The ancient lore of the sacred numbers breathes a spirit that may be embodied in the following words: The soul of man, which through resignation or meekness, as they used to say then, is impelled onward to purity and union with the Eternal, has in itself a higher life, which cannot be annihilated by death. The doctrine of the infinite value of the soul ... and of God's entering into the pure soul of man forms the central point of the thought of religious fellowship. Neither for sacrifice, which the state religions practice, nor for the beliefs in demons, by which the masses are controlled, nor for the idea of priesthood as means of salvation, was there a place in this system, and not a trace of such a belief is demonstrable in this religion of wisdom and virtue. (l. c., p. 33.)

Besides the early Christian ideal, which recognized and encouraged the connection between the teachings of Christ and the ancient wisdom of platonism, there was in early times another which emphasized and endeavored to develop the antithesis more than the connection. From the time when the new Christian state church came to life, and sacrificial religion and the belief in devils and the priesthood were restored, a struggle of life and death developed between the church and the so-called philosophic schools. "The fraternity saw that it had to draw down the mask still further over its face than formerly, and the 'House of the Eternal,' the 'Basilika,' the 'Academies,' and the 'Museums' became workshops of stone cutters, latomies, and loggia or innocent guilds, unions, and companies of every variety. But all later greater religious movements and tendencies which maintained the old beliefs, whether they appeared under the names of mysticism, alchemy, natural philosophy, humanism, or special names and disguises, as workshops or societies, have preserved more or less truly the doctrine of the 'sacred numbers' and the number symbolism, and found the keys of wisdom and knowledge in the rightly understood doctrine of the eternal harmony of the spheres." (Keller, l. c., p. 38.)

Keller derives modern freemasonry from the academies of the renaissance, which, as we have just heard, continued the spirit of the ancient academies. Now it is interesting that the later branches of these religious societies (after the renaissance) took among others the form of alchemy companies and further that such fraternities or companies [as are not called alchemical], still employed symbols that we recognize as derived from alchemy. The hieroglyphics of alchemy appear to be peculiarly appropriate to the religious and philosophic ideas to be treated of. Rosicrucianism was, however, one of the forms into which alchemy was organized. It is further important that in just those societies of the beginning of the seventeenth century which outsiders called "alchymists" or "rosicrucians," the characteristic emblems of the old lodge appeared, as, for instance, the circle, the cubic stone, the level, the man facing the right, the sphere, the oblong rectangle (symbol of the Lodge), etc. (Keller, Zur Gesch. d. Bauh., p. 17.) These "alchymists" honored St. John in the same way as can be shown for the companies of the fifteenth century. I need not mention that modern masonry, in its most important form, bears the name of Masons of St. John.

From the beginning of the 17th century attempts were made inside the fraternity, as the company societies working in the same spirit may be called, to bring to more general recognition a suitable name for this company, which could also form a uniting bond for the scattered single organizations. The leaders knew and occasionally said that a respected name for the common interest would be advantageous. This view appears especially in the letters of Comenius. It was then indeed an undecided question what nation should place itself at the head of the great undertaking. (Keller, in the M. H. der C. G., 1895, p. 156.) "As a matter of fact precisely in the years when in Germany the brothers had won the support of powerful princes and the movement received a great impetus, very decided efforts were made both to create larger unions and to adopt a unifying name. The founding of the Society of the Palmtree [1617] was the result of the earlier effort and the writings of Andreaes on the alleged origin and aims of the rosicrucians are connected with the other need. The battle of the White Mountain and the unfortunate consequences that followed killed both attempts, as it were, in the germ." (Z. Gesch, d. Bauh., p. 20.) Note by the way that the name of the "Fraternity of the Red Cross" was taken from symbols which were already employed in the societies. In regard to this it is quite mistaken accuracy to maintain that it was correctly called "Bruderschaft des Rosenkreutz" and not "des Rosenkreutzes," as the "Handbuch d. Freimaurerei," p. 259, emends it. Vatter Christian Rosenkreutz is indeed evidently only a composite legendary personage as the bearer of a definite symbolism (Christ, rose, cross), (and may have been devised merely in jest). The name does not come from the personality of the founder but the personality of the founder comes from the name. The symbols and expressions that lie at the foundations are the earlier.

The attempt mentioned, to find a common name, did not permanently succeed. The visionaries and "heretics" decried as "Rosicrucians" and "alchymists" were considered as enemies and persecuted. It is irrelevant whether there was an organized fraternity of rosicrucians; it was enough to be known as a rosicrucian. (Keller, Z. Gesch. d. B., p. 21.) The great organization did not take place until a great European power spread over it its protecting hand, i.e., in 1717, when in England the new English system of "Grand Lodges of Free and Accepted Masons" arose. (Keller, D. Soc. d. Hum., p. 18.) We see that Keller arrives by another and surer way than Katsch at the same result, and shows the continuity of the alchemists or rosicrucians and the later freemasons, if not in exactly the same way that Katsch has outlined it. In particular Keller gets along without the unproved statement that there were organized rosicrucians (outside of the later gold- and rose-crosses). He shows what is much more important, namely that there were societies that might have borne the name of rosicrucians (or any similar name).

[Occult image.]

Figure 1.

Several interesting peculiarities should not be omitted, as for instance, that Leibniz, about 1667, was secretary of an alchemist's society (of so-called rosicrucians) in Nuremberg. Leibniz describes alchemy as an "introduction to mystic theology" and identifies the concepts of "Arcana Naturae" and "Chymica." (M. H. der C. G., 1903, p. 149; 1909, p. 169 ff.) In the laws of the grand lodge "Indissolubilis" (17th and 18th centuries) there are found as doctrinal symbols of the three grades, the alchemistic symbols of salt (rectification, clarification), of quicksilver (illumination), and of sulphur (unification, tincture), used in a way that corresponds to the stages of realization of the "Great Work." The M. H. d. C. G., 1909, p. 173 ff. remarks that we should probably regard it only as an accident, if there are not found, in the famous hermetic chemical writings, similar signs with additions as would for experts, exclude all doubt as to their purport. In 1660 appeared at Paris an edition of a writing very celebrated among the followers of the art, "Twelve Keys of Philosophy," which was ostensibly written by one Brother Basilius Valentinus. In this edition we see at the beginning a remarkable plate, whose relation to masonic symbolism is unmistakable (Figure 1). In addition to the lowest symbol of salt (represented as cubic stone) there is a significant reference to the earth and the earthly. [I should note that besides [Symbol: circle with diameter line] alchemy used [Symbol: square] for salt, in which there is a special reference to the earthly nature of salt. In Plato the smallest particles of the earth are cubical. Salt and earth alternate in the terminology, just as mercury [Symbol: female] and air [Symbol: air] or water [Symbol: water] do; as sulphur [Symbol: sulfur and fire [Symbol: fire]; only, however, where it is permitted by the context.] The Rectification of the subject (man) taken up by the Art, is achieved through the purification of the earthly elements according to the indication of the alchemists who call the beginning of the work "Vitriol," and form an acrostic from the initial letters of this word: "Visita Interiora Terrae, Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem" [= Visit the interior of the earth; by purifying you will find the hidden stone]. Half way up there floats the [Symbol: mercury] that has the value of a "union symbol" in the brotherhoods (as such, a symbol of fellowship) and left and right of it is found the moon and sun or the flaming star. Above is placed a triangle, in which is a phoenix rising from the flames; and on the triangle stands the crowned Saturn or Hermes (in masonry Hiram). On the left and right of this kingly form, on whose breast and stomach are placed planet symbols, we notice water in the shape of drops (tears) and flames that signify suffering and resurrection. "When we notice that not only the principles of the old 'amateurs of the art' correspond with those of the 'royal art' [freemasonry], but that the symbolism also is the same in all parts, we recognize that the later masonic societies are only a modern reshaping of the societies which dropped the depreciated names of the alchemists in order to appear in a new dress" (l. c., p. 175). That the assertion of the complete similarity of the symbolism is not mere fancy, the following considerations (and not those only in this section), will satisfactorily demonstrate. In the following examples the words showing it most clearly are italicized.

Alchemy was regarded by its disciples as a royal art. Old sources show that the art of making gold was revealed in Egypt only to the crown princes. Generally only the kings' sons were informed by the priests concerning the magic sciences. The hermetics derived their art expressly from kings, Hermes, Geber, and the patriarchs of alchemy were represented as kings.

