THE DYNAMICS OF FUSION AND SEPARATION WITHIN THE INTERACTIVE FIELD

Especially since it portrays the son-lover of the great goddess, the Attis-Cybele myth can at first appear only to represent the trials of separation from the mother world, and especially the separation of males from their mothers. From this limited perspective, both the mother goddess and a real woman are seen as dangerous to a man who must develop the capacity to separate. When the energies of the myth are interpreted this way by a man, he tends to relegate women to limited functioning: they should be anything but Cybele.

That is, they should be understanding, loving, giving, but not people with their own needs and patterns of existence. This kind of concrete understanding of the myth reduces its meaning at great cost to both sexes.

More productively, this myth can be understood to represent both an intrasubjective drama and the vicissitudes of union states between two people. Gender does not limit the applicability of the myth to any relationship; either the male or the female can experience the dynamics which the Attis-Cybele myth puts forth as an intrasubjective drama. A man will experience his consciousness and his capacity to enter and discover new psychic territory as if his consciousness were in the grip of another force that prevented such discoveries. He may project this force on to the woman, or he may experience it as an inner conflict, which is of course preferable. Aggressive inquiry and new or independent acts incur anxiety because they imply leaving the world of fantasy and eternal

possibilities. Also, on an intersubjective level, he will experience separation as fear of becoming abandoned in a relationship. A woman in the grip of this kind of Attis-Cybele complex will experience a similar intrasubjective field. An inner force, which is experienced as ‘other,’ compels her into involvement and fusion with others. Her own desire for separation and autonomy and her active, separating capacity are terribly hindered because these individuation drives are Attis-like. The male-dominated culture wants the Cybele aspect of woman to be controlled. But the Cybele factor can also lie in men, and especially in their feminine sides and irrational moods which they can project on to women. And a woman can project her undeveloped and terrified Attis-like side on to a man. Both will hold each other in secret contempt. Then, the woman, in a sense, has become like Cybele to the man, and he like Attis to her. The myth has thus projected outward and turned especially destructive.

Another possibility, and more in the alchemical way of thinking, is to envision the Attis-Cybele dyad as dominating, like a force-field, the way in which a couple interacts, as if another—unseen couple—were dominating the conscious interaction. This unseen and unconscious couple is, of course, Attis and Cybele. This dyad creates a field of which two people can partake in the sense of being moved by its currents of energy and its inherent pattern of behavior. They would experience this field as a vas hermeticum, that is, as a space which enclosed them but which also contained object relations observable as a ‘third thing’ between them. The primitive form of the Attis-Cybele field, as portrayed in the myth, would tend towards fusion and literalization, an acting out or concretizing of the affects and feelings of desire. From this field, people make inappropriate sexual advances, or they make commitments that are not realistically in their best interest. Alchemically, this field is depicted as either a negative hermaphrodite or a dragon.

This primitive, literalized, form of the myth is in opposition to the ‘third thing’

experienced as an ‘other’ with its own dynamics linked to the projections and imagination of both people. Such an experience of the ‘third thing’ happens when both parties sense the mystery of which they are part and are willing to suffer not literalizing the fusion state, thereby gaining a new level of intimacy that also can be internalized as an intimacy with oneself. Alchemically, this condition is depicted as a conscious coital couple, shown in the eleventh woodcut of the Rosarium as being above water and with wings (see Figure 21, p. 199). The alchemists worked on such fields to transform them from a dominant fusion dynamic (in which one person fears or is overwhelmed by the emotions of the other) into a field that had a rhythmical dynamic of separation and fusion, with neither polarity dominating. The famous alchemical dictum of ‘slay the dragon’

represents this kind of transformation. The goal of this transformation was the lapis, that self-structure whose basic rhythm was the coniunctio purified of all negative fusion dynamics as well as its other side, soul-less distancing.

Desire, with its powerful, compulsive quality, is the single most dominant element which impedes the purification of the Attis—Cybele field. The overwhelming, compulsive quality of the field puts consciousness to sleep and seduces all other faculties into a merging fusion with the object. Yet in its transformed state—the transformation signified in one alchemical image by the cutting off of the paws of a lion—desire is the key ingredient. It is the fire which drives the process. The French psychoanalyst Luce

Irigaray provides a profound insight into desire and the space or ‘interval’ in which union can be experienced when she says:

Desire occupies or designates the interval. A permanent definition of desire would put an end to desire. Desire requires a sense of attraction: a change in the interval or the relations of nearness or distance between subject and object.

