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Jacob and Esau

Text by Erich Neumann © 2015 by the Neumann Estate. All rights reserved. Translation © 2015 by Mark Kyburz. All rights reserved. Synopsis of biblical story, introduction, and editorial apparatus © 2015 by Erel Shalit. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, Chiron Publications, 932 Hendersonville Road, Suite 104, Asheville, North Carolina 28803. Jacob and Esau: On the Collective Symbolism of the Brother Motif is published in cooperation with Recollections, LLC. Recollections is devoted to promoting and supporting the publication of material related to the early development of analytical psychology. Through its partnership with Chiron Publications, Recollections has several projects under way. Cover image: “Jacob and Esau,” by Meir Gur-Arieh. Used with permission by the artist’s estate, Meira Kain. Title page illustration: “Jacob and Esau,” by Jacob Steinhardt. Used with permission by the artist’s estate, Yosefa Bar-On Steinhardt. Photo of Neumann at his desk courtesy of Ralli Loewenthal-Neumann. Book and cover design by Marianne Jankowski. Printed in the United States of America. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Neumann, Erich, author. Jacob and Esau : on the collective symbolism of the brother motif / Erich Neumann ; edited and with an introduction by Erel Shalit ; translated by Mark Kyburz. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. Text is a translation from German of previously unpublished typescripts and manuscripts. ISBN 978-1-63051-217-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) -- ISBN 978-1-63051-216-3 (pbk. : alk. paper) - ISBN 978-1-63051-218-7 (electronic) 1. Psychoanalysis and religion. 2. Jacob (Biblical patriarch) 3. Esau (Bibical figure) 4. Twins-Religious aspects. 5. Twins--Mythology. 6. Archetype (Psychology) 7. Symbolism (Psychology) 8. Jungian psychology. I. Shalit, Erel, editor. II. Kyburz, Mark, 1963- translator. III. Title. BF175.4.R44N48 2015 150.19'54--dc23 2015028170


Acknowledgments The Biblical Story of Jacob and Esau Introduction I. The Symbolism of Jacob and Esau II. On the Collective Symbolism of the Brother Motif III. Layers of the Unconscious: The Interpretation of Mythology Addendum Editor’s Note Translator’s Note Bibliography Index


hile not a simple task, it has been a great privilege to edit and introduce this work by Erich Neumann. I am grateful to Ms. Rali LoewenthalNeumann and Professor Micha Neumann for giving me access to this manuscript and thus providing me with the opportunity to delve into the depths and the development of Neumann’s thoughts. It has been a rather unique experience to be as if present in the process of Neumann’s writing and typing, which has been necessary in order to follow the evolution and crystallization of his thinking. Concurrent with the sense of being present has been the advantage of looking at this manuscript from a distance in time and in the context of the bulk of Neumann’s writings in the course of his all too short, yet tremendously creative life. Adding to the paradoxes of this endeavor has been the sense of timelessness and agelessness; on the one hand, this is an old manuscript, written eighty years before I first read it, yet written by a young man, less than half my age. I can only stand in awe and appreciate being let into the world of this very introverted, remarkable illuminator of the psyche. This book sees the light of day thanks to Nancy Swift Furlotti. She has enabled this project to materialize. Spurred by her interest in Neumann’s writings and her profound knowledge of Jung and analytical psychology, carrying the spirit of depth, she read and saw the importance of this manuscript. She has been the driving force behind this and other publications, such as Analytical Psychology in Exile: The Correspondence of C. G. Jung and Erich Neumann, as well as forthcoming works. Neumann wrote this book, as he did all his other works, in German. Mark Kyburz has provided a first-class translation into English. He has created a text that is not only faithful to Neumann’s original but also eloquent and easily readable, to which John Peck has bestowed valuable editorial


assistance. Furthermore, in a number of instances, Mark and John have resolved difficult questions of translation in a masterful way. My thanks go to Steve Buser and Len Cruz, publishers at Chiron. Their professionalism, support, and enthusiasm have been tremendously valuable, making this not only a process of hard work but contributing to the sense of significance as well as joy. It has also been a pleasure and an honor to work with Siobhan Drummond in the final stages of this book. She has handled all aspects of this process in a way that every author or editor can only wish for, skillfully guiding us across the hurdles of book production. I would also like to thank Rina Porat, friend and colleague, for her valuable help and comments. Few know Neumann’s theory and work as she does. I wish to thank Gideon Ofrat, historian of Israeli art, for turning my attention to the woodcut by Jacob Steinhardt and the silhouette by Meir GurArieh. Their respective images of the meeting, reconciliation, and embrace of Jacob and Esau convey the immensity of the biblical drama. Yosefa Bar-On Steinhardt, the artist’s daughter, and Meira Kain, granddaughter and namesake, have generously given permission to make use of the artwork. Lastly, while I don’t expect my grandchildren to read this book in the very near future, I have undertaken the task of editing and introducing this book by Neumann for them. Just like Erich Neumann’s work is a psychological reconnection with his Jewish ancestors, reinterpreting the stories of old in the realm of the objective psyche, I hope that their generation will seek its own distinct ways of individuation, connected to and on the basis of the inevitable, yet seemingly so easily deniable, archetypal patterns of our ancestors.

The Biblical Story of Jacob and Esau

acob and Esau are the best-known pair of twins in the Bible, sons of Isaac and Rebekah.1 Abraham’s servant was sent to Aram-Naharaim to find a wife for his son Isaac. Guided by providence, the servant met Rebekah at the city well, “and the girl was very pretty to look upon, a virgin, and no man had known her” (Gen. 24:16). She was the granddaughter of Abraham’s brother Nahor, and she had gone down to the well to fill her jar of water.2 Showing her hospitality and grace to the stranger, Rebekah gave him a drink and drew water for his camels. Abraham’s servant inquired about her background, so Rebekah brought him home to her family. He told them about his mission, to find a wife for Isaac, from his master Abraham’s family of origin. With the blessing of her family, Rebekah agreed to follow him back to the Negev desert in the land of Canaan, where Isaac was meditating in a field near the well of Lahairoi, where he lived (Gen. 24:62).3 While Rebekah’s age is not mentioned, Isaac was forty years old when they married. They remained childless for twenty years, until she bore Esau and Jacob. Rebekah inquired of God why her children struggled with each other in her womb. God told her, “Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples shall be separated from your bowels; and the one people shall be stronger than the other people; and the elder shall serve the younger” (Gen. 25:23). Esau, the firstborn, was “ready,” or “done,” which is the literal meaning of his name, already when born. He came out red and hairy—thus his additional names are Edom (red) and Seir (hairy). Jacob, born second, followed with his hand holding on to Esau’s heel. His name means “the supplanted,” or literally, the one who follows, holding the heel. The brothers were each favored by one parent; Isaac loved Esau, Rebekah


loved Jacob. Esau grew up to be a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a herdsman, a quiet tent dweller, that is, introverted in comparison to his more extraverted hunter brother. One day when Esau returned famished after hunting, he asked Jacob to feed him red lentil soup. In exchange for the meal, Jacob demanded and received Esau’s birthright as the firstborn, with the authority and the inheritance associated with it. Esau eventually became estranged from his parents, causing them grief by marrying wives from the Hittite people.4 When old and approaching death, Isaac called upon Esau, his beloved son, to go hunting and prepare for him a dish he loved. He would then bless Esau before he died. However, in an act of deception orchestrated by Rebekah, she prepared a dish for Jacob to bring to his father and helped him obscure his identity. Covering his neck and hands with fleece to appear to his father as if he were the hairy Esau, Jacob presented the meal, with the intention of receiving his father’s blessing. Isaac was suspicious, saying, “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau,” but he nevertheless gave Jacob his blessing (Gen. 27:22). When Esau returned after the hunt and realized Jacob’s deception, he cried bitterly and asked his father to bless him as well, pointing out that Jacob had deprived him of both his birthright and his blessing. Isaac then blessed Esau and told him that while he would live by the sword, he would prosper and eventually gain independence from Jacob. Betrayed by Jacob, Esau hated his brother and “said in his heart, When the days of mourning for my father are at hand, then I will slay my brother Jacob” (Gen. 27:41). Aware that Esau took comfort in murderous thoughts, Rebekah sent Jacob away to find a wife at the house of Laban, her brother in Padan-Aram.5 Jacob departed on his journey, and when the sun set he lay down with a stone as his pillow and dreamed his well-known dream: Behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven; and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it. The Lord stood above it, and said, I am the Lord God of Abraham your father, and the God of Isaac; the land on which you lie, to you will I give it, and to your seed; And your seed shall be as the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west, and to the east, and to the north, and to the south; and in you and in your seed shall all the families of the earth be blessed. I am with you, and will keep you in all places where you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you, until I have done that about

which I have spoken to you. (Gen. 28:12–15)

When Jacob woke up, he called the place Bet-El, “the House of God,” and went forth on his journey to the east, until he arrived in the city of Haran, where his uncle Laban lived. He looked around, and in the field he saw a well. At the well, Jacob inquired of the men who had gathered there with their flocks of sheep if they knew Laban, grandson of Nahor. As they spoke, Laban’s daughter Rachel came to the well for water for her father’s sheep. Seeing her, Jacob approached, telling her he was the son of Rebekah, her father’s sister. He helped her roll the stone from the well’s mouth. Thus, in a way, he returned the gesture of affinity that his mother had shown the servant of Abraham. Jacob fell in love with Rachel, and wanting to take her as his wife, he served Laban seven years, which “seemed to him but a few days” (Gen. 29:20). However, after those seven years, Jacob was betrayed by Laban, who on the wedding night substituted Leah, his firstborn daughter, who had “weak eyes,” for the beautiful Rachel. Determined to wed Rachel, Jacob agreed to serve Laban another seven years, and then a further six years to receive the cattle as a dowry. Realizing that Laban was taking advantage of him, Jacob finally fled, returning to Canaan with his wives and children. When Laban discovered that Jacob had escaped with his family, he and his kinsmen went after him. After seven days, they caught up with Jacob in the mountains of Gilead, east of the Jordan River. Having reconciled, they parted in peace. Jacob “went on his way, and the angels of God met him” (Gen. 32:2). For the second time, Jacob names a place, calling this site Mahanaim (“two camps”), because “this is God’s host” (Gen. 32:3). Now desiring reconciliation with Esau, Jacob sent messengers to tell his brother, who had “settled in the land of Seir, the rugged, semiarid country of Edom to the east and south of the Dead Sea,” about his return.6 When told that Esau would meet him with four hundred men, Jacob feared Esau’s revenge. He prepared gifts for his broth er, and before sunset he sent his wives, Leah and Rachel, Zilpah and Bilhah, his servants, and eleven sons across the Jabbok River that they might be safe and away from any conflict.7 Remaining behind alone, Jacob wrestled that night with a stranger, an angel, “till the breaking of the day” (Gen. 32:25). Jacob did not let go of him until he received a blessing from the stranger. The angel asked Jacob his name, then renamed him Israel, “for you have striven with God and with

men, and have prevailed” (Gen. 32:29). Jacob named the place Peniel, “For I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved” (Gen. 32:31).8 After the sun rose, Jacob was limping because of the wound that the angel had inflicted on his thigh in the struggle between them. The biblical account at this point seems to condense time, possibly indicating the significance of the connection between the struggle with the angel and the meeting with Esau. Upon lifting his eyes, Jacob saw in front of him Esau and his men, and he bowed to his brother. Esau embraced him, and the two brothers kissed and wept in each other’s arms. Having found grace in his brother’s eyes, Jacob insisted on giving Esau his gifts, for “I have seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God” (Gen. 33:10).9 The hostile brothers parted ways: Esau went to Mount Seir in Edom, becoming the father of the Edomites, while Jacob returned to his native Canaan, becoming the father of the twelve tribes of Israel. 1. The other known pair of biblical twins is Perez and Zerah. There is no explicit statement in the Bible that Cain and Abel were twins; the length of time between their births is not mentioned. However, according to a Midrash, each of them had a twin sister. 2. See Genesis 24. In one instance—Genesis 24:48—the Hebrew Bible, the King James Version, and other translations give Rebekah as Abraham’s niece, his brother Nahor’s daughter rather than his granddaughter. However, the New International Version correctly names Rebekah, in this verse as in others, as Nahor’s granddaughter. 3. The well, situated in the western Negev, “between Kadesh and Bered” (Gen. 16:14), is the place where Hagar was told she would give birth to Ishmael. The name Lahairoi means “the Living One (God) who Sees.” 4. Genesis 26:34 mentions Judith and Basmath, and Genesis 28:9 tells about his marriage to Mahalath, daughter of Ishmael. In Genesis 36:2–3, their names are given as Adah and Oholibamah, while the daughter of Ishmael is Basmath. Mahalath/Basmath, who may thus be one person, possibly pertains to the remedy of Esau’s pain as a combination of forgiveness and the fragrance of wisdom. (Their respective names are transcribed in various ways from the Hebrew.) 5. Padan-Aram, “the field of Aram,” was part of the region of Aram-Naharaim, “Aram of two rivers.” 6. Joan Comay, “Who’s Who in the Old Testament,” in Who’s Who in the Bible, ed. Joan Comay and Ronald Brownrigg (New York: Bonanza, 1980), 181. 7. Presumably he sent his daughter Dina as well; his youngest son, Benjamin, the only one of the children to be born in Canaan, had not been born yet. Regarding his wives, in Genesis 30:4: “So she gave him her servant Bilhah as a wife, and Jacob went in to her”; and in Genesis 30:9: “When Leah saw that she had ceased bearing children, she took her servant Zilpah and gave her to Jacob as a wife.” 8. Peniel, or Pnei El, means “Face of God.” 9. Based on this verse, Neumann elaborates on God and Esau, shadow and Self (p. 25f).


his early manuscript by Erich Neumann, here published for the first time after eighty years of incubation, opens up as the virtuosic overture to his later works. Its publication rectifies Neumann’s belief that it would not be published. In a handwritten addendum to a letter to Jung in 1934, Neumann wrote, “I will pursue your suggestion of elaborating on the ‘Symbolic Contributions’ to the Jacob-Esau problem . . . . The great difficulty is the rather depressing impossibility of a publication.”1 This is the remarkable work of a wise old man, even though not yet in his thirties, who with superb clarity explores the theme of the hostile brothers and the principle of opposites. This, says Neumann, is a fundamental problem


of humanity and lies at the heart of the human soul. The seeds of some of Neumann’s finest works, prominently Depth Psychology and a New Ethic and The Origins and History of Consciousness, are sown in the soil on which the archetypal theme of Jacob and Esau is brought alive. The clarity of his formulations reflects an extraordinary maturity of thought. My introduction intends to provide the reader with a brief background and an overview of the book, enabling also those who are less acquainted with Neumann’s writings to comfortably approach this work. Neumann’s desire to elaborate on Jacob and Esau and the motif of the hostile brothers was inspired by Hugo Rosenthal’s essay, “Der Typengegensatz in der jüdischen Religionsgeschichte,” which Jung had included in his Wirklichkeit der Seele.2 As Martin Liebscher writes in his introduction to Analytical Psychology in Exile: The Correspondence of C. G. Jung and Erich Neumann, Rosenthal’s essay “was reviewed by Neumann in the Jüdische Rundschau on 27 July 1934.”3 Early in his correspondence with Jung, Neumann shared his thoughts and intention to write about “Jewish psychology,” based on the Jacob and Esau story.4 Neumann wrote Jacob and Esau in 1934, finishing parts of it by December of that year.5 Soon afterward (1934–1940), he began writing a monumental twovolume manuscript, in which he explored the experiential roots of Judaism, the psychological meaning of Hasidism, and other Jewish and religious themes.6 He continued to be occupied with Jacob and Esau, and he wrote to Jung that he would send him “a supplement to the Jacob-Esau work soon,” though we don’t hear anything further about it in their correspondence.7 This, in fact, serves as an essential part of the entire manuscript and constitutes the first part of this book. While Neumann’s first significant letter to Jung was written from Zurich in the spring of 1934, his next letter was written early that summer, soon after his arrival in Israel. This was a time when young Neumann was establishing the foundation of his new life in the ancient land of the fathers, pulling together and implementing the collective and cultural essence of his identity. This was based not the least on an astute understanding of the shadow (“that we Jews are accustomed to recognizing”), of the need to attend to the inner voice, and of the tension between the spirit

and the earth in Judaism and Zionism.8 As seen in this manuscript, his deep thinking and productive creativity are quite remarkable, considering both his young age and the personal transition from Nazi Germany to the pre-State Yishuv.9 Furthermore, Neumann chooses to speak of “the people’s soul” and “the people’s unconscious,” because they allow, as he says, the “actual state of affairs” to shine through, rather than being concealed by “scientific terminology” (p. 22). In Jacob and Esau, Neumann explores the opposites residing in the soul of the individual, as well as on the collective and cultural levels. He defines this as one of the fundamental problems of human existence. Jacob, representing the principle of introversion, needs to recognize that the extraversion of Esau, representing the world as other, also resides within himself. We might find here Neumann’s own personal struggle, as well as his formulation of his own identity as a Jew. This previously unknown work by Erich Neumann is divided into three parts, “The Symbolism of Jacob and Esau,” “On the Collective Symbolism of the Brother Motif,” and “Layers of the Unconscious: The Interpretation of Mythology.” The order of the three parts has not been conclusively determined, since Neumann’s numbering of them was not definitive. However, the present order was decided upon after careful examination of the manuscript and following Neumann’s handwritten corrections of the typescript. What we find is a circumambulation of the symbolism of the brother motif and the theme of opposites.

I. The Symbolism of Jacob and Esau In his introduction to the subject, as well as toward his conclusion, Neumann points at the shortcomings of a purely individual psychology, such as Freud’s or Adler’s, to deal with religious phenomena, because such a psychology “reduce[s] spiritual-cultural and religious events to our instinctual structure.” In order to better understand cultural and religious events, it is necessary, he claims, to rely on a psychology that accounts for the collective unconscious,

which, as a “suprapersonal non-ego,” can confront the ego. While the archetypes of the collective unconscious manifest in the individual, they neither belong to nor originate in the personal sphere. Study of the biblical forefathers, who are not merely mythological figures but have “prototypical significance,” requires an archetypal perspective, accounting for the collective unconscious. Both the forefathers and the prophets are crucially related to this primal source in the collective psyche, beyond the individual and his or her family story. They are forefathers not only genealogically, but because they contain the experience of an entire people and have an impact on the psyche of their descendants. Importantly, Neumann emphasizes how the account of the forefathers stems “from the soul of the people remembering and processing those events.” That is, the account is derived not only from the forefathers as they were or are described in the scriptures but also from continuous reference to them. There is a living interaction between memory and processing. This is the reason why merely studying and keeping the memory of the biblical story itself is not enough; the exegeses and leg ends of Midrashic literature provide the processing taking place in the collective psyche.10 In fact, this is exactly what Neumann himself does: he carries the people’s story further by processing it. The psyche, both individual and collective, is involved in the process, implying a psychological approach rather than a literal reading of the scriptures. The symbolism in the Midrashic texts lies “readily available at the bottom of a people’s soul.” It pertains not only to the archetypal heritage of the Jewish people, but to humanity at large, says Neumann. Referring to Jung’s remark that myths are like the dreams of a people, Neumann reads the symbolic language of the Midrashic texts as manifestations and as a reflection of a people’s unconscious thinking across generations. In what foretells the phases of conscious development in his Origins and History of Consciousness, Neumann observes how, in the course of history, tradition loses its authoritarian meaning.11 In the individuation process, tradition is replaced by personal experience. In a way, this brings the process full circle back to the “beginning of the chain of tradition,” where the forefathers’ and the prophets’ collectively meaningful individual experiences were central (p. 22). In the individuation process, the personal experience again becomes pivotal for the individual and replaces the meaning that was carried or held by tradition.

The Brother Motif Jacob and Esau serves as Neumann’s blueprint for a variety of aspects of the brother motif. For Neumann, Jacob represents the Jew, or, as Jung writes, “the quintessence of the Jew,” to be understood as a “symbolic exponent of folk psychology,” who from the outset carries the promise—the promise as the chosen one and God’s promise to Abram that “in you shall all families of the earth be blessed” (Gen. 12:3).12 Jacob’s entitlement to the rights of the firstborn, claims Neumann, was confirmed by his dream of the ladder at Bethel. While his father Isaac did not recognize his role, his mother Rebekah did, and she ensured he would receive the blessing. Recounting Jacob’s negative encounters with the outside world, such as with Laban, his father-inlaw twice over, Neumann demonstrates Jacob’s introversion. Neumann begins his investigation of the archetypal motif of the brothers by quoting texts from Bin Gorion’s collection of Jewish leg ends, reflecting different polarities between the hostile twin brothers: while Esau takes his place in the world of food and commerce, Jacob chooses the spiritual world.13 The sun becomes the kingdom of Esau, while the moon belongs to Jacob. Furthermore, Jacob draws his strength from his father Isaac’s inner, sacred face, while Esau draws strength from the outer, profane face of his father.14 We may keep in mind Jung’s writing that “I call the outer attitude, the outward face, the persona; the inner attitude, the inward face, I call the anima.”15 Jacob is turned toward the internal, invisible world, “toward YHWH and his inner demand,” the God that does not manifest in images or in man-made artifacts, and is not concretized in the outer world. In contrast to Esau’s visible and ordinary world of external reality, Jacob’s is the world of the inward-looking gaze, a world of “interiorization.” This is a world in which the God-image is, in fact, imageless, an inner sacred space of pure interiority, without depiction in the physical world. Thus, Jacob comes to represent introversion, while Esau represents an extraverted attitude. Following the biblical story, Jacob represents the Jew (as a collective designation) and the Jewish people, while Esau is, for Jacob the Jew, the other. This is the idea of the other, who is betrayed, who has to depart, and who must find his way in the outer world. With a strong foothold in external reality, he then becomes a threat to Jacob’s introversion. Yet, along the lines of the biblical story, and as Neumann points out, if Esau can

be recognized as an internal shadow, reconciliation can be found.

The Inner Voice With the God-image as pure interiority, we are required to be oriented “toward the inner voice, toward the voice of God.” This inner voice refers to the breath, the spirit, and the wind.16 The “Voice” becomes a manifestation of an internal God-image, “an orientation within the human heart,” rather than being lost in the world and in the values of the external collective. Neumann develops this further in Depth Psychology and a New Ethic, where he writes, “Each new revelation of the Voice in an individual—is opposed to conscience as the representative of the old collective ethic.”17 This inner voice of the Self, thus, is opposed to the laws of the collective. Neumann’s creative thoughts and ideas, such as his work on the inner voice, are steeped both in Jewish culture and tradition and in Jung’s conceptualizations of analytical psychology. They are living expressions of the interaction between memory and processing, as he describes regarding the exegeses of Midrashic literature.

The Sun and the Moon, the Outer World and the Inner Concluding that the intellectual and cultural structure of Judaism is introverted, or, as Hugo Rosenthal writes, that “the attitude of the Jew is introverted,” Neumann explores the relationship between Jacob, as a “prototype for the Jew,” and the nocturnal world of the moon (p. 5).18 Beginning with the Hebrew lunar calendar, the moon symbolizes rebirth and renewal, and “the plea for the future Messianic era uttered at the New Moon festival.” Based on a legend which tells of the sun and the moon originally being of equal size, Neumann discusses the balance between the two sides—the inner and the outer sides of the world, the extraverted and the introverted aspects, the objective and the subjective circumstances, and the two directions in which the face can turn. Being of the same size, and together forming a whole, they constitute “the original, predefined condition of the world” (p. 7). In the legend, the moon asks God if the sacred world of the moon should not be larger than the profane world of the sun, to which God responds by making the light of the moon sixty times smaller. The smallness of the moon,

says Neumann, refers to the experience of inferiority and the inadequacy of the inner vis-à-vis the outer world, as well as the Jew’s sense of helplessness toward the power of the “sun-like peoples.” Thus, God punishes the moon for craving power. Neumann looks into an additional Midrashic text, in which the moon accuses God of having done the moon wrong and of creating a divided world, claiming that God actually belongs to the sacred world of the moon. The divided world pertains theologically to the sacred and the profane, and psychologically to the division between unconscious wholeness and the inevitable division that is both the foundation of consciousness and which emerges with consciousness. We see here the beginning of Neumann’s developing ideas about the ego-Self axis. In the Midrashic text, God consoles the moon that it shall rule day and night. Neumann quotes from a letter in which Jung had responded to his ruminations on the sun and the moon. Jung wrote, “Everything exterior is the world of the sun, and there is no doubt that the power of the sun is great. The inner is invisible and always seems to be powerless. In reality, however, it rules secretly and pervasively and its power is as great as the sun’s” (p. 9).19 Jacob and Esau, as a pair of opposites, reflects this division between the inner voice of spirit and the outer hands of action, as in Genesis 27:22: “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau.” But the story of Jacob and Esau also reflects the sense of inferiority, fear, and threat that invisible interiority experiences in relation to the hands of action and the skills of the extraverted. Although he does not elaborate, Neumann pertinently refers here to the legend of the thirty-six righteous, ever-present across the generations, yet known neither to themselves nor to others. Their presence ensures the world’s existence and prevents its destruction. This pertains to the indispensable world of invisible interiority—as wind, spirit, voice, or Self— in order to ensure the existence and continuity of the visible world of sun, ego, and physical reality.

The Inner Division of the Moon: Evil and the Scapegoat Besides the diminution of the moon in relation to the sun, that is, the two sides of the world, Neumann refers to a division “within” the moon, pertaining to the moon’s darkening by evil. He sets out on a fascinating

exploration of evil within, based on Jewish sources, tying together the symbolism of Jacob, the moon, the angels (both good and evil) and Esau, and the ritual sacrifice, as well as the banishment of the goat, the scapegoat. The biblical New Moon festival, like the Sabbath, signified a close relationship with God, as expressed for instance in the custom to turn to the prophets, the men of insight and introspection, on the day of the new moon. In the sixteenth century, following Rabbi Moses Cordovero, New Moon Day became the Minor Day of Atonement, thus further connecting the moon with sin and forgiveness.20 On Yom Kippur, the high priest, HaKohen HaGadol, drew lots over two goats, one to be sacrificed to God, the other, the scapegoat, to carry the people’s sins “to Azazel,” into the wilderness, that is, back to the habitat of the evil demon, the source of the sins.21 Esau, “the hairy one, who resembles a male goat,” as the legend tells us, represents both the red sun-goat, the creative and procreative ruler of this world and lustful sexuality, as well as the dark sun-goat who shades, darkens, and obstructs the moon. As the moon grows large and full, “the strength of the male goat is consumed by the fire of the almighty.”22 And legend tells us that as the moon wanes, the goat is rejuvenated. Thus the waxing and the waning of the moon shifts the problem from one between moon and sun, inner and outer, to an internal issue where, due to the dark moon, it becomes constellated as a moral issue. “The problem,” says Neumann, “must lie with Jacob.” Thus, the problem of evil becomes an “inner Edom.”23 The resolution of the moral conflict manifests itself as a sacrifice of the goat, of the evil side within, thus reflecting the polarity between YHWH and Azazel. As Neumann says, “Yom Kippur also concerns the resolution of the moral problem through the sacrifice of evil; the part representing Edom is brought as sacrifice in its symbolic shape as a goat” (p. 15). However, when repressed and supposedly resolved by being split off, the struggle against evil becomes an everlasting, self-perpetuating process.24 Neumann then raises the question, “How are the diminution of the moon, that is, the problem of two worlds, and the opacity of the moon, that is, the moral problem, connected?” His answer is that the opposition governing the world, that is, between Jacob and Esau, between the moon and the sun, between introversion and extraversion, “persist[s] in the introvert as a moral problem” (p. 15). That is, within the introvert, the opposite resides as an inferior, potentially mischievous function.

