THE CONSPIRACY THEORY AND THE MAKING OF A MODERN MYTH

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MASTER OF ARTS IN COUNSELING PSYCHOLOGY for Pacifica Graduate Institute on February 15, 2008.

Abstract

This thesis’ premise is that western society’s lack of myth has resulted in a collective inflation in which the extroverted and introverted worlds are one and the same. The result is an animated world in which projection runs rampant through the culture and becomes an unconscious extroverted expression of an introverted project. This paper, utilizing the hermeneutic method, examines how the lack of a myth causes an inwardly chaotic state. This state causes an abject fear of abandonment, both from the Jungian Self and from God, which in turn causes us to seek control over our own lives. The inner chaos Americans harbor as a culture resonates with such national tragedies as the assassination of John F. Kennedy, as well as the destruction of the World Trade Center. Our psychic response to this resonance is to create an externalized locus of control, rather than focusing on the actual problem. One psychological result of such externalized foci is the conspiracy theory, a psychological construct that shows the glimmerings of a modern myth.

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

A myth is dead if it no longer lives and grows.

Jung, 1961/1989, p. 332

What has happened to the clarity of the old myths? Apollo’s white statue no longer stands in stark repose against the clear Grecian sky. Homer’s wine dark sea has become populated by communities of extraterrestrials. This thesis posits that western civilization has entered an age of extroversion where the numinous is projected upon a fragmented, physical universe. Such projections illustrate a troubled connection to a neglected unconscious. The core, the collective Self, has fallen out of sync with the collective ego, and the world of the ego has become our refuge.

Utilizing the hermeneutic method, I researched the theories of archetypal psychologists C.G. Jung, Edward Edinger, and Marie Louise Von Franz. While these authors do not mention the conspiracy theory as such, their contributions to the underlying ideas of the human experience as it relates to the conspiracy theory were indispensable. In addition, I chose many contemporary authors in order to compare and contrast the various theories surrounding the conspiracy theory with the work done in the field of archetypal or depth psychology.

Years ago, on a visit to Cairo, I attended the renowned Egyptian Museum. Tall, cylindrical and pyramid shaped structures lay crammed into shrouded corners. Bulbous, gold earrings lay in the glow of dusty light amidst the throngs of tourists snapping pictures. In the center of the museum floor sat the mask of Tutankhamun, clearly and prominently displayed in its glass cube. I stood beside the artifact, thinking and staring. The mask looked like a department store display case, or a picture torn from a National Geographic. The energy and power that once infused this relic had been sublimated elsewhere. How had a gold mask that once covered the face of the dead been so thoroughly stripped of its mysterious veneer? How did it find its way to this underseen, overpolished state? How is it that this symbol of death, once saturated with cultural projection and the numinous, could experience a death of a different kind?

How I longed

to embrace my mother’s spirit, dead as she was!

three times I rushed toward her, desperate to hold her,

three times she fluttered through my fingers, sifting away

like a shadow, dissolving like a dream, and each time

the grief cut to the heart. (Homer, trans. 1996, p. 256)

Here in the land of the dead, Odysseus seeks the advice of Tiresias. Besides encountering the spirit of his mother, Odysseus passes through a museum of Greek myth — the mother of Oedipus Rex, the daughter of Minos — one feminine figure after another. Richard Wilhelm’s (1967/ 1990) translation of the I-Ching made reference to the wife, or the feminine, as having its place, “Within the house . . . there she has great and important duties” (p. 145). Wilhelm made it clear that this refers not to a woman’s literal duties, but to the crucial role the feminine plays in managing the internal world and to the “nourishment of the family” (p. 145). Is it an accident that the figure of a prophet, who is essentially a symbol of consciousness rising, should be found in a land populated by feminine figures, reminders, perhaps, of the true knowledge Odysseus must seek?

I refer to this myth for two reasons. First, Odysseus is reminded that if he is to be nourished by the collective, if he is to reconnect with his own mythology, if he is to be brought to consciousness then he must look within. Secondly, this passage illustrates the despair the collective is experiencing in a disconnection from our own myth, and subsequently, our own bid for consciousness. Tutankhamun’s mask is hollow, and we are unaware of its significance.

Yet, how does one look within to find a myth if the way to myth has been lost? Loren Eiseley (1994) commented, “Like Odysseus, man seeks his spiritual home and is denied it” (p. 4). Although Odysseus reaches out, his mother dissolves and flutters through his fingers. Today, we scramble for an archetypal realm we cannot fully embrace, not because we lack physicality, but because our ability to engage our myth has escaped us. Carl Jung (1961/1989) wrote, “Our myth has become mute, and gives no answers” (p. 332). The unconscious voyage is unending. A search for home uncovers an Ithaca that has given way to the Mediterranean. Today, our myths lay frozen under glass, or as relics interred in the murky ruins of a forgotten citadel.

The Myth Left Behind

Still, if this paper is a commentary on modern myth, it is important to show where the collective has come from and what has been left behind. What is the function of myth and how are we to perceive its absence? Author Thomas Cahill (1998) commented on the collective shift from the cyclical, polytheistic myths of ancient Mesopotamia to the Christian monotheistic myth, noting, “Since time is no longer cyclical but one-way and irreversible, personal history is now possible and an individual life can have value” (p. 94). In short, the psychological rhythms of the collective have changed. Suddenly, a single god exists as a single psyche exists, and individuality is born. “‘Wayyelelkh Avram’ (‘Avram went’) — two of the boldest words in all literature. They signal a complete departure from everything that has gone before in the long evolution of culture and sensibility” (1998, p. 63).

The god (or gods) of Odysseus is not the god of Avram (Abraham). This religiously based changing of the guard indicates an inner collective transformation of epic proportions. Here, the Christian god becomes a reflection of newfound human autonomy. Author Thomas Cahill (1998) suggested that in fact God may be our projection of this new sense of individuated Self onto the infinite. Was man created in God’s image or was God created in the image of man? The paradox of whether the idea of God is simply an expression of Avram’s transformation or whether it is a separate numinous element that spurred his journey forward cannot be resolved here, nor does it need to be. Myth appears to function both as indicator and instigator, as expression and catalyst for the collective’s growth and transformation.

The significance of this idea cannot be overstated. Myth is a map of the times, a psychic mold that outlines the very shape of civilization. It is no wonder then that in ancient times, the stories of the day were not told as tales, but held closely as animated, working aspects of everyday life. Accounts of God and Zeus were told and retold with greater animation than the offerings of any television show or news headline. Myth was infused into the culture just as completely as it was with the psyche. Throughout his journey, Odysseus often thanked Zeus for the thoughts or dreams he has put into his mind (Homer, trans. 1996). He knows inwardly, deeply, wholly, and throughout, that it is the gods who choose which of his men live and which die, that it is the gods who will someday lead his ship toward home.

The Emergent Myth

Where then does western society stand today? What is to be made of the myths that lie as little more than relics encased in glass? Though Odysseus and Avram may have come from drastically divergent psychological perspectives, they held in common a deep understanding and engagement with the Self through their own myth. Avram went; Odysseus sought home. Both of these psychological movements are based on an eye directed inward. Jungian analyst Edward Edinger (1984) wrote:

Western society no longer has a viable, functioning myth. Indeed, all the

major world cultures are approaching, to a greater or lesser extent, the state of mythlessness. The breakdown of a central myth is like the shattering of a vessel containing a precious essence; the fluid is spilled and drains away, soaked up by the surrounding undifferentiated matter. Meaning is lost. In its place, primitive and atavistic contents are reactivated. (p. 9)

This excerpt begs the question: Has myth left us completely? Has the modern world completely ravaged the tomb of Tutankhamun? What Edinger meant by “primitive contents” will be explored in the third chapter.

I was ten years old when I first watched the Tibetan monks at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. They were crouched over an open space, raking their little metal rods against a cone that trickled sand onto a vast, colorful mandala. I thought the mandala was interesting enough to look at, and that the monks wore funny, flowing clothes. They were too quiet, as far as I was concerned, and I really did not understand what all the fuss was about. In fact, I do not think anyone else did either. The audience members watched dispassionately, peering at the mandala as they turned over their wrists to check the time.

In a culture where the external is the rule, where the “without” takes precedence over the within, there emerges a disconnection from the internal world that is so profound that it broaches the point of psychological perversion. Edinger (1995) defined this as the extroverted attitude, “A mode of psychic functioning in which interest, value and meaning are attached primarily to external objects. Inner subjective matters are given little worth” (p. 141). Therefore, the collective experience may be halved in two: the extroverted ego, or the experience of daily life and living, and the introverted and often unconscious experience of the divine. The mask of Tutankhamun has been wrested from the confines of the unconscious and placed in the flattening glare of the extroverted realm. The Odyssey (Homer, Trans. 1996), once sung to the notes of Orpheus’ lyre, is now required reading.

After a few minutes, we left the museum and the scene left my mind completely, until about a week later. My mother waved me over to her newspaper. Apparently a woman who had been observing the construction of the mandala had shouted, “This is the work of the devil!” and thrashed her hands across the image, destroying the colorful symmetry. This tale of such a destructive act thrilled me: Here was a person who actually did something, something uncalled for and totally irrational. Something that got my attention. I now understand this person as one overcome with her internal contents, a far different breed of patron than those who watched the monks of the Asian Art Museum as though observing so many lazy chimps at the San Francisco Zoo. Jung (1964/1978) characterized the mandala as a “Psychological totality symbol” (p. 20).I wonder if the sand splashed across the floor of the Asian Art Museum was not a more accurate representation of a culture severed from its mythological roots? Did the destroyed mandala capture the chaos harbored in the place where spirituality once lived, where existence persisted without the grounding influence of an encompassing myth?