According to Khunrath (Amphitheatrum) prayer, work and perseverance lead to eternal wisdom by the mystical ladder of the seven theosophical steps. Perfect wisdom consists in the knowledge of God and his Son, in the understanding of the holy scriptures, in self knowledge and in knowledge of the great world and its Son, the Magnesia of the philosophers or the Philosopher's Stone. The mystical steps in general contain three activities, hearing (audire), persevering (perseverare), knowing (nosse et scire), that applies to five objects, so that we can distinguish seven steps in all. Only the pure may enter the temple of wisdom, only the worthy are intrusted with the secrets, the profane, however, must stay away.

In the fifth table of Khunrath's Amphitheatrum is pictured the seven pillared citadel of Pallas (Prov. IX, 1). At the entrance is a table with the legend Opera bona (= good works). Behind sits a man with the staff of Mercury. On each side is a four sided pyramid, on the top of the left one is the sun, on the right the moon. On the former stands the word Fides (= faith), on the latter Taciturnitas (= silence). Behind the man we read the word Mysterion, over the inner entrance Non omnibus (= not for all).

Alchemy frequently mentions two or three lights. By these it understood [Symbol: Sol] and [Symbol: Luna], [Symbol: Venus], [Symbol: Mercury], [Symbol: Jupiter], light of grace and light of nature, etc. The juxtaposition of [Symbol: Sol] [Symbol: Luna] and [Symbol: Hexagram] is interesting; no one can attain the desired end before, through the circular wheel of the elements, the fatness or the blood of the sun, and the dew of the moon are by the action of art and nature, united in one body in the image of the hexagram; and this can take place only by the will of the Most High, who alone imparts the unique boon of the Holy Ghost and priceless treasure according to his especial mercy. The above mentioned circular wheel is identical with the serpent that bites its own tail; it is a power that always consumes and always renews itself. This circle appears not to be lacking in the flaming star; it is the round eye or the likewise round fashioned "G," which latter looks quite similar to the snake hieroglyph. The reference to Genesis has a good reason. Moreover, the hexagram represents in cabbalistic sense the mystical union of the male with the female potence [Symbol: Fire] with [Symbol: Water]. According to a rabbinical belief a picture is supposed to be placed in the ark of the covenant alongside of the tables of the laws, which shows a man and a woman in intimate embrace, in the form of a hexagram. In cabbalistic writings, as for instance, in those of H. C. Agrippa, we find the human form in a star, generally inscribed in the pentagram. The genitals fall exactly in the middle part and are often made prominent by an added [Symbol: Mercury] as male-female or androgyne procreative power. One of the snake shaped Egyptian hieroglyphs frequently turns into an Arabic [Symbol: gimel], i.e., gimel. I do not know whether this fact has any significance here. With respect to the above passages that mention the "will of the Most High," I refer to the dialogue which concerns the "G"; e.g., "Does it mean nothing else?" "Something that is greater than you." "Who is greater than I?" etc. "It is Gott, whom the English call God. Consider this mysterious star; it is the symbol of the Spirit.... The image of the holy fire, etc."

[Occult image.]

Figure 2.

REBIS is represented as an hermetic hermaphrodite. The already mentioned figure with the two heads (figure 2) is found (as Hoehler relates) in a book that appeared in Frankfort in 1618, called "Joannes Danielis Mylii Tractatus III, seu Basilica Philosophica," though it is to be seen also in other books on alchemy. The hermaphrodite stands on a dragon that lies on a globe. In the right hand he holds a pair of compasses, in the left a square. On the globe we see a square and a triangle. Around the figure are the signs of the seven planets, with [Symbol: Mercury] at the top. In a cut in the Discursus Nobilis of John of Munster we see sun and moon, at the middle of the top the star [Symbol: Hexagram], also denoted by Y = γλζ (= matter) surrounded by rays. (Hoehler, Herm. Phil., p. 105.)

In the cabala, which has found admission into the idea of the alchemists and rosicrucians, no small part is played by three pillars and two pillars.

Tubal Cain was renowned as a great alchemist. He was the patriarch of wisdom, a master of all kinds of brass and iron work. (Genesis IV, 22.) He had the knowledge not only of ordinary chemistry and of the fire required for it, but also of the higher chemistry and of the hidden elemental fire. After the flood there was no other man who knew the art but the righteous Noah, whom some call Hermogenes or Hermes, who possessed the knowledge of celestial and terrestrial things.

One devoted to art must be a free man (Hoehler, l. c., p. 66). The ordinale of Norton establishes it more or less as follows: "The kings in the olden time have ordained that no one should learn the liberal sciences except the free and those of noble spirit, and any one who is devoted to them should devote his life most freely. Accordingly the ancients have called them the seven liberal arts, for whoever desires to learn thoroughly and well must enjoy a certain freedom."

[Occult image.]

Figure 3.

Very frequently one finds in the alchemists images of death: grave, coffin, skeleton, etc. Thus in Michael Maier's, Atalanta Fugiens, the Emblema XLIV shows how the king lies with his crown in the coffin which is just opened. On the right stands a man with a turban, on the left two who open the coffin and let his joyful countenance be seen. In the Practica of Basilius Valentinus the illustration of the fourth key shows a coffin, on which stands a skeleton, the illustration of the eighth key (see Fig. 3), a grave from which half emerges a man with upright body and raised hands. [This reproduction and figure I owe to the kindness of Dr. Ludwig Keller and the publications of the Comenius Society.] Two men are shooting at the well known mark, [Symbol: Sol], here represented as a target (a symbol much used in the old lodges), while a third is sowing. (Parable of the sower and the seeds.) The sign is a clever adaptation of the sulphur hieroglyph and is identical with the registry mark of the third degree of the Grand Lodge Indissolubilis. The mark [Symbol: Half circle] on the wall is also a symbol of the academy; it is the half circle, man, to whom the light is imparted and means, when occurring collectively, the fraternity. The evident idea is of representing the exclusive society as enclosing wall. The angel with the trumpet is the angel of the judgment day who awakes the dead. With respect to the birds I refer to Matthew XIII, 4: "And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the wayside and the fowls came and devoured them up." In the text of Basilius Valentinus, the fourth key, there is mention of the rotting and falling to pieces with which we are familiar. The idea of dismemberment is not infrequently clearly expressed, more clearly than in our parable. Already in the oldest alchemistic manuals one operation is called the grave of Osiris. One of the manuscripts cited by Berthelot (Orig., p. 60) says: "The dragon is the guardian of the temple, sacrifice him, flay him, cut his flesh from his bones and thou wilt find what thou seekest." The dragon is also called Osiris, with whose son Horus-Harpocrates, the skillful Hermes, is also identified. (Do we need reference to requirements in the 3d degree? J ... left his skin; ... B ... left his flesh...; M ... B..., he lives in the Son.)

Here more clearly than anywhere else we see the masonic symbolism combined with the myth of the first parents or creation myth. No matter where it acts, the myth-making power never seems willing to belie its laws. Also the tree growing out of the grave or the body of the dead ancestor is not wanting. ("... at the graves of our fathers." "I was accused of a terrible crime.") It is the acacia whose presence is rationalized apparently for the purpose of forming a sign by which to find again the place of the hastily buried.

An Egyptian fable tells of two brothers. The younger, Bata, was falsely accused by his sister-in-law (as was Joseph by Potiphar's wife). His brother Inpw (Anepu) consequently pursued him. The sun god made a mighty flood that separated the pursuer from the pursued. Bata castrated himself and threw his organ of generation into the water, where it was swallowed by a fish. Bata's heart later in the story is changed into a blossom of an acacia or a cedar. [I naturally lay no stress on the accident that the acacia occurs here. The point is that the tree is a symbol of life.] Bata is reconciled with Inpw and at parting relates to him that a mug of beer is to serve as a symbol of how the brother fares, who is dwelling afar off. If the beer foams he is in danger. Bata's wife has the acacia tree, on which Bata's heart is a blossom, felled, and as a result Bata dies. By means of the mug Inpw learns of Bata's peril and departs to look for his younger brother. Inpw finds the fallen acacia and on it a berry that is the heart of his brother transformed. Bata comes to life again and transforms himself into an ox. His wife has the ox butchered on the pretext of wishing to eat its liver. Two drops of blood fall from the cut throat of the ox upon the ground and are changed into two peach trees. Bata's wife has the two peach trees felled. A chip flies into her mouth. She swallows it and becomes pregnant by it. The child that she bears is the reincarnated Bata. He therefore lives again in his son as the child of a widow.

