The Neurobiology of the Gods

How Brain Physiology Shapes the Recurrent Imagery of Myth and Dreams

Erik Goodwyn, MD
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PART I: DEFINITIONS AND FOUNDATIONS

Chapter 1: Symbols, Biology and Depth Psychology

Gods, demons, angels…muses, spirits, ghosts…fairies, devils, imps, fauns, unicorns, dragons, poltergeists,
gouls, vampires, djinnis, werewolves…saviors.

Ever wonder why humans have spent so much time wondering about, writing about, worrying about,
praying to, running from, blessing, cursing, exorcizing, and placating these entities? After all, there is very
little if any physical evidence that any of these things exists—why then do we spend so much energy
thinking about them? Philosophers as early as Epicurus argued that they are pure nonsense 2400 years ago,
yet humankind has been convinced of the power of these “spiritual” entities since the dawn of our
existence. Isn’t this irrational? Illogical? Even potentially harmful? Why would such a propensity evolve,
when clearly a more rational animal that didn’t consider such ephemera would never waste precious
biological resources on self-sacrifice, flagellation, burnt offerings, or self mutilation in the name of a god.

Many have tried to explain this phenomenon, ranging from speculation that religions evolved because
certain cultural constructs passed down through the generations survived better than others in the human
imagination and so perpetuate as a cultural activity (Dennett, 2007; Dawkins 2008). Others argue that we
have religion because it promotes social “cohesion” (Wilson 2003), or that religion is an “evolutionary by-
product” of our propensity to think in anthropomorphic terms (Atran, 2002b); that is, our brains are hard
wired to detect agency and intent in the environment, so we “accidentally” do that in the case of spirits or
gods. I disagree with all of these.

Instead I will argue, using as much evidence as I can, an alternative: that the brain is indeed “hard wired”
to detect intent and agency in the environment—and much more. One of these abilities is the propensity to
create symbols. This deceptively simple property of the human brain, which evolved because it is highly
useful for all sorts of thinking and problem solving, is at the heart of all our spiritual hopes, dreams, and
nightmares. My perspective is a medical one, based not only on the scientific literature but my experience
with patients in psychotherapy. Unlike the above authors I am not an evolutionary biologist but a
psychiatrist; I therefore obviously argue primarily from a neuropsychiatric perspective. Keeping this in
mind should alert you to any potential biases I may have—I am not interested in asserting dogma, rather I
seek an explanation that agrees with the best medical and basic research available. From this perspective, I
will show how humankind’s obsession with symbols is not an “evolutionary accident” but the primary way
in which we understand existence. By the end of the book, you will see how the symbol carries all the
weight of the gods in the human heart.

By symbols I don’t mean archaic scribbles or mathematical equations. Rather, by symbols I mean
metaphorical representations of thoughts, feelings, actions, environments, and everything else we
experience. This may seem like a trivial construct to house the gods in, but bear with me…as we will see,
symbols are a fundamental part of our existence, and they have their origin in our neurobiological makeup
—in other words, they are not arbitrary creations of whimsy or poetic conceit, but rather originate from
deep rooted innate aspects of our minds.

But aren’t symbols really just arbitrary one-to-one correspondences, like mathematical variables or place
holders? Should symbols that arise in psychotherapy, like a patient who dreams of a shark pursuing him,
be thought of in the same way? A typical approach to this might be to say that the shark “represents” a
memory the patient saw on a television show about sharks. Simple, straightforward, and inherently
meaningless. Depth psychologists, starting in earnest with Freud (1900) saw reason to doubt this; he
famously likened many dream images with sexual meanings; for Freud, elongated objects or tree trunks
were male organs and containers represented the uterus.
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The Link Between Biology and Symbol According to Early Depth Psychology

For Freud, most symbolism was about sex, and he thought that the origin of dream imagery was rooted in
our deepest emotional drives. Thus Freud was perhaps the first of the major depth psychologists of the late
19th and early 20th centuries to link dream symbols to our innate biology as humans—in this case, the most
evident of all human instincts, the sex drive. His follower and later rival, Carl Jung, however, had a
fundamental disagreement about this emphasis on sex as the primary source of dream symbol meaning, and
argued that though dream images are symbolic as Freud observed, sex was simply one of many instincts
that came to be symbolized. For Jung, symbols represented a language that had a kind of basic universal
meaning; they emerge from the “collective unconscious”; that is, the unconscious ground that all of us
share as humans. This collective unconscious was built over millennia by natural selection and provided
the source of the meaning behind these symbols, and included much more than the sex drive. The universal
core of meaning behind each important symbol, he argued, was the “archetype”, or an instinctual prototype
everyone shared related to the symbol, sexual or otherwise. Jung felt recurrent images were not mere
arbitrary images that could mean anything, but rather they had a fixed, emotionally powerful meaning that
was frequently only dimly grasped and hard to verbalize, but ubiquitous nonetheless. As we will see, many
of the musings of both Jung and Freud have been vindicated by modern empirical research, with some
important modifications.

From the very beginning Freud envisioned a “scientific psychology” in which empirical research in
neurology could be used to better understand psychopathology (Freud, 1925). Due to the lack of available
knowledge in neurobiology, however, this was impossible and this goal was abandoned. Since then,
psychoanalysis branched off into Adler’s “individual psychology”, and later Jung’s “analytical
psychology”. Freudian psychoanalysis further subdivided into various schools of thought including drive
theories, object relations schools, and self psychology. During the early part of the 20th century, these
schools developed largely independently of empirical research in psychology. This was due to the then
prevalent school of behaviorism (Skinner, 1938), which not only presumed that the mind was a “blank
slate”, imprinted upon by experience, but also a “black box”. Truly rigorous scientific inquiry, it was
argued, must discard “unscientific” ideas like Freud’s unconscious, repression, or even mental states in
general. This ultra-positivistic viewpoint caused a rift in psychology, the effects of which are still present.
Discussions of symbols and their meanings, meanwhile, went by the wayside when it came to empirical
research and was relegated to the depth psychology schools. Spirituality, it seemed, had been debunked by
science—though actually what happened is that we simply refused to discuss it anymore.

The 1950s and 1960s saw the decline of behaviorism with the advent of cognitive psychology (McDonald
and Okun, 2004). For the first time in decades, the mind was being studied in terms of its internal structure
again, rather than as a collection of stimuli and responses, and the success of cognitive psychology has
revolutionized the field. Meanwhile, the neurobiology research Freud foreshadowed has progressed
tremendously. Neuroimaging techniques have evolved that have allowed researchers to investigate the
brain in vivo, allowing unprecedented ability to correlate neurobiology with function. Further
revolutionizing the study of the mind began in the 1970s with John Tooby and Leda Cosmides (Tooby,
1976a, 1976b; Cosmides and Tooby, 1992; Tooby and Cosmides, 2005; Tooby, et al, 2005) when
evolutionary theory, long since neglected in the study of the mind, began to be rigorously applied to
psychology.

Understanding Symbols Neurobiologically

Because of the historical progression of psychology since Freud, symbol interpretation has remained
largely distant from neurobiological research. But this situation need not continue, as we now have an
abundance of data from neurobiological sciences that should shed some new light on Freud’s original idea
that dream and fantasy symbols had their origin in the biological “drives” bequeathed to us via evolution.
That is the primary focus of this book—to propose a model for understanding dream and fantasy symbols
in terms of our brain physiology. As I will show, there is a great deal of data from a variety of sources that
we can use to address this fundamental question. Despite the fact that Freud really started this vantage
point in terms of dream symbols, in this volume you will find that I refer to Jung quite a bit more than
Freud; this is for two reasons. First, Jung did not limit himself to sex, aggression and the Oedipal complex
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—rather, he considered these aspects of the mind to be one of many “archetypal” processes (Jung, 1990).
Second, the hypothesis that symbols can be understood in terms of our neurobiology was really expanded a
great deal by Jung’s theory, whereas Freud concerned himself with methods less about symbols and more
about defense analysis and transference—important concepts that are beyond the scope of this work.

Thus, when it comes to symbol interpretation, Jung developed the most complete system that empirical
science can be compared to. In fact, several recent Jungian analysts have attempted this already—
interested readers can find a review and critique of these elsewhere (Goodwyn, 2009). For these reasons I
will frequently refer to Jung and Jungian thought when it comes to my own attempt to understand symbols
in terms of our evolved neurobiology, but I do not intend to exclude any theorists or focus only on Jung’s
concepts. It is intended as a synthesis—an attempt to organize and combine many fields under one
framework for understanding spontaneous symbols. In so doing, one rapidly encounters Jung because he
had so many observations about the subject. As we will see, many of his ideas hold remarkably well, but
others require some rethinking and refinement.

The “Collective Unconscious”: Jung’s Universal Human Nature

Before we can investigate what empirical research has to say about the existence of a “collective
unconscious” (a term which unfortunately conjures up metaphysical ideas Jung did not intend), or any
universal human nature from which symbols emerge, we must first try to understand what it is exactly that
Jung was trying to describe. Jung attempted to define the term in his paper, “The concept of the collective
unconscious”, first published in 1936:

“In addition to our immediate personal conscious… (even if we tack on the personal
unconscious as an appendix), there exists a second psychic system of a collective,
universal and impersonal nature which is identical in all individuals and is inherited. It
consists of pre-existent forms, the archetypes, which can only become conscious
secondarily and give form to psychic contents.” (Jung, 1959b, p.43).

This idea, radical in its time, was essentially a denial of the “blank slate” concept that was prevalent in the
surrounding social and cultural environment (Pinker, 2003); Jung repeatedly attacked the idea of the blank
slate, stating:

“It is in my view a great mistake to suppose that the new-born child is a tabula rasa
[blank slate]….In so far as the child is born with a differentiated brain that is
predetermined by heredity and therefore individualized, it meets sensory stimuli coming
from outside not with any aptitudes but with specific ones…. These aptitudes can be
shown to be inherited instincts and preformed patterns, the latter being the a priori and
formal conditions of apperception that are based on instinct. Their presence gives the
world of the child and the dreamer its anthropomorphic stamp. They are the archetypes.”
(Jung, 1959b, p.66, emphasis in original)

I will have a lot more to say about these so-called “archetypes” later. But for now, he goes on to say:

“…the disastrous idea that everything comes to the human psyche from outside and that it
is born a tabula rasa is responsible for the erroneous belief that under normal
circumstances the individual is in perfect order. He then looks to the State for salvation,
and makes society pay for his inefficiency.” (Jung, 1959b, p.267, emphasis in original)

In a 1957 interview, Jung stated that the tabula rasa idea was “a mutilation of the human being” (Jung,
1990).

But what about these “archetypes”? As later Jungians have pointed out (Hogenson, 2004), Jung seemed to
struggle in defining this concept, which seemed a deeply felt intuition that was nevertheless elusive to
explicit definition. In any case, one definition he used was that archetypes were “inherited instincts and
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preformed patterns…typical mode[s] of apprehension…wherever we meet with uniform and regularly

recurring modes of apprehension we are dealing with an archetype” (Jung, 1919, para 280).

Jung often compared archetypes to biological instincts:

“…instincts are not vague and indefinite by nature, but are specifically formed motive
forces which…pursue their inherent goals. Consequently they form very close analogies
to the archetypes, so close, in fact, that there is good reason for supposing that the
archetypes are the unconscious images of the instincts themselves, in other words, that
they are patterns of instinctual behavior.” (Jung, 1959b, para , 91, emphasis in original)

Similarly, he stated that there is “no justification for visualizing the archetype as anything other than the
image of instinct in man” (Jung, 1959a, para 278). Jung frequently emphasized the instinctual origin for
the archetype—this speaks to the very issue of symbol neurobiology we are exploring. Because humans
are capable of articulation, he argued, we come to know of these instinctual forms through repeated themes
found in myth and folk tale, and in highly elaborated form in religious doctrine, but their source, he argued,
was biological. This is the crucial element I am considering in the present work.

Jung proposed that much of human life is directed by a group of universal instinctual processes he termed
the collective unconscious and its archetypes, though he acknowledged that experience is important in the
development of individual “complexes” (Jung, 1959b, p.42). Jung argued that emotional ideas and
concepts have an “archetypal core”, meaning that they are not arbitrarily formed out of an undifferentiated
miasma of “experience”, but that they are formed under the direction of a highly specific preexisting
archetype/instinct that forms the scaffold for the images and experiences that surround it. For Jung, the
mother complex, for example, does not emerge spontaneously via some generic learning mechanism that
associates a child’s mother with food or “rewards”, but rather emerges from an innate, specific mechanism
that orients the child toward its mother, and makes emotional associations to those stimuli that are enduring
—the mother complex. In his words:

“The mother archetype forms the foundation of the so-called mother complex…
[however] My own view differs from that of other medico-psychological theories
principally in that I attribute to the personal mother only a limited aetiological
significance. That is to say, all those influences which the literature describes as being
exerted on the children do not come from the mother herself, but rather from the
archetype projected upon her, which gives her a mythological background and invests her
with authority and numinosity.” (Jung, 1959b, pp. 81-85, emphasis added).

Thus, for Jung, our actual mother is not as important as the internal idea of mothering that makes our actual
mother so important to us. This “mother archetype” therefore acted as an independent player in our minds
—more on mothers in later chapters.

Jung’s Archetypes vs The Blank Slate and Generic Learning Mechanisms

Jung therefore did not agree with the blank slate, and instead felt that his archetypes, or instincts, were a
fundamental part of human psychological existence, and he maintained this opinion up to his death:

“The psyche of the child in its preconscious state is anything but a tabula rasa; it is
already preformed in a recognizably individual way, and is moreover equipped with all
specifically human instincts, as well as with the a priori foundations of the higher
functions” (Jung, 1961, p.348)

This put Jung (as usual) squarely in the minority of theories of learning, attention, memory and motivation
during the time he wrote about the mind; there is a certain poignancy in his courage here, in that he held his
views in the face of a great deal of opposition from the dominant behaviorist and positivist positions of the
era—his eccentric way of describing things did not help here either. Jung’s theory assumed the most innate
content for the mind. At the time, behaviorist dogma asserted that the brain was a generic learning machine
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that operated via various simple rules of association, and had no innate predispositions; this paradigm
dominated psychology until almost a decade after Jung’s death. At the same time, developmental
psychology was dominated by the similar constructionist theories of Piaget (1929) that proposed an infant
with no innate structures that learned via domain-general learning mechanisms. Since the early 1970s,
however, a large body of knowledge has formed that has challenged this “blank slate” position (Buss, 2005;
Pinker, 1997; Simpson, et al, 2005; Stevens, 2002; see also Tooby and Cosmides, 2005) forming a so-
called “nativist” school of cognitive science.

For the majority of the last century, however, with the exception of analytic psychology with its emphasis
on biologically derived “archetypes”, the rest of psychology ignored evolutionary considerations and
rebuked the idea that humans had any instincts. At the same time, those outside Jungian circles insisted
that everything within the human psyche is imprinted by early experiences of parents and the surrounding
culture via generic “learning”. I am dwelling on this because the blank slate assumption would demolish
any neurobiological origin for symbols right away. As it turns out Jung was one of the few theorists who
thought otherwise. Obviously, I agree (mostly) with Jung.

Here is why: simply put, the blank slate model has not withstood the test of empirical research. It’s just
plain wrong. As it turns out, evolutionary psychologists and ethologists have demonstrated that organisms
utilize many types of learning that is domain-specific rather than domain general—this is just a fancy way
of saying that we learn some things, like social exchanges and predator/prey detection more easily than
logic puzzles or vector calculus.

Cognitive psycholinguist Steven Pinker, for example, has argued that innate, domain specific mental
structure (though flexible within certain constraints) is unquestionably selected for (1997, p. 177).
Elsewhere he argues that recent independent research into affective and cognitive neuroscience, cultural
anthropology, evolutionary psychology, psycholinguistics, and neurobiology have essentially refuted the
idea of the blank slate completely (Pinker, 2002), so much that anthropologist and pioneer in the subject of
human universals Donald Brown went so far as to state that “Behaviorism and the tabula rasa view of the
mind are dead in the water” (Brown, 1991, p.144). Indeed, cognitive linguist Noam Chomsky observes that
the debate in cognitive science is “not whether innate structure is a prerequisite for learning, but rather what
it is” (Chomsky, 1980, p.310).

Jaak Panskepp is a pioneer in affective neuroscience, which is the study of emotions from the perspective
of the brain, and he has pointed out that “experience is more influential in changing the quantitative
expression of neural systems rather than their essential nature.” (Panksepp, 1998, p.17, emphasis added)1.
In other words, emotions are essentially innate and specific. Echoing the sentiment against domain-general
mechanisms, another prominent affective neuroscientist, Joseph LeDoux, observes that “Evolution tends to
act on the individual modules [of emotional processing] and their functions rather than the brain as a
whole….Most likely attempts to find an all-purpose emotion system have failed because such a system
does not exist.” (LeDoux, 1996, p. 105-106, emphasis added).

Ethologist Gallistel (1995) has shown that throughout the animal kingdom, learning proceeds according to
a multiplicity of specialized learning mechanisms rather than operant conditioning. Like evolutionary
psychologists, affective neuroscientists, and Jung, ethologists now feel that animals have a constellation of
specialized learning mechanisms. The increasing support for the existence of these “problem-specific
learning mechanisms” (Marler, 1991) which are called “domain-specific algorithms” by human
evolutionary psychologists lead cognitive neuroscientists to conclude that:

“As we ascend into the human brain, we can see from an evolutionary perspective how
humans must possess special devices for learning. Our human brains are larger because
they have more devices for solving problems, and the devices are shared by all members

1
Panksepp knew B.F. Skinner (the founder of behaviorism) personally and actually pled with him in a 1987
letter to abandon the traditional ultrapositivistic behaviorist stance that internal representations and
subjective mental states are unsuitable for psychological study—i.e. the “black box” mentality. Skinner
was unconvinced to his death. (Panksepp, 1998, p.12)
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of the species…Complex capacities like language and social behavior are not constructs
that arise out of our brain simply because it is bigger than a chimpanzee’s brain. No,
these capacities reflect specialized devices that natural selection built into our brains….”
(Gazzaniga et al, 2002, pp. 606-608, emphasis added).

All this research leads to the conclusion that the blank slate, the only serious challenge to Jung’s archetypal
hypothesis, has failed to falsify Jung’s theory of the mind’s organization. This is naturally far from proving
Jung’s theory is correct, rather, all it shows is that so far behaviorism and associationism failed to prove
him wrong. In order to put his theory to a more rigorous test, we must compare it to the wealth of evidence
that has emerged from nativist, anthropological, evolutionary, cognitive, affective and neurobiological
sources. What follows is an attempt to model the concept of archetype in these terms--admittedly a very
intuitive and difficult endeavor2.

2
I am indebted to Jungian analyst Jerry Ruhl (Johnson and Ruhl, 1997, 2000, 2007) for his help in carefully
defining the archetype in a way that stays as true as possible to Jung’s original intuitions and avoids
reductionist and reifying fallacies.
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Chapter 2: Foundations

Studying psychological processes was taboo for the better part of the last century due to the influence of
behaviorism, despite the unhindered development of psychotherapeutic theories. This fundamental split in
psychology led to a self-imposed lack of ability to study internal states in the case of behaviorism, and
retreat from empirical laboratory data in the case of psychotherapy theories which refused to accept the
behaviorist dogma. Because of this lack of fundamentally agreed upon issues, affective neuroscientist Jaak
Panksepp observed that psychology “became splintered into a multitude of sub-areas, with no general
accepted foundation.” (Panksepp, 1998, p.10)

But in the last few decades cognitive scientists, evolutionary psychologists and affective neuroscientists
have begun to explore the ‘inner world’ of the mind using cleverly constructed experiments; they have
relaxed the extreme agnosticism of internal mental processes espoused by behaviorism, while still
maintaining the high level of empirical rigor that behaviorism was supposed to be about. This integrated
approach I believe is the best way to understand internal states, and therefore in this chapter I will use this
more recent literature to lay the foundations for the ‘instinctual psychological processes’ I talked about
earlier; as I will show, these instinctive workings hold the key to recurrent universal symbols.

Carl Jung: Proto-Evolutionary Psychologist

Jung posited a strong evolutionary basis for behavior, frequently referring to anthropology and ‘primitive’
psychology (i.e., the psychology of tribal cultures), as well as comparative animal behavior in his works.
The predominating views of the day, however, stubbornly held on to the ‘blank slate’ idea. In his late
autobiography in 1961 he observed that this view seemed nonsensical:

“If the unconscious is anything at all, it must consist of earlier evolutionary stages of our
conscious psyche…in regard to the psyche, however, the archaic conception [of the blank
slate] holds on tenaciously: the psyche has no antecedents, is a tabula rasa, arises anew
at birth, and is only what it imagines itself to be…. [However,] Just as the body has an
anatomical prehistory of millions of years, so also does the psychic system. And just as
the human body today represents in each of its parts the result of this evolution, and
everywhere still shows traces of its earlier states—so the same may be said of the psyche.
Consciousness began its evolution from an animal-like state which seems to us
unconscious, and the same process of differentiation is repeated in every child.” (Jung,
1961, p. 348)

As I will show, these sentiments have been arrived at independently, and in great detail, by evolutionary
psychologists, and in fact the many broad similarities of evolutionary psychology and analytical
psychology (which is modern Jungian psychology) have already been observed (Stevens, 1995, 2002;
Stevens and Price, 2000; Walters, 1994). One might therefore consider Jung as one of the world’s first
evolutionary psychologists after Darwin, though evolutionary psychology (EP) has developed
independently of analytical psychology and appears largely ignorant of Jung’s work (Stevens, 2002).
Moreover it is a new discipline, having developed only within the last 30 or so years—well after Jung’s
death.

In a review of EP, Tooby and Cosmides (2005) outline the fundamental findings of the field:

“Research in animal behavior, linguistics, and neuropsychology [has shown] that the
mind is not a blank slate, passively recording the world. Organisms come ‘factory
equipped’ with knowledge about the world, which allows them to learn some
relationships easily and others only with great effort, if at all. Skinner’s hypothesis—that
there is one simple learning process governed by reward and punishment—was wrong.”
(p. 15)
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They continue to state:

“The mind is not like a video camera, passively recording the world but imparting no
content of its own. Domain-specific programs organize our experiences, create our
inferences, inject certain recurrent concepts and motivations into our mental life, give us
our passions, and provide cross-culturally universal frames of meaning that allow us to
understand the actions and intentions of others. They invite us to think certain kinds of
thoughts; they make certain ideas, feelings, and reactions seem reasonable, interesting,
and memorable…that is, they play a crucial role in shaping human culture.” (Tooby and
Cosmides, 2005, p.18)

Jung once said that the infant “meets sensory stimuli coming from outside not with any aptitudes but with
specific ones” (Jung, 1968, p.66, emphasis in original); compare this observation with that of Tooby and
Cosmides, who state “there does not appear to be a single program that causes learning in all domains…
evidence strongly supports the view that learning is caused by a multiplicity of programs…” (Tooby and
Cosmides, 2005, p.32). They are stating practically the same thing: that our genes organize a lot of what
goes on in our minds. Evolutionary psychologist Hagan (2005) elaborates:

“The universal architecture of the body is genetically specified…Because psychological

adaptations such as vision are no different from other adaptations in this regard, they, too,
are genetically specified human universals.” (p.146)

Rather than assume a few generic learning mechanisms such as that proposed by behaviorist
(Skinner,1953) and other “blank slate” theories (Bechtel and Abrahamsen 1991; Piaget, 1929), Tooby and
Cosmides argue that:

“Evolutionary psychologists expect a mind packed with domain-specific, content-rich

programs specialized for solving ancestral problems…human cognitive architecture
contains many information processing mechanisms that are domain-specific, content-
dependent, and specialized for solving particular adaptive problems” (2005, p.46; see
also Cosmides and Tooby, 1992, and Tooby, et al, 2005)

As it turns out, humans are genetically more like each other than most species; this is due to a genetic
“bottleneck” that occurred in our relatively recent evolution. Mitochondrial DNA evidence suggests that
all humans on earth share essentially the same bloodline some 200,000 years ago, and may even be
descended from a single so-called “mitochonrial Eve” (Cann et al, 1987). This and other evidence has led
neuroscientists to conclude that:

“Most scholars are beginning to concede the existence of a core human psyche that is
largely a product of biological evolution (specifically a result of natural selection)
….Evolutionary psychiatrists are beginning to agree that much of human mental activity
is driven by the ancient affective emotional and motivational brain systems shared with
other animals” (Panksepp, 2006, p. 790, emphasis added; see also Gardner and Wilson,
2004; Jones and Blackshaw, 2000).

What Panksepp is calling the “core human psyche” is obviously very comparable to Jung’s “collective
unconscious”3. From another perspective, that of cognitive neuroscientists, we find the opinion that “…

3
Panksepp takes issue with evolutionary psychology for a number of reasons that are more based on
methodology than content; I explore this and other criticisms of evolutionar y psychology more thoroughly
elsewhere (Goodwyn, 2009a); what is important here is the agreement that evolution is highly relevant to
the mind, particularly in our basic emotional motivations. Note that I am not referring to “mental
modules”, as strictly defined by philosopher Jerry Fodor (1983), but something less restrictive and much
better supported by the literature.
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human emotions are underpinned by specific but universal psychobiological mechanisms,” (Stein, 2006, p.
766). Furthermore,

“This fundamental point is at the heart of the evolutionary perspective, and concurs with
a vast amount of neuropsychological research.” (Gazzaniga et al, 2002, p. 596)

Moreover innate factors appear to profoundly influence behavior—animal researchers, for example, have
shown many innate behavioral systems in animals:

“The existence of intrinsic but behaviorally flexible brain systems has been repeatedly
demonstrated by investigators of animal behavior, in simple and elegant experiments.
For instance, most young birds do not learn to fly. They will fly at the appropriate age
(i.e., maturational stage) even when deprived of the opportunity to exercise such skills…”
(Panksepp, 1998, p. 37, emphasis added)

Such experiments would not be ethical in humans; I think this biases our explanations toward looking for
developmental “causes” of behavior that may very well be innately driven. In any case, we do know that
nearly all human behavioral tendency variations, as measured via cross-fostered identical twin studies, have
been shown to be approximately 50% genetic (Turkheimer, 2000; Turkheimer and D’Onofrio, 2005)—
combine this data with the success in animal breeding experiments:

“For many years, study after study of inbreeding has indicated that virtually any
behavioral tendency in animals can be enhanced or diminished as successfully as bodily
characteristics…it is now evident that similar processes contribute to psychological traits
in humans and other animals.” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 39)

We do not know how this is accomplished in humans with a “mere” 20,000 genes, but nevertheless it is.
Thus the weight of converging evidence from multiple independent disciplines, then, supports some kind of
universal psychological system that underscores human experience—a “collective unconscious”, if you will
—though researchers still debate what it is exactly. I am not the first to find a link between Jungian
psychology and evolutionary psychology. Jungian analyst Anthony Stevens (1993, 1995, 1998, 2002;
Stevens and Price, 2000), who worked with attachment theorist John Bowlby (1969)4 has already done a
great deal of fascinating work toward this end, particularly with respect to societal issues and the numerous
analogies and comparisons to animal behavior. As I will show, however, a great deal of data has not yet
been compared to Jung’s theory. Why do we care? Because if the mind does in fact have an innate
structure, and as we will see it does, it will certainly affect the way we construct recurrent symbols.

However, let me point out that domain-specific algorithms are not the same thing as archetypes. Rather,
they are merely innate aspects of the mind that attend and processes some aspect of experience, tag it with
some kind of emotional significance and influence learning, judgment, cognition, motivation and behavior.
I think that the brain uses these things to make symbols; if so, then calling them “archetypal” may be very
appropriate.

Universals in Anthropology

Returning to the concept of innately guided behavior, how might innate processes be observed? The first
obvious place to look would be at any behavior that is universal cross-culturally, since they might be
reflective of innate tendencies that are largely resistant to environment. Anthropologist Donald Brown, in
his Human Universals (1991) reviews universal human behaviors, summarizing the results of decades of
cross-cultural research, revealing a surprisingly large number of cultural universals. Far from being
“empty” universals such as “all people feel pain and hunger”, these observations are surprisingly specific.
Regardless of culture, for example, all peoples:

4
John Bowlby developed his theory of “attachments”, i.e. bonds between mother and infant, based on
careful studies of rhesus monkeys and other primates, including humans. He noted the startling similarities
between human children and young nonhuman primates in their behavior toward their mothers.
 11

 have languages that include metaphor and express poetry in which lines, demarcated by pauses,
are about 3 seconds in duration
 express thoughts and inner states in terms of the same mental taxa, particularly with respect to
animals (see below discussion on the GREAT CHAIN OF BEING metaphor)
 have easily recognizable “coyness” displays among females
 make gender role differentiations, where men are always predominately in political and coalitional
competitive roles and women in nurturing and social networking roles
 personify external phenomena conceptually and linguistically
 spontaneously make tools, always including ties, levers, and spears
 spontaneously make drawings, dance and music, and all cultures have a separate category of
music that is aimed at children
 claim a certain territory as “home”, even if they spend nearly their entire lives away from this
homeland
 are concerned with social rank and status, especially males
 use fire, cook food, and make shelters
 proscribe violence and rape, which are also universal
 experience envy and engage in reciprocity and revenge
 have religious beliefs in things beyond what is visible and palpable, practice divination and try to
control the weather
 engage in play in general, and always play-combat in particular, and always in males
(Brown, 1991, pp.130-140)

This listing merely scratches the surface. There are literally scores of these universals, and the list
continues to grow. Brown further points out the youth of the discipline, stating that “Anthropology has
scarcely begun to illuminate the architecture of human universals.” (Brown, 1991, p.141.)

How are we to understand this growing list of universals of human behavior? One possibility is that they
are the products of predispositions within the human mind that are universal, emotional, unconscious (in
the sense that they are not consciously decided upon by cultural leaders), resistant to environment, and
likely shaped via evolution. In other words, that they are reflective of instinctual or “archetypal”
psychological processes.

The other possibility is that they are generated by repeated experiences impinging upon domain general
learning mechanisms in predictable ways (the belief that the sun is round, for example, is universal but is
not necessarily innate). It remains to be seen, then, which of the universals such as the coyness display are
innate and which are not. As I hope will become obvious, many are innate.

Innate Neuroanatomy and the Triune Brain

The famous “triune brain” model originally developed by MacLean (1952, 1990; see also Panksepp, 1998;
Ploog, 2003; Stevens and Price, 2000; Stevens, 1995) argues that evolution is visible in our brain anatomy.
This model, based on extensive examinations of comparative neuroanatomy across a large variety of
vertebrate species, proposes that the human brain has anatomical structure showing it to be the end product
of a long evolutionary process of several “layers”. The lowest layer contains the brain stem and basal
ganglia, structures that are highly conserved across all vertebrates from reptiles to humans—known as the
“reptile brain”, containing basic instinctive tendencies and primitive survival plans. On top of this layer
later evolved the “old mammalian brain”, conserved in all mammals and found to a limited extend in birds,
which contains the limbic system—the limbic system consists of functionally related brain structures; it is
variably defined by neuroscientists, some of whom question its usefulness (cf LeDoux, 1996), however it is
generally agreed upon that the limbic system represents the “emotional brain” 5. This system processes
information from the internal organs and senses, evaluates them for emotional significance. Then, it

5
For those familiar with brain anatomy, the limbic system includes the brain regions known as the
hypothalamus, part of the thalamus, the amygdala, hippocampus, fornix, many of the basal forebrain nuclei,
septum, part of the cingulate gyrus and the mamillary bodies.
 12

responds with emotional states that influence blood pressure and hormone levels. The old mammalian
brain and the reptile brain are therefore responsible for instinctive behaviors and emotions (Solms and
Turnbull, 2002, p. 17-18; p. 29) in all mammals. Evolving still later upon these two layers is the “new
mammalian brain”, which consists of the cerebral cortex. The cortex is involved in our much vaunted logic
and higher problem solving abilities. The triune brain, therefore, (which I have grossly oversimplified
here) is described by Panksepp as highly useful (1998):

“There appear to have been relatively long periods of stability in vertebrate brain
evolution, followed by bursts of expansion. The three evolutionary strata of the
mammalian brain reflect these progressions.” (p. 43)

The basic idea is that the further ‘down’ one goes from the newer to the older layers of the brain the more
“closed” the processing systems get; by closed I mean resistant to environment. Natural selection, it seems,
does not like leaving some things to chance; these highly conserved areas of the brain are just such areas. It
is highly likely, then, that the psychology of these older regions, when viewed from “the inside” are going
to consist of archetypal patterns.

Consciousness in Neuroanatomy

In the previous section I introduced the concept of consciousness as a property of certain brain regions.
This is important because everything we remember about our selves is due to consciousness, including our
symbolic imaginings—however, most of what goes on in the brain is unconscious, though unconscious
processes have a tremendous impact on what we know consciously about ourselves. As you might
imagine, I think archetypal processes are a subset of these unconscious processes—a review of this
research is necessary to show why.

Neurologist Antonio Damasio (1994, 1999b) has summarized a large body of work on consciousness that
not only includes neurological studies but detailed case reports of patients with rare neurological disorders.
Working through the available evidence, Damasio has identified several brain regions that are implicated in
conscious processing. A complete review of this fairly technical subject is beyond the scope of this book,
but the bottom line is that what we perceive as “consciousness” is actually a complex system of many
“layers” of consciousness—not unlike the triune brain model.

The usual state of things in a normally functioning human brain is what is called “extended” consciousness
—that is, the “most” conscious level as opposed to slightly less conscious states such as dreaming, or states
generated by certain types of brain damage. Damasio shows how extended consciousness is built up by
simpler and more concretely measureable brain functions. Everything that does not fall under these
mechanisms of consciousness, are of course “unconscious”. Damasio recognizes, however, that the term
“unconscious” covers the vast majority of brain functioning that includes more than contents that were
previously conscious—i.e. contents that are ‘repressed’:

“The unconscious, in the narrow meaning in which the word has been etched in our
culture, is only a part of the vast amount of processes and contents that remain
nonconscious, not known in…extended consciousness. In fact the list of the “not-
known” is astounding [and includes] all the hidden wisdom and know-how that nature
embodied in innate, homeostatic dispositions.” (Damasio, 1999b, p. 228, emphasis
added)

The ‘hidden wisdom’ he describes here refers to a body of evidence that shows high-level complex
decision making abilities (rather than mindless reflexes) that operate unconsciously (cf for example Nelkin,
1993; Bauer and Vergaellie, 1988; Damasio, 1990; Damasio et al, 1990; LeDoux, 1985). Damasio and
many others have recognized that the unconscious is more than repressed autobiographical information; it
possesses a large store of innate ‘knowledge’ or ‘wisdom’—the comparison with Jung’s postulated
“collective unconscious” is therefore obvious. Neuroscience has shown that the vast majority of our mental
life occurs without conscious awareness. Support comes from LeDoux (2002):
 13

“Consciousness…very likely developed in the brain recently in evolutionary history,

layered on top of all the other processes that already existed. Unconscious operation of
the brain is thus the rule rather than the exception throughout the evolutionary history of
the animal kingdom…they include almost everything the brain does, from standard body
maintenance like regulating heart rate, breathing rhythm, stomach contractions, and
posture, to controlling many aspects of seeing, smelling, behaving, feeling, speaking,
thinking, evaluating, judging, believing, and imagining.” (p. 11, emphasis added)

Consciousness therefore seems to rest upon a mighty edifice of many layers of unconscious processes
which are minimally depend upon it—meaning they act with relative autonomy. Though our understanding
of the neural underpinnings of consciousness is far from complete, there are some broad agreements:

“A number of prominent neuroscience researchers (Damasio, 1999; Panksepp, 1998)

have begun to argue that our higher cognitive processes rest on a primary or core form of
consciousness. From this point of view, cognition is the latest evolutionary layer on the
consciousness onion.” (Watt and Pincus, 2004, p. 79)

Elsewhere:

“This notion of consciousness as graded is consistent with basic distinctions made

recently…between primary, core, or affective consciousness and more cognitive,
semantically informed, or extended consciousness.” (p. 83, emphasis added)

This primary “emotional consciousness” is, at the deepest level, universal and innate; not only do we share
it with all other humans, but deeper we even share it with other animals. Panksepp (1998) has a similar
model that divides consciousness into primary, secondary and tertiary layers that correlate with various
regions in the brain. Thus a growing consensus appears to be that there are progressively deeper layers of
consciousness that act with greater and greater autonomy and that these can be linked to the evidence of
layers of processing in the brain, with the deepest layers environmentally closed, affective, innate and
universal6.

Panksepp’s (1998, 2005) model differs from Damasio’s in the details about what regions comprise what
layers, but for our purposes these models are more alike than different (Watt and Pincus, 2004)—what is
important here is the convergence of data on this issue of “layers”, with the deeper layers being more
progressively innate, affective, autonomous and pregnant with meaning for the organism.

I should point out that the topmost layer, or the so-called “neocortex” has been shown to be highly “plastic”
or variable with regard to environmental variation (reviewed in Panksepp, 1998, pp. 59-80; see also
Braitenberg and Schulz, 1991). This conclusion comes as a result of experiments that show how brain
regions can change their function in surprisingly flexible ways. This fact has caused some speculation as to
how innately directed behavior can be (Buller and Hardcastle, 2000). However, no one is a free floating
cortex; a closer look at how the cortex is influenced bydeeper structures appears to tell a different story.
Neuroanatomists Llinas and Pare, for example, find the cortex tightly linked to a highly conserved area
known as the thalamus. Accordingly, the brain has many “thalamo-cortical loops” that appear to highly
structured:

“…since the brain did not appear suddenly, but rather was subjected to the vicissitudes
of evolution, it may possess at birth as much of [a pre-existing] order to its organization
as does the rest of our body….the nervous system is primarily self-activating and capable
of generating a cognitive representation of the external environment even in the absence
of sensory input, for example in dreams….” (Llinas and Pare, 1996, pp. 3-4)

6
There are other models of consciousness (reviewed in Panksepp, 1998, pp. 300-323; cf. also Dennett,
1992), though these do not emphasize neuroscientific data.
 14

Cognition, or complex thought, they argue, is an intrinsic property of the brain that requires only a modest
amount of experience to fine-tune; wakefulness “may be described as a dreamlike state modulated by
sensory input.” (Llinas and Pare, 1996, p.6; see also Llinas and Ribary, 1993; Llinas et al, 1998). In other
words, their finding is that the brain appears intrinsically organized to represent the world, with preformed
“templates” formed via evolution that sensory data modifies but only weakly (Llinas and pare, 1996). The
flexibility of the neocortex, then, does not necessarily imply a lack of innate functioning.

The Structure of the Brain/Mind

With the above research in mind, I can make some rough connections, outlined in Fig 1.

External/Brain | Internal/Mind
New Mammal Brain Open | Consciousness language
| | | |
Old Mammal Brain Mixed | Partially Conscious images
| | | |
Reptile Brain Closed | Deeply Unconscious raw emotionality

Figure 1. Highly simplified comparison of brain regions and their proposed corresponding mental activities
(Adapted and expanded from Stevens and Price, 2000; Damasio, 1999; Panksepp, 1998; I will expand and
refine this model in future entries). The further “down” one goes in the central nervous system, the more
closed the system is—meaning not dependent upon learning and environment. For us, the activity of the
neocortex corresponds (roughly) to conscious processing, whereas the older regions are less conscious, less
verbal and more emotional. See text for additional comment.

Fig 1 makes gross correlations between mind and brain activity. I also link these layers to types of
“thinking”—meaning emotions, images or language; more on this later. In any case, this model is very
rough hewn, as rigorous matching of neurobiology with precise descriptions of subjective experience is still
developing; the correlations at this point are therefore necessarily primitive. Panksepp further refines this
outline by theorizing that a graded consciousness occurs through many levels in the brain, starting with
reflexive behavior (reptiles) at the lowest “level”, to affective awareness (lisencephalic mammals), to
cognitive awareness (primates), to self awareness (great apes) to awareness of awareness (humans) (1998,
p. 35). Note especially that the lower “types” of consciousness (which are “unconscious” from the
perspective the highest layer) are progressively more universal and hence “collective”, not only to all
humans, but to all mammals and finally all vertebrates. While these correlations are certainly in broad
strokes and many complexities have yet to be worked out (Watt and Pincus, 2004), as a “big picture”
sketch it shows how we might approach the question of innate core meanings.

For our purposes, I should note that Damasio has observed the similarity between Freud’s notion of the
unconscious and his own neuroscientific theory, stating that “we can say that Freud’s insights on the nature
of consciousness are consonant with the most advanced contemporary neuroscience views…” (Damasio,
1999, p. 38). Of course, Jung’s model was built on Freud’s but in fact appears to be more complete since it
includes not only repressed and developmental contents but innate, evolutionary elements. Noteably,
Panksepp, has argued that Jung’s theory of archetypal dream imagery has “potential credibility” from a
neuroscientific perspective (Panksepp, 1998, p. 366). Central to the discussion, it seems, is the question of
how innate emotions are—more on this in a moment.

In summary, neuroscience views a consciousness that rests upon a mighty edifice of unconscious processes
which do not depend upon it, but without which would be nonfunctional, a view so well supported by
cognitive neuroscience that one may consider it a settled matter (cf Damasio, 1994, 1999b; Gazzaniga,
1998, 2002; Solms and Turnbull, 2002). These unconscious processes are very influential—the best
estimates show that at most 5% of our actions are consciously determined (Bargh and Chartrand, 1999),
leaving the other 95% to unconscious processing.

Conscious Processing Overlies Multiple Unconscious Emotional Processes

 15

This cohering consciousness, however, is imperfect and fragile, as well as subject to disintegration via
various processes such as trauma or drugs (Damasio, 1999b, LeDoux, 2002; Panksepp, 1998, 314-315).
Furthermore, consciousness is a unitary phenomenon—there is only one at a time—but unconscious
systems are multiple; this is shown from studies on memory. Cognitive scientists such as memory expert
Dan Schacter, as well as Graf (Schacter, 1996; Schacter and Graf 1986), Squire and Cohen (1984; see also
Solms and Turnbull, 2002, pp. 80-84; Weiskrantz, 1986) have uncovered that the memory system can be
primarily divided into explicit (conscious) and implicit (unconscious) memory systems. The explicit
memory system, with its link to consciousness, is a single system based on the brain regions known as the
temporal lobe, prefrontal cortex and the hippocampus, but there are multiple implicit memory systems,
leading LeDoux to conclude that “The brain clearly has multiple memory systems, each devoted to
different kinds of learning and memory functions” (1996, p. 198). These unconscious systems have been
suggested to extend beyond memory to include perception, judgment, learning and thinking (Kihlstron,
1987) and operate in parallel distributed circuits rather than represent a unitary phenomenon (Spiegel,
1990; Spiegel and Li, 1997; Mesulam, 1998; McDonald et al, 2004). Furthermore, they possess a
“rudimentary kind of consciousness” (Weinberger and Weiss, 1997, p. 43) primarily concerned with
emotions (Cloitre, 1997) and capable of social cognition (Stein and Young, 1997). These systems, it has
been argued, are evolutionarily much older than the conscious system (Reber, 1993), and unconscious
systems appear to act “without being linked to a conscious memory identified with self.” (Spiegel and Li,
1997, p. 185)

Thus, numerous studies point to multiple unconscious memory systems that are each focused on distinct
and separate emotional evolutionary tasks that function independently from the conscious system in the
brain (cf also Damasio, 1999b; Gazzaniga et al, 2002; Panksepp, 1998). Furthermore, extensive studies on
neurologically impaired persons have shown that implicit, and hence affective memory systems are robust
and perform well even in the presence of severe explicit memory deficits (Schacter, 1987, 1996); extended
consciousness and the explicit memory system, then, is dependent upon many ‘rudimentary
consciousnesses’, but not the other way around. Put another way, these more primitive types of
consciousnesses can act on their own without the need for conscious processing, but conscious processing
cannot function without the unconscious ones.

The above data on conscious/unconscious emotional processing systems can be diagrammed in the
following way (Fig 2):

Consciousness – Single explicit memory system

↓↑↑↑↑↓
Multiple Unconscious Systems of Perception, Social judgment, Cognition and Memory

Figure 2. Each task has its own “rudimentary consciousness” associated with it that is highly influential on
consciousness (large arrows) but relatively autonomous otherwise (small arrows).

Consciousness is a rare commodity in the brain, and the numerous unconscious systems compete with each
other for access to it:

“Unconscious operations take place in the brain automatically, without the intervention or
review of a central, integrated self. Each unconscious operation considers only the
specific aspect of the self with which it is concerned, and not the entire person…
Conscious operations, in contrast, require the synthesis of a complete self in time and
space.” (Viamontes and Beitman, 2007, p. 244)

This raises the question of how all these separate implicit emotional systems compete with each other to
direct or dominate conscious attention. As it turns out, many times it does not lead to a coherent conscious
experience—a phenomenon long since recognized and termed ‘dissociation’ takes place. Dissociation has
been observed in normal subjects as well as neurologically impaired subjects (Hintzman, 1988;
 16

Richardson-Klavehn and Bjork, 1988) and represents a clear indication of the way in which competing
implicit systems can sometimes disrupt the normally coherent consciousness.

Unconscious systems should not be thought of as mindless reflex circuits; rather, research shows them to be
quite sophisticated in their own right. In fact, the implicit systems of perception, recognition and memory
have been shown to be capable of symbolic and interpretive thought (cf Erdelyi, 1985; Safran and
Greenberg, 1987). For example, reactions of implicit systems, as shown in physical measurements such as
skin-conductance reactions to subliminally presented words associated with mild shocks, can even be
elicited via words that are only semantically related to the shock-words (Corteen and Wood, 1972). This
older data clearly shows the symbolic capacity of implicit affective systems. Implicit systems have been
shown to be capable of learning and complex behavior (Van den Bergh et al, 1990; Klatzky et al, 1989;
Schacter, 1983); here Cloitre repeats the oft-found opinion that the implicit systems appear to represent “a
more primitive, long-standing, and enduring form of memory” (1997, p. 73). Implicit memory systems are
well developed in young children and remain intact among the elderly despite a rise and fall in explicit
processing throughout the life span (Howard, 1992; Naito and Komatsu, 1993; Viamontes and Beitman,
2007), further supporting the idea of an explicit conscious system that develops slowly in children, reaches
its peak in adulthood, then degenerates in senescence, but all the while dependent upon older and more
robust emotional “primitive consciousnesses”.

Unconscious systems are therefore capable of perception, symbolic processing, social judgement and
motivated action, becomes “activated” by the internal or external environment, and subsequently works to
orient and bias conscious processing to “serve its own ends”, so to speak. These different emotional
systems process the same environmental stimuli in domain-specific ways and impinge, in neuroanatomical
terms, on the “convergence zones” of conscious processing such as the hippocampus and the working
memory system, where the information is winnowed out and selectively processed into a single conscious
experience (LeDoux, 2002, pp. 316-318). LeDoux (2002) summarizes this whole process:

“Through explicit systems, we try to willfully dictate who we are, and how we will
behave. But we are only partially effective in doing so, since we have imperfect
conscious access to emotional systems, which play such a crucial role in coordinating
learning by other systems…because there are multiple independent emotion systems, the
episodic influence of any one system is itself but a component of the total impact of
emotions on self-development.” (p. 323)

As LeDoux and other researchers on emotional circuitry have noted, the older, domain-specific emotional
memory can easily overwhelm the more domain general (and newer) conscious processing, and frequently
they are activated without conscious awareness at all (LeDoux, 2002, pp. 206-234; Damasio, 1999b;
Panksepp, 1998). This leads us to the neuroscience of emotions.

Affective Neuroscience

Oddly, the emotional component of cognition has been long ignored in cognitive science (LeDoux, 1996;
Panksepp, 1998; Damasio, 1994, 1999b). Jung argued that what he called the “feeling tone” (Jung, 1971;
Jung, 1997) is of paramount importance in the way we shape archetypal symbols, which are:

“at the same time, both images and emotions. One can speak of an archetype only when
these two aspects are simultaneous. When there is merely the image, then there is simply
a word picture of little consequence. But by being charged with emotion, the image gains
numinosity (or psychic energy); it becomes dynamic, and consequences of some kind
must flow from it.” (1964, p.87, emphasis added)

Similarly, Jungian analyst Marie-Louise von Franz states that “An archetypal image is not only a thought
pattern…it is also an emotional experience—the emotional experience of an individual. Only if it has an
emotional and feeling value for an individual is it alive and meaningful.” (1996, p. 10, emphasis added).
Emotion, then, is a required component of any symbol that is to supposedly archetypal; without strong
emotion behind it, an image is just an image and a cigar is just a cigar.
 17

Jung insisted that archetypal symbols had a powerful emotional component, which is why he advocated
their use in psychotherapy as tools for healing and why he insisted on describing the archetypes in poetic
and colorful language:

“because this is not only more expressive but also more exact than an abstract scientific
terminology, which is wont to toy with the notion that its theoretic formulations may one
fine day be resolved into algebraic equations.” (Jung, 1959a, para 25)

This insistence was probably detrimental to Jung because it made him appear “unscientific” and eccentric
(the latter charge is certainly true). Nevertheless, his prediction was accurate: cognitive science did
exactly as he predicted up to the last few decades. Time and empirical data, it seems, has vindicated his
position. But in order for Jung’s theory to make any sense, emotions must be largely innate also.

It seems they are; according to Panksepp (1998), emotions are innate and not derived from cognitive
learning processes:

“Although some investigators still choose to believe that human emotions are unique and
acquired through social learning, here we will proceed with the data-based premise that
the ultimate sources of human feelings are biological, and that these foundations are
essential for all of the many acquired complexities that characterize the detailed
expressions of human emotions in the real world.” (Panksepp, 1998, p.20, emphasis
added)

This is not to say that development cannot influence how these systems are expressed, but rather that their
source is innate rather than cultural:

“Even though our unique higher cortical abilities…may encourage us to pretend that we
lack instincts—that we have no basic emotions—such opinions are not consistent with
the available facts.” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 21)

Comparing the older emotional circuits with the newer cognitive circuits, “…the evidence is
overwhelming. The upward controls are more abundant and electro-physiologically more insistent; hence
one might expect that they would prevail if push came to shove” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 319).