The incident at the museum was my first look into a structure that has arisen in lieu of myths shellacked with the goo of complacency and disinterest. Such a structure is so fluid it defies concrete definition. Still, we can track its movement and observe the activity that results in its existence. For example, the woman at the museum was herself a product of an extroverted culture, disconnected from a cohesive, internalized myth, clearly disturbed by something. But what mysterious material allowed for a member of our so-called mythless culture to make reference to what sounded like a Christian dogma? Would something similar have happened if she visited Cairo? Jung (1961/1989) wrote, “The Christian nations have come to a sorry pass; their Christianity slumbers and has neglected to develop its myth further in the course of the centuries” (p. 332). If this is the case, then perhaps what came from within the excited patron may have been un-Christian and unformed. The woman at the museum must have been expressing an internal disorganization, a chaotic mythic energy that had flowed in and filled the gap left behind by myth.

Such chaotic energy exists as a partition of what I describe as the mythic milieu. This meta-category refers not only to myth itself, but also to the totality of all stories and ideas related to myth that are not, for one reason or another, imbued with the gravitas necessary to qualify as a full-fledged myth. Marie-Louise von Von Franz (1996), for instance, referred to the fairy tale as the “Decayed Myth” (p. 25), and further observed that Greek fairy tales present:

Slightly distorted episodes of the Odyssey: A prince sails to an island where there is a big fish or ogre, and he blinds that one-eyed ogre and hides under the belly of a big ram and creeps out of the monster’s cave. . . .

[By contrast, myths] express the national character of the civilization in which they originated . . . and are also much more beautiful and impressive in form than the fairy tale. (pp. 26–27)

While this statement is subjective, it still captures the essence of the myth and what happens within the mythic milieu once a story has obtained a high form, rather like comparing a simple folk tune to Beethoven’s symphonies. While both may be beautifully composed, there is an inherent grandiosity and beauty to Beethoven’s work that is simply undeniable.

Still, imagine the gradation of music, from a simple folk tune to a symphonic masterpiece. Such a natural progression suggests an unconscious, collective progression towards myth, or the mythic state. For, to exist in a state where there is no mythic energy whatsoever is to exist in a state without meaning. Jung (1961/1989) wrote, “Meaninglessness inhibits fullness of life and is therefore equivalent to illness” (p. 340). The dispassion of the patrons at the Asian Art Museum were symptomatic of just such an illness, while the impassioned behavior of the woman who destroyed the mandala was emblematic of its forthcoming cure.

Such a progression is not, of course, limited to music and fairy tales. An additional and lively partition of the mythic milieu can be observed in our relationship with UFO phenomena. Jung (1964/1978) posited that the UFO was a projection of the mandala, a symbol of a nation’s need for psychological wholeness laid bare against the night sky. In his studies of the appearance of UFOs in dreams, Jung cited a patient who had a dream that appeared to embody the myth of the Greek ferryman Charon and, “The symbol of a disc-like UFO manned by spirits, a spaceship that comes out of the beyond to the edge of our world in order to fetch the souls of the dead” (p. 63).

A rich irony permeates this quote. Here the myth of Charon is itself deceased, replaced by a UFO that carries its ideas into a dream within a collective besieged by modern ideas. In a way, the UFO is a primitive expression of a culture struck dumb by centuries of neglect of the soul. Though Charon brings souls from the world of the living to that of the dead, here it is almost the reverse. With this modern contraption, the souls of the dead are perhaps being carried to a new world. Here lies an emergence, a long buried collective idea transported to a place of new understanding and possibly a new myth.

UFO related stories are not, of course, limited to Jung. Reports of everything from simple sightings to alien abductions proliferate across the media and the Internet. A quick search for the word aliens on CNN.com (2008) yields such titles as, “Calling all aliens”; “In Search of Aliens”; “Man Describes Alien Encounter”; and “Do Aliens exist? You tell us.” The same search on the more conservative New York Times (nytimes.com, 2008) uncovers fewer, though not entirely dissimilar results, while entering the keyword on google.com will reference over 42 million websites.

Still, it is vital to restate the importance of mythic progression, or emergence. And here I must differ with Jung. I do not feel that the tale of the UFO is a myth per se. For just as the fairy tale represents a decay of myth, I feel that the UFO represents a growth of myth. Consider this beautifully whimsical passage from Jung’s (1964/1978) writings:

Their flights do not appear to be based on any recognizable system. They behave more like groups of tourists unsystematically viewing the countryside, pausing now here for a while and now there, erratically following first one interest and then another, sometimes shooting to enormous altitudes for inextricable reasons or performing acrobatic evolutions before the noses of exasperated pilots. (p. 11)

This passage highlights the absence of the original grandeur of Von Franz’s national myth that is simply missing from this and other analyses Jung presents of the UFOs. Though this is a matter of subjective opinion, I feel that UFOs do not make the cut.

However, the idea of the UFO as nothing more than mythic emergence leads us to the obvious question: Where else can one experience such an emergence within the mythic milieu? The mythic permeates western culture, from a group that used suicide to hitch a ride on the back of the comet Halebop to an organization who has actually built a temple for a messianic type return of the Elohim, a species of space aliens who are supposedly our creators and distant ancestors (Stein & Stein, 2008). There are even stories of races of shape-shifting aliens that exist beneath the earth and under the oceans, and that are standing in for government officials, covertly running our world governments (Rhodes, 2008).

This additional partition of the mythic milieu is the conspiracy theory. For all the reasons the UFO qualifies as a progressive partition of the mythic milieu, the conspiracy theory exceeds those reasons in every category. The material that composes the conspiracy theory is emergent in the extreme. Its molten and forward-moving energy is undeniable: from the faked moon landings, or the death of Princess Diana, who was supposedly murdered in an effort to squelch her anti-land mining campaign, to the Jews employed at the World Trade Center who were warned to remain home the day of the 9/11 attack (Hari, 2002). Each theory contains multiple perspectives, branching off into other ideas and conspiracies, extending into an infinitely circuitous and disturbing web of control, paranoia, and world domination by an other-worldly/home-worldly they. The levels of conspiratorial thinking are numerous, fascinating, and rich with projection and the numinous. Far and above the UFO, the conspiracy theory remains a far more troubling and paradoxically more hopeful area for mythic study in the modern era.

Why are we Interested?

While Jung’s comments regarding our national interest in the UFO do not touch on the conspiracy theory, I feel that the UFO’s proximity to the conspiracy theory in terms of the mythic milieu is close enough that the implicit question behind Jung’s ideas bears repeating: Why are we interested? These pages do not seek to rebuke, confirm, or deny the validity of any UFO or conspiracy theory. Rather, I am interested in exploring our cultural fascination with such topics.

“One can hardly suppose that anything of such worldwide incidence as the UFO legend is purely fortuitous and of no importance whatever” (Jung, 1964/1978, p. 14). The validity of the UFO phenomenon is not as important as our examination of ourselves in relation to it. Why was Jung, or anyone else for that matter, so fascinated with this purported phenomenon? Why should a UFO be any more gripping than tales of deep-sea exploration or a scientist lost in the forests of Brazil stumbling upon a new species of insect? Though the significance we place upon a UFO may be in part because it appears out of nowhere, I would like to know why so many find this phenomena so interesting. Like a lion crouched in dense jungle, do we harbor an instinctive fear of the unexpected? Or perhaps it is a religious fascination. Like a prophetic vision or the sudden appearance of an angel, a sudden, miraculous manifestation holds an undeniable numinous quality. To bear witness to a numinous phenomena is perhaps also to own it, to contain and utilize its unearthly power. In addition, the notion that there may be life resembling our own, minds that may think like our own, certainly sparks the human imagination.

Still, it is the conspiracy theory that captures this author’s imagination, the conspiracy theory that holds, in his opinion, more collective, cultural meaning than the UFO. In the age of extroversion, the conspiracy theory saturates our everyday material experience. The fingerprints of UFOs are limited to a cadre of controversial photos, videos, and eyewitness accounts. However, one need venture no further than a local newspaper, the television, or the Internet to see the “evidence” espoused by conspiratorial claims. As an object, the flying saucer darts to and fro, entering our atmosphere as suddenly as it vanishes into deep space. As a cultural phenomenon, the UFO flickers in and out of the collective experience. Conversely, the material of conspiracy theory is more available, more witnessable. As a cultural phenomenon, these tales are omnipresent,, existing as tangible, deeply lived stories.

In an age when extroverted material is more accepted by the public, it is as though conspiracy theory can sink its roots deeper into the culture. In a sense, the tale of the UFO relies on how factual the information is, while the conspiracy theory relies on how factual material is interpreted. Fragmented, disparate facts are easily filled with shadows. Confidential documents and covert operations, now a permanent part of the modern lexicon, invite a world rife with wild stories and projection.

The conspiracy theory also strikes on a deeper level emotionally. There is a distinct difference between a story of alien visitors and a ubiquitous, malevolent entity in a position of power, which seeks to actually control, harm, or otherwise deceive its citizens towards its own political or financial gain. The effects on an extroverted world are constantly being discussed and poured over, from the stock market to the war in Iraq. While the repeated images of the 9/11 catastrophe involves the spilling of real human blood, I find I have little to say about those tiny, glowing objects which periodically make their rounds on the networks. To listen to a story of a UFO may fill one with a sense of curiosity and quiet awe, but to hear of our own government plotting to annihilate its own citizens in a bid for world domination grips every cell in our body with unspeakable emotion. It does what the mask of Tutankhamun can no longer do for the face of the dead: it possesses us.