The second fragment of the Physica et Mystica of Pseudo Democritus, that Berthelot cites (Orig., p. 151) relates that the master died without having initiated Democritus into the secrets of knowledge. Democritus conjured him up out of the underworld. The spirit cried: "So that is the reward I get for what I have done for thee." To the questions of Democritus he answered, "The books are in the temple." They were not found. Some time thereafter, on the occasion of a festival, they saw a column crack open, and in the opening they found the books of the master, which contained three mystic axioms: "Nature pleases herself in Nature; Nature triumphs over Nature; Nature governs Nature."

The quotations show, to be sure, only superficially the interrelation of alchemy and freemasonry. The actual affinity lying behind the symbolism, which, moreover, our examination of the hermetic art has already foreshadowed, will be treated later.

We could also posit a psychological interrelation in the form of an "etiological assumption" according to the terminology of psychoanalysis. It would explain the temporary fusion of alchemistic rosicrucianism with freemasonry. The rosicrucian frenzy would never have occurred—so much I will say—in masonry, if there had been no trend that way. Some emotional cause must have existed for the phenomenon, and as the specter of rosicrucianism stalked especially on the masonic stage, and indeed was dangerous to it alone, this etiological assumption must be such as to furnish an effective factor in masonry itself, only in more discreet and wholesome form. In masonry psychological elements have played a part which if improperly managed might degenerate, as indeed they did when gold- and rose-crossism was grafted on masonry. It appears to me too superficial to explain the movement merely from the external connection of rosicrucianism and the masonic system. Although the observation is quite just, it does not touch the kernel of the matter, the impulse, which only psychology can lay bare. Freemasonry must have felt some affinity with rosicrucianism, something related at the psychical basis of the mode of expression (symbolism, ritual) of both. Only the modes of expression of rosicrucianism are evidently more far reaching or more dangerous in the sense that they (the leadership of loose companions always presupposed) could sooner incite weaker characters to a perverted idea and practice of it.

That rosicrucianism in its better aspect is identical with the higher alchemy, can no longer be doubted by any one after the material here offered. The common psychological element is shown when, as will be done in later parts of this book, we go into the deeper common basis of alchemy and freemasonry. Then first will the sought-for "etiological assumption" attain to its desired clearness. But already this much may be clear: that we have in both domains, structures with a religious content, even though from time to time names are used which will veil these facts. I add now in anticipation a statement whose clear summing up has been reserved for psychoanalysis, namely that the object of religious worship is regularly to be regarded as a symbol of the libido, that psychologic goddess who rules the desires of mankind—and whose prime minister is Eros. [Libido is desire or the tendency toward desire, as it controls our impulsive life. In medical language used mainly for sexual desire, the concept of libido is extended in psychoanalysis (namely by C. G. Jung) to the impelling power of psychic phenomena in general. Libido would therefore be the inner view of what must in objective description be called "psychic energy." How it could be given this extension of meaning is seen when we know the possibilities of its transformation and sublimation, a matter which will be treated later.] Now if the libido symbol raised up for an ideal is placed too nakedly before the seeker, the danger of misunderstanding and perversion is always present. For he is misled by his instincts to take the symbol verbally, that is, in its original, baser sense and to act accordingly. So all religions are degenerate in which one chooses as a libido symbol the unconcealed sexual act, and therefore also a religion must degenerate, in which gold, this object of inordinate desire, is used as a symbol.

What impels the seeker, that is, the man who actually deserves the name, in masonry and in alchemy, is clearly manifested as a certain dissatisfaction. The seeker is not satisfied with what he actually learns in the degrees, he expects more, wants to have more exhaustive information, wants to know when the "real" will be finally shown. Complaint is made, for example, of the narrowness of the meaning of the degrees of fellowship. Much more important than the objective meaning of any degree is the subjective wealth of the thing to be promoted. The less this is, the less will he "find" even in the degrees, and the less satisfied will he be, in case he succeeds in attaining anything at all. To act here in a compensating way is naturally the task of the persons that induce him. But it is the before mentioned dissatisfaction, too, which causes one to expect wonderful arts from the superiors of the higher degrees; an expectation that gives a fine opportunity for exploitation by swindlers who, of course, have not been lacking in the province of alchemy, exactly as later at a more critical time, in the high degree masonry. Who can exactly determine how great a part may have been played by avarice, ambition, vanity, curiosity, and finally by a not unpraiseworthy emotional hunger?

The speculators who fished in the muddy waters of late rosicrucianism put many desirable things as bait on the hook; as power over the world of spirits, penetration into the most recondite parts of nature's teachings, honor, riches, health, longevity. In one was aroused the hope of one of these aims, in another of another. The belief in gold making was, as already mentioned, still alive at that period. But it was not only the continuance of this conviction that caused belief in the alchemistic secrets of the high degrees, but, as for instance, B. Kopp shows (Alch. II, p. 13) it was a certain metaphysical need of the time.

It will have been noticed that with all recognition of its abuses I grant to rosicrucianism, as it deserves, even its later forms, an ideal side. To deny it were to falsify its true likeness. Only the important difference must be noted between an idea and its advocates alchemy and the alchemists, rosicrucianism and the rosicrucians. There are worthy and unworthy advocates; among the alchemists they are called the adepts or masters and the sloppers and sloppy workers. Since in our research we are concerned with the hermetic science itself, not merely with the misdirections undertaken in its name, we should not let ourselves be involved in these. And as for us the spiritual result (alchemy, rosicrucian thoughts, masonic symbolism, etc.) is primarily to be regarded and not the single persons advocating it, the question is idle as to whether the earliest rosicrucians had an organized union or not. It is enough that the rosicrucians are created in the imagination, that this imagination is fostered and that people live it out and make it real. It amounts to the same thing for us, whether there were "so-called" or "real" rosicrucians; the substance of their teaching lives and this substance, which is evident in literature, was what I referred to when I said that rosicrucianism is identical with higher alchemy or the hermetic or the royal art. But I think the comparison holds true for the gold and rose-cross societies also, for the spiritual scope of this new edition is the same as that of the old order, except that, as in the fate of all subtile things, it was misunderstood by the majority. There were not lacking attempts to dissuade people from their errors. In the rosicrucian notes to the "Kompass der Weisen" (edition of 1782), e.g., "Moreover the object of our guiltless guild is not the making of gold.... Rather we remove the erroneous opinion from them [the disciples] in so far as they are infected with it, even on the first step of the temple of wisdom. They are earnestly enjoined against these errors and that they must seek the kingdom of God and his righteousness." Also through all kinds of reforms we seek to set the wayfarer on the right path that leads to the original ideal. It appears that the alchemistic preparation of the "work" is available only for the smallest circles. The multitude is blinded.

"Where do the Scottish masters stay?"

"Quite near the sun."

"Why?"

"Because they can stand it."



Section V.

The Problem Of Multiple Interpretation.

After what has been said it is clear that the Parable contains instruction in the sense of the higher alchemy. Whoever has attentively read this 4th chapter will certainly be in a position to understand the parable, in large part, in a hermetic sense. I do not wish to develop this interpretation now, for to a certain extent it develops itself without further effort, and what goes beyond that can be treated only in the second part of this volume. I shall limit myself now to a few suggestions.

In regard to the external setting of the parable as a piece of rosicrucian literature, we must remember that it was published in 1788, the time of the later gold- and rose-cross societies, and in a book whose theosophic and religious character is seen in all the figures contained in it as well as in the greater part of the text. It is continually reiterated that gold is not common gold but our gold, that the stone is a spiritual stone (Jesus Christ), etc. The creation of the world, the religious duty of mankind, the mystic path to the experiencing of divinity—all is represented in detailed pictures with predominantly chemical symbolism. This higher conception of alchemy, that corresponds throughout to the ideal of the so-called old or true rosicrucian, does not prevent the editor from believing in the possibility of miraculous gifts which are to be gained through the hermetic art. Many parts of the book make us suspect a certain naivete that may go several degrees beyond the simplicity required for religious development.

As for the origin of the parable there are two possibilities. Either the editor is himself the author and as such retires into the background, while he acts as collector of old rosicrucian manuscripts, that he now in publishing, discloses to amateurs in the art, or the editor is merely editor. In either case the obligation remains to interpret the parable hermetically. The educational purpose of the editor is established. If he is himself the author, he himself has clothed his teachings in the images of the parable. If, on the contrary, the author is some one else (either a contemporary and so [Symbol: sun] R. C. [Symbol: cross], or an old hermetic philosopher, Fr. R. C.), the editor has found in the piece edited by him a subject suitable to his purpose, a material that voices his doctrines. We can evidently also rest satisfied, in order to evade the question of authorship, that the writing itself gets its own character from the hermetic interpretations, and shows in detail its correspondingly theosophic material. Nevertheless I desire to show the directing hand of the collector and editor.

