a grand synthesis of psychoanalysis with evolutionary biology, archeology, and comparative philology. If Jung found a way to integrate psychoanalysis with these esteemed sciences, so revered as the finest of German scientific contributions to the world in the late nineteenth century, it would be a coup of major proportions for the psychoanalytic movement. It would confirm Freud and Jung's claims that psychoanalysis was a science that could spur the development of insights in other disciplines. With its analysis of word associations as a method of recovering the past of an individual, the techniques of psychoanalysis perhaps most resemble those of comparative philology, which attempts to recover the original cultural and linguistic forms. And, like psychoanalysis, philologists, too, are interested in how the laws of language seem to be related -- or are identical -- with the laws governing the operation of the mind. It is no wonder that Freud encouraged Jung along these paths, but it was a project that would ultimately rend psychoanalysis -- at least in Switzerland -- along ethnic and racial lines.
Jung wasted no time. He gave his psychiatric assistants extensive reading assignments from the works of classicists, archeologists and philologists on the mythological systems of pagan antiquity. Two of them -- Spielrein and Jan Nelken -- published extensively documented articles making use of their knowledge of mythology to analyze the hallucinations and delusions of patients with dementia praecox. Honegger was the first to present his findings in public at a conference in 1910. A fourth disciple from an asylum outside Zurich, Carl Schneiter, entered the picture a bit later and published a similar vindication of Jung's views in 1914. 
Jung assigned his assistants to go into the back wards of their respective asylums and collect mythological material from psychotic patients, almost as if each new hallucination or delusion was an exotic new species of flora or fauna to analyze and catalog. Until Jung assigned them books on mythology, it is a safe bet that these young physicians had little formal training in mythology or archeology. Armed with their new knowledge, they entered the wards and found exactly what Jung told them to look for: ancient pagan gods in the unconscious of their patients.
And the ones they found most often in the most "regressed" psychotic patients -- just as Jung said they would -- were various pre-Christian solar deities: sun gods.Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido
Jung's psychiatric assistants funneled new clinical material to him that confirmed the presence of pre-Christian mythological motifs in psychotic patients. Jung immediately put this wealth of evidence into his magnum opus, which would put him and psychoanalysis on the map. First published as two long articles in a psychoanalytic journal in 1911 and 1912, Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido (Transformations and symbols of the libido) appeared as one book in the latter year. 
It is a strange book. It was judged so in its day and it remains so now. Without the proper keys to unlock the book's argument, the reader is hopelessly lost. However, to Jung's disciples -- and to the mystically minded from all quarters of bohemia -- it was received as a stunning revelation, a celebration of neopagan life.
Jung's book has at least two separate agendas and can be read in at least two ways: first, as an attempt to syncretize the methodology of psychoanalysis with those of the esteemed sciences of comparative philology, comparative mythology, and evolutionary biology; second, as a blending of different philosophies of regeneration or rebirth. Psychoanalysis thus became not only a science but also a path of cultural and individual revitalization -- which, indeed, it had become for Jung by the time he started the book in 1910. 
The writing of this book mirrored a transformation process in Jung himself, the result of which was the loss of his Christian identity and the development of a compensating new vital experience of God. Jung's starting point was a small article published by an unusual American woman, Miss Frank Miller, which contained a series of poetic musings and accounts of her personal visions.  She had all the gifts of a spiritualist medium, and she knew it. Many of her visions and experiences could even be interpreted as evidence of reincarnation or of a spirit world. However, after studying in Geneva for a time with Theodore Flournoy, she decided to write an article demonstrating that all of the material arising spontaneously from her "creative imagination" could be traced to things she had previously seen, read, or heard. In effect, she was writing to support Flournoy's thesis that all creative productions were the result of new combinations of previously memorized material whose source had long been forgotten -- in other words, cryptomnesia.
Jung took Frank Miller's visions and poetry and argued just the opposite: that these could not possibly have been the creation of new combinations of hidden memories but instead were evidence of a phylogenetic layer of the unconscious mind that could produce pre-Christian symbols from pagan antiquity. From the time the first part of Wandlungen appeared in a journal in 1911, Jung never again entertained the possibility that mythological content in his patients' dreams or psychotic symptoms were anything but evidence of a phylogenetic or "collective" unconscious layer of the human mind.Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny
The basic theory of Wandlungen is based on the famous formula "ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny," popularized at the end of the nineteenth century by the German zoologist and evolutionary biologist Ernst Haeckel, who almost single-handedly introduced Darwinism to the German public. Haeckel actively promoted the notion that evolution was progressive and purposeful. His biological theories were a blend of Darwinism, Lamarckianism, and the old German Romantic biology of Goethe. Haeckel was the first to argue -- as Jung would analogously about psychoanalysis -- that biology was first and foremost a historical science, involving the historical (not experimental) methodologies of embryology, paleontology, and especially phylogeny.