(1987, 120) In discussing desire, she speaks eloquently of the dynamics of the non-fused union state, the coniunctio. Irigaray notes that if a ‘double desire’ exists, that is, if a man and woman are capable of desiring and being desired, then:

the positive and negative poles divide themselves among the two sexes…

creating a chiasmus or double loop in which each can move out towards the other and back to itself… In order to keep one’s distance, does not one have to know how to take? or speak? It comes down in the end to the same thing.

Perhaps the ability to take requires a permanent space or container, a soul maybe, or a mind?

(1987, 121) Recognizing that the coniunctio is not without its dangers, Irigaray continues:

The subject who offers or permits desire transports and so envelops, or incorporates the other. It is moreover dangerous if there is no third term. Not only because it is a necessary limitation. This third term can show up within the container as the latter’s relationship with his or her own limits: a relationship with the divine, death, the social or cosmic order. If such a third term does not exist within and for the container, the latter may become all-powerful.

(1987, 123) In the initial four woodcuts of the Rosarium Philosophorum (see Figures 4, 9–11, pp.

105, 164, 168, 169), one finds this ‘third term’ to be the descending Holy Ghost. Later, the coniunctio forms and becomes the third thing itself, for it has internalized the rhythms of separation and nearness. But fusion, the collapse of the gap or interval, remains a constant threat. The seventeenth woodcut (Figure 27, p. 208) features a symbolic portrayal of the final overcoming of negative fusion states. All the woodcuts following the fifth address the issue of further transforming the coniunctio into a container—

contained form that excludes the consummation of desire as its greater goal. This developed form of the coniunctio means the harmony between male and female polarities.

The Turba Philosophorum, an alchemical text written about 1300, represents a particularly fused and dangerous form of the coniunctio, reminiscent of the Attis-Cybele myth. A picture in the Turba shows a fusion state that takes place between a woman and a dragon (Figure 6). The woman represents the great goddess and the dragon represents the archaic drives toward fusion states, drives which overwhelm any sense of a ‘creative interval’ between people through which passion can have a mystery rather than an

Figure 6 Coniunctio from the Turba Philosophorum immediate outcome in action.

The text of the Turba has the following cryptic formulation:

Nevertheless the Philosophers have put to death the woman who slays her husbands, for the body of that woman is full of weapons and poison. Let a grave be dug for that dragon, and let that woman be buried with him, he being chained fast to that woman; and the more he wounds and coils himself about her, the more will he be cut to pieces by the female weapons which are fashioned in the body of the woman. And when he sees that he is mingled with the limbs of the woman, he will be certain of death, and will be changed wholly into blood. But when the Philosophers see him changed into blood, they leave him a few days in the sun, until his softness is consumed, and the blood dries, and they find that poison. What then appears, is the hidden wind.

(in Jung 1963, 14: paragraph 15)

In the first sentence of this cryptic statement, the alchemist is suggesting that a prior process has occurred before the woman and dragon were chained together. ‘Putting the woman to death’ means that one has actively engaged the tendency to destroy the coniunctio and has overcome this tendency. Anytime one engages a person who has had a terrible past experience with sexual or aggressive acts, in particular, incest violations, one will meet a strong resistance to the formation of any union state. For example, an analysand dreamed that a man and a woman were getting married, but she was doing everything she could to stop the wedding, even to the extent of throwing eggs at them.

The wedding would represent her unconscious connection to me, the analytical transference. Her behavior in the dream indicates how strong her resistance was to the establishment of a connection with me. She was unconsciously willing even to sacrifice her most precious possession—the eggs, symbolizing her creativity and future development—in order to stop the development of a field state of union with me. In analysis, such issues must be recognized and actively confronted with interpretation.

Whether it be the analyst’s resistance to a union state, which also can happen, or the analysand’s, either must be confronted if the process is to continue. Either person’s desire to remain unconscious can be represented by the ‘woman who slays her husbands,’ that is, destroys the active drive for union.