The Introvert and the Sacrifice of Inferior Extraversion As Neumann says in his ensuing discussion on introversion and extraversion, as represented by the characters of Jacob and Esau, each of these poles carries within it the opposite, however undeveloped, attitude. Introversion requires acknowledging an inferior, undeveloped extraverted side. This inferior extraversion, however, “is not identical with ‘the real Edom,’ the extravert and ruler of this world.” That is to say, internalization is not a wholesale process. There is a confluence between an internal archetypal core and living experience, a nodal point where archetypal externalization and internalization of the actual experience come across each other and form what Jung calls the imago.25 Considering Jacob’s dominant attitude as introverted, and Jacob as a prototype for the Jew, Neumann focuses on introversion, and the concomitant inferior extraversion, with an associated sense of inadequacy and inferiority residing in the shadow.26 The experienced “image of Edom,” that is, Jacob’s inferior side, is a combination of the real, actual Other and the distorted, superimposed projection of his inferior “Edom-likeness.” When the inferior aspect in the psyche is sacrificed, for instance, by means of the scapegoat and by the effort to eliminate that which is perceived as evil, the process of resolving the moral conflict becomes perpetuated, supposedly ending only in the Messianic era. The attempt to split off the shadow creates a perpetual process, an infinite battle, with the Other. Using Jacob as a prototype, Neumann describes how the inferior aspect is initially experienced merely through projection onto the hostile brother.27 The experience of a moral conflict entails the first stage of overcoming the split and the distorted projection and is symbolized by the opaque moon. The realization of the shadow within oneself terminates its projection, whatever imagery is applied, such as Jacob realizing that Esau resides within himself, or when the introvert discovers his or her inferior extraversion. When projection of the shadow is withdrawn, “the actual image of the Other becomes visible,” says Neumann succinctly. Neumann’s discussion here lays the foundation for the thoughts that he developed further in Depth Psychology and a New Ethic, written more than a decade later, in the aftermath of the Holocaust. The fanatic and the fundamentalist, however, thrive on archetypal identification and the inevitable projection of the shadow. The essence of their existence requires the splitting off of the shadow, and they are therefore unable to withdraw their projections.

In contrast, the moral conflict rests upon the creation of an internal polarity. Recognizing the problem of opposites, and gaining an insight into the polarity, constitutes the second stage of overcoming an undeveloped experience of the shadow or, in the metaphorical language that Neumann applies in this treatise, the Jew’s and the introvert’s primitive experience of Esau. The problem of opposites eventually reaches its peak and resolution in Jacob’s struggle with the angel. In a response to Neumann, Jung writes, “The ‘other’ reinstates the divinity of God in contrast to human inflation and thereby establishes the ‘initiation,’ i.e., the path of redemption, until the final revocation of the separateness of man from God.”28

The Shadow, Its Projection, and the Struggle with the Angel Neumann points out that Esau is presented as “truly negative, primitive and extraverted,” thus making him well suited as a target for Jacob’s projections. However, it must be kept in mind that the narrative is written from Jacob’s perspective, and it is he, Jacob, who needs to accept Esau, the brother who carries his projected inferiority. Jacob, who cunningly ensured he became his father’s chosen son, needs to recognize that with being chosen comes what we might call self-reflecting inferiority. For Jacob as an introvert, Esau epitomizes the frightening, violent world, capable of crushing him and his family, “the small seed of the great promise.” Something internally valuable always requires protection, to be kept apart, sometimes as a secret (which means “set apart,” just like the Hebrew word for holy, kadosh), with the concomitant experience of being externally threatened. While Jacob’s fear is directed toward the outer Esau, his fear is intensified by Esau within himself, his shadow. In fact, Jacob’s image of Esau is a combination of the real Esau and the projected shadow, that is, his own inferiority and “inner brother.” Upon his return after twenty years in exile, during the night before he crosses the Jabbok River, Jacob encounters a stranger. When struggling with him, Jacob does not yet know who his adversary is. Only later does he remark to his brother that he has battled with God, in the guise of Esau, his inferior shadow and representative of the hostile world. Jacob’s personal shadow has here merged with the archetypal antagonist. Shadow and Self have merged and become one—there is no Self without shadow, and the Self may be reached only through the shadow. When Jacob greets Esau, he tells him, “For therefore I have seen your

face, as though I had seen the face of God, and you were pleased with me” (Gen. 33:10). Neumann observes how here something fundamentally different from the customary Judeo-Christian approach is taking place. Rather than sacrificing the inferior and the negative aspect, sending it out into the desert where the demons reside, that is, outside the realm of consciousness, Jacob sees God in his adversary. “The onslaught of instinct then becomes an experience of divinity,” says Jung, in reference to Jacob’s wrestling with the angel.29 This event, at the height of the hero’s struggle with the adversary, transcends the problem of opposition, and the opposition between the two worlds. Jacob, the introvert, comes to recognize the outside world, and evil, as the face of God. He now comes to accept and reintegrate his shadow. He assimilates Esau into consciousness, and he acknowledges him as divine. Furthermore, he “also recognizes evil as God’s messenger, and the apparently hostile and negative outside world as the face of God.” Having fought both God and humanity, Jacob has prevailed.30 This is a development from a condition in which the archetypal adversary, Satan in the Hebrew Bible, is split off from the God-image and can become integrated.31 This is a tremendously significant stage in the development of the psyche; we might say that the Other has not only been recognized as the shadow within oneself, which is already a manifestation of consciousness, but the gifts that Jacob brings his previously hostile brother, the adversary, are his sacrifice to the divine, his sacred-making that transforms the Other, merging shadow and God-image. Jacob recognizes that he and Esau represent two faces of God. It is the struggle, writes Neumann, which enables the experience of the duality of God, as manifested by the inner and outer worlds, by good and evil, and by the two brothers. He writes, “The moral division (the inferior function) and the division of the world (the principle of opposites) are suspended in God’s all-encompassing two faces” (p. 27). For Jacob, as a prototypical representation of the Jew and the introverted attitude, Esau is now no longer an unconscious inferiority but can be dealt with consciously as a separate human being rather than as a demon and a fear-inspiring brute. Neumann considers the angel touching Jacob’s loins as related to the sexual sphere, which, he says, is weakened by the encounter, leaving Jacob limping. It may, however, also reflect Jacob’s strength as a human and a mortal, which, in contrast to divine potency, always entails a wound.32 The conscious assimilation of the shadow leads to its disempowerment as a

hostile other. Furthermore, by renouncing a one-sided orientation in favor of an all-inclusive conception of God, Jacob reaches a third place, beyond the opposites, and can then become “effective as ‘a blessing’” (p. 28).33 Neumann claims, however, that the level of experience that Jacob’s struggle with the angel implies is hardly ever attained, as progress beyond the stage of projection of the shadow is rare. Because the Jews remain unaware of their “inferior Edom-likeness,” they tend to project this onto other peoples, says Neumann, which distorts the image of those peoples and, in fact, “activates their negative Edom-likeness.” He asserts that the Jews need to be aware of and recognize their own shadow in order to correctly perceive and constructively coexist with other peoples. Neumann is certainly not apologetic of anti-Semitism and anti-Semitic persecution, nor is he attempting to explain it as a consequence of an unawareness of the Jews’ own shadow aspects. His critical awareness of Nazism and anti-Semitism is evident prominently in his correspondence with Jung. Rather, what he says does reflect the consciousness of sincere introspection. In Neumann’s view, Hasidism has overcome the conventional JudeoChristian belief that one side of the opposites needs to be sacrificed. Instead, the two faces of God, says Neumann, in actual fact “fight each other to be blessed by each other” (p. 32).

II. On the Collective Symbolism of the Brother Motif Pursuing the motif of Jacob and Esau, Neumann sees it as his task to extend its archetypal foundation beyond Jewish particularism to the broader symbolism of humanity. But he also attempts to broaden the Jewish problem of the shadow by considering the tension between spirit and earth.

The Archetypal Foundation of Mythical Motifs Neumann rejects the so-called Wander-Theorie, which attempts to explain the similarity of folktales and mythical motifs by their geographical dispersion and cultural dissemination. Like other Jungians, he accentuates the archetypal origin of such universal themes. However, the particular constellation of archetypal motifs in the history of a people will determine the dress in which the archetypal images appear and their distinct cultural shape. Referring to Midrashic literature, the story of Jacob and Esau is linked to

the theme of opposites. Because this is such a central motif in the unconscious psyche, it is widespread in ancient mythology and symbol ism, appearing for instance as the themes of the sun and the moon and brothers and twins. The strife between the twins in the womb pertains to the opposing twins motif. Primogeniture, the rights of the firstborn, however, establishes the concept of unequal brothers and points to the more general principle of opposites. According to Bachofen, the principle of opposites is related to the symbolism of light and shadow, black and white, and the life-and-death dynamics of the telluric (feminine, earthly) region. He also considered this to be a region of the unconscious, in contrast to the uranic (masculine, heavenly) region of consciousness.34 The different motifs of opposites, brothers, and twins refer to a twofold and pervasive opposition within the human soul. In the first instance, says Neumann, it concerns the compensatory movement between consciousness and the unconscious, as expressed by enantiodromia, where by a one-sided tendency in consciousness turns into, or is balanced by, its counterposition in the unconscious.35 Additionally, a polarity exists in the unconscious between creation and destruction, and between good and evil, representing two equal sides. There is an internal periodicity of the opposites in the collective unconscious, says Neumann, similar to the succession of day and night.

Moon and Sun Insofar as the Jew is identified with the feminine and the receiving nature of moon symbolism, Jewish psychology, it seems, implies a reversal of the masculine and the feminine.36 However, while for the Westerner it may seem peculiar that the moon would be a principle superior to the sun, it becomes understandable when considering that in the East the moon’s cooling effect is life-enhancing, while the “sun’s predatory nature overwhelmingly governs a world that has been turned into an arid desert” (p. 37). Neumann refers to Babylonian mythology to demonstrate the importance of how motifs are processed, which is of greater importance than tracing what their origin might be. There, Sin, the moon deity, is considered the father of the sun, Samas, and of the gods. The sun is the death star, god of the underworld, while the moon is the life star. This is a reversal of the sun’s significance in the conventional Western hero myth and in the image of the sun hero, pertaining to the attainment of ego-consciousness.37 However, in “The Moon

and Matriarchal Consciousness,” Neumann determines that “whether it appears as the dominant factor in the psychology of a woman or of a man, in its essence the moon is bound to the archetypal Feminine.”38 The fusion of these dominant principles of the collective unconscious with the quasi-historical text places the entire problem of opposites at the heart of humanity. Thereby it becomes a general psychological problem of humankind, which is restricted not merely to the individual psyche. The development from what originally is a psychologically unconscious issue into a highly acute human question, as in the Jacob and Esau story, raises the eternal question of existence to a higher level of consciousness, as “represented by a typically introverted mentality,” says Neumann (p. 39). We can see here the beginning of his theses on the origins and history of consciousness. The moon, says Neumann, is called a twin not only because of its relation to the sun but because of its own inner, twofold character, as the waxing and the waning moon, and the opposition between the full moon and its absence, the black moon (principally the presence of absence). The solar deity Nergal, the Babylonian god who pertains to the “scorching sun in the summertime,” also plays the role of the waning moon. That is, he serves as the moon’s inner adversary. In his discussion on the opposition between the sun and the moon, Neumann draws parallels between the Babylonian deities, and likewise compares the opposition between Seth and Horus.39 Seth, like Esau, is analogous to the sun = the red one = the hostile brother = evil, with which he eventually came to be identified. The color red pertains to the desert, in contrast to the green color of fertility.40 But, as Neumann describes, this opposition continues to play a role also in the modern unconscious. Furthermore, Seth, the epitome of evil, is identified with “the dragon of the abyss, the evident shadow brother of Osiris, the power of evil and death” (p. 42).41 Neumann concludes this part, the briefest of the three, by referring to the attempts in psychoanalysis to interpret the problem of the opposites (for instance, between consciousness and the shadow), as it appears in myth and legend, solely on the level of the personal unconscious. He raises the question on which level myths, folktales, and art should be interpreted, elaborating this question in the final part of the book.

III. Layers of the Unconscious: The Interpretation of Mythology The universal, fundamentally similar structure of the human soul explains why similar motifs are present across cultures, appearing in folktales and mythology. Primarily relying on Otto Rank, Neumann is critical of the attempts made by psychoanalysts to reduce the understanding of various archetypal motifs, such as the twins and the hostile brothers, to the Oedipus complex. He criticizes the psychoanalytic tendency to invariably view, for instance, the theme of the woman to be conquered as a surrogate mother, whereby the development of manhood becomes a priori an incestuous process. Likewise, claims Neumann, Adler’s individual psychology interprets the Oedipus complex in terms of the drive for power, while Freudian psychoanalysis views the drive for power from an oedipal perspective. Universal validity is ascribed to their respective perspectives. In order to avoid simplification, the study of these themes from the perspective of analytical psychology must therefore account for the complexity of the human soul. The motifs of the two brothers and of the twins are interrelated. Both pertain to the problem of the shadow. As hostile brothers, the two opposing sides struggle against each other, and as twins, the opposing sides are inseparably connected. The Dioscuri, the twin brothers Castor and Pollux, the former mortal, the latter divine, indicate that the motif cannot be reduced merely to personal desires. The dual inner nature of the human psyche may take the form of the conflict between good and evil, ego and shadow, or the opposition between mind and nature. This inner duality pertains to the transformation of libido. Around its center, says Neumann, orbit archetypal motifs such as the symbolism of light, sun, heroes, gods and demons, heaven and hell. The struggle of the human soul for consciousness, and its emergence out of the unconscious, is expressed by these archetypal motifs. We can here observe how Neumann’s exploration heralds his magnum opus, The Origins and History of Consciousness. Through the lens of the brother motif, we gain a sense of our dual belonging, to consciousness and the unconscious, and of the stages of transformation of consciousness.

The Shadow and the Development of Consciousness The shadow reflects the compensatory relationship between consciousness and the unconscious. The adversary figure of the shadow represents the dark side, which belongs to consciousness as night does to day, representing what is absent from consciousness, whether in moral or instinctual terms. Thus, a moral consciousness will in the shadow be represented by a contradicting immorality. The “other side,” the unconscious, is most strongly incarnated in and represented by the body. “Instincts and archetypes are most intimately related to the body as pictorial forms, if not as a parallel identity to the body,” says Neumann. In order to “attain its own world of light,” consciousness, which Neumann calls a “small and late child of the unconscious,” must constantly work its way out and separate itself from body, race, and nature (p. 50). The savior, as a bearer of consciousness, represents the consciousness that slumbers in the unconscious and guides the way out of the cosmic principle of opposites, creating individual consciousness by conquering the dragon of the unconscious. This forms the background to the motif of the hostile brothers, where by one side drives toward consciousness, the other pulls back toward unconsciousness. The motif of the shadow appears where a world of light and consciousness has become large enough to cast a shadow. Through this constant work of separation, consciousness can become individual; it can gain experience and recognize the nature of things and their value. Consciousness develops through reflecting on the crucial questions at the crossroads of life—from where do I come, where do I go, and what does it mean?42 The dominance of consciousness may cause the false belief that the dark side can be completely overcome. The shadow, however, “is the chain that restrains any ascent into the heights. It is the dark adversary and circumcisor. It is the eternal memory of limitation and abyss.” The shadow is, Neumann continues, “the captivation of consciousness by the dark unconscious and the world” (p. 51). The shadow reminds the individual of his or her boundaries and limitations, for instance, due to the times and circumstances into which one was born, or one’s ethnicity, family, typology, and body. It is important to remember, however, that the shadow contains the treasure of creative life, as well. The shadow, says Neumann, “emerges amid the ascent and descent on

Jacob’s ladder, between the son’s ego-consciousness on the one hand and the mother’s collective unconscious on the other” (p. 51). It is by acceptance of the shadow that one can become an individual. Due to the constellation of the shadow, the collective unconscious becomes organized and doesn’t remain “a random, quasi-cosmic expanse,” and by means of consciousness, the individual can now engage in dialogue with the collective unconscious. The shadow becomes the intermediary between the collective unconscious and consciousness.

Secondary Personalization In the course of history and the development of consciousness, Neumann suggests, the original projection of negative parts gives way to introjection, whereby aspects of the external world are taken in by the subject, contributing to the process of soul formation. Initially the individual, in identification with the sacrificed animal, could offer up a part of himself, which was transferred into the sacrificial animal. In the course of history, the sacrificial ritual became emptied of its meaning. This was followed by a stage in which the animal sacrifice became an inner sacrifice. Here, spiritualization and prayer replaced the initial identification, the participation mystique. This introjection pertains to the development of conscience, since projection onto the object is replaced by internal psychic experience. Similarly, by means of the process that Neumann calls secondary personalization, an impersonal content is transformed into a personal story.43 A myth becomes transformed into “a family story involving individual ‘characters’” (p. 54). By secondary personalization, archetypal material is turned into personal, living reality.44 In early myths, the collective unconscious is at work and unmistakably apparent. Even though they might appear in human shape, gods and other images are experienced as impersonal. Similarly, images that arise from the deep unconscious, appearing in the individual’s psyche, cannot be reduced to or deduced from the personal unconscious. With the growth of consciousness and the ego at its center, the process of secondary personalization has emerged and taken place, both in the individual and in general human development. The folktale marks the transition and holds an intermediary position between the archetypal and the personal layers. The process of secondary personalization is highly meaningful for the

development of consciousness. It is like a “descent of the gods: from divine events spring humanlike and eventually human events,” as Neumann describes it (p. 55). The archetypal motif becomes living, personal reality. The process of personalization, in which concrete individuals such as father, mother, or sibling appear as individual persons, occurs relatively late in human development, presupposing an ego-consciousness and awareness of reality.45 Prior to secondary personalization, while the archetypal world prevails, the mother, for example, “still contains everything—the world, the nourishing, the enveloping—and fades into the infinite background.” The phase of secondary personalization brings about an adaptation to reality and either the disentanglement or the extraction of personal figures from the archetypal images. “The child’s ego lives among the archetypes as the adult’s ego-consciousness does among people” (p. 57). When the ego has been more stably formed, the effect on the child of the inherent archetypal constellation becomes less fateful, while object relations become increasingly dominant. In the development of consciousness, there is a continuous movement away from the archetypal world, from predestined fate toward individual destiny.46

Mythologizing, Secondary Personalization, and Objectification of the Archetypes In The Origins and History of Consciousness, Neumann writes that “secondary personalization brings a steady decrease in the effective power of the transpersonal and a steady increase in the importance of the ego and personality.”47 The personalization process is directly related to the development of the ego and consciousness, which requires a decrease in the power and strength of archetypal contents. Neumann writes, in a footnote, The earliest historiographers always tried to bring the individual hero into line with the archetype of the primordial hero, and thus produced a kind of mythologized historiography. An example of this is the Christianization of the Jesus figure, where all the mythical traits peculiar to the hero and redeemer archetype were sketched in afterwards. The mythologizing process is the exact opposite of secondary personalization, but, here as there, the center of gravity of the hero-figure is displaced towards the human activity of the ego.48

Thus, in the process that Neumann calls “the separation of the systems,” the unconscious and consciousness rely on mediating factors that enable

archetypal contents to become personalized, as well as enabling personal material to attain a measure of archetypal energy.49 Through the objectification of archetypes, the nature of the archetype as the principal element in the unconscious is recognized.50 The dominance of the external object is replaced by acknowledging the archetypes. However, the archetypal impact is also relativized by consciousness. The child—and the neurotic person—will then be less likely to project the archetypal image onto the external object, such as a parent, nor will they be flooded by the power of the archetypes. As a result, the tension between consciousness and the collective unconscious becomes productive, constituting, says Neumann, “the energetic basis of all life and all productivity” (p. 58). Knowledge of the three stages—mythologizing, secondary personalization, and conscious objectification—enables genuine interpretation. Psychoanalytic reduction of mythological material to the family story pertains to the significant stage of secondary personalization. This serves the development and preservation of ego-consciousness. However, it tends toward generalization, for instance, by reduction to the sex drive. It reduces childhood experiences to the family story without accounting for the archetypal source or aspect of the experience. By means of secondary personalization, the potentially intrusive and disruptive archetypal images become bearable. Archetypal imagery—such as the whirlpool in the bathtub’s drain that threatens the frightened child with being drawn into the abyss of the netherworld, with being overtaken by the dark forces of nonexistence that overwhelm the tiny ego—loses its grip by means of secondary personalization. The archetypal magnitude is reduced, and the ego comes to stand on firmer ground. This creates an increase in ego continuity, says Neumann, and reduces the child’s primordial world to personal factors. The world thus becomes less frightening and more manageable. However, it causes neither an increase in energetic tension nor an extension of consciousness. Thus, according to Neumann, psychoanalytic interpretation is a method primarily suitable for treating certain neuroses in the first half of life, since secondary personalization pertains to the psychology of youth. Neumann criticizes Freud for capturing only the negative aspect of the archetypal world, with the inevitable result that the mythical becomes reduced to the merely personal. While this enables the developing ego to gain strength and set boundaries, awareness and acknowledgment of the mythical

layer are lost. Healing remains limited if it takes place only in the sphere of secondary personalization. In order to open up the sources of life, says Neumann, it is necessary to advance toward the mythologizing layer, to “the collective mother soil of the soul.” Early man, the child, the creative person, and the neurotic, says Neumann, live outside the dominance of ego-consciousness, whereby the archetypes of the unconscious become more significant. While an extraverted attitude emphasizes the influences of the outer world and neglect the subjective factors, the child actually projects the archetypes onto external objects, experiencing the archetypal situation through them, even though it is not caused by those objects. The archetypal dimension provides the subjective, internal component of experience. Secondary personalization corresponds to the personal unconscious. Thus, in Freudian psychoanalytic thinking, says Neumann, relying primarily on Otto Rank, artistic activity “is consistent with the tormenting compulsion of psychic self-preservation,” which is maintained by compensatory fantasies (p. 60). In contrast, Neumann claims that through engaging with the archetypes, the artist mythologizes the world, which mythologizes itself through him. It is because of his or her proximity to the unconscious and the dangers therein that the artist is forced toward “formulation and formation” (p. 60). The process of inspiration and creation requires both a productive unconscious and a receptive consciousness. Reaching into the mythologizing layer, the artist is less subject to secondary personalization than the average person. Otto Rank, for example, the psychoanalyst whose writings Neumann explores, interprets the dragon to which the virgin is sacrificed in myths and folktales “as the young woman’s sexual fear of her husband’s animal side” (p. 61). That is, Rank’s interpretation is rooted in personal relations. Neumann, on the other hand, emphasizes the significance of the dragon as the devouring danger of the unconscious, which the hero and ego consciousness must overcome, not the least by means of secondary personalization. The hero, who for Neumann represents ego-consciousness, struggles with the dragon of the unconscious. He survives and brings the victory of consciousness. This is the struggle involved in all child development, says Neumann. There is an archetypal basis to the heroic struggle of the child to attain consciousness, to wrestle itself out of the grip of the unconscious. In the psychoanalytic version of history, the archetypal world and its

symbolism are lost. “The reduction to the family story,” says Neumann, “deprives archetypal events of the inherently magnificent problems of human history” and diminishes these events (p. 63).

The Centrality of Secondary Mythologizing In the final part of his work, Neumann returns to the symbolism of the twin brothers, Jacob and Esau, and the symbolism of sun and moon. The deepest layer of mythologizing, into which the unconscious is projected, includes a variety of themes in which the principle of opposites manifests itself. The primitive ritual of the sacrifice of the scapegoat, by means of which the unconscious is projected onto the level of reality, indicates an early layer of mythologizing. The transition from the myths of sun and moon to a distinct story of the two brothers corresponds to a later stage of greater personalization, even though the archetypal images are still predominant. In the biblical story of Jacob and Esau, says Neumann, both genuine mythologizing and secondary mythologizing, as well as strong elements of consciousness, are woven into the story. In the initial stages, a balance existed between the opposites, for instance, in the motif of twins. In the development of consciousness, one of the principles becomes the governing principle of consciousness, whereas the other side is demoted to a devil-like status. The original equality between the opposites is replaced by hostility and by the struggle for predominance, as expressed by motifs such as the hostile brothers and the hero’s struggle with the dragon, that is, with the unconscious. With the advent of egoconsciousness, these themes take on a more subject-related formation, whereby interpretation can take place on the subjective level, and the hostile brother becomes a representative of the struggle with the inner shadow. Neumann considers secondary mythologizing, in which the historicalindividual and the collective-mythological merge, to be a prominent trait of Jewish mentality and creativity. The biblical text itself is such an amalgamation, so common in Jewish tradition, exemplified, for instance, by the figure of Elijah. This layer becomes particularly evident in Hasidism, which Neumann explored extensively.51

Freud, Adler, and the Collective Unconscious

Neumann considers the inability of Freud and Adler to conceptualize the collective unconscious as both a generational and an individual Jewish problem (although he observes that Freud did formulate such a concept; Freud considered the primal scenes as pertaining to a “phylogenetic endowment”). In addition to Freud’s positivism, both Freud and Adler “belong to an era of the Jewish history of ideas that is characterized by its assimilation of Occidental thought” (p. 64). With the extensive loss of religious and collective Jewish ties, the emancipation of individual consciousness is marked by extraversion. The outward flow of libido which this entails causes a loss of Jewish memory, Neumann claims, and a loss of contact with the collective unconscious. Due to the above historical situation, in which Jewish consciousness is detached from what Neumann terms “its originally primitive confinement to a Jewish community,” Freud and Adler avoid the problem of Jewish collectivity (p. 64). Therefore, they are unable to reach into and acknowledge the collective unconscious. Thus, their field of inquiry is consistent with the process of secondary personalization, implying detachment from participation mystique, and focuses instead on the development of egoconsciousness. Neumann ends his treatise by calling the reader’s attention to the fact that Western historiography is also dominated by archetypal images, such as in the projection of the negative onto the adversary, whereby every struggle is construed as one between good and evil. Individual consciousness is replaced by the masses adhering to the primordial image of “holy battle,” identifying with the hero ideal, “willing to slay the enemy dragon and to sacrifice their blood, as they always have” (p. 68). I now invite the reader to go back to 1934, the year of Neumann’s arrival in the land of Israel, to open the door to Neumann’s study on the Mediterranean shore in Tel Aviv, and to sit down next to him at his writing desk. Look at the handwritten and typewritten pages as they fill up one by one and are added to a rising pile, and enjoy sharing the innovative and meaningful ideas of this brilliantly creative depth psychologist. Neumann’s treatise on the collective symbolism of the brother motif, as well as his yet to be published work on the roots of Jewish consciousness, pertaining to what Neumann considered to be nothing less than a

“rediscovery of Judaism,” is an exceptional expression of the work that he wanted Jung to do. In a letter to Jung in the summer of 1934, Neumann writes, “I’ve set myself the big challenge of getting you to write something fundamental about Judaism.”52 We should be grateful that Jung did not take up that challenge, but let Neumann himself do the work. 1. C. G. Jung and Erich Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile: The Correspondence of C. G. Jung and Erich Neumann, ed. Martin Liebscher (Prince ton, NJ: Prince ton University Press, 2015), 62. 2. Hugo Rosenthal (1887–1980), a German-Jewish educator, immigrated to Palestine (Land of Israel) in 1925. Returning to Germany in 1929, he was asked by Rabbi Leo Baeck to become director of a Jewish school. Upon his return to Israel in 1939, he became director of the Ahava Village in northern Israel, a residential center for children and youth at risk. Having changed his name to Josef Yashuvi, he published papers on education and psychology in Hebrew. He received an award from UNICEF for his work in child education. In his essay “Der Typengegensatz in der jüdischen Religionsgeschichte” [“The Opposition between Psychological Types in the Jewish History of Religion”], Rosenthal focuses on the opposition between introversion and extraversion. [The translation of the title here is by Mark Kyburz. In Analytical Psychology in Exile, the title has been variously translated as “The Type-Difference in the Jewish History of Religion” (xxix), “The Typological Contrast in Jewish History of Religion” (20), and “Opposing Types in the Jewish History of Religion” (357).] 3. Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, xxix. 4. Martin Liebscher has managed to trace the important attachments to Neumann’s letters, in which he shares the outline of the Jacob and Esau manuscript with Jung, who tells him, “You should develop what you say in your ‘Annotations’ into an essay in its own right. Your elaborations are new to me and very interesting. . . . Jacob is the quintessence of the Jew and therefore a symbolic attempt at a collective individuation, or rather at individuation on a collective level. . . . So you are quite right in conceiving of the problem completely from the side of the collective unconscious and in understanding Jacob entirely as a symbolic exponent of folk psychology” (Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 54). Neumann’s extensive elaborations on the Jacob and Esau motif in his correspondence with Jung can be seen as first thoughts, sometimes a stream of consciousness, which then matured and were integrated in the present book. 5. In a letter to Jung, December 10, 1934, Neumann writes, “The work on Jacob and Esau and symbolism is also nearly ready and just needs typing up” (Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 80). 6. This work, to be translated by Mark Kyburz and edited by Ann Lammers, is expected to be published in 2018 in the Recollection series. 7. Neumann’s letter to Jung, December 5, 1938; Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 142. 8. Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 12. 9. The Old Yishuv pertains to the Jews residing in the Land of Israel before the Zionist revival in 1882, the New Yishuv to the Jews residing in Israel prior to the proclamation of the State of Israel in 1948. 10. The Midrash is the body of rabbinic literature consisting of commentaries on biblical texts and stories told by the sages. Its compilation began after the Second Temple era. 11. Erich Neumann, The Origins and History of Consciousness (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1970). 12. Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 54. God gave this promise to Abram before he was renamed Abraham.