Jung's favorite areas of study in medical school were comparative morphology and evolutionary theory -- areas that Haeckel dominated. Jung's fascination with Haeckel predates medical school, however. In MDR he tells of a dream in which he found a great circular pool in a forest clearing. In this pool, "half immersed in the water lay the strangest and most wonderful creature: a round animal, shimmering in opalescent hues, and consisting of innumerable little cells, or of organs shaped like tentacles. It was a giant radiolarian, measuring about three feet across."  To Jung, this dream was a prophetic message from beyond, presaging a destiny as a natural scientist and physician. Haeckel's exquisite color illustrations of radiolaria had appeared in popular science books and magazines, and we know that Jung read such magazines as a teenager. He could have picked up his knowledge of radiolaria only from Haeckel. 
What is so unusual about this dream, however, is its incongruity with reality, never explained in MDR or in any of the scores of Jungian retellings of this magical story. A radiolarian is a tiny sea organism enclosed in an intricate spherical -- and beautiful -- exoskeleton. But it is a microscopic organism; one cannot see a radiolarian clearly with the naked eye. There are no three-foot long radiolaria as magnified in the sacred monster of Jung's dream. The inflation of a simple natural phenomenon into a giant, otherworldly spectacle is a signature stroke of Jung. His application of Haeckel' s "biogenetic law" to stages of cultural evolution and to the evolution of human consciousness is just one more example.
Haeckel's biogenetic law -- "ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny" -- was derived from his historical researches in biology, and profoundly influenced not only evolutionary biology but also theories of the mind in psychology, psychiatry, and psychoanalysis. The notion that the stages of individual development (ontogeny) could be shown to replicate, in order, the stages of the development of the human race from lower. forms of life (phylogeny) was a compelling theory. Both Jung and Freud adopted such thinking in their own work, though they rarely referred to Haeckel.
Jung believed that changes in the libido over time could be discerned through the study of ancient religions and cultures. If he could identify certain stages of transformations of the libido over time that corresponded with the transformations of libido in a developing individual, psychoanalysis could rightly claim it had unlocked the secrets of life and of history. Jung knew he was the man to do it.
Throughout the layers of mythological references in Wandlungen, Jung eventually blends Haeckel's ideas with those of Freud and Bachofen into a new model of the human mind: Freud's stages of psychosexual development (the infantile period of polymorphous perversity; the preoedipal, incestuous period of strong attachment to the mother; the phallic stage; and then the genital stage) all seem to correspond with the descriptions of Bachofen's stages of cultural evolution (hetairism; matriarchy; the transitional Dionysian period; and then patriarchy). Haeckel's law provides the unifying biological and evolutionary key.
Having outlined the basic skeleton, Jung needed to provide evidence of symbolic content from contemporary patients and from the cultures of the past that would fit each of these stages."Whoever has in himself God, the sun, is immortal, like the sun"
Perhaps the defining characteristic of Wandlungen is that it seems to be bursting with religious symbolism, much of which refers in one way or another to the sun. If one opens this massive tome arbitrarily, solar myths or sun-hero myths or solar-sexual interpretations are likely to spill forth. Jung viewed these ancient myths as historical records of the transformation of the libido, and maintained that the most apt metaphor for this spiritual-sexual energy or life-force is the sun. "The comparison of the libido with the sun and the fire is really analogous," he argued. 
Solar references began to proliferate in part 1 of Wandlungen, in the chapter entitled "The Song of the Moth." Here Jung attempted an analysis of a short romantic poem by Miller entitled "The Moth to the Sun." Jung interpreted this poem from a religious perspective, claiming that the longing of the moth for the "star" was in reality the longing of the poetess for God. Jung followed the chain of associations that led to the conclusion that God and star and sun are indeed one, but he went further. His interpretation brought him close to an idea that clearly obsessed him from 1910 until the end of his life: that God is not the distant, transcendent, absolute god of Judeo-Christianity, but instead is the libido that lives within us all.
In the second poem where the longing is clearly exposed it is by no means the terrestrial sun. Since the longing has been turned away from the real object, its object has become, first of all, a subjective one, namely, God. Psychologically, however, God is the name of a representation-complex which is grouped around a strong feeling (the sum of libido). Properly, the feeling is what gives character and reality to the complex. The attributes and symbols of divinity must belong in a consistent manner to the feeling (longing, love libido, and so on). If one honors God, the sun or the fire, then one honors one's own vital force, the libido. It is as Seneca says: God is near you, he is with you, in you. 