From a different perspective, emotion theorist Ekman argues that emotions should not be though of as some
kind of nebulous global “affect”, but that they are motivational programs that deal with fundamental
evolutionary “life tasks” (Ekman, 1992); this sentiment is also shared by affective neuroscientist Joseph
LeDoux (1996) in other words, emotions are linked with universal evolutionary psychology. According to
Ekman, emotions tell us what, out of the barrage of experience, is important. What we should attend to,
what we should worry about, what we should seek out, what we should learn, is all dictated by our emotion
systems in surprisingly subtle ways. Damasio elaborates:

“Well-targeted and well deployed emotion seems to be a support system without which
the edifice of reason cannot operate properly. These results and their interpretation [call
into] question the idea of dismissing emotion as a luxury or a nuisance or a mere
evolutionary vestige…evidence suggests that most, if not all, emotional responses are the
result of a long history of evolutionary fine-tuning.” (1999, p. 42-53, emphasis added)

In his comprehensive review Affective Neuroscience (1998), Panksepp observes that at the most
fundamental level, the universal vertebrate emotional circuitry appears to be divided into four primary
modes: SEEKING, PANIC, FEAR, and RAGE. Added to these emotional circuits are slightly more
specialized CARE, LUST, and rough-and-tumble PLAY circuitry which we share with all mammals (and
birds to a lesser extent). Regarding the innate structure of the brain/mind, he states that:
 18

“…our brains resemble old museums that contain many of the archetypal markings of our
evolutionary past, but we are able to keep much of that suppressed by our cortical lid.
Our brains are full of ancestral memories and processes that guide our actions and dreams
but rarely emerge unadulterated by [experience] during our everyday activities”
(Panksepp, 1998, p. 75)

Elsewhere, Joseph LeDoux reviews that:

“…brain systems that generate emotional behaviors are highly conserved through many
levels of evolutionary history….Emotions easily bump mundane events out of awareness,
but nonemotional events (like thoughts) do not so easily displace emotions from the
mental spotlight….While conscious control over emotions is weak, emotions can flood
consciousness….Psychotherapy is interpreted as a process through which our neocortex
learns to exercise control over evolutionarily old emotional systems…not simply by the
dominance of neocortical cognitions over emotional systems, but by a more harmonious
integration of reason and passion….” (1996, pp.17-21, emphasis added)

What Panksepp and LeDoux are emphasizing here is the innate biological origin of intense affect, not the
developmental aspect; that is, while experience certainly influences us, it is only within a strongly
prespecified system that it does so. Hence, we should be wary of assigning a solely developmental cause to
any particular emotional impression when its origin may very well be equally innate in origin—it is this
innate, universal aspect that supposedly applies to the archetypal image (Jung, 1919, 1959b).

Jung proposed that the mind consists of “earlier evolutionary stages of our conscious psyche…. Just as the
body has an anatomical prehistory of millions of years, so also does the psychic system….” (Jung, 1961, p.
348). These and many other statements have been frequently misconstrued as Lamarckianism 7 (cf. Neher,
1996; reviewed in Merchant, 2009). However, in light of the well confirmed functional and anatomical
layers that have been demonstrated to exist not only in the brain (Llinas and Pare, 1996; Panksepp, 1998,
2005; MacLean, 1990) but in the mind (Buss, 2005; Tooby, et al, 2005), and the recognition that these two
aspects are inextricably linked, this criticism seems baseless. It is likely that Jung was intuiting these
systems of layers when referring to “the deposit of all human experience right back to its remotest
beginnings” (Jung, 1919, para 339). This “deposit” is not due to any individual experiences, but rather of
the entire species within its environment of evolutionary adaptation, and only in the sense that it could have
been “deposited” via natural selection.

I suggest that innate psychological activity correlates to activities of the old mammal and reptile brain
regions, no doubt in complex ways yet to be fully elucidated, as they qualify as highly conserved and more
resistant to psychological environment in all humans, as opposed to the much more “plastic” regions of the
neocortex. Subjectively experienced imagery that correlates with activity of older more closed regions
would be expected to be emotionally charged because of their well demonstrated massive, nearly one-way
input into regions that correspond to conscious processing, and their well established and profound effects
on motivation, judgment, affect, and even perception (Panksepp, 1998, 2005).

Panksepp calls the activity of these layers of core, affective consciousness our “ancestral memories” (1998,
p. 75), which house even more profound emotional foundations that, when experienced and described
subjectively, emerge to speak with the authority of deep time; it is perhaps these experiences which Jung
referred to when describing the archetypes. Yet this is not Lamarckianism, because these experiences are
not acquired via personal history of parents, but rather shaped via natural selection over millennia, forming
the innate foundations of the brain/mind that we all share by virtue of being the organism homo sapiens,
family hominidae, order primates, class mammalia, subphylum vertebrata.

7
Lamarck was a predecessor to Darwin who theorized that species could change due to experiences during
its lifetime—in other words, giraffes grew long necks by stretching to reach higher branches, and that these
experiences were passed on to the next generation. Lamarckianism gave way to Darwinian evolution.
 19

To summarize, then, the findings of various neurosciences describe the mind as a large array of older
unconscious emotional memory systems that are overlaid with a newer more domain general, highly
differentiating but more fragile consciousness system. The older systems are more universal and “closed”
with respect to environmental learning, and are able to dominate conscious processing much more so than
conscious processing can influence them. Furthermore, the older systems operate more or less
autonomously, frequently without conscious participation, in response to various subliminal environmental
stimuli. They possess a “rudimentary” type of consciousness capable of perception, social judgment,
symbolic processing and autonomous activity—it is the symbolic processing that is crucial to the present
work. They also are intrinsically active, rather than simple passive information processing mechanisms.
Furthermore, these various systems tap into ancient emotional motivators that are describable in rigorous
neurobiological terms, and as we will see, are utilized by the human brain in a huge variety of ways.

I am not saying, however, that the archetypes are “in” the reptile or old mammal brain—subjective
impressions are not “in” anything, no matter what brain regions they may be correlated with. Moreover
this is still only part of the puzzle, for an archetypal image is more than an emotional perception or an
evolutionary instinct, it is also a subjective image—and a highly symbolic image at that (Jung, 1959b; von
Franz, 1999). So far I still have yet to explore the details of mental imagery or symbolic thought.

Mental Imagery

Studying the direct processes that form mental images should provide still more evidence to consider with
respect to our symbols, as the images that emerge in dreams, psychosis, myths and art are all derived from
internally generated images, albeit under varying amounts of conscious control—note that imagery
scientists define an “image” as any internally derived sensory impression—not just visual.

The study of mental imagery has actually endured a rocky course of development (Kosslyn et al, 1995;
Kosslyn, et al, 2001) surviving the dismissive (and ultimately unhelpful) ultra-positivist attitude of
behaviorism8 to be studied in detail via neuroimaging techniques. Mental imagery is an important intrinsic
part of human life that underlies conscious reasoning; there is evidence that conscious reasoning is based
largely on mental imagery as shown in subjects proposed logic problems while being imaged with fMRI
(Knauff et al, 2002). Human memory has been shown to improve if concepts are visualized as objects
interacting in some way (Bower, 1972), and imagery is used spontaneously to understand and categorize
verbal material, understand abstract concepts, or learn new skills (Kosslyn et al, 1995).

A lot of literature supports the idea that visual imagery uses “like-modality perception”; in other words, we
use the same brains region for imagining a tree that we do actually observing a tree. The brain’s occipital,
temporal and parietal lobe activity is required for both activities, and deficits in perceptual ability coincide
with deficits in imaging ability (Kosslyn, 1994; Kosslyn et al, 1995). Thus, perceiving and conceiving
utilize almost the exact same brain regions9. This near equivalence has important implications as we
consider the meaning behind the mental images reported in therapy, and furthermore to the question of
innately prespecified or archetypal imagery.

The perceptual/conceptual system goes beyond static images. There is also a large amount of evidence that
imagined motion and action activate the same brain regions as actually carrying out the actions (Kosslyn et
al, 1995), which shows how the motor system gets co-opted for mental imagery generation in subjects.
Children, who use more unconscious circuitry than conscious circuitry (Viamontes and Beitman, 2007;
Foulkes, 1999) use imagery more often than adults to answer questions, and later during development
appear to use more verbal descriptions as a function of increasing conscious reflection (reviewed in
Kosslyn, 2005)—a theme that suggests older and more unconscious processing systems are more visual
and symbolic than the “layer” of conscious explicit and linguistic system overlying it. But image

8
For a critique of behaviorism from the field of affective neuroscience, see Panksepp, 1990.
9
The overlap in sensory processing and mental image generation is large but not perfect (Kosslyn, et al,
2001). This should not be surprising, since if it were identical we would presumably not be able to
distinguish fantasy from reality (such as may be the case in schizophrenia). The details of these differences
are still under investigation, but in general the rule holds.
 20

generation is not a matter of perceptual activity alone, rather it is an active constructive process (Kosslyn et
al, 2005).

Findings from the past two decades have shown that internally generated mental imagery recruits primarily
the same cortical areas that image perception does, even down to the primary visual cortex in the case of
visual mental imagery, and moreover, these images evoke emotional responses in ways that are similar to
perception. Kosslyn, et al, (2001) summarize:

“…researchers agree that most of the neural processes that underlie like-modality
perception are also used in imagery; and imagery, in many ways, can ‘stand in’ for…a
perceptual stimulus or situation.” (p. 641; see also Kosslyn, 1994 and Ganis et al, 2004)

Thus we appear to have an innate image-generator built into the perceptual/conceptual system—this is the
source of novel image generation. Moreover, all conscious reflection appears to involve mental image
processing (Kosslyn, 2005). That is, whatever innate factors exist that orient and shape our perceptual
system will also orient and shape our imaginal experiences, though very often in novel ways that go far
beyond simple memory retrieval. I will return to this point later; for now, it is most important to note that
the neurobiological evidence that perceptual systems guide conceptual systems cited above finds its parallel
in cognitive science (see Lakoff and Johnson, 1999, pp. 38-39; Sperber, 1994; Tooby and Cosmides, 2005,
pp. 60-62)

Such utilization of similar systems for various purposes is evolutionarily likely, as Lakoff and Johnson
observe:

“…newer parts of the brain have built on, taken input from, and used older parts of the
brain. Is it really plausible that, if the sensorimotor system can be put to work in the
service of reason, the brain would build a whole new system to duplicate what it could do
already?” (p. 43)

The evidence for this link between perceptual systems and conceptual systems finds still further support
from dream research and neuroanatomical studies (Solms 1997, 2000). Foulkes (1999), observed that the
ability to dream is strongly correlated with visual cognitive perceptual ability (i.e., “visual IQ”) in children
along several different measures, and this is corroborated by others (Robertson, 1998). Further supporting
this origin of dream images are a variety of independent studies that show that dream recall does not appear
to be related to personality variables but to basic visuospatial ability (reviewed in Domhoff, 2003, p. 52).

There are also many neuroimaging studies that show that the dreaming brain is using sensory regions to a
high degree—in this state the brain is furiously constructing imagery, while at the same time the language
centers are relatively inactive (see Hobson, 1988, 1999, 2000, 2003; Kahan et al, 1997; Pace-Schott et al,
2001; Hobson and Kahn, 2007 for examples). Apparently, the only difference between waking and dream
states are the relative origin of the stimuli (i.e., external during waking vs internal during dreaming) and the
relative conscious monitoring (i.e., high during waking vs low during dreaming) which is responsible for
our experience of these images as being “self” generated, as in directed by the conscious ego, or
“experienced”, as in a dream, which is not under conscious control10.

Now we’re getting closer to the spirits and gods of religion and myth. Why? Because the
perceptual/conceptual system is the system through which we experience these things—if they exist. That
means if I am experiencing a mental image of a spirit, ghost or deity, it is through the actions of these brain
regions. The trick is how we interpret this—is it an “illusion” or are we experiencing something “real” that
is taking the form of a symbolic image in our minds? As I will explore later, the answer depends on what
we mean by “real” and “illusion”.

Archetypal Imagery: a Subset of Mental Imagery

10
Exceptions such as lucid dreaming (Laberge, 1991), and other variations (Purcell et al, 1993)
notwithstanding. These exceptions are beyond the scope of this book but do not contradict my thesis.
 21

In order to understand the subset of images presumed to be archetypal images, we must examine any
images that occur that emerge in the presence of heightened affect (to start). Further refinement requires us
to seek images that are related to our evolutionary history (for reasons I explore below), we can refine our
search to include only affectively charged images that emerge when ancient, universal brain structures are
relatively more active and conscious processing is relatively less active. Such a state is well known and
referred to as dreaming.

Dream Imagery is Emotional Imagery

Dream imagery appears to be driven more by emotional concerns than conscious ratiocinations (multiple
examples, see reviews in Hartmann, 1998; Hobson, 1988, 1999; Hobson et al, 2000; Kahn et al, 2002;
Kramer, 2007; Solms 1997, 2000; Solms and Turnbull, 2002; Strauch and Meier, 1996). Neuroscientists
Solms and Turnbull (2002), in fact, have proposed a model based on neurobiology, lesion case studies,
functional imaging and neo-Freudian psychoanalysis that puts emotional brain processes at the forefront of
dream generation:

“the parts of the forebrain involved in the construction of dreams are the entire limbic
system…as well as most of the visual system…This implies, among other things, that the
brain mechanisms of dreams are the same as for those for the basic emotions….” (p. 201,
emphasis in original)

They argue that the particular emotional system responsible for this activity is the SEEKING system:

“Activation of the SEEKING system during sleep is commonly, but not exclusively,
triggered by the REM state. A thought process occurring during any stage of sleep can
presumably also activate the SEEKING system…this would be enough to begin the
dream process.” (p.212)

Dream imagery appears to be driven by activity of the limbic system and excludes the higher conscious
processing regions (relatively) (Hobson, et al, 2000).

Dream Imagery is (Partially) Evolutionary Imagery

Archetypal imagery should be more than simply affective, it should also be somehow innate and
“instinctive”, as Jung proposed that archetypes were both “instinct and image”. According to
neuroscientists, the dreaming brain has a particular profile of activity wherein consciousness is “lowered”
and unconscious circuits are enhanced (reviewed in Hobson, et al, 2000; see LeDoux, 2002; Damasio,
1999; Panksepp, 1998; Viamontes and Beitmann, 2007)11. Note that the active elements here are the more
universal and older brain regions designated as the deeper “layers” of the old mammal and reptile brains
that I suggested may correlate with the experience of archetypal images. If this is true, then the imagery
experienced subjectively that correlates with this brain activity profile should reflect universal concerns that
make sense given our biological history.

In fact, dream scientists Hall and Nordby, in analyzing some 50,000 dreams from subjects all over the
world, found repetitive universal themes which included conspecific aggression and status striving,
predatory animals, flying, falling, being pursued, landscapes, sex, misfortune, marriage and children, being
socially scrutinized, traveling, swimming, watching fires and being confined underground. These elements
they called “universal constants of the human psyche” (1972, p. 35); these data have held up remarkably
well over time (Domhoff, 2003; Hall et al, 1982). Furthermore, when viewed cross culturally, dreams “are

11
Strictly speaking, I should refer to these regions as “more conscious” or “less conscious” rather than an
either/or “conscious/unconscious” designation, as research shows consciousness to be a “layered”
phenomenon rather than a unitary phenomenon (Watt and Pincus, 2004). Jung presaged this idea crudely
(1961).
 22

more similar than they are different around the world” (Domhoff, 2003, p. 32), suggesting a common
source of stock concerns that are resistant to cultural variation12.

The question of course is whether or not these universal concerns are imprinted on us via common
experience impinging upon generic learning mechanisms or are they driven at least in part by the innate
structure of the brain, shaped by evolution to encounter typical ancestral life experiences (cf Stevens,
1995). A closer inspection of dream content data is required.

To further understand this question of whether dream content originates more from personal history or
innate brain architecture, Hobson and Kahn (2007) examined dream reports removed of identifiers to see if
judges could rigorously distinguish dream reports based on content analysis. The results showed that
judges could not easily match dreams with dreamers, and they called into question the hypothesis that
dreams are strictly individualized experiences, stating that

“The inescapable implication is that this study does not lend support to the hypothesis of
strong individuality in dream content….This finding lends weight to the surprising
hypothesis that dreams are at least as species specific as they are individual specific…
dreams serve as much to reveal general characteristics of the human mind as they do to
reveal specific characteristics of any one dreamer. ” (pp. 5-6)

This result is not “surprising” according to a biological theory of archetypal images; in fact it is expected.

More evidence to consider comes from Foulkes (1999); In his Children’s Dreaming and the Development
of Consciousness, Foulkes reviews the largest available database on laboratory based children’s dream
reports from both cross-sectional and longitudinal studies (the data of which agreed with one another). He
found that growing data strongly suggests that dream imagery appears to come from the internal structure
of the mind, i.e, from the innate structure, rather than from everyday experience in the form of simple
memory retrieval:

“The more general point is that, for children as for adults, dream stories do not depend on
what the dreamers have done….Dreaming starts from the mind and its organization, not
from the world and its organization” (p. 81, emphasis added).

The question of how much developmental versus innate content goes into dream imagery is still in
debate, of course, and in fact both are likely prominent factors—but this is a far cry from saying
that dream imagery has no innate prespecification.

Random Images?

I should note that some dream researchers feel that dream imagery is meaningless and random (Crick and
Mitchison, 1983, 1986; Hobson 198813). A large body of dream research suggests that dream content
(measured in Hall-Van de Castle scales, see Hall and Van de Castle, 1966) is neither random noise nor
merely reflective of the previous day’s events. Dream researcher Milton Kramer (2007) has shown in a
variety of studies that dream content compares with waking event report content with a correlation
coefficient of approximately .43. If dream content were random, he argues, this coefficient would be 0;
furthermore if dream content were merely related to memory consolidation—that is, simply repeating what
was experienced during the day—the coefficient should be closer to 1. That it is in the middle of these two
extremes causes Kramer to argue that dream content is neither random nor mindless churning through
memories (as suggested by Crick and Mitcheson, 1983, 1986), but a creative process that selectively
utilizes imagery from the past but in novel ways. Dream content (imagery) furthermore appears to be

12
Flying is obviously not related to our evolutionary history, however, I suspect this is a common symbolic
representation for reasons I will explore later.
13
Hobson’s original theory that the brain cobbles together a narrative from random deep brain firing
assumed that dream content was intrinsically random and meaningless, however more recently he has
retreated from this position to one that is agnostic of meaning (2005).
 23

related to mood and tracks changes in mood—again linking dream imagery with affect; also it is
nonrandom and according to Kramer reflects certain psychological differences, responds to emotional
concerns of the dreamer and appears linked and continuous with waking life (Kramer, 2007, pp. 129-131;
see also Hartmann, 1998; Strauch and Meier, 1996).

Kramer’s data that suggests dream content is reflective of individual differences contrasts Hobson and
Kahn’s and Foulkes’ data that dream content is more innate in origin, however this apparent contradiction
can be satisfied by assuming a combinatorial system that consists, as Hobson and Kahn suggest, of imagery
that is composed of both innate and individual content—in fact, Kramer’s coefficient of .43 may somehow
be reflective of the proportion of these two contributors.

Dreams are Autonomous and Continuous with Undirected Fantasy

Furthermore, this idea that dream content is both historical and innate finds support in the suggested
“autonomous” nature of dream content. There are a number of studies showing that dream imagery is
relatively unaffected by presleep stimuli such as fear-arousing movies, sprays of water, sounds, the names
of significant people, or blood pressure cuffs (Foulkes, 1985, 1996, 1999); in fact most dream content has
very few rigorously identifiable experiential antecedents (Fosse et al, 2003; Hobson, 2003), which would
be expected in a system with spontaneously active innate predispositions but not in an architecture that was
reactive to the environment alone.

Autonomously generated imagery is a hallmark of dreams and fantasy, and can be pathological as
in the intrusive imagery of posttraumatic stress disorder (Kosslyn, 2005), which is clearly
emotionally driven and unconsciously directed. This has been clearly shown in brain imaging
studies (Rauch et al, 1996; Orr et al, 2002; Bremner et al, 1997; McNally et al, 1995). Remember
that repetitive nightmares are one of the hallmarks of post traumatic stress disorder—perhaps now
we are coming to see why; the emotional brain, disturbed by trauma, expresses itself through
images.

Under conditions in which the conscious system is relaxed (but not eliminated), the unconscious systems
become more prominent, leading some of the original theorists such as Jung to state as early as 1936 that
“We are quite probably dreaming all the time, but consciousness makes so much noise that we no longer
hear the dream when awake.” (Jung, 2008, p.3)

In fact, more recent data by multiple authors has shown that under the right conditions, dream content and
waking mental imagery content are nearly indistinguishable, establishing a continuity between dreaming
and waking (Cicogna and Bosinelli, 2001; Foulkes and Fleisher, 1975; Foulkes and Scott, 1973; Kahan et
al, 1997; Reinsel et al, 1986; Reinsel et al, 1992; Strauch and Meier, 1996) which supports Jung’s above
intuition. In these cases, the conditions appear to be those of sensory deprivation, like when subjects are
calmly resting in a dark, quiet room; here electrical brain measurements (EEG) and rapid eye movement
(REM) reports are compared in order to establish the link between relaxed reverie and actual REM
dreaming (Foulkes and Fleisher, 1975; Reinsel et al, 1986; Reinsel et al, 1992; Strauch and Meier, 1996).
Under these conditions, wandering fantasy reports are very similar to dream reports, and they are driven by
emotion (Strauch and Meier, 1996)14.

Are Dream Images Symbolic?

Knowing that dream images are partially derived from spontaneously active evolutionary related concerns
does not prove that they will be symbolic in nature as Jung suggested:

“One cannot invent symbols; wherever they occur, they have not been devised by
conscious intention and willful selection, because, if such a procedure had been used,

14
The studies cited in Strauch and Meier (1996) showed that fantasy material is more densely populated
with characters, contained more familiar settings, animals and fictional creatures; overall, however, the
differences were relatively minor.
 24

they would have been nothing but signs and abbreviations of conscious thoughts.
Symbols occur to us spontaneously, as one can see in our dreams, which are not invented
but which happen to us.” (Jung, CW18, para 432, emphasis in original)

Jung suggested that symbols visually represent something of emotional salience to the subject. But even
though the above literature supports the idea that dream images are partially derived from the processing of
autonomous, unconscious, emotional systems guided by evolutionary concerns, Jung went further in
suggesting that they can be understood as symbols. I will explore symbolism later on, but for the moment
we should recall that mental imagery has been shown to be frequently utilized by subjects to understand
abstract concepts (Kosslyn et al, 1995). Furthermore, since dream imagery is mental imagery, it seems
reasonable to speculate that the images derived from this activity could also be used similarly (i.e., in an
abstract or metaphorical manner), though this would be difficult to test empirically. At any rate, the
consideration of dream images as symbolic or metaphorical is supported by many dream researchers
outside analytical psychology (though there are skeptics, see Kramer, 2007 for a complete review).
Domhoff, who was dismissive of Jungian dream interpretation methods, nevertheless recognized the
possibly of the symbolic nature of dream images and felt future research should focus on this quality using
content analysis scales (2003, p. 38; also pp. 55-56, pp.130-131; this sentiment is echoed by Hartmann,
1998, who calls prominent metaphors “contextual images”, and Nielsen and Levin, 2006). Dream
researcher Robert Van de Castle (Hall and Van de Castle, 1966; see also Domhoff, 2003) has observed that
Jung’s contributions to dream analysis have been underappreciated (Van de Castle, 1994), primarily
because of this issue of symbolism.

Further support for the idea that dream imagery is emotional and symbolic comes from Kramer, in his
review of dream research over the past few decades:

“The linkage between waking and dreaming thought is affective, thematic and figurative
rather than concrete and literal…and more open to associative connections built more on
connotative rather than denotative meanings.” (Kramer, 2007, p. 207, emphasis added)

He states elsewhere that “dreaming is probably more related to symbolic processing than to REM
physiology.” (Kramer, 2007, p.79) and there is evidence that this attempt at symbolic emotional expression
is what is behind the evolving nature of the nightmares of posttraumatic stress disorder, as the brain
gradually expresses the trauma in progressively more symbolic ways (Hartmann, 1998; Phelps et al, 2007).

In summary, then, a variety of neurobiological, neurocognitive and dream research data suggest that
internally generated imagery (under various levels of conscious control), utilize virtually the same cortical
regions and the same cognitive processes as perception, and therefore should be subject to the same innate
organizing principles if any can be demonstrated. Dream imagery, fantasy, and directed imagery differ in
their level of conscious control—it was the unconsciously generated imagery that Jung was concerned with
and proposed to be organized by innate archetypes, and the more unconsciously directed imagery of dreams
appears to be less variable and more universal than consciously directed images. With the above data, then,
it appears that unconsciously directed imagery may be constrained by innate organizing biological
principles bequeathed to us by evolution, which suggests an abstract innate imagery system is in place.

Innate Imagery

Evolutionary psychologists argue that our emotion/motivational systems must be comprised of an

irreducible set of programs that are innate and prespecified, and further that they appear to be relatively
large in number, content rich, and domain specific (Tooby, et al, 2005). Affective neuroscience, by
comparison, has shown that emotion and a primitive consciousness lies within the deep, universal regions
of the brain forming a universal core human psyche (Panksepp, 1998, 2005). The evolutionary programs
have not been rigorously correlated with neurobiological data so far, nevertheless it seems reasonable to
assume that these programs must use perceptual data in concert with highly conserved brain regions—that
is, the conceptual products (i.e. mental images) will be constrained by the same domain specific programs
as direct the perceptual system.
 25

If this is true, then we have a sound neurobiological argument for innate imagery—this is because the
perceptual cues that are present in the innate programs will also be available for use by the conceptual
system. As an example, consider the evolutionary data on human attractiveness. Here, Sugiyama (2005)
reviews the evidence for an innate system responsible for emotional attribution of face and body
characteristics that likely emerged for evolutionary reasons. For example, there is a great deal of
agreement cross-culturally on facial attractiveness (Cunningham et al, 2002; Rubenstein et al, 2002,
Zebrowitz, 1997), and attractiveness varies negatively with deviation from so called “templates”, which are
modeled by amalgams of many faces averaged via computer morphing techniques (Langlois and Roggman,
1990). Why should this be? One clue is that facial attractiveness is correlated with low fluctuating
asymmetry—a quality that is associated with greater developmental and reproductive success (Sugiyama,
2005, p.312-313). Perception of attractiveness emerges early in life; this cannot be easily explained via
cultural learning; for example, a variety of studies showed that infants ranging from newborn to 25 months
prefer faces that matched those rated as attractive by adults, regardless of whether they were Asian, African
American or Caucasian (reviewed in Sugiyama, 2005, p.294-295). These above qualities apply equally to
males and females.

This system appears to contain a great deal more specificity, however, when it comes to sexual
attractiveness. Generally speaking, Panksepp observes that “Male brains appear to be instinctively
prepared to respond to certain features of human femaleness, including facial and bodily characteristics,
voice intonations, as well as ways of being.” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 233), providing our first clue that more
than just visual cues are present in the perceptual/conceptual system in question that trigger the prespecified
valuation systems.

Evolutionary psychologists have shown what some of the details of this system are, and demonstrates that
the attributions make evolutionary sense with regard to reproductive success and mate-seeking. Sugiyama
(2005, pp. 308-326) reviews the universal cross-cultural preferences in female appearance that men report
as attractive; not surprisingly, all of them are correlated with reproductive fitness. Among the qualities
reported as attractive across all cultures studied are smooth skin (which correlates with low pathogen load
or disease), shiny, long hair (which correlates with age of peak fertility in women and also reflects health
and reproductive status), a waist-to-hip circumference ratio of approximately 0.7 (also positively correlated
with increased health and reproductive success15), long legs (associated with fecundity), and developed,
firm, high breasts that point slightly up and out, with small areola and low fluctuating asymmetry (strongly
cueing nubility, age, parity, pregnancy status, and/or reproductive success—the sheer level of detail here
explains the human preoccupation with breast imagery). Even movement patterns have been assessed in
terms of attractiveness—masked or pixilated images of dancers were found to be more sexually attractive
the larger and more sweeping their movements were. Grammer et al (2002) suggest that such movements
are a predictor of underlying genetic quality and fecundity, which accounts for their attractiveness. This
system even goes beyond visual images; men have been shown to prefer the scent of females during mid-
cycle to those outside their fertile period when blinded (Singh and Bronstad, 2001). All of these strongly
suggest innate, universal image systems in the male brain that are abstractly prespecified and unconsciously
operating on emotional systems. Furthermore, the research in this field is still growing; there are likely
many more aspects of this system that have yet to be shown. The frequent emphasis on dental beauty and
foot appearance cross-culturally, for example, is another probable perceptual/conceptual cue in both males
and females that has yet to be studied.

That men place high emotional significance on this kind of imagery is so obvious it hardly needs
mentioning. But these “fertility detection” principles are not unique to men; they apply to women as well,
though not as measures of mate choice but as mechanisms to identify the competitive power of other
females. The difference, then, is the emotional significance that is attributed to the prespecified imagery
that exists in both men and women. Culture and learning can modify this system quite a bit, of course, but
they must work within the biologically determined constraints that natural selection has created. Put
another way, while God may play dice with the universe, Mother Nature does not play dice with sex!

15
This measurement as it relates to attractiveness and fecundity is actually somewhat more complex than a
simple “lower waist-to-hip ratio is better” rule, but in general it holds cross-culturally. See Sugiyama
(2005, pp. 321-326) for complete discussion.
 26

Is it so strange that men and women should have innate imagery detectors designed to identify highly fertile
females16? Not really; animals certainly do, so why should humans be any different? Overall, the system is
argued (Sugiyama, 2005) to have evolved to orient men toward fertile females that have a high probability
of producing healthy offspring, and automatically invests them with a significant amount of sex-drive and
attachment-related emotions; developmentally, interest in this imagery correlates with surges in
testosterone levels in males during adolescence, at just the time when it should become useful and it is used
in females as a way to orient toward potential mate-stealing (and hence offspring resource-stealing)
females; also it is used in women as self-ideal with which to measure one’s own physical competitiveness
(men do this, too, of course).

This system works not only to recognize a sexually and/or romantically attractive female, but also to
generate novel internal imagery of such a person never met before—an “ideal” mate that exists in the mind
a priori (more on this in later chapters); these images that are innately prespecified and can therefore
emerge spontaneously in dreams and undirected fantasy at any given time, particularly when emotion is
present, since they both use the same universal neurobiological circuitry.

The sexual selection data provides evidence of a highly detailed, yet innate value assigning system that can
generate imagery. This is, therefore, evidence of innately (though abstractly) prespecified and affectively
meaningful imagery, as it would be difficult and likely tortuous to explain how any domain general
learning mechanisms could secondarily generate such universal preferences that just so happened to
correlate with high reproductive value, particularly in animals who lack the higher conscious/rational
processing abilities that are frequently invoked in blank-slate learning theories.

In summary, a considerable body of evidence suggests that thinking in images is “older” than thinking in
terms of language, and that imagery is an important foundation to rational thought. Furthermore, the
conceptual system is constrained by the perceptual system, and hence any innate principles that order the
perceptual system will likely order the conceptual system as well. Some imagery has been shown to have
innate affective, value-assigning prespecification and provides evidence of abstract, innate, highly
meaningful imagery that experience colors in and that the mind can generate at any time in anyone.
Furthermore, the subset of imagery known as dream content has been shown to be at least partially focused
on evolutionary concerns that are as much universal as they are unique to the dreamer, and that this activity
correlates with brain activity that is more universal, emotional, nonverbal and environmentally “closed”.

Thus mental imagery has multiple sources; the images of dreams and fantasy, are likely to correlate with
the activity of deeper more universal brain activity. They can also take advantage of innate abstract image
prototypes such as that used to detect high reproductive value females (and males, reviewed in Sugiyama,
2005), and many other types of meaningful innate imagery I will explore in later chapters. But an innate
image prototype is not an archetype or an archetypal image. Archetypal images are more than innate
programs—what is missing is the key element of symbolism.

Symbolism and Metaphor Theory

Symbolism is perhaps the most important aspect of the archetypal image. Jung felt that there was a
fundamental difference between a sign, which is an arbitrary place holder devoid of inherent significance—
like algebraic variables—and a symbol, which is according to Jung (1959b) a concept that the mind uses to
attempt to understand something relatively unknown; it is the “best possible formulation of a relatively
unknown thing” (Jung, 1971, p. 474). In his early work, Jung describes his intuition on the supreme
importance of metaphor and symbol in human thinking in general:

“It seems as if this process of analogy-making had gradually altered and added to the
common stock of ideas and names, with the result that man’s picture of the world was
considerably broadened…a positively overwhelming importance attaches to the little

16
Mechanisms for recognition of high genetic quality males exist also and are reviewed in Sugiyama
(2005).
 27

word ‘like’ in the history of human thought [and] was responsible for some of the most
important discoveries ever made by primitive man.” (Jung, CW5, para 203)

An archetypal image, then is one which originates in the “instincts”—that is both instinct and image:

“The archetype corresponds to the inborn way a chick emerges from the egg, a bird
builds a nest, and eels find their way to the Bermudas…it is a pattern of behavior. This
aspect of the archetype, the biological one, is the proper concern of scientific
psychology”. (Jung, 1955, para 1228)

Jung felt archetypal images were infused with emotion:

“One can speak of an archetype only when these two aspects are simultaneous. When
there is merely the image, then there is simply a word picture of little consequence. But
by being charged with emotion, the image gains numinosity (or psychic energy); it
becomes dynamic, and consequences of some kind must flow from it.” (Jung, MDR,
p.87)

Thus, the archetypal image is not only an image with an inherited structure which experience fills
in, that emerges in correlation with heightened activity of ancient brain structures such as the
dreaming state, and has nontrivial domain-specific prespecification, but it is used in a
metaphorical way to represent something “relatively unknown” to the subject—without this key
factor, it is merely a sign and not a symbol. In order to structure a model of archetypal images that
accounts for this aspect, then, we must explore the data of metaphor theory.

Cognitive Linguistics and Metaphor Theory

In the last few decades, a line of thinking has emerged that has synthesized a number of fields into a
coherent model of how the mind uses metaphors in thought and language. Cognitive linguist George
Lakoff (1997) outlines his findings on the functions of metaphor in unconscious thinking: metaphors, he
argues, are not arbitrary mappings from one literal domain to another (like algebraic variables), but rather
deeply embedded patterns of thinking based on our brain structure. He outlines three basic findings from
the field:

1. Humans constantly use metaphors to explain and understand things.

2. The metaphorical mappings are not purely abstract and arbitrary.
3. Very little everyday language is literal, most of it is metaphorical.

Lakoff and Johnson (1999), drawing from numerous lines of evidence in systematic polysemy, inference
pattern generalization, extensions to poetic and novel cases (Lakoff and Turner, 1989), priming studies
(Boroditzky, 2000), gesture studies (McNeill, 1992), semantic change research (Sweetser, 1990), sign
language analysis (Taub, 1997) and language acquisition (Johnson, 1997), argue that the vast majority of
thought and reasoning is built upon a system of “primary metaphors”, for example the SEEING IS
KNOWING17 metaphor. This metaphor is at the heart of such common phrases as “I see what you mean”,
“lets shed some light on the subject”, “I didn’t understand his point of view”, etc. Of crucial importance to
these primary metaphors, however, is that they are embodied, that is, rooted in physical biological
experience, in this case visuospatial experience. This primary metaphor then gives rise to all the commonly
used SEEING IS KNOWING expressions that are easily recognized by everyone, even when used in novel
ways. Other examples of primary metaphors are MORE IS UP (“prices are high today”), CHANGE IS
MOTION (“I don’t know where these ideas are leading us”), CAUSES ARE FORCES (“he pushed me into
doing something bad”), and many others (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999, pp.45-59), that are the building blocks
are more complex metaphors such as LOVE IS A JOURNEY (“this relationship is heading in different
directions, the marriage is off track, we may have to bail out, we’re in this together”, etc.). These
metaphors are grounded in our physical experience, such as physical movement, sensory data, motion, and

17
Here I use the standard practice of all caps for mentalese.
 28

spatial relationships, but are mapped from more conceptually nebulous domains such as time, mind, self,
morality and virtually everything else. Some examples of Primary Metaphors are given below (adapted
from Lakoff and Johnson, 1999, pp. 50-54; see also Grady, 1997):

Visuospatial metaphors
Important is Big: “we have a big problem here”
Happy is Up and Sad is Down: “my moods have been up and down lately”
More is Up and Less is Down: “the price of gas has risen and fallen today”
Understanding is Grasping: “he could not get hold of the concepts being taught”
Intimacy is Closeness: “we are getting closer as a couple”
Similarity is Closeness: “he was so close to the right answer”
Categories are Containers: “I think you are in the wrong”
Measurements are Paths: “her running speed surpassed his”
Time is Motion: “winter passed by us slowly”
Change is Motion: “his views are moving from Republican to Democrat”
Mental states are Locations: “suddenly he flew into a rage”
Purposes are Destinations: “she is working hard to reach her goals in life”
Purposes are Objects: “you should take any opportunity you have to improve”
Relationships are Containers: “we have been in this marriage together for years”

Somatic Primary Metaphors

Affection is Warmth: “warm wishes to you all”
Difficulties are Burdens: “this assignment is weighing me down”
Causes are Forces: “stop pushing her to leave”

Metaphors are “mappings” that translate data from one domain, say the emotional domain, and “map” it
into another domain, say “traveling”, to create things like the LOVE IS A JOURNEY metaphor, and this
mapping is used by the brain to make nebulous concepts more concrete and understandable. Metaphors are
therefore based on our biology; metaphors for anger, for example, cross-culturally emerge from the
physiology of anger (Kövecses, 1986, 1990). Rather than a trick of language or airy poetic invention,
metaphors are a healthy type of thinking, wherein sensory information or internal states are perceived as
visual (or other) phenomena that help us to understand and construct the mysterious aspects of our mental
world.

Metaphors are crucial to the way we understand the world as humans, well beyond simple primary
metaphors. Complex metaphors are the source of imagination, since they allows us to map things we know
well cognitively from our neurobiology, such as the visuospatial system, to things we are trying to
understand, like the universe, the mind, and emotions. But the key insight is that this foundation—an
unconscious metaphor-generating system—is not random, but founded in the physical makeup of our
brains and primary experience of the world; it is embodied. This system is therefore grounded in
neurobiology, is unconscious, and underlies most of our waking thought and language, including the
highest expressions of art, philosophy and poetry. According to Lakoff and Johnson:

“Metaphorical maps are part of our brains, [and] we will think and speak metaphorically
whether we want to or not.” (Lakoff and Johnson, 2003, p. 257)

Elsewhere the authors describe metaphors as:

“a natural phenomenon. Conceptual metaphor is a natural part of human thought, and

linguistic metaphor is a natural part of human language. Moreover, which metaphors we
have and what they mean depend on the nature of our bodies, our interactions in the
physical environment, and our social and cultural practices…[furthermore] metaphor is a
neural phenomenon….They constitute the neural mechanism that naturally, and
inevitably, recruits sensory-motor inference for use in abstract thought. Primary
metaphors arise spontaneously and automatically without our being aware of them.”
(Lakoff and Johnson, 2003, pp. 247-256, emphasis added)
 29

Lakoff explores the creativity of this system:

“…because of the wide range of possibilities permitted by the metaphor system, one
person’s dreams can have powerful meanings for other people. Other people’s dreams
hold for us the same fascination as myth and literature—a potential vehicle for finding
meaning in our own lives. It is the operation of our metaphor systems that allows such a
possibility.” Lakoff (1997, p.108)

The metaphors cited by Lakoff should be familiar to Jungian dream analysts: LOVE IS A JOURNEY,
ANGER IS HEAT, INSTINCTS ARE ANIMALS, or THE MIND IS A HOUSE (Lakoff, 1997, p.117;
Lakoff and Turner, 1989; Lakoff and Johnson, 1999). Dream researcher G. Domhoff (2003) criticized
Jungian dream interpretation by stating that the archetype is more easily explained as “merely” a shared
cultural metaphor, citing that the same metaphors can be found cross culturally (Lakoff, and Johnson, 1999;
Yu, 1999). But an archetypal image is not simply a metaphor, it is a special kind of metaphor that
comprises the innate, the affective, and the instinctual—more on this below.

Finally, metaphors are relational structures; that is, they represent relationships between things. In one
series of experiments, subjects were asked to provide metaphors that supported each side of a debate over
whether the federal budget should be balanced at the cost of cutting social programs. Most subjects were
able to provide over ten metaphors in just a few minutes, over 80% of them having nothing to do with
economics or politics. This pattern of novel metaphor generation held when hundreds of newspaper
clippings were analyzed discussing politics (Blanchette and Dunbar, 2000, 2001). Here we can see this
“symbol generator” in action—a mechanism we all share (provided the proper neural structures are intact)
for recognizing and symbolizing relational patterns in the world. Note that in comparison, Brooke (1991)
has argued that archetypal images are also relational structures—but more on this below.

In summary, cognitive linguists have determined that the mind constantly uses metaphors, which are
defined as mappings that re-describe ephemeral concepts as concrete concepts—with the implicit
understanding that they are not literally equivalent but equivalent by analogy. Anger is “like” fire, for
example, but anger is not literally fire. The constant use of metaphor is universal and, since we all have the
same physiology, we tend to use the same kinds of metaphors. In other words, all brains are better at
comprehending visuospatial data than deeply felt emotions, so we frequently describe love as a journey,
sadness as a descent (“falling into despair”), elation as an ascent (“with head in the clouds”), and so on.

Lakoff and Johnson (1999) draw from decades of research in cognitive neuroscience, discourse coherence
studies, historical semantic change studies, language acquisition studies, sign language and spontaneous
gesture studies have shown that humans come to conceptualize the world in terms of a large collection of
metaphors that are ubiquitous and grounded in physical experience. What distinguishes humans is that
somewhere along the primate line we developed the ability to represent other things as if they were objects
moving in space. So now we can take things that are difficult to understand to our limited brains, like the
time, emotions, or death, and say “time is like a river”, “love is like a journey”, or “death is like a window”.

Meet Mr. Literal

The findings of metaphor theory are striking in their simplicity—but they are easy to underestimate. In
order to illustrate just how much of our thinking is metaphorical, and hence symbolic, let me introduce you
to Mr. Literal. Mr. Literal takes everything we say absolutely literally. He’s a funny guy that way.
Problem is, you can’t have a conversation with him, because normal people just don’t think this way.
Here’s an example of a conversation I had with him just the other day:

Me: “So, Mr. Literal, do you see what I’m trying to say?”
Mr. Literal: “No…because you can’t see what people say. Words can’t be seen.”
Me: “Ugh…I mean do you understand what I’m saying?”
Mr. Literal: “Huh? How can you stand under a word?”
Me: “Oh good grief! Look, I’m going to show you what I mean.”
 30

Mr. Literal: “How can you show me what you mean? Oh, and also you can’t go to a statement.”
Me: “Are you saying I can barely go through a single sentence without using a metaphor?”
Mr. Literal: “Excuse me, Dr. Goodwyn, but you cannot go through a sentence, and you cannot use a
metaphor as if it were an object.”
Me: (pulls out gun and shoots Mr. Literal). “There. That solves it.”
Mr. Literal: (in death throes) “but a problem isn’t a liquid that has a solution…” (choke, die)

Thus, the only way we “understand” the world, cognitive linguists have “shown”, is “through” the “use” of
metaphor, even to the “level” of our preverbal thoughts. See how this works? Slowly, it seems, through
the course of evolution, our ancestors developed the ability to think of experiences “as if” they were objects
moving around in space. This ability predates language, which allows us to further specify the details of
these more vague visual “thoughts”. But the preverbal language underlies the verbal one, and directs most
of how we think—except, that is, for the most banal facts of existence.

Dream Symbols and Metaphor Theory

Earlier I showed that dream scientists largely agree that the dreaming state differs from the waking state
primarily in the origin of the mental imagery entertained—with waking imagery more consciously directed,
and dream imagery emerging from the deeper “layers” of the brain/mind. Lakoff (1997) illustrates how the
metaphor system is apparently used during this state:

“What Freud called symbolization, displacement, condensation, and reversal appear to be

the same mechanisms that cognitive scientists refer to as conceptual metaphor,
conceptual metonymy, conceptual blending, and irony. But whereas Freud saw these
mechanisms as irrational modes of primary-process thinking, cognitive scientists have
found these modes to be an indispensable part of ordinary, rational thought, which is
largely unconscious” (p. 90, emphasis in original)

Lakoff goes on to state that:

“The metaphor system plays a generative role in dreaming….That is, the metaphor
system, which is in place for waking thought and expression, is also available during
sleep and provides a natural mechanism for relating concrete images to abstract
meanings. Of course, upon waking, the dreamer may well not be aware of the meaning
of the dream, since he or she did not consciously direct the choice of dream imagery to
metaphorically express the meaning of the dream….[however] The system of metaphors,
though unconscious, is not ‘repressed’….dreams are [neither] just the weird and
meaningless product of random neural firings, but rather a natural way by which
emotionally charged fears, desires, and descriptions of difficulties in life are expressed.”
(1997, p. 104-107)

Regarding dream metaphors, at one point Lakoff even states that “When I read books on dream analysis by
psychotherapists, I rarely find much attention accorded to those aspects of the meanings of dreams that
depend on the everyday metaphor system,” (1997, p. 119)—a sentiment that shows an apparent
unfamiliarity with Jung’s writings on dreams. Jung understood the symbol to be a powerful shaper of
dream and fantasy imagery; arguing it should not be taken literally but rather metaphorically (numerous
examples can be found in Jung, 1984, 2008).

Important presently is the apparent similarity of Jung’s concept of the symbol and Lakoff and Johnson’s
concept of the metaphor. Both concepts are defined not as arbitrary signs devoid of inherent meaning but
as meaningful mappings that analogize something unknown to something known. In the case of Lakoff and
Johnson, the “known” is a well difined sensorimotor experience and the “unknown” is an aspect of
experience that is vague, abstract, or otherwise difficult to concretely describe, i.e. understanding the
experience of “knowing” in terms of visual experience (“seeing”).
 31

In the case of Jung, the known is the dream or mythic image (visuospatial data) at face value, and the
unknown is the emotional meaning or otherwise ineffable concept that this visual image is inferred to mean
to the subject. Both formulations, then, appear to be exploring the same phenomenon, though Jung went
further in describing a set of symbols that he postulated were “archetypal”, that is, loaded with emotion,
“primordial” with respect to consciousness, numinous and “instinctual”.

Thus, the metaphor system is deep rooted and works the same during dreaming as it does during waking,
with the exception being that what is being mapped into a symbolic image is consciously directed during
waking state, whereas during dreaming or fantasy, it is unconsciously directed. This becomes important in
later chapters where I give a detailed example of this system at work. Presently, what metaphor theory tells
us is that when we dream, the unconscious layers of the mind are stating “the current situation I am in is
like this collection of images.”

An Example of Novel Complex Metaphor Construction

This metaphor generating process is capable of tremendous creativity in human thought, dreaming or not,
since it provides us with a method for building complex metaphors from primary ones. As Lakoff and
Johnson (2003) point out, this does not happen by magic but rather via known psychological mechanisms:

“Innovation and novelty are not miraculous; they do not come out of nowhere. They are
built using the tools of everyday metaphorical thought, as well as other commonplace
conceptual mechanisms.” (p. 251)

The authors give the example of the “Grim Reaper” symbol made popular in the Middle Ages during the
prevalence of the Black Death. The Grim Reaper is of course a complex metaphor using the People are
Plants, Death is a Departure metaphors and the Death is a Skeleton metaphors, combined with the Cowls =
monk’s robes = funerals metonymies18. The combination of these metaphors formed an emotionally
powerful symbol of death at a time when death was unavoidably common and gruesome. Note that the
conceptual power of this system lies in its combinatorial capacity to generate new metaphors with new
implied meanings from more basic parts, and the imagery is easily understood even without verbal
explanation.

What becomes evident through this process is that the mapping is what creates meaning from the metaphor.
Even primary metaphors contain this additional meaning generator within them. Time is not literally
“passing by” anyone, yet when conceptualized this way new meaning is found and new understanding
generated. The meanings, however, are elusive to specific explication; there is really no better way to
express the combination of despair, inevitability, and perhaps solemnity of the Grim Reaper symbol except
as it is. Reducing it to the simple one-to-one sign Grim Reaper = Death erases the more subtle points
utilized in the image such as the monks robes, the scythe, and the agricultural symbolism of people as
dying but playing a part in the life-death cycle. The only way to explain metaphors, then, is through other
metaphors. This, I propose, is the ineffable core of meaning that is contained in the metaphor. It is
ineffable since there is really no other way to explain it except in metaphorical terms, and the reason for
this limitation is merely the fact that our brains are not infinite (despite our frequent delusions to the
contrary). If our brains understood everything as well as we understood objects, creatures, and movement,
we wouldn’t need to use metaphors of moving objects and creatures to symbolize them.

Though psycholinguists disagree on primary metaphor acquisition (Pinker, 2007), they agree that the use of
metaphor is an innate capacity in humans, and we constantly use metaphors of things we perceive with
great clarity like objects moving in space, to represent things we perceive more nebulously like feelings,
time, society, the universe, death, and many other things. Metaphors, and hence symbols (“archetypal” or
not), therefore represent patterns: patterns of the world, patterns of our feelings, patterns of relationship,
that, being metaphors, contain an ineffable core of meaning that cannot be described except in terms of
other metaphors; nevertheless, they are of paramount importance to the way we understand things.

18
Metonymy is the process of making a part of an object represent the whole object and is a common
occurrence in language (Pinker, 2007)
 32

Metaphor Theory and Analytical Psychology

Recall above that I showed the evidence for an “ideal female” (or male) image according to evolutionary
psychology. This innate image prototype is not a symbol. It is a straightforward image that orients humans
toward high-genetic quality others (either as potential mates or as sexual rivals), and, due to decoupled
cognition allows for such imagery to be conjured up spontaneously, particularly in dreaming or fantasy
states when deeper “layers” of the brain/mind have freer reign of what is perceived subjectively. What
metaphor theory shows is that the brain/mind also has the ability to use this imagery in an as if manner.
Thus the image can become more than just an image, it can become a symbol; as such it can be used to
symbolize many different things. Furthermore, this frequently occurs during dreaming.

Since symbols are mappings that metaphorically equate something the brain/mind understands well to
something it does not understand as well, this means that the ideal other image could be used similarly in
the same way that objects moving in space are—that is, they can be ubiquitously used as metaphors. This
is because ideal other imagery is something well known to every intact human brain. Thus it can be used to
symbolize something relatively unknown—meaning appreciated with relatively less clarity. Anything that
can be shown to be well “understood” by the brain as a consequence of its evolutionary history can be used
to generate symbols of things less well understood. As Lakoff (1997) pointed out, this appears to happen
frequently in dreaming, and moreover, the data on mental imagery, affective neuroscience and evolutionary
psychology appears to argue that ancient affective concerns are more prominent in dream imagery—hence
dream symbols are more likely to be “instinctual” and affective, which suggests they can be archetypal.