13. Micha Josef Bin Gorion (Berdyczewski; 1865–1921) was a journalist and Hebrew author. He came from a rabbinical family; his father was the last in a line of thirteen generations of rabbis (preface by Emanuel Bin Gorion to M. J. Bin Gorion, Mimekor Yisrael: Classic Jewish Folktales [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976], xvi). Having received a Talmudic training, he turned to Jewish enlightenment and was also influenced by Hegel and Nietzsche. His writings specifically focused on the individual’s revolt against the limitations of the old Jewish traditions. He also collected Jewish legends and folktales, thus giving expression to the creative tension between enlightenment and tradition. The stories and myths were collected in Die Sagen der Juden [The Legends of the Jews] and Der Born Judas [The Well of Judah]. All the quotations from Bin Gorion have been translated by Mark Kyburtz. 14. Panim, “face,” is one of those intriguing words found in the Hebrew language. It can simultaneously be feminine, masculine, and plural. Furthermore, it is related to “turn”; that is, the literal meaning of panim is “the face turned toward one” (Ernest Klein, A Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the Hebrew Language for Readers of English [Jerusalem: Carta, 1987], 514). It also means “interior.” Acquaintance with the etymological roots of Hebrew words is important to understand the imagery behind some of the Talmudic legends. 15. C. G. Jung, Psychological Types (1923), CW, vol. 6 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971), par. 803. 16. Wind and spirit are the same word in Hebrew, Ruah. 17. Erich Neumann, Depth Psychology and a New Ethic (Boston: Shambhala, 1990), 67. 18. See Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 37. 19. Throughout the translation, emphases in Neumann’s original text (indicated with spacing and underlining) have been replaced with italics (please see the translator’s note). 20. Rabbi Moshe ben Yaacov Cordovero, often called the Ramak (1522–1570), was a central figure in sixteenth-century mysticism in the town of Safed, in Upper Galilee. At a young age he had been called by a heavenly voice, as he describes it, to study Kabbalah with the well-known Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz. Gershom Scholem writes, “Cordovero is essentially a systematic thinker, his purpose is to give both a new interpretation and a systematic description of the mystical heritage of the older Kabbalah, particularly the Zohar” (Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism [New York: Schocken Books, 1974], 252). Scholem considers him to be the greatest of the theoreticians of Jewish mysticism. 21. On the complexity of the desert as habitat of both Self and shadow, of revelation and demons, see Erel Shalit, Enemy, Cripple, and Beggar: Shadows in the Hero’s Path (Hanford, CA: Fisher King Press, 2008), 88. 22. Micha Joseph Bin Gorion, Die Sagen der Juden, tr. from Hebrew to German by Rahel Bin Gorion (Frankfurt: Rütten and Loening, 1913–1927), vol. 2, 356–357. 23. Edom, from adom, “red,” which is related to dam, “blood,” adam, “man,” and adama, “earth,” was both an additional name of Esau’s and the name for the semi-arid land in which he settled. King Herod, builder of the Second Temple, was an Edomite. 24. Neumann later developed these thoughts in Depth Psychology and a New Ethic. 25. This is how complexes, whether teleological or autonomous, take shape. 26. Neumann says that “being Jewish is intimately related to being introvert ed.” This of course does not mean that a Jew by necessity is introverted. Rather, Neumann implies that, structurally, introversion may be a dominant in Judaism, grounded in the invisible, “ungraven” God-image. Jacob is then the prototype, or an archetypal image of that cultural attitude. 27. This corresponds to what I have described in Enemy, Cripple, Beggar as the enemy-layer of the shadow. 28. Letter from Jung to Neumann, August 12, 1934, in Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 59. 29. C. G. Jung, Symbols of Transformation (1952), CW, vol. 5 (Princeton, NJ: Prince ton University

Press, 1956), par. 524. 30. The significance of the event is reflected in the three instances involving names: Jacob calls the place Mahanaim, i.e., “double camp” or “two camps”; Jacob’s name is changed to Israel, having battled directly with God and prevailed; and Jacob calls the location where the battle takes place Pnei-El, “Face of God” (see note 14). The collective significance of the event is emphasized by the fact that Jacob’s new name, Israel, becomes the name of both the nation and the people. 31. Isaiah 14:12: “How are you fallen from heaven, O bright star, son of the morning! How are you cut down to the ground, you who ruled the nations!” (In Hebrew, “son of the morning” is Hillel benShahar, in Latin “Lucifer”). See also Rivkah Shärf-Kluger, Satan in the Old Testament (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1967), and Elaine Pagels, The Origin of Satan (Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin, 1995). 32. Oedipus’s swollen foot has been interpreted both as phallic potency and as an inability to stand firmly on the ground. I have developed this further in Shalit, Enemy, Cripple, and Beggar. 33. Jung speaks of the transcendent function, when the opposites are brought together to produce a third (see, for example, “The Transcendent Function” (1958), in CW, vol. 8 [Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969], par. 181). 34. Like many other psychologists and philosophers, including Erich Fromm and Walter Benjamin, Neumann refers to Bachofen’s work in his writings, such as The Origins and History of Consciousness and The Great Mother (London: Rout-ledge and Kegan Paul, 1963). Johann Jakob Bachofen (1815– 1887) is most well known for his theories about a prehistoric matriarchy. Neumann, however, points out that this should be understood psychologically rather than sociologically and that the matriarchal stage pertains to a structural layer rather than a historical era. 35. Jung, Psychological Types, CW 6, par. 709. 36. Neumann writes, “in the patriarchal psychology of Judaism, the male can experience himself as a feminine moon vis-à-vis a superior masculine divine solar principle if the man’s religious consciousness identifies with the moon-anima. The identification of Jacob and the moon in the Jewish midrash is characteristic of this.” “The Moon and Matriarchal Consciousness,” in The Fear of the Feminine and Other Essays on Feminine Psychology (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 71 n11. 37. Regarding Samas, or Shamash: in Hebrew, “sun” is shemesh. Shimshon (Samson) was a sun hero whose name means “strength of the sun.” In spite of claims that the moon invariably symbolizes the feminine principle (see, for example, J. Chevalier and A. Gheerbrant, The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols [London: Penguin, 1996], 669), this is far from always the case. In German mythology, for instance, the solar deity is female, the lunar male, as is the case in earlier Egyptian mythology, in Japan, and elsewhere. 38. “The Moon and Matriarchal Consciousness,” 71. 39. Horus and Seth are sometimes depicted as brothers, while elsewhere Seth and Osiris are brothers, and Horus is the son of Osiris. 40. Osiris was often depicted in green or as green-skinned, as well as blue or black, symbolizing rebirth. Neumann further elaborates on green as the color of the moon, fertility, and concealed consciousness in “The Moon and Matriarchal Consciousness,” 101f. 41. The evil god Apopis (or Apophis) was often depicted as a dragon or serpent, often associated with Seth. Residing in the netherworld, he threatens the sun god (see Andreas Schweizer, The Sungod’s Journey through the Netherworld [Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010]). 42. Avroham Davis, Pirkei Avos: The Wisdom of the Fathers (New York: Metsudah Publications, 1980), 79. 43. Neumann introduces and describes the concept of secondary personalization in this work; he elaborated on this process further in The Origins and History of Consciousness. 44. In this context, Neumann speaks of the transformation of myths into folk-tales. It is worth taking

into account Marie-Louise von Franz’s extensive writings on the subject, for instance, when she writes, “To me the fairy tale is like the sea, and the sagas and myths are like the waves upon it; a tale rises to be a myth and sinks down again into being a fairy tale. . . . fairy tales mirror the more simple but also more basic structure—the bare skeleton—of the psyche.” Marie-Louise von Franz, The Interpretation of Fairy Tales (Dallas: Spring, 1987), 17. 45. For instance, Neumann writes, “The very nature of the human species conditions an archetypally determined development in the first phase of which the natural mother archetype is dominant; in the second phase it is the cultural father type. This archetypal situation is usually incarnated and, as we have seen, in part shaped by the personal parents, but these phases of the child’s development involve not only its family history but also go far beyond it to encompass the development of mankind from an existence in nature to an existence in nature and culture.” Erich Neumann, The Child: Structure and Dynamics of the Nascent Personality (London: Karnac, 1973), 94. 46. See Erel Shalit, The Cycle of Life: Themes and Tales of the Journey (Hanford, CA: Fisher King Press, 2011). 47. Neumann, The Origins and History of Consciousness, 336–337. 48. Ibid., 337, note 13. 49. I am grateful to Rina Porat for providing the source information for this paragraph. 50. In the main text of The Origins and History of Consciousness, the term is given as objectivation. 51. See note 6. 52. Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 20.

The Symbolism of Jacob and Esau

very application of psychological aspects and perspectives to religious texts faces particular difficulties and obstacles. Aside from those people for whom the biblical text, as a story of revelation, should not be subject to any psychologizing whatsoever, even those who consider the text to be central to human civilization justifiably oppose any inadequate or indeed undistanced treatment. The manner in which Freudian psychoanalysis, for instance, has been applied to religious and Jewish contents, even though Freud not only demonstrated but also acknowledged his lack of understanding of religious phenomena, has obviously increased the opposition to a purely psychological treatment of such problems. We must bear in mind from the outset that the historical texts of the Bible, such as the Pentateuch, demand the application of quite different methods. The more historical and the later any given text, and indeed the more human and the more comprehensible its protagonists, the more appropriate the application of a straightforward psychological approach. But the further removed the events and experiences in such a text are from average human experience, the more its psychological treatment can be provided only by a psychology that has both considered and come to terms with such extraordinary human experience.


In actual fact, Freud’s and Adler’s psychologies are psychologies of the individual, which consider nothing other than the personal unconscious and consequently reduce spiritual-cultural and religious events to our instinctual structure and its two dominants, the sex drive and the drive for power. Such psychologies prove inadequate as far as religious phenomena are concerned, in that they regard such phenomena as no more than a figurative expression of this instinctual structure, and in a transformed personal guise. Moreover, these psychologies consider the religious phenomenon to stem from the family story or from some other arrangement. Only C. G. Jung’s analytical psychology—and its discovery of the collective unconscious, which confronts the ego as a suprapersonal non-ego—is capable of adequately experiencing and understanding religious phenomena and texts. It goes far beyond the scope of this study to describe the collective unconscious, since Jung devotes his entire work to this subject. But perhaps the concrete nature of the present discussion will help illustrate what the collective unconscious involves. One particular difficulty, as in our present case, arises if the events surrounding the forefathers become the subject of psychological inquiry. It is no doubt mistaken to consider the forefathers only as “mythological figures” or suchlike. The concrete nature of the text, as much as its contents, plainly rules out such a perspective. On the other hand, it is just as certain that precisely these accounts contain the experiences of an entire people. The life of the forefather handed down through the ages is also shaped by his sons, by the tribe, and by the people who experienced this person and his life as a forefather. The vivid and enduring participation in and preoccupation with that life, which occupies a central position in both genealogy and narration, constitute the essence of tradition, of the forefatherhood, of the ancestor, and of the filial descent of the Israelites. Although the forefathers are neither mythological figures nor ideal images of “the Jew,” their lives nevertheless have prototypical significance. The renewed and vivid preoccupation with the forefathers brings forth within the people experiencing these figures another, namely, mythological figure of the forefather. The midrashic texts, the Aggadah, and the legends that continue to emerge to this day bear living witness to this morphogenesis, which emerges from the structure of the people in whose midst this figure has come into being, despite all reference to the actual account of the forefather. The midrashic texts studied here are mythological in this particular sense.

They originate in the soul of the people experiencing the forefathers. Now it would perhaps seem obvious to suggest that the forefathers are mere folklore, and thus admissible as a subject of psychological inquiry, but that any further-reaching application to the biblical text would be inappropriate and methodologically unjustifiable. More strikingly, but by no means more surprisingly, a close study of this uncanonical lore is greatly revealing for our understanding of the biblical text. It is precisely the intimate and vivid relationship between the people and the forefathers that adequately explains why it is fruitful to consider midrashic literature and the biblical text together. Ultimately, the account of the forefathers and its specific formulation, from which the noncanonical texts later emerged, both stem from the soul of the people remembering and processing those events and experiences. Precisely because this people has been shaped physically by its particular descent, as well as spiritually and psychically by a specific inner tradition, by the reachievement of life, and by the experience of its forefathers, in turn allows the midrashic texts brought forth by the people to complement and elucidate the account of the forefathers. The first texts concerned with the problem of Jacob and Esau that we want to study read as follows: I. It is said that when Jacob and Esau were still in their mother’s womb, Jacob said to Esau: “Esau, my brother, there are two of us, and two worlds lie before us, one world on this side, another beyond. One world is the world where people eat and drink, a world of commerce and change; the otherworld, however, has none of this. If it is your will, then take this world, and I shall keep the otherworld for myself.” At that hour, Esau took his place in this world, whereas Jacob chose the otherworld. II. When he created the world, the Lord decided that the sun would be Esau’s kingdom and the moon Jacob’s. III. Know then that Isaac had two faces, a sacred and a profane one; that face that was turned inward was sacred, the one facing outward profane. Jacob drew strength from the inner face, Esau from the outer. The rulers of the world also abide by the left side of the world.1

Each of these texts concerns the opposition between Jacob and Esau. Each, however, attributes a different polarity to the hostile twin brothers: in the first, it is between this world and the otherworld; in the second, between the sun and moon; in the third, between the inside and outside.2 What these

texts have in common are two series of motifs: the first is composed of Jacob, the moon, the otherworld, and the inner side; the second consists of Esau, the sun, this world, and the outer side. Before we proceed any further, we must try to understand the meaning of this opposition. It is easiest to begin with the third text and its polarity. Here, we have the face turned inward, from which Jacob drew strength. He looks toward the inner world, the dark nocturnal world, which is governed by the moon. This inner world is turned toward Jacob; his life starts from this world and this turning inward is sacred. The inner world is opposed to the outer, visible, real, and bright world, that is, Esau’s world of the sun, whose concrete realities are “eating and drinking, commerce and change.” The essential hallmark of Esau’s world is visibility, and it includes the outer, the ordinary, the unholy world. Jacob is neither like Esau nor like the peoples of the world, but instead he is turned toward that world which not only proves to be the coming world, the otherworld, but also the inner and invisible world. Jacob, the Jew, looks inward, toward YHWH and his inner demand. But this does not mean that YHWH reveals himself only within. Unlike the gods, however, he never manifests himself in images or in the man-made, nor does he become concretized in any part of the outer world where he can be worshipped. In a certain sense, one can say that YHWH is “inside” and appears only to the inward-facing gaze. Compared to pagan religion, it is precisely the demand for interiorization that is clearly Jewish. I shall not further pursue this aspect here; suffice it to say that it casts light on a decisive feature of Judaism. The radical prophetic demand for an orientation within the human heart toward the inner voice, toward the voice of God, toward the law that is placed within him, needs to be mentioned in this respect. Also part of this context is the crucial task of safeguarding this inner orientation and this chosenness, along with the tendency not to commingle with the world and not to lose oneself to it, but instead to be sacred, that is, to face inward toward YHWH. C. G. Jung described two fundamentally different human attitudes: introversion and extraversion. The three texts studied above indicate that the attitude of the Jew is introverted and that he even seems to be aware of his introversion. Hugo Rosenthal’s important work was the first to point out this introverted structure of Judaism, which we find confirmed by our texts and their symbolism.3 The fact that the inner world, as a dark nocturnal world, and Jacob belong

together and the consequence arising therefrom, that the moon becomes Jacob’s kingdom, will first of all probably be misunderstood as poetic allegory, if not as sheer allegory. To demonstrate the reality and efficacy of such a symbol, which is anything other than a manner of speaking but a force at work, we must first further explore the relationship between the moon and Jacob, that is, the Jew. The first law given to Moses even before the exodus from Egypt, is the introduction of the moon calendar and the celebration of the new moon. The sentence “For the Israelites reckon by the moon and the peoples of the world by the sun” plainly equates the moon and Israel.4 It also refers to the fact that a lunar eclipse is a bad omen for Jews, just as a solar eclipse is for the peoples of the world. The waning and the waxing of the moon are meant to correspond to the vicissitudes of Jewish history.5 More strikingly, and therefore also more characteristically, is that for the Jews, unlike for most other peoples, it is not the sun’s path but the moon’s that symbolizes rebirth and renewal: “Just as the new moons are renewed and sanctified in this world, so will Israel be sanctified and renewed in the future world.”6 The plea for the future messianic era is uttered at the New Moon festival, which we shall discuss in greater detail, in the following strange formula: “And the light of the moon shall be like the light of the sun.”7 Precisely if the symbolism of the moon, in contrast to the sun’s, is so evidently associated with Jacob, and if everything suggests that this association is both very profound and original, then it is only natural, indeed it is to be expected, that the visible disparity between the sun and moon has become a subject of much deliberation. Curiously, the texts instruct us that the sun and moon were originally the same size: The sun and moon were both the same size, just as it says: God made two great lights. And their sizes remained the same until the moon deplored this. He spoke to the Lord: “Lord of the world, why did you make your world with Beth, the second letter?” [the Torah begins with the word Bereschit]. The Lord said: “So that all my creatures know that I have placed the number two at the beginning [in Hebrew, Beth = 2]. I placed the number two at the beginning, because I also created two worlds, and thus only two witnesses shall be heard.” The moon said: “But which of these two worlds is greater than the other? Is it this world or is it the otherworld?” The Lord said: “The otherworld is greater than this world.” The moon said: “Look, you made two worlds, this world and the other-world; the otherworld is great, this world is small. You created heaven and earth; heaven is greater than earth. You created fire and water; and water extinguishes fire. And then you made the sun and moon; if that is so, does not one have to be greater than the other?” The Lord said: “It is obvious to me that you believe that I shall make you greater and the

sun smaller. But since you contemplated doing evil against the sun, you were meant to be smaller and your light shall shine sixty times less than hers.” On hearing this, the moon said to the Lord: “O Lord of the world! I spoke but one word, and now I am to receive such severe punishment?” The Lord said: “One day you will be as great as the sun again; and the light of the moon shall be like the light of the sun.”8

Originally, the two sides of the world, as symbolized by the sun and moon or the two directions in which the face can turn, were completely equivalent. The inner and outer sides of the world—the extraverted and introverted aspects, the objective and subjective circumstances, the world and the human being created in the image of God—were both created by God. They are the same size and only together do they form a whole: this is the original, predefined condition of the world. But the moon, which represents the inner side, the inward-facing Jew, raises a question that is both correct and crucial. Because whereas the world was created in a two-faced manner, so to speak, there nevertheless exists a hierarchy between these two faces. For the world—and this is the primordial experience made by the Jew—was not made according to the principle of balanced dualism. “The otherworld is greater than this world,” asserts God. Consequently, the inner side, that is, the world of the moon, which is assigned to Jacob, is larger. This indeed constitutes the difference between the sacred and the profane. But if that is the case, asks the moon (and God understands its question quite correctly), should then the moon not be larger than the sun? As we learn from the midrashic texts, God responds to the moon’s question by making it smaller. Which state of affairs does this diminution correspond to or, put differently, why does God react thus? The smallness of the moon compared to the sun corresponds to the inferiority of the inner world experienced so passionately by the introvert. It also corresponds to the inadequacy of the inner world toward the terrifyingly great and powerful outer world of objects. And it corresponds to the Jew’s experience of the smallness and sense of helplessness of the chosen people toward those sunlike peoples who seize the world with their hands and who have an abundance of power. God made the moon smaller, so the text says, because he sensed a craving for power, a potential of the moon for “doing evil against the sun,” in its demand for greater size. Such craving is also linked to a wellknown psychic reality, namely, the psychology of power in those who feel they have come off badly or missed out in life. Adler speaks of the

psychology of the younger son in this respect, and Jung attributed this psychology to the introvert. For our present purposes, it is most interesting that these problems are unconsciously acknowledged and formulated as the fundamental problems of Jewish psychology as early as the midrashic passages discussed above. God vigorously refutes the moon’s claim and metes out punishment instead because he understands the moon’s claim as a claim to power as a fundamentally negative stance. In turn, a rescinding of the punishment is promised for the messianic era, in which the original equality of the moon and sun will be restored. The problem addressed here is far more crucial than the above midrashic text would lead one to believe. Another, apparently very similar midrashic text raises the same issue but pursues it in far greater detail: God created two great lights, the sun and the moon. The moon said to the Lord: “O Lord of the world! Is it correct that one crown shall serve two kings?” To which the Lord replied: “Go forth and become the smaller light.” The moon replied: “No sooner have I spoken a true word shall I become smaller?” The Lord answered: “But therefore thou shall rule day and night.” But the Lord saw that the moon was unappeased; he regretted doing this and commanded Israel: “Now that I have made the moon smaller, go forth and bring me a sacrifice. And this shall be a goat that is sacrificed at new moon, sacrificed when God’s temple still stood erect.”9

Here the moon adopts a completely different stance in claiming that the facts mentioned in the other midrashic text do not apply to its case; that is, the question of power and resentment has been settled. The subject here is not the moon’s personal problem, if one may put it that way. Rather than addressing a personal matter, one that concerns the neurotic introvert or indeed the resentful Jew, the moon, as a representative of the inner side, insists on its suprapersonal question, which concerns nothing other than the structure of the world. The moon has spoken a “true word,” and this achievement suggests that God has done the moon wrong by making it smaller. What does the moon’s true word mean? Its true word is an accusation against God. Why did you create a divided world? Why did you not create the world so that the inner world is greater, so that you, YHWH, are its ruler, and so that your commands may be fulfilled? Why did you grant what does not behold you such great power? There can be no doubt that behind this question also stands the subjective experience of the introvert, namely, that God actually belongs more to the other side of the world, or else one face would not be called sacred and the

other profane. Below, we shall encounter two solutions to this problem, one provisional, the other, which is reflected in Jacob’s wrestling with the angel, more definitive. The consolation that God offers the moon—that it shall rule day and night —evidently does not appease the moon. And yet the factual nature of this consolation is so very essential that it must at least be hinted at. There is no better formulation of this than Jung’s: “Everything exterior is the world of the sun, and there is no doubt that the power of the sun is great. The inner is invisible and always seems to be powerless. In reality, however, it rules secretly and pervasively and its power is as great as the sun’s” (cited from Jung’s answer to a letter from the author that included a draft outline of this study).10 Incidentally, this fact can be appreciated only by those who have grown aware of the extent to which the outer stems from the inner, and who see through the outer to the inner standing behind it. The following passages probably also belong in this context: The wise Rabbi Isaac was sitting in front of a cave. A man, accompanied by two boys, came by. The older brother spoke to the younger one: “The sun is strongest at midday, but the world can exist only because of the wind.” The younger brother replied: “The world could not exist without Jacob.”11

Here, once again, the opposition between Jacob and Esau looms in the background. Esau is identified with the midday sun, and Jacob apparently with the wind. The invisible power of the wind, of the ruach and pneuma, of the inner, animating principle, belongs to Jacob. The midrashic text interprets the sentence, “The voice is Jacob’s voice, but the hands are the hands of Esau” (Gen. 27:22), along the same lines, namely, that the voice (that is, the breath, spirit, and wind) is governed by Jacob, and the hands (that is, the practical action of the sun in the outer world) by Esau. Just like the moon, which is invisible by day, the principle of the wind only seems to be weak in the face of the powerful sun; in actual fact, however, the world rests upon the wind, this hidden principle. Compare this to the thirty-six concealed righteous ones who ensure the existence of the world. Since God’s remorse did not return the moon to its original size, this suggests that the moon has raised a correct question, a question that remains to be answered. Of particular importance in this respect is the connection established here between the issue of the moon and sun with the New Moon

festival. The New Moon festival occupied a crucial role in biblical Judaism. On this day, just as on the Sabbath, it appears to be both possible and necessary to enter into a particularly close relationship with YHWH, due to the fact that it was on this very day that one went to the prophets, the men who had insight.12 On the same day Isaiah says about the messianic era: “And it shall come to pass, that from one new moon to another, and from one sabbath to another, shall all flesh come to worship before me, saith the Lord” (Isa. 66:23). Just as characteristic of the meaning of this festival is a saying from the second century AD. Its radical formulation remains almost incomprehensible, unless one recognizes the central status of this festival: “It would be enough if Israel could receive its father in heaven only every month on the occasion of the New Moon festival.”13 The fact that under the influence of seventeenth-century Kabbalism the new moon day took on a new or at least a renewed meaning as the Minor Day of Atonement leads us even more deeply into the problem of the moon.14 At the heart of the ritual celebrated on the Day of Atonement stood the sacrifice of a goat before YHWH and the banishment into the desert, to Azazel, of a second goat, upon which the sins of the people were put. The goat is also the sacrifice brought to the blessing of the new moon. The blessing uttered at the New Moon festival is as follows: You have given new moons to your people, a time for atonement for all its descendants when they brought sacrifices before you, sacrifices made to give pleasure and goats offered for their sins, to make atonement for themselves, in commemoration of all, and for the salvation of their souls from the hands of the enemy.15

The problem can now be further developed by considering the ritual of the New Moon festival. The blessing is followed by pleas for the reerection of Zion and for the resumption of service in the temple. The eulogy on the blessing of the moon asserts: “and spoke to the moon that it should renew itself, as a crown of the glory for those blessed by the mother’s womb, who shall some day renew themselves just as it [the moon] does.”16 (According to Isaiah 46:3, YHWH carries the Jews from the womb.) Finally, a plea is made to revoke once and for all the darkening of the moon and its diminution.17 “May the light of the moon be like the light of the sun.”18 While the pervasive symbolism of the opposition between the moon and

the sun is preserved, a completely new motif has appeared unexpectedly. This new motif further pursues the issue of the diminution of the moon in both a generative and enlightening manner. Besides the diminution of the moon, which is related to the opposition between the moon and the sun, there is now the problem of its darkening, its opacity. The opposition between the moon and the sun is not the only opposition. In effect, this opposition corresponds to a division within the moon so to speak, which is itself subject to an alternating opacity. The relevant literature includes the following passage about the darkening of the moon by evil: In the writings of the Geonim it is written: “Seven days before the rising of the moon, the spirit of gentleness prepares to do battle with Samael and his hordes over the diminution of the moon. But the hairy one, envious of the beauty of the moon, picks a quarrel with the smooth one—and thus Michael and Gabriel wage war against the accusers. But at the end of the seventh day, Gabriel weakens their strength and Michael, the high priest, takes Semasael, who is standing alongside the hairy one, who resembles a male goat, and brings them as a sacrifice of sorts before the altar, which is erected for the purpose of penance at the beginning of each month. Then the highest will is assuaged, the moon becomes large and full, and the strength of the male goat is consumed by the fire of the almighty. But when the moon is waning, the male goat becomes rejuvenated and grows anew, and thus it continues until the Day of Judgment, of which it is said: the light of the moon shall be like the light of the sun.”19