Still, as a partition of the mythic milieu, the accompaniment of the UFO in this paper is vital. While a rich subject of study, there does not appear to be any current theory regarding the conspiracy theory as viewed through a mythological perspective. Therefore, discussions surrounding the UFO as myth may help establish a lexicon and a set of theories from which to draw on in our discussion of the conspiracy theory. Using this language and the language of myth, this paper will focus on several conspiracy theories, with emphasis on two in particular: the John F. Kennedy assassination and the attacks against the United States on 9/11. This may appear to give the UFO phenomenon short shrift. Even Essayist Gore Vidal (as cited in Belzer, 1999) has stated as much, noting, “Americans have been trained by the media to go into Pavlovian giggles at the mention of ‘conspiracy’ because for an American to believe in a conspiracy he must also believe in flying saucers” (p. 3). [a1] In addition, many UFO stories do fall under the umbrella of the conspiracy theory and are replete with government cover-ups of alien crash sites and Air Force encounters.

In lieu of these many ideas, this paper will address some fundamental questions: What direction is western society taking with the conspiracy theories and why? Is a modern myth truly in the works or will the future bring darker, more fragmented times? Jung (1961/1989) stated that psychological health was dependent on a connection between the conscious and the unconscious, between Self and ego. If psychological health is dependent upon the closure of such a gap, what happens when those two spheres are hopelessly intertwined? If the conspiracy theory truly contains the mystery and power reminiscent of a myth, does that not indicate that the spheres of the ego and the Self have somehow merged? If this is the case, then it is through this expanded idea of the ego, or what the ego has become, that one must ultimately find a way back to the Self as the collective grapples with the rise of extroversion and the birth of a modern myth.

CHAPTER II

LITERATURE REVIEW

The Conspiracy Theory

Philosopher Lee Basham (2001) defined the conspiracy theory as, “An explanation of important events that hypothesizes the intentional deception and manipulation of those involved in, affected by, or witnessing these events” (p. 265). Basham posited that the conspiracy theorist has a knack for snuffing out “unaccounted for and contradictory data” (p. 268). Not only does this talent allow the theorist to “cogently weave” (p. 267) an alternative story to the event, but also to “receive higher marks at explanatory completeness than official accounts can” (p. 268). This latter point lends an air of authority to conspiracy theorists who utilize their grasp of the so-called bigger picture to couch any official or governmental explanation as an intentional deception and proof of the conspiracy. In addition, anyone supporting the “official” version of story is either an active participant in the deception or a victim of those who would seek to deceive.

Far from a modern concept, the conspiracy theory finds its roots in the Latin word conspirare, which means, “to breathe together” (Goldberg, 2004, p. 250), a phrase that hints at a collective moving, or in this case, thinking as one. Historian Robert Alan Goldberg (2004) wrote that early American colonists in Massachusetts and Virginia, “Suspected both neighbors and strangers of secret alliances and dangerous plots” (p. 250). According to Goldberg, both the idea of the conspiracy theory and its practitioners have remained steady throughout much of history, the usual suspects shifting from one group to another; from the Salem witches, for example, to the Bolsheviks and the bankers of Wall Street (p. 250). However, it does appear that the conspiracy theory has proliferated in recent years. Goldberg’s list of groups blamed for the attack on the World Trade Center alone is truly impressive. Apparently the Masonic Order, the Vatican, the Mafia, the Trilateral Commission, the Mossad, the CIA, and the United Nations have been implicated. Goldberg even cited abortionists, feminists, gays, and lesbians, who were brought into the 9/11 fold for “provoking God and causing him to lift his protection from the United States” (p. 253).

Part of this proliferation may be due to the fact that the conspiracy theory does not appear to be such a stretch of reasoning or imagination. “In our personal lives most of us have encountered the existence of treacherous disloyalties, carefully crafted business betrayals, and life-crippling slanders that, insidiously, are never revealed to the victims” (Basham, 2001, p. 271). Is it such a leap to assume that such denizens exist within the public sphere? Such anxieties around power are surely amplified among American society where the government truly does have enormous power over our lives.

Goldberg (2004) posed a similar idea, though he maintained that such anxieties regarding the government spring from intelligence failures. In particular, Goldberg cited Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001 as evidence of intelligence failures that bred vast public skepticism. In addition, he contended that the conspiracy theorists, “Order the random and make consistent the paradoxical” (p. 256).

Goldberg (2004) also implicated the behavior of higher governmental powers in the creation of the conspiracy theory. Among other events, he cited the betrayal of the public trust by the CIA and FBI in the 1970s, during the Iran-Contra scandal, noting, “In 1964 they found that 75 percent of the American people trusted the federal government ‘To do what is right always or most of the time.’ In 1976, only one in three Americans expressed similar thoughts” (p. 257).

Apropos of this point, it is useful to examine the idea that the conspiracy theory, “Is an attempt to democratize or make available knowledge/information by divorcing it from the power structures that manipulate it or homogenize potential versions” (Irvine & Beattie, 1998, p. 31). It follows that to claim ownership of a larger conspiratorial plan is to take control and usurp the power structure that has “inflicted” upon us the situation or situations within which we find ourselves. Commentators Simon Irvine and Natasha Beattie added further, “Conspiracy theory is thus guided by a meta-narrative of liberation” (p. 32). Goldberg (2004) echoed this sentiment by stating that the conspiracy theorists, “Also respond to the traumatized who cry for vengeance and demand the identities of those responsible. Conspiracy thinking thus becomes an antidote to powerlessness” (p. 255). Goldberg also alluded to the idea of ownership of information, but in simpler, more numinous terms: “In statecraft and commerce, secrets can be the talismans of power” (p. 249).

On a less political note, Social Scientist Jodi Dean (1998) saw the conspiracy theory, “As a way of processing information, a way of making links in the combined sense of discovering as well as creating” (p. 143). Instead of examining the threat of nefarious governmental powers, Dean focused on a confusing and quickly modernizing world, noting, “The so-called distortions and imaginative leaps of conspiracy theory may be helpful tools for coding politics in the virtual realities of the techno-global information age” (p. 144). One example can be found with those who accused NASA of staging the moon landings. Regarding this, Dean wrote, “The technological advances . . . were so incredible that they cast doubt on the reality of NASA’s achievements” (p. 94).

Dean (1998) also blamed the media for the means by which we retrieve and confer on political subjects stating that, “We have moved from consensus reality to virtual reality” (p. 8). One could infer from this idea that access to the enormous flood of information is not only overwhelming but also misleading; any personal agenda or idea could easily be constructed from the sheer variety and quantity of information at hand. Dean cited the conspiracy theory as a way to “Think globally and act locally” (p. 162).

Besides serving as an explanatory device, the conspiracy theory also finds legitimacy in those who espouse its tenets. Doctor of Philosophy David Coady (2007) pointed out a common misconception that conspiracy theorists themselves are irrational. He began his argument by citing a set of unbelievable reports of the conspiracy theory, such as those one may only encounter in the media or circulating on the Internet. Coady stated:

To believe any of these reports is to subscribe to a conspiracy theory, and hence to be conspiracy theorist. But to disbelieve all of these reports is also to be a conspiracy theorist, since only a conspiracy could explain such widespread and systematic falsehood, and again you are a conspiracy theorist. (p. 193)

Although this claim may sound humorous, its message is clear: it is a mistake to categorically dismiss the inquisitive mind of one who examines a conspiracy theory with some skepticism. Coady further stated, “A conspiracy theorist, therefore, may be defined as a person who is unusually willing to investigate a conspiracy” (p. 193). Coady cited the importance of such individuals who are willing to investigate supposed political conspiracies which, “Do take place, and on a regular basis” (p. 195).

Shadow and Projection

Jungian analyst Marie Von Franz (1995) defined shadow simply: “The shadow is all that is within you which you do not know about” (p. 4). Yet if one does not know about the shadow, then how is one to have any idea of its existence in the first place? Von Franz (1993) used the example of a son possessing a tyrannical father who projects his shadow material, which is the image of his father, onto those around him. In addition, such a son would, “Not only project the quality of tyranny onto authority figures and father figures . . . but he will also behave just as tyrannically himself — though unconsciously” (p. 2). Here, we see that projection is made apparent when shadow material makes its appearance in two places simultaneously, both in the origin of the projection and the object of the projection.

Von Franz (1993) further maintained that projection often occurs when the keeper of the shadow finds their darkness intolerable, thus recreating it around themselves and has others hold it so that it may be processed outwardly. The idea of projection and shadow are inseparable insofar as the observed phenomenon of one is indelibly linked to the observed phenomenon of the other. Still, the idea of projection does not imply a kind of psychic movement, like a camera or the flickering of a light bulb. It is an instantaneous creation, a realization of the existence of one’s inner self by observing the external world. “Strictly speaking, projection is never made, it happens, it is simply there. In the darkness of anything external to me I find, without recognizing it as such, an interior or psychic life that is my own” (Jung, as cited in Von Franz, 1993, p. 74).

Also fascinating is the philosophical leap from the personal to the collective shadow. Von Franz (1993) stated that all projection, “Consists partly of personal and partly of collective elements” (p. 4). Therefore, it is plausible that one could use similar techniques to study shadow and projection on the individual and the collective scale.