This puts us in a position to understand archetypal images from these many perspectives. Accordingly, it
appears that an archetypal image:
.
1. Is a symbol that represents something difficult to grasp by using something easily comprehended.
2. The imagery used is “innate” in the sense that the brain/mind naturally resorts to images that we
are “hard wired” to process with great clarity and differentiation, such as objects moving in space,
“ideal” males/females, and many other concepts I will describe in later chapters.
3. This imagery is furthermore linked to our emotional experience—an ideal mate, for example, is
not a dry emotionless calculation but one fraught with specific motivational significance
(subjectively felt as affect) because of our evolutionary history. This aspect of the symbol
differentiates the archetypal image from an arbitrary symbol devoid of innate meaning and also
provides it with an “instinctual” origin, since emotions derive from evolutionary sources.
4. The image, as a symbol, is ultimately ineffable and remains a stand-alone mental construct that
cannot be described in other terms without resorting to using other metaphors.
5. Finally, the image emerges when the brain/mind is in a state that is weighted toward the deeper,
more universal layers, such as dreaming or reverie, and is therefore more unconsciously directed
than consciously directed—such sources can be either implicit layers related to personal history or
deeper layers related to species history.

This description of the archetypal image can therefore be broken down into two components, the image and
the concept that the image is being used to represent. The image is an innate brain product derived from
domain specific programs that use prespecified emotional attribution and data recognizing/generating
mechanisms (described by Tooby, et al, 2005) such as mate recognition, mother, father, predator, etc. This
skeletal image/meaning system is colored in by experience to generate more detailed imagery.

Since it is recognized that archetypal images are defined as symbols (Jung, 1959b, 2008), however, these
are more than just images. Rather, they represent something that is only equivalent to the image by
analogy. Furthermore, since it is produced by unconscious processes rather than consciously, what the
image symbolizes is not explicitly known—rather, it is only known implicitly. Last, we must remember
that the mind is using a symbol here because what it represents is not easily comprehended; it’s a symbol
for a reason. Love, for example, is something we feel deeply but cannot easily describe in concrete
linguistic terms without resorting to metaphor (it is perhaps impossible), and this is presumably because our
brains are not hard-wired to process “love” in ways it is hard wired to process visuospatial data such as
 33

moving objects. But obviously love exists19, and so we are forced to describe this nebulous entity with
metaphors—in fact we can never escape doing so. Archetypal symbols, with their presumed origin in the
deepest layers of the mind, likely describe perceptions that are even more difficult to quantify and process
—hence they can be highly ineffable expressions.

This leads us to conclude that any images that are archetypal will be images that are inherently mysterious
to our limited brain/minds 1) because of this ineffability and 2) because it is generated in deeper layers.
The imagery itself is derived from innate prespecified programs we all share, colored by early
developmental experiences, but what it means, or rather what the image metaphorically represents,
originates from the deepest layers of our highly conserved affective consciousness. It can be something as
simple as a static dream image or it can be an entire narrative in complexity, as stories can be metaphors
just as static images can. A particularly emotional image or image sequence may therefore be a symbol of
an important process not only relevant to personal history but to species history; the latter of these two
would arguably be the most emotionally moving. Of course, dream and fantasy images may not be
symbolic; they may be literal. Either is possible, but Jung seemed to think that particular symbols that
recurred time and again throughout history which people held in high regard even if they could not fully
explain them were likely candidates as archetypal symbols.

Searching for Gods

What I hope I have established so far is that the brain is not a blank slate but contains lots of innate
predispositions well beyond “sex” and “aggression”. Rather, the brain has a structure that stretches far
back into evolutionary time. In the following chapters, I will show how these simple principles can help us
understand the neurobiology of the gods.

19
Provided we recognize it as the subjective aspect of a monistic brain/mind phenomenon (Goodwyn,
2009b).
 34

PART II: INDIVIDUAL SYMBOLS—GODS OF THE MIND

Chapter 3: Human and Animal Symbols

So far I have explored the view the archetypal symbol as an unconsciously derived metaphor that is
charged with affect and evolutionary significance, that uses innate imagery programs to represent things
unconsciously perceived or that the brain/mind is ill-equipped to process with great clarity due to its limited
nature. Now I can provide a specific example of how this may work, using the case of “animate” symbols
—that is, images of creatures moving through space. Since we are dealing with symbols, however, we will
by necessity be limited by the fact that all symbols have an ineffable core of meaning that cannot be
explicitly defined. This is because if it could be so defined, the brain/mind would not need a symbol to
represent it. This requires a certain humility, since metaphors can only be described in terms of other
metaphors (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999, 2003), which means we are essentially trying to describe something
that really cannot be described concretely.

Other Minds

Below the cerebral cortex, human brains and animal brains are surprisinglysimilar. Panksepp calls these
areas “deep functional homologies in mammalian brains which arise from a massively shared genetic
heritage” (Panksepp, 2005, p. 60). This statement refers to the way in which we conceptualize brain
activity, but as we will see it applies to symbols also. But in order to understand the neurobiology of
animal symbols (which include humans and theriomorphic20 symbols), we need to explore the way in which
the mind comprehends intentionality, as this will be the key to understanding the peculiar qualities of
anthropomorphic symbols that the brain creates. As I will show, other minds are one of those things the
brain “gets”, and so we symbolize many things with them.

Anything that has the qualities of intentionality and self-generated movement call into play our ability as
humans to divine other’s intentions. In other words, when presented with an object in the sensory domain,
there are mental tasks that are unconsciously carried out that determine whether or not the object is animate
or inanimate, and if animate, what its “intentions” are, i.e., what it “wants”. This ability is known as
“theory of mind” (TOM), and represents our ability to sense and guess at another’s beliefs, desires and
intentions, and helps us to navigate the social environment as humans. Most importantly, it is not acquired
via domain-general learning mechanisms. According to evolutionary psychologists (Atran, 2005),
anthropologists (Brown, 1991; Dunbar, 2003) and neuroscientists (Brüne and Ute, 2006), this ability has
been shown to be an evolved psychological skill to infer others mental states and emotions; TOM is in fact
an entrenched neural system that comprises the social brain in humans and non-human primates.

TOM likely evolved as a result of an “evolutionary arms race” wherein increasingly social animals needed
brains that could infer anothers intentions (Byrne, 2003). This developed into a TOM faculty in humans.
Psychologists Brüne and Ute state “…almost certainly there is an innate ‘hard-wired’ foundation of the
theory of mind faculty…” (2006). This faculty develops according to predictable stages.

Human infants, for example, can distinguish between the movement of animate and inanimate objects by as
early as six months (Golinkoff et al, 1984). At 12 months, the skill improves, and infants can form a triad
consisting of the infant’s perception, the perception of another agent such as her mother, and another
object. At 14-18 months, infants can turn their heads to follow the gaze of others and can understand
desire, intention and causal relations between internal states and goals (Saxe et al, 2004). 18 month old

20
Theriomorphic symbols combine human and animal attributes; examples from mythology include the
Minotaur (man-bull), the mermaid (woman-fish) and most of the Egyptian pantheon; there are many others
world-wide.
 35

toddlers can differentiate between reality and pretense, recognize themselves in mirrors and engage in
pretend play. By 3 years of age, children can express self-propelled versus caused motion (Karmiloff-
Smith, 1992, p. 81), and TOM improves still more, in that children of this age can distinguish between their
own and other’s beliefs (Perner and Wimmer, 1985). By age 4, children have an intact theory of mind,
which ascribes belief, intentionality, pretend, humor, and discrimination between mental and nonmental
phenomena (Karmiloff-Smith, 1992, pp. 132-133). By 6 years old children can comprehend metaphor and
irony (Ackerman, 1981). These developmental stages appear to constitute a human universal—meaning
they are observed cross-culturally (Avis and harris, 1991)—and codevelop with language acquisition (Frith
and Frith, 2003) and, importantly, progressively more symbolic dream imagery (Foulkes, 1999). This
ability even works with pictures of implied motion (Gallese and Goldman, 1998; Kourtzi and Kanwisher,
2000; Ruby and Decety, 2001; Paus, 2001). The TOM ability also appears to be malfunctioning in a
variety of psychiatric disorders including autism and to a lesser degree, schizophrenia (for a review, see
Brüne and Ute, 2006; see also Burns, 2006).

What all of this research points to are the mechanisms that give perceived objects the qualities of animate
vs inanimate, intentionality, belief, gaze, pretense, desire, and irony; all of this reliably emerges universally
despite wide differences in culture. In the following sections I explore a lot of detail about the way the
mind generates animal and human symbols—but don’t lose sight of the main goal, which is to understand
how this system as a whole creates symbols that come to be understood as spiritual entities like gods and
demons.

Animal Symbolism

At the neurobiological level, we share a tremendous emotional heritage with animals, particularly mammals
(Panksepp, 1998), including neurobiological circuitry for FEAR, RAGE, PANIC, SEEKING, as well as
higher order emotional systems of CARE, LUST and rough-and-tumble PLAY; there is abundant evidence
that animals share many if not all these same basic emotional states with humans, particularly all mammals
as attested to by their striking similarity in structure and function (reviewed at length in Panksepp, 2005).
This common heritage is shared in the deeper emotional systems of every human, thus these structures
remain very “animal-like”.

There are more specific systems; much of the available data comes from infant and cross-cultural as well as
neurobiology. For example, animal vs non-animal distinctions develop precociously in infants (Gopnik and
Meltzoff, 1987; Mandler and McDonough, 1998; Quinn and Eimas, 1996). This ability emerges despite
their being not enough environmental information for general learning mechanisms: infants can
discriminate complex information about goal directed behavior such as pursuit and evasion in experimental
objects (Abell et al, 2000; Castelli et al, 2000), and discriminate animal from non animal on basis of shape
even when shapes have considerable overlap (like birds and airplanes) (Mandler and McDonough, 1998).
This capacity develops quite early; three month old infants, for example, become upset if faces go still, but
not if an object suddenly stops moving (Gelman et al, 1995).

The animal perceptual/conceptual system not only makes TOM distinctions and animal vs. non-animal
distinctions, but further delineates animals on the basis of their behavior type. Toddlers as young as 3 years
old in two very different cultures consistently show evidence of an intact “predator-prey inference system”
(reviewed in Barrett, 2005), and have a precocious ability to acquire animal information and have animal-
specialized memory systems that are functionally and neuronally separate from non-animal information
systems (Caramazza and Shelton, 1998). Humans are preferentially adept at discriminating pursuit and
evasion from other types of motion (Abell, et al, 2000), are more sensitive to changes in scenes involving
animals than non-animals (New, et al, 2003), and sensitive to animal images over other images in
peripheral vision fields (Thorpe, et al, 2001). Furthermore, humans are highly sensitive to gaze direction,
which in turn causes autonomic (heart rate and breathing) arousal (Coss and Goldthwaite, 1995). The
tendency of humans to anthropomorphize animals from an early age is well known and likely associated
with the brain regions involved in TOM processing. There appears to be good reason for this personifying;
there is evidence that this tendency leads to accurate predictions of animal behavior among hunter-
gatherers in cultures as distinct as the Amazon and the Kalahari desert, even in children as young as 3 years
old; this and other data suggest that this activity is part of an evolved system for intentional inference—in
 36

other words, attributing human emotional states to animals is an evolved psychological adaptation (Barrett,
2005, pp.214-215)

This innate animal organizing system, known in cognitive science as “folk biology” is not arbitrary or
culturally determined except in very fine details (Atran, 2005). On the contrary, converging evidence from
ethology, crosscultural studies, developmental psychology, cognitive psychology, pathology, social and
educational studies, and cognitive anthropology show that folk biology conceptualizations are innate,
domain specific and may actually be evolutionary adaptations (reviewed in Atran, 2005, pp.143-149; see
also Atran, 2002a). Note that specifying something as innate is not as strong as saying it is domain
specific, which in turn is not as strong as saying it is an adaptation. The folk biology system, evolutionary
psychologist Scott Atran argues, appears by all accounts to be an adaptation—remember that Atran was the
guy who theorized that religion is an evolutionary by-product of the predator-prey detection system, but
more on that later.

Finally, Atran (2005) shows that this system is essentialist: that is, each taxa is innately recognized as
having a characteristic intuitive “essence”, for example, a tadpole and a frog, though vastly different in
appearance and behavior, are automatically placed in the same category as being “the same thing” even
though there is little evidence to suggest why children should come to this conclusion except via an innate
ordering structure (see also Ahn, et al, 2001; Gelman, et al, 1994). This concept therefore allows for shape
changing creatures to have the same “essence”—this is starting to sound like notions of the “spirit” isn’t it?
This essentialism is cross-culturally present in preschoolers and is only utilized in relation to animal
objects; children do not apply essentialism to artifacts (i.e. tools) (Ahn et al, 2001, p. 61), and the notion of
essence is frequently applied to metaphors throughout adult life and expanded to describe things such as the
“essence of being” or the “essence of the universe” (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999).

To summarize, then, research shows that humans have an innate system for recognizing, categorizing, and
organizing animal data in distinct, essentialist categories that has considerable pre-existing information.
This system commands attention, leads to precocious acquisition of knowledge in informationally
impoverished psychological environments that gives animals a special place in the mind, attributes to them
an immutable “essence”, and invests them with human-like thoughts and behaviors, and (recalling dream
research on children) tends to identify them with the subject. Note that even a system this complex and
rich would be even richer if humans had any innate predispositions toward specific classes of animals. As
it turns out, we do.

Snakes and spiders

Humans and other higher primates have evolved innate mechanisms to specifically recognize spiders and
snakes that requires minimal environmental input compared to other mechanisms (Hagan, 2005). Using a
variety of research methods such as interviews, field observations and laboratory studies, evidence has
accumulated that suggests humans have an evolved and distinct “module” that is responsive to snakes and
spiders in particular; for example, in humans and other primates, fear of snake-like objects is preferentially
acquired and retained over innocuous stimuli regardless of environmental variation. Humans are more
likely to make illusory associations with snakes and negative stimuli (compared to non-snake associations),
even when no such association is actually present, and even when stimuli are backward masked—meaning
subliminal, which circumvents conscious awareness (above data reviewed in Simpson and Campbell, 2005,
p.138; see also Barrett, 2005, p.207). This and other evidence leads Tooby and Cosmides (2005) to
conclude that this data:

“…not only establishes the necessity of evolved motivational elements but also resurrects
the argument for the necessity of [Immanuel Kant’s] ‘innate ideas,’ that is, evolved
conceptual procedures within the cognitive architecture that embody knowledge about the
world and are triggered by stimuli with certain features (however abstractly described).”
(p.50)

Elsewhere, Tooby et al (2005) conclude that:

 37

“for natural selection to cause safe distances from snakes to be preferred over closeness
to snakes, it must build the recognition of snake-like entities into our neurocomputational
architecture. This system of recognition and tagging operations is computationally a
snake concept, albeit a skeletally specified one….” (p. 321)

Spiders appear to have the same effect. Human subjects, for example, can rapidly pick out pictures of
snakes and spiders from arrays of fear-irrelevant objects such as flowers and mushrooms much more
quickly than they can do the opposite task (Öhman, et al, 2001); furthermore, snake and spider images are
detected prior to attending them and spontaneously emerge into consciousness as a “pop out” effect. The
effects of snakes and spiders cannot be accounted for by statistical learning or content-free inductive
inferences, which would predict modern urban subjects to reliably develop fears of, say, electric sockets
and cars rather than snakes (Cosmides and Tooby, 2005, p.619)—on the contrary, urban schoolchildren
state they most fear lions, tigers, “monsters”, spiders and snakes, often reflecting dangers they have never
experienced (Marks, 1987). After all, shouldn’t they be more afraid of high cholesterol and cigarettes?
These kill more modern urbanites than venomous reptiles.

But the brain isn’t built that way. What it is built for is organizing data into animal related data, with
special information about predator-prey, gaze, essentialist and anthropomorphic TOM-related and snake or
spider related detail—further detail is likely present here; more studies need to be done. What we do know
is that the brain innately understands animals! This makes animals prime targets for use as symbols. So
then the question becomes, how does the brain typically use them?

The first clues come from dream content research, since it provides us with a variety of non-consciously
directed images. Children dream of animals more often than adults (Domhoff, 2003; Van de Castle, 1994),
and children represent themselves as animals in dreams up to age 8 (Foulkes, 1999), where, superimposing
upon this tendency and paralleling development in visuospatial ability (Robertson, 1998) and metaphor
construction, they dream about multiple selves, which coincides with the ability to see other points of view;
in other words, the TOM capacity is co-opted and comes ‘online’ by this time, and is incorporated into the
dream content.

Foulkes suggests “that animal characters stand in for the dreamer before the dreamer can be directly and
actively represented in dreams” (Foulkes, 1999, p. 87)—a hint at the symbolic character of these images.
By age 7 to 8, self representation develops in dream imagery as a reliably developing phenomenon that
parallels the child’s visuospatial skill in waking life; in other words, self-characters in dreams emerge as a
consequence of normal brain development by age 7, and are correlated to the child’s ability to differentiate
herself as knower and as a concept (this is called “meta-cognition”), a capacity obviously related to the
growing TOM ability. By age 13, children develop dream character “double self-reference” (Foulkes,
1999, p. 112), i.e. characters representing the child but seen as external characters, and this occurrence was
also correlated with visuospatial ability.

Here we see dream images of the dreamer in various guises acting things out in the dream, correlated with
visuospatial skill (i.e., the neurobiological ability to generate mental imagery). Now, long ago, Jung
postulated that dream characters represented “complexes” (Jung, 1919, 1953a, 1959b, 1974, 1984, 2008;
Hall, 1983), or unconscious aspects of the dreamer’s own personality21, rather than simply recalling or
reviewing people encountered during waking life. This is an important point, so let me reiterate—all this
data suggests that dream characters act out parts of the dreamer’s personality. Sound simple? It is—but the
consequences are far reaching.

There is still a further distinction in the imagery between common animals such as dogs and cats and so-
called “wild animals” like bears, lions, tigers, gorillas, elephants, bulls, dinosaurs, dragons and monsters,

21
More severely brain damaged subjects had a larger number of dream characters than mildly damaged
(Kramer and Roth, 1975)—further linking consciousness, in this case impaired via brain damage, and
complexes to dream imagery/symbols. If consciousness is damaged, and dream characters represent
implicit systems, one would expect just such a result because the personality is less coherent and more
“divided”.
 38

which account for 27 percent of animal characters in children’s dreams as opposed to 7 percent in adult
dreams (Van de Castle, 1994, pp. 305-308), recalling the theme of the more implicit processing dominated
brain of youth as being more concerned with wild animals and other more “primitive” concerns than the
adult. Importantly, however, this distinction is less pronounced in hunter-gatherers, who continue to dream
about wild animals into adulthood (Revonsuo, 2000), presumably because the environments they live in are
more similar to the ancestral human environment.

Note that in most of these studies, the children had never encountered any of the wild animals dreamt about
(Revonsuo, 2000). Furthermore, “wild” animals (as opposed to dogs, cats or goldfish) are dreamt more
often by boys than girls, and interestingly, women dream of more mammals than non-mammals, which is
reversed in men. Finally, dreams with aggression increase as the presence of animal figures increases, and
increased animal figures in dream content also coincides with more misfortunes, apprehension and
disorientation, and efforts to cope with challenges posed within the dream as well as unfamiliar settings; all
of these findings point to more of the symbolic meaning behind animal images. Interestingly, bird figures
in dreams are a cultural universal (Van de Castle, 1994, p. 310), as are dreams involving snakes or snake-
like creatures such as eels (Hall and Nordby, 1972). As we will see, snakes and birds are well represented
in more consciously directed symbolism such as that of mythology, religion, and the quasi-religious
symbolism of medieval European, Middle-Eastern and Chinese alchemy.

This raises an interesting aside, in that Jung was so frequently criticized for hypothesizing innate imagery
and accused of Lamarckianism. He stated in his defense time and again that this was not the case, but that
he was talking about inherited form, and not content:

“The archetypal representations (images and ideas) mediated to us by the unconscious

should not be confused with the archetype as such. [The images] are very varied
structures which all point back to one essentially ‘irrepresentable’ basic form [of the
archetype as such].” (Jung, 1919, p. 213)

Thus, Jung tried to preserve his intuition about some kind of inherited symbolic process without resorting
to the scientifically unpopular view that inherited representational content was possible. As others have
pointed out, however, Jung occasionally slipped into this usage anyway (Brooke, 1991, p. 138), leading
some to characterize this as careless use of terminology. The above literature on snake images, however, is
strongly suggestive of (as Tooby and Cosmides point out) the existence of innate ideas about snakes and
spiders, scientific popularity be damned. Thus, despite the unpopularity of the idea, and Jung’s cautious
but ambivalent stance regarding the concept, it seems there actually is innate imagery, at least on an
abstract level, when it comes to snakes (and other environmental data like ideal mates and other images).
Our human propensity to create metaphor, then, raises this unconscious apperceptive predisposition to the
symbolic level.

An Exploration of Animal Symbols

If all this data is correct, then our brains have a thorough understanding of animals—perhaps as much as we
do for objects and motion in space. Here, the mind creates a mapping of something experienced, and
creates an image that has an essence, a predator-prey dimension, an anthropomorphic set of beliefs and
intentions and likely a host of other aspects yet to be uncovered by empirical research. The mind then says
“this situation/feeling/impression is like this animal”. In a dream, it might be seen as a concrete image. In
other words, the brain uses animals to create symbols. But symbols of what? This is a tough question,
since because they are symbols, they have an ineffable core of meaning; this keeps us from explaining
things as precisely as we like to do in science. But that’s just too bad; we can’t escape our brains. Literally
speaking, emotions are not fire nor is fire anger. Fire is a chemical reaction. Anger is a stimulation of the
RAGE circuit. They are not the same—but then again, symbolically they are the same, and everyone
knows it! Metaphors are “lies that tell the truth”, but try to explain why, though, and you will find yourself
just using more metaphors. To proceed from here all we can really do is look at what animals have been
used to symbolize in the past and see if there is some commonality; if it is truly arbitrary, then animals
should be used to symbolize pretty much anything. As we will see, however, this is not the case. Humans
 39

use animals in particular ways to symbolize difficult-to-describe things that have a lot to do with not only
our emotions but the mysteries that lie beyond our brain’s limited capacities.

Scholars of symbolism such as Jung have noted that many symbols recur throughout history and cross-
culturally. The evidence that supports Jung’s idea of a richly detailed “collective unconscious” that is
highly creative, emotionally moving and firmly anchored in evolutionary history, however, forces us to
recognize that the symbolic images of such a system must have some kind of common meaning throughout
the human condition that is not dependent upon the vagarities of culture and upbringing, but rooted in our
deeper experience as homo sapiens. This is the meaning that cross-cultural and panhistorical studies of
symbols are trying to approach, and this is the meaning that I am proposing is rooted in our neurobiology.

Animal Symbols in Myth, Religion and Folk Tales

Animal drawings have been found that date back to at least 60,000 BC, and tribal religions world wide
imbue members with “totem” animals or animal “spirits” (Jaffe, 1964); furthermore, there is good evidence
that the animal images were symbolic rather than simple representations (Campbell, 1959). When it comes
to animal symbols, one common motif in fairy tales observed by world expert in comparative fairy tale lore
Marie-Louise von Franz is that “Anyone who earns the gratitude of animals, or whom they help for any
reason, invariably wins out. This is the only unfailing rule that I have been able to find.” (1999, p. 89). In
general animal symbols appear to have an ambivalent nature, which makes sense considering how they can
frequently harm as well as help humans; the important thing is that they are never irrelevant. Not only that,
but most symbols have an ambivalent nature anyway; if they were easily explainable in concrete terms, we
wouldn’t need to use metaphors to describe them, would we? The ambivalence comes not from the symbol
but our inability to comprehend it in simple black/white terms. Animal symbols appear to command
attention and imply deep significance, probably because they provide an important function that natural
selection deemed important since time immemorial; whether it be in the form of helpful animals, animal
gods or therimorphic gods, humans throughout history have naturally thought that animals share a close
“link” with humans and hold some kind of wisdom we do not have access to, wisdom that is vital for our
survival and well-being.

Struggles between heroic warriors and wild or fabulous animals are very frequent in mythological and
religious symbolism, and usually seem to represent the struggle between good and evil (Tresidder, 2005).
Furthermore, animals are throughout the world often considered to be more timeless and constant in their
behavior than humans—a plausible belief. Animals are also frequently categorized with the elements of
earth (reptiles), air (birds), water (amphibians) and fire (mammals—warm blooded). Echoing the TOM
attribution to animals, speech abilities are attributed to animals in ancient Greece, Hebrew, and Islamic
traditions.

Snakes

Given the empirical research on the peculiar way snakes activate our perceptual/conceptual systems, it
should be no surprise that the image of the snake finds (or slithers) its way into myths and religious
symbolism world-wide. But understanding the way the snake is used metaphorically as a means of
understanding the world and the self requires a careful phenomenological approach; simply stating that
snakes trigger sensitized fear circuits is not enough to help us understand the way in which the mind
generates novel metaphors and uses snakes to symbolize them.

As a result of his own studies on snake symbolism, Jung felt that “the snake always means the
cerebrospinal nervous system…the lower instincts or functions,” (Jung, 2008, p. 211-249). Throughout
history, the snake has been used as a so-called “chthonic” (meaning “grown from the earth”) symbol, such
as representing the fundamental “essence” of the material world (Gnostic myth) which can mean evil in
dualistic religions such as Persian Zoroastrianism or Christianity, where the snake is the primitive enemy of
the human-like gods/heroes. This theme of the snake being the earth-derived, material enemy of the high-
minded heroic gods finds its way into many symbol systems: the Midgard serpent (Norse myth), Vritra
(Indian myth), the “rainbow snake” (African myth), Apep (Egyptian myth), Echidna and Chronos (Greek
myth), Tieholtsodi (Navajo myth), Ouroburos (Greek alchemy) the Leviathan and the snake of Eden (Old
 40

Testament), the serpent of Mithraism, the snake of the Krater (the alchemy of Zosimos), the snake racial
enemy of the eagles (Indian myth), and the serpent/dragon enemies of St. George, Heracles, Siegfried,
Beowulf, and Apollo, and the serpent-form of Seth, enemy of sun-hero Re (Egyptian myth). The kernel of
meaning in all these metaphors appears to be that the snake symbolizes instinctive primitive drives and
darker stirrings, or represents a principle of the ‘inherent evil’ in the material world (Cirlot, 1971). The
snake is recognized by symbologists as “the most significant and complex of all animal symbols, and
perhaps the oldest” (Tresidder, 2005, p. 445), and they note its association with the phallus and the
umbilical cord, noting its equation with “primeval life force”.

But the snake image is even more complex than this. The snake has also been depicted as a symbol of
healing and salvation, representing the highest god of Phrygian myth, the union with diety (Greek
mysticism), the staff of Asklepios (also Greek and found on modern symbols of medicine). Snakes are a
common healing element in fairy tales, and the staff of the caduceus, the well-known symbol of a staff with
two snakes intertwined around, frequently used in modern medical symbolism, was owned by various gods
of wisdom such as Hermes, Anubis, Ba’al, Isis, and Ishtar (Stevens, 1998, p. 239) and has its place among
even more ancient Indian, Buddhist and Sumerian symbolism (Cirlot, 1971, p. 36). The snake has been
depicted as the possessor of the ‘herb of life’ (Indian myth, Greek and Babylonian sagas). The healing
serpens mercurii which is metaphorically equated with the water of life and containing the philosopher’s
stone or a diamond (alchemy and Indian myth) shows similarity with the symbol of the snake as the keeper
of divine wisdom (Gnostic mysticism), the “wisest of creatures” (West African myth), keeper of fire and
other technological knowledge, as well as eternal life (neolithic myths). The snake has been used as a
symbol of Christ (Gospel of John) or the Apostle John (medieval art), holder of undifferentiated phallic
power capable of fertilization or destruction (Polynesian, Greek and Egyptian myth, Kundalini Yoga), and
a bearer of culture and savior (Aztec myth). The snake has also been depicted an evil creature that is
nonetheless capable of transforming into a being of higher knowledge (Buddist myth, cf Zimmer, 1972), or
a synthesis of opposing powers, like the ‘plumed serpent’ of Aztec myth who combines earth and sky as
well as male and female, or the twin snakes of the caduceus (staff of Mercurius of medieval alchemy
representing equilibrium), of good and evil (Gnostic agathodaemon and Kakodaemon), and of creation and
destruction, container of the “water of life” (Indian myth) (Campbell, 1959; Cirlot, 1971; Tresidder, 2005).
The snake has been depicted as guardian of the springs of life and immortality, or of ‘spiritual riches’ as
metaphorically represented by hidden treasure (Eliade, 1958), as keeper of ‘deep wisdom’ (Bayley, 1951)
or knowledge of the gods (i.e. Prometheus in Greek myth). The snake has also been depicted as
symbolizing the most primitive level of life, composed of demonic matter with a hidden core of spiritual
sublimation (Egyptian myth). Finally, the amphisbaena, a two-headed snake, is a frequent European
heraldric image found also in ancient Greece proposed to represent ambivalent feelings (Cirlot, 1971)—
here again the snake represents emotions.

Jung associates the snake as representing salvation or renewal, citing these types of parallels, where the
serpent is a symbol of the “soul” or essence of the earth, matter, metal, but also man. It is also seen as a
helpful animal (recall the helpful animals of folk lore) containing secret wisdom. This is essentially a
SALVATION OR REDEMPTION IS A SNAKE metaphor. This may be a SEEKING IS A PREDATOR
type mapping; perhaps this is a subtler manifestation, combined with a more “spiritual” attitude toward
SEEKING behavior, which is certainly possible in humans. SEEKING, recall, is the innate emotional
system that enlivens the world and brings intense interest to our activities. It is possible to feel this as
redemption or a “saving” if one previously felt despondent and depressed; neuroscience has shown that
depression is associated with reduced activity in the SEEKING circuits (Panksepp, 1998).

Jung showed that the snake symbol has been repeatedly described as representing:

“the most spiritual of all creatures; it is of a fiery nature, and its swiftness is terrible. It
has a long life and sloughs off old age with its skin….It is both toxic and prophylactic,
equally a symbol of the good and bad daemon (the Agathodaemon), of Christ and the
devil…an emblem of the brain-stem and spinal cord….It is an excellent symbol for the
unconscious, perfectly expressing the latter’s sudden and unexpected manifestations, its
painful and dangerous intervention in our affairs, and its frightening effects” (1956, para
580)
 41

Related to the snake is the symbol of the dragon, a universal symbol throughout the world that appears to
stand “for ‘things animal’ par excellence,” (Cirlot, 1971, p.86); that is, for primal instinct and primitive
adversarial qualities internally and externally. Like all animal symbols it has an ambivalent quality to it;
not only is the dragon ferocious and fantastic but it also frequently guards treasure; perhaps this refers to
universal FEAR versus SEEKING systems, diametrically opposed as they are and driving all vertebrate
organisms from their deepest levels either toward potentially resource gaining stimuli or away from
noxious stimuli.

Lions and Tigers

There are more animals in the world than snakes, of course, and the previously cited research on dream
content shows that all sorts of wild animal imagery is created spontaneously in children that have never
encountered such beasts. Given the innate folk-biology system, this should come as no surprise. Jung
(2008, pp. 225-31) describes how animal symbols are often depicted as transforming into each other, such
as that of the Mithraic image of the Aion lentocephalus, or the unity of the lion and snake—obviously a
metaphorical unity—which speaks to both animals having a common “essence”. The lion, Jung observes,
has been depicted as a “transformation” symbol in medieval alchemy and Persian myth, as “attacking”
substance, a personification of “wild desire”, containing a “tincture” of sun and moon and a symbol that
unites the “essences” of male and female, and of “earth containing the seed of light”. Medieval and
Biblical Christian symbolism depicts Christ as both lion (as king) and lamb (as victim of the lion) and a
paradoxical figure that represents wild desire and also the love of understanding hidden within it. Buddha is
symbolized by a lion also, as has been Ashoka (Indian culture hero), Vishnu (as Narashimha, a half lion),
and the lion is used to signify protection in Chinese and Japanese temple architecture.

In alchemy, the metaphors transform from serpent to a lion, then to an eagle, which is “something psychical
and spiritual…the eagle is the meridian where [life] reaches the highest heights” (Jung, 2008, p. 231).
Note here again the connotation of a gradual “elevation” through that rises from lowly subterranean reptile,
to the mighty terrestrial lion to the soaring eagle.

The lion is associated or metaphorically mapped from the instincts, like the snake and many other
aggressive animal symbols (Gnostic mysticism). The lion is sometimes depicted as “linked” with fire
(which is also linked metaphorically with passion). The ravenous lioness Kali (Indian myth) appears to be
associated with potentially dangerous feminine instinct, an idea that is also found in Chinese and Egyptian
myth, and English folklore. The lion has been traditionally used to represent royalty, dominance, strength,
courage, but also ferocity and destruction. (Tresidder, 2005) Finally, as a tiger, this symbol has been
depicted as representing animal kinship to humankind (Naga myth).

Birds

Bird symbols are found in every culture and always seem to represent higher spiritual knowledge, whether
it be through shamanic practices (Siberian tribal societies), images of immortal or sky-god beings (Chinese
myth), knights of unearthly purity (Germanic legend), messengers or servants of supreme gods (like the
dove that visited Mary in the New Testament, angels, or the ravens of Odin), begetters of great beauty
(Greek myth of Helen of Troy), symbols of Zeus (Greek myth), or gods of wisdom (Egyptian gods with
bird-heads). Birds have alternately been described as messengers of Heaven, carriers of the soul, and birds
are associated with the “cosmic tree” (Stevens, 1998, p. 360; Campbell, 1959). Birds are also creators,
such as the thunder-bird of Native American myth, or the Lightening Bird of southern Africa (Tresidder,
2005).

Birds and winged beings are very frequently symbols of “spiritualization”, thoughts of fancy, supernatural
aid, thought, imagination and swiftness; birds are used to represent the soul in folklore world-wide, as well
as Hindu, Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Babylonian and Biblical mythologies. The giant bird is always
symbolic of creator gods in mythology, and is frequently opposed to the snake (Cirlot, 1971; Tresidder,
2005). Eagles are frequently depicted as symbols of nobility, masculinity, warfare (European, Sarmatian,
and Oriental symbolism), cosmic messengers (Vedic lore, Celtic myth, Christian symbolism), and carriers
 42

of thunderbolts (Greek, pre-Columbian American, and Mesopotamian symbolism). Furthermore, birds are
universally used to symbolize celestial messages, amorous yearnings, and its motion of swooping and
soaring are used to symbolize various metaphorical meanings related to motion—we have encountered this
kind of symbolism (using moving objects to represent ideas) already. Birds have also been implicated as
symbols of release or liberation (Henderson, 1964). Finally, throughout the world of iconography, images
of gods and angels are often depicted with wings from the fourth millennium B.C. onward (Cirlot, 1971, p.
9). These meanings suggest several mappings such as SPIRITUAL THOUGHTS ARE BIRDS,
YEARNING IS A BIRD, SPIRITUAL MEDITATION IS BIRD FLIGHT, MORAL PRINCIPLES ARE
BIRDS, IMAGINATION IS A BIRD, CREATIVE ACTIVITY IS A BIRD, SPIRITUAL MASTERY IS A
BIRD, and MASCULINITY IS A BIRD.

Spiders

The above data on snake symbols could be equally applicable to spiders, as spiders appear to activate
innate perceptual/conceptual mechanisms in similar ways. The spider symbol is described by Jungian
analyst Anthony Stevens (1998) as representing a

“weaver of the web [who] has always encouraged cosmogonic fantasies, especially as the
web is made in the form of a mandala, with its creator sitting at the center. The spider’s
life of weaving and killing, creating and destroying, is an allegory of the opposing forces
on which the existence of the cosmos depends…[it] is a creature of fate, weaving the
thread of destiny on which it hangs. It is also sinister, a dangerous, mindless beast of
prey, sometimes an object of fear, in many instances amounting to frank phobia, which is
probably phylogenetically induced.” (p. 351)

The spider also carries the symbolic meanings of creativity, aggressiveness and convergence on a central
point; also the moon is depicted as a giant spider in many myths, perhaps reflecting on qualities of
rhythmicity and life/death symbolism (Cirlot, 1971, p. 304)

These meanings, as determined by symbologists, are reflective of metaphorical mappings like DEADLY
INSTINCT IS A SPIDER, FEAR IS A SPIDER, CREATIVITY IS A SPIDER, and AGGRESSION IS A
SPIDER.

Metaphorical Mappings of Animal Symbols

Animal images could be used theoretically to represent nearly anything. But the fact is that humans do not
appear to use them randomly. We seem to use animals in recurrent ways to represent the same kinds of
ideas. A snake could be used as a “symbol” of clouds, the number 29, fresh fruit or the Andromeda
galaxy…but nobody does this. Why? I think it is because the metaphor generator is not random but
matches things in characteristic ways. Getting at this process is not easy, but we do have some clues. An
important aspect of all animal symbols are the anatomical considerations reviewed in chapter 2, especially
with respect to the triune brain and the shared emotional systems of FEAR, RAGE, CARE, LUST, PANIC,
PLAY and SEEKING. The reptile brain, recall, is named such because of its highly homologous structure
with reptiles—it “thinks like” a reptile, though integrated with our more complex mammalian brain
regions. The higher emotional systems of the old mammal brain also think in “animal-like” ways, too, just
not like reptiles per se. What follows is a list of examples of what I’m trying to get at.

UNCONSCIOUS CIRCUITS ARE ANIMALS: recall from chapter 2 the findings of neuroscience that the
mind has multiple parallel implicit systems of perception, judgment, symbolic reasoning and action that
operate autonomously—meaning without conscious control (if necessary). These circuits run on their own
motor, and can influence the newer single conscious system in profound ways. Recall also that these
systems are derived from evolutionary domain-specific algorithms and preferentially loaded with implicit
memory related to their particular purpose, be it survival, resource acquisition, etc. Thus, these systems are
well suited to be represented as animals. For example, a subject’s implicit memories surrounding a trauma
could be represented as a wounded or beaten animal—or alternately, the perpetrator of the trauma could be
 43

represented as a predatory animal. Remember that the TOM capacity, which is hard wired into our brains 22
can be co-opted for use in symbolizing multiple parts of ourselves in a dream—and it is an appropriate
mapping because implicit systems have an independent character from the point of view of consciousness;
that is, these implicit circuits “think like” animals. Since everyone has these circuits, and has a folk biology
system, it should be no surprise that these symbols recur so often.

EMOTIONS ARE ANIMALS: The emotional systems we share with all animals, regardless of implicit
memory, could be co-opted as a source domain to generate a symbol; elevated activity of the LUST, or
RAGE circuits, for example, could be mapped into the target domain that utilizes the conceptual system
that is innately aware of snakes or spiders (etc.), to generate this kind of mapping. What will differ is in the
creative use of this mapping; particular animals will have different connotations for different emotions or
combinations of emotions to provide a huge variety of colorful symbols. A panther might symbolize one
complex set of emotions, whereas a chicken quite another.

THE SELF IS AN ANIMAL: recall from neuroanatomy that our conscious self is built upon an ancient
edifice comprising of deep brain regions. Our conscious day-to-day self is built upon many layers of more
and more unconscious and universal processing. Any of these layers and their processes can be therefore
be symbolized as an animal. Recall from dream research that children have been directly observed doing
this in sleep laboratories, and as TOM develops, they create multiple selves for consideration as dream
characters—this is quite similar to the UNCONSCIOUS CIRCUITS ARE ANIMALS mappings described
above. Mythological systems throughout the world depict animals and humans transforming into each
other, or show humans accompanied by an animal “consort” or “totem” (Tresidder, 2005). Here some
aspect of the self may be represented as a more ‘primitive’ animal such as a lizard or shark rather than a
more ‘advanced’ animal such as a gorilla or dolphin. Note also that there may be a distinction in that the
“self” I am referring to here is really the conscious “self”. If the symbol is representing both the conscious
and unconscious self23, then we are talking about a different entity—what Jung called the Self (capitalized).
More on this mapping in later chapters.

CARE IS A NONPREDATORY ANIMAL: Another example of the EMOTIONS ARE ANIMALS

mapping, in which the unconscious circuit “thinking like” a nonpredator caregiving animal. Throughout
mythology, for example, the “great mother” goddess is frequently depicted as an animal such as a cow or
other caregiving mammal (Jung, 1956). This mapping uses the source domain of the CARE circuitry,
which we share with all mammals exhibiting infant and social bonding, and the target domain of the folk
biology system. It is likely that nuances will be generated by the symbol in its use of particular animals
known for more intense mothering such as some birds and primates as opposed to less mothering animals
like cats. The TOM capacity, also, possibly plays a part in this mapping as well, since it is capable of
detecting beliefs and intent in other creatures, likely through comparison or even utilizing similar circuitry
in the observer. Thus we cannot rule out that in this case the CARE circuit is so highly homologous in
humans and animals that this mapping has an even stronger innate basis.

AGGRESSION IS A PREDATORY ANIMAL: Similar to the above mapping is one which utilizes the
RAGE circuitry as a source domain, in conjunction with the folk biology system and its innate specification
of predatory vs nonpredatory categorization. Tigers, lions, snakes, etc are all predators that could be used
here. TOM and the autonomy of implicit emotional systems again plays a part in that we possibly may
recognize the expression of highly homologous circuitry in the behavior of animals. The brain therefore
can use this fact to create RAGE symbols as predators, which, remember, have nearly identical RAGE
systems in their brains. Similarly, one can see how the SEEKING IS A PREDATORY ANIMAL mapping
would arise to give a positive connotation to the symbol, as SEEKING is necessary for life and (along with
the PLAY system) provides our enthusiasm for life. SEEKING is actually activated when predators are
hunting, not RAGE (Panksepp, 1998), which we may innately recognize via the TOM system. Hence the
likely neurobiological source of these common dream and myth symbols.

22
Primarily in the insular and temporal brain regions.
23
What I am calling the “self” has been described rigorously by neuroscientists—see Damasio (1999) and
Panskepp (1998) for more detail.
 44

THE MIND IS A GREAT CHAIN OF BEING: with this mapping, the above EMOTIONS ARE
ANIMALS and/or the UNCONSCIOUS CIRCUITS ARE ANIMALS mappings are themselves
redescribed in heirarchical terms. Important to this mapping is the concept of ‘traveling’ along the chain of
being, where the self (or someone else) is conceived of as transforming from ‘lower’ animals such as
reptiles to ‘higher’ animals such as mammals or birds—note the MENTAL CHANGE IS MOTION
visuospatial metaphor embedded in this idea. In alchemy, for example, the “highest” animal was the
phoenix, below which was the unicorn, the lion, then the dragon—which represented the earthly “prime
matter”; numerous such hierarchies exist, usually with a reptile at the bottom, a mammal in the middle, and
a bird at the highest level (Cirlot, 1971, see also Tresidder, 2005). Struggles between animals in far-flung
symbolism depicts this vertical conflict of “higher” vs “lower” emotional inclinations—note the vertical
symbolism as well. Emotional or experiential transformation of the self or another person could be easily
depicted as a metaphor of “traveling” along the chain of life and “transforming” from a lower animal into a
higher animal on the chain, because the brain actually has a roughly phylogenetic structure that mimics this
transition in the triune brain neuroanatomy. The GREAT CHAIN OF BEING is used, then, to depict
emotional states or complexes in conflict or transition in symbolic terms of animals clashing or
transforming.

Metaphorical Mappings of Anthropomorphic Symbols

Let’s not forget that humans are animals, too—as I will show in later chapters, we understand and represent
things as humans even more than we do as animals.

THE MIND IS A PERSON: With this metaphor, the mind of the subject is mapped onto the TOM
neurobiological system, with the result being that a person symbol represents the whole mind of the
subject. As Foulkes (1999) observed, this occurs spontaneously in children’s dreams and coincides with
TOM faculties and developing visuospatial sophistication.

AN EMOTION IS A PERSON: like the EMOTION IS AN ANIMAL metaphor, this mapping takes
emotion circuitry and maps it onto specialized parts of our perceptual/conceptual system designed to
represent other humans. Similarly, we can easily match unconscious circuits and represent them as people,
too. Since the brain has various regions that represent different parts of the body, these different parts can
be used as target domains for more specific mappings, creating a variety of body-integrity metaphors such
as the EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN IS DISMEMBERMENT, DISEMBOWELING or MUTILATION
mapping, or even the PSYCHOLOGICAL DISSOCIATION IS DISMEMBERMENT—this frequent
dream image appears to represent the conscious mind falling prey to emotionally charged implicit circuits
vying for control, which is not a very pleasant experience. These mappings have their opposites in the
RECOVERY IS RETURN TO BODILY WHOLENESS mapping. This theme of dismemberment and its
opposite, reconstitution or resurrection, is found world-wide in religion and myth, for example in the
dismemberment and reconstitution of Osirus or Dionysus, as well as a multiplicity of folk tales. In more
abstract terms, the idea of breaking apart and returning to wholeness in general is a common theme;
swords, sacred stones, elements and spiritual ideas go through this cycle throughout myth and religious
symbolism (Circlot, 1971, p. 83; see also Jung, 1958). Given the universal innate basis for these mappings,
then, we can explain this ubiquity in neurobiological terms. A variation on the dismemberment theme has
in fact been observed in dream research studies wherein subjects with bipolar disorder showed an increase
in dream content involving death, mutilation and injury several days before the onset of a hypomanic or
depressive episode (Beauchemin and Hays, 1995).

Note that these mappings can and will be combined in highly unique ways in each subject to generate
complex metaphors. An emotion may be mapped onto the image of an animal, however the particular
animal still makes a big difference. Bird symbols, for example, carry connotations of elevation, wind and
flight, all of which utilize different neurobiological systems for metaphor mapping that I explore in later
chapters.

Understanding Animal Symbols Neurobiologically

 45

As one can see from the previous paragraphs, figuring out what a metaphor “really means” is no easy task
—this should be no surprise, since we are dealing with things like primordial emotions; the brain is not
wired to understand these things very well. It is wired to understand objects and creatures moving about in
space (among other things), so the only way we can really explain these mysterious things is through
metaphors. But there is more to this: flies have lived with humans probably as long as snakes have; why
don’t we use flies to symbolize all this stuff? I think the answer lies in the fact that the brain does not
generate metaphors randomly or arbitrarily, but rather comes to use animals to symbolize similar ineffable
things.

So far, the snake image (not the symbol) appears to represent “something important” to man for the
evolutionary reason that ancient hominids needed to be able to quickly recognize snakes and attend to them
to ensure survival, and natural selection favored just such a psychological mechanism in almost all
primates, including humans. The kernel of all these symbols that use the snake image is therefore the folk
biology system/snake recognition evolutionary adaptation that natural selection has built into our
perceptual/conceptual system. Jung hypothesized that “the snake touches on the deepest instincts of man,
so that from time immemorial one thought it to be in possession of great secrets” (Jung, 2008, p. 251)—in
the parlance of neuroscience, the snake may therefore map the SEEKING and FEAR system in the brain,
and this emotional inertia will drive the metaphors created.

So, the mind is hard wired to recognize snakes and think “hey—here is something important!” and
emotional parts of our innate brain wiring get primed for action. The same can be said of other animals, as
the research on folk biology shows. Since this system is in place in every human mind, whenever the brain
needs a metaphor to try to understand something, these images are readily accessible for use, and they are
already loaded with emotional significance.

Internal and External Representations and the Role of Memory

I am focusing on dream symbols as essentially self-symbols, but of course there are other possibilities.
First, the image could just be a representation of an external event recorded in memory that has nothing to
do with us; in this case it is not a symbol at all but a literal image only. The second possibility is that the
image is symbolic of something internal; i.e. it is a self-symbol. The third possibility is that it could be a
symbol of something going on in the environment. Of these latter two, it can be difficult to decide which is
more important; combination is likely the rule rather than the exception.

Neuroscientists have observed that when not explicitly concentrating on some task, the brain seems to
revert to a “default network” which includes the deeper “layers” of activity (Buckner et al, 2008). This
network is particularly “self” concerned (Panksepp and Northoff, 2008), suggesting the brain/mind is
churning through images, cognitions, feelings, etc, that it feels are self-related. In contrast, when subjects
are asked to contemplate “non-self”, the default network is relatively down-modulated. Of note, the
dreaming brain shows a relatively higher activity of default network structures (Hobson, et al, 2000). Thus
dream imagery, which is also likely to be more evolutionarily relevant and innately prespecified, may also
be weighted toward “self” more than “nonself”.

Another clue comes from memory research. Memory in humans does not work like it does with
computers; i.e. it is not a simple representation retrieval task, but highly complex reconstructive process.
For example, when recalling read passages, people tend to recall the “gist” of the paragraph read, but mix
up the details, frequently making up things to fill in the gaps (reviewed in more depth in Pinker, 1997).
Memory is therefore apparently not an infinite capacity ‘hard drive’ wherein everything is perfectly
preserved; rather, it appears that we store certain conceptual facts about a given experience, and let the
constructive process put together everything else as needed. The advantage of this is efficiency in the face
of a massive onslaught of environmental data, but the disadvantage is that any mental images the subject
“recalls” nonetheless contain a great deal of his or her own biases, beliefs, emotional colorings and
symbolic leanings (Schacter 1996; Schacter and Scarry, 2000). This is in the case of any “remembered”
experience; generic or strangely put together images or unfamiliar characters, then, will most likely be a
product of this constructive process working with material that has no external origin—in other words, its
source is the subject alone. These images may therefore likely be self-symbolic, because nothing in
 46

particular is being recalled24. Moreover, even in the case of a familiar character or animal, the above
considerations apply because even in the best case scenario, an image of someone familiar is likely to have
a great deal of the subject as its source domain, whereas only the “gist” of the image may come from
external events recorded in memory. Thus the likelihood of a dream or fantasy image being representative
of only an externally experienced person from long term memory, with no source domain in the subject is
least likely of the above possibilities. Moreover, the deepest layers are not historical at all, and hence they
are wholly “self” in origin. More data may shed light on this subject, but for now it appears that Jung’s
advice to first consider dream images as self-symbols (Hall, 1983) is a good place to start in trying to
understand a dream narrative.

When it comes to determining the meaning of dream imagery, of course there are no simple answers.
Despite this limitation, we do know that it appears everyone with an intact brain has the capacity to
generate a mental image of a previously never-encountered animal or human due to the innate properties of
TOM, our innate emotional propensities and the innate folk biology adaptation. Add to this our natural
tendency to create visuospatial metaphors to conceptualize ineffable or abstract intuitions or feelings as
objects and creatures moving around in space.

The evidence, then, seems to point to a brain that in the dreaming state grapples with primarily emotional
(and hence evolutionarily important) concerns, equal parts universal and specific (at least on average; see
Hobson and Kahn, 2007). These concerns are perhaps often formulated into pre-verbal visuospatial
metaphors that, though they appear to have repeated themes throughout history and cross-culturally, can be
challenging to interpret individually. Dream images seem to originate from the nascent symbolic thoughts
of the subject when the topmost “layers” of their conscious autobiographical self have been temporarily
peeled away, whether due to the dreaming state or reverie. What underlies this consciousness, however, is
much more robust and resistant to experience (Viamontes and Beitman, 2007; Panksepp, 1998).