Several controlling elements pointing toward a hermetic theosophic interpretation, which the reader probably looks for in the parable, may be shown if I mention the ethical purposes that here and there emerge in our psychoanalytic interpretation of the parable. I might remind the reader that the wanderer is a killer of dragons like St. George; the holy Mary is represented standing over a dragon; also under the Buddha enthroned upon a lotus flower, there curls not infrequently a vanquished dragon; etc. I might mention the religious symbolism of the narrow path that leads to the true life. Many occurrences in the parable are to be conceived as trials, and we can see the wanderer overcome the elemental world (Nature triumphs over Nature), wherein he is proved by all four elements and comes off victorious from all tests. The fight with the lion in the den can be regarded as a world test, the walk on the cloud capped wall (like the flying up in the vessel) as an air test, the mill episode (and the flood in the vessel) as a water ordeal, and the stay in the heated vessel as a fire ordeal. The old miller is God, the ten mill wheels are the ten commandments, and likewise the ten Sephiroth that create the whole world. We are also reminded of the Ophanim (wheels, a class of angels).

Several particulars suggest the admission of the seeker into a hermetic fraternity, which, as far as I am concerned, might be called rosicrucian. There was also among the cabbalists, as apparently is shown by Reuchlin (De Vero Mirifico), an initiation into a mystery. Fludd (in his Tractatus theologo-philosophicus de vita, morte et resurrectione, Chap. XVI) apostrophizes the rosicrucians: "With open eyes I saw from your brief answer to two men whom you intended, at the exhortation of the Holy Ghost, to choose to your cloister or house, that you possessed the same knowledge of the true mystery and the same keys of knowledge that unlock the Paradise of Joy, as the patriarchs and prophets of holy scripture possess." And in another place, "Believe that your (the R. C. [Symbol: cross]) palace or abode is situated at the confines of the earthly paradise [locus voluptatis terrestris]...." In our parable it is a paradise of joy [pratum felicitatis] where the wanderer meets the company into which he desires admission. He must undergo examinations like every neophyte. The collegium sapientiae of the parable refers to the rosicrucian Collegium Sancti Spiritus, which is actually named in another passage of the book that contains the parable.

The blood of the lion, which the wanderer gets by cutting him up, refers to the rose-colored blood of the cross that we gain through deep digging and hammering. The wanderer picks roses and puts them in his hat, a mark of honor. The master is generally seen provided with a hat in the old pictures. "Rose garden" (the garden of the parable is quadrangular) was a name applied apparently to alchemistic lodges. The philosophical work itself is compared to the rose; the white rose is the white tincture, the red rose is the red tincture (different degrees of completion that follow the degrees of black). They are plucked in the "alchemistic paradise," but one must set about it in obedience to nature. Basilius Valentinus in the third of his twelve keys writes of the great magisterium: "So whoever wishes to compare our incombustible sulphur of all the wise men, must first take heed for himself, that he look for our sulphur in one who is inwardly incombustible; which cannot occur unless the salt sea has swallowed the corpse and completely cast it up again. Then raise it in its degree, so that it surpass in brilliance all the stars of heaven, and become in its nature as rich in blood, as the pelican when he wounds himself in his breast, so that his young may be well nourished without malady to his body, and can eat of his blood. [The pelican possesses under its bill a great pouch in which he can preserve food, principally fish. If he regurgitates the food out of his crop to feed his young he rests his bill against his breast. That gave rise to the belief that it tore open its breast in order to feed its young with its blood. From early times the pelican is therefore used as a symbol of Christ, who shed his blood for mankind. The alchemists represented the philosopher's stone, the red tincture, as a pelican; for by its projection on the baser metals it sacrificed itself and, as it were, gave its blood to tincture them. The Christian and the hermetic symbolism are concurrent as in higher sense the stone Christ, i.e., the Messiah, is on our hearts.] That is the rose of our master with color of scarlet and red dragon's blood, written of by many, also the purple mantle of the highest commanders in our art, with which the Queen of Salvation is clothed, and by which all the poor metals can be warmed. Keep well this mantle of honor."

It is interesting that dream parallels can support us in both directions on the path of hermetic interpretation. I have in the second section of this volume reported the "dream of the Flying Post." I must now complete its interpretation. Stekel writes (l. c, p. 399): "If we examine the birth and uterus phantasies, Mr. X. Z., the dreamer, turns out to be a base criminal. He struggles with conscious murder ideas. He is afraid he may kill his uncle or his mother. He is very pious. But his soul is black as the coal-dust-strewn street. His evil thoughts (the homosexual) pursue him. He enters the mill. It is God's mill that grinds slowly but surely. His weight (his burden of sin) drives the mill. He is expelled. He enters the Flying Post. It is the post that unites heaven and earth. He is to pay, i.e., do penance for his sins. His sins are erotic (three heller = the genitals). His sins and misdeeds stink before heaven (dirty feet). The conductor is death.... The wheel room refers to the wheel of criminals. The water is blood." The perilous situation in the dream, God's mill, the blackness, the water or blood, which are their analogues, are found in the parable without further reference being necessary. Especially would I select the unusual detail of the stinking, dirty feet, for which probably no one would see any association in the parable. It is found in the episode of the rotting of the bridal pair in the receptacle. It is expressly stated that the putrefying corpses (i.e., the disintegrating sinful bodies of men in the theosophic work) stink. The opposite is the odor of sanctity. Actually this opposition recurs frequently in hermetic manuals. The conductor in the dream is described hermetically as a messenger of heaven [Symbol: mercury], Hermes, conveyor of souls. His first appearance in the life of man is conscience. This causes our sins, which would be otherwise indifferent, to stink. In alchemy the substances stink on their dissolution in mercurious purifying liquid. Only later does the agreeable fragrance appear.

If we find on the one hand that the parable appears as a hermetic writing, which allows us to develop theosophical principles from its chemical analogues, on the other hand the psychoanalytic interpretation is not thereby shaken. Consequently the question arises for us how it is possible to give several interpretations of a long series of symbols that stand in complete opposition. [If we were concerned with individual symbols merely, the matter would not be at all extraordinary.] Our research has shown that they are possible. The psychoanalytic interpretation brings to view elements of a purposeless and irrational life of impulse, which works out its fury in the phantasies of the parable; and now the analysis of hermetic writings shows us that the parable, like all deep alchemistic books, is an introduction to a mystic religious life,—according to the degree of clearness with which the ideas hovered before the author. For just as the psychoanalytically derived meaning of the phantasies does not occur to him, so possibly even the mystical way on which he must travel must have appeared only hazily before him. So no matter what degree of clearness the subjective experience may have had from the author's point of view, we have for the solution of our own problem, to stick to the given object and to the possibilities of interpretation that are so extraordinarily coherent.

The interpretations are really three; the psychoanalytic, which leads us to the depths of the impulsive life; then the vividly contrasting hermetic religious one, which, as it were, leads us up to high ideals and which I shall call shortly the anagogic; and third, the chemical (natural philosophical), which, so to speak, lies midway and, in contrast to the two others, appears ethically indifferent. The third meaning of this work of imagination lies in different relations half way between the psychoanalytic and the anagogic, and can, as alchemistic literature shows, be conceived as the bearer of the anagogic.

The parable may serve as an academic illustration for the entire hermetic (philosophy). The problem of multiple interpretation is quite universal, in the sense namely that one encounters it everywhere where the imagination is creatively active. So our study opens wide fields and art and mythology especially appear to invite us. I will depart as little as possible, however, from the province chosen as an example, i.e., alchemy. But in two fables I shall work out the problem of multiple interpretation. In the choice of the fables I am influenced by the fact that a psychoanalytic elaboration (Rank's) lies ready to hand, and that both are subjected to an anagogic interpretation by Hitchcock, who wrote the book on alchemy. This enables me to take the matter up briefly because I can simply refer to the detailed treatment in the above mentioned books. The two stories belong to Grimm's collection and are called the Six Swans, and the Three Feathers. (K. H. M., Nos. 49 and 63.)

Rank (Lohenginsage) connects the story of the six swans and numerous similar stories with the knight of the swan saga. It is shown that the mythical contents of all these narratives have at bottom those elemental forces of the impulse life that we have found in the parable, and that they are specially founded on family conflicts, i.e., on those uncontrolled love and hate motives that come out in their crassest form in the neurotic as his (phantasied) "family romance." To this family romance belongs, among others, incest in different forms, the illicit love for the mother, the rescuing of the mother from peril, the rescuing of the father, the wish to be the father, etc., phantasies whose meaning is explained in the writings of Freud and Rank (Myth of the Birth of the Hero(3)). According to Hitchcock, on the contrary, the same story tells of a man who in the decline of life falls into error, takes the sin to his heart, but then, counseled by his conscience, seeks his better self and completes the (alchemic-creative) work of the six days. (Hitchcock, Red Book.)