Still, when are the unknown elements of the individual comparable with the unknown elements of the collective? How does one know when one is dealing with a collective, instead of an individual shadow? Jung (1964) addressed just such a question when he studied projection and shadow on a grander scale: “Any deficiency in the consciousness — such as exaggeration, one-sidedness, or lack of a function — is suitably supplemented by an unconscious process” (p. 219). Jung discussed the advent of Hitler as such a compensation:

He was the utterly incapable, unadapted, irresponsible, psychopathic personality, full of empty, infantile fantasies, but cursed with the keen intuition of a rat or a guttersnipe. He represented the shadow, the inferior part of everybody’s personality. . . . In Hitler, every German should have seen his own shadow, his own worst danger. (p. 223)

Here is exemplified the hitherto shared but individual unconscious feelings of inferiority felt throughout a nation and played out on a massive and destructive scale. Were such inferiorities previously displayed in the home, or at work? While it is clear that an individual’s shadow material is certainly enmeshed with the unconscious collective experience, it is also true that shadow material may be inherited. Von Franz (1993) seemed to differ somewhat from Jung on the causes behind the rise of Hitler’s popularity:

It is also possible for a person to infect others with his paranoid idea and for a sizable group to take up the erroneous judgment, until another group finally sets the matter straight. Witchhunts, as examples of negative projections, or the veneration of Hitler as a savior-hero, as an example of positive projections, bear eloquent witness to the phenomenon of collective contagion. (p. 4)

While projection may be the psychological mechanism responsible for mass political movements, such as the rise of Fascism, it is also the means by which myth emerges from the collective unconscious. As an example, Edward Edinger (1992) cited the Prometheus myth as the collective’s expression of, “development at the price of suffering” (p. 24). For it was Prometheus who stole fire from the gods and brought the light of consciousness to humanity; who, in Edinger’s words, allowed the ego “to establish itself as an autonomous entity” (p. 24). Reflections of our unconscious development are fully expressed as archetypal motifs within myth and weave the story of humanity. That which is unknown to the collective becomes known or processed through the myths that emerge from the culture. Still, it is a little unclear how one should differentiate between shadow material and the unconscious. Jung (as cited in Von Franz, 1995) addressed this point directly and is reported to have once exclaimed, “This is all nonsense! The shadow is simply the whole unconscious” (p. 3).

Yet, if myth is a collective projection, upon what do these projections fall? Are some items or persons more likely to obtain a projection than others? How would the boy with the tyrannical father go about picking his object of projection? On the theme of collective projection, Edinger (1995) stated:

Science began with the stars, and mankind discovered in them the dominants of the unconscious, the ‘gods,’ as well as the curious psychological qualities of the zodiac: a complete projected theory of human character. . . . Such projections repeat themselves whenever man tries to explore an empty darkness and involuntarily fills it with living form. (pp. 73–74)

This statement hints at the vastness around us that is invariably filled with our own inner material. Still, why should one project onto the arrangement of a particular constellation of stars? Why is it that one group of stars are grouped into a specific image and not another? Without marring the mystery and majesty of the celestial sphere, it may prove helpful to examine more specifically the process by which the collective’s inner contents are constellated in the external world. To this end, it is important to examine the field of alchemy. Jungian analysts Joseph Henderson and Dyane Sherwood (2003) discussed Jung’s rediscovery of alchemical texts in the early part of the 20th century. The alchemist would project their inner psychic contents onto specific metals and other forms of matter. According to Henderson and Sherwood, “A study of alchemical sources might reveal more about the structure and function of the psyche than about the ‘objective’ nature of the metals the alchemists believed they were studying” (p. 2).

Von Franz (1980) told the story of an alchemist who mixed lead with sulfur in order to study its properties. After the alchemist inhaled the fumes and fell ill, he wrote in his notebook, “Beware of lead, for in it is a demon which will kill people and make them mad” (p. 21). Here, the alchemist’s understanding of illness as a destructive and evil force is projected onto lead. Just as collective projection and individual projection are indelibly connected, so too are the large- and small-scale projections concerning matter. Von Franz (1992) wrote, “All chemical substances were divine, they even were gods. The statues of stone, for instance, represented directly the living gods themselves” (p. 147).

Extroversion versus Introversion: Self versus Ego

In order to better understand the concepts of extroversion and introversion, it is important to examine the relationship between the Self and the ego. Here, Edinger (1992) stated:

The Self is the ordering and unifying center of the total psyche (conscious and unconscious) just as the ego is the center of the conscious personality. Or, to put in other words, the ego is the seat of the subjective identity while the Self is the seat of the objective identity. The Self is thus the supreme psychic authority and subordinates the ego to it. (p. 3)

Thus, the Self may have a project that the ego must abide by, such as a projection or collective projection. If the Self is disordered, neglected, or harmed in some way, then the Self may harness the outside world, so to speak, in order to compensate. Hitler was just such an unconscious collective project.

Edinger (1984) also made mention of the kind of knowledge acquired from the Self versus the kind acquired from the ego: “The ego as knower conquers the outer or inner ‘other’ by relegating it to the status of known object. But this is not consciousness in the full sense of ‘knowing with,’ it is only science or simple knowing” (p. 41). Edinger [a2] spoke of the ego as a vessel for the Self and referred to such figures as Christ and Buddha as carriers of divine consciousness. Edinger often conflated the idea of consciousness with the concepts of the divine and the Self. Edinger wrote that, “The idea of the individual as a vessel for consciousness brings to mind the symbolism of the Holy Grail. As a container for Christ’s blood, the Grail carries the divine essence extracted from Christ” (p. 23). For Edinger (1995), the Self was very much steeped in the numinous, and “empirically it is indistinguishable from the image of God” (p. 142). The vessel is also an externalized object which suggests a delineation between the outside and the inside world, the concrete and the numinous, the introverted and the extroverted. While the ego may point to the seat of subjective consciousness, the notion of extroversion refers to the world in which the ego resides: the world of the concrete, the measurable, a world where metal may be smelt and vessels forged from clay.

Von Franz (1995) offered a specific example of the ego versus Self: “A successful businessman with a strong extroverted drive slowly acquires a suspicious nature brought on through the neglect of his introverted side” (p. 39). The problem of consciousness is a difficult one. How does one maintain consciousness of both the internal and the external, the Self and the ego? Jung (1961/1989) continuously posited that such integration is the very goal of human existence.

Inflation

Edinger (1992) used the term inflation, “To describe the attitude and the state which accompanies the identification of the ego with the Self. It is a state in which something small (the ego) has arrogated to itself the qualities of something larger (the Self)” (p. 7). Edinger also compared this state with the experiences of children who live in a completely undifferentiated world. This would explain why their world is often mystical and animated, since the numinous qualities of the Self are projected outward. Von Franz (1992) made a comparison between this psychic state of the child with the early, primitive stages of humankind. Here, Edinger used the terms subject and object to describe the ego and Self: “The archaic identity of subject and object is, in its specific form, dominant in children and primitives, among others. Whenever it prevails, the unconscious is merged with the outer world” (p. 7). Von Franz (1993) also used the example of a child’s animation of a doll, which could exemplify a mother-daughter relationship. On the other hand the child is aware that the doll is inanimate, so there is a degree of discrimination from the outer and inner world.

Myth

In further understanding the notion of myth, it is important to examine myth’s location and function within our society. Jung (1964/1978) stated that myth was “essentially a product of the unconscious archetype” (p. 23). Consider the sheer power and importance of a story that emerges from the collective unconscious across divergent cultures. Such stories or myths may carry the hopes, dreams, and experiences of an entire civilization. Jung (1961/1989) declared that, “Myth is the natural and indispensable intermediate stage between unconscious and conscious cognition” (p. 311). Here, Jung implied that myth behaves not only as a dialectic between the conscious and unconscious mind, but also as a solvent or agent. Myth allows the collective to move into that liminal space and reside for a time, as it becomes aware of its unconscious underpinnings; that is, myth allows for a culture to dialogue with itself and move to a healthier, more integrated state. This idea is supported by Edinger (1995), who discussed the myth of the Jonah story wherein the hero is devoured by a leviathan. Edinger described this particular myth as one that “depicts the archetypal theme of heroic incest — a purposeful descent into the maternal womb” (p. 41). Here myth describes the psychological recesses of the culture, a kind of map of the unconscious movements of the collective.

However, myth is more than a mere intermediary between spheres of consciousness. “It is not we who invent myth, rather it speaks to us as a Word of God” (Jung, 1961/1989, p. 340). Not only does Jung place myth outside of our world, creating it as a kind of Other, but he also lends it divine purpose and agency. Myth is the life-blood of a culture, moving it forward, anchoring it to a kind of primal, psychic bedrock. Jung (1961/1989) stated, “Myths which day has forgotten continue to be told by night, and powerful figures which consciousness has reduced to banality and ridiculous triviality are recognized again by poets and prophetically revived” (p. 282).

Anthropologists Rebecca Stein and Philip Stein (2008) discussed the importance of comparing the worldview of various cultures by comparing their myths. This resonates with Von Franz’s (1996) nationalistic perspective on the function of myth. Like Jung and Von Franz, Stein and Stein regarded myths as sacred stories that, “Tell of the origin of the world and humankind, the existence and activities of gods and spirits, the creation of order in the universe, and the nature of illness and death” (p. 33). They also discussed the various patterns that myths take across cultural lines, such as flood myths, hero myths, and trickster myths. Their ideas support Jung’s (1961/1989) idea of the archetype. Jung found that cultures around the world held similar myths and stories, or archetypal phenomena. Jung further posited that such archetypes supported the existence of a collective unconscious, a kind of cross-cultural, invisible web of communication traversed by such figures as the hero and the trickster.