With this passage Jung echoes the testimonial literature of Pietism. Pietists such as Count Zinzendorf (mentioned in Wandlungen) and even Schleiermacher were profoundly interested in the experience of the "god within" as a burning fire. Jung inundates the reader with a dizzying array of similar metaphors of what one would find if one looked inward, claiming that "divine vision is often merely sun or light," and making repeated references to "the inner light, the sun of the other world." Jung even says, "Whoever has in himself God, the sun, is immortal, like the sun."  Page after page is filled with analyses of sun-hero myths, like those of Hellenistic paganism or of Teutonic heroes such as Siegfried and Arminius, with rebirth and redemption the eternally recurring themes. Even Christ is analyzed as a sun god and is therefore "identical" with these self-sacrificing Germanic hero-gods.
Near the end of part 1, Jung provides a statement by comparative philologist Ernest Renan, a former theological student who lost his faith through his philological researches and became a celebrity after writing the shocking Vie de Jesus in 1863, in which Jesus was treated as a historical figure and not as a god-man. His philological work led him and others to take the spiritual beliefs of pre-Christian peoples quite seriously and argue that the sun worship of ancient peoples was more consistent with a modem scientific world than Judeo-Christian orthodoxies. In the passage from Dialogues et fragments philosophiques (1876) that Jung cites, Renan made the following claim: "Before religion had reached the stage of proclaiming that God must be put into the absolute and ideal, that is to say, beyond this world, one worship alone was reasonable and scientific: that was the worship of the sun." Aryans and Semites
The period between the publication of the first part of Wandlungen in the autumn of 1911 and its second part in the autumn of 1912 gave rise to tremendous pressures in the relationship between Jung and Freud. Jung's fascination with the fusion of religious and mythological impulses with the cultural and therapeutic goals of psychoanalysis -- so evident in the first part of Wandlungen -- accelerated the splitting of their union along national, religious, and racial fault lines.
There is no doubt that as an assimilated Jew and atheist living in Christian-dominated Austria-Hungary while political anti-Semitism was on the rise, Sigmund Freud could only see danger in Jung's fantasies about overtly spiritualizing the psychoanalytic movement. Jung, for his part, saw Freud's continued reticence about this -- and about issues near to his heart such as spiritualistic and paranormal phenomena -- as increasingly oppressive, dogmatic, and authoritarian. Never one for obeying authority, he came to resent Freud and boldly differed with his master in his public statements. By the summer of 1912, a split not only between Jung and Freud but also between Zurich and Vienna was feared by all concerned. Half gestures and cautious peace offerings attempted to patch the differences between the Viennese and the Swiss; they didn't work.
Perhaps one of the most unfortunate results of the split was the heightening of ethnic tensions and the charges of anti-Semitism. Such tribal prejudices exist in the Freudian and Jungian communities even today. To some degree this was to be expected of Freud and Jung. Cultural, linguistic, and -- many claimed -- biological differences between European Jews and Aryans were supported by the evidence generated by nineteenth-century comparative philology and Lamarckian evolutionary biology. At the time it was widely and firmly believed that these historical factors influenced the psychology of modern individuals. Such racialist thinking dominated the cognitive categories of educated persons and made sense in the world of the fin de siecle, lacking the Hitlerian taint such ideas have today. Volkish propagandists (not only pan-Germanists, but pan-Slavists and Zionists), it is true, perverted the scientific literature for their own ends, but no one -- Freud and Jung included -- was immune from such assumptions about human nature.
The issue of Aryan and Semitic differences is raised occasionally in the Jung-Freud correspondence. We know that they discussed the topic while on a stroll through New York City's Central Park in 1909. In the voluminous correspondence between Freud and his Jewish colleagues, such as Karl Abraham and Sandor Ferenczi, he reminds them continually that they need the Swiss Christians to further the movement, and that, in any case, he believes Jung to be the man of the future. But it is only after the breach between Jung and Freud seems certain that the psychoanalytic movement begins to be polarized between Christian and Jew, Aryan and Semite.
By July 1912, Freud was becoming aware of how dangerous and divisive Jung's phylogenetic hypothesis had become. By this time Jung had converted most of his Swiss-German and Christian colleagues to the notion that organic memories of ancestral impulses were more important than individual memories. "They are now doubting the influence of infantile complexes and are at the point of already appealing to racial differences in order to explain the theoretical disparity," Freud complained to Sandor Ferenczi on July 28, 1912. "Jung must now be in a florid neurosis. However this turns out, my intention of amalgamating Jews and goyim in the service of [psychoanalysis] seems now to have gone awry. They are separating like oil and water." 