It is incontestable that there is, besides the psychoanalytic and anagogic interpretation of this tale (and almost all others), a nature mythological and in the special sense, an astronomical interpretation. Significant indications of this are the seven children and the seven years, the sewing of clothes made of star flowers, the lack of an arm as in the case of Marduk, and the corresponding heroes of astral myths, and many others. One of the seven is particularly distinguished like the sun among the so-called planets. The ethically indifferent meaning of the tale alongside of the psychoanalytic and the anagogic corresponds to the chemical contents of the hermetic writings. As object of the indifferent meaning there always stands the natural science content of the spirit's creation. There is generally a certain relationship between the astronomical and the alchemistic meanings. It is now well known that alchemy was influenced by astrology, that the seven metals correspond to the seven planets, that, as the sun is distinguished among the planets, so is gold among the metals; and as in astrology combustion takes place in heaven, so it occurs also in the alembic of the alchemists. And the fact that the sun maiden at the end of the story releases her six planet brothers, sounds exactly as when the tincturing power of gold at the end of six days perfects the six imperfect metals and makes the ill, well.

In the second story I will emphasize to a somewhat greater degree the opposition of the two contrasting interpretations (psychoanalytic and anagogic), as I must return to it again. The story is suited to a detailed treatment on account of its brevity. I will first present it.

There was once a king who had three sons, two of whom were clever and shrewd, but the third did not talk much, was simple and was merely called the Simpleton. When the king grew old and feeble and expected his end, he did not know which one of his sons should inherit the kingdom after him. So he said to them, "Go forth, and whoever brings me the finest carpet shall be king after my death." And lest there be any disagreement among them, he led them before his castle, blew three feathers into the air, and said: "As they fly, so shall you go." One flew towards the east, the other towards the west, the third, however, flew straight ahead, but flying only a short distance soon fell to earth. Now one brother went to the right, the other went to the left, and they laughed at Simpleton, who had to stay with the third feather where it had fallen.

Simpleton sat down and was sad. Suddenly he noticed that near the feather lay a trap door. He raised it, found a stairway, and went down. Then he came before another door, knocked and listened, while inside a voice called:

"Maiden green and small, Shrunken old crone, Old crone's little dog, Crone here and there, Let us see quickly who is out there."

The door opened and he saw a big fat toad and round about her a crowd of little toads. The fat toad asked what his wish was. He answered, "I should have liked the most beautiful and finest carpet." Then she called a young one and said:

"Maiden green and small, Shrunken old crone, Crone's little dog, Crone here and there, Fetch here the big box."

The young toad brought the box and the fat toad opened it and gave Simpleton a carpet from it, so beautiful and so fine as up above on the earth could not have been woven. Then he thanked her and climbed up again.

The two others had, however, considered their youngest brother so weak-minded that they believed that he would not find and bring anything back. "Why should we take so much trouble," said they, and took from the back of the first shepherd's wife that met them her coarse shawl and carried it home to the king. At the same time Simpleton returned and brought his beautiful carpet, and when the king saw it he was astonished and said: "If justice must be done, the kingdom belongs to the youngest."

But the two others gave their father no peace, and said that it was impossible that Simpleton, who lacked understanding in all things, could be a king, and begged him to make a new condition. Then the father said, "The one that brings me the most beautiful ring shall be king," led the three brothers out and blew three feathers into the air for them to follow. The two oldest again went east and west, and Simpleton's feather flew straight ahead and fell down near the door in the earth. So he went down again to the fat toad and told her that he needed the most beautiful ring. She immediately had her big box fetched and from it gave him a ring that glittered with jewels and was more beautiful than any goldsmith upon the earth could have made. The two eldest laughed about Simpleton, who was going to look for a gold ring, but they took no trouble, and knocked the pin out of an old wagon ring and brought the ring to the king. But when Simpleton showed his gold ring the father again said, "The kingdom belongs to him." The two eldest did not cease importuning the king till he made a third condition and declared that the kingdom should go to the one that brought home the fairest woman. Again he blew the three feathers into the air and they flew as before.

So Simpleton without more ado went down to the fat toad and said, "I have to take home the fairest woman." "The fairest woman, hey? She is not right here, but none the less you shall have her." She gave him a hollowed out carrot to which were harnessed six little mice. Then Simpleton sadly said, "What shall I do with it?" The toad replied, "Just put one of my little toads in it." So he took one by chance from the circle and put it in the yellow carriage, but hardly had she taken her seat when she became a surpassingly beautiful maiden, the carrot a coach, and the six little mice, horses. So he kissed the maiden, drove away with the horses and took them to the king. His brothers came afterwards. They had not taken any trouble to find a fair lady but had brought the first good looking peasant woman. As the king looked at them he said, "The youngest gets the kingdom after my death." But the two oldest deafened the king's ears with their outcry: "We cannot allow the Simpleton to be king," and gained his consent that the one whose woman should jump through a ring that hung in the middle of the room should have the preference. They thought, "The peasant women can do it easily, they are strong enough, but the delicate miss will jump herself to death." The old king consented to this also. So the two peasant women jumped, even jumped through the ring, but were so clumsy that they fell and broke their awkward arms and legs. Then the beautiful woman whom Simpleton had brought leaped through as easily as a roe, and all opposition had to cease. So he received the crown and ruled long and wisely.

I offer first a neat psychoanalytic interpretation of this narrative. Like the dream, the fairy tale is regularly a phantastic fulfillment of wishes, and, of such indeed, as we realize, but which life does not satisfy, as well as of such as we are hardly aware of in consciousness, and would not entertain if we knew them clearly. Reality denies much, especially to the weak, or to those who feel themselves weak, or who have a smaller capacity for work in the struggle for existence in relation to their fellow men. The efficient person accomplishes in his life what he wishes, the wishes of the weak remain unfulfilled, and for this reason the weak, or whoever in comparison with the magnitude of his desires, thinks himself weak, avails himself of the phantastic wish fulfillment. He desires to attain the unattainable at least in imagination. This is the psychological reason why so many fairy stories are composed from the standpoint of the weak, so that the experiencing Ego of the fairy tale, the hero, is a simpleton, the smallest or the weakest or the youngest one who is oppressed, etc. The hero of the foregoing tale is a simpleton and the youngest. In his phantasy, that is, in the story, he stamps his brothers, who are in real life more efficient, and whom he envies, as malicious, disagreeable characters. (In real life we can generally observe how suspicious are, for instance, physically deformed people. Their sensitiveness is well known.) Like the fox to whom the grapes are sour, he declares that what his stronger fellows accomplish is bad, their performance of their duty defective, and their aims contemptible, especially in the sexual sphere, where he feels himself openly most injured. The tale treats specifically from the outset the conquest of a woman. The carpet, the ring, are female symbols, the first is the body of the woman, the ring is the vagina (Greek kteis = comb = pudenda muliebria). (The carpet is still more specifically marked as a female symbol in that the brothers take it from the body of a shepherdess. Shepherdess—a coarse "rag"—coarse "cloth"—in contrast to the fine carpet of the hero.)

The simpleton is one who does not like much work. When he also ascribes negligence to his brothers he betrays to us his own nature, in that his "feather," i.e., himself, does not go far, while his brothers' feathers go some distance. In order to invalidate this view of himself the distribution of the feathers is put off on chance, as if to a higher determining power. This has always been a favorite excuse with lazy and inefficient people.

One of the means of consoling himself for the unattainableness of his wishes is the belief in miracles. (Cf. my work on Phantasy and Mythos.) The simpleton gains his advantage in a miraculous manner; roasted pigeons fly into his mouth.

In his erotic enterprises he sticks to his own immediate neighborhood. He clearly bears within himself an Imago that holds him fast. [This is an image, withdrawn from consciousness and consequently indestructible, of the object of one's earliest passion, which continues to operate as a strongly affective complex, and takes hold upon life with a formative effect. The most powerful Imagos are those of the parents. Here naturally the mother imago comes to view, which later takes a position in the center of the love life (namely the choice of object).] Whither does he turn for his journey of conquest? Into the earth. The earth is the mother as a familiar symbol language teaches us. Trap door, box, subterranean holes, suggest a womb phantasy. The toad frequently appears with the significance of the uterus, harmonizing with the situation that the tale presents. (On the contrary frog is usually penis.) The toad's big box (= mother) is also the womb. From it indeed the female symbols, in this connection, sisters, are produced for the simpleton. The box is, however, also the domestic cupboard,—food closet, parcel, bandbox, chamber, bowl, etc.,—from which the good mother hands out tasty gifts, toys, etc. Just as the father in childish phantasy can do anything, so the mother has a box out of which she takes all kinds of good gifts for the children. Down among the toads an ideal family episode is enacted. The mother's inexhaustible box (with the double meaning) even delivers the desired woman for the simpleton.