The next chapter will examine how the conspiracy theory flourishes in western society. While the ideas of inflation and projection will remain the primary focus behind this examination, the tension that develops between an extroverted society and its neglected inner world (the Self) will remain as the backbone of the discussion.

CHAPTER III

THE EXTROVERTED UNIVERSE

Shadows

What is the psychic state of Western culture today? I will attempt to explore the enormity of this question by returning to a crucial point: my thesis posits that the inner contents of western society have become almost entirely neglected due to a preoccupation with an extroverted world, from the media and politics to the daily horoscope and the gleam of a set of hubcaps. Even so-called spiritual and progressive living is polluted with extroverted detritus: from crystals to tarot cards, from vegetarian to organic, from solar power to bio diesel. Today’s world is focused on the tangible, the concrete. Such a neglect of what lies within creates a world of deep psychological confusion, fragmentation, and suffering. “The extrovert gives primary emphasis to the relationship with the outer expression of the Self, and the introvert gives first value to relationship with the inner manifestation of the Self” (Edinger, 1984, p. 53).

But what happens when the extrovert’s connection to the Self is almost completely severed, when the first value becomes the only value? The internal world of the lunar, dispersive feminine has been almost completely abandoned. Instead of Odysseus’ shadowy and contemplative walk through the land of the dead, many choose to stand instead beneath the white glare of the sun. Loren Eiseley (1994) wrote, “Odysseus’ passage through the haunted waters of the Eastern Mediterranean symbolizes, at the start of the Western intellectual tradition, the sufferings that the universe and his own nature impose upon homeward-yearning man” (p. 4). Here Eiseley illustrates the unconscious fight out of extroversion as manifested in human kind’s instinctual movements towards home towards Self. Yet in our movement towards Self I feel that we have lost our way. Western society has set itself adrift on waters far more treacherous than the Mediterranean.

Is Odysseus’ 20-year journey towards home a symbolic measure of the time it takes to mature as a human being? Perhaps modern culture exists in a kind of infancy, barely out of port. What would today’s world look like without its modern trinkets and toys, if this existence was stripped of its modernity, leaving only the psyche to pay testament to individual and collective identity? Jung (1964) poignantly discussed the idea of inflation, as it existed among the primitive[1]:

The country he inhabits is at the same time the topography of his unconscious. In that stately tree dwells the thunder god; this spring is haunted by the Old Woman; in that wood the legendary king is buried; near that rock no one may light a fire because it is the abode of a demon. . . . Thus does primitive man dwell in his land and at the same time in the land of his unconscious. Everywhere does his unconscious leap out at him, alive and real. How different is our relationship with the land we live in! (p. 26)

Or is it? Consider the growing phenomenon of our animating world. The Hubble telescope lies in space, beyond the obscuring dust of our atmosphere, delivering dreams of new planets and colliding galaxies. I do not think that Jung’s “land of the unconscious” has left us. Indeed, consider one’s preoccupation with a streak of light in the night sky, or another’s fascination with a report of a mysterious crash landing in the middle of the desert; consider how many watch the government with abject suspicion and awe, overcome with tales of catacombed offices and documents shrouded in secrecy. While the mask of Tutankhamun lies quiet and lifeless, collective projections have laid claim to an object far too all-encompassing to observe: ourselves. Edinger’s [a3] ego vessel (1984) has transformed from clay to sponge, and is saturated with the numinous.

The mask of Tutankhamun represents a consciousness of projection: here lies a focus of cultural energies, a focus where the collective had, long ago, negotiated a passage towards death. Here is where their myth lay and they knew their myth to be real. In an inflated state, the shadows of death emerge without such consciousness. They emerge because they must. As a river breaches its banks, a neglected inner world floods unchecked into the physical universe. Here is an illness of a different kind: meaning is not lost, rather it is unconsciously displaced.

It is no wonder then that the conspiracy theory serves as such a ready backdrop for projection. Consider the many sightings of “shadows” in the JFK assassination in regards to footage, as Belzer (1999) recounted: “Suspicious flashes from the grassy knoll and an image many researchers believe to be a gunman (the Warren Commission believed this figure to be a shadow of the tree branch, even though the ‘shadow’ flees the scene)” (p. 17).

Consider this odd interpretation by Belzer (1999) of a bystander on the day in question: “A young man in dusky-colored clothing removed a long, narrow package from the cargo bin of a pick-up truck. It was obvious to her that the package contained a rifle” (p. 45). Obvious? How is it obvious? Here the author posited his own belief, as well as the bystander’s belief that the package contained a rifle. Rational alternatives to the content of the box are completely ignored. It is as though one can see the projection being created in the moment. The mysterious “Umbrella Man” also falls into this category. This obscure onlooker of Kennedy’s parade carries an umbrella in broad daylight. “[His] dark accomplice thrusts his fist into the air in what many researchers believe to be a clenched-fist-salute” (Belzer, p. 21). Shadows seem to surround JFK like angels of death, proto-Charons beckoning the president across the river Styx.

Although I do not mean to draw a direct corollary between Belzer’s (1999) use of the word shadow and shadow material as it is discussed in this paper, I am positing that the figures and environment around Kennedy appear animated in more than one dimension — both as vestiges of human figures and as vestiges of consciousness. Both ideas are indelibly linked and imbued with human energy, in this case mythological energy. The mythic milieu is clearly present, though the place of the conspiracy theory within the milieu is unclear. Fact mixes with fiction to create a strange mix of extroverted and introverted material, both of which reside in the extroverted realm. Much like the world of the Jung’s primitive man, western society is mired in magical thinking. Belzer made the following observation:

Ed Hoffman, a deaf mute, was the only person to come forward as an eyewitness to the assassination. . . . He claims to have watched . . . as two men in dark suits lay in wait for the president with drawn rifles behind the fence on the grassy knoll. (p. 41)

Why lend significance to the fact that Ed Hoffman is deaf and mute? Out of the shadows emerge a kind of blind prophet, a quasi-Tiresias. As we are mysteriously drawn by the flicker of unknown objects in the sky, so too are we drawn to men and women who unconsciously resonate with our archetypal underpinnings. Does the collective naturally gravitate toward one who does not need his eyes, who looks inward and possesses true sight? While Hoffman certainly does not hold a candle to the sheer weight of the Tiresias myth, his importance suggests that we may unconsciously search for such a myth.

Like Avram, Tiresias is an expression of a deep collective experience. The fact that Homer’s (trans. 1996) Tiresias has lived a life as both a man and a woman suggests the potential unity of the masculine and feminine that exists within all of us. It is a myth that emerged organically from the collective as an expression of our need and natural progression towards wholeness. It is no surprise then that disconnection with the original myth of Tiresias may cause him to arise elsewhere. This would also explain Charon’s appearance in Jung’s analysis of dreams: the collective is in need of a Charon. Both are myths that we cannot live without, myths that we search for relentlessly. As one studies historical events, such as the assassination of JFK, one invariably looks inward. As the alchemist unconsciously projected the idea of transformation onto lead and gold, so too has the direction the collective’s inner seeking eye found the archetypal shimmerings within the conspiracy theory.

What else then may be manifested within the shadows of Belzer’s (1999) grassy knoll? Another example of this projective phenomenon involves the frequent denial that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman. While Belzer painted Oswald as a man seemingly incapable of such a momentous crime, Oswald himself proclaimed to the press that he was a “Patsy” (p. 49). Belzer stated that Oswald, “Worked for $1.25 an hour as an order packer” (p. 49) and was, “By all standards a loser” (p. 45). Just as gold captured the imagination of the alchemists at one time, the CIA, the Cubans, the Mafia, the Russians, and even Lyndon Johnson made for far more appropriate targets for the collective’s projection. How else could a popular president, a virtual king of the free world be brought down by someone as insignificant as Oswald? America suffered deeply when it lost its hero, and seemed to have an intrinsic almost healing-related need for a worthy antagonist. Lyndon Johnson may have been just what the doctor ordered. A veritable prince usurping the throne, he was implicated again and again by Belzer. Writer Vincent Buguosi (2007) commented, “People also found it intellectually incongruous that someone they perceived to be a king could be struck down by someone they perceived to be a non-entity” (p. 1). Here, Buguosi hinted at the idea that the meaning of Kennedy’s death could be lost without a worthy antagonist, as though the strength of the Hero is determined in part by the strength of his enemy. Bugosi continued, “I think there was almost an instinctive desire that there be a conspiracy because the belief that powerful forces in the American government killed Kennedy gives more meaning to his life and death” (p. 1).

Jung’s ideas involving Germany’s national projection are only a partial outline of Oswald’s psychic state. For although Oswald’s inner world resembles Hitler’s inward diminutive nature, Oswald is outwardly diminutive as well. That is, it was the charismatic compensatory behavior exhibited by Hitler, his total Self that resonated with a nation. The people saw in Hitler their own fears of inferiority and their desire to overcome it. Hitler was a compensatory charismatic personality all in one package. Oswald offers no such solace. It appears that there is simply nothing about the man that could possibly capture any kind of projection, especially in lieu of how American people were feeling after the assassination of their favorite son. While Hitler did an unconscious service to a nation crushed by economic and psychological depression, Oswald’s dim and narrow personality could not possibly serve the compensatory needs of a wounded America.