Whether neurosis or psychosis was the true culprit, there is no doubt that the writing of Wandlungen resulted in a personal and spiritual change in Jung that he had not foreseen. When he finished part 2 in 1912 he was no longer a Freudian. Nor was he a Christian or a monotheist.
This was the beginning of an Aryan science of psychoanalysis in Zurich. It was the beginning of Jung's return to his Volk, and to the inner fatherland.
In September 1912, Jung gave a series of lectures at Fordham University in New York City in which he publicly distanced himself from Freud's exclusively sexual libido theory. At the same time, part 2 of Wandlungen appeared in a psychoanalytic journal. Freud read it, aghast. Here was not only proof of Jung's defection from the movement, but for the first time Freud began to realize that Jung's development of a theory of the unconscious based on racial or phylogenetic factors had swept him directly into some very dangerous cultural currents.
Part 2 begins innocently enough. Jung picks up the argument exactly where he had left off: solar mythology and sun worship. The prose here is even more expansive, exuberant, mystical. Something has clearly happened. Forgetting for a moment the psychoanalytic nature of the work, he waxes poetic on the first page in the language of a prophet or a religious mystic. And his reference to the sun as a symbol of the "visible god" of this world echoes the "Hymn to King Helios" of Julian the Apostate, using an image borrowed by pantheists -- including Giordano Bruno, Goethe, and Haeckel -- for centuries thereafter. Jung wrote:
The sun is, as Renen remarked, really the only rational representation of God, whether we take the point of view of the barbarians of other ages or that of the modern physical sciences .... [T]he sun is adapted as is nothing else to represent the visible God of this world. That is to say, that driving strength of our own soul, which we call libido .... That this comparison is no mere play of words is taught to us by the mystics. When by looking inwards (introversion) and going down into the depths of their own being they find "in their heart" the image of the Sun, they find their own love or libido, which with reason, I might say with physical reason, is called the Sun; for our source of energy and life is the Sun. Thus our life substance, as an energic process, is entirely Sun. 
To whom was Jung speaking when he used language like this?
In Wandlungen, Jung reflects his mastery of the nineteenth-century literatures on comparative philology and classical archeology. These interlocking disciplines were considered the jewels of German science. They were also the academic disciplines that legitimized the argument that there was scientific evidence for the vast cultural, linguistic, and biological differences between the Aryan and Semitic races.
It is from the science of comparative philology that the familiar cognitive categories ofIndo-Aryan (now Indo-European) and Semitic arose.  In the first half of the nineteenth century, before the great advances in the experimental methods of the physical and biological sciences, the systematizing methods of philosophy and, in particular, philology were the models for all other sciences. Philology arose to prominence in Germany as a consequence of the intense cultural fascination that Germans had with all things Greek. As a politically fractured nation united only by Kultur, Germans looked to the culture of the ancient Greeks as the crowning achievement of the Aryan peoples and aspired to be their heirs. This Graecophilia, or "tyranny of Greece over Germany" (as scholars have termed it), provided a wealth of pagan "guiding fantasies" to the German Romantics and others throughout German culture.  Schoolchildren had to learn the sagas of Greek and Roman mythology as well as ancient German mythology before they could understand the poems of Goethe or Schiller that they had to memorize.
In MDR, Jung remembers being "forced to copy prints of Greek gods with sightless eyes" in drawing class.  Like thousands of others, Jung struggled through a classical education in which Greek and Latin played a significant role. Ernest Jones confessed in his memoirs, with no small embarrassment, that what struck him most about his initial contacts with Jung and Freud was their frequent and spontaneous quoting of "Latin and Greek passages by memory during their conversations and being astonished at my blank response."  The pagan gods resided in the unconsciousnesses of many educated Germans.
In the scientific search for the ultimate origins of the human race, comparative philologists played a central role in the decades before Darwin and Haeckel shifted the focus of this quest to evolutionary biology and ethnology. It was thought that by comparing and analyzing the similarities and the differences between languages that the original families of humankind could be identified. The Indo-Aryan group and the Semitic group were the most researched linguistic and cultural families in the nineteenth century.
Furthermore, comparative philologists such as Renan and Friedrich Max Muller -- the two men most responsible for bringing the cultural and linguistic (but not biological) differences between Aryans and Semites to scientific respectability-believed that the very thoughts, feelings, and cultural (especially religious) beliefs of prehistoric groups could be determined through philological analysis. Philologists believed that everyday language contained living relics from our ancestors, as if the image of an event that happened millennia ago could still be fresh today if one could find the linguistic key to unlock the secret code to peer into the past.