Since the moon, as we have seen, represents not only the inner world and Judaism but also Jacob, the problem must lie with Jacob. The alternating opacity of the moon and its darkening must correspond to an opacity within the Jew, that is, if the symbolism proves to be as unequivocal as we are assuming. Here, a confusing difficulty seems to arise at first. If we examine the principle of opacity more closely, then we are no doubt once again dealing with the opposition between Jacob and Esau. Although Esau is not mentioned by name, the rulers of the left side of the world, who are represented here by Samael and Semasael, plainly belong to that side of the world (see p. 3). Moreover, there can be no doubt that the “hairy one, who resembles a male goat” is Esau, that is to say, Edom, whose hairy appearance has already been emphasized.20 Esau makes Mount Seir his home, where the goat spirits, the seirim, are also said to live.21 The identity of Esau and the goat leads us further, however, for there is verifiable evidence that in myth the goat is a symbol of the sun, albeit a negative one. In Germanic mythology, the goat corresponds

to the winter or midnight sun, that is, the sun in December, when it stands lowest and is weakest. This frame of reference probably includes the fact that at this time of the year, the zodiac sign ruled by the sun is Sagittarius, that is, the sea-goat. Esau, the dark sun-goat, who makes the moon opaque, now faces the other Esau, the red sun-goat, the ruler of this world. This outer, sungoverned side of the world is associated with the goat as a symbol of creative, instinctually procreative nature on the one hand and with the goatlike satyr, Pan, and fauns and their lustful sexuality on the other. In Christianity, both goatish figures, whose connection we shall consider below, ultimately become devils with goatlike legs and goat heads that give off the stench of goats. The opposition between Jacob and Esau, that is, the moon and the sun, which have been both compared and kept distinct in terms of different worlds in the first texts studied here, receives a new twist in our final text. The motif of the opaque moon shifts the problem inward, where it constellates itself as a moral problem. What has become apparent is the problem of evil as an “inner Edom.” Indeed, if one fully understands the meaning of the final text, then the time up until the Day of Judgment is construed as a self-perpetuating struggle against evil, which disappears only on the Day of Judgment together with the moon becoming opaque. This inner Edom, whose actual nature remains unclear to us, is sacrificed on the day of the new moon in the shape of a goat. “Then the highest will is assuaged, the moon becomes large and full, and the strength of the male goat is consumed by the fire of the almighty.”22 Or, as it says in the blessing of the new moon, the goat is a sacrifice brought for everyone “and for the salvation of their souls from the hands of the enemy.” The cleansing, the resolution of the moral conflict, manifests itself as a sacrificing of the goat, of the inner Edom, of the evil side. This obfuscating goatlike figure is referred to as an enemy already in the Yom Kippur ritual (which clearly illustrates why the day of the new moon could also be called “little Yom Kippur”). This is a reference to the mysterious sending forth of the second goat to Azazel. No matter whether this opposite pole to YHWH was later concealed to guard against the danger of dualism—that is, whether Azazel is thought to be a mountain or a reminder of an earlier cult—a polarity between YHWH and Azazel nevertheless exists. This polarity recurs in the opposition between right and left, as emphasized in midrashic literature. Lots were drawn to select the goats. If the right lot was drawn, then the goat was assigned to

YHWH; drawing the left lot, on the other hand, assigned the goat to Azazel.23 It is well established that the right side goes together with being positive, just as the left side is associated with being negative (see, for instance, the ambiguity of the word sinister). This also explains why Esau’s goat rules the left side of the world. In this connection, YHWH and the right side belong to the color white, whereas Azazel and the left side go with the color red. Thus, the threads that are tied to Azazel’s goat and to the gates of the temple are red; their color must change to white after atonement.24 Not only is red the color of blood; it is also Esau’s color and that of sin. Correspondingly, Jacob is white in color whereas Isaac is red, because Esau has sprouted from him.25 The red color of the son rubs off on Isaac as it were, whose connection with Esau is indeed very powerful. These colors are also related to the polarity between the moon and the sun: Jacob’s whiteness is the color of the moon, Esau’s redness that of the sun. The same polarity exists among the angels, where it is elevated to the cosmic level. “To God’s right stands Michael, whose color is white; to his left is Gabriel, who is red.”26 Applied to the three angels who came to Abraham, the following words are attributed to the angel who announced Sarah’s pregnancy: This was Michael, who stands to God’s right—everything good and every blessing comes from the right side; the third angel, who came to slay Sodom, was Gabriel, who stands to God’s left; he is the highest judge, who presides over all the courts of the world and comes from the left side.27

Equally, in the Kabbalah, the right pillar of the Tree of Sephiroth denotes the male aspect and is known as the Pillar of Mercy; the left pillar represents the female aspect and is known as the Pillar of Severity or Judgment. The color white is assigned to the right side, the color red to the left. Silver is assigned to the right side, gold to the left. We shall discuss this highly remarkable fact elsewhere.28 (It goes beyond the scope of this study to discuss the problem of the threeness, that is, of the third color and the associated basic principle of equilibrium as the balance between these opposites.) In any event, Yom Kippur also concerns the resolution of the moral problem through the sacrifice of evil; the part representing Edom is brought as sacrifice in its symbolic shape as a goat. Evidently, our next task must be to discuss the connection between the

two seemingly contradictory figures of Edom, as it seems utterly incomprehensible to begin with how the inner symbolism of opacity and the opposition between the worlds—the inner world of the moon and Jacob and the outer world of the sun and Esau—are related. The problem could also be formulated thus: How are the diminution of the moon, that is, the problem of two worlds, and the opacity of the moon, that is, the moral problem, connected? How are they related irrespective of the fact that both will be revoked at the same time on the Day of Judgment, in the days of the Messiah, when “the light of the moon shall be like the light of the sun”? It seems most appropriate to approach these questions from the text at hand: the opposition governing the world—between Jacob and Esau, between introversion and extraversion, between the moon and the sun—persists in the introvert as a moral problem, in that an extraverted part, the darkening goat of the nocturnal sun, causes mischief in the moon, obfuscating its brightness and seeking to consume it. Whereas this state of affairs seems to be highly incomprehensible and paradoxical at first, it is confirmed just as bafflingly and as accurately by the experience of analytical psychology. For there is no such thing as a “pure” introvert or extravert, because each of these attitudes is one-sided and incomplete. Instead, all persons carry within themselves an attitude in opposition to their dominant one. This opposite attitude, however, is undeveloped and primitive, at work as an inferior function.29 Thus, to speak of introversion—for our texts are concerned only with this attitude, precisely because being Jewish is intimately related to being introverted—means to acknowledge that there is an inferior, undeveloped extraverted part in each introvert. This means, as the symbolic language in which these connections are captured and depicted in purely intuitive terms puts it, that Jacob carries within himself a part of Edom, that is, the goat that clouds the moon. It now becomes clearer why this goat is an essential symbol of the inferior sun, the hibernal sun. This part of Edom, which is an inferior function of the introvert, is not identical with the real Edom, the extravert and ruler of this world. It is impossible to discuss the psychological facts represented by the inferior function in greater depth here.30 By way of rough illustration, it is worth noting how frequently introverted persons, who are inwardly oriented, have a highly primitive, inferior, and inadequate relationship with things and people and with external reality in general. The introvert, besides being unworldly, almost always is contemptuous of the world, which in turn is

symptomatic of an inferior relationship with the world. The inferior function always resides in the unconscious, in the dark.31 It is closely related to the shadow, to the other side, to the negative half of the conscious personality, that is, the bearer of the repressed or dark attributes, which only begin to emerge secretly. In Jacob’s case, the shadow corresponds to the inner Edom. In symbolic terms, this dark side is behind, out of sight, where the eyes of consciousness do not reach. From another perspective, this part is also referred to as the left side. The ambiguity of the word sinister— which means both “left” and “dark”—has already been noted above.32 Also, the positive direction of the opposition, in which the right side belongs together with righteousness, is unequivocally clear. Most probably, this also explains that the left side is often cited as the side of judgment. On the left, on the shadow’s side, lies the moral problem, as well as a sense of inadequacy and inferiority. The preoccupation with this problem, which inevitably erupts in a moral conflict, not only begins on the left side, that is, in the unconscious, but it also proceeds with the crucial involvement of some unconscious authorities.33 This preoccupation, furthermore, which takes place partly inside, partly outside, is the tribunal. To begin with, the other side, which is governed by bright consciousness, is always the side of mercy. The relationship between right and left has general validity, irrespective of the psychological type, because it makes no difference whether the shadow has an extraverted character (like Edom), as in the case of the introvert, or vice versa, whether the extravert carries within himself inferior, introverted characteristics. In both cases, the left side, that is, the unconscious, is the side of inferiority, from which the judgmental and decision-making preoccupation proceeds, even if this kind of tribunal is at work differently in the two types. Characteristic of the judgmental efficacy of the unconscious, which initially appears to be negative, are its superiority, a particular kind of waywardness, and its conspicuousness, which make us feel painfully powerless and helpless. This inferior side, Esau’s, which is immensely important in the history of the Jewish people, causes the opacity of the moon. Thereupon rests the moral conflict, which Christianity and Judaism both sought to resolve by sacrificing the inferior, by exterminating evil, and by sacrificing the goat. It is striking enough that the text refers to this attempt as an eternal process. This

attempted solution turns the moral problem into an infinite moral process, whose endpoint lies in the messianic era. Incidentally, the text unequivocally refers to the aforementioned twosidedness of the introvert as the two-facedness of Yitzhak.34 Whereas his holy face is turned inward, his inferior and profane face is turned outward, toward the world. (This two-facedness translates precisely as an inferior extraverted function.) The same problem has stepped out of the personal sphere into the sphere of the tribe and people, into the twin brotherhood of Jacob and Esau, the two sons of the Jewish forefather who stand on either side of their father. This connection is firmly supported by the text, in which Yitzhak curiously favors Esau (whereby a roast, various other food, smell, and so forth play a salient role, which, however, has never been properly understood). In the text, Esau actually leans on Yitzhak’s inferior extraversion. No argument has been presented thus far to dampen the feeling that these desires, and indeed the privileging of Esau, are not becoming to the forefather. However, the connection between the inner, obfuscating Edom in Jacob and the outer brother of Edom exists not only through extraversion and the identical common characteristics given thereby. It is also heightened by the introvert (as well as by the extravert) projecting his inferior aspect outward and experiencing it there. This means that originally Jacob does not experience Edom, who represents his inferior aspect, within himself, but outside himself in the guise of his hostile brother (that is, through projection). The experienced image of Edom consists of the real Edom as the extraverted Other and of the distorting, superimposing projection of his own unconscious, inferior Edom- likeness. The first stage of overcoming this primitive experience of Edom as the alien Other, which the extravert necessarily seems to be to the introvert, is precisely the moral conflict represented by the symbol of the opaque moon. This moral conflict naively presupposes the experience of dissociation, that is, of no longer being oneself; it thus marks the beginning of the suspension of primitive onesidedness. At the same time, discovering one’s negative side initiates a more equitable evaluation of the Other. When the moon discovers the goat, or rather Edom within himself, not only does this put an end to painting a bleak and one-sided picture of Edom in the outer world, but it is the first sign of what the inner and the outer might have in common. Esau’s experience of alienation is attenuated by what, however, is a negatively tainted experience

of himself, albeit only to the extent to which it is acknowledged. Obviously, the negative inner image can also be suppressed and projected outward. That is, one can project one’s own moral problem—as usual—onto another person. As soon as this does not happen and one confronts one’s own problem, the projection is withdrawn and the actual image of the Other becomes visible. As observed, the diminution of the moon compared to the sun entailed the moon’s unanswered accusation against God. The problem, however, did not cease to exist but developed further and culminated in what we considered to be no more than a tentative solution to the moral problem. The diminution of the moon is related to its opacity. The inadequacy and powerlessness of the inner side as against the powerful world of the sun and Esau have a moral cause. The world of the moon is weak and deficient in clarity, because within it resides a negative, undeveloped part of Edom. As such, however, this particular answer, that is, inferiority as a moral problem, corresponds to what we identified at the beginning of this study as a reduction of matters to the moon’s and the introvert’s personal problem. The moon’s demand for unity had already identified the problem as a fundamentally metaphysical and suprapersonal one. Seen thus, the opacity and the moral problem, as manifest in the inferior function, originated in God’s creation of a (divided) inner and outer world. Ultimately, the moral problem thus rests upon the creation of two worlds, that is, the creation of a polarity between the moon and the sun. Addressing the problem of opposites is the second stage of overcoming the Jew’s—and the introvert’s—primitive experience of Esau. The majority of the midrashic texts interpreted here represent this stage, at which the opposition between Jacob and Esau is seen as an opposition between two worlds. This insight into the polarity of the world, for which the various oppositions—between Jacob and Esau, the moon and the sun, introversion and extraversion—are but a symbol, is perhaps formulated most cogently in a small midrashic text that fully substantiates the line of development suggested in this study: On the fifth day, God created great whales, and these are Jacob and Esau; and all the creatures that liveth and weaveth are the stages lying in between.35

As we shall see, this problem reaches its unrivaled peak in the biblical text

about Jacob’s struggle with the angel, where it is also overcome. What becomes evident, then, is that the significance of the above account emerges only when it is set against the entire relevant background, as established here with reference to the midrashic texts. What has transpired from studying these texts, which come from different periods and have been recorded by various hands, is the strange fact that they constitute a unified, pervasive, and absolutely unequivocal symbolism, which belongs to the archetypal heritage of the Jewish people in particular and of humanity in general. It is the very fact that this symbolism does not originate in any particular individual, but lies readily available at the bottom of a people’s soul, that makes it possible to present these texts in conjunction and to demonstrate their close association. As the individual thinks and lives in this symbolic protolanguage, so the unconscious mind of a people thinks and deliberates in that language. The texts studied here reveal a preoccupation with fundamental Jewish and human problems. Perhaps somewhat uncannily, this preoccupation occurs beyond any individual life and across generations; moreover, it proceeds continuously, on its own terms, and as a reflection of a people’s thinking. Notwithstanding its mysteriousness, there is nothing mystical about engaging with these fundamental problems. Jung once remarked that myths could be considered to be the dreams of a people. These midrashic texts, which speak in a collective symbolic language, make clear that such dreaming is unconscious thought. What makes this so particular is the continuity of the discussion that occurs within a people’s unconscious. The midrashic texts are but the visible manifestation of that discussion. What should by no means be overlooked in this regard is how strongly involved a people’s and the individual’s consciousness are in creating these texts. And yet the fact that the fundamental problem has been expressed so continuously in the same basic language and symbolism for centuries, as if these texts had been written by one and the same author, is both astonishing and exciting. Nor can that fact be argued away. If we now turn to the fundamental text, that is, the origin of all midrashic thought, it will already have become clear that the actual purpose of drawing upon midrashic literature is to reveal the close linkage between archetypal symbolism and that fundamental text. Jacob is not the moon, nor is Esau the sun. However, the symbolism of the moon and the sun, which a people’s unconscious later related to the account of Jacob and Esau, extends and clarifies what this account was about or at least what the people’s

unconscious believed it was about. And precisely because this very same people’s unconscious experienced and helped shape this account we are able to understand its relationship with the later midrashic texts, a relationship which is both plausible and astonishingly intimate. This text can be understood only if its intended meaning is taken seriously and if its details are left undistorted. Jacob is deliberately made the structural bearer of the promise from the outset. Unlike Isaac, Jacob’s mother, Rebekah, recognizes his role and ensures that he attains the blessing. If there is any doubt about Jacob’s entitlement to primogeniture, to the promise and to the blessing, then his legitimacy is confirmed once and for all by his famous dream at Bethel.36 Jacob flees to a foreign land as an utterly forlorn, miserable, and defenseless individual. He is exposed to a world that is unimaginably hostile, and this experience doubtless fills his consciousness. Under these circumstances, his dream, whose contents we shall not dwell upon any further here, provides him with crucial and magnificent compensation in that it announces to him the collective and singular significance of his existence and future. It is precisely his powerlessness that plainly reveals to him the central position occupied by the one who bears the promise. At this moment, he realizes that as the chosen one, as the bearer of the promise, he and also later his people will always be inferior to the multitude. Beyond a superimposed layer, which stems from the people handing down this material, our positive attitude toward the text enables us to distinguish a core that derives from an original account referring to the forefathers. Owing to its collective nature, the collective processing of this account by the people, which is closely attached to and supported by the core text, as well as its literary formulation and tradition, is characteristic of secondary mythologizing. By contrast, the dream at Bethel, the struggle between Jacob and Esau, and Jacob’s wrestling with the angel are essential aspects of the central tradition of the forefathers. The religious genius of the forefathers is at work in the transmission of their central religious experiences, such as the dream at Bethel and the struggle with the angel, which correspond to absolutely real personal experiences. One of the major successes of psychological analysis is its ability to furnish all but convincing evidence for the relationship between the events handed down and their experience by the forefather. If the dream at Bethel were a mythological text originating in the people passing it on from

one generation to another, then it would somehow have to appear as inserted in psychological analysis, such as the account of Jonah and the whale, which plainly belongs to the processing layer of tradition. Strikingly, however, analysis reveals the absolute affinity between the forefather’s situation, such as Jacob’s flight, and the dream at Bethel, or between Jacob before his encounter with Esau and Jacob wrestling with the angel (the latter being an event handed down to us). The compensatory function of the unconscious— that is, the emergence of those very contents from the unconscious that consciousness needs most because it lacks them—has a surprising effect on the (close) association between situation and dream. This function, moreover, can be employed as a critical method that is capable of determining whether a text should be attributed to the core layer or to the superimposed layer of popular tradition. This is so because the interweaving of different textual layers can be determined from the breaks in the text, that is, from those passages indicating that they do not belong together. The fact that the law of unconscious compensation was evidently completely unknown at the time, but nevertheless emerges here most impressively, ensures that the situations actually experienced by the forefather, as well as his nocturnal experiences, belong neither to two layers nor to two texts. Anyone familiar with how primitive peoples preserved and passed on their leaders’ dreams, visions, and experiences will not consider it improbable that a people like the Jewish people preserved and passed on with utmost precision their forefathers’ experiences, which in turn shaped the entire existence and history of that people. The essence of tradition, which occupies a pivotal position in Judaism, amounts to placing at the center of life and consciousness the extraordinary experience, that is, those miracles that can be experienced only by particular individuals or by a people during particular times. This would, then, be for the benefit of those people and individuals for whom such an experience remains inaccessible and for those times in which such miracles are rare. The particular affinity of the Jewish people with the forefathers and later with the prophets rests upon this fundamental fact. This people’s concept of the world was and continues to be shaped and rebuilt by men of exceptional experience, the “servants of YHWH.” Only from this vantage point can we understand the outer structure of tradition, whose accomplishment is meant to allow the people to make such an experience. Suffice it to mention in passing that the course of history, which involves the emancipation and individualization of

the Jewish person, gradually and necessarily results in tradition losing its meaning in the ancient authoritarian sense and that the need for personal experience takes its place. At the beginning of the chain of tradition stands personal but collectively meaningful individual experience, like that made by the forefathers and prophets; at its end, when the power of tradition crumbles, personal experience, that is, the central religious experience, must once again take the place of tradition. The layer from which the world of midrashic literature emerged as a people’s unconscious also plays a crucial role in an individual’s personal experience. We have deliberately chosen indeterminate and seemingly indeterminable expressions such as “the people’s soul,” “the people’s unconscious,” and so forth, because they allow the actual state of affairs, which scientific terminology so often conceals, to shine through. We have observed that a certain basic language and a certain symbolism belong to this generality and that the pervasiveness of this symbolism coincided with an observed content. We have attributed to an indeterminate subject what has emerged as the mythological treatment of the core texts analyzed here. Only at this point does it seem feasible to mention that Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious is at work here. This basic layer means a collective, that is, general sphere that reaches beyond the individual. Whereas the collective unconscious manifests itself in the individual, it neither belongs to the individual nor originates in his personal sphere. Of course, the midrashic texts discussed here came from individuals, but their emphatically general and symbolic language and contents prove that they are essentially anonymous. The fundamental experiences of the religious person, such as the forefathers and later the prophets in particular, are crucially related to this anonymity, that is, the suprapersonal primal source. But if phenomena like the dream at Bethel or the wrestling with the angel are considered personal experiences made by the forefathers, then they are singularly personal and groundbreaking instances of the preoccupation with this primal source. Evidently, the superimposed mythological layers also originate in the individual, through whom they have merely passed, so to speak. In actual fact, these layers, like all folklore, belong to the general and anonymous primal source of the collective unconscious. Thus, I do not consider Esau to be a mythological figure but instead maintain that the problem of Jacob and Esau is real and concerns a real

conflict between two brothers. Whereas the motif of unequal brothers is indeed archetypal, this archetype reflects innumerable human experiences. There can be no objection to assuming that for Jacob the antagonism with his extraverted older brother has become a personal and crucial life experience, as reported in the text. (As we shall see, the problem of the twins, like the equation between Esau and Edom, is a different case.) As his pivotal experiences demonstrate, there can be no doubt about Jacob’s introversion. It is equally obvious, however, that his encounters with the outside world are all negative. The world confronts him as his fiercest, wildest, and most daunting antagonist in the guise of his brother Esau. His experiences with Laban only heighten his fear of the world. If his inferior extraversion, which shapes his behavior toward Laban, leads Jacob to adjust to his surroundings, which in turn brings him prosperity, then his rejection of the world, or rather his fear of that world, persists as a characteristic of his introversion. As much is attested both by Jacob’s flight from Laban and by his fear of Esau. The discrepancy between the promise, “in thee shall all families of the earth be blessed” (Gen. 12:3), and Jacob’s person, which continues to be one-sided, incompletely developed, and introverted and hence fits into a psychological typology, escalates into a disastrous conflict when he must prepare to encounter Esau, the powerful ruler of this world. It is imperative that Jacob’s inferior side accept Esau, onto whom he can project his inferiority. Not only do Esau’s characteristics, which the text presents as truly negative, primitive, and extraverted, make him well suited to this projection, but he is indeed also the brother. It is a psychological law that we project our inferiority most readily and most preferably onto those closest to us. Finally, Jacob’s sense of guilt also plays a crucial role in this respect: for notwithstanding that the fraudulent plot by which Jacob receives his blessing is justified, his negative side contributed to Rebekah’s instigation of that ruse. Notwithstanding the legitimacy of Jacob’s claim to the blessing, the fact that he has an inferior aspect, an inner Edom, a shadow, needs to be taken into consideration. First, he is the younger brother, and second, he has the psychology of a younger brother, a factor that is heightened here by the opposition between psychological types. His fear of Esau is a fear of the outer Esau, but this fear is intensified by his fear of the Esau within himself, that is, his shadow. This connection is firmly anchored in the law of such matters. As the image of Esau experienced by Jacob is composed of the real Esau and of the inferior aspect of Esau projected outward from Jacob’s

psyche, so the fear of this Esau is experienced naively as a fear of the outer Esau. This fear, however, originates partly in his fear of the shadow, that is, in his own inferiority and in his inner brother.37 For Jacob, whose inner life has for decades been concerned with the dream at Bethel, Esau must have become a more serious problem than his family. Although the encounter with Esau instills a great fear in Jacob, as an introvert he is seized more deeply by a more general kind of fear, namely, that of the hostile, overpowering, and unfamiliar outside world. The introvert repeatedly and unforgettably experiences how great is the danger of what most matters to him being destroyed, even annihilated, by the pointless violence of worldly events. This, in essence, is Jacob’s deep-seated fear of Esau, who epitomizes the violent world and who has the power to crush Jacob and his family, that is, the small seed of the great promise. The key event experienced by Jacob in this situation is his struggle with the angel, whose significance we can understand only by studying the crucial passages surrounding this event: I. Before Jacob approaches the problem with Esau, he meets the angel of God. For inexplicable reasons, he calls the place “double-camp,” implying this is God’s host. (Gen. 32:1–2)38 II. The changing of Jacob’s name to Israel is interpreted as follows: “for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed.” (Gen. 32:28) III. Jacob calls the place of the struggle “Penuel,” meaning the face of God, because he has seen “God face to face, and my life is preserved.” (Gen. 32:30; see also the blessing of the moon) IV. When he meets Esau, Jacob says: “for therefore I have seen thy face, as though I had seen the face of God, and thou was pleased to see me.” (Gen. 33:10)

Before and during the struggle with the angel, Jacob has no idea who his adversary is, as his question about his name clearly suggests. This contrasts directly with the subsequent naming of the place as Penuel and also with Jacob’s later remark to his brother that his adversary is God, who confronts him in the guise of Esau. The involvement of the collective unconscious at this stage points to the collective significance of these events. At stake here is not simply Jacob’s

struggle with his own inferiority or his moral problem (see our previous discussion on the opacity or clouding of the moon). The personal layers are embedded within a more comprehensive problem, that is, the problem of God or rather an altered notion of God, which arises from the surmounting of the opposition between two worlds that had thus far dominated Jacob’s predicament. In that opposition, the angel, who according to ancient tradition is Esau’s representative, furthermore stands not only for the aspects of Esau within Jacob but also for the hostile outer world. The extraordinary and suprapersonal significance of these events is contingent upon the coalescence of Jacob’s personal shadow with the archetypal antagonist stemming from the collective unconscious. This active involvement of the collective unconscious, which conditions the figure of the angel and also defines the collective significance of the struggle, is the precondition for the later elevation of the angel. Whereas the customary Judeo-Christian solution to this problem is to sacrifice the inferior and negative, here something fundamentally different, indeed crucially opposite, happens. As the text says, Jacob sees God in his adversary Esau. This event, which leaves both misunderstood and unmistakable traces in the text, surpasses the problem of opposition in general and the opposition between the two worlds in particular. Esau, as the face of God, is the extended aspect: Jacob overcomes the introvert’s halved world because he now also recognizes the “other side,” that is, the outside world and evil as the face of God. Not only does this experience fundamentally change Jacob’s structure, in that he accepts Esau, his shadow, and assimilates this figure into his consciousness, but he also recognizes him as divine. Thus, however, he also recognizes evil as God’s messenger, and the apparently hostile and negative outside world as the face of God. This means: you have fought against humanity [the shadow of Esau that you carry within yourself] and God [the negative world of Esau]—which actually means that you have prevailed. The struggle amounts not only to the earthshaking elevation of the angel of Esau to the face of God, but also to the fact that he was forced to bless Jacob. Jacob fights as God’s fighter, in a struggle that brings Jacob and Esau face to face as two sides of God, for both are the face of God.39 But because Jacob also recognizes the outside world as God, the principle of God immanent in Jacob is extended by this part of the world. This means, however, that the Other is subordinated to God and is thus forced to bless

Jacob. Here, a new and extended experience of God is hinted at. Of course Jacob already knew beforehand that God, to use symbolic language, had created both the moon and the sun, but this knowledge did not correspond to any inner experience. As long as he experienced that part of the world that belongs to Esau as hostile, as adversary, and as a place to fear, as conditioned by his one-sided and introverted attitude, this part of the world did not belong to God in his eyes but stood opposed to him. It is only the experience of the struggle that enabled him to experience the duality of God, as manifested by the inner and outer worlds, by good and evil, by Jacob and Esau. What has happened? Jacob’s life was preserved, and the negative principle and thus the division were suspended. The moral division (the inferior function) and the division of the world (the principle of opposites) are suspended in God’s all-encompassing two faces. (Perhaps Jacob’s encounter with the angel and the naming of the double camp, the two hosts, because this is God’s host, mark the beginning of this inner experience, which, as shown, reaches its dramatic climax in the struggle). Jacob’s growing out of his fearful attitude toward the world is immensely important and has a pivotal and visible effect on him. The assimilation, awareness, and acceptance of the other side as being part of the essence of the world and God, find immediate expression in how Jacob encounters Esau. The way in which he avoids moving on with Esau is also cunning, but it is no longer a partly malicious case of fraud, an unconscious inferior function at work. It is instead a conscious human action, that is, a successful adjustment to a fully recognized reality. Esau is a factor that Jacob must deal with, a different kind of human being, rather than a demon and a fear-inspiring brute. The angel, while wrestling with Jacob, touches the hollow of Jacob’s thigh, which leaves him with a limp and means that it is forbidden to eat the sinew. This negative outcome of the struggle reveals how absolutely real is this experience, which manifests itself in a physical defect. We must disregard those conceptions of Jacob’s limp—be they correct or incorrect— that fail to explain this characteristic in context and instead assume that it is either a ritual limping common at the Bethel sanctuary or a detail which merely serves to explain the taboo of eating sinew. Such attempts at interpretation must be disregarded first because they are based upon unproven and mutually exclusive assumptions and second because the editor of the text placed this characteristic in another context and thus wants it to be understood differently.