One possible rebuttal to this idea brings us to the myth of the Trickster. Author and Professor of Creative Writing Lewis Hyde (1998) made reference to the myths of Loki, Hermes, and other trickster figures. The primary job of these characters is to blur boundaries. In this case, the boundary between the large and the small, the strong and the weak, are particularly apropos. As Hyde recounted, Hermes, while just a baby, fools the gods of Olympus, and Coyote hatches more than one scheme to trick his elders and sleep with a princess or two (1998). Are the contentions of those who believe that Oswald did indeed assassinate JFK based on so-called rational rebuttal of spurious conspiratorial claims, or are they too caught up in a re-emergence of an archetype? How much influence over this debate has this tiny, overlooked myth?

Like the trickster, Oswald succeeded in creating an enormous amount of collective havoc and transformation. As Coyote makes his mischief, he is slowly made into a man. Therefore the role of the trickster is to bring us to consciousness (Hyde, 1998). The appearance of Oswald, or rather the mythic figure that Oswald has become, has definitely has got us at each other — fighting over the truth, the facts, history, ideas — causing the kind of conflicts that Trickster has been prone to instigate. Could it be said then that the Oswald “myth” entices us to revel in the conspiracy? Is the way to consciousness to be lost in a hopeless state of confusion and projection? How fortunate then, that this conspiracy theory could contain a figure that would drive us towards such madness, and towards the impenetrable darkness that might someday lead us to a new myth and perhaps a better place.

Still, Oswald was no Hermes. While he may have possessed the cunning to be a good shot, I doubt that this qualifies him for the status of being swallowed up by the archetype of the Trickster. However, herein lies a paradox. Like Jung’s UFO/Charon myth, the projection on Oswald could be a proto-trickster. The structure of the Charon myth contains the very material needed to carry forth a dying myth across the river Styx, to a new life. Therefore, it is the structure of the Charon myth, regardless of how forgotten it has become, that works beautifully to sustain its project through the ages.

It is no wonder that the vestiges of some myths resonate more than others, that the shadows of the king and his antagonist resonate with society, while Loki, Hermes, and Coyote have crept about unnoticed. Like Charon, the Trickster thrives on his structure for survival. For it is the very state of the overlooked, undernoticed Trickster which gives him his power, which allows him to sneak back into the collective. It is the very nature of Loki, of the Trickster — a myth only to be known in retrospect, or in study, a myth that flies beneath the radar and is discovered long after it has completed its dark work. One can postulate then that myth has, for lack of a better phrase, a built in survival mechanism, a piece of itself that it leaves behind just in case a modern age of thinking should nearly strike it dead.

Psychic Hunger and the Projective Surface

This section will examine further how the elements of projection may inundate our modern stories. While it is useful to examine figures such as the Trickster, it is fascinating to identify his playground. For more than the mere presence of shadows, it is the underlying structure of the conspiracy theory itself that further reflects the phenomenon of projection upon the extroverted universe. In an inflated reality where the ego and Self intermingle, it is as though some elements in the extroverted world capture our projections, our interest, more than others. Consider, for instance, the scientistic[2] nature of much of the theory surrounding the JFK assassination: bullets that could not have made it from the book depository through a line of trees between the motorcade and Kennedy’s vehicle (Belzer, 1999, p. 14); the angle and projection and very construction of the bullet itself. Consider the language in the following excerpt from Belzer:

A maximum of 1.8 seconds elapsed between the moment Kennedy was first hit and the fatal shot. Since the bolt of Oswald’s Manchester-Carcino rifle could not be operated in less than 2.3 seconds, it couldn’t possibly have been the sole murder weapon. (p. 26)

There is simply something alluring about this kind of writing. It speaks the accepted language of the culture and allows us to calmly take in the information. Eiseley (1994) stated, “Man’s technological triumphs have frequently been at odds with his hunger for psychological composure and peace” (p. 4). Is it reasonable to assume that western culture would be more prone to devour those conspiracy theories that contain elements of the technological? Is the modern psyche incapable of taking in information by any other means? Basham (2001) stated, “The futile pursuit of malevolent conspiracy theory sours and distracts us from what is good and valuable in life” (p. 277). I would like to posit a more intuitive interpretation. Not only is the collective unconsciously moving towards a state of myth, but is deriving real nutrients from the stories which flow forth from it. . Just as the scientist and the alchemist may occupy symbolically similar places in the human psyche, so too might the conspiracy theorist be offering bits of mythically digestible material.

Jung (1964/1989) stated:

It is characteristic of our time that the archetype, in contrast to its previous manifestations should now take the form of an object, a technological construction, in order to avoid the odiousness of mythological personification. Anything that looks technological goes down without difficulty with modern man. (p. 22)

Is the collective so malnourished that science is employed as a kind of helper, a lubricant to swallow the pill that contains the numinous? Or is it less concrete than that? Perhaps such scientistic details contain the Self in invisible doses, doses enhanced by the very flavor of the information. A scientific article about the possibility of life on another planet is surely more “tasty” to the psyche than one covering the seasonal proliferation of plankton in the Atlantic Ocean.

The technological is also very familiar. There is no inherent depth in science, at least, not in the mythic or magical sense. One could surmise how the inherent disorder of myth and mystery may be cause for considerable discomfort. Perhaps there exists no collective “stomach” for a myth at this point. What little mythical energy that now exists is filtered through a mesh of facts and numbers, a measurable space which can be controlled, moved, and tamped down. While the old stories led directly to the great mystery and to the Self, today there has emerged a circuitous way, a shadow way. One can almost hear the human desire to look outward into space, overwhelmed by the mystery both inherent in space and projected onto (or into) it, as Jung (1964/1978) made reference to it:

Human fantasy, already toying with the idea of space trips to the moon, therefore had no hesitation in assuming that intelligent beings of a higher order had learnt how to counteract gravitation and, by dint of using interstellar magnetic fields as sources of power, to travel through space with the speed of light. The recent atomic explosions on the each, it as conjectured, had aroused the attention to these so very more advanced dwellers on Mars or Venus. (p. 15)

While the mechanistic purpose of a technological achievement such as the Hubble Telescope may be obvious, the meaning long sought for resides in the dreams of what it sees. What alien worlds and civilizations lie within the swirling galaxies and stars? We reach out to our own material for the trappings of Self, we sort through the media, leafing through pages in search of material that can hold our projections. Is western society more comfortable projecting onto that which does not appear new and difficult to understand? All around us, the promise of discovery and consciousness lies couched in the language of measurement. We stare through a lens into space, sharpening its focus, staring further and further out until we finally behold the reason.

Yet it is this projection upon such a device as the Hubble that leads one astray. There is an illusion that psychological progress is being made. Western society must be unconsciously fooling itself into believing that modern toys bring it closer to something innate about the soul. In such a spirit, Eiseley (1994) stated:

In the restless atmosphere of today all the psychological elements of the Odyssey are present to excess: the driving will toward achievement, the technological cleverness crudely manifested in the blinding of the Cyclops, the fierce rejection of the sleepy Lotus Isles, the violence between man and man. Yet, significantly, the ancient hero cries out in desperation, “There is nothing worse for men than wandering.” (p. 4)

Does this myth foretell humanity’s inevitable stray and return to the archetypal Self? There are times in the myth that Odysseus does not seem aware that he is lost as he basks in the sheets of Xerxes and feasts on cheeses and wine. It is only after each trial that he seems to rekindle his desire to return home (Homer, trans. 1996). Would an examination of our own lost state fare us as well?

Immersion in the conspiracy theory suggests a wandering state where one is not fully aware of the distance from the shore, from home. While science encapsulates a fascination with the infinite, the conspiracy theory is so fluid, so amorphous, that it almost completely lacks the linear directionality of modern, measurable knowing. It is neither science nor story, neither myth nor measurable fact.

Thomas Moore (2008) discussed the alchemical idea of Solutio as, “Dissolving in liquid, but it also has the darker meaning of things coming apart” (p. 63). The conspiracy theory truly is fluid on all levels and that is its danger. Like quicksand, one becomes mired in its psychological trap; every movement to explain, refute, or accept is met with a tug from beneath. Yet, this fluid state also bears with it a sense of hope, for as the culture breaks down, as our history is folded, sliced, and devoured, the fluidity that results from this digested material hints at the possibility of transformation. Perhaps this is how the essential inner nutrients are extracted from the over abundance of extroverted material. Here, the beloved fact breaks down. The dry, chalky landscape of history is turned over by hoe and pitchfork. Here the alchemical ideas of distillation and sublimation are manifested. Henderson (2003) defined these terms as states of a psychic substance that has been broken down and then transformed. In this case, the transformation is not into a complete object or idea, but into a material, not unlike a kind of psychic compost, that will lay a fertile ground for the growth of myth.

Conversely, these ideas illustrate what may be one of the major causes of the collective’s disconnection from myth. First it is necessary to extend the analogy, from the stomach to the eye. While the stomach may do the work of sublimation, the eye determines what is chosen by the psyche for a “meal.” Here, the idea of sublimation takes a negative turn. For if the collective is truly peering through an eye that prefers the technological, the linear, the modern, then the devil that we know is solidly with us as ancient myth is explored through a 21st century perspective, as the archetypal is beheld, knowingly or not, through a modern lens. By studying ancient myths, their material becomes microbial instead of numinous. It is ironic that in an attempt to extract the hidden meanings and nuances of the lost myths one gradually distances oneself from their inherent power. The more we want to know, the less we are able to know.