Muller claimed to have found this key to wisdom. Jung borrowed it and applied it to the hallucinations and delusions and fantasies and dreams of his contemporaries. "When I finished [Wandlungen], I had a peculiarly lucid moment in which I surveyed my path as far as I had come," Jung recalled in 1925. "I thought: 'Now you have the key to mythology and you have the power to unlock all doors.'"  There is no way for us now to fully understand Jung's strange book or the basis of the racialist thought it is based on unless we first understand Jung's reliance on the works of Muller and his "solar mythologists."
From 1856 until his death, Muller and his solar mythologists developed a theory -- indeed, a "science" -- of mythology that dominated late-nineteenth- century thought.  As with Freudian psychoanalysis in the twentieth century, Muller's solar mythology was a totalizing world view and system of interpretation that claimed to find the ancient pagan gods of the sky and the sun alive and well in the very words we speak. "Why, every time we say 'Good morning' we commit a solar myth," said Muller.  He and his colleagues argued that the appearance and the disappearance of the sun and its worship as a source of life was the true basis of all mythological systems of the past, but particularly that of the Aryans, the race that they had studied most. Sun worship was the original natural religion of the ancient Aryan peoples. Since the Aryan races had occupied and dominated Europe for the past several thousand years, all native European pre-Christian religions could be traced back to the worship of the sun. This was true even in the Iranian, Indian, Greek, Roman, and Germanic civilizations that predated the first Aryan ones -- the "mythopoetic age," as Muller called it.
"Is everything the Dawn? Is everything the Sun?" Muller asked in a famous passage. "This question I had asked many times before it was addressed to me by others ... but I am bound to say that my own researches lead me again and again to the dawn and the sun as the chief burden of myths of the Aryan race."  To Muller, the sun god of the ancient Aryans was in the languages of their descendants.
To Jung, God was in the blood, and this was his rationale for seeking and finding solar myths in the symptoms of psychotic patients at the Burgholzli and in Miss Frank Miller, whom he regarded on the verge of psychosis even though he had never met her. In highly disturbed patients a biologically based disease process eroded the normal covering of repressive defense mechanisms, some of which he thought were biologically inherited in a quasi-Lamarckian fashion from centuries of civilization and Christianity. The erosion of the thick mask of defense mechanisms released archaic material from the deepest strata of the unconscious mind. Given that Jung and most of his patients were of Aryan stock -- a group, unlike the older and more "civilized" Semites, who had practiced their natural religion of the sun and the sky until Christianized only one thousand years ago -- it is no surprise that symbols of the sun arise again and again. This fact was consistent with the science of philology as he knew it from the books of Renan and Muller. It was also consistent with biology and race."He seems to be Christ himself"
Ernest Jones complained to Freud in December 1912 that "Jung is going to save the world, another Christ (with certainly anti-Semitism combined)."  Freud concurred. "I thank you for your very just remarks about Jung. In fact, he behaves like a perfect fool, he seems to be Christ himself, and in the particular things he says and does there is always something of the [rascal]." 
After the formal break in personal relations between the two men in January 1913, Zurich and Vienna never seemed so far apart. On June 8, Freud wrote to Ferenczi, "You are right. Our dear Swiss have gone crazy." Then, confirming that the source of tension in the movement emanated from a complex fusion of religion and racialism, he observed:
On the matter of Semitism: there are certainly great differences from the Aryan spirit. We can become convinced of that every day. Hence, there will surely be different worldviews and art here and there. But there should not be a particular Aryan or Jewish science. The results must be identical, and only their presentations may vary. Certainly my remark about the Interpretation of Dreams should be taken in this way. If these differences occur in conceptualizing the objective relations in science, then something is wrong. It was our desire not to interfere with their more distant world view and religion, but we considered ours to be quite favorable for conducting science. You had heard that Jung had declared in America that [psychoanalysis] was not a science but a religion. That would certainly illuminate the whole difference. But there the Jewish spirit regretted not being able to join in. 