The fact that Jacob’s limp is an archetypal trait—one that he shares with an array of mythological heroes—suggests an instance of secondary mythologizing. That is, this characteristic does not come from the core layer of the account. However, it no doubt serves to emphasize the defining reality of the struggle with the angel, who is not what modern readers think he is, but an experience that profoundly agitates Jacob’s whole organism and transforms his physiology and constitution. The core layer, however, includes the fact that Jacob’s pivotal experience—the struggle with the angel—leaves him with a physical defect, casting a shadow over the positive transformation of Israel as it were. There is no need to discuss this detail any further here. But it is worth noting the following hypothesis: the angel touching Jacob’s loins is evidently related to touching the sexual sphere, which is weakened by the struggle, whereby this sphere, as a pars pro toto, represents the entire instinct-shadow component.40 This struggle, in which the side represented by Esau has become visible and tangible as God’s worldly side, has changed Jacob’s shadow side (which has been quite prominent up to this point). The conscious assimilation of the shadow side leads partly to its sacrifice, to its detoxification, and to its disempowerment. The acknowledgment of the principle of duality has weakened Jacob’s shadow and its negative assertiveness, on which he has been forced to rely on various occasions. This reliance can be felt in Jacob’s humility toward Esau, along with the important fact that he stands in awe of Esau as a symbol of his experience of the other side of God. Behind this personal meaning, however, lies something far more crucial. For it is not until Jacob conquers the outer world through his struggle with the angel and then forces that world to give him its blessing that he can begin to perform his task of conquering the world for YHWH and of becoming a blessing for the peoples of the world. Structurally, this becomes possible only after Jacob has renounced his hitherto typically one-sided orientation in favor of a totalizing, all-inclusive conception of God. It is only after Jacob has reached this third place, which lies beyond all oppositions such as the opposition between introversion and extraversion as typical attitudes, that he can become effective as a blessing. For early human beings, in particular intuitive ones, who experience their unconscious as something encountered in reality, just as Jacob comes face to face with the angel, that total experience has the power to alter their

conception of the world and of their fellow humans. Thus, for early humans, change does not occur primarily through thought, as it does perhaps for moderns, but through action and actual experience, which in turn alter their worldview. In this sense, then, the fact that the angel changes Jacob’s name, an event that corresponds to his change in outlook, is the pivotal moment in a struggle that he experiences as fundamentally real. The altered conception of the world, which is consistent with Jacob’s change, occurs later and becomes visible only in the renaming of the place, in Jacob’s altered behavior toward Esau, and in his remark that he has seen his brother’s face just as he has seen God’s.41 The standpoint adopted by Jacob-Israel and its underlying experience of God has never been completely understood since. The people that has handed down and experienced this account and the midrashic literature taking it up have never again advanced as far as this core. As observed, however, and as shown by the midrashic texts studied here, this people has fully grasped and processed the problem of opposites, which is the starting point for the struggle with the angel. We believe that this results not only from the opposition between the moon and the sun, whose consequences our present discussion has considered in full, but also from its intersection with the archetypal motif of twins, which must once again be attributed to a mythologizing people. The situation of Jacob and Esau presupposes the existence of a younger and an older brother. It is no coincidence that the twin brother motif, which corresponds so conspicuously to the originally equally sized sun and moon, is linked to this principle of opposites. Both originate in the same fundamental layer. Quite possibly, the symbolic work of the Midrash has taken up a strange passage in the text or has at least helped shape it. For immediately after the naming of Penuel, which, as we have seen, expresses the subordination of the outer world to the principle of God, as represented by Jacob, the text reads: “And as he passed over Penuel the sun rose upon him” (Gen. 32:31), which is followed by the words, “And Jacob lifted up his eyes, and looked, and, behold, Esau came” (Gen. 33:1).42 If, as we may safely assume, the people bringing forth the Midrash has read the text just as intuitively as its references were provided by intuition, then it is indeed possible that one could see the equation of the sun and Esau shine through at this point. Indeed, the word him (in “the sun rose upon him”), which has strongly exercised the minds of interpreters, could be the last trace of a reference to Jacob’s struggle with and

victory over the angel, meaning a struggle with and victory over that side of the world represented by the angel (that is, the sun, the outer world, Esau). If the Midrash has the angel, that is, Esau, plead, “Let me go, the sun shall rise [. . .] hordes of God-serving angels are calling Michael, awaken, it is time to let the morning songs resound,” then this clearly illustrates the angel’s association with the sun.43 The people’s reception of the forefather’s fundamental experience seems to be exemplary and prototypical even though it has never been fully understood by his descendants. The preoccupation with this experience, which has been passed on down the ages, has exerted both a direct and indirect effect at least with regard to the course it took over time. This is attested by the much later midrashic texts, which take up the basic problem. However, the figures conveying such fundamental experiences, which have a formative influence on the people, thus became forefathers, who are constituted not merely by the genealogical chain but also by the effects of their fundamental experiences on their psyche and intellect. The equation of Esau and Edom is an entirely different matter. Naturally, this originates in the mythologizing treatment by the collective of the material surrounding the core event. The last part of Jung’s statement—“The psychology of the individual corresponds to the psychology of nations. What nations do, each individual does also”—needs to be reversed in the case of the primitive peoples, since the leader’s personality becomes highly effective due to deficient individual development.44 Here, the psychology of the nation is largely determined by the psychology of the leader, in our present case the forefather’s, who is the only individual. Thus, another of Jung’s assertions is equally correct: “A metamorphosis in the attitude of the individual is the only possible beginning of a transformation in the psychology of the nation.”45 For this reason, the collective psychology of the nation initially remains behind the stage reached by the psychology of its leading individuals. Only in the historical process can the psychology prefigured by the leader as a psychological role model be attained, if at all. We became aware of this fact when we realized that the people handing down the forefather’s fundamental experience failed to understand the basic meaning of Jacob’s struggle with the angel, that is, of the new conception of God. This fact comes to life again in the problem of Esau and Edom. The people transmitting the experience does not advance beyond the

principle of opposites. Whereas they experience their own unconscious nature, their “inner Edom,” through the Edomites, in effect they do not progress beyond their own projection. They do not become aware of their inferiority; indeed, not even the strange fact, which owes its existence to this very projection, that the Edomites are a brother nation becomes a subject of concern. On the contrary, historically, and indeed even today, Edom symbolizes the negative, the non-Jewish, the anti-Semitic. Crucially, and this is another essential reason for separating the seminal account from its mythological-collective treatment, the level that constitutes Jacob’s fundamental experience of his struggle with the angel, and which is experienced on the other side as the face of God, was not attained by the people. This level has not been reached to this day, let alone recognized as a level. Because the contents of these core texts are handed down by the collective, they are the subject of appreciation and attempted realization. But just as the people’s entire existence diverges from the realization demanded in the commandment, there is also a strong discrepancy between the experience—in this case Jacob’s—concretized in these core texts and the reality of the people transmitting that very experience. Jacob’s fundamental experience in his struggle with the angel, which marks a crucial event in his life, has foreshadowed the solution of a current problem, one which today has taken on collective significance. The distorted image of Edom remains a highly topical Jewish problem. Precisely because the Jews remain largely unaware of their inferior Edomlikeness, they project it onto those peoples that they frequently consider the epitome of sullied blood and lacking spirituality. This feature recurs time and again, from the stupid Goliath to the despised Shabbat goy. Whereas this primitive misperception is undoubtedly nurtured by the fact that, objectively speaking, the peoples of the world wreak their negative Edom-likeness invariably and preferably on the Jews, it is also nurtured by the Jews’ unconscious Edom-likeness. Such a projection not only distorts the image of those peoples, but it also takes effect and activates their negative Edomlikeness. It is part of the same psychological context that only their own awareness and the recognition of their own shadow will allow the Jews to see the other peoples correctly and to envisage fruitful coexistence with them. In the biblical text studied here, the core text about Jacob and Esau and the mythologizing treatment by the people handing down this account are closely

interwoven. From this layer, which belongs to a transmitting collective, spring both the problem of opposites, in the form of the opposing twins, and the connection between the motif of Esau and the Edomites, which is thus turned into an opposing people. It is unnecessary to reiterate the close connection between the midrashic texts and their inspirational core text. What does need to be emphasized, however, is that the principle of opposition between the moon and the sun, and its overcoming in Jacob’s struggle with the angel, concretizes one, if not the, central phenomenon of Judaism, namely, YHWH’s struggle for the world and, for the role of Israel, that is, the holy people as YHWH’s representative, in that struggle. Christianity and Judaism still persist in their demand that one side of the world be sacrificed, whereas Hasidism has already taken a first great step toward overcoming such a point of view. Only a small minority understands the equilibrium between seemingly irreconcilable differences; moreover, only some few individuals have actually experienced what Jacob experienced in his struggle with the angel, namely, that the moon and the sun, the inside and the outside, the sacred and the profane, and Israel and the peoples of the world are but two faces of God. These two faces fight each other to be blessed by each other. 1. Micha Joseph Bin Gorion, Die Sagen der Juden, tr. from Hebrew to German by Rahel Bin Gorion (Frankfurt: Rütten and Loening, 1913–1927), vol. 2, 353–355; for the source texts, see p. 444. 2. The opposition between right and left, which is alluded to here, shall be discussed later (p. 13). 3. See “Der Typengegensatz in der jüdischen Religionsgeschichte,” in C. G. Jung, Wirklichkeit der Seele: Anwendungen und Fortschritte der neueren Psychologie (Zurich: Rascher, 1934). 4. Sukkah 29a. —Trans. 5. Midrash Exodus Rabbah 15. [Exodus Rabbah, or Shemot Rabbah, 15:26. —Ed.] 6. Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer. 7. Various other passages suggest a close relationship between the moon and the Jewish people. However, we cannot consider these passages here, nor discuss the many references to the Jews as a people of the moon. The possible connection between the Hebrew alphabet and ancient oriental lunar calendars (see Eduard Stucken, Der Ursprung des Alphabets und die Mondstationen [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913]) is part of this context, just as much as Hugo Winckler’s and Alfred Jeremias’s assumptions that the Sabbath was originally the day of the full moon [Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer]. 8. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 1, 15–16; for the source text, see p. 352. 9. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 1, 6–7; for the source texts, see p. 352. See also the following passage: “Just as the moon renews itself, so will Israel also renew itself. Just as the moon shines day and night, this world and the future world shall belong to Israel. But if the moon has no more power by day, Israel shall have no power in this world, because of the peoples of the world.” 10. Erich Neumann refers, in parenthesis, to a letter from Jung to Neumann, dated August 12, 1934.

The translation from the German given here is by the translator, Mark Kyburz, and differs from the translation found in Jung and Neumann, Analytical Psychology in Exile, 58. —Ed. 11. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 3, 268. [Regarding “wind,“ see the introduction, note 17. — Ed.] 12. “And he said, Why will you go to him today? It is neither new moon, nor sabbath. And she said, It shall be well” (2 Kings 4:23). 13. Sanhedrin 42a. 14. The ritual of Yom Kippur Katan, the Minor Day of Atonement, was introduced in sixteenthcentury Safed by Rabbi Moshe Cordovero. It takes place on the day preceding Rosh Hodesh, the New Moon Day. See also the introduction, note 22. —Ed. 15. No source is indicated in the German typescript. The text is part of the blessing recited in the Mussaf (additional) service at Rosh Hodesh (New Moon). In Hebrew:

—Ed. 16. Sanhedrin 42a.—Trans. 17. In a passage not discussed here, the identification of Israel with the moon and its eternal renewal is uttered in another, strange form, in a sentence that proclaims the immortality of David as the representative of Israel in connection with the new moon: “David, King of Israel, lives and persists” (Tractate Soferim, section 20; see also Rosch Hashanah 25a and Chullin 60b). [Tractate Soferim: Tractate of the Scribes, a minor, noncanonical Talmudic treatise. —Ed.] 18. Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish is quoted as saying that the goat offered at the New Moon (Rosh Hodesh) is atonement for God himself, having made the moon smaller than the sun (Talmud, Shevu’oth 9a). —Ed. 19. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 2, 356–357; for the source text, see p. 444. [The Geonim were the spiritual leaders and authority in Babylonia, approximately seventh to eleventh century CE. They headed the Talmudic academies of Sura and Pumbedita. Furthermore, the symbolism of the male goat here reflects the principle of birth, death, and rebirth. Additionally, Samael—Satan, angel of death— served as guardian angel of Esau. In a footnote, Bin Gorion wonders if Semasael perhaps refers to the angel Shemhazai (book of Enoch). —Ed.] 20. “And the first came out red, all over like a hairy garment; and they called his name Esau” (Gen. 25:25). 21. “And Jacob sent messengers before him to Esau his brother to the land of Seir, the country of Edom” (Gen. 32:4). “And they shall no more offer their sacrifices to demons [seirim], after whom they play the harlot. This shall be a statute forever to them throughout their generations” (Lev. 17:7). 22. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 2, 356–357. 23. Sef. Haagadah I, p. 45. [The ritual of the goats assigned to God and to Azazel in the wilderness is described in The Book of Legends: Legends from the Talmud and Midrash (Sefer Ha-Aggadah), edited by Hayyim Nahman Bialik and Yehoshua Hana Ravnitzky (New York: Schocken Books, 1992), 178– 180. —Ed.] 24. Sef. Haagadah I, pp. 168 and 197–98. 25. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 3, 266; for the source texts, see p. 293. [One of the words for moon, as in kiddush halevana, the blessing of the moon, is levana, which means “white.” Likewise, as has been mentioned, Edom pertains to adom, meaning red (as in adama, “earth,” and Adam, “man”). — Ed.] 26. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 2, 204; italics in the original. 27. Ibid.; for the source texts, see p. 440. [In the current text (p. 11), the polarity between Michael and Gabriel is replaced by that between Semasael and the two archangels. —Trans.]

28. On the archetypal symbolism of the colors red and white, see, for instance, Herbert Silberer, Probleme der Mystik und ihrer Symbolik (Vienna: Hugo Heller, 1914). 29. Clearly, Neumann is not using the word Funktion (German) in terms of Jung’s four functions of consciousness, but as a mechanism in the unconscious. —Ed. 30. For an in-depth discussion of this problem, see especially C. G. Jung, Psychologische Typen [Psychological Types] (Zurich: Rascher, 1921). 31. Again, Neumann does not follow Jung’s structure of consciousness. He speaks about extraversion as an inferior function in the unconscious, whereas the inferior function, in Jung’s structure, pertains to consciousness, although as the conscious function that is closest to the unconscious. Furthermore, introversion and extraversion are defined by Jung as attitudes of consciousness, and not as functions. —Ed. 32. See C. G. Jung, Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido: Beiträge zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Denkens [Symbols of Transformation] (Leipzig: F. Deuticke, 1912). 33. In this connection, it is worth recalling the “judgment of the dead,” a notion widespread among many peoples of the world. Franz Kafka’s The Trial is perhaps the greatest modern depiction of this fact. For a discussion, see the first part of the author’s [i.e., Neumann’s] unpublished commentary on Kafka. 34. Only in the three instances in this paragraph does Neumann use Yitzhak rather than Isaac. —Ed. 35. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 2, 354; for the source text, see p. 444. 36. The attempt at explanation made here is strongly indebted to Hugo Rosenthal’s “Der Typengegensatz in der jüdischen Religionsgeschichte,” which is included in Jung, Wirklichkeit der Seele. Despite the significance of Rosenthal’s work and its results, important parts of his findings must be revised. Rosenthal’s analysis (see above), which has in part reached as far as the central problems, suffers from its negative stance toward the text, which, just as Bible criticism does, often simply contradicts instead of illuminates it. Incidentally, the same might be said about Rosenthal’s analysis of the relationship between David, Saul, and Samuel, which rests far too strongly on currently prevailing views. This basic attitude leads to an erroneous psychological analysis of Jacob, which culminates in the purported transformation of Jacob’s character. Rosenthal’s assumption that Jacob is an extravert not only contradicts the biblical text and its meaning, but also his view of Edom being contained in Jacob’s unconscious, which is irreconcilable with his own assumption. 37. The affinity between brother and shadow is also archetypal. 38. Genesis 32:1–2: “And Jacob went on his way, and the angels of God met him. And when Jacob saw them, he said, This is God’s host; and he called the name of that place Mahanaim.” Mahanaim means “double camp” or “two camps.” Additionally, there is a difference in the verse scheme of Genesis 32 between Jewish and Christian versions. Thus, Genesis 32:1–2 is 32:2–3 in a Jewish/Hebrew Bible, Genesis 32:28 is 32:29, and Genesis 32:30 is 32:31. —Ed. 39. “I have seen God face to face, and my life is perserved” (Gen. 32:30). 40. Those who come from the loins are the descendants (Gen. 46:26; Exod. 1:5; Judg. 8:30). The oath ceremony is also associated with this part of the body. Just as in Hebrew, the connection between “to bear witness” (Zeuge) and “to bear children” (zeugen) is worth noting in both German and English. See the psychoanalytic conception of limping as impotence, which holds true only in symbolic terms. 41. The apparent contrast between early and contemporary humanity is no more than relative. Because whereas the experience of the struggle marks the change-inducing breakthrough, the fact that it can constellate itself at all requires a great deal of determined thinking about this problem on Jacob’s part. On the other hand, the act of thought in which a contemporary person engages, and from which springs a conception of the world, is itself based upon unconscious processes, which in turn correspond to his experience of a struggle. Thus, Jung’s assertion that “the image of the world that we create, acts back on us [das Bild von der Welt, das wir schaffen, wirkt auf uns selber zurück],” can be slightly

reformulated as: “By creating an image of the world, the thinking person changes himself.” 42. The word him is underlined in the German typescript. —Trans. The passage in Hebrew Bible is Genesis 32:32. —Ed. 43. Bin Gorion, Sagen der Juden, vol. 3, 15. 44. From the foreword to chapter 14, “The Psychology of the Unconscious Processes,” in C. G. Jung, Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology (New York: Moffat, Yard, 1917), 353. —Ed. 45. Ibid. —Ed.

On the Collective Symbolism of the Brother Motif

ne faces two tasks when further pursuing the problems raised by the motif of Jacob and Esau. To begin with, it is important to extend the archetypal foundation of this series of motifs at least to materials that point to the existence of the same archetypes among other peoples and in other periods of human history, so that the embeddedness of Jewish symbolism in the broader symbolism of all humanity becomes evident. Moreover, the motif of Jacob and Esau should be made the starting point for an attempt to at least delineate the boundaries of another area of Jewish psychology, beginning with the Jewish problem of the shadow and extending to the fundamental tension between the spirit and the earth. The position of the moon as a central symbol of the inner side of the world, which contrasts with the outer world of the sun, has several further consequences if the Jew is identified with this moon symbolism, whose nature is feminine and receiving. The reversal of the masculine and feminine in Jewish psychology, to which this identification alludes and whose depths cannot be entirely fathomed, throws light on a wealth of additional psychic materials concerning the Jewish attitude toward the feminine principle. Studying these materials,


which assume a concrete shape in Jewish literature, ultimately leads to the problem of modern Jewish persons, in whom the same primary spiritual layers once again become productive and which—partly through the same, partly through an entirely different and new symbolism—revolutionize and reorient the critical situation of Judaism at present.

On the Collective Symbolism of the Brother Motif The discovery of the collective unconscious and of the archetypes as those dominants governing the human unconscious irrespective of time, place, race, and nation has put paid not only to the theory of dispersion (WanderTheorie), which attempted to explain the existence of the same mythical, folktale-like, and religious motifs among different peoples in terms of geographical or cultural dissemination. The discovery of the collective unconscious has also rendered futile the tendency to enhance the value of the documents of any given people by emphasizing the singularity of their motifs, and thereby to devalue others by denying their originality and by deriving their origin from other peoples. Precisely if the creative layer of the unconscious throws into relief the same primordial motifs for all humanity and if, irrespective of variations in the human race, the same archetypes determine the life of the unconscious, then our research must focus on the question of origin; indeed it must shift from the question of motifs to how these primordial motifs are processed by the human being. The constellation of those archetypes that have shaped the history of a people, and the shaping force with which this constellation has seized these primordial forms of life, characterize the uniqueness of each constellation. Each singularity stands out as an accentuation, as a unique constellation, from the extensive and hidden creative power of the general human unconscious, whose starry heavens extend boundlessly into every area of the human soul. What follows attempts neither to offer an exhaustive account of these matters, nor to discuss in great depth the relevant parallels, but rather to enrich our understanding of the Jacob-and-Esau and moon-and-sun motifs by drawing on insights from antiquity. These insights should not be misunderstood in historical terms, even if there is evidence, both verifiable and unverifiable, that supports the existence of relevant historical connections. Instead, the focus here lies on further illuminating the amplitude of the symbolism involved and its relationship with basic human thought. It is

precisely for this reason that, along with actual parallel mythical materials, reference is also made to interpretations, because the purpose of the present reflections is less to establish the veracity of a particular content than to indicate the enduring vitality of this symbolism. Midrashic literature has intimately linked the story of Jacob and Esau to the unconscious and its pervasive theme of opposition. The story is related particularly to the motifs of the disc and crescent, or the sun and moon, whose nature as brothers and twins in the collective unconscious represents the obvious connection. As a central motif of the unconscious, the principle of opposites is an immensely widespread fundamental motif in mythology in general and in ancient mythology and symbolism in particular. The case of Jacob and Esau represents an amalgamation of these fundamental motifs, namely, of unequal brothers and of twins. This amalgamation has no actual meaning in the Bible, because there the motif of unequal brothers is absolutely dominant and accounts for the dynamics of events. By contrast, the twin motif appears only in the context of birth. In midrashic literature, the motif is shifted emphatically into the prenatal period, that is, the strife between the twins in the womb. But since the motif of primogeniture, which is so very important in the Bible, is also intimately related to the motif of Jacob and Esau, the opposing twins motif must naturally take second place to the former, more general principle of opposites. In its familiar extension of the case of Jacob and Esau to the motifs of the disc and crescent, or the sun and moon, midrashic literature introduces a new motif and various content equations, and thereby adds an attractive wealth of meaning to the basic problem. As we shall see, the paradoxical amalgamation of the motifs of the unequal brothers and twins had already become effective in Babylon, just as they have since often been interrelated.1 The Swiss thinker Johann Jakob Bachofen understands the profound and general significance of the principle of opposites in relating the burial symbolism inherent in the principle of twins to the symbolism of both light and shadow and black and white, and in interpreting that principle as the lifeand-death dynamics of the telluric region, for which he has gathered copious material in his writings. Bachofen is indeed a rich source of psychological knowledge if—quite apart from his importance as a historian—he is viewed as the modern psychologist which he declined to seem to himself. For instance, as soon as

one considers the telluric region as a region of the unconscious, in contrast to the uranic region of consciousness, then Bachofen’s findings become— symbolically but not historically—both newly and highly relevant. The motifs of opposites and twins always refer—as the example of the Jacob and Esau motif in midrashic literature has suggested—to a twofold and pervasive opposition within the human soul. In the first instance, this concerns compensatory movements among two systems—the conscious and unconscious—which work against and move toward each other. Expressing itself in enantiodromia, this compound system presses for a transformation of the aspects of life, for a capsizing of consciousness into its opposite if the unconscious, that contrary stance, has become too strong.2 Whereas the principle of enantiodromia manifests itself most powerfully in the psychology of conversion, specifically Saul’s conversion to Paul, it also governs—albeit less evidently—all human life down to the smallest detail. If modern science observes that “among the highest organisms, the opposition between waking and sleeping, these two states of life, is nowhere as pronounced as in spiritual behavior,” then the attribution of the principle of enantiodromia to the cosmic conditions of the human being expresses only somewhat differently ancient humans’ establishment of the moon and the sun as opposite poles or black and white as a pair of opposites.3 That is not to say that the principle of opposites can be deduced from the cosmic periodicity of day and night. Without doubt, however, the human soul processes this conditionality, which is one among many contingencies constituting the principle of opposites following the primordial experience of day and night, in such a way as to elevate the sun and the moon—and their symbolism—to the status of core figures in the problem of opposites. Besides this opposition, which is alluded to by the existence of two poles —consciousness and the unconscious—an opposition also exists in the unconscious itself, namely, as Bachofen suggests, in the telluric region. For this dichotomy, that is, the polarity of indifferent unconscious nature, creation and destruction as well as good and evil represent nothing but two equal sides. This opposition, whose most impressive formulation is the Chinese symbol of the taijitu, and which Bachofen also construes from the symbolism of the black-and-white Orphic egg, corresponds to the periodic succession of day and night, winter and summer. This principle exists in the lower layers of the unconscious and forces human consciousness into active or passive reaction. This internal periodicity of the unconscious, which can be observed

in schizophrenia and in every analysis of the unconscious, whether in dreams or fantasy worlds, is apparently not related directly to the annual seasons or to larger units of time. The analysis of historical periodicity, however, strongly suggests a periodicity of the collective unconscious, be it related to external cosmic cycles, as assumed by ancient astrology, or through achieving autonomy from its coincidence with external contingencies.4 The present discussion neither discusses the opposition between so-called moon and sun cultures nor criticizes sociological attributions of agriculture and sun nomadism or of the moon principle, nor does it consider the arguments for and against similar or opposing views. Instead, it consciously assumes and is confined to psychological and thus also to symbolic aspects. Precisely because the symbolism of the sun and the moon, irrespective of its presumed dependence upon data from the objective world, demonstrably appears as a central figure of the problem of opposites inherent in the unconscious, one may justifiably restrict oneself to considering and interpreting psychic symbols. What is relevant in terms of the above reflections is that we begin to understand what strikes Western people as an utterly peculiar notion of the moon as a principle superior to the sun, if one considers that in the Orient the sun, in contrast to the life-enhancing moon and its cooling effect, is scorching hot and deadly.5 This is expressed most clearly in Leo, the zodiac sign ruled by the sun and hence associated with the hottest period of the year, during which the sun’s predatory nature overwhelmingly governs a world that has been turned into an arid desert. In Babylon, the two great deities are Sin and Samas, moon and sun, whereby the priority of the moon arises from the fact that it is considered to be the father of the sun and the gods.6 In Babylon, the sun is the god of the underworld and the death star; the moon, the father of the gods, is the life star.7 Alfred Jeremias, who derives the structure of the deities from their astrological-astronomical position, observes: “The sun and the moon are also twins, the hostile and separated brothers.�8 The crescent of the new moon symbolizes the victorious weapon with which the underworld is defeated in the struggle for supremacy between the moon and the sun. In that battle, the sun appears as a devouring dragon of the underworld which consumes the heroic moon, who bears the crescent-shaped sword, in what is a highly interesting reversal of the sun myth, which demonstrates that the archetype of

the hero’s battle is primary and original. Whereas this archetype is mostly associated with the path of the sun, here, conversely, it is related to the moon. The parallels, however, or rather the fundamental Babylonian motifs on which the midrashic texts are based, reach even further and plainly reveal how unimportant the “origin” of the fundamental motifs is compared to how they are processed. One essential complication of the midrashic texts was, as observed, that the twin appeared as a shadow in the moon, that is, the inner Esau was housed in Jacob. According to Jeremias, this motif also exists in Babylon, save that it occurs there as a purely astral projection without, however, making possible any psychological or subjective interpretation. It is most interesting to observe that the same facts can be deduced from the symbolism of the Jewish Midrashim as well as from a very different perspective, namely, Babylonian astral mythology. It was only after completing the above section on Jacob and Esau that I discovered Hugo Winckler’s study, on whose findings Jeremias also draws.9 According to Winckler, the beginnings of Babylonian astronomy date back to the age of twins, that is, the sixth to fifth centuries BCE. This age is governed by the moon; at the beginning of creation, however, the sun also stood in these twins. “A corresponding explanation is given for the twins; they are explicitly considered to be nothing other than Sin, the lunar deity, and Nergal, the solar deity, in his hibernal or nocturnal phase, that is, during his stay in the underworld.”10 Thus, Winckler, adopting an astronomical-astrological perspective, arrives at the following formulation, which coincides verbatim with our own finding: “Jacob and Esau, the latter representing southern Edom and the sun, which explains why he is hairy, are described as the spring moon and sun.”11 Even though Winckler’s hypothesis about the overwhelming cultural influence of Babylon is untenable, it is nevertheless absolutely certain that Babylon exercised a strong influence on Jewish consciousness—also and particularly during the midrashic-creative period. But precisely the existence of the same primordial images and symbols in the general collective unconscious renders the aspect of dependency relatively unimportant, whereas the kind of processing greatly reveals the kind and nature of Jewish creativity. Possibly, the sun and the moon already existed as a traditional cosmicastral series of motifs, just as the motif of twins blended into the motif of the hostile brothers. In any event, each of these factors bore the typically pagan

characteristics of mythology, that is, they were alien and objective events removed from human life. The amalgamation of the moon and the sun with mythological heroic events preserved the character of a cosmic projection, which, for instance, enabled Winckler and his school to translate this mythology back into an astronomical-astral sphere. But the fusion of these dominants of the collective unconscious with the text about Jacob and Esau, that is, the linkage with an unmythological, quasi-historical text, places the entire problem at the heart of humanity. Only this connection renders feasible —consciously and unconsciously—the symbolic meaning of the opposition between the sun and the moon that is capable of being understood by consciousness and thus of being conveyed toward the inner dynamics of the soul. Through their amalgamation with the opposition between Jacob and Esau, the cosmic and mythological contents are elevated to the subjective level, that is, to the level of psychic contents. Thus, they become a problem concerning the opposition within the human being and thus a problem concerning responsibility. As observed, however, these matters are less about a narrowing of collective and mythological contents to a psychic—and thus merely personal—level. Following the passage through the ethical level, psychological processing, which is no longer situated on a projective, mythological level, leads to a general psychological problem of humanity. Thus, the Jewish processes of assimilation and production convert the astralBabylonian series of motifs, which are characterized by an objective necessity of nature, that is, a psychologically unconscious problem, into a highly acute human question, namely, the eternal problem of existence on a much higher level of consciousness, as seen and represented by a typically introverted mentality. The moon—apart from being twinned with the sun—is called a twin because of its own twofold character as a waxing and waning moon. It stands in hostile opposition to itself as both a full moon and a black moon. But the astral anticipation of the midrashic motifs in the Babylonian conception of the world is more detailed. In the astral system, Nergal, the Babylonian god, whose planet is Mars, belongs to the underworld and the hibernal sun. Like the sun, he is also the hostile brother and twin of the moon; in the twin-like nature of the moon, he plays the role of the waning moon.12 In this manner, Nergal stands in good stead the shadowlike nature of the moon, sun, and Edom, and he extends their spiritual world-like sphere, since