Ironically, as an unconscious scientist, one may still manage to find a way to gravitate towards the mythic. The eye seems to fall for the same alchemical trick as the stomach. The mask of Tutankhamun is studied with the same rationale as the magic bullet that struck Kennedy. Yet it is from the magic bullet that the conspiracy theory arises. For it is from the intricate, objectifying analysis that the material is again pulled apart to allow for collective projections to cling to the shredded remains.

Once again, there arises an alchemical state and an inherent projective surface gathers about the details by virtue of the fact that it is being beheld. While this idea of the projective surface does not point to a specific alchemical process, it suggests that an alchemical process of one kind or another is bound to occur within an object or group of objects. The shadowy figures that populate the grassy knoll are a fine example. These figures gain additional psychic significance due to the fact that these are correctly positioned shadows, in full line of sight of the president, free of obstructions. These are figures that appear, in a single breath, to contain both the elements of science and of mystery. The scientistic language presented by Belzer (1999) not only adds to the palatability of the conspiracy theory, but also to its projective quality.

Reptoids

The mysterious question of why one might choose one thing, one person, one element, or one news clipping to project upon and not another is indicative of the open-ended nature of projection. While mystery has its place, it seems apropos to cast a net broadly in an attempt to compare and contrast this question of projection on as many levels as possible. Towards this end, I now introduce one of the more obscure conspiracy theories I have come across. The information presented here could only be obtained electronically. In addition, the website in question is rather rough-shod in appearance, as is often the case when one circumnavigates fringe subject matters involving the conspiracy theory. Author and conspiracy enthusiast John Rhodes (2008) has introduced the idea that humanoid reptiles, or reptoids, live in caverns beneath the Earth’s surface and use their shape shifting abilities to walk among us. Rhodes has further contended that these beings are in fact running pieces of the government, and that such figures as Dick Cheney and George Bush are most likely members of the reptoid species. Additionally, these beings have been with us for quite some time and have influenced a large part of our history, including our biological evolution.

I pick this subject for numerous reasons, not the least of which includes its sheer obscurity. However, I am primarily examining this material because of its intimate relationship with the media and the light it sheds on the subject of the phenomena of projection in the modern world. Not only did Rhodes’ reptoid hypothesis (as he terms it) find its inception on the Internet, but it largely relies on the media for support of its ideas. What better place to examine a modern cultural disconnection from myth than in the glimmerings of the Internet.

In addition, as the culture has experienced a disconnection from myth, so too has there occurred a disconnection from alchemy. Since the periodic table has stripped the elements of their mysterious aura, I see no reason why the modern day alchemist would not shift focus towards the more baffling events encountered in the media. According to Von Franz (1980), the alchemists, “Believed that they were studying the unknown phenomena of matter . . . and they just observed what came up and interpreted that somehow, but without any specific plan” (p. 21). This is more or less what Rhodes is doing. He is approaching the media as though it were an unknown series of phenomena, a mysterious series of happenings that espouse an order, but actually contain a deeper structure.

In his writings, Rhodes (2008) made numerous references to reptoids making appearances on the Discovery Channel, Nova, The Learning Channel, and even entirely fictional shows such as Star Trek. Rhodes stated, “One can simply watch television, go to the cinema or read children’s literature in order to ‘read between the lines’ and recognize the enshrouded messages within the context of the script’s plot line.”

Von Franz (1980) stated that even a “particle is an archetypal image. Energy is also an archetypal image, an intuitive concept with an archetypal background” (p. 35). But why focus on one particle and not another, why one television show and not another? The central theme of most conspiracy theories appears to be the establishment of a worldview. The ability for an object to be projected upon by conspiracy theorists may depend on its ability to be shaped into this larger context. Von Franz referred to the antiquated concept of ether as a “Kind of cosmic air-like pneuma in the cosmos in which light existed” (p. 33). Von Franz further recalled:

One day when a physicist at a congress proved that the theory of ether was quite unnecessary, an old man with a white beard got up and with a quavering voice said: “If ether does not exist, then everything is gone!” This old man had unconsciously projected the idea of God onto ether. (p. 33)

Here, the ideas of a worldview and of God are shown to be nearly synonymous. That is, the overarching idea or reason for life and existence is demonstrated as an essential part of the human experience and the human mind. It is no wonder then that so many reach for the conspiracy theory to help establish a world view, a structure within which they can exist in peace. Von Franz also discussed Einstein’s belief that his discoveries were a miracle. How else could his theories, Von Franz posited, which began and ended on blank paper, so closely predict the behavior of actual physical matter? Von Franz pointed out that just as the alchemists projected the unconscious onto the elements, so too did Einstein project his unconscious onto the page (Von Franz, 1980). This chimes a hopeful note for the conspiracy theory. I see no reason why the unconscious contents projected onto such entities as our government or the media should not prove useful to western civilization in some fashion.

Another example of this “utility” lies in the mechanism by which the mythic milieu may be accessed through the extroverted realm. It begins with Rhode’s (2008) recognition that the symbol of the serpent is of paramount importance to western civilization. This idea, of course, did not begin with Rhodes. Jung (1961/1989) pointed out that the serpent in Genesis is symbolic of a heightening of consciousness. As Eve bites the apple, her consciousness is raised and she shares this consciousness with Adam. The union that results between Adam and Eve is symbolic of wholeness. In this sense, the snake is a symbol of wholeness, or a painful elevation of consciousness that gives rise to wholeness. Also, Von Franz (1980) demonstrated how the symbol of the snake biting its tail, the Ouroboros, represented wholeness and a union of opposites. Here, Rhodes (2008) attributed Jung’s preoccupation with the serpent to his intuitive understanding that man not only descended from reptoids, but also to the symbolic influence these beings have had over our history and subsequently, western symbology:

Why is it that this wondrous creature came to play such a powerful role in human psychology and spirituality? Why did Carl Jung, Moses, the Freemasons, the Baptists and so many other groups of people throughout history look upon the image of a serpent and, through handling the image without fear, represented it as a symbol of our unquestioned love for God and our divine spirituality? Why do dreams of snakes, dragons, lizards or other reptilian animals seem so real and provocative at times? The answer to these questions may be found in the fact that, according to evolutionary science, reptiles were at the root of a genetic matrix from which all land vertebrate life evolved. Millions of years of biological divergence from the trunk of the vertebrate “Tree of Life” resulted in a world full of back boned animals that, despite their dissimilar outward appearance, share the same parental lineage — an encoded past locked in their DNA. A code which we humans share with other land vertebrate life forms.

Rhodes’ (2008) serpent projection does not end with a mere archetype. While he reveres Jung, he also purports to know the secret behind Jung’s deep knowledge. In a sense, Rhodes has come to know what Jung knew, but now he knows it better. He not only grants himself Jung’s discerning eye, but also rises above him to observe the concrete significance of the serpent. With such authority in hand, Rhodes appears to “know” the serpent on many levels, both symbolically and literally. He is filled with it, overcome with it. Rhodes suffers from inflation. With his internal and the external world collapsed, Rhodes has become the center of his own universe.

Yet herein lies an alchemical mechanism. As the physical births the spiritual, the utility of the conspiracy theory and the projective qualities surrounding it can be observed. Can it be said that Rhodes is close enough to the serpent archetype to absorb its archetypal meaning and also be unconsciously moved by it? Why should Rhodes not be archetypally aided in his study of shape shifting aliens? At the source of his projection lies a map of his own psyche and perhaps the collective psyche. If Rhodes aligns himself with Jung, why seek to remove his sense of self-confidence? What if such an identification is an unconscious compensation for a severe inferiority complex? In a strange way, Jung is helping Rhodes stand on his own two feet. No wonder the old man from Von Franz’s story shook with fear as his reality was stripped away, as the fibers that tethered him to a deeper knowing were ruthlessly cut. Within these stories, whether they are factual or not, lies a deeper truth that cannot be ignored.

Truth by the Numbers

Let us return to the previous question: Why does western culture accept some theories more than others? Why is projection lent to the north instead of the south? Often a collective decision is made by what is collectively witnessed. The conspiracy theory in its multifaceted bits and pieces of strung together information resolve a collective insecurity. We have become so distanced from the archetypal that we rely on each other for a deeper knowing: everyone sees it; therefore, it must be true. As Belzer noted (1999), “The president of the United States was killed by rifle fire while riding in an open car in broad daylight. It was an event that was witnessed by hundreds but investigated by a panel of seven, none of whom were near Dallas that day” (p. 10). In order for a story to be “true,” it must be understood by many to be so. Fragmented though it may be, the information must be of a scattered, prolific, and extroverted nature. In this sense, sheer numbers in the physical world outweigh the validity of depth of thought in the inner world. In a piecing-together culture the gathering of disparate information that has been “seen by everyone” is relied upon to create a cohesive story, and possibly a myth.

This need for the Manyness is confounding. The JFK story has taken on so much that it seems to be true just by virtue of the fact that the story is being retold and retold. “Interconnected and reinforcing, the message grows more credible through repetition. The result is a seamless web of subversion that is suspended from history” (Goldberg, 2004, p. 255). The conspiracy theory perfectly fits this model. With its measurable parts, datable events and countable evidence, it passes the test of testability. In the extroverted age, if a theory cannot appear on paper and be held up against public scrutiny, it is roundly deemed to be worthless. What good is information that cannot be proved or disproved? The notion of Manyness also includes the idea of sheer accumulation. Like wealth, meaning is measured by how much of it is gathered. The extroverted notion of accumulation certainly applies to the conspiracy theory that is compiled of minutiae of hard, disparate facts.