By the end of 1913, however, Jung did not share Freud's enlightened opinion that there should not be a specifically Aryan or Jewish science. Psychoanalysis had to raise the consciousness of humanity to a higher level through a religious outlook. The only problem was that such a conception of psychoanalysis could no longer have a place for Jews.The beginnings of an Aryan psychoanalysis
The last psychoanalytic congress that Jung attended -- the fourth, in 1913 in Munich, at which he was reelected president of the international movement -- confirmed the disintegration of old personal relationships and the birth of new alliances. One personal relationship that ended was the torrid extramarital affair between Lou Andreas-Salome and the Swedish physician and psychoanalyst Poul Carl Bjerre. They had met through a mutual friend during a visit to Sweden in 1911. Comparing him to her former lover, the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, Andreas-Salome noted in her private journal, "Both blonde haired, with sensuous mouths, splendid brows, otherwise rather different." 
Freud met Bjerre in January 1911 and reported to Jung that the Swede "is rather dry and laconic, but ... a thorough and serious thinker."  By 1916, in a book on the history of psychoanalysis and its techniques, Bjerre openly criticized Freud for exaggerating the importance of sexuality.  Although Bjerre helped to found the first Swedish psychoanalytic society, he nonetheless became persona non grata to Freud and the Viennese. Today his works have been forgotten everywhere but in Sweden.
After Bjerre confirmed that he was sympathetic to Jung's side in the war against Freud and the Viennese, their personal relationship heated up. On November 10, 1913, Jung wrote to Bjerre, complaining that Freud had recently attempted to discredit him.  Although we do not know exactly what Freud said to Maeder, Jung had sent a sharp letter of complaint to Freud about it on October 27.  Jung continued to complain to Bjerre about being accused of partisanship against the Viennese at the Munich congress and emphasized his wish to raise his efforts to a new level for the benefit of all. Yet the Viennese continue to be a sore point with him.
Near the end of the letter, Jung made a statement that reveals his inner thoughts and sets the tone for much of the way he conducted his own movement in the years that followed, years in which his movement took on the nature of an Aryans-only cult of redemption and rebirth. This is the first piece of hard evidence to surface regarding his racialist outlook during this early period in his career. To Poul Bjerre, Jung said simply: "Ich war zuvor kein Antisemit, jetzt werde ich es, glaube ich." 
Sun worshipers in German Europe
"Until now I was no anti-Semite, [but] now I'll become one, I believe."
Jung's massive hymn to the sun could not have come at a more opportune time in German cultural history. All around him, in places such as Bavaria, Thuringia, and Ascona, German-speaking youths were on the march. They were hiking, singing German folk songs, reading Novalis, Goethe, Haeckel, Wilhelm Bolsche, Hesse, and Madame Blavatsky, wearing swastika pendants and runic rings, bathing nude in the sun, and dancing around bonfires on the days of the summer solstice -- the ancient German festival of the "changing sun" (Sonnwendfest). They carried banners with the ancient Aryan "sun wheel" on them, a symbol of god that could be found in the ancient homelands of the Aryans -- Iran and especially India -- in the form of circular mandalas. And they sang hymns of praise to the sun.
Because of decades of Volkish speculation about the consequences of the work of philologists such as Muller and Renan, there was an extraordinary revival of interest in not only the symbolism of sun worship but also its practice.  The natural religion of the ancient Aryans -- and indeed, of all humans if one were to speculate far enough -- was revived by a multitude of groups all over Germany, Austria, and especially Switzerland, where cults and heretical sects had blossomed for centuries. Some actually performed group rituals in honor of the sun.
But sun worship was just one element in a confused mass of cultural contradictions that beset Germany in the three decades preceding the First World War. From the racialist right to the anarchist left a culture of "progressive reaction" against industrial capitalism was on the rise. All of the values that formed the foundation of the industrial order -- repressive Judeo-Christian antihedonism, utilitarianism, and rational thought -- were confronted with new philosophies of life or of pure experiences that exalted myth over history, impulsive action or deed over conscious reflection, and feeling or intuition over rational thought. This progressive reaction, as historian Jost Hermand has termed it, was manifest in a profound sense of loss, a sense that a spiritual connection with nature and the cosmos had been sacrificed with the rise of a more highly mechanized, industrialized, and urbanized civilization. 
Much of the sense of loss was expressed in metaphors of degeneration and decay. Civilization had ruined human beings by forcing them into unnatural, cramped, urban environments. Diseases physical and mental were hatched in some places, and the medical science of the day believed that such damage to an individual could be passed down to successive generations. Racial renewal, whether for the individual or society as a whole, was associated with new attitudes toward sexuality and eroticism. There was a cry to recover the Volk -- that mystical union of a people with its blood and landscape -- from the degenerate industrialized masses. The iron cage of "civilization" -- Judeo-Christian beliefs and other political and value systems -- had to be cast off in order to recover true culture, the primordial ground of the soul, the Volk. There was only one solution: recover the "archaic man" within, allowing a rejuvenating return to the chthonic powers of the Edenic, Aryan past. 