What information, then, does the mind use to create these symbols? The first clue comes from a number of
experiments that have shown that the unconscious “emotional mind seems to be particularly susceptible to
stimuli that its conscious counterpart does not have access to [but are recoverable in dreams, fantasy and
free-association]” (reviewed in LeDoux, 1996, p. 61). In other words the older implicit multiple emotional
systems appear to “know” more about the internal and external environment than the conscious system
does, merely as a matter of processing limits. The conscious system is powerful in its ability to process
information in a deeply recursive and highly differentiating manner, however this ability comes with a
price—it is slower and also unable to process large amounts of information this way (Viamontes and
Beitman, 2007; Watt and Pincus, 2004); it therefore is limited in a way implicit systems, which are
relatively more “crude” and domain specific, are not. Consciousness has a high “filter” and cannot fully
process everything impinging on the various implicit systems, but when the conscious system is relaxed, as
in various dream or reverie states, the implicit systems reveal what they know and “think” (in rudimentary
terms) about the current state of the organism and its surround.

It is probably this information that is being formulated into visuospatial metaphors by the dreaming brain
and its deeper, more autonomous emotional consciousness—hence the conscious self, when the filter is
“lowered”, gets a glimpse at these pre-linguistic and affective “thoughts” of the multiple implicit systems in
the deeper layers of the brain/mind. During dreaming, language is ramped down and imagery ramped up
(Hobson et al, 2000), and the primarily self-focused “default network” (Buckner et al, 2008) is more active.
As metaphorical thought appears to structure dream narratives (Lakoff, 1997), the people and animals

24
The Freudian notion (1900) that ambiguous characters really represent known familiar people is another
possibility. Freud felt that dream images “disguised” things like this in order to appease the “dream
censor” which sought to defend against the primitive “wish fulfilling” drives running amok during
dreaming. This idea, i.e. that latent content is obfuscated by the dream process, is however losing favor
even among Freudian dream theorists (Kramer, 2007). It has not been definitively ruled out, however.
Jung, of course, was highly critical of this idea: “there is no reason to believe that the unconscious does not
say what it means; in sharpest contradiction to Freud. I say that the unconscious says what it means.
Nature is never diplomatic.” (1984, p. 30).
 47

active in them may be symbols of unconscious parts of ourselves as it—at the deepest level—merges with
the environment.

I should point out here that symbols representing activities of the deepest layers of the brain/mind will have
a number of important characteristics. First, they will “behave” with a rudimentary type of consciousness,
i.e, an ability to judge, think and perceive on their own terms outside conscious circuitry (Viamontes and
Beitman, 2008). They will furthermore seem relatively “timeless” because of their origin in highly
conserved brain/mind layers, giving the conscious self the impression they have existed from time
immemorial. Because of their affective momentum, they will appear “powerful”, and possessing of
sensory information that is “secret knowledge” from the point of view of consciousness, and because they
derive from species-conserved brain activity they will also appear omnipresent. Finally, these human or
animal-like symbols can take many forms (i.e., they can be symbolized by many images with the same
“essence”). Hence, these symbols appear immortal, eternal, omnipresent, protean, powerful and relatively
omniscient. In this respect, therefore, these symbols can appear like gods. Symbols experienced by certain
evocative environments will be “gods” of those environments (i.e., spirits, ghosts, etc).

Archetypal Symbols are Gods of the Mind

Ok, we’ve spent some time in the trees, now let’s step back for a minute to look at the forest. Let’s think
about the EMOTION IS A PERSON mapping for a second. Let’s say we’re talking about RAGE. In this
case, something vague, ineffable and very subjective, i.e., the feeling of rage/anger/revenge, etc, is being
represented as a person. Remember that rage is innate in all animals—so it’s ubiquitous, although you
can’t see it anywhere in particular. It’s also always there in the deep, highly robust brain regions—so it’s
timeless, existing before we (our conscious autobiographical selves) did and lasting long after we’re gone.
It’s very powerful, in that primitive emotional activity has the ability to overwhelm our conscious thinking
much more so than the other way around; all we can do is react to rage, it takes a lot of effort to control it,
but it controls us quite easily. Finally, rage-driven implicit systems also possess a rudimentary type of
consciousness, ability to judge, think and perceive on their own terms outside conscious circuitry, and they
have access to information that normally does not reach consciousness; this makes them more
knowledgeable in some ways than the conscious self is. Because of our metaphorical brains and TOM
capacity, we can symbolize this system as a person. Now, let’s ask ourselves what are the qualities of a
god or “spirit”? As I mentioned above, gods are immortal (timeless), much stronger than we are
(powerful), process unconscious sensory information that frequently does not reach consciousness (know
secrets) and their effects can be guessed at but not directly seen anywhere (ubiquitous but immaterial). Not
only that, they are human-like (have an independent consciousness, judgement and cognition) and can
change shape or take many forms (can be symbolized by many images).

So, from the point of view of consciousness—which is the only point of view we have, by the way—if an
unconscious animal/person image emerges that is a symbol of this strong emotional activity, the symbol
will be very “godlike” indeed. Is it any wonder that every culture has a war god? And RAGE is only one
of innumerable other systems capable of influencing consciousness similarly. So, in fact gods are real, in
this metaphorical sense, and we would do well to heed their utterances, whether it be placating them,
obeying or fleeing their presence—in fact that is what rituals do. And as I will show in the final chapters,
rituals appear to work quite well toward this purpose. Method actors trying to feel anger are essentially
“summoning up the war god”. Obsessives trying to flee their own aggression enact rituals to placate the
war god. Tribal hunters engage in a war dance to obtain the war god’s favor. Yes, I am speaking
metaphorically here, but remember Mr. Literal? He would look at the image and state that there’s no such
person as a war god. Indeed, he is correct—on a concrete level. But on a symbolic level he’s dead wrong
(and not just because I shot him in chapter 2).

Further compounding the issue is that the source domain is unconscious, so unconscious symbols25 can be
experiences of great mystery and emotional significance on top of everything else; it’s not just rage, but

25
For any sticklers out there, I should clarify that when I mention unconscious symbols I mean
“unconsciously generated and perceived by consciousness in a state of dream, reverie, trance, intoxication,
psychosis, or otherwise distracted state of down modulated processing in conscious brain regions”.
 48

any emotion, intuition, environmental pattern, or who knows what. Only by way of the symbol can we
even try to understand it.

Dream, fantasy and consciously created symbols are likely going to be much more complex and nuanced,
jammed with subtleties from many domains besides emotions or animals, and on top of that they will have
been created in response to something going on in the subject’s internal or external environment.
Moreover, since metaphorical mappings and hence symbols are in essence ineffable, and also frequently
unconsciously generated, all we can hope to do is “close in” on their meaning (to use another metaphor) by
approaching them cautiously from many angles.

Finally, there does not have to be a simple one-to-one relationship between symbols and mappings. Any
one symbol is probably an amalgamation of many mappings; the reason for this is that they are consciously
perceived, and we know from neurobiology that anything that is consciously appraised has to make it
through a “high threshold” filter. Only about 5% of what we do is consciously directed, due to the high
volume of information handled by the implicit systems and the limitations in processing speed and
information capacity, only the most “loaded” representations are going to make it through the “filter” 26 into
consciousness. Multiple meanings, then, are probably the rule rather than the exception. As you continue
through the rest of the book, note how mappings build on each other and link with each other in multiple
ways.

26
This may be at least in part due to orbitofrontal inhibitory processing, which is down modulated in dreams
and fantasy states (Solms and Turnbull, 2002).
 49

Chapter 4: The Anima

In the last chapter I discussed how the brain uses animals to symbolize emotions, intuitions, or vague
sensations and ineffable feelings. But humans are of course animals, and despite the extensiveness of the
folk biology adaptation, it would be surprising if the mind did not have an even more detailed system for
recognizing other humans, especially since we are such highly social animals and so much of our emotions
are tied up in what others think about us. I will first start with returning to the data of female-specific
recognition in the brain, then I will go to male-specific.

One of Jung’s most complex and contested theoretical constructs is the anima, defined as the image of
“woman” that exists within all men. It is therefore theoretically an archetypal symbol in that it is supposed
to be universal and innate, according to Jung, and there are a large number of aspects that this symbol is
supposed to represent within a man’s mind. In his own words, Jung describes this enigmatic symbol:

“she stands for the loyalty which in the interests of life he must sometimes forgo; she is
the much needed compensation for the risks, struggles, sacrifices that all end in
disappointment; she is the solace for all the bitterness of life. And, at the same time, she
is the great illusionist, the seductress, who draws him into life…not only into life’s
reasonable and useful aspects, but into its frightful paradoxes and ambivalences where
good and evil, success and ruin, hope and despair, counterbalance one another. Because
she is his greatest danger she demands from a man his greatest, and if he has it in him she
will receive it…the factor she embodies possesses all the outstanding characteristics of a
feminine being.” (Jung, 1959a, para 24-26)

It is evident that what Jung is describing is an essentially metaphorical creation, one which he felt all men
made and symbolized as a woman (and sometimes other images). Jung further described the anima and
animus as exhibiting:

“ feeling qualitites [that are mostly] fascinating or numinous. They are surrounded by an
atmosphere of sensitivity, touchy reserve, secretiveness, painful intimacy, and even
absoluteness. The relative autonomy of the anima- and animus-figures expresses itself in
these qualities.” (Jung, 1959a para 53)

This character therefore represents vague concepts of “femininity” as men come to understand it through
their development into adulthood; nature provides men a way of recognizing and understanding “feminine
beings” through the anima, and she symbolizes all sorts of entanglements and heartaches, but also the
promise of bliss and redemption. As described, the anima comes in many forms; conceptualizations of the
anima are varied and sometimes apparently contradictory, so much that some authors argue that it is an
unhelpful construct (von Raffay, 2000).

Whether or not it is helpful is beyond the scope of this book, I am only concerned with exploring whether
or not it exists; i.e. if it is a consistently generated symbolic image in men in light of recent research. In
other words, I am essentially reexamining Jung’s idea from a fresh perspective. The only way this can be
accomplished is to start with a basic question: are there aspects of a man’s perceptual/conceptual system
that are innate, unconscious, affectively charged, domain-specific, universal, resistant to environmental
variation and rich with feminine specific content such as that proposed by Jung?27 If this is the case, then it
follows that it should reliably give rise to autonomous metaphorical imagery like we saw in the last chapter.

In chapter 2 I reviewed the data that strongly suggests everyone has an “ideal female” innate image
prototype, and I argued that this imagery could be used symbolically. As we will see, more detail on this
27
It is beyond the scope of the present work to explore complex variations such as might occur in
homosexual or transgendered individuals—Jungians have indeed already examined these concepts in detail.
 50

system consists of the ability to recognize what potential mates are kin or not, with an additional subsystem
that devalues kin as potential mates. This system evolved in an ancestral environment in which toddlers
raised with a high degree of familiarity would almost always be kin, and so provided natural selection with
a method for differentiating kin vs non-kin in potential mates, which then subsequently preferentially
invests non-kin with sexual and love attractiveness. This theory has found a great deal of support; for
example, children reared together like siblings, such as in Taiwanese minor marriages, later have an adult
aversion to mating—this effect is postulated to be an adaptation to avoid inbreeding (Bernstein, 2005, p.
533). This effect applies even when subjects know that they are unrelated, such as in Israeli kibbutzim,
implying that male-female familiarity primes a sense of genetic relatedness and fear of mating that
overrides conscious knowledge to the contrary.

Evolutionary psychology predicts that since humans are mostly monogamous universally, there should be a
neurobiological system in place to motivate this behavior. In other words, such imagery does not merely
motivate short term sexual behavior but long term mate bonding as well, the result being a successful pair
bond. Pair bonding has a neurobiological basis that has been characterized to some degree; it is associated
with high levels of the brain hormone oxytocin between mother and infant as well as romantic partners
(Carter, 1992; Carter, 1998). Pair bonding in men and women is associated with lower incidence of
depression and better ability to cope with stress (Myers, 1999), suggesting that humans have evolved to
respond positively when a long term relationship that is secured and enduring (Campbell and Ellis, 2005).

To summarize, both men and women have innate “fertile, high-genetic quality female” detection
mechanisms in their brains which involves not only physical appearance but scent, motion, and likely a
host of other factors not yet characterized. This system attributes very high emotional significance in both
sexual (LUST) and romantic bonding (CARE) systems to such images in men, and is used to assess
competitiveness in women. If all this is used to create a self-symbol in a dream or fantasy brain/mind state
of a male, then I argue that what is experienced can be termed an “anima” symbol.

Mythological Descriptions of “the Anima”

In mythology, female symbols appear all over the place; all goddesses are female symbols, and all kinds of
things are related to “the female”. For example, rivers, the earth, the sun and the moon have all been
represented by a goddess, and goddesses have been said to “take the form of” various animals and images
that are usually packed with characteristics that are innately recognized as “high fertility female”, if they
are fertility or love goddesses, or they are conspicuously absent in the case of child or “old crone” type
images. Evil magical female creatures appear throughout mythology who entice, seduce and destroy men
such as the Lorelei (Germanic myth), the Sirens (Greek myth), the banshee and various evil female fairies
(Irish myth). Such characters always lead the hero to his doom. On the other hand recurrent “maiden”
figures, such as found in many medieval tales where a knight rescues a “damsel in distress” represent
psychological redemption for male protagonists (Cirlot, 1971), and reflect a REDEMPTION IS THE
ANIMA mapping. That two such apparently contradictory mappings could find themselves using the same
target domain is what probably causes the confusion as to the meaning behind the anima symbol; this
should not be a surprise, however, since anything so emotionally charged could potentially spell weal or
woe for the subject, much like the snake. The important thing, however, is that like animal symbols, the
anima is never irrelevant. Her appearance always symbolizes some sort of highly emotional—and hence
likely archetypal process that is otherwise very difficult to express concretely.

Not surprisingly, anima images are also depicted along with animal symbols, such as the swan-woman
(Celtic and German myth), the goat-woman (Hispanic folk lore), the lion-goddess Sekhmet (Egyptian
myth), or the lamia (Talmudic myth), just to name a few. These symbols are basically co-opting animal
symbolism and incorporating them into the image in order to jam more meaning into already rich
symbolism, and is good example of polysemy (multiple meanings) in action.

Neurobiological Substrates of the Anima and Animus Symbols

Since mate-finding is a major biological tendency ingrained into the CNS of all vertebrate animals,
including humans, it should be no surprise that a tremendous amount of emotonal energy should be devoted
 51

toward such activity, since emotions are what drive our behavior. As a consequence, the symbol making
mechanism that operates in homo sapiens has plenty of innate material to work with as it attempts to
understand the world by metaphor creation. All of these mappings are therefore more specific versions of
the animal symbols outlined previously. Like animals, humans do not appear to use female imagery to
symbolize just anything, but a collection of vaguely intuitive and difficult to describe feelings and
unconscious rumblings.

Metaphorical Mappings of Anima Symbols

RELATIONSHIP FEELING IS THE ANIMA: The innate drive toward attachments (in a man) could be
symbolized by a female symbol such as RELATIONSHIP CAPACITY IS THE ANIMA, or EMOTIONAL
CLOSENESS IS THE ANIMA, for example. In such a mapping, it is the psychological motivation for
relationship or intimacy in the subject that is being symbolized by the anima image. An exception to this
might be when the memory of such behavior in someone else is being symbolized. For example, a man
may dream of an unknown young woman encouraging him to get more involved with his friends. What she
symbolizes, then, is the man’s own tendency toward intimacy. We can postulate that this is an anima
image, and hence refers to a part of his own personality (like the UNCONSCIOUS CIRCUIT IS A
PERSON mapping) because it is an image of no one specific, but is a more generic image, in this case, a
part of his personality that is being symbolized by a woman. Recall that memory is a primarily
constructive process rather than a simple carbon-copy retrieval mechanism, so any recalled mental images
the subject creates contain a great deal of his own biases, beliefs, emotional colorings and symbolic
leanings (Schacter 1996; Schacter and Scarry, 2000); this is in the best of cases. Purely imaginal creations,
then, will most likely have their source entirely within the patient rather than any particular experiences.
The fact that the image does not refer to anyone in particular, then, suggests that the mapping of
INTIMACY IS THE ANIMA may be an appropriate interpretation for this image—being careful to
remember that “interpretation” can not magically dispel the ineffable core of meaning in the symbol. If he
dreams of his wife doing this, however, it may be derived from something specific that the patient has
stored in memory about her, but even then the colorations derived from the subject should not be
disregarded because of the highly subjective way we construct memories.

INCOMPLETE SELF IS THE ANIMA: Related to the above mappings is this one, in which lonely
feelings, which derive from activity of the PANIC system that evolved to promote social attachments,
provide the source domain. That is, the emotional consequences of isolation or separation result in
predictable activity of the PANIC system, which in animals evokes separation calls and in humans evokes
crying behaviors (Panksepp, 1998). The subjective experience of this activity is essentially feelings of
loneliness; i.e. of being “incomplete” or “empty” (to use two common visuospatial metaphors). If the
innate anima generating parts of the brain are used, the subject will generate an image of a female that
personifies his need for “completion” or relief from attachment separation. Similarly, a source domain that
consists of any unconscious circuits that for whatever reason are ignored by the very information-limited
conscious processing system, will provide the neurobiological basis for an UNKNOWN SELF IS THE
ANIMA mapping, or an alternate UNCONSCIOUS SELF IS THE ANIMA mapping. Recall Jung’s
hypothesis that the anima sometimes represented the “voice of the unconscious” (Jung, 1959a, 1959b,
1961, 1974, 1984) and advised “listening” to her with this in mind.

LUST IS THE ANIMA: Similarly, if the source domain is rather the LUST circuitry, then activity of the
LUST system, particularly if unsatisfied or more activated for whatever reason, can provide the source
domain for this mapping. Since in a heterosexual masculinized brain the aforementioned “fertile young
female” recognition system of the brain evokes a great deal of sexual significance, this will be a ubiquitous
potential mapping. Another possibility is a CREATION OF NEW FAMILY/LIFE IS THE ANIMA,
wherein these longings—which are in origin innate—might be symbolized. The specific behavior of the
anima symbol in a dream has to be attended to if we are to understand what the symbol is supposed to be
representing; hence a dream of a seductive unknown female who disappears after sex might be symbolizing
mating instincts (and we should never underestimate their complexity!), whereas a female who through the
course of the dream becomes pregnant or “gives” the dreamer a child (another symbol) or leads him to a
house where they “dwell together” may mean love (aka CARE circuits). Of course both might be in use at
the same time—this is one of the challenges of symbol interpretation. The generation of new life is the end
 52

result of all the mate-seeking affective motivational systems that are present in all vertebrates; this is not
likely to be perceived by the unconscious systems, however, since emotions motivate behavior without
necessarily any awareness of the outcome; the appearance of forethought is derived from the fact that the
end result is selected for during the course of evolution—interestingly, this gives these archetypal processes
an appearance of “timelessness” because the end appears to be prefigured. In any case, a
PRODUCTIVITY/FERTILITY/CREATIVITY IS THE ANIMA mapping is probably ubiquitous.

THE MYSTERIOUS/UNFAMILIAR IS THE ANIMA: Recall from evolutionary psychology that sexual
desire appears to be modified via an adaptation that evolved to reduce incest, probably to minimize
unhealthy mutations caused by recessive gene combination. This adaptation works with cues from the
subject’s environmental history that fine-tunes sexual feelings and orients them toward females that the
subject did not have a great deal of contact with as a toddler. Essentially, then, this amounts to a
familiar/unfamiliar differentiation that reliably emerges within the brain with respect to potentially
desirable mates. A potential mate whom the subject is unfamiliar with will be by definition “mysterious”
and so the anima will retain this quality if this mapping is used by the metaphor generator. This concept
could be expanded to include anything unknown or mysterious, and hence provide the source domain for
UNKNOWN IS THE ANIMA personification. Another name for the unknown is that which is
“unconscious”, which provides the source domain for the aforementioned UNCONSCIOUS IS THE
ANIMA mapping.

If you will notice, the way in which a person interacts with the anima image is essentially a metaphor for
the “dialogue” or interaction between two parts of the mind: on one hand is the conscious self, and the
other is the various unconscious circuits. The way these two entities interact with each other provides a
clue as to how the subject is dealing with these aspects of his own mind. What the anima is actually doing
in the dream, myth, fantasy, or creative work, then, is symbolic of this interaction; recall from metaphor
theory that all symbols represent relational patterns ineffably described in pictorial (or other) terms.

Communing with the Inner Goddess

So now we see how the brain can generate all sorts of female images innately, and by “images” I mean all
the stuff that goes with it, such as the “ways of being”, scent, movement, behavior, etc. Remember the war
god? It’s the same thing here. When this imagery is used to symbolize a part of a man’s mind, she has all
the qualities of a goddess: she is powerful, timeless, ubiquitous, and protean. She likely represents
SEEKING a lot of times—why? Because what better symbol could one make to represent intense
exploratory interest than to utilize all the innate imagery of an attractive female? But since we don’t know
what she is symbolizing, caution is best advised, since many times what we want doesn’t always end well
(“be careful what you wish for”). Not only that, as with animal symbols, the anima is also unconscious in
origin, and so what she is symbolizing is frequently going to be difficult to figure out. Because she is a
self-symbol, understanding her goes a long way toward understanding unconscious motivations. But
throughout the exploration of the anima, we should remember that she is like any other implicit system
(like described in chapter 2): she has autonomy, timelessness, and emotional muscle relative to
consciousness, and she is capable of judgement and symbolic expression—she’s not just a mindless reflex,
or a regurgitated or hobbled together memory trace or primitive drive. She really does behave as if she
were a goddess. In dreams we can be visited by this goddess and learn what she wants and feels; her
actions can therefore tell us quite a bit about ourselves we might be unconscious of. Since we are typically
unconscious of a lot, we would do well to heed her. Moreover, since dreaming is barely distinguishable
from waking reverie, it is likely that we can encounter this being and whatever it is she symbolizes (which
remember, is ineffable anyway) when engaging in religious rituals, trance-like states, or any other state
where we are mentally prepared and “open” to such experience. A rigid and concrete attitude, obsessed
with minutiae and “what is real” will naturally preclude any experience of the goddess symbol, and every
other symbol as well. Perhaps these reflections shed some light on why humans are universally religious—
it is because of the symbolic way in which our brains work.
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Chapter 5: The Animus

Much as a man has an innate “internal image of woman” as part of his perceptual/conceptual system,
women have an innate “internal image of man”. Like the anima, animus images symbolize much more
than sexuality; the animus can create heartache and complications for women, as well as the promise of
salvation or contentment. But what are the specific characteristics of the perceptual/conceptual system at
work in the generation of male figures in the female brain? The most important difference in this respect is
that unlike men, who appear to have a consistent system designed to seek out a particular kind of female,
women have a system designed to ferret out two essentially different images of men. That is, men orient
toward females that display a single set of high-genetic quality and fertility markers consistently throughout
the man’s life span, but women orient toward a variety of different families of characteristics depending on
neurobiological and environmental variables.

Cross-culturally, a man’s mate value as adjudicated by females is typically determined by his status,
prestige, current resource holdings, long-term ambition, intelligence, interpersonal dominance, social
popularity, sense of humor, reputation for kindness, maturity, height, strength, and athleticism (Barber,
1995; Buss and Schmitt, 1993; Smuts, 1995). Furthermore, nonverbal indicators of dominance increase a
man’s attractiveness to women, but not women’s attractiveness to men (cf Sadalla et al, 1987). But there
are fluctuations in which of these characteristics is emphasized in women that depend on certain variables.
In contrast to the male mating strategy that is largely a function of relatively consistent testosterone levels,
female mating strategy fluctuates according to hormone levels throughout each cycle.

For instance, as men age, their age preferences change relative to their own age—but at the same time, men
retain a constant attraction toward women in the years of peak fertility; women, on the other hand, are
attracted to men who are slightly older than them and are usually not fixated on a narrow range of fertility,
presumably because male resource gathering potential (the female imperative in mate selection in animals
and probably ancient humans) increases with age until senescence, but female peak fertility (the male
imperative on mate selection) stays within the range of the ages of approximately 20-40. (Kenrick et al,
2005, p. 809).

According to sexual selection theory, males with high levels of testosterone and social rank, more
masculinized features, low fluctuating asymmetry (markers of genetic quality), and that display high
resource acquiring potential are more likely to choose short-term mating strategies, likely because from
their point of view they are more likely to “get away with it” because of their attractiveness. This is a
reflection of the fact that overall, male mating strategy is also associated with testosterone levels, in which
higher testosterone levels associated with more short term mating strategies (Putz et al, 2004; extensive
review in Schmitt, 2005).

The female counter-adaptation to this imbalance in men’s mating strategy choice is to be attracted to less
competitive men in some circumstances, and more competitive men in others. Men, by contrast, pursue
pretty much the same characteristics all the time (all else being equal, of course). The evidence of this
fluctuation in attraction comes from a variety of sources. Studies of the perceptual/conceptual system show
that during the late follicular phase, right when a female is most likely to be impregnated, women prefer
more symmetrical faces with more masculine features, higher dominance and testosterone-related attributes
such as prominent brows, large chins and deeper voices, and more competitive and arrogant behaviors
“precisely as though women are shifting to a short-term mating strategy” (Schmitt, 2005, p.275) during this
time. Furthermore, women report stronger sexual attraction to and fantasies about extra-pair partners when
they are ovulating, and this pattern does not hold for current partners (Simpson and Campbell, 2005, p.
139). Ovulating women also prefer the scent of t-shirts worn by more symmetrical men, but this effect
was not found in non-ovulating women (Gangestad and Thornhill, 1998). They also have more frequent
and intense orgasms, and dress more provocatively (while at the same time reducing behaviors that may put
 54

them at risk for rape) during this part of their menstrual cycle (Gangestad and Thornhill, 1997; Gangestad
and Thornhill, 1998; Grammer et al, 2004).

Women report finding high testosterone and high symmetry (and hence low mutation load) related
characteristics such as musculature, height, broad shoulders or high shoulder-to-hip ratio (no such
association with attractiveness exists for females with this measurement) (Hughes and Gallup, 2002),
masculine facial features and high intrasexual competitiveness desireable in short term mates and extra-pair
sex partners (Buss and Schmitt, 1993) and are more likely to copulate with men exhibiting these
“masculine” traits during ovulation. Note that like women, men recognize these features as well, but not as
attractive mates but rather as rivals. In fact, the above physical features are more likely to invoke jealous
feelings in other males (Dijkstra and Buunk, 2001), suggesting that the perceptual/conceptual system has
this recognition ability in both sexes.

Women are more likely to have extra-pair affairs when they are ovulating, but are not more prone to have
sex with their long term partners during this time (Baker and Bellis, 1990). Women actually show a
preference for masculine features as listed above peaking near ovulation but only for evaluation of short
term partners, not for a long-term investing partner (Penton-Voak et al, 1999). Gangestad et al (2004; also
Gangestad et al, 2005, p. 356) showed that women rated men as high on potential for short-term partners
when they were arrogant, competitive with other men, muscular, physically attractive, and socially
influential. They did not show a preference for kindness, intelligence and tendency to be a good father or
sexual faithfulness when midcycle. These latter qualities were valued in long term partners and did not
vary with ovulation cycle. Women also preferred more creative men for short-term partners, but not long
term (Haselton and Miller, 2002). The cues that orient the perceptual/conceptual system apply even to
hands. For example, if a male’s ring fingers are longer than his index fingers, caused by high testosterone
exposure during development, he is more likely to have more children, engage in more short term mating
strategies, have higher sperm motility, and be more competitive and assertive and be perceived as more
attractive (Manning, 2002). Finally, more symmetrical men are more likely to engage in extra-pair sex and
they are more prone to be selected by women as extra-pair partners (Gangestad and Thornhill, 1997).

Women appear to have adaptations that orient them toward long term partners as well; women have been
shown to prefer the scent of men who were either dissimilar to themselves at the so-called MHC genetic
loci (a collection of genes used by the immune system to combat infections) (Wedekind and Füri, 1997).
Specifically, women prefer the scent of men who were genetically compatible 28, but this effect does not
increase during ovulation (Thornhill, et al, 2001).

The universal aspects of the perceptual/conceptual system is reflected in dream imagery (Van de Castle,
1994) wherein women showed an increase in imagery associated with sexual situations near ovulation, and
retreating afterward. All of this data points to unconscious tendencies that orient women toward two
essentially different types of men—the more aggressive, ‘dominant’, creative, high-testosterone male, more
desirable as a short-term partner, especially during mid-cycle, and the less aggressive, less dominant, more
investing, “kinder, gentler” partner who is “long term compatible” genetically. Contrast this with the
primarily singular strategy of males which consistently orients toward youth and fertility, with the
additional add on of a similar age partner as the man ages.

Since mating involves not only LUST circuits but PANIC/CARE attachment circuits, all of this will affect
more than just sexual activity, but all the emotional turmoil from bliss to despair that accompany relations

28
By this I mean women prefer men that are heterozygous with them at the major histocompatibility alleles.
This should be valued in primary partners in order to limit infections within families. The fact that the
preference for dissimilar MHC proteins did not vary with ovulation, and the preference for multiply
heterozygous mates actually increased outside the fertile period suggest that women have an adaptation to
prefer these men for long-term partners, because these men would be more likely to produce multiple
disease resistant offspring in a long term partnership but would confer less of an advantage in short-term
matings, since short term matings are by definition short term, so any diseases he may get are less likely to
be passed to the female through long term cohabitation.
 55

with men. The important point here is that all of the characteristics of the perceptual/conceptual system
outlined above affect symbol making (as shown in part by the dream imagery studies) in a variety of ways.

Metaphorical Mappings of Animus Symbols

All of the above data strongly suggests that just as men and women have “fertile female” recognition
circuits, they also have “dominant or investing male” recognition circuits as well, and like the female
symbols, male symbols will be used similarly for the same reasons. Mythologies throughout the globe
symbolize the sky, the sun, the life-death cycle and many other mysterious things as gods.

LUST IS THE ANIMUS: This mapping may be somewhat more complicated for women than men, largely
because of the above shifts in mating strategy. Here the objects of desire vary from genetically-compatible
long term mates to high testosterone, high “genetic quality” short-term mates. This creates a shifting
dynamic in terms of which image (not only in terms of physical features but also behavior) will be most
emotionally charged. What this has to say about symbol-making is that a variety of different types of
animus images will likely be used to symbolize different ideas/feelings/whatever.

UNKNOWN IS THE ANIMUS: Similar to anima mappings of this nature discussed last chapter, women
can have the UNKNOWN SELF IS THE ANIMUS, the INCOMPLETE SELF IS THE ANIMUS, and the
MYSTERIOUS MALE OTHER IS THE ANIMUS, which has its roots, in part, in the incest avoidance
adaptation. Also, the FECUNDITY IS THE ANIMUS mapping will likely be universal in women as well.

HAND SYMBOLS: The aforementioned relationship of ring-finger length to testosterone exposure, and its
correlation with dominance, creativity and fecundity, because they are part of the innate
perceptual/conceptual system, can also serve as the target domain for this archetypal mapping.
Consequently, it is not surprising that the fourth digit is the “ring” finger; i.e. the finger utilized to
symbolize marriage, though this is not a universal. Rather, it is the innate propensity to recognize this as a
cue of mate quality that is universal. The hand, then, can be utilized by either gender to represent
masculine categorizations or tendencies. Other body part recognition mechanisms likely exist but have not
been studied.

Animus Symbols: the Inner God

Like the anima for men, this entity behaves with timeless emotional power and autonomy, and represents
how women can commune with her “inner god”. Just what the animus image is symbolizing will be every
bit as difficult to understand as all the other symbols we have been discussing so far. Nonetheless I hope I
have shown how the building blocks of the anima and animus symbols arise from neurobiological
structures, functions and adaptations that continue to be tested in various empirical fields.

The basic idea is this: women innately recognize men and invest male imagery with a lot of emotional
significance for evolutionary reasons. What determines the emotional valence is not just the imagery, but
also the behavior, the scent, the kin vs. non-kin distinction, and probably a host of other factors not yet
recognized. This is the innate part of the brain that will also used when creating metaphors because so
much brain wiring is devoted to it. Like objects and animals moving, we “understand” male imagery, and
use this to personify not only the environment but aspects of ourselves—and that’s both men and women.
Therefore, the male god has all the qualities of the goddess: timelessness, secret (unconscious) knowledge,
and so forth. In women and men alike, these gods will have ideal qualities and influence.
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Chapter 6: The Mother

Not only does the brain recognize males and females to a high degree, it also recognizes mothers.
Available evidence suggests that humans reliably acquire a set of innate domain-specific, content rich
algorithms concerned specifically with mothering that are unconscious, universal, affectively charged,
resistant to environmental variation, and shaped by evolution.

For example, Infants can discriminate their mothers by voice within 24 hours, via scent by 2 days, and via
face by 2 weeks (reviewed in Burnstein, 2005); all of this is difficult to explain with domain general
mechanisms, due to the poverty of stimuli. More likely is an innate domain specific algorithm is at work
here. This mother-infant bond algorithm appears to be mediated by highly conserved circuitry in the deep
brain involving the neurotransmitters oxytocin and arginine-vasopressin (AVP) in mammals, including
humans (Lim et al, 2004; Young and Insel, 2002). Fluctuations in oxytocin are associated with
proportional fluctuations in maternal attachment behavior in many animals (Carter, 1998, 2002), suggesting
a highly innate and instinctive component to the mother-child bond. Neuroimaging studies of attachment
in humans show that reward centers with high density oxytocin and AVP receptor activity are activated
during bonding (Fisher, 2004)—these are centers that are situated in the deep “layers” of the brain/mind.

Furthermore, there is a link between mother-infant bonding and mate bonding; falling in love with a mate
or offspring may involve temporarily deactivating regions associated with social mistrust (Flinn, et al,
2005, p. 561) and encourage beliefs that the subject’s mother (or mate) is “the best ever”. Interestingly,
stress can interrupt this innate system; mothers that have experienced early trauma have consistently higher
brain concentrations of the stress hormone cortisol and display fewer nurturing behaviors, social
attachment, and breastfeeding (Nemeroff, 2008). Conversely, subsequent activation of the mother-infant
bond strengthens this system, in that women who have been mothers previously show increased nurturant
feelings in subsequent encounters with infants over women without children (Corter and Fleming, 1990)

This is evidence for a deeply innate system that is somewhat flexible to environmental influence, however
it would be a mistake to assume experience shapes the system. According to neuroscience, “All mammals
have neuronal operating systems that evolved to help prepare them to take care of infants….We now know
a great deal about the nurturance systems of the mammalian brain” (Panksepp, 1998, pp. 248-249). The
intrinsic CARE brain circuitry, which utilize oxytocin among other things “appear to be the key
participants in [the] subtle feelings that we humans call acceptance, nurturance, and love—the feelings of
social solidarity and warmth” (Panksepp et al, 1997; Panksepp, 1998). This system is more pronounced in
mothers than fathers but is present and active in both parents in humans. Note that the CARE system
evolved from earlier reptilian circuitry controlling sexuality and egg-laying.

The mother-child bond has a variety of behavioral consequences; it is not merely a mindless reflex. It has
implications in a variety of motivations behind parenting. For example, both human and rat mothers
display intense ‘nesting’ preparations immediately prior to birth, and this behavior is more pronounced with
subsequent births—this is associated with marked increases in oxytocin production in the deep brain.
Furthermore, oxytocin levels increase in response to suckling infants, and this coincides with increased
nurturant behaviors in mammalian mothers and increases in milk production (Panksepp, 1998, pp. 250-251)

Mother Symbols

The mother “image” appears to comprise a particular class of feelings rather than specific imagery—all
related to highly conserved deep brain activity involving oxytocin, AVP, opiod and likely many other
systems yet to be identified. As we have seen, female recognition systems already exist within the
perceptual/conceptual system. What makes these images mothers, then, are that they are female images
imbued with the intense feelings of the mother bond, described in such detail by affective neuroscientists,
 57

some of which I reviewed above. The point, however, is that these feelings are strong, phylogenetically
stable and specific toward mother-child bonding, which was so important to mammalian survival during the
course of evolution. All of the mappings, then, are further differentiations of the human symbols described
before; i.e., they are instances of a general IDEA IS A MOTHER mapping. In this case the mother is a
female image that is imbued with mother-infant “significance”, which may be correlated with activity of
the oxytocin and opiod systems.

Mythical Explorations of Mother Symbols

Concerning the so-called “mother archetype”, von Franz explains how many things come to be conceived
of as “a mother”:

“The archetype of the Great Mother, for instance, can become manifest in the mother
goddesses, Paradise, the Kingdom of god, the Heavenly Jerusalem, the Church, city,
country, heaven, earth, the woods, the sea, the still waters, matter, and the moon; they all
can be mother symbols. Also all places of fertility, such as the cornucopia, the plowed
filed, and the garden…a rock, a cave, a tree, a spring, a deep well, various vessels such as
the baptismal font, the Grail, or with flowers such as the rose or the lotus, and various
animals such as the cow, the hare, the bear, etc.” (von Franz, 1988, p. 281)

Here we have a large variety of images that have been used in the past to symbolize something as “a
mother”. The sheer variety of ideas symbolized as a mother shows just how strong this imagery is—but not
just anything is a mother. Lightening, the color blue, oatmeal, or the number 17, for example, is very rarely
symbolized by a mother image.

Nevertheless, perhaps the most ancient anthropomorphic symbol is the Great Mother—should this be a
surprise? The “origin of all life” was represented as a great mother in Mediterranean myth, in images such
as Gaia (Greek myth), Mut (Egyptian myth), Nerthus (Germanic myth), Erde (Norse myth), Mahimata,
Mother Mary (Christian iconography—called the “mother of God”) or Eje (Mongolian myth). She
symbolized fertile earth, cornucopia, and was felt to be protective and enclosing, like caves, walls, houses,
and is associated with vessels such as cups, vases, and the ocean and all that comes from the water such as
fish, pearls, shells, dolphins. The mother has been metaphorically linked with nature, the earth, fertility,
warmth, nourishment, but also stifiling love, mortal destiny and the grave (Tresidder, 2005, p. 326). Bird
symbols given a mother-significance include the dove, swan, and as mentioned previously, the lily, rose,
lotus and fruit tree are also associated with the great mother. The earth is very often attributed a
“motherly” aspect, recalling the WORLD IS A MOTHER mapping above, as the sky is very often
attributed a masculine aspect. Burial ceremony has been viewed as a ‘return to the great mother’ in many
cultures (Stevens, 1998, pp. 188-189)

This darker aspect of the mother is typically portrayed as the ‘devouring’ mother, like Kali and Durga
(Indian myth), Lilith (Talmudic myth), Hecate (Greek myth), and Coatlicue (Aztec myth), and rituals
designed to appease her involved bloody ritual sacrifice to fertilize the earth, which Stevens feels may be
related to the ubiquitous observation of menstruation and its relationship to fertility—when menstruation
stops, blood is ‘conserved’ and life is gestated (1998, p. 191). The “devouring” mother seems to represent
an over-attached parent-figure who does not allow one to grow and separate.

Another aspect of mother symbolism is the association with death and rebirth; throughout the world the
mother is used as a symbol of life and the world, but also as death, which appears to always be equated
with regeneration and rebirth (Cirlot, 1971), thus the mysterious idea of death is symbolized as a “return to
the great mother” in many cultures. Perhaps the concept of rebirth is created by this metaphor, in that
returning to the mother easily associates with the ORIGIN IS A MOTHER mapping. Note also that
essentialist thinking, inherent in the brain, would equate death as merely a change of form—essences are
immutable (Ahn at al, 2001)—providing another link between death and new life.

Finally, the great mother is frequently depicted in association with the tree and the serpent, such as in the
Garden of Eden (Old Testament), the sap-filled tree of motherhood (African tribal lore), the sycamore
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goddess (Egyptian myth), and the nude goddess of the Cosmic Tree (prehistoric Indus Valley) mythic
images. These variations of the TREE IS A MOTHER and its converse, the MOTHER IS A TREE
mapping are the likely source of these repeated mythic themes.

Metaphorical Mappings of Mother Symbols

NUTURING FEELINGS ARE A MOTHER: Nurturant feelings arise from the ubiquitous CARE circuitry,
and so provide a universal source domain for this mapping. Other variations on this theme could be
INTIMACY OR KIN-BONDING IS A MOTHER mappings, or the ENCLOSED SHELTER IS A
MOTHER mapping the converse of which (A MOTHER IS AN ENCLOSED SHELTER) is frequently
referred to by dream interpreters.

A TREE IS A MOTHER: Environmental symbols such as trees, landscapes, and lakes have innate aspects
as well, a point to which I will return in later chapters. For now suffice it to say that there is evidence that
abstract tree symbolism is a part of the innate perceptual/conceptual system and therefore provides the
source domain for this mapping. The fact that fruits come from trees and plants and feeding on these foods
is a lasting part of our primate heritage, perhaps this symbolic expression is not so far-fetched at all.

THE PHYSICAL WORLD IS A MOTHER: The world, which includes more abstract ideas like “nature”
or “the universe” is frankly a tough concept to get one’s head around. Representing it as a mother is a
helpful way our human brains, which understand mothers much more easily, can accomplish this task.
Linguistic usage of this mapping are seen in expressions such as “Mother Earth”, “Mother Nature”, etc, and
include ancient deities such as the Vedic goddess Mahimata, whose name literally means “Mother Earth”.
Here we see that when a metaphorical mapping is taken very seriously by the subject it becomes a religious
entity—this also occurs in dreams where a metaphor is depicted as a literal entity. In psychosis, conscious
appraisal is weakened through neurological damage, and the metaphor is taken even more seriously as
absolute concrete reality; herein is the link between myth, dreams, and psychosis: all may arise from
archetypal metaphors.

THE ORIGIN IS A MOTHER: The concept of “origination” is essentially a cause-effect relationship,

which is an innate part of our processing system that we share with many mammals, especially primates.
Thus the concept of “cause” provides the source domain for this mapping, capable of making a large
variety of mother symbols possible. Furthering this link is the fact that the innate folk biology system
allows young children to understand that zebras, for example, that are raised by cows will still behave like
zebras and have “zebra innards” (Atran, 2005), in other words, a key component of the “essentialist”
thinking with respect to biological objects in the perceptual/conceptual system is that what makes an animal
who it is depends upon its parents, which obviously includes the mother. Thus the origin-mother link is
quite strong and provides the basis for this universal symbol.

The most important part of this analysis is to remember that these are all symbols working in exactly the
same way every other metaphorical mapping works: that is, they take something emotional, difficult to
describe, or intuitive and map it onto something we can all easily understand due to our evolutionary
makeup. Hence our tendency to symbolize the universe or “nature” as a mother…what drives the
particular equation with a mother, rather than say a rock or a hand—both of which are also easy to
understand—is its particular aptness. The world is definitely “like” a mother in many ineffable metaphoric
ways.

The Mother Goddess

Mother images probably have their origin in the universal attachment systems we all share. Therefore,
when they are used as symbols, they import a great deal of emotional and ultimately ineffable connotations
with them. Further, because she is an unconscious, universal creation, she has the “godlike” qualities of the
anima, the animus, and other personified symbols that originate in our deep emotional brain regions, and
she has a “personality” of her own because of it. She demands our attention and also wants our love, but
like all primitive, ancient implicit systems, she can be overwhelming to consciousness. How she is
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perceived by consciousness will likely be influenced by personal experience and the attitude of
consciousness toward her. In order to placate Mr. Literal, I should point out that when I speak of “her” I
am personifying; I am being metaphorical. The archetypal mother is not a person, literally speaking, but
rather she behaves as if she were a person; and a special “godlike” person at that. Naturally she may or
may not coincide with your actual mother—and in fact no one can live up to a goddess, but I hope I have
shown that she can carry on her own activities even in the absence of an actual mother, say if your own
mother died or is otherwise absent; remember the “evolutionary templates” of Llinas and Pare (1996) that
anatomists feel are hard wired into our brains and proceed using only a modest amount of sensory input?
That’s what we’re talking about. This is probably the origin of the “dual mother” motif found so often in
myth and dreams (Jung, CW 9i)—we all have one actual physical mother, who may or may not be present
and whose behavior is highly variable, and one archetypal mother that we’re born with, who has an agenda
all her own, and is “eternal”...the Great Mother. The actual mother interacts with and activates or
“invokes” this innate “ideal” mother in the developing child. The resultant complex of feelings toward her
mother is dependent upon both components, but what the above evidence seems to show is that the deeper,
more innate component can act independently to create an imaginary mother symbol spontaneously that
may not always have to do with the actual mother per se, after all, simple linear cause-effect relationships
rarely apply to the brain. This mother symbol may be “imaginary” but is wired to very real emotional
circuits in the brain (and in later chapters I will show how symbols can affect mind/body physiology),
hence her “utterances” should not be taken lightly.
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Chapter 7: The Father

What about father symbols? I might be criticized for saying that fathers are not identical to mothers, but in
fact the evidence we have seems to support this. Having a strong father bond appears to enhance a child’s
well being and success in many areas that appear to be distinct from the benefits gained from a strong
mother bond. Fathering provides clear benefits to children in both social and physical effects (otherwise it
would not have evolved in humans). In fact, human paternal investment has been shown to contribute to
children’s well being and health, as well as lower infant and child mortality risks in foraging societies (Hill
and Hurtado, 1996). Fathering improves social competitiveness in industrial societies (Cleveland et al,
2000), and upward social mobility even when maternal characteristics are controlled for (cf Kaplan et al,
1998)—note the importance of fathering on non-kin related social navigation in these studies. On the other
hand, in foraging societies, husbands contribute more to the household only once offspring are involved—
before that wives do (Marlowe, 2003)—and fathering is more dependent on supportive marital
relationships than mothering is (Parke, 1995).

Conversely, children with absent fathers show higher aggressive and noncompliant behavior, especially in
boys, and early onset of sexual activity for both adolescent boys and girls, as well as lowered educational
achievement in adulthood (cf Ellis et al, 2003; Geary, 2005, p. 490) and poor social attachment patterns
(Bakermans-Kranenburg et al, 2004)—another collection of links between fathering and adjustment in the
non-kin social milieu. Furthermore, fathers who play with their children have positive effects on child
popularity (Carson, et al, 1993). Paternal deprivation before age four has a more disruptive effect on a
child’s development than later age (Biller, 1974). Fathering also benefits children through improved
mothering (cf Flinn, 1992), which could therefore apply to stepchildren as well.

Father absence, as much as familial discord or lack of closeness, appear to independently predict menarche
(Ellis and Garber, 2000), and earlier menarche is associated with absence of positive father relationships
(Moffitt, et al, 1992), divorce or father absence. Girls with a warm relationship with their fathers
experience menarche later than girls living with emotionally distant or absent fathers (Ellis, et al, 1999).
The earlier a new, non-father male figure enters a girl’s life, the earlier she reaches puberty (Ellis and
Garber 2000). This leads Kaplan and Gangestad (2005) to argue for a facultative adaptation present in
girls that detects a conflict of interest between mothers and others over degree of investment in her. If she
can expect (consciously or unconsciously) to receive less investment, a shortened prereproductive period
may optimize net reproductive benefits and motivate daughters to seek support from romantic partners, a
process that is accelerated when mother-boyfriend conflict is increased (pp. 85-86; Ellis and Garber, 2000).

A variety of studies show that sensitive and attentive fathering behavior is correlated with increased cortisol
levels, higher prolactin levels and lower testosterone levels in these fathers compared to other men
(reviewed in Geary, 2005, p. 493), reflecting the hormal differences in mating strategies explored in the
previous chapters between the “investing” and the “dominant” males. Furthermore, in mammals showing
paternal care such as prairie voles, elevations in the hormone AVP prepares males to be receptive to and
care for infants (Bales, et al, 2004)—recall that AVP appears to be associated with reduced aggressiveness
and increased activity of CARE circuits in human males, and that the neural circuitry of the CARE system
is present in deep brain regions that generates male sexuality—it is important to note that there are more
estrogen responsive oxytocin cells in this area in females than males, and this is likely a result of estrogen
induction (Jirikowski et al, 1988). Damaging this area eliminates all parenting behavior in laboratory
animals (Numan, 1990). All these areas are highly conserved and present in all mammals.

Neurobiological Substrates of Father Symbols

It is clear that the perceptual/conceptual system has mechanisms in place that detect or represent a specific
type of male figure that has “fathering” connotations. Children can apparently detect the presence of the
genetic father in the family environment to some degree, and they use this information to coordinate
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behavior and physical development; a fact that is particularly evident in girls according to research, but
likely it is equally if not more important to boys—further research is needed here to confirm this suspicion.
The link between children and fathers appears to have effects on social adjustment in children of both
genders that are independent of maternal factors. The father image, then, consists of a male oriented aspect
of the perceptual/conceptual system that contains the above feelings (much like the mother symbol) along
with it and provides the target domain for father symbols.

Mythic Explorations of Father Symbols

The legacy of the father to his son can be found in the universally prevalent myth of the resurrecting gods.
Examples of the resurrecting gods are provided by Stevens (1998):

“Osirus, Zagreus, Dionysus, Tammuz, Attis, the Dictean Zeus, Orpheus, Mithras, Ba’al,
Baldur, Adonis, Wotan/Odin, and Christ…their birth is often announced by a start, they
are born of a virgin in a cave, they are sometimes visited by wise men, as children they
teach their instructors, they commonly predict their own death and second coming, they
die on trees, descend into the earth for three days…and they are resurrected. They never
attain full maturity, and are always identified with their divine father. The initiatory
symbolism of dying gods is very apparent, therefore, and it is usual for initiates to
identify with them as they pass through the ritual.” (p. 257)

Note the complex relationship between the dying god and his father, his death (which in mythology usually
recalls the DEATH IS A RETURN TO THE MOTHER mapping) and resurrection (a DEATH IS
REBIRTH mapping). Throughout mythology the father is a symbol of “dominion, solar and sky power,
spiritual, moral and civil authority, reason and consciousness, law, the elements of air and fire, warlike
spirit and the thunderbolt…” (Tresidder, 2005, p. 178).

More specific to the father is Jung’s statement that “A father’s legacy for the daughter is always a spiritual
one; that is why fathers have such an enormous responsibility for the spiritual life of their daughters.”
(2008, p. 395, emphasis added); recall that the fathers relationship with his daughter can actually affect her
physical development—the presence of a nurturing father can switch the adolescent to a more long term
mating strategy, which involves a later onset of her period and more secure attachments. Perhaps this is
part of what Jung was intuiting when he made his statement about fathers and daughters.