Sometimes, alchemical texts have repeated injunctions which act as devices which function to overcome the resistance to the coniunctio. For example, in the banners of the third woodcut of the Rosarium Philosophorum, called ‘Naked Truth’ (Figure 10, p. 168), Sol says: ‘O Luna, let me be thy husband,’ and Luna says: ‘O Sol, I must submit to thee’ (Jung 1954, 16: paragraph 451). Both the repetition and the naturalness of the metaphor function to spur on the act, ‘psyching’ oneself up to deal with one’s reluctance to engage in such potentially painful activity.

One has to learn how to enter and exit the field of union; and until one has acquired experience enough in dealing with the area, one either does not enter at all and thus remains narcissistically isolated or one attempts to enter and is immediately swallowed up by the field’s magnetic energies and is fused to them. The whole enterprise is extremely painful, old wounds being opened up and salted in the process. But one finds one’s way only through repeated excursions into that territory, and through suffering the reopening of festering wounds so that they can, with time, properly heal.

The image from the Turba is an example of an extremely fused quality of the coniunctio which leads to the transformation of the dragon, the compulsive, concretizing/splitting quality of psyche. The woman has been slain by the ‘Philosopher,’

that is, by the alchemist. He has killed the desire to withdraw into unconsciousness and also the desire to destroy the union possibility within himself or his metal. Having died, she is now transformed. She is chained to the dragon which represents both the concretizing tendency toward fusion and as well the tendency to flee from this field experience. This archaic image of the interactive field quality feels ‘death-like.’ Anyone experiencing this interactive field quality may feel as if he or she is in a grave, always on the edge of being devoured by the death of unconsciousness. This very unnerving state constantly challenges one’s faith. In this state, the ‘weapons and poison’ are always ready to re-appear, meaning that one feels in danger and tends to seek release through dissociating from the felt danger of attack. Whether it be through the dangers of being

attacked by hatred, anger, or envy, one is always on edge in this field experience. Nearly everyone has areas of trauma within his or her personality structures, and everyone will thus have nearly instinctual reactions to avoid being re-traumatized. Falling back into unconsciousness through withdrawal or dissociation is a ready means of avoiding re-traumatization. Consequently, regression must be avoided, and thus the dragon is chained to the woman. This image represents a commitment to the process.

The slaying of the dragon indicates that the transformation of the impulse to concretize passions or the opposite, to flee from fusion states, has begun. The transformation point occurs when he is ‘changed wholly into blood.’ In other words, he becomes a tincture felt as passion, but the tincture is still not usable, still not safe. More must be done, and ‘they leave him a few days in the sun, until his softness is consumed, and the blood dries, and they find that poison’ (Jung 1963, 14: paragraph 15). The stress is upon drying, which means all unconsciousness must be exposed—water being representative of unconsciousness. This demanding task will stress anyone to the limit, for it requires that one experience such dreadful fusion states and be changed by them while experiencing the temptation to fall back into unconsciousness—the poison—so that one either fuses with the energies of the field which leads to acting out or else splits off from the experience. But if one succeeds, ‘the hidden wind’ appears. In other words, a higher, spiritual experience emerges out of the devastating fusion field. This aspect of the Turba (like the entire passage) is not simply some fantastic imagination but a metaphor for actual experience. One can experience being nearly devoured by states of passion, whether they be of hate or love; and at the same time, one can experience the field as nearly continuously killing any connection, with the result that one wishes just to avoid the entire ordeal. The last thing one expects to exist is a hidden, spiritual purpose to it all.

Yet that is exactly what can happen.

Thus the Turba, one of the oldest known alchemical texts, can be seen as describing a dangerous form of the prima materia akin to that portrayed in the Attis-Cybele myth. The dragon is the Attis component which is successfully transformed, as is the woman, Cybele, so that a spiritual orientation emerges.

The ‘hidden wind’ is the spiritual attitude that is necessary if one is to deal with the impossible fusion-distance dilemma that characterized the prima materia in the Attis-Cybele myth. In the Turba, as in alchemy in general, the wind, the spirit, ascends out of matter—the same result as in the eleventh painting of the Splendor Solis (Figure 7). The spirit is not imposed upon the transformation process as some set of rules or ethics. But as the alchemists insist that it takes gold to make gold, clearly some of this spiritual attitude must also exist before one can deal with such gruesome forms (Jung 1963, 14:

paragraph 15) of the coniunctio.

HEROIC APPROACHES TO THE DESTRUCTIVE FUSION STATES