It is no coincidence that these same ideas are expressed time and again by C. G. Jung, especially in the first sixty years of his life.
The multifaceted Volkish movement (Volkstumbewegung) had a broad plan for Germanic society: at the individual level, the taking of cures, abstinence from alcohol, nudism, vegetarianism, the eating of health foods, contact with the ancestors through spiritualist practices, and hiking through Nature were all remedies to erase the sense of profound loss that so many suffered. At the level of culture, a cleansing of the Aryan race through eugenics and deportations was proposed.
Inspired by Herder, Schleiermacher, Ernst Mortiz Arndt, and Turnvater Jahn, throughout the nineteenth century the movement grew increasingly influential as the Germans sought their place in the sun. After German unification in 1871, Volkish energies fueled the establishment of a multitude of lodges, clubs, societies, and so on, all devoted to spiritual renewal. Some of these groups were motivated by blood mysticism and fantasies of reform through a return to the worship of the old Aryan gods.
As early as 1814, Arndt had proposed a return to the celebration of the summer solstice as a way to return politically fragmented Germans to their cultural and religious roots. It was left to future leaders to bring his dream into reality. Eugen Diederichs, the famous Jena publisher of many of the new texts of this mystical, Volkish, neoromantic movement, was one of them. He personally led sun-worshiping rituals with his youth-movement disciples beginning in 1904, expressing the beliefs of so many of them when he said, "My view of god is this, that I regard the sun as a source of all life."  The youth organization of the Monistenbund -- inspired and led by Haeckel -- sponsored sun-worshiping festivals each summer solstice. Haeckel himself was not a practicing neopagan but loved the spirit of the movement. In 1910, the year Jung got lost in sun-hero myths while researching Wandlungen, a Monistenbund journal reproduced this hymn to the sun:
We are all children of the sun. Out of its womb our planet was born. An eternal law of nature compels us to be within its sphere and influence. The immensity of space is cold, still, lifeless -- our luminous mother sun, warming and ripening our fruit, appears as the simple, true element of life. Our ancestors knew this in ancient times. Thus their justifiable joy when the sun made its slow victorious spiral across the sky. They then remembered that all those trees, which concealed their greenness in the wintertime, were consecrated to the god, Wotan. 
Others wanted a Wagnerian twist to their Volkish neopaganism. They gathered in bearskins and made ritual sacrifices of animals to Wotan, Thor, Baldur, and other Teutonic deities. They studied the symbols of the ancient Norse runes and took visionary journeys to meet with members of an ancient spiritual brotherhood. There were dozens of groups like these, large and small. They convinced themselves that they were chosen, like the grail knights in Wagner's Parsifal, to seek and protect the Holy Grail -- in this case, the spiritual purity of Aryan blood. The most famous of these was the Tannenberg Foundation of General Erich Ludendorff, war hero and, later, a coconspirator in Adolf Hitler's failed putsch in 1923. The symbol of Ludendorff's organization was the hammer of Thor. Like many in German culture at the turn of the century, Ludendorff wanted to eradicate Christianity and replace it with an Aryan faith. As one commentator on the neopagan movement in Germany revealed, "In line with the Tannenberg program for the restoration of the ancient Germanic religion, General Ludendorff, accompanied by a few young men, would from time to time retire to the forests near Munich, where a bonfire was lighted and a horse sacrificed in honor of Thor, the god of thunder." 
Jung was aware of these groups, but it is unlikely that he participated in any of them. After 1913, Jung rarely deviated from the role of the chieftain of his own tribe in Kusnacht and Zurich. But the cult participation of his clinical associates and of the patients they treated in hospital wards and in their consulting rooms, is an open question."An attempt to use old cults to achieve new religious possibilities"
On the bohemian circuit and around the world, Jung's Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido was such a countercultural success that in the years following the German edition of 1912 and the English translation of 1916 (under the title Psychology of the Unconscious), Jung began to receive spiritual pilgrims from around the world who came to him to help them experience the mythic layers of their own unconscious minds.