Other connections exist cross-culturally with fathers used to symbolize the sky, heaven, light, lightening
bolts, weapons, and dominion and traditions that oppose base instincts (Cirlot, 1971). There are a number
of mappings existent in all of these associations, some of which I have already discussed.

THE SKY IS A FATHER: The source of the nearly universal father gods of the sky (Eliade, 1958)
therefore becomes evident. The sky has a long history of very close symbolism across cultures; virtually
all cultures throughout history have generated similar symbols of sky gods who possess infinite wisdom,
represent supreme authority and dominance (and also freedom from submission), are responsible with
fertilizing the earth through rain and severe weather, and through culture are usually differentiated into
many lesser deities more concerned with day-to-day emotional concerns (Eliade, 1958). Throughout
mythology, rain often symbolizes a sexual union between the heaven and earth (Jacobi, 1964), and in fact
the “creative storm” is a universal symbol (Cirlot, 1971).

The Father God

Of course, in dreams we are usually talking about self-symbols; myths and religions tend to express much
bigger mysteries like the sky (which was mysterious to ancient humankind), but more on this later.
Presently, much like the mother goddess, then, all of us have two fathers—the physical father, whose
behavior will be variable, and the archetypal father, who is timeless and godlike, and has a separate set of
agendas, expectations, demands and blessings than the mother goddess. How this biologically derived
symbol will behave probably depends a lot on the subject’s experience of her own father, but not
necessarily only upon this experience, since much of it appears to be innate. A person with an angry
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abusive father may find a similar father symbol punishing him in a dream or fantasy—but on the other hand
he may find refuge in a more benevolent and fair-minded father symbol; the father god can manifest in
many ways. Often in therapy one encounters a rigid dichotomy in these cases, with a “good father” and
“bad father” symbol vying for attention. But the ways the father god manifests are not infinitely variable;
rather, they derive in part from the ancient father-attachment system. If the physical father acts “in
accordance” with the archetypal father, all will be relatively well, but of course no father is a god, so sooner
or later they will separate in a person’s mind (especially when a young man becomes a father himself), and
this can be a positive maturing progression or a violent schism.

The point is that like the mother, the human brain understands father imagery, and invests it with a lot of
emotional significance; so much, in fact, that it can apparently even affect our developmental physiology.
The ideas, intuitions and nameless abstract feelings that get symbolized as the father god are therefore not
inconsequential; he carries a powerful emotional significance that stretches to the deep brain regions. To
say “this situation/experience is like a father” is a serious symbolic statement. Furthermore he is a self-
symbol that is not mererly a reflection of the actual father—if this were the case, how could we explain
why we even care about the actual father in the first place? The reason we care is because we are
programmed to—the brain has algorithms for recognizing a “father figure” or “father image” and invests it
with deeply emotional meaning. This is innate imagery that the brain is hard-wired to understand well.
The brain will therefore use it frequently to create meaningful symbols of otherwise mysterious phenomena
in the environment and the unconscious circuits that have “father-like” attributes.
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Chapter 8: The Child

Out of all the intense activity between the males and females, fathers and mothers of the last few chapters
emerges the child—the end-goal of all our highly complex mating related emotional motivators. As we
will see, infant recognition mechanisms of the perceptual/conceptual system arouse strong feelings of
attachment, which include approach and protection from harm as well as many other nuances related to
whether or not it is a mother or father’s brain.

For example, mothers can identify their offspring in a set of matched photographs after 5 hours postnatally,
in a crowded nursery by odor following a single exposure 6 hours postnatally, and by voice 2 days after
birth (Bjorklund and Pellegrini, 2002); this appears to be an inadequate level of stimulation to be possible
without domain-specific algorithms. There is good reason to expect innate recognition mechanisms,
considering the extensive evidence of kin-recognition in general gathered from kin-selection theory. How
this is accomplished is still a mystery, and may be related to subtle facial features or other as-yet
unspecified cues, but the fact that it works is not a mystery at all.

Just as in the anima and animus, there appear to be innate recognition aspects of the brain that orient to
child-specific stimuli. In fact, parents of attractive infants are more attentive and affectionate toward them
(Langlois et al, 1995), two emotion-laden qualities of behavior, whereas physical deformity, lethargy, poor
tone, or lack of so-called pedomorphic characteristics may increase risk of abuse (McCabe, 1988).
Pedomorphic characteristics, which include relatively large eyes, small noses, and rounded heads are
attractive to parents and others in general (Zebrowitz, 1997); furthermore active infants with higher
APGAR scores—a measurement of birth health—are less likely to be victims of infanticide (reviewed in
Duntley, 2005, p. 239)

There is a gender difference in parental ability to recognize one’s own children. Platek et al, (2002) for
example, showed a variety of pictures to male and female subjects, where some of the pictures were
computer “morphed” 50/50 with the subject’s own face. The subjects were then shown the photographs
and asked “Which of these children would you be most likely to adopt?” or “Which of these children would
you spend the least time with?” Men chose self-morphed faces for positive questions and non-self faces for
negative questions at far greater than random chance, but females fared no better than chance. In a follow
up, Platek (2003) varied the percentage of morphing from 3.125% to 50%. Again, men fared better than
women, with a threshold of 25% morphing required to beat random chance at investment questions.
Interestingly, when asked to determine which faces resembled the subjects, both genders exceeded random
selection only at the 50% level—which means that men detect resemblance unconsciously at lower than
50% level when it comes to decisions regarding how much to invest in a child. Evolutionary psychologists
think this discrepancy arose because in the ancestral environment men could never be as certain as women
that the child was theirs, so men developed an adaptation (though unconscious) to help identify children
likely to be his, thereby evolving the “particular neurocognitive machinery for processing children’s
phenotypic resemblance to them” (Kurland and Gaulin, 2005, p. 471; Platek, 2003). Thus, men have
unconscious self-recognition mechanisms that apply only when it comes to whether or not to invest
resources in a child.

Mothering behavior is inextricably bound to the CARE circuitry of all mammals; these circuits are highly
conserved throughout the animal kingdom, which obviously includes humans, and is therefore deeply
innate. Mothers do not need to “learn” to want to care for their infants; they do so naturally as long as they
have an intact CARE system29, which works via brain oxytocin and opiod systems. Fathering behavior is
also dependent upon CARE circuitry, which includes a properly functioning AVP system (Panksepp,
1998). These systems are universal and innate, though they are not invulnerable to environmental
influence. It can be interrupted by severe stress—on the positive side it is affected by nursing, which
would have been universal in the ancestral environment: Newborns who nurse in the first hour after birth

29
And in the absence of severe mental disturbance/brain damage.
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stimulate a surge in maternal oxytocin levels, which have been observed to shift the mother’s priority to
self-groom for the purposes of attracting new mates to grooming their infants (Insel, 1992). By contrast,
non-nursing mothers are more likely to suffer from post-partum depression, commit infanticide, and have
thoughts of harming their babies.

To summarize, then, there appears to be an innate mechanism that recognizes children via cues of
pedomorphic characteristics, kin-relatedness, infant viability (which includes attractiveness), and nursing
behavior. None of this is learned, most of it is unconscious, and all of it is innate. Like all the other
symbols, this means the child is well understood by the brain, and so it will be used to symbolize things
less easily grasped, including parts of our own personality or mysteries of life.

Mythical Aspects of Child Symbols

In symbolism, Jung argued that the Child represents the “preconscious, childhood aspect of the psyche”
(Jung, 1959b, para 273). Here we see the SELF IS A CHILD mapping in action. Jung continues to
theorize that the child symbolizes an exposure to adversity, as in the universally perilous birth accounts of
cross-culturally appearing heroes (Campbell, 1949). The mythic child, however, despite being continually
exposed to danger and destruction contains a tremendous divine latent power within. Jung observes that
the child:

“is a personification of vital forces quite outside the limited range of our conscious
mind….The urge and compulsion to self-realization is a law of nature and thus of
invincible power” (1959b, para 289). This essential “divine child” quality is frequently
symbolized as a flower, an egg, or the center of a mandala, a dream image of a son or
daughter, a king’s son or witch’s child, a chalice, golden ball or jewel. It represents the
seeds of future possibilities and wholeness” (Jung, 1959b, para 270).

The child is also repeatedly used to depict purity, innocence, potential, and also “mystic
knowledge” (Tresidder, 2005). Cirlot (1971) observes that the child frequently appears to
symbolize the future in general. Since time divisions into past, present and future are innately
generated (Pinker, 2007) most likely by the activity of the brain regions known as the inferior
parietal lobes (Newberg and Waldman, 2006), it should be no mystery as to why we also see the
PAST or PRESENT IS A CHILD mappings also. As the latter two mappings are less frequently
used, the orientation of children toward future generations may be innately apperceived and
therefore bias the system to make future connotations with child images as opposed to past or
present ones.

Jung even went so far as to postulate that the brain symbolized child as a positive figure
representing the synthesis of conscious and unconscious aspects of the mind (Jung, 1954)—this
suggests a very complex mapping. This is the kind of thing that can only be verified by detailed
case study—and shows the art of understanding symbol meaning.

Child Symbols

THE SELF IS CHILD: This mapping simply utilizes the mind of the subject as the source domain and uses
the child innate image. Included in this also could be the differentiation of THE FUTURE SELF IS A
CHILD, which brings in the concept of time and its seasons and cycles, and the time-processing abilities of
the conscious self. Depending on the context, since all children have parents, one may find mother or
father related symbols associated as well. Note also that kin-recognizing mechanisms might structure such
an image to resemble the subject in this case as well.

AN IDEA OR UNCONSCIOUS CIRCUIT IS A CHILD: This is a differentiation of the earlier symbols

that use people with pedomorphic characteristics. In considering these symbols, one should note that kin-
relatedness (particularly paternal) and infant viability, all innate aspects of the system, may be included as
part of the nuances of this mapping. Similarly, the more general IDEA IS A CHILD mapping can be used
—the mind therefore can represent many things using the innate imagery of a child or juvenile animal.
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The Child God

Unlike the mother and father symbols, which represent our origins and the expectations placed
upon us from the beginning, the child symbol is a future symbol; one in which part or all of
ourselves are called to make a generative act (the anima and animus are perhaps intermediate
symbols with respect to time). The child is full of promise and potential—godlike—and yet he is
more us than the father, mother, anima or animus. In other words, the mother and father expect us
to be something, whereas the child is our urge to do something. Maybe this is (as Jung suggested)
like nest building in birds. Birds probably don’t know why they’re doing it, but something in
them tells them to nonetheless; if the child symbol emerges in our minds, it is possible that the
urge toward a creative act is being symbolized as well, though since our brains are much more
complex than birds, it could be a great variety of things being symbolized.

Mr. Literal: “But we don’t have a baby in our heads. Therefore, all this is nonsensical.”
Me: “I thought I shot you.”
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Chapter 9: The Shadow

“The fact is that a human being always feels himself as two; the other is the shadow.”
(Jung, 2008, p. 432)

Why do humans act aggressively toward each other? Why is lust such a motivator of human behavior?
Why do we constantly disparage or attack one another? Blank slate theorists would have us believe that
children learn at an early age to “associate” aggressive and sexual acts with “rewards”, thereby reinforcing
the behavior—presumably each child comes to this conclusion separately as a result of trail and error. But
such products of the Freudian “id” are not learned at the most basic level, rather they are innate and in place
for solid evolutionary reasons.

Reputation and social status account for the way in which we navigate the social environment; evolution
made this a powerful motivator for behavior because in the ancestral environment, loss of social status
would have had devastating effects on survival and reproduction (Buss, 2004). In fact, the most frequent
triggers for homicidal fantasies are threats to a persons’ social status (Buss and Duntley, 2005)—likely a
reaction to the survival implications for social loss. When the resource threatened is a mate rather than
commodities, men and women engage in tactics ranging from vigilance to violence. Men, in particular, are
more likely to conceal their partners, display resources or threaten violence against rivals. When the threat
comes from the female herself, males are more likely to display submission and self-abasement including
groveling and promising to partners to convince them to stay, whreas women will enhance their appearance
and induce jealousy in their partners to demonstrate their other mating prospects (Buss and Shackelford,
1997). The so-called “cheater detection” algorithm, which has been shown by evolutionary psychologists
to be an adaptation designed to single out deception, is a part of this dynamic; it is believed to have evolved
in part due to social status dominance struggles that have determined reproductive success in humans and is
linked to our ability to deceive others and determine their intent (Cummins, 2005).

Survival tendencies therefore have required that humans have an innate capacity for violence and
aggression in order to protect or garner resources; the immediate cause of this behavior is likely the RAGE
circuitry shared by all vertebrates. The tendency for competition in humans due to the harsh necessities of
natural selection has a number of neurobiological consequences. Neuroscience has shown that frustration
of goal directed behavior triggers the RAGE system, which leads to higher levels of aggression as well as
darker predjudices toward minorities in children (Dodge, 1986). Males are highly sensitive to slights in
reputation because of the ancient equation of social dominance and reproductive success—natural selection
has therefore constructed males that are more aggressive than females and more concerned about social
status due to its direct relation to reproductive success and the necessity to compete for females due to
females increased investment in offspring. For example, boys are more assertive than girls by 13 months of
age (Goldberg and Lewis, 1969) and spend 65% of their time in competitive games vs. 35% in girls (Lever,
1978). Boys engage in more rough-and-tumble play (DiPietro, 1981), a fact reproduced cross-culturally
(Whiting and Edwards, 1988). Rough play appears to establish social dominance, which boys rate as more
important than girls (Jarvinen and Nicholls, 1996). Dominance appears by age 6 and actually predicts later
dominance 9 years later (Weisfeld, 1999). Culture of course influences these basic behaviors to a high
degree, but culture does not define them.

Females compete as well; as stated by evolutionary psychologists, “Ecologically or socially imposed

monogamy tends to equalize the fitness distribution of the sexes and creates two-way selection. We,
therefore, expect that women would compete with one another in the currency of attributes that are valued
by men.” (Campbell, 2005, p. 635). Overall, while men compete by exaggerating their superiority,
promiscuity and popularity, women compete by altering appearance artificially to exaggerate youthfulness
and fertility (cf Buss 1988). Furthermore, since paternal uncertainty is a fact of mating due to our
biological heritage, men are cross-culturally concerned about fidelity in long term sexual partners which
probably leads to the infamous sexual double standard (cf Brown, 1998), which women are actually more
likely to enforce than men (Baumeister and Twenge, 2002). Cross cultural studies show that women
 67

primarily compete by disparaging rivals’ appearance and sexual reputation (Campbell, 1986; Joe Laidler
and Hunt, 2001) all by way of rumor spreading, gossiping, ostracism, and stigmatization, beginning by age
6, and typically increasing more in girls than boys (Campbell, 2005).

The aggressive instincts that have their roots in resource competitiveness can obviously extend to full
blown violence. In fact, humans appear to have evolved facultative adaptations to murder (Buss and
Duntley, 2003) in order to preserve resources and ensure reproductive success and inclusive fitness (in the
form of lost or gained resources, mates, or social status/reputation) in certain high-stakes situations which
are continuous with those found in other animal species (Ghiglieri, 1999). In other words, destruction lurks
in everyone because it results in improved inclusive fitness when properly triggered; no amount of
enculturation will be able to eliminate this because it is a part of our neurobiology. In response, defenses
against homicide (i.e. counter-adaptations) also exist. Specifically, selection has favored homicide defense
adaptations that lead to the avoidance of unfamiliar surroundings—especially territory controlled by rivals,
locations where ambush is likely, traveling by night, or avoiding enraging others of the same species
(Duntley, 2005, p. 236).

Part of this counter-adaptation is aimed toward detection of threats. The perceptual system, for example,
appears to be hard wired to detect threatening facial features; threatening faces are more quickly found than
happy faces among neutral distractors (Öhman, et al, 2001). Evidence suggests that humans need very little
experience to identify kin and appear to have evolutionary adaptations for kin recognition (reviewed in
Burnstein, 2005); facial resemblance in the form of morphed photographs, for example, have been shown
to increase trust in others (DeBruine, 2002).

Furthermore, people tend to automatically categorize others as within their “group” or “outside” the group;
for example, when people are placed randomly into groups they immediately tend to feel more negatively
about the other group, even when religious affiliation, sexual identity and cultural variables are factored out
(Tajfel et al, 1971). Males are seen as the prototypical outgroup member (Zárate and Smith, 1990), perhaps
reflecting the male predominance in social group dynamics and the ancestral likelihood of encountering a
male before a female, who is more likely to have a more limited range and be sequestered further in the
group’s territory in ancestral environments. This propensity to view outgroup members as male is also
reflected in dream research (Van de Castle, 1994), and should not be surprising considering the fact that
males are more likely to be physically aggressive.

Thus there is evidence that humans have a multitude of adaptations designed to classify some humans as
suspicious enemies while classifying others as “kin” or members of the “inside” group, and to mobilize
powerfully aggressive urges toward those that threaten one’s resources or mates. There are mechanisms
within the perceptual/conceptual system designed to detect aggressive enemies and avoid danger and
physical harm. Aggressive self defense involves more than physical attack, it also involves denigration of
reputation and social subterfuge (particularly for females), all of which help to preserve the organism’s
resources, which include not only commodities but social rank and mating prospects.

Neurobiological Substrates for Shadow Symbols

The RAGE and FEAR systems evolved in vertebrates to protect organisms from the threat of danger, in
part from other members of the same species. One mapping we have already considered is the RAGE IS A
PREDATOR mapping from chapter 3. The following mappings will therefore be differentiations of the
EMOTION IS A PERSON mapping. Note that the “shadowy” aspect—i.e. the darkness aspect of these
symbols derives from a different mapping involving light and darkness; this mapping will be discussed in
later chapters. For the moment, note that since humans are diurnal creatures adapted to daylight activities,
we are more vulnerable at night. This was particularly true of the ancestral environment, and as such we
have a variety of adaptations that orient FEAR and other emotional systems toward the avoidance of
darkness. Animal or human symbols that have this aspect or “coloring”, then, will be so because of the
relationship between darkness and safety; in other words, the two aspects will combine into a polysemic
metaphor. Thus angry faces, shadowy, animistic or threatening features are all quickly and easily
recognized by the brain and labeled with high degrees of RAGE and FEAR significance—this is the
neurobiological target domain for shadow symbols.
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Metaphorical Mappings of Shadow Symbols

RAGE IS A SHADOWY PERSON: The human recognition mechanisms in the perceptual/conceptual

system form the target domain for this mapping, with an emphasis on the heightened sensitivity to angry
faces. Like snakes, these are recognized quickly and are inherent in the system. The source domain in this
case is the subject’s own aggressive tendencies, particularly when faced with threatened resources—it is a
self symbol, especially considering the innate propensity to counteract aggressive tendencies during
development. In these cases, aggression will be “translated” into either physical or verbal attack. Another
important aspect to remember is that these undifferentiated urges are directed toward the preservation of the
subject—they are not simply “infantile urges” or “narcissistic fantasies”. They are primitive drives that
mobilize the organism toward the preservation of self and future reproductive success. These urges can vie
for conscious attention and direction, and result in a COMPETING INSTINCTS IS WAR, in which the
symbols actually fight with each other. Also consider that humans have instincts directed at resource
acquisition as well as resource defending. Resource acquisition, however, involves the SEEKING or
LUST circuits. This can be the source domain as well, as previously discussed. If the subject colors this
image with darkness, and thus making it a “shadow” character, it likely reflects the archetypal connotations
of darkness with fear and harm avoidance. The composite image is therefore a “positive and negative”
figure, in that it aims at resource acquisition and other SEEKING affects such as satisfaction and
fulfillment, colored with fearful nuance. Animals can be used for these urges just as much as humans, and
in my experience, when people dream of aggressive animals, it is because their aggressiveness is less
conscious. As they come in touch with it, they tend to dream of aggressive humans.

Shadow images may also reflect the universal source domains that categorize others as “in” or “out” group
members. Thus images portrayed as shadowy enemies are obviously categorized as “out group”, even
though they have their source in the subject. This division of images as “out” mentally separate them from
the subject; i.e. form a INSTINCT (RAGE, FEAR, LUST, SEEKING) IS A SHADOWY OUT GROUP
MEMBER self symbol. Alternately, they may be more literal fears of actual out group enemies being
represented in the abstract, making them generic symbols; even in this case, however, one must consider
the source of the imagery. Since it is created solely via internal processes, the subject’s own biases,
emotional colorings and fears will be prominent aspects of the image construction process, so it is more
likely to be an amalgam or a self symbol than a memory trace or a generic symbol, but all must be
considered.

Mythic Explorations of Shadow Symbols

Tribal myths, as well as folklore and legend often equate the shadow with the “alter ego” of an individual
(Cirlot, 1971). Jung described the shadow as the “dark side” of the personality, which means anything that
has been repressed. It can include baser instincts, and so shares similarity with the Freudian “id”, but it can
also contain positive, creative impulses that for whatever reason the ego has repressed. Furthermore, it has
an “archetypal core” of pure destructiveness, recalling the evolutionary adaptations for murder (Buss and
Duntley, 2003). For Jung, the shadow represented:

“a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become
conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it
involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real….Closer
examination of the dark characteristics…reveals that they have an emotional
nature….With a little self-criticism one can see through the shadow—so far as its nature
is personal….In other words, it is quite within the bounds of possibility for a man to
recognize the relative evil of his nature, but it is a rare and shattering experience for him
to gaze into the face of absolute evil.”
(Jung, 1959a, p. 8-10)

Also relevant are frequently appearing “wild man” symbols—savages that appear in folk tales throughout
the world and include ogres, giants, etc (Cirlot, 1971).
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A ubiquitous “shadow” character, in the Jungian sense, that exists in all mythology is the “trickster”, who is
manifest as various instinctive gods or animals that delight in creating havoc and acting impulsively, he is
often also a cultural hero. Characters such as Loki (Norse myth), Coyote or Raven (American Indian
myth), Satan (Biblical myth), Eshu (West African myth), Prometheus (Greek myth), Lucifer (Medieval
Christian myth, literally “light bringer”), Huehuecoyotl (Aztec myth), Puck (Celtic myth), the Monkey
King (Chinese myth), Seth (Egyptian myth), Kitsune (Japanese myth), Maui (Polynesian myth) and many
others (Henderson, 1964) are all “trickster” characters that solve (and create) various problems through
guile, dumb luck or impulsive and unorthodox actions; interestingly, most are male (Tresidder, 2005, p.
486). Jung equated these trickster characters as repetitive manifestations of shadow symbols in their
various negative and positive aspects (Jung, 1959b). In other words, they represented cultural variations on
the (POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE) INSTINCTS ARE A PERSON mappings, where the trickster is the
person who eschews cultural norms and concerns about reputation and rather acts on pure whimsy.

Another mapping identified by von Franz (1964a) is the “old friend”, which she equates with a symbol of
the forgotten self. In this case the character and behavior of the “old friend” should provide further detail
as to the symbolic meaning of this image—the “forgotten” nature of these circuits is symbolized by its
“dark” or “unknown” qualities.

Understanding the shadow symbol is often the first aspect of any therapy—this is because it is a mostly
personal symbol, consisting primarily of any aspects of the personality that are rejected or repressed by the
conscious self during development. The reason these aspects do not simply disappear during development
when we are taught to “just say no” to them is that the more distasteful urges, such as competitiveness,
aggression, unfettered sexuality, and hatred are innately hard wired in our RAGE and SEEKING circuitry.
The brain will therefore generate symbols to express these undifferentiated urges as people or animals, and
the collection of nuances in them will provide clues as to their more specific characteristics—the following
dream provides an example. Here, Mr. Smith30, who was a very anxious and depressed middle aged man
who overextended himself to please others, dreamed:

The dreamer was clinging to a pole in the ocean. Another man was clinging to another
pole next to him, who was a movie star, strong and confident. Below the two of them
circled a shark. The man told the dreamer he was going to have to deal with the shark,
but the dreamer refused and clung tightly to the pole.

This was dreamt before treatment began. Here we can surmise that the shark, being a dangerous,
unpredictable and aggressive animal, may be representative of his highly repressed anger, i.e., a
RAGE/SEEKING IS AN ANIMAL mapping. On the other hand, the patient associated to the shark by
saying he did not feel it wanted to harm him, it was simply swimming, furthermore he felt that sharks were
“often misunderstood”. Understood neurobiologically, the shark symbol is a metaphor mapping that uses
folk biology to symbolize the patient’s subjective vague sense of anger—which evolved for the sake of self
preservation as the source domain. His conscious (repressive) attitude toward these urges is symbolized by
his refusal to “deal with” the shark, and in so doing he is left “high and dry” (dreams often play on words
like this). The dreamer associated the movie star as someone who was “cool and collected” and a “man of
action”—perhaps a symbol of SEEKING brain activity, with the human-recognition system as the target
domain that was also repressed, as judging by his refusal of the man’s suggestion. These intuitions were
verified by further clinical material.

Ultimately, what Jung and Freud were intuitively grappling with were the more “primitive” aspects of an
individual’s psychology. The evolutionary adaptations that we have inherited, including those that can
potentially incite homicidal behavior, emerge from ancient reptile-brain structures that are universal in all
vertebrates—humans are naturally no exception. They exist not to create strife and mayhem, but rather to
preserve the organism’s inclusive fitness. Nature naturally is morally neutral here, the only thing that
preserves a behavior is its reproductive success. Humans, however, have adaptations in place that aim
toward maintenance of reputation, trustworthiness and harmonious social rank placement. But these
adaptations evolved much later than the more ancient methods of violent agonistic competition for

30
Not his real name.
 70

resources (Stevens and Price, 2000). The guilt that these later adaptations produce is therefore at odds with
the vengeful destruction of the RAGE circuits. All of these activities are furthermore innate and therefore
archetypal conflicts in the human mind, and have little to do with upbringing at their source; what
experience does is provide a developing mind with a set of coping strategies, however inadequate, to
dealing with the conflicts. Refusal to accept the darker aspects of the personality, then, is doomed to
failure; the best one can hope for is to accept them and be conscious of them, but not to let them dominate
behavior but to try to use them in a more controlled and socially appropriate manner; Freud called this
“sublimation”.
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Chapter 10: Tree, Environment and Landscape Symbols

In the last few chapters we have discussed the way the mind creates symbols using human or animal
images. The great variety of these images is illustrative of the way metaphors work in general. As Lakoff
and Johnson (1980) point out, the advantage of metaphors is that they help us to conceptualize vague or
difficult concepts like “the earth” or “love” and equate them symbolically to concrete images that we
comprehend more readily like “the mother” or “a journey”, concepts highly developed in predominantly
visual primates with highly complex social adaptations.

But humans did not evolve in a vacuum of course; we evolved in a specific environment—most likely the
African savannah. Furthermore, our evolutionary history built upon highly visual arboreal primates that
predate homo sapiens. Just as there are innate attentional biases and cues in our perceptual/conceptual
system regarding animals and humans, there appear to be similar mechanisms that are used when
processing environmental data. Aside from the division between animate and inanimate objects, which is
an innate classification, we further differentiate environmental information to a degree that seems to be
quite detailed. This system aids in survival by biasing certain environments as more attractive than others
in the same way it orients certain physical features (like symmetry) as more attractive than others.

For example, humans innately find savannas and savannah-like landscapes beautiful, starting in childhood,
but we also reliably acquire a desire for a landscape that is familiar, easy to explore and easy to remember
(Pinker, 1997, p. 376). In fact, evolutionary psychologists have determined that there are likely domain-
specific algorithms for landscape preference based on our hunter-gatherer ancestry as well as strong
attentional biases toward weather changes for similar reasons—they were both intimately related to
survival and inclusive fitness for the organism homo sapiens (reviewed in Stevens, 1998, pp. 100-102).

Studies on landscape preference in humans has shown consistent results that humans not only prefer natural
environments to man-made ones (Kaplan, 1992) but also that savannah-like landscapes are preferred
among natural environments, particularly in children under age 9 (Balling and Falk, 1982). Other qualities
of landscapes that attract our innate systems for attention and desire have been worked out by evolutionary
aesthetics research (Orians and Heerwagen, 1992). These qualities include semi-open space that is neither
completely exposed nor overgrown, even ground cover, views of the horizon, large trees, water, changes in
elevation and multiple paths leading out (all of which mimics the savannah). Kaplan (1992) defines
“mystery” as another key to landscapes that has this effect on the human perceptual/conceptual system:
paths bending around hills, wandering streams, gaps in vegetation, all pointing to hints that the
environment needs further exploration. Houses are primarily valued for their refuge qualities, such as small
cozy spaces, and “mystery” such as multiple levels, bends, windows, etc. (Orians and Heerwagen, 1992;
Kaplan, 1992; Cosmides et al, 1992). These biases likely evolved to orient the system toward finding
refuges that were well protected and secret so as to protect against predators and rival tribes in the
Pleistocene epoch, since they represent the environment homo sapiens evolved in.

Mealey and Theis (1995) found that the relative attractiveness of a landscape varies with mood—when
mood is positive, landscapes that showed greater “prospect”, meaning prospects for exploration, were
preferred, whereas negative moods were associated with landscapes that offered comfort or “refuge”.
Subjects reporting positive moods preferred vast expanses and overviews, whereas subjects reporting
dysphoria preferred enclosed protected spaces.

Finally natural events such as sunsets, storms, clouds, darkness and fire, all long recognized universal
symbols that shape dream imagery and mythic story telling, have been shown to evoke emotions that arrest
the senses in preparation for what is to come (Cosmides et al, 1992), and have obvious survival advantages
for hominids navigating the ancestral environment. Whether or not there are “storm recognition”
algorithms remains an open question, since the size of storms, accompanied by the loudness of thunder and
the impressive visual effects of rain and lightening may account for their evocative character. In other
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words, more basic algorithms that orient to size, noise and changes in light may combine to create the
subjective orienting effect of a storm. In any case, the target domain of a FEAR IS A STORM mapping
would still be universal. Storms orient most animals to find refuge, and without good reason to suspect
humans to be different in this urge (though recognizing that humans have the ability to ignore it), would
find a further connection between these two domains and provide a basis for the mapping.

Environmental Symbols

Symbols that emerge using environmental imagery are likely to be mapping “prospect” or “exploration” as
a part of their metaphorical meaning. It appears from the above landscape preference data that humans
have an innate set of cueing mechanisms that can generate “savannah like” imagery, which would provide
the target domain for a variety of MENTAL STATE IS A LOCATION mappings, which are found cross
culturally (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999; see also chapter 2). Since the savannah is viewed as aesthetically
pleasing, is the ancestral environment and appears to be related to mood changes, possibilities include
INSTINCTS ARE A SAVANNAH, SADNESS IS A REFUGE, or SEEKING IS A PROSPECTIVE
ENVIRONMENT. Jung equated dream environments that were more natural as representing a more
“primitive” state (2008), a hypothesis that finds interesting parallels in the above research.

SELF IS A HOUSE: Human shelter making is an absolute universal, as is the designation of a

“homeland”, even when individuals hardly ever visit such a place (Brown, 1991); consequently there may
be psychological cues or attentional biases that orient toward both “home” and shelter imagery; these
studies have not been done to date. Alternately, the already present tool-use aspects of the brain, which
detect “artificialness” (Boyer and Barrett, 2005), combined with the above “refuge” seeking system that
orients to mood may cue to any enclosed area and the use of tools to construct them. In any case, houses
and other areas of refuge can provide the target domain for various MENTAL STATE IS A LOCATION
mappings, wherein moods and will be closely linked to the type of imagery mentioned.

Since humans are territorial mammals, territory that is designated as “home” will be subject to a number of
perceptual/conceptual biases. For example, evolutionary psychologists believe humans are adapted to
elevated FEAR activity when in hostile or “external” territory, possibly as an adaptation to avoid murder
(Duntley, 2005). Thus dream and fantasy symbols using houses are likely to refer to more introverted
“homeland” mental states, and represent the relationship between the subject and their designated
“homeland”—though this is likely to be a symbolic homeland, or perhaps the subject himself. The
differentiation found in aesthetics research between refuge and prospect correspond to the PANIC or FEAR
systems (refuge) or SEEKING (prospect) emotional systems. Imagery involving the subject searching and
exploring will generate SEEKING IS EXPLORING A LOCATION mappings wherein the subject is
“finding new things” in the location or “discovering secrets”. Conversely, feelings of distress, panic, fear,
or isolation will generate NEGATIVE MOOD IS A LOCATION mappings wherein the subject is
attempting to find a safe haven from enemies (or whatever), or trying to protect the location from
“outsiders” or other visuospatial threats—these threats are themselves likely to be still more symbolic
characters, animals, or situations.

Furthermore, the environment appears to be mentally subdivided into a basic “homeland” vs “outside”
division. This is reflected in the worldwide symbolism that divides the local “home” environment from the
“outside” environment that consists of demons, “chaos”, death, foreigners, the dead, etc. (Eliade, 1952).

Tree Symbols

Humans evolved from arboreal primates with binocular color vision; navigating arboreal environments
meant the difference between life and death, so one would expect aspects of the brain to orient at least
somewhat to trees as a result of this heritage. Evidence for this recognition system is limited but
significant. In tribal cultures, trees often provid shelter or gathering places, as well as survival uses.
Subjects in the United States, Argentina, and Australia rated the attractiveness of acacia trees which varied
in trunk height, branching pattern, density and shape. Trees rated as most attractive were, not surprisingly,
from savannas and considered high quality in adaptive value for humans such as moderately dense canopies
and trunks that bifurcated near the ground—contributing to ease of climbing and concealment (Orians and
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Heerwagon, 1992). This provides evidence for a tree-recognition mechanism within the
perceptual/conceptual system that can generate tree metaphors. Concealment is one of the aspects of
“refuge” described above, in that dysphoric moods unconsciously produce a bias toward concealing,
containing environments.

In discussing tree symbols, Jung frequently explored what is essentially the SELF IS A TREE mapping,
stating that the tree represents:

“an inner process of development…[that] usually consists in the union of two pairs of
opposites, the lower (water, blackness, animal, snake, etc.), with an upper (bird, light,
head, etc.)….The union of opposites, which plays such a great and indeed decisive role in
alchemy, is of equal significance….” (Jung, 1967, para 462).

Recall that animate objects such as plants and animals are granted an “essentialist” character, however,
which would make this possibility plausible, since a changing tree, when thought of in essentialist terms, is
still “the same” tree. Thus even when the tree changes, its “essence” does not, and the same thinking
applies to oneself and other animals.

Further mythic explorations of tree symbols find that the snake is commonly associated with tree images
such as that found in Genesis and many other creation myths—an obvious evolutionary connection since
snakes frequently live near trees in the branches or roots (this does not “explain” the metaphor, though).
The so-called “cosmic tree” has multiple manifestations throughout the world, such as the cosmic trees of
Vedic India, ancient China and Norse myth, as well as central and north Asiatic shamanism, which speaks
of the cosmic tree traversed by shamans; this symbolism is paralleled in the shamanism of Indonesia, the
Arctic and South and North America (Eliade, 1951, p. 49). The symbolism of the cosmic tree is actually
“almost universal” (Tresidder, 2005, p. 485), and usually comes complete with a spiraling snake at its base,
fertilizing waters gushing from its roots, and spiritual birds nesting in its branches that stretch into heaven.
Thus it appears that a near universal WORLD IS A TREE symbolism that may be the product of innate tree
recognition in the brain.

The tree is also frequently symbolized to represent life, death, eternal life, and “absolute reality” throughout
many cultures (Cirlot, 1971). Christ, for example, was depicted in medieval art as being crucified on a tree
rather than a cross (Tresidder, 2005), which combined the “tree of knowledge” with the “tree of life”
symbolism. This “tree imagery”, then, is therefore an essentially “mystical” (which to me means highly
symbolic or ineffable) way of understanding life experience. Since humans are cross-culturally adapted to
differentiate between live and dead animals by age 4 (discussed later), and there is already a DEATH IS
REBIRTH mapping (explored previously), the LIFE, DEATH AND REBIRTH IS A TREE mapping,
though abstruse, may emerge naturally as a consequence of brain wiring. The LIFE IS A TREE mapping
has its modern parallel in the “tree of life” symbol of evolutionary biology; note that many ancient presages
of this idea in the numerous symbolic works that depict the “cosmic tree” with animals in accordance to the
ubiquitous GREAT CHAIN OF BEING metaphor, with dragons and snakes at the roots, lions, stags or
unicorns at the surface, and birds in the foliage. This is essentially a GREAT CHAIN OF BEING IS A
TREE mapping. Finally, trees are known to grow according to the laws of chaos theory; tree-like patterns
can be found in nature in such varied instances as crystal growth and blood vessel patterns (Prigogene and
Stengers, 1988; van Eenwyk, 1997), thus many patterns in life are likely to be symbolized as trees by
hominids with arboreal ancestors, simply because of their structural similarity. This is a good example of a
mathematical principle governing an archetype, as noticed before by Jungians such as Saunders and Skar
(2001).

Other Plants

Given that plants beside acacia trees would have been present in the ancestral environment, it is possible
that other plants such as flowers—which signify fertile land with abundant nutrients and possible prey
locations, might have found their way into the perceptual/conceptual system as well. Unfortunately, there
is no empirical data at present to support or refute this notion, though there is extensive evidence that
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humans of all cultures have used plants medicinally and in highly symbolic ways (Moerman, 2002).
Symbologists have also noted that plants do find their way into many symbols.

The lotus, for example, which is a symmetrical flower, is usually symbolic of the sun, and frequently
represents a “mystic union” of various opposites such as sun and moon, male and female, spirit and matter,
day and night, death and rebirth, eternal regeneration and immortality, and order emerging from primal
chaos (Stevens, 1998, p.249); it thus shares many of the tree symbolism explored previously, and since it is
symmetrical, it acquires this meaning as well (symmetrical symbolism is explored later). Thus the lotus is
actually a highly complex symbol containing many parts that all flow together into a meaningful whole; the
plant, symmetry, fundamental divisions, and vertical levels all go together into this (beautiful) symbol—
this is an example of the polyvalent nature of symbols.

Fruits would have been very important in the ancestral environment since we are omnivores. Interestingly,
fruit symbolism is frequently associated with enticement, fertility, and it is often equated with the body:
“apple cheeks, cherry lips, breasts like peaches, buttocks like melons, teeth like pomegranate seeds, etc.”
(Stevens, 1998, p. 383); fruit symbols appear to be associated with temptation and instinctive desires or
needs, suggesting an archetypal LUST IS FRUIT mapping.

When Jung (2008) outlined his understanding of landscape symbolism, he observed that plant symbols
often meant healing (pp. 218), and recounts numerous parallel myths of magic healing herbs in Babylonian
myth, astrological symbolism, Greek mythology, alchemy, and tribal myth, linking it to various alchemical
and biblical symbolism of water and finally of “enlightenment”. Others note that plants are frequently
found as symbols of death and rebirth (Cirlot, 1971). Tribal cultures everywhere use plants as medicines
and in religious ceremonies—what might be the neurobiological origin of this behavior? At this point it is
difficult to say, but the usual explanation invokes “trial and error” with cultural transmission; that is,
somebody somewhere “discovered” that eating such-and-such a plant made someone feel better, and this
passed down from generation to generation. I would hope at this point that one might be skeptical that this
is the only mechanism for explaining this behavior. After all, why would humans play around with plants
like this in the first place without some kind of instinctive motivation? It seems likely that in addition to
the mechanisms of transmission and trial and error, there exist cues and biases in the perceptual/conceptual
system that looks for and uses particular plants (or classes of plants), motivated by most likely vague
impulses. These impulses would drive the curious behavior aimed specifically at plant experimentation,
possibly with some idea that they can be useful for healing, “rejuvenation”, “purification” or some other
hazily defined innate concept. Moreover, the fact that humans everywhere use plants for decoration is
interesting in itself—indeed why are flowers beautiful? Without some kind of innate preference in place
for some biological reason, it is very difficult to explain this behavior.

Vertical Symbols

The infant research on gravity is evidence of an innate understanding of vertical orientation and gravity;
infants understand gravity by 6 months (which, by the way, is about the time they acquire greater freedom
of movement—good timing that is probably not a “coincidence”). The idea that everything about vertical
dimension must be “learned” by a blank slate at birth is therefore ill conceived; it is more likely that
primates like homo sapiens with arboreal ancestors have domain specific algorithms dealing with vertical
dimensions. Verticality, then, is prime material for symbol making.

Furthermore, an innate predisposition to explore landscapes such as scaling peaks for the sheer pleasure of
the view is likely to have been adaptive (Appleton, 1990), and one in which may be driven by the
SEEKING affective system. The predisposition to find high vantage points “beneficial” or “desirable”
would provide a clear survival advantage to a species with excellent binocular day vision, particularly one
capable of advanced complex planning. This would provide an innate source domain for a MORE
KNOWLEDGE IS UP mapping, and is reflected in numerous religious symbols of verticality. Note also
that higher ground provides an advantage in tribal warfare, which was prevalent throughout all of our
ancestral history (and plagues us to this day), which may have provided a further basis for evaluating
“higher” positions with positive motivations.
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The symbol of the tree, ladder or staircase, which represents “ascension” is also found world wide, through
which:

“It gives plastic expression to the break through the planes necessitated by the passage
from one mode of being to another…[and is placed] in a ‘center’…it makes
communication possible between the different levels of being, and , finally, because it is
a concrete formula for the mythical ladder, for the creeper or the spider-web, the Cosmic
Tree or the Pillar of the Universe, that connects the three cosmic zones” (Eliade, 1951,
pp. 50-51, emphasis in the original)

The symbols of the “Three Levels” (the spiritual world of the gods, the material world, and the underworld
of the dead) spans all world cultures throughout history (Eliade, 1952, pp. 40-50). These three levels are
nearly always transected vertically by a “center” axis; The myth of the “center” is ubiquitous throughout
world religion and myth, for example the giant rock of Batu-Ribne of the Samng pygmies, the Dur-an-ki or
“link between Heaven and Earth” of Nippur, Larsa and Sippara, the Rock of Jerusalem (Hebrew myth), the
gate of Apsu (Babylonian myth), the mundus of the Romans, Mount Neru (Indian myth), Heraberazaiti
(Iranian myth), the mountain Himingbjör or great tree Yggdrasil (Norse myth), Mount Tabor (Palestinian
myth), Golgotha (Christian myth). These symbols, which transect Heaven, earth and Hell (and all their
parallels), often consisting of a great mountain, rock or tree, also comprise the “center of the world” and are
linked to the anthropomorphic symbolism of the world as a person, wherein this symbol is the persons
“navel”. Thus mythic understanding of vertical symbols appears to show a ubiquitous tendency to regard
“spiritual” matters, which I equate with psychological understanding or ideas with UP and the physical
world with DOWN. The three levels (which also borrows number symbolism, which I explore in the next
chapter) also are “transected” by a method of ascension symbolized by an ancestrally valid mode of travel
(climbing either a rock, a tree, or a mountain) that is designated as the “center” (which borrows symbolism
of the “homeland” or the “us versus them” categorization). These religious symbols therefore combine a
large variety of archetypal mappings together into a coordinated unit; it is no wonder they survive so well
in the human mind—they are combinations of many universal symbols. The parts of these symbols exist in
every intact human brain, and so can emerge spontaneously in everyone; they are therefore not likely to be
dependent upon “cultural transmission” except in the details.

Recall from chapter 3 the way animal symbols are used, and the way our theory of mind (TOM) capacity
helps to build them. Since (flighted) birds live in the air, they would naturally acquire all of the vertical
symbolism described previously; this explains why birds are so often symbols of “spirit”, “air” and other
vague but innate notions.

Finally, human brains and bodies have an innate biological system that orients along a vertical axis: the
vestibular system. This system, which includes the inner ear, automatically tracks balance along the
vertical dimension, and detects movement via the inertia of fluids in the labyrinthine canals. This provides
a concrete reference point for target domains of a variety of mappings, all of which are innate, and are
probably the specific systems accessed by the ubiquitous vertical mappings that have already been
identified by Lakoff and Johnson (1980, 1989, 1999, 2003) and include the MORE IS UP (“stocks soared
to new heights today”), HAPPY IS UP (“my spirits are lifted”), GOOD IS UP (“things are finally looking
up”), ALIVE IS UP (“he rose from the dead”), CONTROL IS UP (“I’m trying to get on top of this
situation”), STATUS IS UP (“she dresses very high class”), RATIONAL IS UP (“humans can exersize
higher reasoning functions”, “take the moral high ground”), and so on. In other words, humans understand
verticality well (and apparently, “up” is preferable!) and use it constantly to create symbols of abstract
ideas or intuitions.

Left/Right Symbolism

LEFT/RIGHT SYMBOLISM: The mind does not appear to think of left and right orientations as equal,
and so when understanding symbols, one should attend to spatial orientation along the left-right axis. The
evidence of this comes from a variety of sources. First, many languages attribute value distinctions to
“right” and “left” directions in the same way. “Right”, in English, means “correct” or “conventional”, for
example. Droit (French) means right, but also just, law, and uncorrupted, whereas gauche (left) means
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ungainly, unseemly, awkward or warped. Aristeros (Greek for left) means insane and “wrong”, whereas
sinister (Latin for left) means corrupt and evil. Na levo (Russian for “on the left”) means underhanded or
“on the sly”. Jungian analyst Anthony Stevens has related this terminology to neurobiology—our evolved
specialization of the hemispheres, with the left hemisphere controlling the right half of the body, and the
right hemisphere the left half:

“since in the great majority of people the left hemisphere is dominant, most of us are
right-handed. The right side is our competent, effective side; our left is clumsy,
awkward, gauche, and this has probably been the case since protohominid times.” (1998,
p. 122)

One might protest that Russian, English, French, and Greek are all Indo-European and so may have similar
meanings because of diffusion. But Stevens points out that cross culturally the “right” has been associated
with the sun, the masculine, day, summer, the sacred, the known, life, health, good and Heaven, whereas
the “left” is often associated with the moon, the feminine, night, winter, the profane, death, illness, evil and
Hell, essentially equating all these things in an IS RIGHT/LEFT metaphorical mapping (such as GOOD IS
RIGHT, BAD IS LEFT, etc.). Note also that film critics have observed that “good” protagonists are shown
more frequently to be traveling from the left to the right31, which may symbolize a “movement” from
“unfavorable” to “favorable” positions visuospatially. These connections with our handedness that are
consistently found throughout the world suggests a domain general process at work that associates dexterity
with a variety of concepts using the innate handedness as a target domain. I feel this reasoning is on the
right track, but there may be more to our neurobiology than handedness at work that involves domain-
specific processing.

For example, neuroscientists have worked out that the left and right hemispheres operate in several
fundamentally different ways. A complete review of these differences lies outside the scope of this work,
but summarizing, experiments in split brain subjects have shown that the left hemisphere is more
conscious, more analytical and rational, and more verbal than the right hemisphere. In contrast, the right
hemisphere is less conscious but more aware of our surroundings and our internal milieu, is more holistic in
judgement rather than reductionistic, and more emotional (Gazzaniga, 1995; Gazzaniga et al, 2002). Solms
and Turnbull (2002) have observed that the right hemisphere is necessary for deeper emotional processing
in maintaining psychological health, whereas the left hemisphere is more precise and rational, but
frequently oblivious to these matters and prone to repression, denial, and other defenses. Furthermore, the
right hemisphere is more “in tune”, meaning more heavily innervated, with the deeper emotional circuits,
whereas the left hemisphere sees these things more “at a distance” (Damasio, 1999b; Panksepp, 1998).
Ramachandran et al (1998), operating on years of studies of patients with various left/right lesions, as well
as summarizing the clinical research, observe:

“The basic idea here is that the coping strategies of the two hemispheres are
fundamentally different. The left hemisphere’s job is to create a model and maintain it at
all costs. If confronted with some new information that does not fit the model, it relies on
Freudian defense mechanisms to deny, repress, or confabulate; anything to preserve the
status quo32. The right hemisphere’s strategy is fundamentally different. I like to call it
the ‘devil’s advocate,’ for when the anomalous information reaches a certain threshold,
the right hemisphere decides that it is time to force the organism to revise the entire
model and start from scratch. The right hemisphere thus forces a Kuhnian paradigm shift
in response to anomalies, whereas the left hemisphere always tries to cling to the original
model.” (pp. 42-43)

Thus, we have much more than an “association” with physical dexterity—we have a basic underlying
difference between hemispheric processing styles. The equation of knowledge and the sun with the “right”
is a reflection of the more conscious processing of the left hemisphere, and utilizes the ubiquitous

31
Roger Ebert, film critic for the Chicago Tribune, 2005, personal communication.
32
Freudian defense mechanisms, incidentally, also have a strong backing in empirical research. See
Luborsky and Barrett (2006) for a review.
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KNOWING IS SEEING mappings. Given Ramachandran et al’s observation that the left hemisphere
tenaciously hangs on to theories and “what is known” (or thought to be known), the equation with a
questioning right hemisphere that is more unconscious but more deeply aware of the internal and external
environments certainly would lend it self to innate UNKNOWN, EVIL, DARK, or ILL IS LEFT mappings
—in fact the characterization as the “devils advocate” is quite apt, since the right hemisphere appears to be
a “Mephistopheles” to the left hemisphere33. More emotional, more unknown and mysterious, but having
deeper knowledge of the inner and outer world, it is also less verbal, less precise, and more prone to
irrationality and chaos. And everyone has both types of processing in their brains; animals that have no
differentiation of the hemispheres would probably not have this dichotomy. Humans do, and it is likely
that this is the neurobiological source behind this symbolism and why the same metaphors appear cross
culturally. If this were a matter of convention or culture, these metaphors (if they appeared at all) should
distribute randomly, or at least follow patterns of diffusion. Since they don’t, the neurobiological origin
seems more credibile.

Anything on the “left” symbolically, then, may represent left as darkness, unconsciousness, “evil” or
“sickness” (meaning anything that disturbs the status quo of the left hemisphere), “the profane” (meaning
bodily functions and emotionality) and “Hell” (meaning anything opposing the idealized “Heaven” of the
left hemisphere).

Color Symbolism

The most common understanding of linguistic analyses of color terms and concepts in humans has been
that it is completely arbitrary; this hypothesis has not withstood more recent analyses, however (Brown,
1991). In analyzing over 100 languages world wide across many cultures, Berlin and Kay (1969) found
basic universal principles apply to the way humans organize color information. First, they found that while
languages vary in the number of color terms used from two on up, there are some basic commonalities.
Some languages, for example, divide all colors into only two broad terms like “light” or “dark”; this does
not mean that subjects cannot differentiate the colors, which would suggest that language dictates thought
—a hypothesis which is not supported by psycholinguistic evidence (Pinker, 2007), rather, subjects using
these “two-color” languages merely lump dark colors together and light colors together and give them a
single name. The way in which these categories are devised, though, is not arbitrary. Two-color
languages, for instance, always use “black” and “white” equivalent terms. If a language has three terms,
the third color singled out for labeling is always red. Four and Five color languages always include green
and yellow. The sixth term is blue, the seventh is brown, and the eighth through eleventh colors are always
purple, pink, orange, and gray. These basic eleven colors are found in all other languages, and this
“hierarchy”, since it is never violated, suggests an innate organizing principle in the mind that assigns
particular importance first to black and white, then to the color red, followed by green and yellow, then
blue and the rest. Note also that colors that attract the most attention are red, yellow, green and blue, and
these colors are preferred by children (Tresidder, 2005, p. 116).