The woman—for whom? Doubtless for the simpleton, psychologically. The tale says for the king, because the female symbols, carpet, ring, the king desires for himself, in so many words, and the inference is that the woman also belongs to him. The conclusion of the tale, however, turns out true to the psychological situation, as it does away with the king and lets the simpleton live on, apparently with the same woman. It is clear as day that the simpleton identifies himself with his father, places himself in his place. The image, which possesses him from the first is the father's woman, the mother. And the father's death—that is considerately ignored—which brings queen and crown, is a wish of the simpleton. So again we find ourselves at the center of the OEdipus complex. As mother-substitute figures the sister, one of the little toads.

We have regarded the story first from the point of view of the inefficiency of the hero, and have thereupon stumbled upon erotic relations, finally upon the OEdipus complex. The psychological connection results from the fact that those images on which the OEdipus complex is constructed appear calculated to produce an inefficiency in the erotic life.

The anagogic interpretation of Hitchcock (l. c., pp. 175 ff.) is as follows, though somewhat abridged:

The king plainly means man. He has three sons; he is an image of the Trinity, which in the sense of our presentation we shall think of as body, soul and spirit. Two of the sons were wise in the worldly sense, but the third, who represents spirit and in the primitive form, is called conscience, is simple in order to typify the straight and narrow path of truth. The spirit leads in sacred silence those who meekly follow it and dies in a mystical sense if it is denied, or else appears in other forms in order to pursue the soul with the ghosts of murdered virtues. Man is, as it were, in doubt concerning the principle to which the highest leadership in life is due. "Go forth and whoever brings me the finest carpet shall be king after my death." The carpet is something on which one walks or stands, here representing the best way of life according to Isaiah XXX, 21. "This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand and when ye turn to the left."

The three feathers are, of course, the three principles. Two of them move at once in opposite directions [towards the east and towards the west, as many writers on alchemy represent the two principles or breaths, anima and corpus or [Symbol: Gold] and [Symbol: Silver]] and so come even at the outset away from the right path. The third, symbol of the spirit, flies straight forward and has not far to its end, for simple is the way to the inner life. And so the spirit will speak to us if we follow its voice, at first quite a faint voice: "But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth and in thy heart that thou mayst do it." (Deuteronomy XXX, 14.) Yet the soul is not free from sadness, as the man stands still on the lower steps of the ladder that leads up into eternal life. Simpleton is troubled in his heart and in the humility of this affliction he discovers "all at once" a secret door, which shows him the entrance into the mystical life. The door is on the surface of the earth, in abasement, as the third feather determined it in advance. As Simpleton discreetly obeyed it, he strolled along the path that the door opened for him. Three steps, three fundamental forces. So Christ had to descend before he could rise. The hero of the story knocks as Christ knocks in the gospel (i.e., on the inner door, contrasted with the law of Moses, the outer door). The big toad with her little ones in a circle about her signifies the great mother nature and her creatures, which surround her in a circle; in a circle, for nature always returns upon herself in a cycle. Simpleton gets the most beautiful carpet.

The other two beings that we call understanding and feelings (sun and moon of the hermetic writings) look without, instead of seeking the way within; so it comes to pass that they take the first best coarse cloths.

To bring the most beautiful ring is to bring truth, which like a ring has neither beginning nor end. Understanding and feeling go in different directions, the simpleton waits meekly by the door that leads to the interior of the great mother. [The appearance of this conception in the anagogic interpretation is also important.]

In the third test, the search for "the fairest woman," the crown of life, conceived exoterically as well as esoterically, the carrot represents the vegetative life (body, the natural man), and the six mice that draw it are our old friends the six swans or virtues, and the highest of these compassion—or love—goes as the enthroned queen in the carriage. The uninitiated man is almost in doubt and asks, "What shall I do with a carrot?" Yet the great mother replies, as it were, "Take one of my fundamental forces." And what do we see then? The toad becomes a beautiful maiden, etc. The man now all at once realizes how fearfully and wonderfully he is made. Filled with reverence of himself he is ready to cry, "Not my will but thine be done."

Still another test remains. We must all go through a sort of mystical ring, which hangs in the hall (of learning). Only one in the whole universe is in a condition to accomplish it, to endure it without injury. The beautiful delicate maid with the miraculous gift is the spirit [spiritus or [Symbol: Mercury] of alchemy].

We shall add that the two interpretations externally contradict each other, although each exhibits a faultless finality. I should note that I have limited myself to the briefest exposition; in a further working out of the analysis the two expositions can be much more closely identified with the motives of the story.

First, then, the question arises, how one and the same series of images can harmonize several mutually exclusive interpretations (problem of multiple interpretation); yet we have discovered in the parable three practically equivalent schemes of interpretation, the psychoanalytic, the chemical (scientific), and the anagogic. Secondly, the question presents itself more particularly how can two so antithetic meanings as the psychoanalytic and the anagogic exist side by side.



Part III.

SYNTHETIC PART.



Section I.

Introversion And Regeneration.



A. Introversion And Intro-Determination.

The multiple interpretation of works of fantasy has become our problem, and the diametrical opposition of the psychoanalytic and the anagogic interpretation has particularly struck us. The question now apparently becomes more complicated if I show that the psychoanalytic interpretation contains an analogue that we must take into consideration. The analogue is presented by the remarkable coexistence of symbolism of material and functional categories in the same work of imagination. In order to make myself intelligible, I must first of all explain what these categories are.

In division 2 of the introductory part we have seen that the imagination shows a predilection for symbolic forms of expression, proportionately greater indeed, the more dreamlike it is. Now by this symbolism as we observe most clearly in hypnagogic (half dreaming) hallucinations and in dreams, three different groups of objects are represented.

I. Thought contents, imagination contents, in brief, the contents or objects of thinking and imagining, the material of thought whether it be conscious or unconscious.

II. The condition, activity, structure of the psyche, the way and manner that it functions and feels, the method of functioning of the psyche, whether it be conscious or unconscious.

III. Somatic processes (bodily stimulations). This third sort of objects is closely cooerdinated with the other two. It is not capable of interesting us in the present connection so we pass it by.

Therefore we arrive at two categories in which we can enroll all symbolizing works of the imagination, the material and the functional.

I. The material category is characterized by its representation of thought contents, i.e., of contents that are worked out in a train of thoughts (arranged thought, imagined), whether they are mere images or groups of images, concepts that are somewhat drawn out into comparisons and definition processes, or indeed judgments, trains of reasoning, which serve as analytic or synthetic operations, etc. Since, as we know, the phantasies (dreams, reveries, even poems) are mostly inspired by wishes, it will prove frequently the case that the contents symbolically contained in them are wish images, i.e., the imagined experiencing of gratification.

II. The functional category is characterized by the fact that the condition, structure or capacity for work of the individual consciousness (or the psychic apparatus) is itself portrayed. It is termed functional because it has nothing to do with the material or the contents of the act of thinking, but applies merely to manner and method in which consciousness functions (rapid, slow, easy, hard, obstructed, careless, joyful, forced; fruitless, successful; disunited, split into complexes, united, interchangeable, troubled, etc.). [It is immaterial whether these are conscious or unconscious. Thinking must be taken here in the widest possible sense. It means here all psychic processes that can have anything as an "object."]

Two typical examples will enable us at once clearly to understand the two categories and keep them separate.

A. Material Symbolism.—Conditions. In a drowsy state I reflect upon the nature of the judgments that are transsubjectively (= for all men) valid. All at once the thread of the abstract thought is broken and autosymbolically in the place of it is presented the following hypnagogic hallucination:

Symbol. An enormous circle, or transparent sphere, floats in the air and men are putting their heads into this circle.

Interpretation. In this symbol everything that I was thinking of is expressed. The validity of the transsubjective concerns all men without exception; the circle goes through all the heads. This validity must have its cause in something common to all. The heads all belong to the same apparently homogeneous sphere. Not all judgments are transsubjective; with their bodies and limbs men are outside of and under the sphere and stand on the earth as separate individuals.