“Samas and Nergal are one.”13 He is “the scorching sun in summertime, which causes death, the god with the flaming sword. . . the strangler and destroyer, the raging god of fire.”14 It is equally understandable that from that point, he becomes the god of hunting and the insurmountable god of war. He also becomes the god of the plague and pestilence. In the Amarna letters, he is referred to as the god of iron, which heightens his underworldly nature.15 His animal is the lion, whose attribution to the negative sun we have already observed (p. 37). If one recalls that the planet Mars is linked to iron and to the red color of blood, then suddenly one comes full circle: Esau, Edom, the red one, and the hunter are bearers of this entire inner and outer world-like sphere occupied by Samas and Nergal. It is most enlightening that until recently the Jewish images of Esau bear the character of Mars, the gruesome warrior. Edom, as discussed in part I, is attributed to the angel Gabriel, as an angel of the court. In turn, however, Gabriel is the angel of Mars, the red one. To this day, the doer of evil is depicted in the Passover Haggadah as a warrior, murderer, and mercenary. Whether a similar motif design—for instance, from an Egyptian perspective—is involved in the foundations of midrashic literature or even in the making of the biblical text is irrelevant, for a similar fundamental motif consistently prevails. In ancient Egypt, the hostile brothers are Seth and Horus. The opposition between Seth and Horus also matters because Horus, and in particular the eye of Horus, is represented by the moon.16 The eye of the moon (and thus of Horus) stands in fiercest opposition to the eye of the sun, which one speaks of in particular “when one thinks of the star as a terrible creature that burns its enemies.”17 On the other hand, the enemy of Horus and the moon, whom he repeatedly harms, is Seth. The identification of Seth with the eye of the sun is clearly recognizable, albeit indirectly, but actually seems to occur directly, so that once again, as we shall see, the analogous equation Seth = eye of the sun = the red one = evil becomes readable. In a hymn to Nut, it says: “Nut, two eyes appear in your head, you took Horus and his magician, you took Seth and his magician.”18 Here, the two eyes are those of the goddess of heaven; important for our present context are the equations between Seth and Horus, the sun and the moon. In the later religious development of Egypt, the opposition between Seth and Horus is replaced by that between Seth and Osiris. Even in the course of the

battle between Osiris and Seth—just as in the case of Jacob and Esau—the struggle is occasioned by the motif of primogeniture.19 With the passage of time, Seth-Typhon assumes an increasingly negative character and eventually becomes entirely the principle of the hostile brother, that is, evil. Originally, however, Seth is the lord of the desert countries, of the red countries; the color red, so hated by the Egyptians, is his color.20 He had red eyes, was red-colored, and the evil he committed was red in contrast to the blessed green things. Unquestionably, the contrast between red and green also relates to the opposition between the desert and fertility. However, one must not forget that these contrasting colors are archetypally conditioned and that their opposition continues to play its role in the unconscious of the modern person—no matter whether this involves Esau = Edom = the Red One, or not. If no historical connection exists, then similar mythologizing and similar oppositions will establish themselves, here and there, on the basis of the same fundamental motifs of the unconscious.21 The attitude toward Seth changes strongly in late Egypt. Whereas in former times he was considered a great god, even though he murdered Osiris, now (ca. 1300 BCE) he becomes the cause of great disgust, which ultimately leads to his banishment from the assembly of gods. Seth becomes a devil, the epitome of evil, and is identified with Apophis, the giant snake, the dragon of the abyss, the evident shadow brother of Osiris, the power of evil and of death. Seth is also construed as a black pig, in whose guise he wounded Horus; the taboo of the pig among the Egyptians is connected to this fact. The pig appears as a sacred animal all over the world. Its taboo character, for which cults in the Near East provide ample evidence—its significance in Germanic mythology is beyond our present scope—plays a great role among the Egyptians, the Syrians, and to this day the Jews. Just as Seth appears as a mortal black boar in the myth of Horus, not only does Adonis but so do Attis and Tammuz suffer death at his hands.22 Now without claiming that the association of Seth, the red and evil one, with Esau and Edom actually occurred in the Jewish unconscious, the identification of Esau with the wild black boar in the book of Enoch, that is, Seth and Near Eastern figures as attested representatives of the devil, could nevertheless point in this direction, because a strong reciprocal subterranean influence undoubtedly existed between religious notions held across the Near East, for which the enormous counter-struggle of the Old Testament provides

the best evidence.23 Following Psalm 80:14, Esau is also compared to the destructive boar.24 What should also be mentioned in this connection is obviously the wellknown Persian parallel, namely, the twin-like character of the opposing spirits Ohrmuzd and Ahriman, whose antagonism is also associated by the Zurvani sect with the motif of primogeniture, in that Ahriman, the evil spirit, “knowing perfectly well that lordship would fall to the first born, broke forth unseasonably and thereby obtained the rights of the eldest.”25 Following the above survey of one part of the relevant collective material, and before further pursuing the actual issues raised by the motif of the hostile brothers, we must first consider the attempt made by psychoanalysis to interpret this problem on the level of the personal unconscious. Doing so requires elaborating on some fundamental issues concerning the appropriateness and authority of such a level of interpretation. It is fundamentally important to engage with psychoanalysis because, based upon our attempted definition of fundamental terms and concepts, it is a matter of retrospectively establishing the eligibility of our present interpretation while attempting to demonstrate on which level myths, folktales, and works of art should in principle be interpreted. Precisely the ways in which deeper layers in this structure reach into each other objectively and overlap to produce it, together with the bias of the naive point of view of consciousness, seem to make this endeavor so necessary. 1. For instance, among the Indo-Germanic and North American peoples. 2. See Jung, Psychologische Typen [Psychological Types], definition 18, par. 708. 3. Willy Hugo Hellpach, Geopsychische Erscheinungen: Die Menschenseele unter dem Einfluß von Wetter und Klima, Boden und Landschaft (Leipzig: W. Engelmann, 1911), 260. 4. On the emergence of an internal periodicity from an originally contingent periodicity, see Hellpach, Geopsychische Erscheinungen. 5. The handwritten reference by Neumann reads “Goldberg, Mythen der Hebräer, p. 123,” which might be a reference to Oskar Goldberg, Die Wirklichkeit der Hebräer: Einleitung in das System des Pentateuch (Berlin: Verlag David, 1925). —Ed. 6. See A. Ungnad, Die Religion der Babylonier und Assyrer (Jena: Diederich, 1921), 167 and 190, in prayers to the moon and sun gods. 7. Pierre Daniel Chantepie de la Saussaye, Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte (Tübingen: Mohr, 1925). 8. Alfred Jeremias, p. 508. [In the original typescript, this note is appended to the previous sentence, and Jeremias is referenced in both places. It is not clear from the German typescript whether Neumann is referring to Jeremias, Das alte Testament im Lichte des alten Orients (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1906) or his Handbuch der altorientalischen Geisteskultur (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913). Neumann’s page reference

does not match available editions of either work. —Trans.] 9. Hugo Winckler, Himmels- und Weltenbild der Babylonier als Grundlage der Weltanschauung und Mythologie aller Völker (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1901). 10. Ibid., 36–37. 11. Ibid., 46. —Trans. 12. Ibid., p. 565. 13. Ibid., p. 566. 14. A source for this quotation could not be found. —Ed. 15. The Amarna letters, written in Akkadian cuneiform, were discovered in the late nineteenth century in Amarna (Akhetaten) in Upper Egypt. The mostly diplomatic letters date from the midfourteenth century BCE. —Ed. 16. Historically, the opposition between Seth and Horus is related to the opposition between Upper and Lower Egypt. This is generally used to support the notion that deduces religious contents—such as the opposition between Seth and Horus—from social-religious contents. Yet it is precisely our present study, in which the opposition between these Egyptian brothers appears as one example among many, that plainly reveals that in early history this very process took place quite differently. The accidental historical finding of an opposition was seen as an earthly shaping of the apriori opposition, because the dominance of the archtype governed history and historiography. 17. Adolf Erman, Die Religion der Aegypter (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1934), 21. —Trans. 18. Erman, Die Religion der Aegypter, footnote 6. 19. Hermann Kees, Ägypten: Religionsgeschichtliches Lesebuch (Tübingen: A. Bertholet, 1928), 31. 20. Erman, Die Religion der Aegypter, 39f. 21. It is probably impossible to determine to what extent the renaissance of Seth-Sutech in the nineteenth dynasty made an impression on the Semitic tribes entering Egypt at this time, which is related to the presence of the Jews there. 22. According to Winckler, the descent of the sun god in Ursus Major, which is also depicted and construed as a boar, and of course these astral processes, which are projections of the unconscious, need to be detached from their astronomical character, which is of no interest to our present considerations, even if such a character exists. 23. Neumann’s note for the first part of this statement reads “Kautsch; Enoch 89.” This is possibly a reference to Emil Friedrich Kautzsch, ed., Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testamentes (Tübingen: Mohr, 1900). For the second part, Neumann notes: “This is confirmed by the equation Saul = Seth, which has been handed down from Egyptian sources, albeit from the second century (Burckhardt, Altaramäische Fremdwörter im Ägyptisch, vol. 2, no. 652).” This is possibly Max Burckhardt, Die Altkanaanäischen Fremdworte und Eigenamen im Aegyptischen (Leipzig: Hinrich, 1909). —Ed. 24. The Hebrew (Masoretic) Psalm 80:14 is 80:13 in Greek numbering: “The boar from the wood destroys it, and the wild beast of the field devours it.” In the book of Jubilees (37:24), Esau is compared to the boar, “springing like the wild boar which comes upon the spear that pierces and kills it.” —Ed. 25. Edvard Lehmann, Die Perser (Tübingen: Mohr, 1924), 261. [The twins Ohrmuzd and Ahriman pertain to the Zurvanite creation myth. While Ohrmuzd was to be granted the firstborn’s right over creation, Ahriman ripped open the womb to emerge first. The Zurvani are an extinct branch of Zoroastrianism. —Ed.]

Layers of the Unconscious: The Interpretation of Mythology

hereas all attempts to interpret mythology and all efforts to explain the occurrence in mythology of the same motifs, either in terms of dispersion effects or in terms of astral or indeed other kinds of events, fail to do justice to the facts, depth psychology, due to its Copernican turn, has placed this question on a new, straightforward, and convincing footing, namely, the human soul. Essentially, depth psychology argues that the ubiquitous occurrence of the same motifs and series of motifs can be explained in terms of what is essentially the same fundamental structure of the human soul. Any attempt to engage with the motif of twin brothers cannot disregard the numerous endeavors made by psychoanalysis to consider and understand this problem. Psychoanalysis, in its characteristically consistent and monotonous way, attributes the motif of brotherly hatred to the Oedipus complex, by assuming that the cause of this hatred is the rivalry between two brothers over their sister and, moreover, by regarding the sister as a surrogate mother and the brother as a surrogate father. This methodological ruse, which involves permutation and false attribution, makes it extremely easy for psychoanalysis


to produce the necessary evidence to substantiate its basic claim. In its interpretation of human development during puberty, psychoanalysis employs this trick of representing the woman to be conquered by the brothers (see folktales, puberty rites, etc.) invariably as a surrogate mother and thereby turns the development of manhood a priori into an incestuous process. Such development necessarily involves murdering the father, and only thus is psychoanalysis able to attribute the problem of the brothers to the problem of incest. Everything female in psychoanalytic texts refers to the mother; failing such reference, matters are even clearer, because they are then repressed, which doubly proves their existence. Now this critique of ours by no means amounts to disputing that psychoanalytic interpretation is relevant in some cases and to some narratives; what needs to be emphasized most strongly, however, is the relative validity of any such interpretation. The categories of individual psychology can be applied to the problem of the twin brothers with absolutely the same justification. Precisely this problem, on account of its primordial motif of the struggle for primogeniture, is an excellent example of the psychology of the drive for power. If we are aware of psychoanalytic interpretation as a psychology of extraversion, and that of individual psychology as a psychology of introversion, then we shall not be surprised to find that in mythological texts and folktales (just as in works of art) the struggle over the woman and the struggle for power (primogeniture, etc.) occur just as frequently as the motif of fraternal strife. The fact that psychoanalysis reduces the drive for power to the Oedipus complex just as self-evidently as individual psychology interprets the Oedipus complex as a symbol of the power drive suggests that both the extraverted and introverted types tend to consider their psychology to be universally valid and therefore to negate every other standpoint. To avoid simplification, analytical psychology must be consistent with the real complexity of the human soul. Aside from holding one or the other notion, analytical psychology needs to take new and further interpretative steps that do justice to the given material while grasping and involving the specific ethno-psychological situation in which such materials and texts are produced. Most characteristically, psychoanalysis and individual psychology neglect what is in effect a major problem: the curious fact that the motif of unequal brothers is so often connected with the motif of twins. This linkage seems to

be highly paradoxical. Both psychoanalysis and individual psychology adhere to the motif of unequal brothers in that the elder brother is seen either as a screen figure (Deckfigur) for the father or as the cause of the inferiority feeling of the younger brother. How has the issue of twins been discussed? Otto Rank, for instance, writes: It cannot escape our attention that the brothers are twins, who resemble each other not only physically, “like two peas in a pod,” but also as regards their personal characteristics and attributes (they have the same animals, wear the same clothes, etc.); not even their names are different, so that the queen recognizes her husband only by an artificial mark. If the notion of the doublet applies to anything in this scheme of things, then certainly [it does] to the brothers, one being a poor imitation of the other. But this reduction of the brothers to one and the same person would deprive the story of its principal meaning, namely, the rivalry between the brothers over the same love object, unless of course we remind ourselves that originally one of the brothers was older and served his younger sibling as a father, as we can read in the folktale about Bata.1

The naivety of approaching matters in terms of the principle “because what cannot be, should not be” will only unsettle those unfamiliar with the insouciant methodology at work here. These are twins. But if they are indeed twins or merely one person for that matter, then the motif of the older brother and the fraternal rivalry over the same love object would cease to exist— which would mean that the brothers are not twins after all. What needs to be added is that, as is well known, the Egyptian folktale about Bata, in effect about older and younger brothers, is a late replica of the myth of Horus and Seth, in which the brothers are described as hostile twins. Thus, the motif of twins is the original one. The starting point for the present study is the widely accepted fact that the motifs of the two brothers and twins are interrelated. Using the midrashic material and the motif of Jacob and Esau, I have attempted to demonstrate that these motifs concern the problem of the shadow. Moreover, I have sought to establish that midrashic literature itself—in terms of interpreting itself as it were—discusses the issue of the brothers in terms of the problem of the shadow. This interpretation elevates the entire material to the subjective level, that is, it does precisely what Rank considers necessary but subsequently rejects for two reasons. The assumption that these events occur within a single personality reveals that whereas both sides of the opposition are struggling against each other, as hostile brothers, they are at the same

time twins, inseparably connected and forming one being. They resemble each other “like two peas in a pod” because they are identical. This subjective interpretation casts an entirely new meaning on the entire wealth of motifs surrounding the brother motif. The case of the Dioscuri, whose essential yet peculiar characteristic is that one of the twin brothers is earthly, the other divine, greatly enlightens our current problem. For this cannot be explained, as psychoanalysis does, by the fact that the late-coming brother is the twin of the firstborn. Moreover, the material providing evidence for the particularly “brotherly” observance of the afterbirth among the primitives needs to be interpreted differently, as we shall see.2 The dual inner nature of the human person, which becomes apparent in the problem of twins and the shadow, is only one of the many archetypal forms in which we encounter one of the fundamental problems of all human existence: the problem of opposites. This problem, which takes the form of good and evil or of the ego and the shadow, and which manifests itself as the opposition between mind and nature or between light and dark, is perhaps the problem of the transformation of libido. Around its center orbits a planetary array of archetypal motifs, the symbolism of light, the sun and the heroes, the gods and demons, heaven and hell, each endeavoring to express and give shape to the human soul’s experience of the history of consciousness in its relation to the unconscious. The processes of the birth, transformation, and death of this human consciousness are the secret tenor underpinning the entire history of humanity. Our dual belonging, to consciousness and the unconscious, also forms the actual background to the brother motif. All mysteries of reincarnation and thus the entirety of mysteries and redemption cults, from primitive initiation rites to alchemy, belong in this context since they essentially strive either to support one of the brothers, the divine one, or even to deliver him from his connection with the shadow brother. Since the entire mythology of the hero is related to this issue, this and only this explains the motif of the twofold mother, the earthly one and the heavenly one. The motif of the twofold mother is the counterpart of the twofold father of the Dioscuri twins, which were born to the same mother in the same night, one from the heavenly father, the other from the earthly father.3 The misinterpretations of the Freudian school, which degrade all of these contents to those of personal desires, will occupy us in a systematic fashion. As part of the problem of opposites, the problem of the shadow—in its

generality—is a fundamental example of the compensatory relationship between consciousness and the unconscious. The adversary figure of the shadow always provides a counterpoint to consciousness; it always represents —and is known as the shadow for precisely this reason—the dark, the shadow side, which belongs to consciousness as night does to day. Thus, on account of the relativity of the shadow to the system of consciousness, no particular and firmly delimitable contents are associated with the shadow, in that it always represents what is absent—be it in moral terms, in that the shadow represents the immoral against moral consciousness, or, conversely, be it that the moral and communal instincts resist in the form of the shadow an egotistical-immoral consciousness. Despite this relativity, much can be said about the structural essence of the shadow, specifically about its general contents, that is, those lying beyond any determinable contents. Part of that essence in particular is its amalgamation or at least its affinity with what consciousness considers to be the “other side,” that is, the unconscious. The life of the unconscious, however, is most strongly incarnated in and represented by the body. If primitive psychology and Eastern psychology alike attribute the various psychic centers to corresponding regions in the body, and if modern psychology raises corresponding questions in its exploration of the collective unconscious and its explanation of organic neurosis and the symbolic language of illness, then this convergence implies that instincts and archetypes are most intimately related to the body as pictorial forms, if not as a parallel identity to the body.4 If one contrasts the phenomena of consciousness with the pure unconscious, then affects or drives, which are noticeably related to the bodily phenomenon of arousal, are one instructive principle.5 The more unaware a person is, the more that person will be subject to the influence of the bodily sphere in general, and the more that person will depend upon the emotions and reactions of the body, which he or she inhabits as a conscious ego. From time immemorial, every kind of primitive and no longer primitive training of the conscious side has at the same time signaled an effort to overcome affects and drives. Working on becoming a more highly developed person has always involved freeing oneself from the body and taking in hand the bodily sphere and its independence. This phenomenon ranges from primitive initiation rites (and their ascetic procedures) through the regimes of hygiene common among tribal peoples and mystery societies to Stoicism, Gnosis, and Kabbalah, and also to Spinoza’s and Kant’s categorical imperatives (in the

latter’s case, the notion of inclination or disposition needs to be overcome only as a psychological fact). Over the course of human history, consciousness, this small and late child of the unconscious, must in each generation and in each individual make tremendous and truly heroic exertions to work its way out of the clutches of both blood and the body, in order to attain its own world of light. It must separate itself from the participation mystique with the collectives of body, race, and nature, in order to suffer as a distinct being, as an individual, so as not to be swept away by the world current but instead to gain experience and to recognize the nature of things, what they are worth, where they come from, where they are going, and what they mean. In myth, consciousness and the bearer of consciousness always arise from the unconscious, for instance, from the waters of the unconscious in the body of the fish, such as Oannes in Babylon or Vishnu in India, and so on. On the primitive level, the savior as a bearer of consciousness also always represents for unconscious humanity a force of the unconscious, namely, the latent energy of consciousness slumbering in the unconscious, which—salvifically —delivers humanity from remaining confined in the unconscious. It is as if over the course of human history this force of consciousness had to give birth to itself, into the light of the world, within and through humanity, just as YHWH tells Abraham in one of the midrashic texts: “From the time that I created the world, I labored my way through twenty sexes, until you came and were circumcised.”6 But precisely this aspect of human history forms the background to the principle of opposites and to the motif of the hostile brothers. One force drives toward consciousness, to struggle against the other force, which in turn pushes back toward the unconscious. Both forces are contained within the tremendous planetarium of the unconscious, within the soul of the individual and the soul of humankind. Whereas the motif of the savior appears in a compensatory way, on a level of humanity which, given the small radius of consciousness, persists in the power sphere of the unconscious, the motif of the shadow quite naturally appears where a world of light and consciousness has already established itself, where the world of light has become so large and strong that—true to the word—it casts a shadow. Drawing on this kind of clarification, one sees that the motif of the savior is the motif of salvation, which guides the way out of the cosmic principle of opposites. This motif belongs to the layer in which

mythologizing takes place, in which the collective unconscious expresses itself before individual consciousness emerges into existence; it creates— salvifically in the life of the hero—individual consciousness by conquering the dragon of the unconscious. As shown above in a different context, the problem of the shadow belongs to a layer in which the continuity of consciousness has either already been established or is what humanity is attempting to hold onto. Every mentality, however, that assumes the dominance of consciousness runs the risk—despite all factors to the contrary—of failing to recognize the fundamental connection with the unconscious, for which consciousness is only an organ, an exponent, of the unconscious. This misapprehension of the primordial connection entails a tendency toward the apotheosis of consciousness and light, which believes it is capable of definitively overcoming and having to overcome the dark side. In other words, after one of the two sides in the principle of opposites has become dominant as the side of consciousness, what should now occur is idealization and, as it were, an ascension to heaven by the side of light. Only now, however, does the shadow, through its connection with the unconscious body, become an impediment to any kind of development. The shadow is the chain that restrains any ascent into the heights. It is the dark adversary and circumciser. It is the eternal memory of limitation and abyss. Mythologically speaking, it is the rock of Prometheus, the ash tree from which Odin hung himself, and the cross on which Christ was crucified. It is the globe, the atlas, and the bull carried by Mithras. For the individual, the shadow is the uniqueness of the here and now, bringing to mind one’s boundaries and inexorable entrapment in definitive circumstances, namely, those of one’s age, race, and people. The shadow, moreover, defines the individual’s inclusion in the landscape of both life and family and one’s entrapment in the cage of typology and body. The shadow is the captivation of consciousness by the dark unconscious and the world. In reality, however, the shadow contains the great treasure of creative life. In contrast to ecstatic life, the creative life arises amid the great oscillation between ebb and flow, light and darkness, consciousness and the unconscious. The shadow emerges amid the ascent and descent on Jacob’s ladder, between the son’s ego-consciousness on the one hand and the mother’s collective unconscious on the other. Only the shadow, and the compulsion to accept it, turns the bearer of the principle of consciousness into

an individual. Only the shadow affords the human being, this atom-like speck of dust amid the millennia-old development of human consciousness, a unique and unrepeatable opportunity in world history. The infinitely arbitrary work of nature, which disregards the individual and assigns to each creature a specific measure and limitation, opportunity and fate, takes on meaning only through its acceptance of this givenness and through its affirmation of the shadow. Unconscious being is characterized by random exchangeability, relocatability, and miscibility. Here the indistinguishable character of participation mystique rules through its ecstatic and overwhelming extinction of individuality, through the disappearance of the human being before the divine figures immortalized in eternally real primordial images, which shape humanity beyond the fates of individual generations and peoples. This all comes together in the here and now of the shadow, becoming plastic, and becoming the responsible point of reference for egoconsciousness, which stands between the world and the primordial images and assumes a unique form and mode of self-expression. Behind the shadow, the world of the unconscious is no longer a random, quasi-cosmic expanse. Instead, it is aimed at ego-consciousness and constellated by it; it is unequivocally directed and thereby compels engagement. The world of the collective unconscious organizes itself behind the shadow. Now appearing as a detail of a larger whole, it is no longer the surrounding motherly sea in which the embryo of human consciousness swims in slumber, but the object of engagement. Although the individual and his depths reach into this layer from which he has emerged and into which he once again fades, he has the capacity to enter into a dialogue—in the form of consciousness—with this primordial foundation, to render visible the contents of the collective unconscious, to compare their contours, and at least partially to bring them into consciousness. But all these possibilities must occur via the shadow, which contains the entire personality. Precisely the limits and confinement of the here and now make the individual distinguishable and as such capable of opposing the indistinctness of the collective unconscious and of cooperating with it as a partner. On the primitive level, only the body—and its uncompromising nature (“like this, not otherwise”)—distinguishes the human being from spirits and daimons, bodiless and shadowless beings. Spirits and daimons, however, are parts of the collective unconscious. The shadow-casting body and its blood-based