For Franziska Grafin zu Reventlow, whom Ludwig Klages called a "pagan saint," the Schwabing-to-Ascona counterculture was "a spiritual movement, a niveau, a direction, a protest, a new cult, or rather an attempt to use old cults to achieve new religious possibilities."  "Fanny," as she was called, was a friend and possibly a lover of Otto Gross, and the author of a thinly veiled autobiographical novel known as Herrn Dames Aufzeichnungen. It was written during the period (December 1911 to summer 1912) that Jung was working on part 2 of Wandlungen, and was first published in 1913. As Jung's dreams swirled with images of Dionysus and the terrible Great Mother Goddess and sun heroes such as Siegfried, Fanny Reventlow sat at her desk and called forth an entire decade of personal experiences. In the magic theater of her mind she witnessed the passionate discussions in the cafes of Schwabing over the mystical nature of race and blood -- carriers of the "primordial pagan substances" that emerged in the dreams of modern individuals.  These were times in which Dionysian bacchantes and Bachofenian hetaira were reincarnated in young women who walked the streets of Munich and danced naked in the sacred groves of Ascona. She remembered pagan costume balls during Fasching and ritual sacrifices to the Great Mother Goddess.
Is it just a coincidence that Jung was obsessed with these very issues at the very same point in history? Is it just a coincidence that this is the time when Jung, too, became a pagan who said the old gods were still alive within us?
The new pagans' artistic prophet was Karl Hoppner, better known as Fidus.  More than any other artist, Fidus captured the youthful spirit of the counterculture. In Theosophical journals, in Simplicissimus and Jugend, on postcards and posters, his breathtaking sun-worshiping images seemed to be everywhere in the first quarter of the century. Nude, long-haired, blond young Aryans -- sometimes wearing jewelry made of Runic symbols or swastikas -- looked skyward and raised their arms to the sun. The image most often associated with Fidus -- the motif of the Lichtgebet (Prayer to the light), based on the Norse so-called Lebensrune or "life rune" -- depicts a nude man, legs together, arm upraised in a Y-shaped posture.
Fidus's images tell us much about the neopagan culture in German Europe at the turn of the century. Aryanist sun-worshiping imagery, runic symbols, swastikas, and towering pillars of fire are synthesized with male and female figures, often nude, who symbolized the great cosmic principles of the Masculine and the Feminine. Typically there are polar opposites united within or just under a circle that symbolizes god as the sun -- the primordial ground of all being. In one book illustration by Fidus from 1897, the Masculine and the Feminine are united in a Janus-like bust depicting the Aryan ideals of male and female beauty. This syzygy, this union of opposites, is surrounded by solar rays and crowned by an encircled swastika, a solar symbol of regeneration and eternal recurrence. Fidus contributed this and other similar illustrations to a series of publications by the Berlin Theosophist Max Ferdinand Sebaldt von Werth on the sexual magic and sexual religion of the ancient Aryans.  The Aryanist and occultist theory popular in bohemian circles was that the universe had been created from a primordial fiery chaos out of which the first two principles to emerge were the Masculine and the Feminine. Only from the eternal tension between these opposites, the eternal joining and separating of the two, could the creative force, the primal energy of the sun or fire be released. On the individual level, only the integration of the Masculine and Feminine principles within the soul could restore the connection with the internal solar fire. In the writings of Sebaldt and other Volkish mystics, this blazing primal energy was also associated with the blood. Therefore, to release the creative potential of an entire race, eugenics would be necessary to create pure prototypical Aryan males and females who could then produce progressively superior progeny.
Except for the explicit advocacy of eugenics, all these symbols and themes appear in Wandlungen and form the metaphoric core of Jung's theory of psychological types, his famous concepts of the anima and the animus, and his ideas concerning the structure and dynamics of the psyche.
Among the Asconans who read Jung -- particularly Wandlungen -- and who were treated by him or his assistants in Zurich were Hermann Hesse and Rudolph von Laban. Laban had read Wandlungen and shared it with his colony of Dionysian dancers in Ascona, including Mary Wigman, who would develop an intellectual passion for psychoanalytic literature. Her "Witches' Dance" spooked audiences in Munich and thrilled pagans in Ascona. The occultist Aleister Crowley also briefly passed through Ascona, read Psychology of the Unconscious, and found it useful inspiration for his own writings on ritual magic. 
During the war years, and especially after 1916 when word had spread about the new bohemian twist analytical psychology had taken in Zurich, Asconans flooded the consulting rooms of Jung's colleagues. In the creative container that Jung said a therapy session should be, they revealed their dreams and their drawings, their poems and their dances. They were pagans and welcomed for their paganism. In the cafes of Zurich, they gossiped about their analysts, wildly analyzed one another's dreams, offered one another the latest Theosophical or Anthroposophical publications, shared coffee, cocaine, and encouragement.
The prose of Jung's Hymn to the Sun radiated from the pages of his book with a power that could seduce the spiritually hungry. Jung wrote with conviction derived from a personal experience so tremendous, so cosmic, that he could arouse the desire of others to want it, too. But what exactly was this electrifying experience?