What might be the neurobiological principles behind this organization? First, note that the initial three
actual colors (red, green and yellow) are primary colors in optics, as well as the set-wavelengths of the
color-detecting “cones” of the retina. Before that, the more numerous “rods” differentiate light and dark,
which may explain their order in the hierarchy. The fact that red is classified first may suggest an innate
attentional bias in the perceptual/conceptual system, for the simple reason that redness in the environment
may mean someone or something is bleeding—which would be important for survival purposes; this
hypothesis calls for more specific study. The other colors may correspond biologically with the fact that
humans evolved in a diurnal environment where yellow (the sun) and green (vegetation) were particularly
important, followed by blue (the sky), brown (the earth), and the other finer differentiations. Symbologists
have recognized this link between color symbolism and nature, pointing out that green usually used to

33
Note also that when taken to the extreme, this symbolism can create harsh dualisms of what is “good”
and “bad”, as observed, for example in the religious reforms of Zarathustra (ancient Persian religion),
which were so influential to Christianity (Puhvel, 1986). In this system all the gods and spirits were
categorized as part of the “truth” (personified as the supreme god Ahuramazda) or “the lie” (personified as
the evil god Ahriman)
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represent potency and vegetation, yellow the sun, blue the sky, spirit and truth, white with purity and light
(which includes the Chinese symbolism of funerals), and black with death, mourning, or evil (Tresidder,
2005).

Evolutionarily the white/black primacy of color conceptualization makes sense considering that light and
dark differentiation occurred first before color differentiation did. The linguistic evidence is unfortunately
all we have to evaluate the color-processing aspects of the brain, however, these alone suggest quite a bit.
Diurnal creatures such as humans can use color as a way to navigate the environment, so we might be able
to make an educated guess that there are subtle emotional biases in the brain that “tags” certain colors with
certain (likely quite vague or thematic) meanings. These meanings would automatically find their way into
our symbols unconsciously.

In understanding symbolism of the color red, Jungians postulate that “red is the color of fire, of blood, of
wine, the color of embers and of inebriation…red stands for life and death, for fertility and danger”
(Brunner, quoted in Jung, 2008, p. 346), to which Jung adds that red “stands for blood, passion, and fire”
(Jung, 2008, p. 366, emphasis in original). Red is generally seen as “strong, ‘heavy’ and emotive” in world
symbolism (Tresidder, 2005). The fact that redness cues the brain to the exclusion of all other colors,
which I postulate is due to the potential importance of noticing blood for survival reasons, would equate
“danger”, “emotion”, or “life and death” certainly. Note also that activation of the RAGE and LUST
circuits elevate blood pressure and blood flow (Panksepp, 1998), providing another link between these
“passionate” affects and blood, which flood the skin capillaries during these moments, and consequently
redden the skin. These universal source domains would easily generate PASSION OR RAGE IS RED
mappings. The link with fire may have an attentional bias in that fire use is an absolute universal (Brown,
1991), and there are even cases of individuals that have pathological fascination with fire (in the impulse
control disorder pyromania)—both suggesting that the perceptual/conceptual system has attentional biases
that recognize fire as emotionally important (more research needs to be done in this area, however, to
directly test this bias). Since both RAGE and LUST circuitry elevate body temperature (Panksepp, 1998), a
universal RAGE OR LUST IS HOT becomes obvious. The link between heat and fire is a tight one,
perhaps made by domain-general mechanisms, resulting in the universal RAGE OR LUST IS FIRE
mapping. The most important point here is that the use of the color red to symbolize affects is not arbitrary
or contrived by culture, but originates from our shared neurobiology.

In general, colors have come to be understood to represent a number of meanings when compared cross-
culturally. In a variety of systems, red represents the color of the gods, including fire and the sun
(Hermetic philosophy), grey represents a mixture of light/dark, as well as ghosts—perhaps a visualization
of the “light” world of the living and the “dark” world of the dead. Blue contrasts red and indicates a
calming state, and is usually considered “good” (Tresidder, 2005). Blue has been depicted as the mantle of
the virgin Mary, is linked with water and unconsciousness, the sky and spirit realm, and is linked with
green in depictions of the Egyptian underworld and land of disembodied spirits (Jung, 2008). Jungian
analyst Jacoby equates blue with thinking (1964, p. 338), whereas red is associated with the sun, passion,
masculinity (testosterone elevates blood pressure and body temperature, which may represent a universal
HEAT, BLOOD, RED  MASCULINE link), war, and is frequently linked with black and white, for
example in medieval Christian art where black represented evil, red the resurrection, and white the
Transfiguration. Interestingly, this color hierarchy is also found in Ndembu and Andamanese symbolism
(Stevens, 1998, p. 148). Note also the alchemical symbolism of black-white-red-gold (yellow), which
represents the process of “spiritual transformation” from base matter (black), to illumination and revelation
(white), through suffering and love (red) and finally to transcendence (gold). Interestingly, the white-red-
gold progression is also present in Taoist symbolism (Cirlot, 1971). All of these colors are early in the
hierarchy; black and white come first, then red, then green or yellow.

Green is often a symbol of life and hope, but also of death and lividness (Jacobi, 1964), and green is
frequently the color of vegetation and putrefaction. Green and yellow come after red in the color hierarchy,
which may represent a bias in the brain that has adapted to vegetation, wherein refuge but also predators,
including rival tribes, lie. The link between green and life makes sense if the brain motivates us toward
“green” stimuli in combination with the “animacy” categorization (described previously); thus the link
between green and life. Others note that brown is linked to earth symbolism. The above link of
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green/yellow with animate objects would find its opposite in brown colors, or “inanimacy” (i.e. rocks, dirt,
etc). Of course, there are many brown animals, so this differentiation is not perfect—it may only cue to
environmental surroundings (green forests, grasslands as opposed to dirt and rocks). Here again red is
associated with surging emotionality; there are many more associations to color symbols in a variety of
systems, many of which are taken to extremes and are contradictory (Cirlot, 1971). The question here is
how much of this is archetypal, as opposed to associated later on the basis of experience. In my estimation,
only the colors that are “early” on the hierarchy are likely to have archetypal meanings, further
differentiations are likely attached later.

Light and Dark

The fundamental division of day and night is likely a part of the makeup of all animals, since feeding,
resting, and exploring all vary on the basis of available light in the environment. Humans are diurnal
creatures that hunted and foraged during the day, and returned home at night. This pattern is evident in our
neurobiological adaptations. For example, Natural Selection has favored homicide defense adaptations that
lead to the avoidance of unfamiliar surroundings—especially those controlled by rivals, or in locations
where ambush is likely, and especially traveling by night (Duntley, 2005, p. 236). Darkness cues the
FEAR system to be more vigilant against danger when far from “home” territory as an adaptation against
physical harm. When the FEAR brain circuits are directly stimulated in humans, subjects frequently report
highly metaphorical reports of “entering a dark tunnel” or being “lost at sea” (Panksepp, 1985)—note how
here the mere stimulation of these circuits generate metaphors directly! Humans readily exhibit fears of
dark places, heights, approaching strangers with angry faces, sudden sounds, snakes and spiders (Gray,
1987), and children under 2 typically have innate fears of sudden noises, strange objects, pain, loss of
physical support (Panksepp et al, 1998) and later easily acquire fears of animals, strangers, the dark and
drowning (Panksepp, 1998, pp. 220-221) providing evidence that certain imagery has direct access to
FEAR circuitry in humans and may provide universal DESPAIR IS DARKNESS, FEAR IS DARKNESS,
ISOLATION IS DARKNESS metaphors. By contrast, note that mice (which are nocturnal foragers)
appear comfortable in darkness and actually fear light (Panksepp, 1998). In humans, black is normally
representative of death, darkness, sickness, and evil, and has also been utilized to symbolically depict
humiliation, death, sorrow and mourning (Stevens, 2002, p. 147)—all of these mappings probably emerge
from the above differentiations of the more general DANGER IS DARKNESS symbol.

Light is everywhere equated with knowledge (via the universal KNOWING IS SEEING metaphor, Lakoff
and Johnson, 1999), and this meaning is expanded to include “mystical awareness”, moral virtue, “higher
consciousness” and “spiritual” thought. Conversely, darkness is equated with the physical world, the
unknown, with primordial undifferentiated chaos and the “seeds of creation”, but also with gloom and evil,
but only after differentiation of the “primordial” darkness into light and dark (Cirlot, 1971). The color
white is “Associated with light, sun, air, holiness, perfection and innocence” (Stevens, 1998, p. 148), and
yet it is linked to death in Asian, ancient Greek and Roman funeral rites, which may therefore symbolize
the upcoming “enlightenment” of the afterworld or “purity of the spirit”, rather than the grief of the
survivors. The converse of the KNOWING IS SEEING mapping is the IGNORANCE IS DARKNESS
mapping, or a more general UNKNOWN IS DARKNESS mapping. Considering from the point of the
conscious self that unconscious processes are also “unknown”, a further UNCONSCIOUSNESS IS
DARKNESS mapping is also universal.

Consider, for example, the numerous systematic metaphors that equate understanding (which is favorable)
as “seeing”, such as UNDERSTANDING IS SEEING (“I see what you are talking about”, “I view things
differently from you”), or CLEAR IDEAS ARE LIGHT (“your ideas are insightful and brilliant,” which
also contains the INTELLIGENCE IS LIGHT mapping).

The colors of black and white appear as pairs throughout symbolism of the world. Numerous tribal
cultures have face or body painting rituals that use black and white in combination, and there are a number
of myths that involve twin animals of each color such as horses (Indoeuropean myth), the watermaidens of
Hispanic folklore, black and white knights of medieval folklore, the two birds released by Noah after the
flood (Old Testament), the white and black gods Bielbog and Chernobog (Slavic myth), and the Yin-yang
(Taoism). Here black appears to symbolize the primal, undifferentiated, unconscious source of new
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creation, whereas white represents illumination (mystic or literal), learning, or conscious differentiation that
is nevertheless dependent upon the black (Cirlot, 1971). Furthermore, the division of things into pairs of
opposites, which occurs in the inferior parietal lobe, can provide the source domain for the PAIRS OF
OPPOSITES ARE BLACK AND WHITE mapping.

Finally, growth hormone is secreted mostly during sleep, and consequently most wound healing is done
during sleep. This, along with our diurnal habits, provides the source domain for the HEALING IS NIGHT
mapping, or similar REJUVENATION IS NIGHT.

Temperature Symbols

The neural systems for separation-distress evolved from brain circuitry involved in pain and thermal
regulation, both of which have been shown to be affected by manipulations in opioid systems, as the

“roots of the social motivational system may be strongly linked to thermoregulatory

systems of the brain….From the present perspective, it seems…likely that opioid
blockade produces chills because one no longer experiences the rapid decline in opioid
activity that is produced during the perceptually induced affective experience of social
loss, an experience that, in the human mind, is always combined with the possibility of
redemption—being found and cared for when one is lost.” (Panksepp, 1998, pp. 278-
279).

These systems, which are present in all mammals, therefore provides the neurological source and target
domains for several mappings. EMOTIONAL PAIN IS PHYSICAL PAIN is one, based on the close link
between both neurological systems. The above link between social attachment and temperature regulation
provides the source and target domains of the ISOLATION IS COLD and the AFFECTION IS WARM
mappings. Note that Jungian dream analysts often equate winter or cold as a metaphor for the lack of
feeling a person is experiencing, whereas “Fire and flame symbolize warmth and love, feeling and passion;
they are qualities of the heart, found wherever human beings exist” (Jacobi, 1964). The cause for these
constant links between heat and affection, chill with isolation, then, has its roots in the PANIC/CARE
system and its evolutionary thermoregulatory predecessors.

Several other common mappings that can be sourced to this basic neurobiological link include the
EMOTIONAL SEPARATION IS COLD, and the PASSION, RAGE, OR LUST IS HOT mappings. Recall
that activation of the RAGE system results in elevations of blood flow, body temperature, heart rate, blood
pressure and muscle tension and may represent the neurobiological links between ANGER IS HEAT or
PASSION IS BLOOD.

Natural vs Artifical

Specific brain regions exist that are dedicated to artifacts (Gazzaniga et al, 2002); living things and artifacts
—and more specifically hand held tools—activate different cortical brain regions when measured by
neuroimaging techniques (reviewed in Boyer and Barrett, 2005) and provide evidence that evolutionary
inference systems exist that processes information in terms of its possible use as a tool or weapon (p. 104).
This provides the target domain necessary for a variety of IDEA IS A TOOL mappings, which will be
universal. It also provides the necessary differentiation for the division of environments into “natural”, like
a forest, or “artificial” like a building—this distinction colors symbolism a great deal. Recall also that
humans prefer natural environments aesthetically.

Alive and Dead

By age 4, children appear to be able to reliably distinguish living from dead animals as well as dead from
sleeping animals; this skill develops robustly and with the same time frame in both modern and tribal
cultures (reviewed in Barrett, 2005). Thus “there are reasons to suspect that the agency system might
contain a very specialized device whose function is to distinguish living agents from dead ones” (reviewed
in Barrett, 2005, p. 213). This system further aids in the categorization of animals as “meat”, which makes
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sense since humans are omnivorous and in the ancestral environment obtained a significant portion of
calories from predation. Like other innate systems, then, this ability can be used by the symbol making
mechanisms as a source or target domain, such as the previously discussed DEATH IS REBIRTH mapping,
or part of the Grim Reaper symbol, or more general IDEA IS DEATH mappings. Images of skulls and
death, therefore, may be usin this innate, well understood domain to represent many things symbolically
such as transformation or metaphorical “lifelessness”.

Pure and Impure

A branch of evolutionary psychology known as “error management theory” has shown that humans have
aversion reactions to diseased people or food, and are biased toward requiring very little evidence to
warrant the crude categorization of “contaminated” and a lot of evidence to warrant categorization of
“uncontaminated” (Haselton et al, 2005). In other words, disguist comes easily. This is argued to be
evolutionarily protective, due to the fact that a false negative is potentially much more costly than a false
positive, thus, “disease-avoidance mechanisms will be biased and tend to evince disgust and avoidance at
many stimuli that are safe.” (p. 734). A bias, of course, presupposes an innate mechanism that organizes
things into the two categories, much of which finds its way into religious and mythic symbolism of that
which is “pure” (or white, light, desirable, etc.) and “impure”, which is “dark”, “undesirable”, “evil”, and
so on. This provides the neurobiological substrates for IDEAS ARE PURE/IMPURE type mappings.

Water and Air Symbols

Water symbols can be found throughout world religion (Eliade, 1958), and are usually associated with
things “emerging” from the “unknown”, using a variation of the already recognized IDEAS ARE
OBJECTS mapping (Lakoff and Johnson, 1980). This symbolic emergence when merged with water
symbolism “repeats the cosmogonic act of formal manifestation; while immersion is equivalent to a
dissolution of forms. That is why the symbolism of the Waters includes Death as well as Re-Birth”
(Eliade, 1952, p. 151). Another example of this metaphor is evidenced by the multiple parallel myths of
the heroic “descent” into the primal waters to battle the sea-monster, such as Christ entering the Jordan
(New Testament), Job and the Behemoth or Jonah and the Fish (Old testament), and the “waters of death”
mythologies of ancient Asia and Oceania. Water is ubiquitously portrayed as “purifying” or
“regenerating”, as reflected in the numerous “deluge” myths that have recurred throughout the world as
well, as seen in the tales of Orpheus (Greek myth), and similar stories found in Polynesia, Asia and North
America, and the story of Christ descending into Hell (New Testament). Here the water symbols are
borrowing the aforementioned “contamination” recognition and aversion mechanisms of the brain and
combining them; it is also possible that washing may be a separate instinct (as observed in other animals
such as raccoons) that was selected to avoid contamination, providing a closer link between water
symbolism and crude unconscious “purification” concepts. These would generate SPIRITUAL
CLEANSING IS WASHING mappings found all over the world as baptismal rites.

Water appears to be understood by the unconscious mind as a “source of life”. For example, vary many
creation myths begin with a god forming the world out of a “primordial sea” (Bierlein, 1994), and
everywhere water appears to symbolize life, the source of life, immortality, and liquid in general, and the
border between life and death (Cirlot, 1971; Tresidder, 2005); note that many myths depict the land of the
dead as separating the land of the living by a body of water (Beirlien, 1994). Jung equated water as
unconsciousness or a symbol of the unknown that could either be suffocating or rejuvenating (1964, 1974,
2008), and so finds a parallel in the Great Mother images, the latter meaning creating another impetus
behind “baptismal” rituals world wide as symbolic “rebirths”. Thus here we have a THE GREAT
MOTHER IS WATER and REGENERATION OR REBIRTH IS WASHING mappings. Similarly, Freud
equated water symbolism with birth (1969).

These connotations put water in opposition to air symbolism, which is usually equated with lightness and
freedom. Note also that “the creative breath” of life is a ubiquitous metaphor for animation world wide
(Cirlot, 1971; Tresidder, 2005). Air is also linked with thoughts and ideas which brings us back to bird
symbolism, for example the Norse god Odin’s twin ravens named “thought” and “memory”. If water
represents physical life, then air seems to represent its animation, i.e. through the ANIMATION IS AIR or
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WIND mapping. Neurobiologically, air is understood well for the simple reason that breathing is essential
for mammalian life to continue. The rhythmic contractions of the diaphragm and the biochemical
monitoring systems are part of the “reptile brain” and are therefore universal. They are necessary for
sustained life and the system has very powerful motivational systems intact to ensure continued breathing
and air supply. Air and water then become excellent material for symbol making by the brain, such as
found in ANIMATION IS AIR mappings. The innate systems involving breathing, which has controls
ranging from unconscious to fully conscious is used here. Vague holistic ideas of “life energy”, which find
neurobiolgical correlates in the SEEKING system, also provide differentiations such as SEEKING IS
BREATH, WIND, OR AIR, and observed in frequently images of being “filled with the breath of life”
found in poetry, myth, and dream images. An intact SEEKING system is required for the sustaining of life,
which further links it to these images of air.

Pain and Grief

The evolutionary proximity of pain and PANIC systems and the fact that electrical stimulation of pain
regions in the brain provokes separation cries in animals and intense feelings of sadness in humans, which
can be regulated by opioids, lead Panksepp (2005) to argue for a neurological basis for cross-culturally
appearing metaphors connecting social loss and physical pain (p. 53). I could not agree more. When
viewed metaphorically, both systems provide the source and target domains for EMOTIONAL GRIEF IS
PAIN and the converse PAIN IS EMOTIONAL GRIEF metaphorical mappings.
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Chapter 11: Deep Archetypes—Time, Number, Causation

The archetypal processes I will explore in this chapter I am calling “deep” archetypes. This is because they
deal with dimensions present in many images and symbols. Number, for example, plays a part in every
symbol—after all, for any given particular image, there is either one or more of them. As it turns out these
concepts have a strongly innate basis, and this should not be a surprise. These “deep archetypes” do not
generate individual mappings, however, because they are so abstract, rather they color aspects of other
images.

Number

According to Jung, number or the attribute of numerosity “may well be the most primitive element of order
in the human mind, seeing that the numbers 1 to 4 occur with the greatest frequency and have the widest
incidence. In other words, primitive patterns of order are mostly triads or tetrads…[number is] an
archetype of order which has become conscious” (Jung, 1919 , p.456, emphasis in original). As it turns out
there are some interesting parallels between this and other Jungian statements about number and what is
known empirically about the way we process number information.

For instance, it is known that there exists an abstract system of number representation that is present and
functional in infants (Wood and Spelke, 2005; Butterworth, 1999, 2005). Even constructionists, who have
a strong “blank slate” leaning, recognize that “a predisposition to numerically relevant data is built into the
architecture of the human mind.” (Karmiloff-Smith, 1992, p. 99). Number sense, or the ability to
understand exact quantities of up to four, is present in infants and toddlers, as well as monkeys
(Butterworth, 1999; Dehaene, 1997; Devlin, 2000; Wiese, 2003); Animals can discriminate between two
and three objects (Garnham, 1991), and toddlers as young as 4 discriminate between writing, drawing, and
number notation (Karmiloff-Smith, 1992, pp. 144-145), even though they cannot read or write themselves.

Note that we are not talking about numbers, but the concept of numerosity; that is, the ability to
discriminate stimuli solely on the basis of their number. Many tribal languages, for example, do not have
number words that go beyond “two”, but conceptually humans can recognize numerosity up to four and
sometimes more (Pinker, 2007, pp. 138-141). The concept of number, like most innate concepts, are not
easily defined, and yet children understand them. Children, in fact, can recognize numerosity even in
disparately shaped objects and even entities that are not discrete objects such as events, holes, puddles or
collections (Bloom, 1996)—to illustrate, when going through the grocery store “express” lane, do you
count a six-pack of carbonated drinks as one “item” or six “items”? One could argue either way; this hints
at the brain origin of these ideas as opposed to any objective characteristics that the drinks have “in
themselves” in relation to numerosity.

Children furthermore understand complex numerical principles of item indifference, order indifference, and
cardinality without needed to be taught any of this (Gelman and Gallistel, 1978) and use different rules for
number notation than other types of drawing (Sinclair et al, 1983). Though external number notation
systems are not universal, however, counting, arithmetic and number conservation appear to be (Karmiloff-
Smith, 1992, p. 107). The concept of number appears to apply to conscious processes as well; researchers
on memory have found that we can consciously hold about seven “chunks” of information in working (that
is, conscious) memory at a time (Miller, 1956).

So in what way do these innate concepts apply to symbol generation? Since the above evidence suggests
that innate concepts of number do not extend beyond four (after which we use either estimation or recurrent
iteration to extend the numbers if our culture teaches us to), I will consider their symbolic meanings with
emphasis. It should be no surprise, then, that the natural numbers one through four are the ones that have
been attributed the most meaning mythically.
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Number symbolism throughout the world has some common elements, particularly for the first four
numbers. The Pythagoreans (Greek number mystics) as well as the Chinese both equated the number four
symbolically with one, and felt that numbers “cycled” from the wholeness and unity of one, to the binary
“evenness” and duality of two, to the “active” ternary principle, and finally to the “fundamental” quaternary
structure of four that both divides and unifies. This progression through the non-quantitative
characteristics of the numbers also has commonly attributed meanings, in that unity tends to be divided into
binary “pairs of opposites”, which in turn engenders the combination of these two opposites to create a new
aggregate entity, which is symbolized by the number three, which finally is linked to the original unity as
four elements—the original, the divided opposites, their union and their entirety (Cirlot, 1971; Tresidder,
2005; Jung, 1959a).

The number one is associated cross-culturally with unity and wholeness, the creative essence or supreme
divinity, whereas the number two represents either duplication or binary division of one thing into a pair of
opposites—the basis of which, remember, is an innate neurological function of the inferior parietal lobe.
Cirlot compares the number two with “echo, reflection, conflict and counterpoise or contraposition…it is
expressed geometrically by two points, two lines or an angle.” (1971, p. 232). The number three seems to
represent the active synthesis of dualism, is geometrically represented by triangles and “spiritual” (i.e.
psychological or conscious) combination of opposing principles; it also divides the vertical world into
upper, middle and lower. Three is associated with synthesis, reunion, resolution, versatility, omniscience,
and growth (Edinger, 1972; Tresidder, 2005). Note also the constant reference to the number three in fairy
tales world wide, such as three witches, three days (which coincidentally is the length of the new moon),
three wishes, three trials, three wise men, three kings, three-headed gods such as Cerebrus, Hecate (Greek
myth), or Brigit (Celtic myth), the three deities of sun, moon, and storm (Inca myth), three treasures, etc—
these seem to point to a theme of change and transformation, thematically. This may be related to the
rhythmicity of three, as it takes a minimum of three pulses to establish a rhythm in time, and the fact that it
takes a minimum of three members to form a “tribe”—that is, a family. Jung felt that the number three was
a “relative totality” such as the spiritual totality of the Trinity (1959a, para 351-352).

The number four has been equated with totality, is visualized by squares or crosses, and seems to represent
a union of physical and psychological balance and totality—a characteristic that it shares with the number
one. Symbologists note that the number four often symbolizes comprehensiveness, ubiquity, solidity,
power, organization, stability and the earth (Tresidder, 2005). The cosmos is frequently divided into four
rivers springing from the “tree of life”, as seen in Babylonian, Iranian, Christian, Teutonic, Nordic, Hindu
and Buddhist mythology. Other references are the four columns supporting the earth (Egypt), the four
giants supporting the earth (Central American myth), the four dwarfs supporting the earth (Norse myth) the
four letters YHWH of god, the four evangelists, the four animal guardians and four horsemen of the
Apocalypse (New Testament) and many others.

Concerning the number four, Jung felt that the

“quaternity is an organizing schema par excellence, something like the crossed threads in
a telescope. It is a system of co-ordinates that is used almost instinctively for dividing up
and arranging a chaotic multiplicity, as when we divide up the visible surface of the
earth, the course of the year, or a collection of individuals into groups, the phases of the
moon, the temperaments, elements, alchemical colours, and so on.” (Jung, 1959a, para
381).

Four is found everywhere in the way humans divide complicated subjects, such as the four elements, the
four seasons, four directions, the four beats of musical “common time”, the four bodily “humors” of
Hippocrates, the four fundamental forces of particle physics, the four equations of Maxwell, the four laws
of Thermodynamics, the four dimensions of space-time, the four quadrants of the Cartesian coordinate
plane, the four phases of matter (gas, liquid, solid and plasma), and even the four basic emotion systems of
SEEKING, PANIC, RAGE, and FEAR. All of these divisions, note, have the implicit understanding that
while the considered entity is being divided into four, they are all aspects of an overarching unity. Stevens
(1998, pp. 119-120) points out that even our biological makeup appears to have this structure, observing the
the four elements of life, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen and carbon, and the ‘quaternary alphabet’ of four
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bases of DNA (a binary alphabet would have sufficed), and the four primal molecules of primordial life
(water, carbon dioxide, methane and ammonia). The point of this is discussion, however, is not to try to
convince anyone that the number four has any “magical” or “mystical” attribute “in itself” (a statement I
would be at pains to define much less prove), but rather that it appears to be linked to the way in which
homo sapiens organizes information at a very basic level, and that this is linked to our neurobiology and
carries with it symbolic meaning. The fact that our brains organize things in a way that nature organizes
things should only be surprising if one ascribes to the dualist fantasy that there is no connection between
the two; this is not the case, however; mind and matter are two aspects of the same substance.

Number symbolism extends beyond four essentially by combining the above elements in novel ways, such
as the number five as representative of “four symbolism plus the center”, or the “perfect” number seven,
which combines the symbolism of three (heaven, earth, and the underworld) and four (north, south, east,
west, etc.), for example. But given that the human mind does not extend beyond four innately, these are
less likely to be archetypal mappings, but rather extensions on the innate system, though they certainly
appear all over the world in mystic and religious symbolism. The zodiac, for example, shows this
propensity to divide into quaternities, double quaternities (eight divisions) or triple quaternitites (twelve
divisions). Zodiacs that divide the cosmos existed in Inca, Neolithic Chinese, Indian, Mesopotamian,
Egyptian, Grecian, and European cultures (Stevens, 1998, p.255-256) and represent cycles of involution
and evolution, masculine and feminine, death and rebirth.

Numeric multiplicity, or groups of objects of indeterminate numer, is frequently associated with negativity
or chaos, as in swarms of insects or other animals in symbology (Cirlot, 1971), suggesting a
UNCONSCIOUSNESS OR DISINTIGRATION IS MULTIPLICITY mapping, and its opposite, the
COHERENT CONSCIOUSNESS IS UNITY mapping.

With regard to the way in which numbers shape symbols, Jungian analyst von Franz postulates that:

“In most cases when any archetype constellates, it first manifests as one archetypal image
in a dream. When it moves toward the threshold of consciousness it generally appears
doubled, as two identical or nearly identical images….Three groups of beings symbolize
that that very archetype is actively possessing the ego, forcing upon it actions or thoughts.
That is why fate gods are so often triadic. When the same content appears in its four-
phase it has reached its best possibility for being realized in our consciousness….” (von
Franz, 1988, pp. 283-284, emphasis in original)

There may be a parallel in this description and the way in which ideas are differentiated from raw impulses
through the various levels of consciousness. If one takes the analogy of DNA replication and mutation,
new genes frequently come about through a process of a single gene first being replicated (duality), then
one of them becoming mutated (binary division into opposites—in this case in terms of function). A third
replication and mutation will naturally be compared in function to the other two, and a fourth will represent
a “balanced” comparison of two binary gene pairs. Ideas may go through a similar process as they become
conscious; that is, any concept as it goes through the cycles of reevaltuation will become divided on the
bases of whatever “characteristics” one is measuring or differentiating by, twice, to form a quaternity
(which we innately understand). Further divisions don’t have the innate grounding, symmetry or balance
that the quaternity does. Finally, number symbolism is a big part of images of the Self, which I will discuss
in a later chapter.

Causation

The ability to detect what we label as “causation” is an innate ability we share with other primates (Hauser
and Spaulding, 2006). Causation-related inferences such as helping, hindering, allowing, preventing and of
course, causing, are concepts that develop in infants as young as 6 months old (Premack and Premack,
2003). These innate intuitions are mapped onto a variety of metaphors spanning all kinds of concepts, and
are not simply acquired by “association”. Furthermore, causation is a difficult concept to pin down exactly,
and it does not easily map to what we know about physics, which sees the universe as a huge collection of
wave/particles inexorably progressing according to deterministic and probabilistic equations—at this level
 86

of analysis, “causation” simply does not appear to make much sense. Nevertheless, it is a part of our
primate birthright to think in terms of causation, and it permeates our thought and language (summarized in
Pinker, 2007, pp. 208-225)34

The concepts, then, of helping, hindering, allowing, preventing and causing should be observed in symbolic
narratives in a general way rather than a strictly analytical way. In other words, if in a dream or fantasy a
subject is walking along a path and finds herself blocked by an animal; the symbolic interpretation of this
event may have a causal basis—that is, whatever it is that the animal symbolizes is “hindering” the subject.
Thus causation is an innate concept that structures symbolic narratives, and represents an important
dimension to understanding the context of the symbols. As mentioned previously, it colors symbols of
“origin”, such as the ORIGIN IS THE MOTHER mapping, wherein the mother is seen as the “cause” of the
child.

Time

Jung argued that the archetypes had a timeless nature about them, and he compared the archetype to
instinctual behavior, such as nest building in birds. In such an instinct, he argued, “the end is anticipated…
it is a timeless condition…the beginning, middle and end are just the same” (Jung, 1990). The nest
building behavior, then, has an independent and timeless quality about it from the point of view of the bird.

What does empirical research say? It appears that our brains contain a variety of rhythm generators, which
possibly include calendar mechanisms that respond to lunar cycles and seasons (reviewed in Zimecki,
2006), which may be linked to melatonin activity in the brain (Panksepp, 1998, p. 125-130); these
biorhythms have been shown to influence dream production (Nielson, 2004), and hence mental imagery.

The importance of innate time conceptualization in our brain is also affirmed in emotional neuroscience:

“…there is little doubt that the 24-hour biological clock of the [brain region known as
the] suprachiasmatic nucleus guides the distribution of behaviors in all vertebrate species,
or that the neuronal regulators of sleep are conserved in essentially all mammals…”
(Panksepp, 1988, p. 304)

Also, sleep is not the only state in which there are 90 minute cycles; there is evidence that the waking state
is subject to a cycling analogous to the 90 minute REM/NREM cycle, only because there is so much input
of sensory data during waking life it is much more subtle than the sleep state (Nielsen, 2004; Solms and
Turnbull, 2002, p. 189).

Apparently our conceptions of time and space are related to “religious” feelings. Brain scans on Franciscan
nuns engaged in “centering prayer” (a Catholic method of silent prayer with the intention to create
communion with God) and Buddhist monks engaged in transcendental meditation have found that brain
regions in the parietal lobes have reduced activity (Newberg et al, 2003; Newberg and Waldman, 2006),
and this is associated with reports of feelings of timelessness and loss of spatial dimension; i.e. a sense of
“oneness” with the universe or God (depending on the religious beliefs of the subject). They also showed
an increase activity in the frontal lobes, which among other things has been shown to be active during the
conscious processing of religious beliefs. The reduced parietal lobe activity is significant because this area
has been implicated in the processing of time sense and self-awareness and is reduced in other activities in
which we become “absorbed” in an experience. Contrast this with the frequent introduction in fairy tales
“a long time ago in a far away land”, both invitations to lose oneself in time and space, and the near-
universal religious concept of “sacred time” wherein practitioners perform rituals with the aim of recreating
the legendary age of gods and heroes of myth—this “sacred time” is separate from and outside the
“secular” or “profane” time of our mundane everyday experience. Rituals are enacted that relive the sacred
time, which is cyclical and immutable, and contrasts the linear progressing type of profane time in which
we carry out our day-to-day activities (Eliade, 1949). In these rituals, the return to sacred time is often

34
This is not to say that language shapes our concepts of causation; rather it is the other way around
(Pinker, 2007).
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symbolized as a “mystical” (i.e. metaphorical) union with Paradise, found in images of Christ, Buddha and
Mohammed “ascending” into Heaven, among other things. Note also that many tribal societies have a
conception of time that is cyclic, wherein the world is successively created and destroyed, that parallels
lunar symbolism of birth-death-ressurrection (Eliade, 1952, p. 72).

Thus the understanding of time appears to have two basic “types” neurobiologically; first is the “linear”
time of the conscious self (Damasio, 1999b)35 these latter areas, when down regulated, appear to mediate a
“timeless” feeling that is a simple rhythm and exists “before” the conscious linear expression of time, and
so shares many similarities with Eliade’s “sacred time”. Perhaps what is happening is the subjects in
Newberg and Waldman’s studies are willfully bringing themselves into a state that is closer to our lower
levels of consciousness36, only in a controlled manner that still allows for some conscious processing to
occur; this research is still very young, however, and more definitive statements will likely be made in the
future.

Interestingly, symbologists have noted that the snake is also frequently associated with time; examples
include the snake as keeper of time (Greek) or the Wheel of Life (Buddhist myth), the keeper of the
universe (Norse and Indian myth, alchemy), keeper of the ecclesiastical year (Christian myth), and snakes
are commonly symbols of immortality through shedding of skin (numerous tribal folk and fairy tales,
Gnostic, Manichean and Persian myth), and the spinal chord and vital force (Kundalini yoga) as well as
eternity (Mithraic mysteries). These are all examples of universal TIME IS A SNAKE, or possibly
SACRED TIME IS A SNAKE or SACRED TIME IS A PERSON (i.e. GOD/SAVIOR) symbols, as both
time, snakes, and human imagery have innate mechanisms and can serve as source and target domains. As
Lakoff and Johnson (1980, 1999) have already observed, time gets mapped onto visuospatial imagery all
the time, as seen in the TIME IS A RIVER and TIME IS A LINE OR CIRCLE mappings found
everywhere in human thought. The bottom line here is that time is one of those things the brain struggles
with, hence all the symbolizing with circles, snakes, arrows, lines, and all that.

Opposites

The inferior parietal lobe of the brain appears to be responsible for the classification of objects into
rudimentary categories of “opposites” (Bagley et al, 2006). This process is responsible for a number of
religious symbols, particularly in creation myths, in which God or the gods divide the universe into pairs of
opposites such as land and sky, light and dark, male and female, human and animal, etc (Bierlein, 1994;
Newberg and Waldman, 2006). Add to this further ubiquitous categorizations such as the “us and them”
grouping. Also, recall the color symbolism of “black and white” that gets mapped from this innate idea of
opposites, and the hypothesis that numerosity arises from a succession of binary divisions and syntheses, at
least innately up to the number four, whereupon individuals tend to think more in terms of rough estimates
(Pinker, 2007).

The concept of “opposites” therefore has a innate basis in the formation of the inferior parietal lobe, which
incidentally is the same region that is down modulated in the “transcendant” experiences described in the
experiments of Newberg and Waldman (2006); this naturally leads to a hypothesis that not only are these
deeply “religious” experiences associated with a diminished emphasis on time and space, but also on the
differentiation of opposites. This phenomenon, if correct, would explain the subjective experience of “one-
ness” or “at-one-ment” described by its practitioners in neurobiological terms, and also provide the source
domains for various mappings. Either way, it appears that Jung’s intuition that in the unconscious mind
things are “undifferentiated” and “timeless”. The experiences of the subjects in Newberg and Waldman’s
experiments present an interesting twist here: the “opposites” are well understood by the brain, and hence
they are used in symbolism all over the place. But the subjects in these studies appear to be deliberately
ignoring the very thing that makes time, God or whatever more easily understandable and thinking in more

35
What I am calling the “conscious self” is what Damasio calls the autobiographical self; this construct is
supported by the activity of the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, the hippocampus and the association areas of
the parietal cortex in the brain.
36
Or also an increased relative activity of the so-called “default network” of medio-cortical and subcortical
brain regions (Buckner et al, 2008).
 88

purely symbolic terms, all while fully conscious. This gives us some more direct evidence that purely
religious thinking is specifically non concrete.
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Chapter 12: Complex Recurrent Symbols and Self Symbols

“Although there is ample historical evidence for the symbolic relation between Christ and
the tree symbol, [most people] would have been gravely embarrassed had they been
asked to explain exactly what they meant by decorating a tree with burning candles to
celebrate the nativity of Christ. ‘Oh, it’s just a Christmas custom!’ they would have said.
A serious answer would require a far-reaching dissertation about the antique symbolism
of the dying god, and its relation to the cult of the Great Mother and her symbol, the tree
—to mention only one aspect of this complicated problem.” (Jung, 1964, p. 69)

The above quote gives a feel for Jung’s overall approach to symbols; he felt they were easily overlooked
and too often dismissed by modern man as arbitrary and meaningless cultural conventions. Nevertheless, a
current understanding of symbols requires the use of modern empirical methods. It is rarely helpful to
explain empirical data in terms of abstract concepts, rather what propels development of a “scientific
psychology” (Jung, 1955, para 1228) is explaining abstract concepts in terms of empirical data. Jung
described archetypes in rather abstract, and at times maddeningly vague terms. Given the available data, it
appears that at least some of his intuitions, as those of Freud before him, were on the right track. A further
refinement of the processes, therefore, is in order.

The above symbolism of the great tree (GREAT CHAIN OF BEING IS A TREE), the mother (TREE IS A
MOTHER), and the savior (REDEMPTION IS A PERSON) appear to be archetypal symbols at least at the
most fundamental level (as described previously); the details of what type of tree, what kind of mother, or
the specifics of the dying god-man figure are not archetypal but are added to flesh out the basic mappings
and make it more “real” or concrete. Mythological uses of these metaphors will be more cultural in nature,
reflective of a large group of people, particularly in organized religious symbolism that has perpetuated for
many centuries, such as Catholicism, Taoism, or whatever. In other words, these symbols will not have an
“individual flavor” such as what would be produced by a particular individual.

In the previous chapters, I have been building up a method through which we may be able to understand the
symbols that appear in dreams, fantasies and also myths in terms of their neurobiologically based
archetypal meanings. But symbols do not normally emerge in isolation; rather they are presented usually in
a narrative fashion and interact with each other in complex ways. Jungians have long maintained that
dreams in particular seem to have repetitive themes even to higher levels of complexity than single animal
or person symbols experienced in isolation. It is beyond the scope of this volume to explore these in any
depth; rather I will briefly consider a few of these to give an idea of how neurobiology can help us
understand symbolic meaning in these more complex cases.

PSYCHOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENT IS A JOURNEY. This is actually a differentiation of the more

general CHANGE IS MOTION IN SPACE mapping (Lakoff and Johnson, 1980, 1999, 2003), and can
provide the narrative basis for the insertion of numerous other symbols. An example of this might be a
dream or fantasy narrative of a person grappling with a difficult problem symbolized by that person
traveling a road that is tough, easy, bumpy, or whatever. I will provide an example of a dream reported in
my own practice:

The dreamer is riding a bicycle along a road through the woods, and the therapist is
riding ahead of her. While riding she sees a large eagle soaring above her, flying
alonside a large bat of the same size. Finally she and the therapist come to a crossroads.
To the right is a steep decline with rocks at the bottom. To the left is an easier path
through the woods. The therapist goes down the steep decline, and disappears into the
woods, whereas the dreamer chooses to go the easier way, in order to “meet up with the
therapist later”. In so doing, however, she gets lost in a “town”, and tries to get
directions from the people in “the buildings”, but they keep telling her the wrong
directions.
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At the time of this dream, the patient, Ms. Smith37 was worrying about an upcoming termination of therapy
(due to circumstances beyond either of our control), and asserting her own independence from her at times
overcritical and overbearing family. As one can see, one way to interpret this dream is a symbolic narrative
of the PSYCHOLOGICAL CHANGE IS A JOURNEY mapping. This mapping uses the visuospatial
system to symbolize the struggles going on in the patient’s life in compact symbolic and nonverbal form.
As one can see, there are many themes going on in this dream. Since I am in the dream, as opposed to
someone else or an “unknown” character, we may assume that this is a mostly memory trace, as there were
no hints that it was something other than me—but keeping in mind the patient’s own biases and emotional
predispositions are still coloring this symbol, as it would anyone. I am not only myself, but her idea of “the
therapist” in herself. I have of course never actually ridden a bicycle with the patient nor traveled through
the woods with her, however—this easily overlooked aspect of the dream symbol was obviously
constructed by her for some reason that goes beyond simple memory retrieval, since she could not have
remembered it!

The termination was apparently depicted as a literal separation along the “crossroads”, with me going
downward and to the right (recall the rich archetypal symbolism of verticality and left-right orientation)
into a more dangerous path that was frightening to the dreamer. Note her choice to take the “easier path”
to the left. Note also my own willingness (in the dream), to go places she found scary—a commentary on
my own possibly at times overly enthusiastic technique; I found this “dreamed critique” useful in future
sessions by backing off somewhat to make her more comfortable and improve the therapeutic alliance,
which is so crucial to therapeutic efficacy (Ahn and Wampold, 2001). The easier path, however, resulted in
her entering an environment that was a more “modern”, and hence “artificial” (recall the archetypal
symbolism of environment and artificiality) place with buildings and “people”.

The people here are unknown male “maintenance workers”, and so are either self-symbols or generic
symbols of “men in general”—and possibly amalgam characters that have aspects of both. These denizens
of the generic “buildings” she visits in trying to find me are full of opinions and directions but get her
nowhere; meanwhile, I’m gone and not helpful to her—reflecting the upcoming separation. One could
argue that the workers are male aspects of the dreamer and are therefore animus symbols—that there are a
multiplicity of them rather than a more archetypal number such as one through four suggests a somewhat
chaotic organization. If so, they only give her a “blah blah” type of advice but are at least not dangerous,
rather, they are somewhat passive and “dormant” in her own mind, perhaps cueing that the patients own
positive “masculine” tendencies of assertiveness, exploration, independence and analytic dispassion are
dormant and unattended (a statement supported by a large body of clinical material). They also reflect the
relational pattern of passively following me and “men in general” (thinking in terms of generic symbols)
that mirrored her waking patterns that were prevalent prior to and partially during treatment, and caused by
underlying insecurity as a result of years of criticism from family members and ex-husband.

The eagle and bat are an interesting pair of images—it is unlikely that these are “randomly” placed in the
dream. I will return to these characters in the next chapter when I describe symbol dimension analysis.
The point here is to show the overall structure of a psychological change or struggle being depicted as a
journey.

PROVING SELF WORTH IS A HERO’S JOURNEY: A further subtype of the CHANGE IS A

JOURNEY is this mapping. Explorations of the so-called “Hero’s journey” myths reveal a structurally
similar story that appears all over the world, though the myths may come from Africa, North America,
ancient Greece or the Inca empire: the hero has a miraculous but humble birth, has early trials of strength,
a rapid rise to power, a struggle with evil, a character flaw of hubris, and a fall through betrayal or sacrifice
that ends in his death (Henderson, 1964, p. 101; many examples can be found in Campbell, 1949).

One repetitive theme in this repeated story is the “night sea journey”, in which the hero is swallowed by a
huge monster and waits there as the creature travels from West to East, whereupon he emerges from the
beast, dawn like, in renewed form. Furthermore, this journey typically takes three days—much like the
37
Not her real name.
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number of days of the New Moon (for example, Christ is entombed for three days, then emerges anew).
But how much of all this is actually archetypal? What is obvious is that the hero’s journey contains a
combination of several archtypal mappings, including the THE CONSCIOUS SELF IS A HERO which
battles the monsters of the emotional unconscious and successively conquers them—the INSTINCTS ARE
ANIMALS/MONSTERS mapping. Also present is obviously the CHANGE IS A JOURNEY, and possibly
the DEATH IS REBIRTH mapping. The “night sea journey” implies the HERO IS THE SUN mapping
and the HERO IS THE MOON mapping, since it takes three days to renew itself, as the hero takes three
days to emerge from the realm of the dead/underworld/primordial sea, etc.

Jungian analyst Henderson suggests that the hero myth seems to emerge spontaneously in dreams when
there is a need for self confidence, such as in times of emotional turmoil (1964, p. 120). He further points
out its close similarity to the universally present male initiation rituals of tribal societies. If this is the case,
as it appears to be due to the existence of the basic mappings it is built upon, then it provides a clear
example of evolutionary instincts in humans that evolved to promote psychological adjustment in certain
circumstances—which is precisely the basis of Jungian analysis. As more research is done on the
perceptual/conceptual system, more light will be shed on this interesting possibility. In any case, the
building blocks for this story, the CHANGE IS A JOURNEY, CONSCIOUS SELF IS A HERO,
INSTINCTS ARE ANIMALS, DEATH IS REBIRTH, MENTAL CONFLICT IS BATTLE are all
archetypal.

THE HEROINE’S JOURNEY: In tribal societies, women go through a similar ordeal centered on
the rituals that surround menstruation; these rituals are more contemplative in nature, and much
less active and conflictual, and focused on “awakening” of more subtle feminine virtues rather
than outlandish heroic conquest. The repetitive theme in mythology that reflects this “heroine’s
journey” are the ubiquitous “beauty and the beast” or “eros and psyche” stories (Stevens, 1998).
In these stories, the heroine learns to temper the negative tendencies of guile, seduction, and
verbal aggressiveness (often by literally making the heroine mute) and endure the trials of
exogamy and a mysterious mate who is impervious to her manipulation, to find redemption in
developing the skills of nurturing, wise selectivity and emotional intelligence. Like the hero’s
journey, the heroine’s journey contains the CHANGE IS A JOURNEY mapping, in which
exogamy is depicted as a literal displacement of the heroine in a mysterious land, castle, or shelter
that is owned by the shadowy or bestial male figure. The animal-like qualities of the male
character in these dramas reflects the INSTINCTS ARE ANIMALS symbol that combines animal
and human. When the heroine opts against guile and manipulation (as the hero opts against
rebellion, pride and rage) she succeeds in mastering the situation, and the suitor or mate “becomes
human”, and usually is revealed to be exceedlingly handsome. Alternately, if she sides with more
negative impulses, tragedy ensues, as befalls the hero who succumbs to hubris.

The mystery of the mate and his territory reflect archetypal UNKNOWN IS DARK mappings,
along with territorial considerations—tribal females spent more time near hearth and home, and
were less concerned with roaming and exploring outside the home “center”. Since these stories
contain so many archetypal elements, the Jungian idea that it may emerge spontaneously in time of
need is plausible—but only detailed case study and dream analysis can verify it. Furthermore, the
designation of “male” and “female” does not necessarily imply a necessary link with the gender of
the dreamer; both men and women have both (vaguely defined) “male” and “female” aspects and
approaches to life available and either can emerge spontaneously.

Self Symbols

Perhaps Jung’s most profound and frankly difficult hypothesis is his proposal that the unconscious mind
contained an entity he entitled the Self. The Self archetype, Jung argued, is a “homeostatic function.
Conflicts between various unconscious circuits or with the conscious self are all guided toward balance via
the Self” (Jung, 1959a). Jung postulated that there were a class of images that were representative of this
dimly grasped process and that they were usually symbols of wholeness and integration. These symbols
were usually found to have circular and quaternary structure, which he called “mandala” symbols, named
after Buddhist symbols used in meditation. (Jung, 59a, para 59)
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Symbols that Jung felt referred to the Self included a variety of images including circles, spheres, or
quadratic figures such as crosses, geometrically formed crystals, cities, castles, churches, houses, and
vessels, or wheels, each with subtle nuances (Jung, 1959a, para 351-354). The content of these spaces
furthermore has significance, such as water within the house or vessel, fire or animals, and the inhabitants
of these spaces might be same-gendered gods or godlike humans, princes, priests, historical figures,
beloved, admired or successful family members—anything that ‘transcends’ (metaphorically speaking) the
subject. In other words, he proposed a class of metaphors which include THE SELF IS A HIGH
RANKING PERSON, THE SELF IS A HOUSE, and THE SELF IS A MANDALA. It “transcends” the
subject because it includes more than just the conscious self; it consists of the entire mind, all the instincts,
unconscious circuits and everything else—in this respect it also includes all of existence, since for Jung our
subjective universe as we know it is constructed in no small part by the mind, a stance confirmed by
neuroscience (Solms and Turnbull, 2002).

Jung went on:

“Like all archetypes, the self has a paradoxical, antinomial character. It is male and
female, old man and child, powerful and helpless, large and small…though this does not
mean that it is anything like as contradictory in itself. It is quite possible that the seeming
paradox is nothing but a reflection of the enantiodromian [fluctuating back and forth]
changes of the conscious attitude which can have a favourable or an unfavourable effect
on the whole.” (Jung, 1959a, para 355)

I would add that since the Self is a symbol, it is ultimately ineffable—this often leads to contradictions
because if it had no contradictions, it would easily be described concretely, and hence one would not need
to represent it with a symbol.

Thus the Self “contains” pairs of opposites, and exists “before” and “after” things are differentiated into
pairs of opposites—remember the subjects of Newberg and Waldman’s experiments, where they suspended
thoughts of opposites to consider a religious symbol. For Jung, the Self archetype was “projected” outside
the mind onto supreme god images like Yahweh, Brahma, Alfader, the Great Spirit, and the Tao cross
culturally. Obviously this language strains comprehension—it is no wonder Jung was often accused of
mysticism. But Jung’s intuition surpassed his ability to describe and communicate his ideas; before we
dismiss the concept of the Self as incomprehensible, we should explore what neuroscience has to say on the
questions Jung raised.

