Beliefs

Lately I've become interested in Jung. I'd been only vaguely aware of him as the salt cellar to Freud's pepperpot until I listened to a Radio 4 programme about the two of them. After that I figured he was about as nutty as a squirrel's symbolic dream, and left it at that.

But within gender critical circles there are a lot of Jungians. And I've heard some surprisingly good stuff from them. So I thought I'd have another look. I listened to a Jungian podcast, the latest episode of which was about astrology and Jung's belief in it and use of it in therapy. I say listened, I listened to about half an hour of it. I didn't mean to turn it off but my brain appeared to have melted and I felt unable to endure the pain. I hate to say it but the same thing happened when I took another run at it with a different episode.

The curious thing to me is that anyone who is enthusiastic about Jung is gender critical. Jungianism just reminds me so much of transgender theory. Both are mystical, both wrap themselves in big, impenetrable woolly blankets of obfuscatory language, both are very much invested in ideas of masculinity and femininity being profound essences. If I believed Jungianism, I would have no problem believing in gender identity. Pile it on my plate, I'd say. I've got an appetite for this stuff.

I've been rereading a book on the history of alchemy, by the excellent science historian and chemist Lawrence Principe. He mentions Jung in the introduction (as an example of someone who misrepresented the history of alchemy) which was one of the things that prompted me to read a bit more about Jung this week.

Principe charts the history of alchemy from 4th century Egyptian trade secrets of how to counterfeit gold and other precious items, to its eventual separation into chemistry and alchemy in the 18th century. There's an intriguing bit about 9th century Arabic alchemists who were trying to analyse metals - they were working on Aristotle's conception of matter as having the properties cold, hot, wet and dry, so they wanted to know exactly how much of each property was in different metals. To do this, they relied on certain sacred numbers, and the fact that Arabic was believed to be the literal language of Allah, and so had significance beyond a means of communication. The Arabic word for a thing could be used to discover hitherto undiscovered properties about it.

I was wondering to myself why I found this so enjoyable and interesting a read, whereas the website I read the other day by a Jungian explaining anima and animus just made me feel very tired and cross. After all, both are systems I do not personally find credible, but which I would like to understand better. And the reason is this: Principe is explaining, as clearly as he can, what 9th century Arabic alchemists believed and why they believed it. While he never scoffs at their beliefs (it would be absurdly anachronistic to do so, I think) he doesn't share them and is not afraid of discussing them robustly and honestly. When I read, listen to, or have conversations with Jungians (so far) this is not what happens. Instead of getting a bare and honest description of the system, I get long-winded, prevaricating impressions of it. Because in this case I am listening to or reading believers, and believers who are packaging up their beliefs to protect them from the hard cold light of reason.

Believers do this to themselves too, and I would say we are all believers of something or other. There will be topics on which I will catch myself doing the same thing. But why is it so annoying to be on the receiving end?

I used to know a person who irritated me very much. And it was because I always felt like they were trying to write a script for me. As in, they wanted me to say X, so they could respond with Y, and then I would hopefully respond with Z, and they'd say... A? Maybe you know someone similar. They sigh dramatically and say something mysterious like 'Well, I suppose I should have expected as much', and gaze silently at the horizon waiting for you to cough and say, 'Oh. What happened?' After this becomes the norm you feel like you're just turning up at a bad play and being given your lines.

Well when someone tries to sell me a belief by concealing the dodgy bits under vast thickets of jargon, I feel the same. They've written me in as someone who shares the belief, or at least is too flummoxed to question it. Why? Because believers need fellow believers. Because believers need to protect the belief.  So the dishonesty (even if it's often unconscious dishonesty) and the manipulation (again, unconscious) is extremely off-putting to me.

Beliefs are fascinating things, and often they really do have some nuggets of truth in them, along with profound insights into human nature. But you only get to the interesting stuff if you can examine them properly, and you can hardly ever do that with a believer standing in your way, draping a lacy cloth over it.

(I feel like I should repeat that I have heard some surprisingly good stuff from some Jungians. And I will continue to try to get a better idea of what it is they believe, and why they believe it.)

The Meaning of Life

"The Meaning of Life" is a strange phrase, and I for one find it difficult to pinpoint exactly what people mean when they use it. Maybe to ask what is the meaning of life is to ask
- What makes life feel worthwhile?
- What makes life enjoyable?
- What makes me feel like I am worthwhile?

But often it seems to go beyond these questions.

I remember once someone saying that there must be an afterlife, because otherwise, what's the point of life? Which is something similar to saying that there's no point in a holiday if it ever finishes. It's not exactly the same, because you can enjoy memories of a holiday after you go home, whereas you can't enjoy memories of life if you no longer exist. Other people can remember you, though, although one day they'll be gone too.

But I think it's possible that what that person meant, even if they weren't aware that they meant it, was, 'What's the point of the universe if I don't exist anymore?'
What's the point of a TV series if the protagonist has been killed off? Or a TV series if the TV has been switched off? We experience the world by existing, if we stop existing, what's the point of a universe that we can't experience? If a universe falls in a wood...yeah there's no way I can wrench that into a workable metaphor...

The irony of the question is that it arises out of the fact that our existence is important to us. So important that we reel from the idea that it can ever end, and we look for reasons to believe that it will persist. The yearning for the meaning of life comes from the fact that life already does have meaning - a meaning that goes beyond joy or satisfaction or a feeling of being worthwhile. We care that we exist. Life means something to us.