determinacy of race, people, family, and type distinguish us from the dead and the spirits and thereby constitute the specific features of human existence on earth. In this light, one can understand the aforementioned afterbirth and placenta rituals, which are far from seldom among primitive rituals, and which have ensued in the positing of a doppelgänger, who lives the life of the after-born, that is to say, an “after-born child.”7 (The after-born child is supposedly the origin of the myths about twins.) The provident preservation of these various elements among primitives probably by far exceeds the wellknown respect shown to various parts of the body (hair, nails, excrement, etc.) which, following the pars pro toto law, carry the entire personality in themselves and which, for the purposes of magic, must be carefully safeguarded against abuse. Rank has already referred to the connection with what primitive psychology calls the “body soul.” On the level of the primitive concretization of the unconscious, however, such an after-born child and twin, who is revered in the placenta, must be seen as a projection of the shadow, which is most intimately linked to the body. Depending upon the developmental stage of consciousness, psychic contents manifest themselves differently. Unconscious contents are projected, and the more unconscious they are, the more they are concretized. Thus we see the body’s side of the shadow concretized in the after-born twin, whose loss or harm is the greatest undoing for the ego, precisely because the integrity of the body soul is crucial for life. On a later level, and involving differentiated consciousness, parts of the ego’s negative side are split off and sacrificed, that is, given up in an atonement ritual; initially, this also occurs through primitive concretization and projection, that is, animal sacrifice (see the sacrificing of the scapegoat, p. 65). Precisely this example makes it possible to further pursue the gradual raising of consciousness, in that the original projection of negative parts over the course of history gives way to an introjection, a taking inward, and thus at the same time to a formation of the soul. Initially, the purpose of animal sacrifice was that the individual performing the sacrifice could stand in participation mystique with the animal being sacrificed, so that he could truly offer up a part of himself in the sacrifice, a part that was projected and transferred into the animal. Following a stage of sacrificial rituals emptied of their meaning, and equivalent to suspended participation mystique with the sacrificed animal, came spiritualization and prayer. These developmental

stages, from animal sacrifice to inner sacrifice, that is, the formation of a disposition, can be traced to great effect in the Old Testament. This introjection goes hand in hand with the development of conscience. We shall need to return to the development of this concept of sacrifice when considering the significance of Hasidism for the inner development of the Jewish person. This duality—be it formulated as an awareness of inhabiting two worlds, as this world and the otherworld, as spiritual and corporeal man, as shell and kernel, or be it formulated in Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, Gnostic, or primitive terms—has preoccupied the human being from time immemorial to the present day as a fundamental problem. Every monistic conception of the world (such as materialism and idealism) denying the principle of opposites affirms the existence of that very principle through the radicalism with which it confronts that opposite principle. So why, one must ask, does this problem occur in such manifold shapes, on the one hand as an opposition between deities or, for instance, as a collective issue in the case of Jacob and Esau, and on the other hand in the folktale about two brothers, in poetry, and in modern psychology? Is it always one and the same issue and, if so, why then does it appear in so many ways? Do we not risk the same one-sidedness that was criticized above in the case of psychoanalysis, namely, that widely different material is forcibly subjected to one and the same explanatory principle? Some theoretical reflections, which might be fundamentally important, need to be made at this juncture to explain and interpret the various levels of representation. These reflections concern the introduction of a law, which could be referred to as secondary personalization. This term is used here to describe a rather comprehensive fact, which is relevant to both interpretation and therapy. The transformation of the myth of Seth and Horus, the twin brothers, mentioned above in passing, into the folktale about Bata, just as the transformation of myths into folktales per se, is prototypical of this process. In this process, an originally suprapersonal or impersonal content, namely, the opposition between Horus and Seth, the hostile twin deities, is transformed into a personal story, a family story involving individual characters. Myths produced in the early stages of humanity are experienced as impersonal and suprapersonal events. Amid mythologizing humanity, the

collective unconscious is productively at work rather unperturbed through the medium of formulating groups. The less conscious the producer, the smaller his contribution to the product, which passes through the producer as it were. Such processes are also familiar to us today, for instance, in the images arising from the deep unconscious and passing through the experiencing person. Importantly, these images are at first inaccessible to consciousness, nor are they reducible to or deducible from any contents of the personal unconscious. Such processes occur throughout early human history, whether in myths, or partly in customs and rituals, and so forth. They are direct projections of the unconscious, for instance, onto the heavens. It is from these projections that we have any knowledge at all about what we call the collective unconscious. With the growth of consciousness, and the progressive development of the ego as the center of consciousness, occurs what we have called secondary personalization. This process can be observed in both general and individual human development. Hitherto neutral and indifferent suprapersonal events become personalized, through the increasing share of what has become a more extensive ego and through experience and representation standing in closer relation to that ego. What happens could be described as the changing of shapes and the descent of the gods: from divine events spring humanlike and eventually human events. From the myth of the hostile twin deities emerges the family story, which includes traits now dependent upon the producer’s personal structure. Secondary personalization, which occurs under the dominance of ego-consciousness, now also alters the originally suprapersonal conflict of opposites through the inclusion of motifs. The original mythological opposition between brothers now simply exists and stands at the beginning of the world as it were. The question of motifs as a question of consciousness, as a question of causality, arises only in the stage of secondary personalization. Depending upon personal structure, this is where the motifs of sex, power, and so on come into play, and where the issues of primogeniture and the rivalry over a sister begin to enrich the fraternal conflict. Here, too, characteristically, a formerly indefinable object of contention now becomes concrete and moves within personal reach. Previously, the object of contention remained unmentioned or was indefinably symbolic. It was something in which the treasure or precious object to be attained was still cocooned, in the infinitely shimmering diversity of the unborn, which was at once soul, woman, mother, mistress, power,

treasure, gold, sun, philosopher’s stone, water of life and water of death, deliverance from life, death, birth and rebirth: everything at once and yet nothing, but nevertheless everything. The more the producer, as an individual or as a group, is shaped by the ego and consciousness, the more personalized and ultimately also the more individual the formulation. Generally, the folktale marks the transition from mostly suprapersonal myth to personalized works of art. In the folktale, these two layers merge into one another. Depending upon the tale, one or the other character exerts dominance. But something is almost always characteristic of the intermediate position of the folktale: its formulation, which is characterized by such a superior sense of justice that, unlike art, it does not address groups already differentiated in typological terms. The folktale still formulates matters so that it can be read and loved by both the extravert and the introvert. In its wisdom, it instructs “the” human being that his princess is everyone’s princess, no matter whether she is one man’s woman, another’s soul, or still another’s anima.8 Anyone who listens to the folktale can hear and grasp that meaning in his very own picture book of the folktale world. The process of secondary personalization, however, is neither degenerative nor coincidental, but highly meaningful and necessary for the development of consciousness—but one needs to know about it so as not to commit crucial psychological errors. The sphere of personalization also occurs relatively late in individual human development; here, too, the sphere of mythologizing, that is, the preservation of an archetypal world, takes precedence. The sphere of personalization, in which concrete individuals, like the father, mother, sister, brother, etc., appear as individual persons, as objects, is already a hard-earned piece of reality. This sphere presupposes an ego-consciousness that has gained experience of the world and possesses an awareness of reality. Such experience and awareness are not originally given to the child but must be painstakingly acquired little by little during the development of consciousness. Behind the ciphers of the family story stand the primordial images, which originally rose prominently into the suprapersonal and were as expansive as the world. The effects of these images irradiate the child, who at this stage does not yet recognize its parents as persons and thus is completely open to unconscious images and forces. Here, no protective consciousness exists as yet; such limit-setting consciousness regards the mother as an individual part of the world.

At this stage, the mother still contains everything—the world, the nurturing, the enveloping—and fades into the infinite background. The difficulty of establishing the fact that the child is contained in the collective unconscious lies precisely in the secondary personalization which it gradually brings about, so that the adult, the naive bearer of consciousness per se, later considers everything, even early childhood experiences, to be transposed into personalization, into the entirely personal sphere, into the family story. The original world of the collective unconscious, and the swimming in participation mystique with that unconscious, is replaced by a phase of personalization. This phase, as demanded and nurtured by the principle of ego-consciousness, formulates a part of the looming object world. The phase of personalization also brings about an adaptation to reality, namely, a disentanglement of personal figures from the overarching forms of the primordial images. Life without the centering force of ego-consciousness is the stream of life in the collective unconscious, the world of mythologizing during the primordial ages. The child’s ego lives among the archetypes as the adult’s ego-consciousness does among people. Two examples among many others may serve to illustrate the implications of secondary personalization. The maladapted development of the neurotic often becomes apparent in a failure to attain the level of secondary personalization. Moreover, the omnipotent archetypal parental images do not retreat behind the personal reality of individual relatives as part of the outer world of objects, but instead the dominance of archetypes remains unbroken. This entails the well-known phenomenon of the neurotic’s “distorted relatives,” who in reality are utterly incongruent with their images in his soul. For the child, this condition is normal, because its lacking development of consciousness means that it has not yet reached the phase of personalization. For the child, the fateful power of family ties is therefore often largely independent of the individual and personal structure of its relatives, as the completely different effects of the same relative on different children proves time and again. Before entering the phase of personalization, the fateful effect of the family springs not so much from the external relative but rather from the archetypal constellation inherent in the child. This constellation is induced by, but partly also remains independent of, the relative. The neurotic —like the child—still lives in the midst of the archetypal world. Due to his misapprehension of the personal structure of the relatives, the neurotic projects this structure onto them as what he experiences in a state of

nondetachment from his real relatives. Becoming aware of these conflicts entails—through the neurotic becoming aware of his projection onto his relatives—a separation from his fixation on them and thus a dissolution of his neurosis. In addition, however, the dominance of the real person gives way to revealing the dominance of archetypes. This process may be called the objectification of archetypes. It produces an extraordinary transformation of the personality, because the energy previously spent on projections onto real persons, which thus lies fruitlessly and oppressively stranded in part of the outer world, is cancelled out and, through the objectification of archetypes, now benefits the productive tension between the ego-consciousness and the collective unconscious. The extension of consciousness, which takes cognizance of the archetypes as the dominants of the unconscious, goes hand in hand with recognizing the nature of their dominance. That is, the tension arising between these two systems constitutes the energetic basis of all life and all productivity. Only the knowledge of these three stages—mythologizing, secondary personalization, and conscious objectification—makes genuine interpretation possible in the first place. The reduction of all mythological material to the family story, as undertaken by psychoanalysis, corresponds to the conscious awareness of secondary personalization. Starting from the primary, unconscious stage of mythologizing, consciousness must undergo this development in order to both expand and preserve the system of egoconsciousness. Herein lies also a therapeutic value of the reductive method: whereas it tends toward generalization (that is, a reduction to the sex drive) by returning to childhood, that is, the mythologizing layer, it reduces childhood experiences to the family story. It thus devalues the supremacy of archetypal images, by making them bearable to consciousness through secondary personalization and by connecting them with ego-consciousness in a manner beneficial to conscious dominance. In contrast to objectification, however, neither an increase in energetic tension nor an extension of consciousness occurs, but only an increase in ego continuity and a reduction of the child’s primordial world to entirely personal factors. With its knowledge of the family story—that is, that things were and are “nothing but”—consciousness considers itself, in contrast to the world of mythologizing, to inhabit a de-demonized world. This world is thus also less burdened by fear and more manageable for ego-consciousness. Making the primordial images retreat into the background undoubtedly benefits youthful

development both in humanity at large and in the individual; it is therefore recommended as a method for treating certain neuroses in the first half of life. It is important, however, to be mindful of the fact that this aspect conveys an incomplete and merely provisional conception of the world. In contrast to objectification, where the dominance of archetypes is acknowledged, although relativized by consciousness, secondary personalization entails a youthful and obtrusive attitude toward what in reality remain the dominant forces, that is, those governing events. The attitude conveyed by secondary personalization emphasizes action, believes in progress, and is therefore well suited to every psychology of youth. The great pessimism of the Freudian genius, which lies concealed behind the reduction to the “nothing but� attitude of secondary personalization, has captured only the negative aspect of the archetypal world and therefore considers the reduction of the world of mythologizing to the personal to be the only solution. This reduction enhances, by virtue of compensation, both optimistic dignity and the force of consciousness and therefore possesses great cultural and political value. In turn, however, it pays for this reduction with an incredibly simplified conception of the world. Not only does such simplification lead to an impoverishment of the world, but through the exclusion of background dominants it eventually provides these forces, once more, with a subterranean and dangerously animated sphere of influence. Only objectification, which consciously acknowledges and adjusts itself to the workings of the dominants, but does not consider itself able to exclude them through secondary personalization, is also capable of acting upon these dominants in a culturally therapeutic way. To what extent the inadequate position held by Adler and Freud can necessarily be deduced from the specific historical situation of the Jews needs to be discussed elsewhere. As emphasized, the process of secondary personalization means that not only emerging consciousness but also developed adult consciousness are afterward no longer aware of the mythologizing phase, since this transposes everything onto the level of secondary personalization. That is, the subsequent ontogenetic and phylogenetic layers of consciousness and of the personal unconscious, which to a considerable extent consist of the subliminal, forgotten, and repressed fates of ego-consciousness, superimpose themselves upon the primary layer of the mythologizing phase. However, all the protruding parts of this fundamental layer are now subject to secondary personalization. As we have seen, psychoanalysis takes up and generalizes

this process in a fundamental manner. Any therapy and interpretation seeking to reach as far back as ontogenetic and phylogenetic beginnings must retroactively pierce this secondary layer of personalization, as described in the family story, and advance as far as the primary layer of mythologizing, that is, the collective unconscious. One must trace the umbilical cord of generativity and of individual fate as far back as the collective mother soil of the soul, in each and every case where there is a generative disorder, an impoverishment of life, or sterilization. Every persistence in the sphere of secondary personalization induces relatively limited healing, because it does not open up the sources of life, but only cleanses the basin of the water of life and at best fortifies the irrigation engine. A study of introversion plainly reveals the subjective components of experience, that is, the archetypal contingency of each and every possibility of experience. For this reason, it is only one step toward realizing that the psychic layers withdrawn from consciousness and ego dominance are entirely dominated by archetypes. The early human being and the child, however, and in a certain sense also the creative person and the neurotic, due to maladapted development, live largely without the dominance of ego-consciousness. As discussed, the inner dominants, that is, the archetypes of the unconscious, are therefore far more significant for a child’s development than its relatives, with whom the family story associates child development. Here, too, the nature of secondary personalization must be understood. The naive eye of consciousness finds this particularly difficult, because in reality the child projects the archetypes onto the relatives, that is, it experiences the archetypal situation through but not as caused by them. Moreover, an extraverted attitude, for instance Freud’s, must emphasize the influences of the outer world while neglecting the subjective factors. Secondary personalization, whose prototype we have identified as the family story in Freud’s case, corresponds to the layer referred to by Jung as the personal unconscious. Freud and his school commit a cardinal error in their discussion of the secondary personalization of the artist’s creative process, by reducing it both continuously and exclusively to the layers of the personal unconscious. This misapprehension is manifestly evident in the formulation that “artistic activity is not a kind of psychic luxury indulged in by one abounding in fantasy and energy, but it is consistent with the tormenting compulsion of psychic self-preservation, which can be maintained only through colossal compensation fantasies.”9 Like most psychoanalytic

findings, this conception is both half correct and half mistaken. Without any doubt, the artist experiences what is frequently also a tormenting compulsion toward psychic self-preservation, which vents itself in creation, precisely because of—and Rank disputes this fact—an overabundance of fantasy and energy. The artist is predominantly connected with the layer of the collective unconscious. He engages with archetypes and, just as in the primordial age, he mythologizes the world and it mythologizes itself through him. Precisely his proximity to the unconscious, and the danger of being flooded by it, forces the artist toward formulation and formation. It is self-evident, however, that as a modern human being his conscious personality is more or less strongly involved in the making. The less primitive he is, the less he is a medium. That said, one must, however, consider that each process of inspiration and creation presupposes a certain mediality, that is, both a productive unconscious and a receptive consciousness. The private sphere of the personal unconscious is without any doubt involved in the process of formation and can be analytically dissolved from this process. But the psychology of the artist teaches us that his essence reaches to a considerable extent into the mythologizing layer, and also that he is less predominantly subject to secondary personalization than the average person. What distinguishes the artist from the child is that this condition is fully preserved in adulthood, whereas in the child it gives way to the developmental process of consciousness. Unlike the neurotic, moreover, the artist suffers no developmental disorder that needs to be healed. In the artist, the emphasis between consciousness and the unconscious still lies on the unconscious without, however, impairing life, as in the case of neurosis. Instead, the artist is characterized by a greater fullness of life. Unfortunately, however, precisely because the emphasis is shifted toward the unconscious in the artist’s case, the adjustment to reality often suffers as a result, so that a certain neuroticism can occur. The principle of secondary personalization is so very important because the actual reality of the psychological is largely excluded with its assistance, to the extent that it completely assumes an illusionary character. One must therefore study this principle, because knowledge of the extraordinary reality of the collective unconscious constitutes the background that makes an interpretation of collective-symbolic texts both meaningful and necessary. Moreover, however, this principle, by virtue of its tendency to draw everything into the sphere of consciousness and the personal unconscious,

blends layers so strongly into each other that any sense of orientation is lost. Yet precisely that sense matters so greatly in the analysis of the unconscious. The following example, once again borrowed from Rank, illustrates this. Rank interprets the dragon to whom the virgin is sacrificed in folktales and myth as the young woman’s sexual fear of her husband’s animal side, as an imago of the hated brother (in the folktale about the two brothers), as a terrible mother (the goddess of death in myth and the folktale), and as a negative father (in the folktale).10 All these interpretations are as such correct if, as we shall see, one considers their actual layer of reality and level of interpretation. They literally force one to create the notion of the collective unconscious.11 But the tendency toward secondary personalization nevertheless manages once again to exclude everything that had come into view and to reduce it to the family story. This is particularly evident because in this connection Rank himself refers to the indigenous peoples, where we find evidence of a considerable number of virgin sacrifices, performed in the form of weddings. Without question, the primitive psyche perceives the dragon as a most gruesome reality, collectively factual and forceful. Here, on this level, we thus encounter a natural projection of the dragon archetype, which as such is history-forming and brings forth festivals and rituals. Even if we assume that a content belonging to the family story stands behind the dragon symbol, this can only be the Oedipus complex because there is no evidence for female sexual fear among the primitives and, moreover, the sacrifice of women was instigated by men. This content is thus completely unconscious and not a matter of secondary personalization. In myth, we are dealing with a psychic structure that corresponds to such a sacrificial ritual. Here, too, the hero begins to occupy a central role, which puts him at odds with the dragon archetype; the hero, however, always represents ego-consciousness.12 Approaches to secondary personalization already exist on the level of myth, on which personal fate and the contents of the personal unconscious begin to enter into things. Psychoanalysis is absolutely correct in claiming that the story of childhood informs the hero and that the creation of myths occurs through fantasizing backward into childhood. Here, too, however, the negative attitude of psychoanalysis once again becomes unmistakably clear. The heroic deed, it claims, is the murdering of the father; the heroic lie, moreover, consists only in the poet bending reality in terms of his desire, by claiming to have slain the father

alone, whereas in reality this deed was committed by a horde.13 Through its identification with the hero, every average bourgeois ego thus asserts its ageold claim to the culture-forming primordial deed of patricide. In actual fact, matters are both different and simpler. The childhood ego is the hero because it creates itself and comes into existence through its struggle with the unconscious. The struggle with the dragon of the unconscious, which the hero must survive and which leads to the victory of consciousness, is the struggle involved in all child development. Precisely this implies that this struggle is archetypal and collective and that it repeats itself in each life process of awakening consciousness. The ego’s identification with the hero happens by virtue of the childlike ego, in fact with good reason, because this particular ego vividly experiences both heroism and the danger emanating from the dragon. This hero is no wishful fantasy, heroic lie, or illusion but a verifiable reality, verifiable in every child’s development, for all such development repeats overall human development. Like early humans, the child lives in the world of the unconscious, of archetypes, and of participation mystique. The child’s weak ego-consciousness is threatened by the supreme powers of the unconscious and risks being devoured by these powers, just as much as the weak ego-consciousness of primitive man. Wherever it appears, the dragon is therefore “the danger of the unconscious”;14 it is an archetype that does not accept personally formed incarnations until personal life begins to take shape. Whenever the dragon or snake appears, however, it is the swallowing force of the entire unconscious that opens up behind the menacing figures in the foreground, be they mother or father, brother or husband. But since this force of the unconscious is highly objective and real for the primitive, whose egoconsciousness is still weak, as his rites and myths plainly reveal, the struggle with the dragon is as it were the permanent content of his life situation, which in turn explains why primitive psychology constantly endeavors to protect the small consciousness. For the modern child, however, already born with a highly organized cerebrum that corresponds to developed ego-consciousness, the myth of the hero is no more than a transitional phase, since this organization ensures the overcoming of the dragon. Secondary personalization constitutes a considerable part of this overcoming, whose goal is the dragon’s exclusion. On the other hand, however, the folktale is important for both primitive man and the child because it also anticipates the hero’s journey. This is the journey of the small and weak hero. He corresponds to the child’s ego-consciousness and, based upon his natural

instincts (animals, dwarfs, etc.), achieves victory over the dragon. The reduction to the family story deprives archetypal events of the inherently magnificent problems of human history and diminishes these events to indeed general but in effect illusionistic events. Whereas the great background of humanity flashes up behind psychoanalytic interpretation, although unintentionally, in reality the family story and its primordial construction of patricide are a distinctly bourgeois version of human history. This psychoanalytic version of history lacks the actual conception of the collective unconscious, archetypes, and symbolism. Further, it lacks the knowledge of the fact that the largest and most general problems of humanity are represented in the early symbolism of the primordial age and in myth and that they must be represented in this way. The psychoanalytic reading of history forgets that earliest humanity, beset with the same fundamental problems of existence as the modern human being, could only project these problems as gigantic images into the spiritual realm, because no consciousness capable of formulating these problems in conceptual terms existed at the time. The fact that Freud and Adler, as Jews, could not conceptualize the collective unconscious, even though Freud appears to have formulated such a concept in several places, is first of all a generational Jewish problem, and second an individual Jewish one. Enough has been written about Freud belonging to the age of positivism, just as much as his science-based and materialist formulations, and thus his limitations, have been discussed. It is important, however, particularly in our present context, to draw attention to his confinement within Jewish history. Freud and Adler both belong to an era of the Jewish history of ideas that is characterized by its assimilation of Occidental thought. Following the extensive loss of all religious and collective Jewish ties, this era has witnessed and continues to witness an emancipation of individual consciousness marked by utmost extraversion. The tremendous endeavor to embody Western intellectual thought goes hand in hand with a flowing outward of libido which, it must be said, entails a complete loss of Jewish memory. The absolute lack of a Jewish selfconsciousness is no more than the expression of the complete or nearly total interruption of contact with the collective unconscious among Western Jews. Any contents capable of establishing such contact are carefully avoided, since this process of assimilation is meant to bring about de-Judaization. The necessity of taking this step, which will concern us elsewhere, springs from

the necessity of Jewish consciousness to detach itself from its originally primitive confinement to a Jewish community. This historical process prevents Freud and Adler from attaining the collective unconscious, because to begin with they would have become embroiled in a debate over the problem of Jewish collectivity, which they would not have managed to contend with. Corresponding to their actual historical situation as Jews, however, they would not have wanted to acknowledge this problem in any case. The stage of secondary personalization characterizing Freud and Adler is entirely consistent with this stage of development, both collectively and individually. This stage involves the necessary detachment from participation mystique in the collective unconscious in order to develop consciousness. Over the course of Jewish intellectual history, this stage has only now been reached. Let us now return to the original subject matter of this book, that is, the symbolism of the twin brothers Jacob and Esau together with the symbolism of sun and moon. We are now better able to distinguish the various layers that make up these symbolic opposites and thus also to distinguish the interpretative levels assignable to these layers. Part of the deepest layer of mythologizing onto which the unconscious is objectively projected without being psychically concretized includes an array of the aforementioned myths about twin brothers, gods, or cosmic figures like the sun and moon, in which the principle of opposites manifests itself, be it in myth or festival. To the same layer, if not to an earlier one, belongs the primitive ritual. The goat consecrated to Azazel corresponds to an objective projection of the unconscious onto the level of reality, that is, to a concretization of the unconscious through the sacrifice of the scapegoat, just as the aforementioned sacrifice of young girls corresponds to the concretization of another unconscious content. The myth of opposites and the sacrificial rite do not originate in an individual but in the collective, the primitive people, the tribe or group. The connection between the myth about the sun and the moon on the one hand and a distinct story of two brothers which encapsulates a human fate common in many myths and folktales about brothers on the other already corresponds to a later stage of greater personalization, in which individual events, history, the family story, and secondary personalization allow detailed characteristics to enter. Once more, however, archetypal images are predominant. What cannot be substantiated here, but has been variously

alluded to above, is that the family story is merely a sequence of regular archetypal constellations distorted by secondary personalization. This sequence enables and has effect upon the growing awareness of humanity and of the individual. In the aforementioned stages, the principle of opposites is mostly preserved to the extent that at least initially a balance existed between the two opposing principles, as formulated best by the motif of twins. Sensibly enough, the development of consciousness preemphasizes one of the two principles, which thus manifests itself as the governing principle of consciousness, as the hero, and so on. This contrasts with the principle of darkness, which recedes, is suppressed, and, based upon the principle of cosmic counterpoint, is demoted to a devil-like status. Whereas originally a complete equivalence existed between the principles of opposites, when one of those principles, namely, the principle of consciousness, seeks to preserve its own continuity, hostility between the two emerges. What ensues is a struggle for predominance, which constellates itself precisely through the demand made by consciousness for enduring supremacy, in the face of opposition from the repressed principle. This stage corresponds to the motif of unequal and hostile brothers, gods, and cosmic figures, but also to the myth of the hero and his struggle with the unconscious. Whereas the first types still represented collective events and the history of human consciousness, with the emerging predominance of consciousness, that is, the appearance of the unequal brothers and the myth of the hero, events are projected that the individual already experiences as individual history. What follows from the genuine possibility of identification with the hero, discussed above, is no longer an impersonal, cinematic representation of objective unconscious events detached from ego-consciousness, but instead a much more subject-related formation. This would be the collective symbolism of individuation, the history of consciousness, the struggles and toils of the individual as an individual. Thus, however, one may also read and interpret the formation of these layers on a subjective level, that is, to view them as one person’s history and the figures appearing therein as parts of his personality. At this stage, the struggle with the brother, for instance, becomes a struggle with the inner brother, the shadow. Linked to these formations, where an anonymous force is still at work within a collective, such as in the folktale, are the creations of art, in which the problem of the brother and the doppelgänger is developed in the case of

the individual person. Here, too, however, there is ubiquitous evidence for the formation—based upon the primordial, archetypal foundation, which is alive as the collective unconscious—as a creative layer in every originating and nonoriginating person. Before resuming our discussion of the general meaning of the shadow, let us try to determine the place occupied by midrashic texts, so far as they cannot be integrated into the aforementioned series of layers. Here we encounter the peculiar case in which what we termed a core text is contained in the individual fate and individual experience of the collective unconscious after undergoing “secondary mythologizing.” Secondary mythologizing means that a text does not originate in an early age of mythologizing, but in a late age. It means further that the representing consciousness suddenly resorts to layers alien to consciousness, which spontaneously place their mythological material at the disposal of this consciousness in the form of symbols and archetypes. Whereas early historiography often enough presents cases of primary mythologizing, such as when the struggle between Upper and Lower Egypt is construed in terms of the archetypal opposition between two deities, later historiography is characterized by secondary mythologizing. This becomes plainly evident in the familiar identification of the victorious king with the god who defeats his enemies, just as historiography transposes the myth of the hero onto the king, and so on. A well-known example in this respect is the secondary mythologizing of the figure of Jesus, which over the course of several centuries became cocooned in the mythological life of a hero. Secondary mythologizing, in which historical events are received by the people and in which historical-individual and collective-mythological materials merge, seems to me to be a prominent trait of Jewish mentality and creativity. Already the biblical text is undoubtedly the product of such amalgamation, which abounds in Jewish tradition. Precisely the exclusion of the actual layer of mythologizing as pagan has channeled the flood of living and creative collective images toward the historical figures of the Bible, particularly toward political leaders (King Solomon, David, Moses). Take, for instance, the extraordinary significance of the figure of Elijah for the consciousness of the Jewish people. While merely alluded to in the Bible, this figure is surrounded by abundant secondary mythologizing. From it emanates an extraordinary wealth of collective-unconscious forces, which created either no or almost no means of expression for themselves in art and

folktales. The immense and dense pictorial force of this layer in Jewish persons becomes most powerfully evident in Hasidism, in which—in the age of Voltaire—hordes of mana figures came forth, an eruption of elementary youthfulness in a multitude of tzaddikim, in what amounted to an astounding abundance of animated individualization involving secondary mythologizing.15 These figures were historical and highly animated contemporary figures, who, as soon as they had been created, were nonetheless immediately wrapped in a mythically radiant net of mysterious primordial images and forces of becoming. It will not escape the attentive observer that modern Western historiography is also dominated by archetypal images. This is obvious, for instance, in the verifiable projection of the negative onto the respective adversary; every struggle, although springing from quite specific motives, is thus construed in terms of the primordial image, that is, of good as such conquering evil as such. The flat objection that this is always a matter of propaganda and international politics cannot hold, because this particular primordial image continues to exercise its psychic effect just as it has for ages. Conspicuously, an individual’s conscious knowledge is suddenly pushed aside and the masses, following the primordial image of the holy battle, identify themselves with the hero; moreover, they are willing to slay the enemy dragon and to sacrifice their blood, as they always have. Without question, the connection between the symbolism of sun and moon and the text about Jacob and Esau, which for Jews is a historical text, is a case of secondary mythologizing. But what makes these texts both interesting and particular is that here genuine mythologizing, secondary mythologizing, and strong elements of consciousness are woven into each other without, however, appearing to be inconsistent or fragmentary. Obviously, the incorporation of the shadow has not advanced as far as the conscious formulation of our depth-psychological interpretation. Notwithstanding its metaphorical quality, however—that is, residual unconscious interpretation— clear signs of a self-interpretation are already tangible and verifiable in that formulation, particularly in its poignancy. 1. Otto Rank, Das Trauma der Geburt und seine Bedeutung für die Psychoanalyse (Vienna: Internationaler Psychoanalytischer Verlag, 1924), 103. 2. Rank, Das Trauma der Geburt, 103. 3. Jung, Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido [Symbols of Transformation, par. 294]. 4. See Weizsäcker, Heyer, Bilz, etc. [Neumann is referring here to Viktor von Weizsäcker, Gustav