B. Functional Symbolism.—Conditions. Dreamy state as above. I reflect upon something or other, and yet in allowing myself to stray into bypaths of thought, I am diverted from my peculiar theme. When I want to get back the autosymbolic phenomenon appears.

Symbol. I am climbing mountains. The nearer mountains shut out my view of the more distant ones, from which I have come and to which I should like to return.

Meaning. I have got off the track. I have ventured too high and the ideas that I have entertained shut out my starting point like the mountains.

To the material category belongs, for example, the meaning of the strawberry dream explained in the second part of the introductory chapter. Strawberry picking is a symbol for an imaged wish gratification (sexual intercourse), and so for an image content. The symbolism is therefore a material one. The greatly preponderating part of psychoanalytic dream literature is occupied with interpretation according to material categories.

To the functional categories belong, for example, the symbolism of falling asleep and waking up, which I have mentioned in the second part in connection with the interpretation of the parable.

The two categories of symbolism, if they never did anything but parallel each other, would afford us no analogues for our problem of double meaning. Now the cases, however, are extremely rare where there is only functional or only material symbolism; the rule is an intimate interweaving of both. To be sure, one is frequently more emphasized than the other or more easily accessible, but we can generally find cases where long contexts of images are susceptible of material as well as functional interpretation, alike in detail and continuity of connection.

The following may serve as a very simple case in point. Lying one evening in bed and exhausted and about to fall asleep, I devoted my thoughts to the laborious progress of the human spirit in the dim transcendant province of the mothers-problem. (Faust, Part II.) More and more sleepy and ever less able to retain my thoughts, I saw suddenly with the vividness of an illusion a dream image. I stood on a lonely stone pier extending far into a dark sea. The waters of the sea blended at the horizon with an equally dark-toned mysterious, heavy air. The overpowering force of this tangible picture aroused me from my half sleeping state, and I at once recognized that the image, so nearly an hallucination, was but a visibly symbolic embodiment of my thought content that had been allowed to lapse as a result of my fatigue. The symbol is easily recognized as such. The extension into the dark sea corresponds to the pushing on into a dark problem. The blending of atmosphere and water, the imperceptible gradation from one to the other means that with the "mothers" (as Mephistopheles pictures it) all times and places are fused, that there we have no boundaries between a "here" and a "there," an "above" and a "below," and for this reason Mephistopheles can say to Faust on his departure,

"Plunge then.—I could as well say soar."

We see therefore between the visualized image and the thought content, which is, as it were, represented by it, a number of relations. The whole image resolves itself insofar as it has characteristic features, almost entirely into such elements as are most closely related to the thought content. Apart from these connections of the material category, the image represents also my momentary psychic condition (transition to sleep). Whoever is going to sleep is, as it were, in the mental state of sinking into a dark sea. (The sinking into water or darkness, entrance into a forest, etc., are frequently-occurring threshold symbols.) The clearness of ideas vanishes there and everything melts together just as did the water and the atmosphere in the image.

This example is but to illustrate; it is in itself much too slight and simple to make any striking revelation of the remarkable interlacing of the two kinds of symbolism. I refer to my studies on symbolism and on dreams in the bibliography. Exhaustive treatment at this point would lead us too far afield. Let us rest satisfied then with the facts that the psychoanalysts simultaneously deal with two fundamentally different lines of interpretation in a product of the phantasy (dream, etc.), quite apart from the multiple determinants which they can find within the material as well as in the functional categories; both lines of interpretation are supplied by the same fabric of images, indeed often by the same elements of this image fabric. This context therefore must have been sought out artfully enough by the creative unconscious to answer the double requirement.

The coexistence of the material meaning with the functional is not entirely puzzling to the student of psychoanalysis. Two facts must be kept in mind throughout.

In the first place, we are acquainted with the principle of multiple determination or condensation. The multiplicity of the dimly moving latent dream thoughts condenses into a few clear dream forms or symbols, so that one symbol continually, as it were, appears as the representative of several ideas, and is therefore interpretable in several ways. That it should be susceptible of more than one interpretation can cause no surprise because the fundamental significance (the latent thoughts) were the very ones that, by association, caused the selection of the symbols from an infinite series of possibilities. In the shaping of the dream, and therefore in the unconscious dream work, only such pictorial elements could penetrate into consciousness as satisfied the requirements of the multiple determination. The principle of multiple determination is valid not only within the material and the functional categories, but makes the fusion of both in the symbol in question to some extent intelligible. Elements of both categories take an active part in the choice of the symbol. On the one hand, a number of affects press on towards the symbolic representation of objects to which they direct themselves (objects of love, hate, etc.). On the other hand, the psyche takes cognizance of its own impulses, play of affects, etc., and this perception will gain representation. Both impulses take part in the choice of those symbols which thrust themselves into the nascent consciousness of phantasy, and so the dream, like the poem, etc., besides the symbolism of the wish tendencies (material categories) that animate them, bears the stamp of the psychic authorship (functional category) of the dreamer or the author. [Ferenczi defends the view for the myth also that the material symbolism must coincide with the functional (Imago I, p. 283).]

Secondly, it has been shown in recent times in psychoanalytic studies that symbols which were originally material pass over to functional use. If we thoroughly analyze for a sufficient time the dreams of a person we shall find that certain symbols which at first probably appeared only incidentally to signify some idea content, wish content, etc., return and become a persistent or typical form. And the more such a typical form is established and is impressed, the farther it is removed from its first ephemeral meaning, and the more it becomes a symbolic representative of a whole group of similar experiences, a spiritual capital, so to speak, till finally we can regard it simply as the representative of a spiritual current (love, hate, tendency to frivolity, to cruelty, to anxiety, etc.). What has been accomplished there is a transition from the material to the functional on the path of a determination inward or intro-determination (verinnerlichung) as I shall call it. Later I shall have more to say about intro-determination. For the present this may suffice for the understanding, that the material and the functional symbolism, in spite of their at first apparently fundamental difference, are essentially related in some way, which is illuminated by the process of intro-determination.

The analogue of the problem of multiple interpretation unfolded in the preceding section is shown to be a question that can be easily answered. And we would bring our problem to a generally satisfactory position if we succeeded in showing that the anagogic interpretation, whose alignment with the psychoanalytic seemed so impracticable, is a form of functional interpretation, or at least related to it. In this case it would be at once comprehensible how a product of the imagination harmonizes with several expositions (problem of multiple interpretation); because this variety of sense had already operated in the selection of the symbol and indeed, in those cases as well where we did not at first sight suspect the cooeperation of the anagogic thoughts; secondly, the anagogic and the psychoanalytic interpretations are somehow reconciled to each other, whereby possibly also the position of the natural science interpretation can be made somewhat clearer.

The possibility that the anagogic has some part in the creation of the functional, will be brought nearer by the fact that our previously offered anagogic expositions (fairy tales, parabola) markedly resemble functional interpretations. In the tale of the six swans Hitchcock explains the reception of the maiden into the castle as the reception of sin into the heart; the seven children are the seven virtues (consequently spiritual tendencies). The small maiden is conscience, the tissues are processes of thought. In the story of the three feathers, again, one son is conscience; the secret door is the entrance to the inner life, to spiritual absorption, the three feathers are spiritual tendencies, etc. In the dream of the "flying post" conscience appears as the conductor. The "Mills of God," which psychologically also represents conscience, the more strikingly because the burden of sin, guilty feeling, drives them, also appear in the parable. The lion or the dragon which must be overcome on the mystic path is again a spiritual force. The approximation to the functional category is not to be denied. Processes that show an interplay of spiritual powers are symbolically represented there. But we are at once struck with a difference. The true functional phenomenon, as I have so far described it, pictures the actual psychic state or process; the anagogic image appears on the contrary to point to a state or process that is to be experienced in the future. We shall pass over for a time the last topic, which will not, however, be forgotten, and turn to the question as to the point on which the anagogic and the functional interpretations can best be brought together. This point appears to me to be introversion, first because it is related to the previously mentioned intro-determination, and second, because it is familiar to psychoanalysis and is of great importance in anagogic method.

The term "introversion" comes from C. G. Jung. It means sinking into one's own soul; the withdrawal of interest from the outer world; the seeking for joys that can be afforded by the inner world. The psychology of the neuroses has led to the concept of introversion, a province, therefore, which principally treats of morbid forms and functions of introversion. The sinking of oneself into one's own soul also appears exactly as a morbid losing of oneself in it. We can speak of introversion neuroses. Jung regards dementia precox as an introversion neurosis. Freud, who has adopted the concept of introversion [with some restrictions] regards the introversion of the libido as a regular and necessary precondition of every psychoneurosis. Jung (Jb. ps. F., III, p. 159) speaks of "certain mental disturbances [he means dementia precox] which are induced by the fact that the patients retire more and more from reality, sink into their phantasy, whereby in proportion as reality loses its force, the inner world takes on a reality and determining power." We may also define introversion as a resignation of the joys of the outer world (probably unattainable or become troubled) and a seeking for the libido sources in one's own ego. So we see how generally self-chastisement, introversion and autoerotism are connected.