Neuroscientist Joseph LeDoux (2002) attempts to define what he calls “the self” in terms of neurobiology;
note that this is a different “self”—more concerned with what is identified by the organism as belonging to
itself than Jung’s more comprehensive Self, but it’s a start. LeDoux maintains that “the self” must include
unconscious aspects as well as conscious aspects, which leads him to define it as:

“a notion that can be conceived of along an evolutionary continuum. While only humans
can have the unique aspects of the self made possible by the kind of brains that humans
have, other animals have the kinds of selves made possible by their own brains. To the
extent that many of the systems that function nonconsciously in the human brain function
similarly in the brains of other animals, there is considerable overlap in the nonconscious
aspects of the self between species….If we are to understand how the mind, through the
brain, makes us who we are, we need to consider the whole mind, not just the parts that
subserve thinking.” (2002, 23-24, emphasis in original)

In this case LeDoux argues for a more complete definition of the self that transcends conscious thought to
include unconscious thought; this is closer to Jung’s conception when he describes the Self in non-symbolic
terms. LeDoux continues, describing what he is calling the self to be a unit in charge of maintaining
homeostasis, including both explicit and implicit aspects, both learned and innate, finally settling on a
definition of the self as:
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“…the totality of what an organism is psychically, biologically, psychologically, socially,

and culturally. Though it is a unit, it is not unitary. It includes things that we know and
things that we do not know, things that others know about us that we do not realize. It
includes features that we express and hide, and some that we simply don’t call upon. It
includes what we would like to be as well as what we hope we never become…different
components of the self reflect the operation of different brain systems, which can be but
are not always in sync. While explicit memory is mediated by a single system, there are
a variety of different brain systems that store information implicitly, allowing for many
aspects of the self to coexist.” (p. 31, emphasis added)

In particular, he emphasizes that memory, which is a function of neuronal synaptic connections, can arise
not only from experience, but also coming “about as a result of ancestral rather than personal history.” (p.
66). Note the numerous similarities in LeDoux’s definition of “the self” and Jung’s definition, made
decades earlier and without the advantage of mountains of neurobiological data. One might even imagine
that Jung was grappling with the same entity LeDoux describes, only Jung’s description was somewhat
more confusing, and Jung was emphasizing the way in which the above entity is symbolized in the mind.
This added an additional layer of difficulty to the analysis.

Mythic Explorations of Self Symbols

Just to give an idea of how complex this gets, Jung felt that the Self was symbolized in many ways. Not
only was it represented by geometric images such as the sphere, circle, cross or the mandala, but also the
stone, the quaternity, the prima materia, the egg, and the God-Man such as Christ, Attis, Dionysus,
Mithras, Buddha, or Krishna. The Self could also be symbolized by animals such as the elephant, horse,
bull, bear, bird, fish or snake. The mountain and lake, as well as flower and tree symbol can also represent
the Self archetype (Jung, 1959a, para 356-357).

Therefore, before exploring what aspects of this complex symbolism may or may not be archetypal, it is
necessary understand the full depth of this concept. As mentioned, Jung usually described the Self as an
entity that was frequently represented as a “mandala” (which means “magic circle”), which is any
geometrical shape that has a circular structure with a quaternary division of some kind. As evidence of
this, he showed how these “mandala” symbols have been observed all over the world from the deepest of
antiquity. These symbols (to Jung) meant psychological balance and wholeness, as well as the ineffable
core essence of one’s being (Jung, 1959a; von Franz, 1964a). Examples are Buddhist mandalas, the pagan
cross of Celts that was later Christianized into a cross with the circle in it, or medieval symbols of Christ
surrounded by the four Evangelists (which mimic symbols of Horus and his four sons of Egyptian myth),
the garden of Eden (with its four rivers that flowed from the Tree of Knowledge), the clock (divided into
four groups of three divisions), the quadrata circuli of alchemy, and ubiquitous architectural designs
throughout the world, particularly of temples and places of worship. Part of the mandala is the circle,
which appears to be one of man’s oldest symbols, appearing everywhere throughout history (Jaffe, 1964).
Furthermore, the mandala is another instance of the widespread symbolism of the “center”, wherein it is
depicted as representing a protecting circle around the religious initiate, the sacred space of contemplation
or ritual communion (Eliade, 1952).

Other Jungians, like Von Franz (1964a) understand the Self to be often symbolized as a “royal” or
“superior” same-sex character such as a king, queen, president, or mythic figure such as a magician,
priestess, god or goddess (pp. 208-209), citing Hermes (Greek myth) or Merlin (Arthurian legend) as
examples. The Self can also be symbolized by a “Cosmic Man”, or world-encompassing human.
Examples of the Cosmic Man are also abundant in mythology, as it appears many mythological systems
have a world-man symbol; examples are Purusha (Hindu myth), Gayomart (Persian myth), Adam
(Talmudic lore), P’an Ku (Chinese myth), and also include god-men such as Christ, Krishna, Buddha, the
“Son of Man” (Old Testament), Adam Kadmon (Jewish mysticism), the Great Man (Native American
myth) or Anthropos (Greek myth). Finally, the Self is depicted as an animal (von Franz, 1964a, pp. 220-
221), when representing the instinctive “just-so-ness” that animals have in comparison to humans, or as a
stone, due to its seeming permanence and raw, concrete materiality far removed from conscious thoughts
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and fantasies—much like the Philosopher’s stone of European alchemy, or the numerous stones used in
world-wide tribal religions; note the equation of Christ with the “foundational stone” or “spiritual rock”.

Paleolithic man apparently found stones fascinating and polished them (von Franz, 1964, p. 225); the
human “essence” apparently becomes symbolized as an ESSENCE OF SELF IS A STONE mapping,
where the human “essence” of the subject is mapped to the target domain of an immutable stone. Ancient
tribal societies held beliefs that stones were resting places of gods and spirits (Jaffe, 1964), and we still
practice placing “headstones” on the dead in modern society. The stone is frequently depicted as a symbol
of “being, of cohesion and harmonious reconciliation with self” (Cirlot, 1971, p. 313) due to its durability
and non-biological character. Meteorites, in particular, have easily captured the imaginations of ancient
peoples as objects of worship. Worldwide stones are used to adorn grave sites, and “magic” stones figure
into mythology everywhere.

Neurobiological Substrates of Self Symbols

How are we to understand all of this symbolism in neurobiological terms? At first glance it seems
unresolvable due to the sheer variety of ways in which the Self is supposedly symbolized. In fact, it
appears that the Self can be so variously represented because the symbols are actually representing several
distinct but related ideas. As it turns out, if we start with LeDoux’s definition of “the self” as a
neurobiological entity, several archetypal mappings become evident. The first is the SELF IS A STONE
mapping. LeDoux’s “self”, which is similar to the non-symbolic descriptions Jung gave of the Self,
provide the source domain for this mapping. It includes not only what we feel ourselves to be—meaning
the conscious ego—but also the other 95% of what goes on in our minds, especially our emotional selves,
meaning the singular conscious explicit system and all the implicit systems. Hard, inanimate objects in the
ancestral environment, particularly those that are brown or grey, which utilize quickly recognized colors
(black and white in the case of grey) and have clear boundaries, would fit the bill for use by the conceptual
system to create this mapping. Beyond this symbolization is the concept of “essence”, or the innate
propensity to ascribe objects as having an immutable quality that endures changes in shape or even
consistency; even children classify ice, liquid water, and steam as “the same” despite radical changes in
appearance, and the same “logic” applies to animate and inanimate objects. This innate concept can be
used as the source domain for a similar SELF ESSENCE IS A STONE mapping which Jung would classify
as a “Self symbol”.

Animal Self symbols already explored in previous chapters—the SELF IS AN ANIMAL or SELF IS A
PERSON mapping. Jungians make the distinction that a person who represents the Self will appear more
“noble”, famous, or otherwise “transcendant” in relation to the symbolizer. Social status is ingrained into
our psychology just as it is in other cohabitating mammals, which makes for an archetypal SELF IS A
HIGH RANKING PERSON mapping. When considering animal Self symbols, one may expect the animal
to have some kind of “superior” quality to it as well. Animals and people are always prime material for
symbol making.

The question of whether or not a particular animal is a Self symbol or some other kind of symbol, such as
one representing predation, instincts, “spirituality”, or whatever, depends on the behavior of the symbol.
Remember that symbols are relational structures; the way it behaves characterizes what the mind is trying
to symbolize. Those displaying “superior” characteristics, such as an animal recognized as a “noble beast”
in a dream, or an image of a president, king or queen, would suggest the Self. The details of how this is
determined goes beyond the scope of this volume—what is important is the establishment of how Jung’s at
times abstruse and difficult concepts can be placed in a more rigorous neurobiological framework.

The depiction of the Self as a geometrical shape such as a sphere, mandala, or square has some basic innate
foundations. The brain has already been shown to be capable of spontaneously constructing innately
specified basic shapes (or “geons”; cf. Biederman, 1995), providing easy target domains for SELF IS A
CIRCLE or SELF IS A SQUARE mappings. But a mandala is a more complex matter. Recall from the
previous chapter the “deep” archetype of number, wherein “four” has various qualities associated with
dividing up complex subjects into manageable chunks; in fact, two pairs of opposites that work in
combination. This quaternary structure suggests the union of the concepts of wholeness and division, such
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as the four quadrants of the Cartesian coordinate plane—they are four, but they are also one, and the
quadrants are opposites that “work together” to form a coherent whole. Mandalas therefore not only
incorporate the innate concept of the circle, but also of “fourness”. But even more important is the concept
of symmetry. Recall that humans (and most other mammals) use a recognition system that places high
value on symmetry in mate selection because it results in higher quality mates due to the correlation
between harmful genetic mutation load and asymmetry—symmetry is always “preferred” in mate choice
because it reflects genetic quality. Since humans, and in fact all vertebrates have a bilaterally symmetrical
body plan, as opposed to say the radial plan of a sea star, this preference for symmetry in mate choice runs
very deep. The question is, is symmetry therefore aesthetically pleasing in general or is it domain-specific
to mate choice only? Given the high value placed on symmetry in human art, architecture, and even
mathematical physics (such as modern theories of which tout “super-symmetry”), I am inclined to believe
the latter. Thus, it seems that the propensity to seek out symmetrical mates and invest them with high
aesthetic value has “bled over” into other concepts that lie outside mate choice—in other words, symmetry
is innately understood and will be used to symbolize things.

Jung felt that the Self was a symbol of balance and wholeness; the concept of “balance” is a symmetrical
one, in that two “entities” are “equally” present, neither dominating the other. Balance is also hard-wired
into our vestibular systems, and is favored particularly in bipedal animals whose survival depends upon
maintaining upright posture—this links symmetry and “balance” with “favorable” connotations, even if
only vaguely intuited. Given these facts, note that the circle is mathematically the most symmetrical of all
two-dimensional shapes (as is the sphere in three dimensions)—thus the link between the concepts of
“wholeness”, “symmetry” and “balance” are easily mapped into the innate concept of the circle: a
WHOLENESS IS A CIRCLE mapping or BALANCE IS VISUAL SYMMETRY mapping. When placed
symmetrically, quaternary symbolism obtains this additional aesthetic significance—combining the two
geometric figures doubles the symmetry. When combined with LeDoux’s formulation of the “self” as the
source domain, the quaternary circle provides the target domain for a BALANCED SELF IS A
MANDALA symbol that is deeply archetypal. Note also that children around age 2 and older all over the
world spontaneously draw mandala symbols consisting of circles, squares and crosses (Kellog, 1969;
Edinger, 1972).

But there is another way in which this mapping becomes readily made that has to do with neuroanatomy;
The visual system itself is actually a circular field divided into four quadrants. The retina is itself a circle,
and due to the organization of the brain’s visual tracts, incoming sensory data are divided into four equal
quadrants that distribute evenly to the visual centers of the brain—in other words, our entire visual field is
literally one big mandala! Everywhere one looks, then, complex visual data is being divided into four, with
an emphasis on the center. Contemplating mandala symbols, then, sends symmetrical data to all four
quadrants of the visual cortex simultaneously—perhaps it is this feature that helps to induce subjective
feelings of “balance” to those meditating on them, and spontaneously generates symbols during moments
when such “balance” is felt to be needed. The important point is that these features of mandalas are not
inherent in the drawings or symbols in some “magical” way, but rather that the emotional or symbolic
meanings behind them have their origin in our particular neurobiological makeup.

Finally, the link between symmetry and mate selection may even provide a further nuance such as
FECUNDITY IS VISUAL SYMMETRY, which might explain why Jungians often equate Self symbols
with “fertility”, “new life”, “renewal”, etc. Apparently, then, what Jung described as the Self is actually a
family of many spontaneous symbols. These various products of the brain work with a variety of innate
“building blocks”, in this case, LeDoux’s “self”, essences, balance, animacy/inanimacy, possibly color,
social dominance, human and animal recognition mechanisms (especially males, females, snakes and
spiders), shape, symmetry, fecundity, numerosity, and the hard facts of our visual system’s anatomy. Jung
argued that mandala figures in particular emerged during states of “crisis” or conflict—such as that
described by LeDoux wherein various unconscious circuits are not working coherently with the conscious
self or with each other. The emergence of mandala images, to Jung, represented attempts at healing or
restoration of balance and resolution of this conflict. This intriguing prospect has to my knowledge only
been tested once, and this was by Jung himself. Here, Jung recorded the dreams of one of his analysands,
Nobel laureate Wolfgang Pauli. To minimize interference and the possibility of suggestion, Jung had an
associate record Pauli’s dreams over an extended period—Jung had no contact with Pauli whatsoever
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during this time and Pauli was unfamiliar with Jung’s ideas. At the time, Pauli reported that he was going
through an emotional breakdown related to a recent divorce. In all, Jung recorded 400 dreams, and found a
significant change in imagery: the first 50 dreams included a 2-9% incorporation of circle-quaternary
symbols, whereas the last 50 included 11-17% mandala symbols (Jung, 1974)—an overall change from
roughly 1 in 25 dreams to roughly 1 in 7 dreams. .

Contemplating the Divine

Much like the war god and the anima and animus, the biological data I review above shows how the innate
imagery of the Self is conjured up by the mind using a kind of universal symbolic and preverbal
“language”. Stones, Oceans, Mandalas, etc are used by the brain for specific reasons when it wants to
create a metaphor for something. Due to the implications of wholeness, essence, balance, symmetry,
animacy, fertility, and completeness, these symbols are excellent images to represent the totality of all the
innate aspects of the mind—including its dynamic attempts to self regulate. Thus, the subjective
experience of this massive, world creating, unconscious and ineffable subjective process is likely to be
frought with awe, wonder, and meaning, and hence visualized with by big symbols like God, Allah, Christ,
Buddha, Wyrd, Tao, Great Spirit, Bramha, Mandalas or the Philosopher’s Stone; novel creations such as
animal gods or cosmic/galactic images are possible as well and could potentially arise in anyone with an
intact central nervous system.

Since the Self is an “organizing center”, you can think of all the other symbols as “manifestations” of the
Self. This is probably more a matter of taste than an empirically testable hypothesis; nevertheless it can
serve as a useful attitude to take when trying to make sense of unconscious symbols. The question of
whether or not the Self has a “personality” like the others have a “partial” or “godlike” personality is
probably unanswerable, since such a personality is even in the best conditions going to be pretty alien to
our conscious understanding of what a personality is. But still, it’s a symbol, and sometimes it can behave
as if it were a personality, and one with tremendous power, since he/she/it wields not only the ancient
emotions, but the brain mechanisms that control all the innate world-constructing abilities. All the other
symbols originate here, and so the Self is the “creator god” of all the “lesser gods” of the mind. And that
can be an awesome experience for the conscious self to endure.
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PART III: CONCLUSIONS

Chapter 13: Meaning

“Scientific explanation consists not in a movement from the complex to the simple but in the substitution
of a more intelligible complexity for another which is less” --Claude Lévi-Strauss (1908-)

Like all metaphorical mappings, archetypal symbols are “true and not true”—they represent relational
patterns between things in the lived experience of the person. They are inherently ambiguous and
ultimately ineffable, and sometimes even behave as if they were personalities. The ineffability is the main
reason for resorting to metaphor in the first place, but the ability to maintain this ambiguity is also
neurobiologically based, probably in the brain regions known as the orbitofrontal cortex and the
dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, places that if damaged, make patients think of the mappings as literally true
rather than metaphorically true. Such is the case in dreams, wherein these and other regions of the brain are
downmodulated—symbols that emerge during this time feel literal and real. Another example is psychosis,
which many have observed shares similarities with dreams and mythological themes. But there is another
side of this literalistic “error”, and that is when one takes a symbol and decides that if it is not literally true
it must be “false”. I suspect this is the source for the dismissal of dream imagery and especially religious
concepts—arguably the most symbolic and profound of all human creations, as “mere nonsense”. Taken
literally, they certainly are nonsense. But given the prevalence of symbolic thinking, perhaps another look
at how we treat symbols is in order, unless we are prepared to dismiss our beloved concepts of time, love,
life, morality, and almost everything else sacred as also “mere nonsense”. After all, we don’t want to be
Mr. Literal.

Symbol and “Belief”

Once a symbol is experienced, even if infused with affect during a brain/mind state biased toward deeper
layers and reduced conscious processing, we are left with what to do with it. This is challenging because
we have no easy way of knowing if it is a symbol rather than a literal image that does not represent
anything. I once had a patient who dreamt that he was bringing home a fish to put into an aquarium, but
when he opened the bag, a giant snake came out and slithered away into a creek bed. There appear to be
two mutually exclusive options in interpreting this imagery. A skeptical position assumes that the imagery
is random and meaningless and that it’s “just” a snake. The other option is to entertain the possibility that
the mind generated the image as a symbol of something…but what? If it is a symbol, of course, this
question cannot be answered completely in concrete terms, hence we must resort to trying to intuit its
meaning with comparative methods. The thing being symbolized, however, will always be somewhat
mysterious.

At times it requires some effort to convince people that this second option is a viable one, since our current
culture appears to favor a dualism that either emphasizes “brainless” constructionism or “mindless”
behaviorism. In any case, there appear to be several reasons why dream and fantasy images are probably
not random or meaningless.

First, evolutionary psychologists have shown the brain appears to have evolved a number of highly
sophisticated mechanisms to maximize inclusive fitness. The specific goals of homo sapiens, being a
highly social, omnivorous primate with a predatory niche in savannahs, produced adaptations for
technology, mating, parenting, kin selection, social striving and creative cognition aimed at acquiring and
communicating literal and metaphorical knowledge in lieu of other endeavors (Carroll, 2005). New
symbols, then, might be reasonably assumed to be related to these issues more often than they would be
random and meaningless, since brains that waste valuable resources (such as conscious processing)
generating meaningless imagery would likely be selected out over evolutionary time.
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Second, nonrandom physiological influences on the brain can influence imagery, much of which is
unconscious. For example:

1. An environmental change or stress can cause variations in concentrations of hormones like

corticotropin releasing factor (CRF) (Nemeroff, 2008) and inflammatory molecules (Pace et
al, 2007).
2. These changes in hormones have been shown in numerous studies to have direct effects on
mood through a variety of well defined brain regions (reviewed by Miller, 2008; see also
Raison et al, 2006; Musselman et al, 2001).
3. Mood is furthermore known to alter symbolic dream imagery (Kramer, 1993, 2007; Koulack,
1993; Koukkou and Lehmann, 1993), for example by increasing imagery of death and
mutilation in subjects about to experience bipolar episodes (Beauchemin and Hays, 1995).

Generalizing this link of effects would look like this:

Environmental stimuli
↓
Direct effect on mood via various brain regions and cytokines
↓
Effect of mood on dream imagery
↓
Dream symbol as meaningful metaphor derived from unconscious biological state

The above chain of events traces a hypothetical pathway from molecule to symbol with several well-
documented links, none of which are “random” but meaningful to the organism38.

Third, since studies in mental imagery have shown that focusing on emotionally charged images can affect
the emotional response of subjects (Kalin, 2008), and there is reciprocal innervation between these areas of
the brain (LeDoux, 2002), it is possible that the reverse process occurs—that is, that emotional states give
rise to specific images related to those emotional states, rather than random meaningless images. One
study showed exactly this phenomenon; that is, when FEAR circuits, which along with other emotion
centers are heightened during dreaming, were directly stimulated in humans, subjects frequently gave
highly metaphorical reports of “entering a dark tunnel” or being “lost at sea” (Panksepp, 1985)—note how
here the mere stimulation of these circuits generated visual metaphors directly.

Fourth, recurrent dreams provide more evidence against meaningless random imagery. As Van de Castle
points out, the well documented occurrence of recurrent dreams, reported in over 50 percent of adults in
surveys (Cartwright and Romanek, 1978; Browman and Kapell, 1982; see also Hartmann, 1998) poses a
serious problem for “random image” theories of dreaming:

“Physiological theorists who claim that dreaming represents purely random neuronal
firing…have a difficult time explaining how the same well-formed and constructed
dream can keep reappearing for weeks, months, or years. The odds against such a pattern
being random would be astronomical.” (Van de Castle, 1994, p. 341)

Finally, Kramer’s (2007) data, which I mentioned early on, suggests dream content is nonrandom and
furthermore not just mindless churning through memories.

38
This applies not only to physiological changes but other sensory information as well: multiple
investigators have shown that subliminally presented stimuli come to be symbolically incorporated into
spontaneous imagery in dream reports or reports from subjects in quiet wakefulness and sensory
deprivation conditions (reviewed in Fiss, 1993). Note, however, that not just any stimuli affect dream
imagery, rather, only ones apparently related to evolutionary fitness appear to find their way in (see
Goodwyn, 2009c)
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Thus new undirected symbols are unlikely to be random and meaningless, but related to species survival,
emotional expression, and the activities of unconscious circuits in the deep layers of the brain/mind;
furthermore they are likely to be metaphorical (Lakoff, 1997) and hence expressions of ineffable intuitions
based as much on innate structure as personal history (Goodwyn, 2009c; Hobson and Kahn, 2007).

The Living, Breathing Symbol

The previous section outlines how meaningful symbols may originate; once present in consciousness, there
is good evidence that imagery and meaning—both key components of a symbol—can affect brain and body
physiology. Jung felt that understanding and “amplifying” symbols was essential for achieving mental
balance and alleviating suffering (1919, para 316), but was unable to explain how something mental could
affect something physical, except through an appeal to plausibility:

“Psyche cannot be totally different from matter, for how otherwise could it move matter?
And matter cannot be alien to psyche, for how else could matter produce psyche? Psyche
and matter exist in one and the same world, and each partakes of the other, otherwise any
reciprocal action would be impossible. If research could only advance far enough,
therefore, we should arrive at an ultimate agreement between physical and psychological
concepts.” (Jung, 1959a, para 413)

Ways mind affects brain/body have been rigorously demonstrated in studies of the so-called “placebo”
effect. Long maligned as a nuisance phenomenon and confounder of research trials, the placebo effect has
finally emerged in some literature as a legitimate subject of study in itself (Kradin, 2007). As will be seen,
placebo effect studies provide us with examples of ways in which symbolic experiences can affect brain
and body physiology.

For example, significant and persistent placebo responses have been observed in a variety of mental and
physical disorders, including irritable bowel syndrome (Vase et al, 2005), depression (Khan et al, 2007;
Leuchter et al, 2002; Vallance, 2007), pain (Colloca and Benedetti, 2005) and Parkinson disease (Colloca et
al, 2004; McRae et al, 2004). Other disorders known to respond to placebo include arthritis, ulcers,
hypertension, warts and cancer (Kradin, 2007). One famous study showed that for chronic knee pain a
“sham” procedure was effective and showed persistent alleviation of symptoms—equal in effectiveness to a
common knee surgery (Moseley et al, 2002). In a large meta-analysis of depression therapies, Sapirstein
and Kirsch (1996) concluded that 73% of therapeutic responses were due to psychological factors
surrounding the administration of antidepressant medication and other nonspecific factors, as opposed to
27% due to the drug itself. Other studies have shown placebo effects to be highly significant and inducible
via symbolically meaningful visual, auditory, and olfactory stimuli as well as ritual; all had conscious as
well as unconscious effects (Koshi and Short, 2007). Interestingly, the placebo effect is not unique to
humans—it has been observed in mice and other animals (Ader and Cohen, 1982).

Most ailments can improve with placebo—or “nonspecific”—interventions, and these appear to depend
greatly on the subject’s state of mind. Shapiro and Shapiro (1997) suggest that modern treatments do not
maximize the potential placebo enhancement of treatment, and furthermore placebo response appears to be
state-related rather than trait-related39.

Other factors include the subject’s state of suggestibility and expectation of cure (Bandura, 1997; De
Pascalis, et al, 2002; Price et al, 1999), number of visits during a treatment course (Thomas, 1987), and the
perceived meaning of the symptoms (Brody and Brody, 2000). Also, more frequent administration of a
medication, larger pills, newer pills, and even the color of a pill can enhance or diminish placebo responses,
as does the physician’s optimism/pessimism, reputation and personality, and what the patient is told about
the treatment and by whom (Moerman, 2002). One dramatic case observed a euglycemic patient with
multiple personalities in which one of the alter-egos was an insulin dependent diabetic (Rossi, 1992)—
further evidence that mind can profoundly affect brain and body. Medical anthropologist Moerman (2002)
39
The opposite of the placebo, or “nocebo” effect has also been demonstrated in a variety of settings;
Furthermore there does not appear to be a single placebo effect but many (Benedetti et al, 2005, 2007).
 100

argues that the placebo response should be reconceptualized as a “meaning response”, citing a large array
of studies. Others argue that the placebo response may actually be an evolutionary adaptation (Thompson
et al, 2009).

Mind/body researcher Richard Kradin observes that many aspects of the doctor-patient relationship can
promote well being, including “touch, gaze attunement, imagery and meaning.” (2007, p. 147; see also
Colloca et al, 2008; Oken, 2008). Kradin argues that placebo and nocebo response are types of Jungian
complexes (Kradin, 2004), recalling that Jung (1919) suggested complexes were mediated by internal
images:

“Might mental images mediate placebo responses? The idea at first sounds odd, but the
fact is that images are linked to most responses by the nervous system.” (Kradin, 2007, p.
186).

Elsewhere he observes that the data on the placebo response argues for a comprehensive self-regulation
system, which of course was presaged by Jung in a “crude but characteristically prescient manner” (p. 190)
in his theoretical construct of the Self, discussed previously. Finally, Kradin’s research points to a system
that has both innate and early developmentally acquired factors, is nonlinear in response, is strongly
correlated with unconscious mind-body physiology, and can be invoked in therapy:

“Rather than as a mechanistically ineffective treatment or as a confounder of clinical

trials, it may soon be accepted as a scientifically objective endogenous mode of healing
rooted in nonlinear mind-body physiology.” (p. 197)

How the placebo effect works exactly is currently under investigation, but so far has been shown to be
related to highly conserved brain systems (Kradin, 2007; Benedetti et al, 2005; Lidstone and Stoessl, 2007;
Meyberg et al, 2002; Oken, 2008). Kradin recommends that to maximize placebo improvement, physicians
should construct a narrative for the illness, including its “cause”, its meaning, and implications for
recovery. Humphrey (2002) argues that the placebo response is amplified by conviction in the religious
(and hence symbolic) descriptions of their symptoms. Others argue similarly that

“…although the placebo itself may be inert, the process of administering and receiving
the placebo treatment may not be, embedded as it is with learned expectancies and
symbolic meaning.” (Koshi and Short, 2007, p. 10)

They continue by arguing that placebo is highly significant, and does not equal “quackery”: “Studies
mentioned here showed that meaning can have considerable physiologic action....Therefore, placebo is not
the equivalent of ‘no therapy’.” (p. 13).

What these studies seem to show is that the way we symbolize our present state is no mere mental
ephemera but a real, living and breathing effect that can alter our neurobiology to a significant extent. It is
even possible that someday the knowledge of how the placebo effect works will be sufficient to invoke
placebo effects! The subset of subjective symbolic expressions of a patient’s state of being that fall under
the category of emotionally moving, ubiquitous, deeply ineffable and originating in the deep layers of the
brain/mind I define as archetypal symbols. It is likely that these symbols could significantly affect our
brain/body physiology for the above reasons.

Working with Symbols

Jung advised his students to “learn as much as you can about symbolism and forget it all when you are
analyzing a dream.” (Jung, 1950, para 483). The reason he said this was probably to avoid the pitfall of
reducing symbols to signs. Each symbol, he argued, must be taken as an individual expression whose
meaning must be gleaned carefully. If we are to understand symbols as sensory metaphors, then, what Jung
was apparently afraid of was reducing patient’s symbols to “dead metaphors”.
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Dead metaphors (Jackendoff, 2002; Lakoff and Johnson, 1999; Pinker, 2007) are metaphors that have been
used for so long they are no longer considered metaphorical; clichés (like “seeing red”), aphorisms (“power
corrupts”), and banal phrases such as “spilled his guts” (meaning told all his feelings), are examples of
“dead” metaphors. Dead metaphors are therefore symbols that have been reduced to signs. Carefully
analyzing a symbol can “resurrect” it and make it a “living” one—such that a symbol that was previously
just a “figure of speech” becomes a meaningful experience. There is an interesting parallel in this concept
and religious symbols; dead metaphors are frequently found in religious symbolism and reflect the slow
generational transition of a symbol into a mere place-holder. This process was often decried by Jung:

“once metaphysical ideas have lost their capacity to recall and evoke the original
experience they have not only become useless but prove to be actual impediments on the
road to wider development” (Jung, 1959a, para 65).

The cross is a good example: it is a mandala, and so carries the meanings of balance, unity, and division
and apparently represents many other “deep” ideas—that of the nexus between heaven and hell, life and
death, father and son, God and man, matter and spirit, immortality, sacrifice, the Great Tree, and the
promise of a brotherhood of mankind. But mostly people just think “cross = Christianity” and that’s it.
Thus, a potent “religious” symbol can become a dead metaphor to most people except by the devout, who
must work to keep the symbolism alive subjectively; this applies to religious as well as non-religious
symbols, including dream and fantasy images. Perhaps the most damaging to the symbol when it “dies” is
the loss of its ineffable nature and the tendency to forget that (for example) a cross is not literally anything
but a hunk of wood. Its “as if” nature is lost, and hence its mystery, which is a crucial aspect of every
symbol—more on this below.

Symbolic Thinking in Modern Culture

It seems that the difference in modern and ancient thinking on this subject is that ancient thinking was
largely in symbolic terms. It was undifferentiated in terms of the objective, physical contribution and
unconscious psychological contribution as is the case now—all of it was considered equally. Furthermore,
science has provided so many of the details to many of our experiences such as the moon, animals or the
wind that the symbolic way of understanding these things has been drowned out by reams of minutiae,
crammed into children’s heads during their formal education. The moon is no longer a goddess or a
symbol of time or inner healing—it is a large mass of inanimate rock filled with craters more or less
randomly distributed, orbiting the earth mindlessly in accordance with mechanistic laws. Satisfied, we
state “that’s all it is”. When observed “objectively”, which means stripped of human meaning, then, the
symbolic meanings humans have attributed to the moon become “illusions” or “merely psychological”—
whatever that is supposed to mean. But the two are not mutually incompatible. Speaking of the moon
more poetically as inducer of madness or goddess of the night, in scientific circles, however, usually invites
chuckles, since everyone knows that “it’s just a hunk of rock”. This negative attitude, contrary to some
opinion, is not due to being excessively reductive; actually it’s the result of not being reductive enough.

Why? Because it is based on an assumption that is not founded: that objects have inherent properties “in
themselves” that exist “out there”. But the concept of “an object” doesn’t even exist in itself! It’s created
by the visual system to organize sensory data, as are most of our beloved concepts that we use to
understand the world. So, searching for God or meaning in the “objective” universe is wrong headed—like
searching for the objective existence of “good and evil” scientifically. If we are going to bias ontological
truth solely on physical parameters, we must logically be prepared to do so with all our concepts—not just
a select few. Declaring that evil does not exist except “merely” in our minds implies that it is less “real”
than mass, velocity, or molecular structure. But our everyday lived experience is only partially contingent
on the physical world, unless we are prepared to declare that nothing has meaning, since science has shown
that the universe is a collection of molecules bouncing around in accordance with probabilistic and
deterministic laws. But this is not true; patterns of this molecular soup emerge from the chaos—but
patterns require an observer to discern the meaning inherent in such a pattern-even quantum mechanics
cannot escape the necessity of an observer.
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Empirical science has sought to observe the physical world with as little interference from psychological
influence as possible. That is the reason for all the carefully controlled experiments, the ubiquitous concern
over “observer bias”, the importance of “blinding” and reliance on instrumentation that strip away all
pretense of meaning from the ‘raw data’ that is acquired. Thus, empirical science seeks to understand the
“objective world” as it impinges upon our senses before we “mess it up” with all of our biases and
preconceived notions. This methodology is crucial to our understanding of the physical world, which
includes the body and the physical side of our anatomy and physiology, especially the brain. The method
itself, by design, strips away psychological meaning—to say that science has proven that the universe is
“merely” atoms and impersonal forces, implying that the universe is meaningless, is therefore circular:
strip away the meaning we attribute to the world, and the world becomes meaningless! But how could it be
otherwise? Meaning does not exist “in itself”, without reference to an embodied human observer to find it
meaningful.

The opposite of the above fallacy is also frequently made: that since all meanings we attribute to the world
come from “inside” our head, all meanings are created equal. But this denies the fact that meaning must
have raw material to work with, which must by necessity come from outside our senses; i.e, from the
physical world (which some might expand to include the myriad processing systems in our brains that
cannot be influenced by conscious thought, such as the deep and evolutionarily old brain regions). Not
only that, it denies the specific mechanisms through which meaning is generated, much of which is also
outside our direct conscious control and originating in our neurobiology. This link between symbolic
meaning and biology has already been noticed by Jungian analyst Anthony Stevens:

“The results of cross-cultural studies indicate that analogous symbolisms, whether of

religion, myth or folk tale, are so consistently and universally apparent that it is hard to
escape the conclusion that the propensity to create them is implicit in the mind-brain of
humanity…what the dictionaries and encyclopaedias of symbols have hitherto failed to
recognize is that symbolism has its roots in neurology and the evolutionary history of our
species as much as in the ancient religious and artistic traditions of human culture.”
(1998, pp. 20-28)

What is borne out by all the research, then, is that mental “stuff” and physical “stuff” cannot be truly
separated from one another. The combination of them becomes the most fundamental subject of study in
psychology, with neither being reducible or subordinate to the other.

What empirical research does well is elucidate the exact nature of the raw data with which the mind creates
meaning. This book is about understanding how our neurobiological makeup accomplishes this task in
specific ways, and for what reasons. Thus we find that we can never strip away the meaning we attribute to
the world and dismiss it as ephemera, for it is biologically derived, and therefore every bit as “real” as the
raw biochemical materials empirically discovered by natural science. Symbols help to create life
experience in the same way that light, gravity and the physical world help to create it—much like the mind
creates the life experience of the emotional importance of ones own child. Stripped of all psychological
meaning, physically the infant is “nothing but” a collection of molecules in a particular configuration.
When psychological meaning is restored, the experience of the infant is restored to its proper place in the
parent’s experienced world.

The symbols emerging into consciousness still need to be understood on this subjective, meaning-oriented
level. The above sciences, through a renewed understanding of the symbols’ origin, may shed some light
onto this process, since it provides mechanisms and origins, but that will still be incomplete information.
To point to the neurobiological origin of such symbolism and say “that’s all it is” would be a mistake,
much as understanding the origins and mechanisms of the color of blood do not completely characterize the
particular way redness is experienced by the subject or in understanding the ineffable core of meaning
behind the metaphor of “seeing red”. The fact that this metaphor is so common it is cliché only speaks to
the fact that these ineffable cores of meaning are not impossible to understand—but the fact remains that
anger is not and cannot ever be literally “red”, and trying to force the metaphor this way makes it appear
ridiculous (beware Mr. Literal!). Complex metaphors such as the Grim Reaper (or any other religious or
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scientific metaphor such as the “bread of life” or the “electromagnetic field”), when taken literally, are
affected the same way. Linguists Lakoff and Johnson observe that we

“don’t have a choice as to whether to think metaphorically. Because metaphorical maps

are part of our brains, we will think and speak metaphorically whether we want to or
not….Further, since our brains our embodied, our metaphors will reflect our
commonplace experiences in the world.” (2003, p. 257)

They go on to explain just how prevalent and necessary metaphors are to human understanding:

“Metaphors are not merely things to be seen beyond. In fact, one can see beyond them
only by using other metaphors. It is a though the ability to comprehend experience
through metaphor were a sense, like seeing or touching or hearing, with metaphors
providing the only ways to perceive and experience much of the world. Metaphor is as
much a part of our functioning as our sense of touch, and as precious” (Lakoff and
Johnson, 1980, p. 239)

Metaphors are conceptual in nature, language is secondary. Abstract concepts have a literal core but are
extended by metaphors which are often mutually inconsistent, however, the abstract concepts are not
complete without the metaphors:

“For example, love is not love without metaphors of magic, attraction, madness, union,
nurturance, and so on…we live our lives on the basis of inferences we derive via
metaphor” (Lakoff and Johnson, 2003, pp. 272-273)

Species-Specific Domains and the Origin of Symbol “Mystery”

This is because all symbols exist to help us understand things we could not otherwise comprehend in
concrete terms. In the above sections I have argued that archetypal symbols are nonrandom emotionally-
laden metaphorical constructs originating in the deep layers of the brain/mind, which at the deepest level is
highly conserved and universal. Furthermore I have argued that these symbols (among others) can affect
brain/body health, and that techniques such as symbol analysis may maximize a symbol’s therapeutic
efficacy.

The quality of mystery, I argue, is an important component of maintaining a symbol’s life. According to
Lakoff and Johnson (1999, 2003), we use metaphors as tools to understand things. That is, metaphors are
used to link things we understand with great clarity, like objects moving in visuospatial fields, with things
we understand poorly, like nebulous feelings, vague intuitions, ephemeral concepts like society, life,
“God”, the universe, etc (examples in Lakoff and Johnson, 1999). Furthermore, what determines whether
or not we understand something well or poorly (i.e., its mystery) is a function of our neurobiology; because
we are descended from arboreal primates, we have a highly developed visuospatial capacity, hence we
process this sort of information with great clarity. At some point in evolution, however, we acquired the
ability not only to imagine objects moving (using the same neural machinery), but to further represent less
easily understood things as if they were objects moving. Thus we have two abilities that build on the extant
sensorineural machinery, one that uses it to imagine objects independent of external input, and another
more sophisticated one that uses the imagery system to imagine objects and link them to other concepts “as
if” they were the same using deeply innate ideas (Pinker, 2007). Hence we can see an object rising, and
using the same system we can imagine an object rising even when there is no object, and finally we can say
“my mood is elevated today”, which is using the nebulous concept of “mood”, and treating it as if it were a
rising object.

The advantage of this metaphor creating ability is that it allows us to contemplate things outside of a
narrow range of domains, such as the nature of life and death, the “essence” of being, time, society, vague
but powerful emotions, and many other concepts. The tradeoff, however, is that while it allows us to
contemplate these things, we cannot understand them with the clarity that we understand concrete
experiences like visuospatial data. Anger is “like” fire—this metaphor is so common it is cliché, but
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strictly speaking anger is not fire and fire is not anger. It is like fire; as it is, this word “like” is actually a
bit mysterious. No matter how we think about it, anger is not literally the same as fire; the only way we
can explain what this “means”, then, is to list off the qualities of their similarity. Anger makes us hot, can
burn out of control, is destructive, etc.—this is an “amplification” of this symbol, which magnifies the
appropriateness of it and (if convincing) results in an interesting feeling of the mysterious way anger is
“like” fire. But this mystery derives from the ineffable core of meaning that all metaphors share, and
cannot be expressed in concrete terms, but only in other metaphorical terms. Furthermore, once it is
literalized, the symbol “dies” and becomes useless for understanding and emotional impact.

Lakoff and Johnson (1999) provide examples of literal sensorimotor experience used as metaphors (objects,
movement, concrete images, etc.), and I extend this idea to include animal symbols, arguing that since
evolutionary psychologists have uncovered innate animal recognition/motivation and meaning-attribution
mechanisms in the mind (for example), this is an innately prespecified concept that can also be utilized to
represent things symbolically because it is a concept we have a clearer understanding of due to our species
history. But there are many more of these problem-specific algorithms than animal or conspecific
recognition mechanisms. Evolutionary psychologists have observed a large array of problem-specific
mechanisms40 that could potentially be used to create metaphors.

A prime example of this kind of learning is the “cheater detection algorithm” (mentioned in earlier
chapters), which Cosmides and Tooby (2005) convincingly argue is innate and universal and cannot be
accounted for by any known generic learning mechanisms. Notably, they show how subjects given
problems that are logically identical to “cheater detection” problems but do not involve social exchange
fare consistently poorly, and practice does not improve this difference. This capacity, then, appears to be
something the hominid brain simply understands better than other ideas, hence I argue it will be reliably
utilized to create metaphors. In fact, throughout history humans appear to have done this: giving gifts and
initiating social reciprocation—via sacrifice, for example—has been and is a significant part of every major
religion (Smith, 2004, pp. 222-227), even if it is primarily a cerebral exchange and not concretized into any
particular ritual. Hence, the ritual interaction of a god symbol (representing something deeply ineffable but
nonetheless perceived) and the conscious hominid becomes a dialogue between the human and those
concepts far beyond the hard-wired capacities of the brain.

Throughout this volume I have outlined many other problem-specific cognitive abilities and adaptations
that I argue would be well suited to metaphor construction. This finite collection of preferred
environmental data sets explains why humans easily acquire languages, attachment styles, mate selection
tactics, snake phobias, and predator inferences (Buss, 2009) but must spend years of study acquiring the
ability to read, write, understand quantum mechanics or play the piano, even though there is nothing
inherent in any of these domains in themselves that would make them more or less difficult to comprehend
—it is our brains that make them more or less comprehensible. Thus I have argued that these species-
specific domains will be readily available for use in metaphor construction; furthermore this explains why
similar symbols appear cross-culturally.

The Great Mystery

Understanding why these universal symbols are mysterious is important to preserving and using a symbol
in therapy. I speculate that the mystery derives from the dichotomy of well-understood versus poorly-
understood domains. The basic idea is that since the brain/mind was selected over deep time to
comprehend a specific set of experiential data related to our survival as complex animals living in a certain
Earth-based environment, other domains were left out. Beyond the boundary of the species-specific

40
Lakoff and Johnson (1999) argue that ubiquitous metaphors are not “genetic”—which is not the same
thing as saying it is innate—but acquired through statistical learning mechanisms, hence it might appear
that my appeal to evolutionary psychology is unwise. But their position on metaphor acquisition has been
forcefully challenged by Pinker (2007) on several grounds that go beyond the present essay that I have
fielded elsewhere (Goodwyn, 2009d). In any case, the fact that phylogenetically relevant specializations
are reliably acquired is not controversial—what is debated is whether or not they are primarily or
secondarily acquired, which is of little consequence to my present model.
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domains lie realms of experience our brains are poorly equipped to process with great clarity—these
domains I am neurobiologically defining as the Great Mystery (GM) for reasons that will become apparent.
The only reason we can contemplate these domains is because of our capacity for metaphor: the ability to
comprehend a non-species specific domain, like “life”, “time”, “death”, or “the cosmos” and contemplate it
as if it were a species specific domain such as objects or animals moving (gods), a great tree, or whatever.
By tacking the mysterious word “like” between them, humans have the ability to ponder the domains of the
GM and extending our comprehension beyond the species specific-domains; however, we pay the price of
concreteness for a certain ineffability of meaning (see Fig. 1). This is not to say we cannot understand
them—clearly we can on a certain level—just not as well as we can process data that lie within the species-
specific domains.

Thus, the further away we get from the species-specific, the more symbolic our attempts to understand
these domains must become, for the simple fact that we have biologically limited brains.

Species-Specific Domains Great Mystery

Sensorimotor experience Emotional experiences

Environment preference Morality
Social exchanges The mind
Attachments The universe
Predator/prey inference Time
Mate selection Death
Kin recognition etc
etc

Fig 1. Species-specific domains and the Great Mystery (GM). Other species-specific domains include
innate ideas such as cause/effect, object, numerosity, and many others; see Lakoff and Johnson (1999) for
examples.

All the things that the brain/mind has innate prespecification to comprehend cognitively and linguistically
due to their pragmatism in species survival will be better represented and better comprehended in the brain
than what lies beyond these domains. Therefore, outside this “boundary” lies the GM—mysterious for the
simple reason that it does not directly affect species survival, and so Natural Selection has not seen fit to
mould the brain in such a way that would make these domains more concretely understandable, thus the
necessity to ponder them using ineffable metaphors. Importantly, we should note that emotional
experiences are outside the boundary because we appear to be ill-equipped to concretely define them
without using metaphor to a large extent. This may be because consciousness appears to have evolved to
service our emotions (Damasio, 1999; Panksepp, 1998, 2005, 2006) rather than the other way around; in
other words, Nature hard wired us to want to behave in ways that maximize inclusive fitness, but not
necessarily to cognitively understand those wants. Regarding emotions, Nature seems to say “just do it,
and don’t ask questions”.

Furthermore, some symbols are more mysterious than others. Certain metaphors, such as the primary
metaphors outlined by Lakoff and Johnson (1999) like SEEING IS KNOWING, HAPPY IS UP, STATES
ARE LOCATIONS, etc., are apparently fairly easy to grasp from an early age, and so are not very far
beyond the species-specific border. As we brave “farther” beyond the border, however, building more
complex metaphors from these, we must resort to more symbolic expressions more distant from the
species-specific realm. Thus one can imagine that we live on a species-specific “island” surrounded by the
GM, and the farther we go into the water and away from the island, the deeper we tread into the mystery.

Symbol Systems, Science, Philosophy, and Religion

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Throughout history, humankind has developed ways of understanding the farthest reaches of the non-
species specific domains which I call the GM by way of systems of complex symbols so metaphorical, and
hence ineffable, that they can only be appreciated in terms of other metaphors and symbols. Of course,
they can also be dismissed as “imaginary”, however this leads us full circle to the question of whether or
not an image or complex system of images—such as found in dream narratives, myths and fantasy content
—should be taken as a literal, and hence meaningless, expression of random images or rather as a symbolic
expression of something ineffably intuited.

Viewed symbolically, many domains of the GM seem to have been cross-culturally represented in similar
terms, normally of humanlike figures (gods, ghosts), animal “spirits” (totems), and almalgam figures
(theriomorphic gods, elves, trolls, fairies, etc.) engaging in similar types of narratives. Different aspects of
the GM are normally depicted as different symbolic expressions—for example, the mystery of a deceased
loved one’s “essence” or “spirit”, meaning the ineffable (and hence mysterious) feelings and dimly
conscious influences they invoke in us, can be symbolically represented as the image of the dead person
(strictly speaking, they are not identical). Dreaming of loved ones after their death happens frequently in
dreams (Van de Castle, 1994), which may again be metaphor shaping dream imagery (Lakoff, 1997). In
this case, a “ghost” image is used as a compact symbolic expression of all the feelings, subtle
environmental cues, affects, introjected qualities, unconscious perceptions and self-biased memories of the
person in the subject; considering the degree of brain physiology we all share, the distinction between
“self” and “other” becomes blurry and mysterious at best, and calls into question just how one could
differentiate the image of a person in a subject from the actual person; it is certainly not “merely” a
memory. Like “phantom limb pain”, a subject can continue to vividly experience the lost object even after
it is gone—it “lives on” in the world constructed by the brain/mind.

Other systems of symbols besides religious ones include the relatively newer disciplines of science and
philosophy. Science uses symbols to represent aspects of the GM also—the probability waves of quantum
mechanics (which is hard enough to comprehend symbolically much less literally), chemical bonds, where
elements connect as if by strings, biological selection, wherein species change as if acted upon by a
selecting agent. Philosophy has other examples (Lakoff and Johnson, 1999). But a key difference between
these systems and religions is the aspect of participation. In a ritual, not only is the practitioner a
“believer”, or one who holds the symbol system as a valid representation of (some or all of) the GM, but
they also participate in it. Through an interaction with the god, such as a prayer, meditation, a social
exchange, or a simple affirmation of the god’s mystery, power, knowledge, timelessness, and/or
omnipresence, the practitioner “merges” with the god-symbol, which is usually an archetypal symbol and
becomes a part of the GM as if she and it are “one”. Thus “mystic union” or at-one-ment means
metaphorical/symbolic union, with the caveat that the mystery underlying this activity derives from the
ineffable core of meaning embedded in the system’s metaphors. In these cases we are often so far from the
species-specific, in representing huge universal ideas like the world, life and death, cycles of being, essence
of being, “purpose”, the meaning of existence, deep affects, barely conscious inklings, and the difference
between self and other, the symbols by necessity become impossible to explain in concrete terms and can
only be fairly appreciated in themselves as symbols. Comparative analyses can perhaps give greater
understanding of their “meaning” but never exhaust the possibilities, because of the ineffable nature of the
symbol. In fact, “meaning” is a sneaky term here, because it assumes we can explain a symbol fully in
concrete terms when we simply can’t. The symbol can be described and redescribed in many ways, but the
“true meaning” (if there even is such a thing) cannot be concretized without committing a literalistic error
that assumes we can know more than we can actually know. Recognizing this fact, however, maintains the
mystery of the symbol, and may hence improve its “potency”.

Participation separates religious systems from others; though the philosopher deals with symbols of great
mystery, he is never “one” with them, and neither is the scientist, who for her part seeks to validate a
(usually less ambitious) symbol system by repeated experiments. But scientific symbol systems only erase
deeper symbolic mystery on the surface; strictly speaking, electrons are not waves or particles, molecules
are not “bonded”, species are not “selected”, any more than the course of the universe is literally directed
by a human-like creature floating in the sky. But thinking about these things “as if” they were (sort of) true
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brings an ineffable sense of understanding and perhaps meaning to our subjective inner world, so long as
literalism is avoided.

Thus, when a tribal shaman sees a lightning bolt, he may intuit the “will” of a sky god (symbol) and try to
engage it and participate in the “mystery” of the sky and its many manifestations via prayer, ritual, or
whatever (often to psychological success); on the other hand, the scientist sees particles moving around in a
field and seeks to describe it with reductive analysis and empirical investigation (often to experimental
success). But the scientist does not “participate” in the mystery.