Richard Heyer, and Clemens Rudolf Bilz. Heyer was a member of the Nazi Party from 1937 to 1944. Yet, in 1938, he wrote a letter of recommendation for Max Zeller, who, prior to being interned in a concentration camp, had been in analysis with Heyer. Thomas Kirsch quotes from Heyer’s letter: “I esteem equally highly his gifts as a psychotherapeutic practitioner and his character as a man.” Thomas Kirsch, The Jungians: A Comparative and Historical Perspective (London: Routledge, 2000), 125. After the war, Jung refused to meet with Heyer and denounced his Nazi past. —Ed.] 5. This sentence had been deleted by hand in the original typescript. —Ed. 6. Micha Josef Bin Gorion, Sinai und Garizim: Über den Ursprung der israel-itischen Religion (Berlin: Morgenland-Verlag, 1926), 99. 7. See Frazer, quoted from Rank. 8. Quotation marks around “the” appear in the typescript. —Trans. 9. Otto Rank, Das Inzest-Motiv in Dichtung und Sage: Grundzüge einer Psychologie des dichterischen Schaffens (Leipzig: Franz Deuticke, 1912), 647. 10. Ibid., 363, 365, 372, and 374, respectively. 11. See Jung, Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido [Symbols of Transformation]. 12. Ibid., par. 548. 13. Sigmund Freud, Massenpsychologie und Ich-Analyse (Vienna: Internationaler Psychoanalytischer Verlag, 1921), 127. 14. See Jung, Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido [Symbols of Transformation, par. 580]. 15. Tzaddik, in Judaism, is a righteous person. —Ed.



he following passage appears on a separate page at the end of the German typescript. The translation preserves the words crossed out by hand:

But what does the appearance of the divine in human form, which rules over the animal world of instincts and drives in a feminine guise and which gathers under its spirit-like wings the animals like a tree its branches, mean? Elsewhere, we have sought to describe that originally, long before a consciousness centered in the ego became aware of the Self as the center of psychophysical wholeness, this Self appeared as a body-self, that is, as wholeness governing the body and the multitude of its functions.

Editor’s comment: Neumann here contemplates the feminine aspects of the divine, as it appears in human shape. This is then related to the appearance of the Self at different stages of the development of consciousness whereby, prior to the development of ego-consciousness, the Self appears as a body-self. Similar to the Shekhinah, God’s feminine aspect, which enables the dwelling and the presence of the divine, Neumann points out the feminine aspects of the Self. His poetic ruminations are a suitable conclusion to this book, which we now know served as the groundwork for and prelude to his subsequent spiritual and psychoanalytical undertakings.

Editor’s Note


ection headings have not been inserted into Neumann’s text, since they do not appear in his typescript, except for the one single case in the second part, where Neumann did insert a heading.

All footnotes in Neumann’s text are his, unless otherwise stated. The indication “—Ed.” is appended to notes the editor has inserted, notes not found in the original manuscript, or, in brackets, where the editor has added information to one of Neumann’s notes. Where possible, Neumann’s references have been checked, and, if necessary, page references have been corrected. However, many of Neumann’s references have more historical than bibliographical value. Furthermore, Neumann’s notes have been edited to comply with Chicago style (full bibliographic data on first mention; shortened forms used in subsequent mentions). When Neumann refers to Bin Gorion’s Sagen der Juden, an additional page reference indicates the “source text.” This refers to Bin Gorion’s appendix, listing the sources of the legends, such as the tractates of the Talmud. To facilitate reading, double quotation marks in Neumann’s typescript have been deleted when not deemed necessary for a correct understanding of Neumann’s intentions. When in doubt, or when they may have been used in an unusual manner, they have been preserved.

Translator’s Note


his translation of Erich Neumann’s volume on Jacob and Esau replaces his original underlinings and word spacings with italics.

All citations have been translated from the German along with Neumann’s text unless otherwise indicated (that is, unless a standard English translation of the material in question has been used). The notation “—Trans.” indicates that the translator has inserted a note not found in the original manuscript. Square brackets contain information added by the translator to Neumann’s notes. The translator gratefully acknowledges the editorial assistance provided by Dr. John Peck, whose suggestions have been indispensable to making the English translation as readable as possible.


Works cited by E. Neumann Bialik, H. N., and Y. H. Ravnitzky, eds. The Book of Legends: Legends from the Talmud and Midrash (Sefer Ha-Aggadah). Translated from the Hebrew by William G. Braude, with an introduction by David Stern. New York: Schocken Books, 1992. Note: When this work, originally published in 1908, was quoted by Neumann, he referred to it simply as “Sef. Haagadah.” Since we do not know which edition Neumann used, we have cited this edition in English throughout. Bin Gorion, M. J. Die Sagen der Juden. 5 vols. Translated from Hebrew into German by Rahel Bin Gorion. Frankfurt: Rütten and Loening, 1913– 1927. Bin Gorion, M. J. Sinai und Garizin: Über den Ursprung der israelitischen Religion. Berlin: Morgenland-Verlag, 1926. Burckhardt, M. Die altkanaanäischen Fremdworte und Eigennamen im Aegyptischen. Leipzig: Hinrich, 1909. Freud, S. Massenpsychologie und Ich-Analyse. Vienna: Internationaler Psychoanalytischer Verlag, 1921. Chantepie de la Saussaye, P. D. Lehrbuch der Religionsgeschichte. Tübingen: Mohr, 1925. Erman, A. Die Religion der Aegypter. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1934. Goldberg, O. Die Wirklichkeit der Hebräer: Einleitung in das System des Pentateuch. Berlin: Verlag David, 1925. Hellpach, W. H. Geopsychische Erscheinungen: Die Menschenseele unter dem Einfluß von Wetter und Klima, Boden und Landschaft. Leipzig: W. Engelmann, 1911. Jeremias, A. Das alte Testament im Lichte des alten Orients. Leipzig:

Hinrichs, 1906. Jeremias, A. Handbuch der altorientalischen Geisteskultur. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913. Jung, C. G. Wandlungen und Symbole der Libido: Beiträge zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Denkens. Leipzig: F. Deuticke, 1912. Jung, C. G. Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology. New York: Moffat, Yard, 1917. Jung, C. G. Psychologische Typen. Zurich: Rascher, 1921. Jung, C. G. Wirklichkeit der Seele: Anwendungen und Fortschritte der neueren Psychologie. Zurich: Rascher, 1934. Kautzsch, E. F., ed. Die Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen des Alten Testamentes. Tübingen: Mohr, 1900. Kees, H. Ägypten: Religionsgeschichtliches Lesebuch. Tübingen: A. Bertholet, 1928. Lehmann, E. Die Perser. Tübingen: Mohr, 1924. Rank, O. Das Trauma der Geburt und seine Bedeutung für die Psychoanalyse. Vienna: Internationaler Psychoanalytischer Verlag, 1924. Rank, O. Das Inzest-Motiv in Dichtung und Sage: Grundzüge einer Psychologie des dichterischen Schaffens. Leipzig: Franz Deuticke, 1912. Rosenthal, H. “Der Typengegensatz in der jüdischen Religionsgeschichte.” In C.G. Jung, Wirklichkeit der Seele: Anwendungen und Fortschritte der neueren Psychologie. Zurich: Rascher, 1934. Silberer, H. Probleme der Mystik und ihrer Symbolik. Vienna: Hugo Heller, 1914. Stucken, E. Der Ursprung des Alphabets und die Mondstationen. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913. Ungnad, A. Die Religion der Babylonier und Assyrer. Jena: Diederich, 1921. Winckler, H. Himmels- und Weltenbild der Babylonier als Grundlage der Weltanschauung und Mythologie aller Völker. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1901. Additional sources Bin Gorion, Micha Josef. Mimekor Yisrael: Classical Jewish Folktales. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1976.

Chevalier, J., and A. Gheerbrant. The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols. London: Penguin, 1996. Comay, Joan, and Ronald Brownrigg. Who’s Who in the Bible. New York: Bonanza, 1980. Davis, Avroham. Pirkei Avos: The Wisdom of the Fathers. New York: Metsudah Publications, 1980. Jung, C. G. Psychological Types (1923). CW, vol. 6. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1971. Jung, C. G. Symbols of Transformation (1952), CW, vol. 5. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1956. Jung, C. G. “The Transcendent Function” (1958). In CW, vol. 8. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969. Jung, C. G., and Erich Neumann. Analytical Psychology in Exile: The Correspondence of C. G. Jung and Erich Neumann. Edited and with an introduction by Martin Liebscher. Translated by Heather McCartney. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015. Klein, Ernest. A Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the Hebrew Language for Readers of English. Jerusalem: Carta, 1987. Neumann, E. The Origins and History of Consciousness. Foreword by C. G. Jung. Translated by R. F. C. Hull. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1970. Neumann, E. The Child: Structure and Dynamics of the Nascent Personality. Translated by Ralph Manheim. London: Karnac, 1973. Neumann, E. Depth Psychology and a New Ethic. Translated by Eugene Rolfe. Boston: Shambhala, 1990. Neumann, E. “The Moon and Matriarchal Consciousness.” Translated by Boris Matthews. In The Fear of the Feminine and Other Essays on Feminine Psychology (pp. 64–118). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994. Neumann, E. The Great Mother. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963. Pagels, Elaine. The Origin of Satan. Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin, 1995. Rosenthal, Hugo. “Der Typengegensatz in der jüdischen Religionsgeschichte.” In C. G. Jung, Wirklichkeit der Seele: Anwendungen und Fortschritte der neueren Psychologie, 355–409. Zurich: Rascher, 1934. Schärf-Kluger, Rivkah. Satan in the Old Testament. Evanston: Northwestern

University Press, 1967. Scholem, Gershom. Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism. New York: Schocken Books, 1974. Schweizer, A. The Sungod’s Journey through the Netherworld. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010. Shalit, Erel. Enemy, Cripple, and Beggar: Shadows in the Hero’s Path. Hanford, CA: Fisher King Press, 2008. Shalit, Erel. The Cycle of Life: Themes and Tales of the Journey. Hanford, CA: Fisher King Press, 2011. von Franz, Marie-Louise. The Interpretation of Fairy Tales. Dallas: Spring, 1987.


Abraham, ix, xi, 50 Adler, Alfred, xviii, xxxii, xxxix, 1, 7, 59, 64 affects, 49 afterbirth, 48, 53 Ahriman, 42 alchemy, 48 Amarna letters, 40 analytical psychology, xxi, xxxii, 2, 15, 46 angels, 14, 30 anima, xx anti-Semitism, xxviii Apophis, xxxi n41, 41 archetypes (archetypal motifs), xxix, xxxiii, 23, 34, 49, 57, 60, 63–64 objectification of, xxxv–xxxvi, 57–58. See also objectification of the unconscious, xxxvii art, xxxi, 43, 46, 56, 66–67 artist, psychology of, xxxvii, 60–61 astrology, 37. See also zodiac astronomy, Babylonian, 38 Azazel, 10, 13–14, 65 Babylon, 12n19, 35, 37–38, 50 influence on Jewish consciouness, 38 Babylonian gods. See mythology, Babylonian Bachofen, Johann Jakob, xxix, 35–36

Bata (folktale), 47, 54 Bible, xix, xxxix, 1–3, 19, 20n36, 32, 40, 67 application of psychological aspects and perspectives, 1 biblical forefathers, xviii–xxix, 2–3, 17, 21–23, 30 historical figures, 67 Bible, books of Genesis, ix–xiii, xix, xxii, xxvi, 9, 12, 23, 25, 26n39, 29 Isaiah, xxvii n31 Bilz, Clemens Rudolf, 49n30 Bin Gorion, Micha Josef, xx body, xxxiii, 49–53 body soul, 53. See also soul brother motif, xix–xx, 34–35, 46–48, 54, 65. See also twins hostile, xv–xvi, xxv, xxvii, xxxi–xxxiii, xxxviii, 4, 37–43, 47, 50, 66. unequal, xxix, 23, 35, 46, 66 categorical imperative, 50 Christianity, 13, 17, 32 collective unconscious, xviii, xxix–xxx, xxxiii–xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxix, 2, 20, 23, 25–26, 34, 39, 49–66 periodicity of, 35 color symbolism, xxxi, 40–41 of Jacob and Esau, 14–15 conscience, development of, 54 consciousness, xxii, xxxii, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxviii, 36, 48–49, 53, 58–59. See also ego-consciousness development of, xxxii–xxxiii, 52, 55–56, 65 individual, 51 Jung’s structure of, 16n31 origins and history of, xxxi, 50, 66 conversion, 36 Cordovero, Moses, xxiii David, his immortality, 11n17 day and night, xxii, xxix, 8, 36

Day of Atonement. See Yom Kippur depth psychology, xl, 45, 68 Dioscuri, xxxii, 48 disc and crescent, 34–35. See also sun and moon dispersion, theory of, 34, 45 dragon, xxxi, xxxiii, xxxvii–xxxix, 61–63, 68 drives, 49, 69. See also power drive; sex drive dualism (principle of duality), 7, 13, 28, 54 Edom, xxiv, 12–13, 15–18, 40 ego, xxxiv, xxxvii, 55 ego-consciousness, xxx, xxxv–xxxvi, xxxviii, 51–52, 55–60, 62–63, 66, 69 ego-Self axis, xxii Egypt, ancient, 40–42, 66 Elijah, xxxix, 67 enantiodromia, xxix, 36 Esau and the sun, xx, 4 as Jacob’s shadow, 24, 26 as the face of God, 25–26 as this world, the outer side, 4 his wives, x identified with Edom, 23, 30–32 identified with the wild black boar, 42 representing extraversion, xvii, xx–xxi representing the goat, xxiii, 12–13 the biblical story. See Jacob and Esau, the biblical story evil, xxiii–xv, xxvii, 11, 13, 15, 17, 26, 41–42. See also good, and evil experience, personal, 22 extraversion, xxiv, xxxix, 4, 15, 16n31, 17, 19, 28, 46. See also Easu, representing extraversion family story, xviii, xxxiv, xxxvi, xxxviii, 2, 54–60, 62–63, 65 feminine, xxx, 33 folktales, xxix, xxxi, xxxiv, xxxviii, 34, 43, 46, 54–56, 61, 65–67

Jewish, xx n 13 forefathers. See Bible, biblical forefathers Freud, Sigmund, xviii, xxxvii, xxxix, 59–60, 64. See also psychoanalysis, Freudian his lack of understanding of religious phenomena, 1 Gabriel (angel), 11, 14, 40. See also angels Gnosis, 50 goat, 10–13. See also sacrifice, of a goat; scapegoat as a symbol of the hibernal sun, 16 God, 7–8 creation of a divided world, xxii, 8, 18 in the guise of Esau, 25–26 problem of, 25 two faces of, xxvii–xxviii, 26–27, 32 voice of, 4 God-image, xx–xxi, xxvii good, and evil, xxiii, xxvii, xxix, xxxii, xxxix, 27, 36, 48 Hasidism, xxviii, xxxix, 32, 54, 67 hero, xxvii, xxx, xxxii, xxxvi, xxxviii–xxxix mythology of, 48, 62–63, 65–68 Heyer, Gustav Richard, 49n30 historiography, xxxvi, 67 Western, xxxix history human, xxxviii, 33, 50, 55, 63 Jewish, xxxix, 5, 64–65 psychoanalytic reading of, 64 Horus. See Seth and Horus humans, early (ancient, primitive), 22, 28, 30, 36, 55, 60, 63. See also primitive peoples contrasted with contemporary humanity, 29n41 human development, xxxiv, 45, 55–56, 63 imago, xxiv

individuality, extinction of, 52 individuation process, xix, 66 inferior function, 15–18 inferiority, as a moral problem, 18 initiation rites, xxvi, 48, 50 inner voice, xvii, xxi–xxii, 4 inner world, xxi–xxii, 4–5, 7–9, 12, 15, 27 instinct, xxvii, xxxiii, 49 interiorization, 4 introjection, 53–54 introversion, xxiv, 4, 15, 16n31, 19, 28, 46, 60. See also Jacob, representing introversion dominant in Judaism, xxv n26, 5, 15 Isaac, ix–x, 17 Isaiah, 10–11 Israel identified with the moon, 11n17 state of, xvii Jacob and Esau archetypal theme, xv, 29, 33–35, 65, 68 the biblical story, ix–xiii, xxii, 3 their opposition, 12–13, 19, 21, 23, 39 Jacob and the moon, xx, 4 as a blessing, x, xxviii, 20, 24, 28 as a prototype for the Jew, xvi n4, xix–xx, xxiv, xxvii as the otherworld, the inner side, 4–5 his dream at Bethel, 20–21, 23–24 his inferiority, 24 his limp, 27 his loins touched by the angel, 28 his shadow, 28 his wives, xi–xii identified with the wind, 9

renamed Israel, xii, 28 representing introversion, xvii, xix–xxi, 23 seeing God in Esau, 25–26 wrestling with the angel, xxv–xxvii, 8, 19, 21, 23–27, 30–31 Jacob’s ladder, xi, xix, xxxiii, 51 Jeremias, Alfred, 37–38 Jesus (Christ), xxxvi, 51, 67 Jews experience of smallness, 7 ideal, 2 Jewish collectivity, xxxix Jewish people culture, xx–xxi their archetypal heritage, 19 Jewish problem, xxviii, xxxix, 31, 33, 64 Jonah, and the whale, 21 Judaism, xxi, xl, 4, 10, 12, 17, 22, 32, 33 and Zionism, xvii judgment of the dead, 16n33 Jung, C. G., 2, 4, 19, 29n41, 30, 60 Kabbalah (Kabbalism), 10, 14, 50 Kafka, Franz, The Trial, 16n33 Kant, Immanuel, 50 Kirsch, Thomas, 49n30 Laban, xi–xii, 23 Leah, xi left and right. See right and left libido, xxxii, 48, 64 Liebscher, Martin, xvi light, xxxii–xxxiii, 5–6, 8, 11–12, 15, 48, 50–51 light and dark (light and shadow), xxix, 35, 48, 51 limping, as impotence, 28n40

masculine, xxx, 33 Midrash (midrashic literature), xviii–xix, xxi–xxii, xxix, 2–3, 7–9, 19–20, 23, 29–30, 32, 34–35, 38, 40, 47, 66 miracles, 22 moon, xxiii–xxv, 4–9 and Jews, 5. See also Israel, identified with the moon darkened by evil, 11 its opacity, 11–13, 15, 17–18 its twofold or twin-like character, 39–40 symbolism of, 5, 33, 37 moon and sun. See sun and moon moral problem or conflict, xxiv–xxv, 13, 15–19 Moses, 5 motifs, primordial or fundamental, origin of, 34, 38. See also archetypes mysteries, and mystery societies, 48, 50 myth (mythology), xxix, xxxi, xxxiv, 35, 39, 43, 45, 50, 54–55, 62, 65. See also hero, mythology of Babylonian, xxx–xxxi, 38 as dreams of a people, 19–20 Germanic, xxx n37, 42 mythologizing, genuine and secondary, xxxviii–xxxix, 58–59, 65–68 Nahor, ix Nazism, xxviii Nergal, xxxi, 38–40 Neumann, Erich arrival in Israel, xl correspondence with C. G. Jung, xvi–xvii, xxii, xxvi, xxviii, xl publication of this manuscript, xv–xvi neurosis, 57–58, 61 New Moon festival, xxiii, 5, 10–11 Oannes, 50 objectification, xxxvi, 58–59 Oedipus complex, xxxii, 45–46, 62

Ohrmuzd, 42 opacity, principle of, 12, 15. See also moon, its opacity opposites, principle of, xv, xvii, xxv, xxix–xxxi, xxxviii, 19, 29, 31–32, 35–36, 50–51, 54, 65 opposition, problem of, 4, 26, 37, 48 Osiris, xxxi, 41–42 Other, the, xxvii, 18, 26 otherworld, 3–4, 6–7, 54 outer world, xx–xxii, xxvii, 4, 7, 9, 15, 18, 26–30 Pan, 13 participation mystique, xxxiv, xxxix, 50, 52–53, 57, 63–64 patricide, 62 Paul, conversion from Saul, 36 Penuel, 29 periodicity, xxix, 36 persona, xx pig (boar), 42 placenta rituals. See afterbirth polarity, 4, 14 between the sun and the moon, 19. See also sun, and moon positivism, 64 power of the archetypes, xxxv–xxxvi. See also archetypes of the sun, xxii, 9. See also sun psychology of, 7–8 power drive, xxxii, 2, 46, 55, 57 powerlessness (disempowerment), xxviii, 17–18, 21, 28 primitive peoples, 22, 30, 48–50, 53, 62–63, 65 primogeniture, xxix, 20, 35, 41–42, 46, 55 projection, 18, 24, 31, 53, 55 psyche collective, xix human, duality of, xxxii psychoanalysis, xxxi, 43, 45–46, 48, 54, 58–59, 62

Freudian, xxxii, xxxvii, 1 psychological analysis, 21 psychological types, 24 psychology. See also analytical psychology; depth psychology collective, 30 individual, 1–2, xviii, xxx, xxxii, 46 individual, and religious phenomena, xviii Jewish, xvi, xxx, 7, 33 of power, 7–9 of youth, xxxvii primitive, 49, 53, 62–63 Rachel, xi Rank, Otto, xxxii, xxxvii–xxxviii, 46–47, 53, 60–62 Rebekah, ix–xi, 20 reincarnation, 48 religious phenomena, 1–2 right and left, 13–14, 17 Rosenthal, Hugo, xvi, xxi, 5, 20n36 sacrifice, 8, 32, 54, 68 animal, xxxiv, 53 of a goat, xxiii–xxiv, xxxviii, 8, 10, 12–13, 15, 17, 65. See also scapegoat of the inferior, xxiv–xxv, 26, 28 virgin, xxxvii, 61–62, 65 salvation, 10, 13, 51 Samael, 12 Samas, xxx, 37, 40 Satan, xxvii savior motif, xxxiii, 50–51 scapegoat, xxiii, xxv, xxxviii, 65. See also sacrifice, of a goat secondary mythologizing, 21, 27 secondary personalization, xxxiv–xxxix, 54–65 Semasael, 12 Seth and Horus, xxxi, 40–42, 47, 54

sex drive, xxxvi, 1, 58 shadow, xvii, xxxii–xxxiii, 47–53, 66, 68 and Self, xxvi corresponding to inner Edom, 16–17 internal, xxi projection of, xxv–xxviii Sin (deity), xxx, 37–38 soul, xxxvii, 39, 55–59. See also body soul formation, xxxiv, 53 human, xv, xxix, xxxi–xxxii, 34–36, 45–46, 48 the people’s versus the individual, xvii–xix, 2–3, 19, 22, 50 salvation, 10, 13 Spinoza, Baruch, 50 spirit, xvii, xxi–xxii, xxviii, 9, 12, 33, 42, 52–53 Stoicism, 50 sun and moon, xx–xxii, xxx–xxxi, xxxviii, 6, 10, 13–14, 26, 34–39, 68 cultures, 37 symbolism, 11, 20, 65. See also polarity, between the sun and the moon; sun, and moon sun hibernal, 16, 38–39 symbolism of, 37 symbol (symbolism), 5, 34, 64. See also color symbolism psychic, 37 archetypal, 19–20, 22 Jewish, 33 taijitu, 36 texts, biblical. See Bible texts, midrashic. See Midrash texts, noncanonical, 3 tradition, xix, 2–3, 21–22 Jewish, xx n13, xxi, xxxix, 22, 67 twins, xxix, xxxi–xxxii, xxxviii, 4, 23, 29, 32, 34–40, 45–48, 53, 65 hostile, xx, 4, 47, 54–55. See also brothers, hostile

in the Bible, ix typology, xxxiii, 24, 51, 56 tzadikim, 67 unconscious, xxxii–xxxiii, xxxvi, xxxviii, 16–17, 34, 36–37, 48–52, 63, 65 compensatory function, 21–22 of a people. See collective unconscious personal, xxxvii, 43, 55, 60–61 Vishnu, 50 voice, inner. See inner voice von Franz, Marie-Louise, xxxiv n44 von Weizsäcker, Viktor, 49n30 Winckler, Hugo, 38–39, 42n23 wind, 9 YHWH, 4, 8, 10–11, 13–14, 28, 32, 50 Yishuv. See Israel Yitzhak. See Isaac Yom Kippur, xxiii–xxiv, 10, 13, 15 Zionism, xvii zodiac, 12, 37


Dr. Erel Shalit is a Jungian psychoanalyst in Israel and past president of the Israel Society of Analytical Psychology. He was founding director of the Jungian Analytical Psychotherapy Program at Bar Ilan University and has been director of the Shamai Davidson Mental Health Clinic. He has authored and edited several books, among them The Cycle of Life; The Dream and Its Amplification (with Nancy Swift Furlotti); The Complex; Requiem; Enemy, Cripple, Beggar; and The Hero and His Shadow. He chaired the JungNeumann Conference and has edited, with Murray Stein, Turbulent Times, Creative Minds: Erich Neumann and C. G. Jung in Relationship. ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

Dr. Mark Kyburz specializes in scholarly translation from German into English. He is the cotranslator of C. G. Jung’s The Red Book (2009) and has translated numerous books and articles in the humanities and social sciences, the arts and culture, analytical psychology, and psychoanalysis. His current projects include the translation of an unpublished two-volume manuscript by Erich Neumann on the roots of Jewish consciousness. He lives and works in Zurich, Switzerland.

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Erich Neumann - Jacob & Esau Symbolism of the Brother Motif  

Erich Neumann - Jacob & Esau Symbolism of the Brother Motif