The turning away from the outer world and turning in to the inner, is required by all those methods which lead to intensive exercise of religion and a mystic life. The experts in mysteries provide for opportunities that should encourage introversion. Cloisters and churches are institutions of introversion. The symbolism of religious doctrine and rite is full of images of introversion, which is, in short, one of the most important presuppositions of mysticism.

Religious and mythical symbolism has countless images for introversion; e.g., dying, going down, subterranean crypts, vaults, dark temples, into the underworld, hell, the sea, etc.; being swallowed by a monster or a fish (as Jonah), stay in the wilderness, etc. The symbols for introversion correspond in large part with those that I have described for going to sleep and waking (threshold symbolism), a fact that can be readily appreciated from their actual similarity. The descent of Faust to the mothers is an introversion symbol. Introversion fulfills here clearly the aim of bringing to reality, i.e., to psychological reality, something that is attainable only by phantasy (world of the past, Helen).

In Jacob Boehme (De Vita Mentali) the disciple says to the master, "How may I attain suprasensuous life, so that I may see God and hear him speak?" The master says, "When you can lift yourself for one moment into that realm where no creature dwelleth, you will hear what God speaks." The disciple says, "Is that near or far?" The master says, "It is in yourself."

The hermetics often urge retirement, prayer and meditation, as prerequisites for the work; it is treated of still more in the hieroglyphic pictures themselves. The picture of death is already familiar to us from the hermetic writings, but in the technical language there are still other expressions for introversion, e.g., the shutting up in the receptacle, the solution in the mercury of the sages, the return of the substance to its radical condition (by means of the "radical" or root dampness).

Similar features in our parable are the wandering in the dense forest, the stay in the lion's den, the going through the dark passage into the garden, the being shut up in the prison or, in the language of alchemy, the receptacle.

Introversion is continually connected with regression. Regression, as may be recalled from the 2d section of Part I, is a harking back to more primitive psychic activities, from thinking to gazing, from doing to hallucinating; a striving back towards childhood and the pleasures of childhood. Introversion accordingly is accompanied by a desire for symbolic form of expression (the mystical education is carried on in symbols), and causes the infantile imagos to revive—chiefly the mother image. It was pre-eminently father and mother who appeared as objects of childish love, as well as of defiance. They are unique and imperishable, and in the life of adults there is no difficulty in reawakening and making active those memories and those imagos. We easily comprehend the fact that the symbolic aim of the previously mentioned katabasis always has a maternal character; earth, hole, sea, belly of fish, etc., that all are symbols for mother and womb. Regression revives the OEdipus complex with its thoughts of incest, etc. Regression leads back to all these relics now done away with in life and repressed. It actually leads into a sort of underworld, into the world of titanic wishes, as I have called them. How far this was the case in the alchemistic parable, I have fully shown in the psychoanalytic treatment of it. Here I need merely to refer to the maternal nature of the symbols cited: receptacle, mercury of the sages ("mother of metals") and radical moisture, also called "milk" and the like.

Fairy tales have frequently a very pretty functional symbolism for the way in which introversion leads to the mother imago. Thus the simpleton in the fairy tale of the feathers comes through the gate of introversion exactly into the family circle, to the mother that cares for him. There his love finds its satisfaction. There he even gets a daughter, replica of the mother imago, for a wife.

In the parable the wandering in the forest (introversion) is followed by the battle (suggestive of incest) with the lion (father or mother in their awe inspiring form); the inclusion in the receptacle (introversion) by the accomplishment of the incest.

If it is now clear also that in introversion, as a result of the regression that is connected with it, visions of "titanic" emotions (incest, separating of parents, etc.) are encountered, yet it has not become in the slightest degree comprehensible how these visions are related to the treatment of anagogic ideas. And that is indeed the question.

We can really understand these striking facts better if we recall what I have said above about the type formation and the intro-determination of the symbols, namely, that symbols can depart from their original narrower meaning and become types for an entire class of experiences whereby an advance is made from the material to the functional meaning. Some examples will elucidate this.

I have observed particularly fine cases of intro-determination in a series of experiments in basin divination (lecanomancy) which I have carried on for several years. Lecanomancy resembles crystal gazing, except that the gazer looks into a basin of water. In the visions of my subject, Lea, typical forms were pictured, which always recurred. Regarded as symbols they were, as subsequent analysis showed, almost all subjected to inward accentuation or intro-determination. Thus, for instance, a black cat appeared. At first it appeared as representative of Lea's grandmother, who was cat-like, malicious and fawning. Later the cat stood for the corresponding traits that she perceived in herself. Above all the cat is the symbol of her grandmother, so the grandmother (or cat) is a mental current of Lea. Frequently there appears in the image a Dyas, sometimes in the shape of a two-headed snake, of two hands, of two feet, or of a woman with two faces, etc. Above all, every antithesis appears to have some external meaning, two men who love each other, etc. So it becomes clear that the common element which finds its most pregnant expression in the double faced woman is the Dyas in itself and that it means bisexuality, psychic hermaphroditism. More than that it is definitely certain that the deepest sense of the symbol means a complete dissociation of Lea's character into two different personalities, one of which may be called the savage and the other the mild. (Lea herself uses the expressions cynical and ideal personality.) In one of the later experiments Lea saw her cynic double vividly personified and spoke in this character, which is closely related to the "black cat." The Dyas in the symbols has the value first of a representation of externals (two lovers, etc.), then as symbols of bisexuality. The sexual Dyas can again be conceived as a symbol or characteristic of a still more general and comprehensive dissociation of the ego. A further symbol and one still more tending towards intro-determination was death. Starting from connections with definite external experiences and ideas of actual death, the meaning of the symbol became more and more spiritual, till it reached the meaning of the fading away of psychic impulses. What died symbolically or had to die was represented by an old man who sacrificed himself after suffering all kinds of fortune. The dying of this old man signified, as analysis showed, the same thing that we call the "putting off the old Adam" (turning over a new leaf). The figure of the old man, originally Lea's grandfather, then her father, came to have this meaning only after a long process of intro-determination.

A few more examples for typical figures.

In many dreams of a woman analyzed by me (Pauline, in my treatise Zur Symbolbildung), a cow appears as a typical image. The alternation of this cow with more or less definite mother symbols leads to identification of the cow with the mother. Two circumstantial dreams that were fully analyzed showed, however, that the cow and other forms with which she alternated cannot be translated so correctly by the concept of mother as by that of the maternal authority and finally still more correctly by self-criticism or conscience, of which maternal authority is but a type. Children figure in Pauline's case as a result of various experiences, as typical of obstacles.

In the case of another dreamer the father stands in similar relation as the determinant that paralyzes his resolutions.

The climbing of an ascent, usually a symbol of coitus (hurrying upward which makes us out of breath), turns out often in a deeper relation as the effort to get from the disagreeable things of life to a place of retreat (lonely attics, etc.), inaccessible to other persons (= thoughts); and now we see that this deeper meaning appears without prejudice to the first, for even coitus, like all transport, is only a special case of flight from the outer life, one of the forms of spiritual oblivion. Hence in part the mythologically and psychopathologically important comparison of intoxication, intoxicating drink and sperm, soma and semen. Ascent = coitus is in this case a type for a quite comprehensive class of experience.

Marcinowski found in his analyses that the father in dream life often was a "symbol of an outlived, obsolete attitude." (Z. Bl. f. Ps., II, 9.)

Other examples of types are the phallus, the sun and other religiously revered objects, if we regard them as does Jung (Wandl. u. Sym., Jb. ps. F., III-IV) as a symbol of the libido. [The concept of which is extended by Jung almost to Schopenhauer's Will.] The typical character of divine personalities is moreover quite clearly emphasized by Jung himself.

The snake, about whose significance as a "negative phallus," etc. [developed in detail by Jung], we shall have more to say, can also be regarded as a typical image. Bull, cow and other animal forms are in mythology as in dreams typical transmutations, with unlimited possibility of intro-determination. Dogs are often in dreams the representations of animal propensities. The beast is often "la bete humaine" in the dreamer's own inner life. We have become acquainted with the terrible lions, the bears, etc., as father types; here we get a new perspective which makes clear the one-sidedness of our first conception.