This “participation” seems to consist of a (perhaps unconscious) recognition that the human brain/mind
emerges spontaneously from the primordium of matter/energy, through the union of the parents and the
body of the mother. Mind and brain are one, and hence brain/mind and GM are also “one”, though the
particulars of natural selection has made it difficult for the small conscious perception of the mind to
comprehend the “bigger picture” it rests upon. Participation in a symbol system becomes the only way to
“connect” this conscious self with the GM. I suspect this requires effort because the conscious self has
such a high “filter” (Watt and Pincus, 2004) and allows only so much unconsciously processed data into it.
Subjectively this frees consciousness but also isolates it from its unconscious grounding. The unconscious
layers of the brain/mind require no such effort because they do not have such filters. Hence the symbolic
expressions of the more unconsciously derived dream and fantasy symbols reflect this “union” with the GM
(as evidenced by symbols such as the Self, Christ, Buddha, Tao, Wyrd, all of which appear to represent
unity with Deity or Deities).

In the “neurotheology” experiments of Newberg and Waldman (2006), reduced parietal lobe activity was
correlated with feelings of timelessness and loss of spatial dimension; i.e. a sense of “oneness” with the
universe or God (depending on the religious beliefs of the subject)—it is apparently (among other things) a
“lowering” of the filter that separates us from the GM. This filter gives us great cognitive powers but
appears to make us fundamentally rather lonely beings—perhaps this one reason attachments are so
important to us, as attachment is one very important way in which we “reconnect” with the world, through
others. In any case, participation, with mystery, may very well be another factor that maximizes a symbol’s
“potency”, or ability to affect mind/body.

Differentiations of Jung’s Concepts

Archetypal symbols use archetypal imagery. This imagery has multiple aspects; in fact, they seem to be
constructed not as self-contained entities ready to spring up fully formed, but rather emerge as part of a
constructive process that incorporates many innate, unconscious and vague themes such as “light and dark”,
“mate seeking”, “dominance”, “vertical dimension” etc. into a coherent whole. In other words, there does
not appear to be a one-to-one relationship of archetypes-as-such to archetypal images, as Jung postulated,
rather they overlap considerably, as observed by later Jungian theorists Edinger (1972), von Franz (1999)
and Brooke (1991). The “collective unconscious”, then, is not so much a group of archetypes-as-such
waiting to be “activated”, but rather a massive array of innate concepts, schemas, evolutionary adaptations
and abstract images ready to be combined in novel ways to generate a bewildering array of symbols
spontaneously—but their source is still innate.

Meaning and “Religious” Considerations

Psychology has frequently had an uneasy relationship with religion since its inception. Curlin et al (2007)
has argued that a traditional antagonism between psychiatry and religious concepts began when:

“Freud equated religion with neurosis…[however] Some recent developments suggest

that this historical antagonism is waning…the historic division between psychiatry and
religion may be narrowing” (Curlin et al, 2007, p.1825-1830)

Jung obviously disagreed with Freud on this point (Jung, 1961), and Jungian analysis frequently enters a
patient’s spiritual or religious beliefs—another reason Jungian psychology has been criticized as
“unscientific” or dismissed as “mysticism”, and placing Jung, yet again, in the theoretical minority. But
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considering patient’s religious beliefs appears to be a natural part of symbol interpretation, and I think this
is because religious symbols are derived from the same mechanism all other symbols emerge from, with the
added components of participation and mystery. But despite the separation of psychology and religious
thought, there appears to be a call for a more integrated approach that includes the consideration of a
patient’s spiritual “health”—without, obviously, espousing any particular religion (Bienenfeld and Yager,
2007). The reasons for this are based on the literature; religious patients, for example, have been shown to
benefit from treatments that include their religious beliefs (Propst et al, 1992; Meador and Koenig, 2000).
Religious belief is apparently positively related to mental health, including longevity (Helm et al, 2000),
lower stress (Koenig et al, 1998), lower blood pressure (Larson and Koenig, 2000) and lower risk of suicide
and drug abuse (Kuritzky, 1998) and it appears to be protective against adolescent depression (Miller et al,
1997). All of this data further supports the idea that subjective symbols have profound mental and physical
effects on health, particularly when they are “participated” in.

The Dimensional Analysis of Symbols

In any case, archetypal symbols appear to be unconsciously constructed entities that are created via
numerous innate ideas. Each of these innate contributors can be thought of as a “dimension”, which I
define as aspect of meaning. These correspond to what are essentially “themes” that “urge” behavior and
thought in one direction or another. They are not precise, rather they are innate abstract ideas that are used
combinatorially by the brain to generate a huge array of nonverbal images designed to grasp the present
state of the organism and/or the environment. When used, these various themes combine in a unique way
to generate a particular symbol that comprises all of these themes to varying degrees. That is why I am
calling them the “dimensions” of the symbol; it is an attempt at understanding this process in reverse—
given a particular symbol, I ask, which themes did the brain use to generate it?

The themes are manifold, due to the large array of adaptations in the brain, and include all the innate
concepts such as intentionality, objectness, image-schema, affect, essence, self, other, animal, gender,
number, mother, father, enemy, tree, time, causation, morality, theory of mind, and visuospatial
representation: all concepts generated via natural selection during the long evolution of our species.

Dimensions

Let me state plainly that reducing any symbol into its components will unfortunately nullify some of the
meaning that is inherent in the particular way the components are put together. As Eliade warned, “To
translate an image into a concrete terminology by restricting it to any one of its frames of reference is to do
worse than mutilate it—it is to annihilate, to annul it as an instrument of cognition.” (1952, p. 15). That is
not my intent; rather, I wish to pick out thematic material in a symbol that might otherwise go unnoticed.
Once all of the dimensions are considered, the reconstruction of the symbol will help gain access to its
meaning as completely as possible.

Internal/External axis: This axis includes all the boundary making related to “in-group” vs. “outgroup”
delineations. All cultures differentiate “home” vs. “out there”, and relate the home to the “center” and so
many symbols may have this aspect as well.41

Masculine/Feminine axis: Various aspects of “masculine” and “feminine” behavior are innately classified
and so can find their way into many symbols that may have little to do with men and women in particular.

Kin/Non-kin axis: Kin recognition and detection mechanisms may “push” a symbol along this axis,
conceptually classifying a particular symbol as “kin-like” vs. “non-kin like” by either identifying it with
other kin symbols or separating it from kin.

41
Psychologists will recognize that the so-called CONTAINMENT as well as the DIVISION image
schemata are included here.
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Predator/Prey axis: predatory behavior is innately recognized by the perceptual/conceptual system. Any
animate symbol that displays predatory vs nonpredatory behavior may have a degree of vague “predation”
as part of its meaning.

Light/Dark axis: The depiction of lightness and darkness in a symbol carries with it all the archetypal
meanings of light and darkness previously reviewed. Combination of light and dark, as in a “striped
animal”, for example, may carry connotations of a combination of these two concepts.

Animate/inanimate: This dimension differentiates all animate things from nonanimate things on the basis
of behavior; so objects that are normally inanimate can behave “animately” along this dimension and
contribute to symbols in this manner. This includes plants, which have similar properties to animals except
they do not have intentionality or self-propelled movement, but rather an animate “essence” as well as a
“biological” nature that separates them from inanimate objects like rocks or metals.

Vertical dimension: A large array of concepts are associated with vertical dimension, which includes
“balance” since our upright posture demands it for proper functioning, and it is hard-wired into our
equilibrium system. Hence any aspect of verticality in either the environment (cliffs, mountains, caves,
towers, etc.) or behavior (flight, falling, rising, etc.) may contain the inherent symbolic aspects of
verticality.

Natural/Artificial axis: Brain regions devoted to artifact recognition can differentiate symbols along this
axis and identify them with humans especially. This is frequently seen in environments that are “natural”
like forests, caves or mountains, versus artifactual environments like shelters, towns or cities. The degree
of involvement and human intent, then, is what defines this axis.

Numerosity axis: The various meanings of the “deep” archetype of number, from one to four, can play a
part in any symbol, since there is always at least one of them. Two, three or four similar symbols appearing
together may be indicative of separation of opposites, unification of opposing themes (like a synthesis or
dynamic triad), or a fundamental division of chaotic data into a coherent system (like the visual system,
which is a static quaternity).

Symmetry axis: Related to numerosity is symmetry; symmetry is nearly always going to be more positively
regarded (in terms of affect), than asymmetry. This vague property can obviously represent a variety of
meanings depending on the context, remembering that there are many types of symmetry that will range
from perfect (circular) symmetry to complete asymmetry. Note that if two objects are being understood as
“symmetric” they must at least be similar enough to warrant such a comparison. Trees are not
“symmetrical” with butterflies—they are different “objects”; remember to think using innate concepts and
not modern scientific (and hence learned) concepts since these are less likely to be used in symbol
construction. In other words, trees and butterflies may be “symmetrical” in that they are both comprised of
typical biological molecules, but at the holistic level understood unconsciously, they are not symmetrical.

Left/Right axis: The various aspects of left and right symbolism, with its origin in the hemispheric
specialization, will play a part along this dimension, with “left” usually equating with the emotional,
intuitive, less conscious but more informed right brain, and “right” corresponding with the rational,
analytic, more conscious but more rigid left brain.

Purity axis: The vague concept of “purity” can also contribute to a symbol’s meaning, and in fact this
concept is frequently depicted in black/white or clear/opaque terms, and is related to innate folk biology
adaptations to avoid infection. “Pure” things will be more positively appraised affectively (like symmetry
is).

Fluid/nonfluid axis: Fluids like air and water are conceived differently than solids in terms of object
boundaries and whether or not they are thought of in terms of “stuff” or numbered “things”. Fluids are
more changing and ephemeral but are frequently imbued with “essence” of some sort or another, and water
and air have special significance in relation to life and animation.
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Size axis: Size is frequently equated with significance, especially in comparison with other symbols, i.e.
the IMPORTANT IS BIG metaphorical mapping.

Time axis: The different ways in which time is conceptualized, whether linear or cyclical, can play a part
in symbol construction. Symbols that change over time versus those that do not imply aspects of
permanence vs. malleability. Symbols that change but return to their original form imply cyclicity.

Essence axis: Related to change is the concept of “essence”—a symbol that changes must be seen as
having the same essence if it is to be considered an “altered” symbol, rather than just a completely different
symbol altogether. Essence is another innate and hard to define aspect of an object that represents the
“irreducible core” of the object.

Causation: Among the other “deep” archetypes, one must consider in the behavior of the symbol its
“causal” relationship with other symbols in the narrative. Hinderance, helping, allowing, preventing, and
“causing” are all aspects of the behavior of a symbol that will contribute to this dimension of the symbol’s
meaning, particularly in the way it interacts with other symbols.

Emotional axis: Rather than simply divide symbols into “positive” or “negative” symbols, consider all the
innate emotional systems that might be contributing to its meaning, including SEEKING, LUST, PANIC,
CARE, RAGE, PLAY, and FEAR. Animate symbols can be understood by their behavior, whether it is
aggressive, fearful, caring, or whatever, and inanimate symbols can be understood by the affects they evoke
in either other characters or the subject.

Color: All the subtleties of color symbolism will contribute to any particular symbol, be it black, white,
red, or whatnot.

Relational Patterns

In addition to a symbol’s “dimensions”, which are aspects that the symbol has in itself, remember that all
metaphors and symbols are relational in nature. Therefore, the relational nature they are depicting will be
inherent in the metaphorical structure. Innate relationships will play a large part of their construction, and
as before will be most often based on evolutionarily relevant relationships. The relationship of a man and
his wife, for example, will be more often of concern than the relationship between a man and a mud puddle
(a rhinoceros might have a different opinion of this matter, however).

Examples of common relational patterns that a symbol may be depicting (none of these are mutually
exclusive):

Father-Son
Father-Daughter
Mother-Son
Mother-Daughter
Male-Female
Self-Group
Self-Shadow or Persona (alternatively id-ego-superego interactions)
Conscious self-Unconscious circuit (commonly underlying nearly all symbols)
Conscious self-Nature/environment

Example of Symbol Dimension Analysis

Here I will return to the eagle-bat pair I presented in the dream example I gave previously. I will consider
each dimension in turn. First of all, the symbol appears as a pair of animals traveling together, and
appeared before the dreamer (and therapist) encountered the crossroads. It is two animals, and therefore
has a binary nature, but an asymmetrical one; meaning, there are not two eagles, but a bald eagle and a bat.
Both are the “same size”, so they are “equal in significance”. Also, they are contrasted along the light/dark
axis, as the bat is was described as “shadowy” and the eagle was a white-headed bald eagle. Bats are
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normally nocturnal creatures that live in caves, whereas eagles soar in the high sun (these two observations
are not likely to be innately known but represent learned aspects of their character that may be incorporated
into the symbolism). Both have the dimension of verticality (as do all flying animal symbols), which
implies “higher” thinking or “spiritual” (i.e. non-physical) thoughts, higher vantage points, freedom, and
“divine” inspiration but also possible “precarious” aspects or height in its dangerous aspect. Both symbols
could conceivably have a “predatory” aspect, however they are flying peacefully together in the dream, and
so are not behaving in typically predatory ways; therefore, this dimension would be considered likely
irrelevant in this particular case.

Birds can fly and roam far and wide, are “independent” and unconnected with the “earth” or “ground”,
which is often concerned with physical reality. They are also characters of the open outdoors, as opposed
to inner enclosed spaces. These qualities give the eagle a perhaps stereotypic “masculine” quality, and so if
this is a self symbol it qualifies as an animus symbol. Note that if this is the case it contrasts with the much
more ineffectual animus “maintenance workers” in the town later, after the subject separates from the
therapist—perhaps a comment on how therapy is affecting this aspect of her personality, meaning
positively during therapy, and reflecting the fear of helplessness afterward. The bat, since it is more
“grounded” than an eagle, suggests the intimacy, containment and refuge of the cave and darkness—this
poses an interesting contrast to the eagle, in that they are both traveling together as allies. This “union of
opposites” suggests that the two of them together may constitute a “Self symbol”, meaning a metaphorical
representation of the subject’s “inner guide toward health” at the time of the dream. Both are obviously
animal symbols, and there does not appear to be a hint of kin/non-kin differentiation to this symbol pair.

The natural vs. artificial axis is reflected in the setting of the eagle and bat—a forest. Note that they
disappear when the subject enters the more “artificial” world of the town and its buildings. If it is a self or
animus symbol, it is getting “lost” by disappearing, suggesting a causal implication in the removal of a
natural setting which “causes” the eagle and bat (the Self?) to disappear into unconsciousness. The animals
themselves are devoid of artificiality because they are animals. The “purity” axis comes to play only in that
the bat is not purely dark, but brownish black in color—a very “earthy” tone that further suggests a play of
opposites between it and the eagle and shows the color dimension of the symbol pair as well; the eagle is
not entirely white, but has a brown body—a completely white eagle would have a dimension of “purity” to
it (like the white dove) that the relatively more mundane eagle of the dream has. The fact that the birds are
flying in the fluid media of the air, rather than grounded or underwater, suggests aspects of swift change,
but only in potential, since they are not “zipping around” but soaring calmly. Note also that the airy
medium suggests the “breath of life”, i.e. wind, that is so important to the respiratory centers of the reptile
brain. There is no left/right significance here, since the bat and eagle soar in circles around the dreamer,
but with the eagle always closer to the dreamer than the bat—this has a spiral symbolism that may be
suggestive of developing change or “rebirth”. Again, note how the bat is further away, which recalls the
INTIMACY IS CLOSENESS mapping, wherein the bat is more “distant” and less well known (i.e., more
unconscious).

In time they do not change much, only soaring steadily, then disappearing abruptly. This suggests an
aspect of permanence or at least timelessness, rather than rapid or cyclic change within the context of the
dream. In terms of essence, the fact that the eagle and bat are traveling together suggests that they
somehow share the same essence, which is why it could be a Self symbol—note the aspect of “superiority”
that is required for it to be a Self symbol is attained in its vertical, i.e. “higher” position in space relative to
the dreamer (and, I humbly submit, the therapist as well!). It is also superior in that it is an eagle, as
opposed to a common wren for example; the eagle is very important to American symbolism and is the
national bird (i.e. the “totem animal” of the nation)—another connotation with the wider social mileu.
Finally, in the affective dimension, the pair appear to be SEEKING something, perhaps a distant place or a
new vantage point. They do not, by their behavior, appear to be fearful, angry, lustful, panicking or
concerned with caretaking. The other possibility is that they are flying for sheer joy, and they are therefore
reflective of PLAY circuitry at work.

As far as the relational pattern, the eagle and bat seem to be flying of their own accord, without much
interaction from either myself or the dreamer. There does not appear to be any parent-child or self-group
pattern evident in its behavior. The only pattern that does appear to fit is the conscious-unconscious
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pattern, wherein if we follow the assumption that the bird and bat are Self symbols, the dreamer’s appears
to be traveling “with” the Self, which is nevertheless moving along of its own accord seemingly unaware of
the those of us riding the bicycles.

Notice that this in-depth analysis is time consuming—it is recommended only for symbols that are rather
mysterious such as the eagle and bat in this dream. It is revealing since it uncovers perhaps unseen aspects
of the innate brain architecture that contribute to its construction, but notice it does not provide a “final
answer” as to its meaning, nor could it because of the ineffable core of meaning behind metaphors—there’s
no free luch here. What it does do is highlight aspects of a symbol that may not have been obvious.
Further treatment of this symbol might be to imagine a continued journey with it, perhaps engaging it
symbolically via some kind of mental ritual or guided imagery—this would amount to participation in the
dream symbolism as if it were a godlike being. For all the aforementioned reasons, I think such practice
could lead to positive mind/body effects.
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Chapter 14: Neurosymbology—Molecules to Mandalas

“Mythology is not allegorical; it is tautegorical. For mythology, the gods are beings that really exist;
instead of being one thing and signifying another, they signify only what they are.” --Friedrich Wilhelm
Scheller (1775-1874)

The present volume represents an attempt to show the “spirit in matter” that was forgotten when Descartes
divided mind and body. His misguided dualism (based on dualisms of many before him, and in fact
probably originating in humankind’s propensity to divide things) left the world of matter lifeless and dead,
while the mind floated off into the stratosphere to conjure up illusions that it was infinitely malleable and
free from its Earthly anchor42. The idea survived in various forms throughout the ages. But the conscious
self is only the latest addition to the hominid repertoire of adaptations; it is indeed powerful and highly
open to change. It is the source of free will and our capacity for rational analysis as well as soaring
complex thoughts. It is not infinitely powerful, however; consciousness has definite limitations.
Furthermore it rests upon a massive unconscious edifice millions of years in the making, but because of the
limits of conscious processing—the “filter”—consciousness feels as if it contains everything we are and
everything we can be. This is an inflated illusion, as modern science has shown, and I think this very
illusion is the source of the “blank slate” fallacy.

I hope by now I have convinced you that the mind is definitely not a blank slate. Despite it all, however,
this pesky idea continues to persist in a great variety of venues. Let us dispose of it once and for all;
overwhelming evidence shows that the mind contains an amazing array of instincts and innate adaptations
capable of immense creativity. Furthermore, the unconscious mind is not simply a repository for infantile
and irrational impulses—that belief amounts to bald arrogance and a lack of respect for the ancient wisdom
and sometimes destructive power of unconscious instincts. Rather, it contains all the basic plans required
for life on earth as homo sapiens, as she evolved in small foraging bands in the ancestral environment.
These instincts are neither good nor bad—only undifferentiated.

Furthermore, I hope I have persuaded you that spontaneous symbols actually mean something more than
the mere vagarities of a person’s individual experience. It can be difficult to determine their meaning
sometimes, certainly, but they are not arbitrary signs cooked up randomly by the mind willy-nilly from
experience alone; rather, they have definite connotations related to our evolutionary history. They
represent the mind’s continuous attempt at characterizing the world as we encounter it—and it originates in
the unconscious. Non-human primates have the capacity for symbolic thought; it is therefore evolutionarily
old and preverbal, though obviously the most refined in humans. This is not because of our capacity for
language, however, for language came long after symbolic thinking (Pinker, 2007).

You will also notice that I have delved into our ancient past, frequently citing research involving the way in
which ancient tribal societies symbolized their worlds. One might ask what relevance these considerations
have on “modern” society, in which we are raised in a world of internet, skyscrapers, reality television and
space travel; this is a frequent attitude I think, but it is a fallacious one—one that (again) assumes the blank
slate, and forgets our monumentally ancient biological past as primates, or as mammals, or as vertebrates
before that. Ultimately, however, my emphasis on these matters is neither for poetic reasons nor for
scholarly novelty, but rather for scientific reasons. The fact of the matter is that our brains evolved to
facilitate survival in small foraging bands in the African savannah, and over 99% of our existence on this
planet has been in this “ancestral environment”. A few thousand years of self-praise at the much vaunted
works of hummankind cannot change this simple fact. Thus, any aspect of our experience that correlates
with universal hard-wired structures will constitute a part of our “human nature”.

42
Actually, Descartes did not use the term “mind” but “soul”, and his argument was much more subtle than
the straw-man I’m setting aflame here. Nevertheless, the naïve dualism I am criticizing is what is popular
in our culture—my apologies to Descartes.
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Gods and Emotions

Want to know why I pick on Mr. Literal so much in this book? It’s because he’s us. Yup, that’s right. Mr.
Literal is responsible for the agonizing clash between science and religion. The god is a genuine symbolic
creation of the mind—and an archetypal one at that. It is an honest attempt of the conscious brain to
understand the activity of the world and the unconscious mind that organizes it. Furthermore, like all
symbols that have not become “dead” it has a kind of life and mysterious personality of its own, derived
from unconscious processes. Rigid religious believers insist that this symbol is literal. There’s a God, and
he’s a person who lives “out there” somewhere—anti-religious critics love to parody this idea: “oh yeah?
You really think there’s some old guy with a beard floating around in the clouds? Boy you are daft!”
Fundamentalists and other extremists counter with point blank assertions of absolute faith that this image is
a literal fact—but this is why it is so hard to differentiate rigidly held beliefs and outright delusions:
because they both originate from the same symbolizing function of the brain. Both are honest symbols, and
both are interpreted literally.

But the problem is not just with Mr. Religious Literal, who wonders how many angels can fit on the head
of a pin. The hard-core antireligious person (which is not necessarily the same thing as an atheist) has the
same problem, because he is really just Mr. Literal in reverse! He takes a symbol literally only to deny it
rather than “believe” in it. That is why so many explanations of religion fail to satisfy, whether skeptical or
fundamentalist; they demand that we look at symbols in a literal fashion, one way or another, and this is a
fallacy. All religious symbolism has a kind of validity since they all emerge from the same creative
system. In the “neurotheology” studies of Newberg and Waldman (2006), when showed the brain scans of
praying nuns and monks, the devout declared this to be proof of Gods existence. Skeptics countered with
the statement that God is “merely biological”. So who’s right? In my opinion, they both are. Not only
does God exist, but he is biological; I only add that God does not “enter” our brains from “out there”, and I
do not accept that saying it is “merely biological” equals “merely nothing” (which is what the skeptics
mean when they say this). Nor does saying it’s “all in your head” equal “it is meaningless and arbitrary”.
Can you decide that all apples will look blue tomorrow? Perhaps if we had this much control of our
experience, then saying “it’s all in your head” might actually be a meaningful criticism. Rather, personified
gods are real, biological phenomena in the subject’s brain/mind that order their subjectively experienced
world and implicate meaning to a high degree. They can be affected by skepticism and doubt, as can any
symbol, and as such they are highly subjective, and largely dependent upon the subject’s attitude toward
them, but that does not mean they are nonexistent. Perhaps this is the reason for the common tendency to
think that gods require worshippers to continue “living”.

Further examples come from the way in which we think about supernatural beings—the “rules” that apply
to them. Skeptics like Dawkins (2008) argue that if we are going to worry about gods, why don’t we set up
scientific experiments to find fairies as well? After all, under the toadstools, you only find frogs; no fairies.
But not so fast. Perhaps looking under the toadstools is the wrong place to find fairies. Traditional Irish
folklore (Davidson, 1993; Rees and Rees, 1961), for example, asserts that fairies and all other creatures of
the “Otherworld” are much more active at night. Wanderers at night are cautioned not to disturb the “little
people”, and they also run the risk of encountering dead relatives as well. The dead are particularly active
between ten and twelve o’clock and the way to show them respect is to “retire early, leaving the hearth
swept and the seats arranged for them around a well-made fire” (Rees and Rees, 1961, p. 83). Dawn
dispels the spirits and elves, and our day is their night. Night was thought to be the best time to tell
supernatural tales, and in fact laws were set down that certain tales were not to be told except at night lest
they be dishonored (and the supernatural creatures they are about); this tradition wherein ancient stories are
accorded an “inherent power” may be a part of an extremely old Indo-European tradition (Puhvel, 1986), as
it is found also in Vedic lore, and I suspect it is a universal. The Celtic calendar contained “spirit nights”
such as Samhain when chaos—the work of fairies and spirits—reigned, as these were “boundary” nights
between the changes of seasons, much like dawn and dusk were “boundary” times between this world and
the Otherworld.

No doubt skeptics would swiftly dismiss all this as superstitious hokum. And at the literal level, it is.
There is no accepted concrete evidence of fairies, ghosts or leprechauns to be found “out there”. But a
closer look at the above “rules” reveals their origin in the symbol-making realms of the “core human
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psyche”. Recall the equation of SEEING IS KNOWING and how darkness/light is used world wide to
equate darkness with fear, uncertainty, the dead (who no longer “see”), and unknown menace, whereas
light is equated with knowledge, intelligence, clarity, safety and “insight”; these permeate our languages
and the concepts underneath them. Further recall the STATES ARE LOCATIONS metaphor, where a
mental state is symbolized as a physical location—in this case, the Otherworld. That is where the dead
“reside”, as well as the fairies. Also, remember from dream research that sensory deprivation and reverie 43
can mimic the dream state (Chapter 2), wherein the preverbal symbolic language predominates over verbal
reasoning. At night, especially a quiet night, visual and auditory stimulation drop considerably, one is
therefore more likely to “encounter” mental images that are personified symbols. The Otherworld, then, is
actually a pretty apt symbol for the core human psyche that underlies conscious processing.

Unconscious feelings, fears, evolutionary adaptations such as dark avoidance, folk biology, emotions,
mental states, intuitions and strong memories of past loved ones—which persist despite the fact that the
actual person is deceased—are sequestered and personified into creatures moving through space because
that’s how metaphors work. Couple this with an upbringing where such symbols are regarded as
unquestionably “real”—meaning literally extant—and it’s no wonder beliefs in the concrete reality of such
creatures persists despite a total lack of credible evidence for their objective existence. But the regularity
of these experiences and intuitions, coupled with our propensity to create personified symbolic imagery
may be so strong in us that no amount of scientific skepticism, no matter how well founded, will be able to
eliminate these beliefs. According to the 2009 entry in Wikipedia, for example, many people in Iceland—
the most developed country in the world according to the United Nations human development index 44—
believe in elves, or are “unwilling to rule out” their existence particularly in rural areas; these kinds of
beliefs always seem to be more prevalent in rural areas regardless of culture. Perhaps this is simply
because here the nonstop stimulation of modern society is much less prevalent. Maybe the time has come
to stop trying to look for these characters in the environment and recognize them for the symbolic images
they are. Because of their unconscious origin, these characters can be mysterious indeed, but nonetheless
relevant. Sweeping them away with skepticism is therefore like sweeping a part of oneself away—is that
so wise? On the other hand, they certainly could be random hallucinations without any meaning
whatsoever—but that certainly has not been proven either! I hope the evidence presented in this book
raises suspicions about that assumption.

For the vast majority of our history, mankind has understood the world in terms of “gods” or “spirits”. But
I think gods are likely symbols of deeply emotional experiences, whether entirely internal or evoked by an
external situation. What is traditionally thought of as a “god” has much in common with emotions and
instincts; emotions and/or instincts are universal, as are their modes of expression. They do not die, and
they influence us (meaning our autobiographical selves) as if “from outside” ourselves due to their
unconscious and more ancient origin. Note also that many god’s names are actually emotions; the Greek
god Eros means “sexual love” and is the source for our word erotic, the goddess Psyche’s name means
“soul” and is obviously the root for words like psychology. Other gods are named after universal elements
of the environment; the Vedic mother goddess Mahimata literally means “mother earth”, while the Indian
father god Varuna means “sky”. A pre-Christian god of the Romans was Dis Pater, which translates into
“Wealthy Father”, and the Irish Celts chief god was Dagda, which translates as “the Good God”. They
spoke of “the Good God” (in the case of Dagda) in the same manner as we refer to “God”—it is easy to let
the language barrier confuse the issue here; God is not his “name”, as we are named, but rather his
attribute, and the same goes for the gods of the ancients in their own language. Other examples from Norse
myth are Freyr (“Lord”), Freyja (“Lady”) and Tyr (“God”). These are not names, but labels for personified
feelings and intuitions.

These environmental deities may represent emotions also, such as evoked by typical environmental events
like storms, thunder, the sea, the forest, etc. But we must be careful not to dismiss this as a “mere
personification”. Like other symbols, viewing Mother Nature as “merely” a symbol is like considering the

43
Both instances of increased activity of the brain’s “default network” (Buckner et al, 2008; see also
Hobson et al, 2000), which includes the core human psyche as defined by Panksepp (2005, 2007; Panksepp
and Northoff, 2008).
44
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iceland
 116

Grand Canyon to be “merely” a hole in the ground. It is a symbol, in all its world creating power, just like
all metaphors and symbols are, and the source of the imagery used to symbolize the ineffable experience of
life and nature lies in our innate neurobiology and evolutionary history. Nature is indeed very much “like”
a mother: we must honor her, we must not incur her wrath by mistreating her, she gives us life and
nourishes us, etc. She is our mother, much like passion is “fiery”, ideas can be “understood”, knowing is
“seeing”, and electrons are “waves”. When they are apt these symbols become part our lived experience.
Perhaps gods are symbols of immortal, ubiquitous, emotional and ineffable experiences by the core human
psyche in each of us. The names we give them really have no bearing on the way they interact with our
conscious selves, and with emotions and instincts in others, nor do the specific details alter the basic
universal way in which they interact with each other. Gods, then, and their stand-ins, the demons, angels,
monsters, fairys, saints, elves, saviors and mythologized culture heroes, are symbols of universal ineffable
emotional processes. All-encompassing gods such as the Great Spirit (Native American myth), the Tao
(Chinese philosophy), or Jehovah/Elohim/Yahweh/Allah (Abrahamic faiths) are simply the totality of these
entities—i.e., their total “essence”.

Showing the similarity between supernatural ideas and psychological processes, of course, does not
disprove the existence of supernatural entities like God. But then, what do ontological questions of God
attempt to prove? Does not the question of God’s existing “in Himself” (or Herself) assume a false
dualistic thinking? I think it does. Therefore, the question of the existence of God (and all of His or Her
manifestations) becomes a question of the way in which we create the world via the brain, beyond which
we cannot say anything. Nothing, not even a humble rock exists “in itself” for us to observe without a
brain to organize the raw data of the physical world, make it an “object” that is inanimate but contains a
“rock essence”, has a multitude of physical properties such as inertia, number, causation when acted upon,
etc. These are the only way we could comprehend such a being if He or She exists—through the workings
of our brains.

In our symbolic way of understanding the world, imperfect as it is, we come to know new things about it,
however ineffably, that do not require “leaps of faith” to cross the mind/body divide, because there is no
divide. If God happens to be one of them, then so be it, but this means that all efforts to find him “out
there”, then, will naturally fail, since one will never find God under a rock...but so what? Nothing else
meaningful exists out there either without cooperation of the brain. Furthermore, treating these entities as
if they were real characters is perhaps not so foolish (depending on how far you take it), because we are
dealing with largely unconscious aspects of our own brain activity as it interfaces directly with the physical
environment.

But that’s just my opinion; perhaps the acid test for any symbol—when regarded in full conscious light—is
in whether or not the metaphor is “apt”: does it represent our lived experience well or poorly? The
metaphor system of modern chemistry, with its “electron shells” and various chemical “bonds” is superior
to older metaphors of “negative weight phlogiston” because it holds up better to the repeated actively
constructed observations of human brains. After all, electrons don’t really form shells, and molecules don’t
really “bond” as if strings were linking them together; rather, they behave as if these things were true about
them—that is the crucial point here. Future metaphor systems may be even more apt. The same applies to
personified dream characters as symbols of implicit emotional processing systems or intuitions about the
environment; how closely does the metaphor “fit”?

Underneath (or above) all of these is an organizing system that probably operates via the mathematics of
chaos theory and nonlinear dynamics as a homeorhetic45 system that adjudicates the activities of these
implicit systems—what better way to represent this system than an overarching Deity that is utterly
mysterious and the “source” of all things we experience, including all the “lesser” gods? Does that
somehow lessen the impact of God? Only if we assume that understanding something (even if quite dimly)
somehow makes it less “miraculous”.

45
Homeorhesis means “similar flow”, meaning that a homeorhetic system will tend toward the same
flowing dynamic over time. It is contrasted with a homeostatic system in that a homeostatic system is less
dynamic, returning to the same “state” rather than a constant flow. See Prigogene and Stengers (1988) for
more detail on these concepts of chaos theory.
 117

The ability to comprehend other minds is an evolutionary adaptation, as is our ability to recognize other
humans and animals. Symbolizing an unconsciously perceived event, sensation, emotion or pattern as a
(not quite human) person or animal, then, applies fairly well and fits, since other humans and animals have
autonomy, perception, judgement and cognition. And in the case of animals, these things may be due to the
fact that similar brain structure is ordering these capacities in the subject and animal because of our
common ancestry. Thus, a character is a perfectly suitable way to understand an implicit system from the
point of view of the conscious self. Since everyone has the same deep emotional brain, it’s no wonder
these characters keep appearing throughout mankind’s history. So the question is not “does the god exist
out there in the heavens?” but rather, “is this symbol apt?” Only the symbolizing subject can answer that
question.

Perhaps supporting my ideas is the fact that throughout history gods have also been used to describe states
of mind that are evoked by particular circumstances:

1. The moment in a heated intellectual debate, when all fall silent: The Greek god Hermes
2. The moment during a competition or conflict, when at just the right moment the tide turns and
victory is achieved: The Greek goddess Nike
3. The moment during a battle when a towering rage overcomes a warrior, making him an
unstoppable combatant: The Norse god Odin, whose name means “fury”
4. The moment of redemption, when one feels after a long wretched suffering the feelings of faith,
hope and love: Christ
5. The intense feelings of romantic or erotic love between two people: Eros or Aphrodite (Greek),
Freyja (Norse), Mami-Wata (African)
6. The guilty pleasure of watching or perhaps even causing chaos and mischief: the Trickster gods
such as Coyote or Loki

I could go on. Jung described that when visiting the Elgyoni tribe of Africa, the people worshipped “the
moment of the dawn” (Jung, 1961). He misunderstood them to be worshipping the sun itself, and when he
asked them if this was so, they actually laughed at him. What they were worshipping was actually the
particular moment, and no doubt the state of mind that went with it as they contemplated their deity.

I don’t mean to assert that all peoples understand gods in this subtle fashion—certainly many people take
gods to be literal entities wandering about the countryside. But I think that still many more, especially if
pressed, will revert to a more symbolic way of describing what they are feeling. So why not simply
describe gods as I have—as mental states enrapt in a particular moment? Because the god is much more
vivid, more descriptive, and perhaps contains deeper significance; this is because it is a symbol, and like all
symbols, it describes ineffable things with images, stories, and relationships in pre-verbal terms that cannot
be duplicated with concrete descriptions—and this is because of the way our brains work.

All theological speculations aside, the central hypothesis of this work is that the continued neurobiological
analysis of universal or “archetypal” symbolism will continue to prove useful in further differentiating our
understanding of symbol generation. Anothy Stevens (2002), however, observes that with the exception of
a small handful of writers, analytical psychologists appear uninterested in biology. Stevens advises against
the continuation of this trend:

“Jungian discourse has become increasingly disembodied, as if the physiological

correlates of psychic events were of little or no account….This is in marked contrast to
Jung’s own position: ‘We keep forgetting that we are primates and that we have to make
allowances for these primitive layers in our psyche….Without any body, there is no mind
and therefore no individuation.’” (p. 55, emphasis in original; Jung quote in McGuire and
Hull, 1977)

I couldn’t agree more. Some analytical psychologists have called for a rejuvenation of Jungian psychology
by advocating a close alliance with empirical sciences, particularly in the United States (Kotch, 2000). As
a generalist who happens to admire Jung’s courage and theoretical intuitions, difficult as they can
 118

sometimes be, I hope analytical psychologists heed this call—I think both fields have quite a bit to offer
each other. Jung’s theory was originally a biological one, and therefore it should remain so if it is to be
useful to physicians and therapists. Furthermore, as I hope I have shown, the evidence backing Jung’s
concept of archetypes and the “collective unconscious” as he defined it, and not as many critics have held
up in straw-man effigies, holds up remarkably well to the advances in a multitude of research venues;
others have noticed that many of Freud’s formulations hold as well (Solms and Turnbull, 2002). Further
research, I feel, will continue to refine these ideas.

The Symbolizing Brain

Thus, I think what all this means is that the time has come for a larger synthesis to occur—a “union of
opposites” to use Jungian parlance; biology and depth psychology has been drifting apart for too long.
Perhaps Jungian psychology has suffered from this rift the most—this is ironic considering Jung’s original
formulation was the most biological and evolutionary of all the early and mid 20th century psychological
models. But this needs to change; Jung as well as all the other greats of depth psychology such as Kohut,
Kernberg, Mahler, Winnicot, and of course Freud belong in the realm of biological psychiatry. This is
because in the end everything is biological. This fact is inescapable: everything we know, learn, desire,
love, feel, think, fear and imagine—which includes our symbols—arise from that most enigmatic and
complex creation that has emerged from the mysterious primal chaos of the universe: the brain.

This brain is not a blank slate; it is more like a zoo that fills itself naturally and inevitably with gods,
goddesses, animals, lovers, heroes, mothers, fathers, elders, monsters and demons, as well as heavenly
golden realms and fiery kingdoms of the damned, but this is when viewed from the inside. When viewed
from the outside, it is filled with domain-specific algorithms designed to promote the survival of the
organism in the ancestral environment, in a complex social and physical framework fraught with threats
from all angles. This is our inherited birthright; what culture and upbringing does is elaborate on this
extensive framework, fleshing out the details, and coloring in the lines. But the framework remains active
throughout life, a variously constructive and destructive entity (at least from the point of view of the
conscious self) capable of novel creations and unexpected shifts in our experience. It doesn’t all come
from outside—and in fact, there really is no rigid “outside” because there is no rigid mind-body division.

The ultimate message within all the data I have reviewed throughout this volume is that symbols are of
paramount significance; they are the primary way in which the brain organizes information and
participation in them can even affect our physiology. They are Natural Selection’s way of bridging the gap
in understanding between things we know very well, such as our physical bodies and visuospatial systems
(which are advanced due to our ancestral history as social arboreal primates with color depth perception
and theory of mind) to the Great Mystery: what we know only in vague, undifferentiated terms, such as
time, our emotions, the universe, and even life itself. In this way the mind objectifies and personifies
everything: passions, memories, implicit emotional systems, as well as patterns in our environment,
culture, moral reasoning and the cosmos. These all become symbolized as things, people or animals
moving, transforming or shifting in space. Many times these characters are felt to be very “godlike” due to
their timeless and emotionally influential nature.

This capacity is a fundamental part of our brains, and encompasses the way we understand everything in
our life. In this way it shapes our dream imagery, our twice-told stories, myths, and sacred beliefs, our art
and even our science, and when it malfunctions it becomes psychosis or mania. It can symbolize just about
anything, but preferentially chooses themes that have been important to us over evolutionary time—things
that are motivationally most relevant. The most important symbols—the archetypal ones—are those are
driven by our emotional systems; in neurobiological terms, these include the systems of RAGE,
PANIC/CARE, FEAR, SEEKING/LUST, and PLAY that are extant in all mammals, and they subserve all
the evolutionary adaptations found buried in even the most complex human behavior.

When viewed like this, the “function” of dreaming becomes nothing more or less than the function of
symbolic thought in general: it is an attempt to grasp things that are not so easily grasped by our limited
neurobiological systems. Thus, dreaming does not necessarily subserve any particular function such as
“threat simulation” (Revonsuo, 2001), “mood regulation” (Kramer, 2007), “sleep protection” (Freud,
 119

1900), or even Jung’s more general “compensation” (1971) per se. It may subserve all these things, or
none. Ironically, the so-called “neurocognitive” model of dreaming of Foulkes (1999) and Domhoff
(2003), which views dreaming as a special type of general cognition involving visuospatial reasoning, most
closely matches the model I present here. Recall that Domhoff, however, eschewed all psychoanalytic and
Jungian interpretations of dreaming and felt they were unsupported by any evidence, and remarked that
many Jungian ideas could be understood in terms of “merely” cross-cultural metaphors.

There’s the rub: there is nothing “mere” about metaphors. They permeate everything we do and think
about. Moreover, metaphors are rooted in our bodily experience, our visuospatial cognition and our innate
capacities such as theory of mind, human recognition systems, or innate folk-biology. When generated
unconsciously and tied to our innate emotional systems, they take on a powerful life of their own, and act
relatively autonomously in comparison with the conscious self. Therefore, the reason they are cross-
culturally appearing is that they are founded upon our shared neurobiological heritage; but any shared
neurobiological heritage that forms the basis for metaphors is “archetypal” by definition.

Human brains come into the world prepared for life as a forager in the savannah. They expect a mother and
father, an elder, a tribe, an “outside” enemy. They expect animals (particularly snakes and spiders!),
objects, and a vertically oriented environment, complete with gravity, light and darkness, as well as red,
green, yellow and blue things, trees and water. And when the time is right, they expect a mate to exist, and
will search for one to the ends of the earth. Thus the most emotionally significant things that we sense
consciously or unconsciously will come to be represented by these innate images to generate meaning.

And this meaning is our evolutionary birthright. Experience and development are crucial elements of this
equation—don’t misunderstand me—but they work with only what is already there. The above
expectations have consequences when they are not met, just as not being fed has consequences for hunger.
When proper development is disrupted, conflicted or traumatized, our minds will try to understand the
situation, and try to rectify it to serve our emotional needs; these situations will become symbolized with
particular furor by our symbolizing brains. Disrupted attachments or emotional traumas will become
depicted in this fashion, and the deeper layers of the brain/ming—which is nearly identical in everyone—
will try to find a solution, sometimes in vain, to rectify the archetypal needs of attachment, purpose, self-
worth, connection, meaning, security, and love.

In the end, that is what archetypal symbols are really about.

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Appendix: Affective Neuroscience

In this appendix I explore some of the finer and more technical details of the innate emotional systems we
all share; I include it here for specialists who want a more detailed account of the emotional systems of the
brain that I discuss throughout the book. This section therefore assumes a knowledge of brain anatomy and
reviews several human and animal studies in greater detail than elsewhere in the book. You have been
warned.

Affective neuroscience postulates that emotions derive from ancient highly conserved regions of the brain,
and include the SEEKING, PANIC, FEAR, RAGE, LUST, PLAY and CARE systems. The SEEKING
system (also see LeDoux, 2002, pp. 246-252; and Solms and Turnbull, 2002) is a neurobiological system
involved in motivating organisms toward exploration, curiosity, interest and expectancy that is present in
all mammals. This self-stimulatory system consists neurobiologically of mostly tonically active (as
opposed to cyclically or flexibly active) dopaminergic paths of the lateral hypothalamic corridor, which
runs from the ventral tegmental area to the nucleus accumbens—stimulation of these circuits in animals
evokes highly energetic exploratory and search behaviors. This system corresponds to ‘intense interest’,
‘engaged curiosity’ and ‘eager anticipation’ in humans, always recognizing that primitive emotional
behavior in humans is likely to be overlain by all sorts of social and environmental modulation—but the
driving circuitry remains the same. In humans, stimulating this area generates feelings that ‘something
very interesting’ is going on (Heath, 1963; Quaade et al, 1974), and associated with intense “Feelings of
environmentally engaged aliveness” (Panksepp, 2005, p. 47) a fact further attested to by the observed
effects of Psychostimulants such as amphetamines and cocaine, which energize this system. The
importance of this system in consideration of archetypal symbolism is its connection with higher brain
mechanisms:

“there are now many reasons to believe that forethoughts…do in fact emerge from the
interactions of the SEEKING system with higher brain mechanisms, such as the frontal
cortex and hippocampus, that generate plans by mediating higher-order temporal and
spatial information processing. Indeed, circuits coursing through the LH can trigger a
hippocampal theta rhythm, which…is an elemental signal of information processing in
that structure” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 151, emphasis added)

The SEEKING system, then, is an innate self-generated system involved with exploration and information
gathering and processing—key aspects of symbol generation in cognitive terms, especially for a
symbolically vigorous species such as homo sapiens. This system has been linked to increased pattern
finding activity in humans, and when abnormally activated is associated with delusional thinking in
schizophrenia (Panksepp, 1998, p. 161-162). Working normally, however, it facilitates the recognition of
patterns in the environment, which is closely linked with metaphor generation and hence symbol-making
activity in humans—it is particularly active, notably, in dreaming. Furthermore, there is evidence that
organisms work toward a homeostatis of SEEKING activity as measured through its link to REM sleep, i.e.
self-stimulation and SEEKING behavior increases in REM deprived animals (Steiner and Ellman, 1972). It
seems that a certain amount of SEEKING is endogenous, innate and necessary for proper functioning in all
vertebrates. The SEEKING system is primed to respond to evolutionarily derived mechanisms and
orchestrates the “incentive-directed psychobehavioral ‘energy’ of the animal” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 168)
which includes higher complex motivations in humans, translating evolutionarily important external and
internal information into an appetitive, exploratory and escalated information processing response. Just to
show how this is linked to human experience, it has been shown that when the SEEKING system is
pharmacologically dampened, it is associated with feelings of anergia and dysphoria in humans (Voruganti
and Awad, 2004). Being deprived of symbol-making activity, it seems, is strongly associated with
depressive mood states.

Frustration of the SEEKING system, as well as pain and irritation, can also activate the RAGE system,
which “we share from the neurodynamics of subcortical circuits we share homologously with other
animals” (Panksepp, 1998, p. 187). This system, which elicits aggressive, angry attack responses, can be
 121

generated by stimulating the same brain regions, notably the periaqueductal gray, the medial and
ventrolateral hypothalamus and the amygdala electrically or pharmacologically in humans and all
mammalian species studied (Miczek, 1987). Direct electrical stimulation of the RAGE system in humans
results in reports of feelings of intense rage (Hitchcock and Cairns, 1973; Mark et al, 1972). Autonomic
responses to stimulation of this system results in elevation of heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature
and blood flow. The RAGE system directs, sensitizes and activates implicit perceptual, judging, and
memory systems, and brings anger and plans for revenge to surface when activated by appropriate
environmental conditions (Christianson, 1992; Stein et al, 1990). Like all affective systems, the higher
cortical appraisal systems co-opt the older affective motivational systems that direct implicit perceptual,
judging and memory systems, and hence the explicit system which is built upon them. This fact is
important to remember in our discussion of how human emotions work to generate affect-laden symbols.
The SEEKING system is also closely linked to the LUST system, which has obviously evolved to direct
mate-seeking behavior (Panksepp, 1998, 2005).

The FEAR system, which involves the periventricular gray, central and lateral areas of the amygdala, the
anterior and medial hypothalamus and the lower brain stem and spinal cord, can invoke elevated heart rate
and blood pressure, the startle and freeze response, and elimination and perspiration in mammals
(Panksepp, 1998, pp. 212-213). Electrical stimulation of this area in animals is associated with profound
escape and aversion behavior (Panksepp, 2005).

The PANIC system evolved from early reptilian pain circuits and mediates feelings of social isolation,
separation distress in infants, and motivates the organism toward reestablishing broken social bonds. In
fact, the mammalian brain contains a highly integrated emotional system involved in maintaining
attachments, likely as a result of longer development times and the need to maintain much greater parental
care behavior. This system, preceded by brain systems involved in thermoregulation, pain sensation and
avoidance, as well as rudimentary reptilian mother-infant parental bonding, mediates separation distress
behavior when animals are socially deprived (associated with reduction in opioid activity in humans, see
Zubieta et al, 2003), and social comfort when satisfied (and associated with endogenous opioid release, see
Keverne et al, 1989). The PANIC system involves the dorsomedial hypothalamus, ventral septal area,
preoptic area, and sites in the bed nucleus of the stria terminalis (which are also heavily involved in the
sexual and maternal behavior circuitry). Persistent social isolation and loss appears to activate this system
to produce panic, anxiety and later depression in all mammals (Panksepp, 1998, pp. 275-276; Panksepp,
2005; cf Dickinson and Eva, 2006). Social contact appears to be required for survival as abandoned
animals exhibit anaclytic depression and usually die (Panksepp et al, 1991), and social environment has
been shown to modulate affective responses to pain and increase behavioral indices of pain in humans and
animals (reviewed in Panksepp, 2005)

Finally, the PLAY system creates an impulse in all mammals to engage in rough-and-tumble activity that
arises spontaneously early in development—this behavior is sensitive to deprivation and animals deprived
of play activity will increase play activity once allowed (Panksepp, 1998, p. 281). The need for play is
contingent on satisfaction of basic needs; hunger and fear can inhibit play (Siviy and Panksepp, 1985).
With respect to this system, “The systematic nature of the results…affirms that the urge to play is an
intrinsic function of the mammalian nervous system…the evolutionary roots probably go back to an ancient
PLAY circuitry shared by all mammals in essentially homologous fashion.” (Panksepp, 1988, p. 282; Thor
and Holloway, 1984). This source of exhuberant joy, useable as an independent reward in humans and
animals, then, appears to be hardwired into our neurobiological makeup rather than solely explainable on
the basis of nurture (Panksepp, 2005). This system is distinct from the SEEKING system and in fact
appears to operate in opposition to it.

Interestingly, the PLAY system appears to extend into tickling responses, which are observed in all
mammals (Panksepp, 1998, p. 287; see also Panksepp, 2005, 2006), and “play sounds” which resemble
laughter in a variety of independently observed ways. Play sounds accompany “tickling” stimulation when
applied to conserved areas of the body such as the nape of the neck and upper flank regions and appears to
be a mammalian birthright that promotes social bonding across species (Panksepp, 2005, p. 55). Note also
that laughing is observed in blind and deaf children (Eibl-Eibesfelt, 1989). The play system is also likely to
be the neurological substrate for the “theory of mind” ability (Panksepp, 1998, p. 289), and is mediated by
 122

activity in the parafascicular and posterior thalamic nuclei, which are, not surprisingly, associated with
human laughter (Sterns, 1972) and unrelated to neocortical regions (Pellis et al, 1992). Overactivity of the
PLAY system has been implicated in ADHD and mania (Panksepp, 1998), and opioids have been shown to
increase activity of PLAY circuits in humans and other animals (Panksepp, 2005).
 123

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