It is also incredible that the function of utilizing the Many takes precedence over time. As long as a multitude of information may be dumped into a timeline, that timeline is deemed important. On the other hand, a certain amount of story fragmentation is needed before a tale may make its way into the mythic milieu. Story fragmentation refers to breaks in the narrative flow marked by questionable numbers, lost and found documents, and covert but unverified operations. In this day and age no story is worth its salt without untied ends and unexplained events. A mountain of the measurable, the implausible, the self-contradictory, and the flat out impossible are required to make the cut.

Rhodes’ (2008) theories are stymied by these factors. His ideas read like fairy tales, the telling of underground caverns beneath Los Angeles. Others, such as the story of our genetic roots, have a biblical quality to them. There is a fictional cohesion to Rhodes’ ideas. Each tale seamlessly combines with the next in an overarching, fantastical account of human history. There simply are not enough separate, discernable, disconnected parts to breathe life into his ideas. His stories are simply too brilliant. In the deepest irony possible, a high level of story fragmentation is needed before the collective will descend into a theory to unconsciously achieve wholeness.

Rejection and Omission

The old myths are not rejected; they are forgotten. There is a difference between throwing away an old coat and forgetting it hangs in your closet. There is a difference between cutting off an old friend and losing his or her phone number. One implies intentionality and consciousness, a desire to rid oneself of a thing that caused distress in one form or another; the other shows a thing being passed quietly over. One shows the recognition of meaning; the other does not.

Like the atheist who reverently denies the existence of God, denial brings the conspiracy theory to life and furthers its darkened project. To wrestle with an opponent is to validate his existence, to lend agency and legitimacy to his very being. To answer a question is to grant legitimacy to the philosophical model upon which it is built. By rejecting, many find acceptance, and by accepting circulation and healing is brought to a collective wounded by neglect.

Does this mean it may be necessary for conspiracy theories to remain as shadow material? How else would they gain such incredible power? If all conspiracy theories suddenly achieved world-wide acceptance, I am certain they would lose their numinous allure. Though the existence of shadows surrounding Kennedy might finally be “proven” I do not think public interest in their existence would endure. In a sense, these shadows would no longer reside in the land of darkness but vanish in the piercing light of day. Rejection lends power to reason and logic, two ideas that hold the mysterious at a safe distance. Still, it is this distance that paradoxically allows for a healthy, unconscious projection of the numinous. The collective projects upon them because it can, because it must, because whether a conscious process or not through the dust and detritus, the collective works with what it has and furthers the journey towards an Ithaca. Like the Trickster who operates coyly under the cover of darkness, the path of rejection mysteriously broadens into a road to salvation.

Finally, omission is an important part of the equation. Omission is a common tool for the extrovert, who often focuses on that which has been left out or omitted. An example of this is Belzer’s (1999) statement: “Independent researchers have discovered compelling evidence that the Zapruder Film has undergone significant doctoring. Frames have been removed, altered, and made into composites” (p. 18). The so-called omitted frames leave room for a projected idea. The empty spaces allow us to fill the gaps with our own meanings. Basham (2005) put it more succinctly: “Conspiracy theory confronts us with a real gap between what we think we know and the reasons we rest on. At its best, conspiracy theory exploits this gap brilliantly” (p. 275).

From a depth perspective, the gap or omission holds great meaning. This is another way for the mystery to sneak in, to exist between the cracks, so to speak. Personalized meaning is then injected into the separated facts each injection specially suited to one individual psyche or another, each explaining the event in a way best suited to the psychological needs of the moment. The more questions are raised, the more the objective truth becomes muddied. The sheer volume of questions brought by conspiracy theorists regarding the JFK assassination is bound to make anyone think twice before accepting the Warren Commissions version of events (Belzer, 1999). This phenomenon alone creates room for mystery, gaps and space for the numinous to enter and do its work. In addition, Hyde (1998) discussed the Trickster’s fondness for slipping in at the joint, for finding the spaces within an otherwise cohesive structure. In every respect possible, it appears that the physical world is also set up for the internal world to find ways to “sneak in” and create new meaning.

The gap also implies a certain degree of the unknown, the piece of evidence that has been left out. Like a single piece missing from a puzzle, our eye inevitably falls on the empty, clover shaped space. Why is it that the unknown captures our interest? “Depth psychologists infer the existence of the invisible unconscious by seeing its visible effects in dreams, symptoms and psychotherapy” (Coppin & Nelson, 2005, p. 44). On a practical level, the invisible is a useful tool, which takes into account what one cannot see, which measures negative space. The invisible has a quality that supersedes the visible in terms of meaning or perceived meaning. “‘Who’s here’ and ‘What am I not aware of?’ are classic depth psychological questions. In other words, the omnipresent unconscious backdrop that adds layers of depth and mystery to any phenomenon enlivens the process of inquiry” (Coppin & Nelson, 2005, p. 20). In addition, there is a simple thrill left behind within the gaps in our knowledge. For example, with regard to Belzer’s (1999) observation of doctored footage, one might ask: What is contained in the missing pieces of footage? How much more is there to know? What buried treasures lay unearthed? One may imagine the thrill of searching out ancient shipwrecks, of diving down and bringing up gold and silver coins. In this sense, the invisible leads us to water, the vast ocean that hides and contains so much of life and movement. “Water has to do with knowledge extracted from the unconscious” (Von Franz, 1980, p. 101). Then again, maybe it is not the treasure at the bottom of the Pacific that is sought, but the water itself. The search for meaning in the physical world is the oldest story in the world. For millennia, humankind has walked the earth with divining rods, our eyes closed and heart beating, waiting for the wood to come alive in our hands.

CHAPTER IV
APPROACHING THE ABYSS

When I die, shall I not be like unto Enkido?

Sorrow has entered my heart.

I am afraid of death and roam over the desert.

Heidel, 1961, p. 8

While a discussion of animated shadows and missing frames on a piece of film is fascinating, little equals the near religious zeal that permeates one overcome with a conspiracy theory. What can be attributed to this amplified attitude? While the previous chapter examined how an inflated psychic state lays fertile ground for the growth of collective projections, this chapter will focus on the energy or the life force that drives that projection forward. In less precise but clearer terms, what is the fuel that drives the collective pell-mell into the realm of the conspiracy theory? The heated debates swirling around the tragedy of 9/11 reflect the collective’s deep-seated fear of abandonment. But abandonment from what?

The management of the internal world, as pointed out by Richard Wilhelm (1967/1990), has been long neglected. With the disaster of 9/11, we unconsciously revisit our disconnection from our own myth. Within this disconnection lies a deep sense of abandonment. To be without myth is to harbor a chaotic inner world. I see a place of freezing wind, loneliness, and emptiness. As we sit before our television screens and repeatedly witness the descending maelstrom of white dust, we come to a deeper place. In those awful moments we stand alone against a darkness that exists within each of us.[3]

Wounding and Abandonment

In the Gilgamesh epic (Heidel, 1961), Gilgamesh, stricken with grief after the death of his companion, aimlessly roams the desert, lamenting his fate. At the root of Enkido’s death is loneliness and so too it must be with Gilgamesh. Any threat to survival contains the promise of abandonment. It is my personal belief that a psychic wound is caused by an inescapable, unending reminder of such a promise. With death we face not only the loss of our life, but also the loss of the companions we have had in our lives.

I wonder if fear of abandonment would be as prevalent amidst a culture more engaged with its myths? Such an engagement with a myth, such as the epic of Gilgamesh, in which the ideas of death and abandonment are connected at the hip, may improve a civilization’s chances of bearing their weight. In an extroverted, self-centered culture, death is merely an ending, a tomb. There can be no descent to such depths without the understanding that there are things far worse than death. The attack on the trade towers resonates on levels too deep and too terrible to behold. It is ironic that the Gilgamesh myth (Heidel, 1963) could be used to so aptly to describe the very problem its absence has caused. Abandonment means disconnection from the collective, from Self, and from God. An unconscious compensation for such a disconnection and need for a modern myth is engendered by a desperate bid for control.

Belzer’s (1999) frantic description of the country’s pulse after the JFK assassination is telling: “The whole country is in shock. First because the president’s head has been exploded, and second because the guy who supposedly did it is assassinated on so-called “live” television. NO ONE IS SAFE! NO ONE!” (p. 6). I wonder if this statement is an accurate representation of the feelings many Americans experienced post-9/11? But from what do these Americans feel threatened? From annihilation? Can the death of one man, or the collapse of two buildings truly represent a credible threat against the existence of a nation 250 million strong?

On the day in question, I recall sitting on my bedroom floor, wondering who was going to take care of me. I had the visceral sense that my parents, just 15 miles away, had forgotten I existed and were out fending for themselves. I knew that soon I would walk out into the street and I would have to fend for myself. I was 24 years old and I felt as though I were a child. The panic that remained after the attacks of 9/11 was palpable, as though God himself had stepped out of the room.

For Odysseus, the death of his companions and his mother seem incidental, rather it is the sense of loneliness and wandering that are far more poignant in the story. Even Odysseus’ dog drops dead of old age only after his master returns. Here, the desire for closeness supersedes death, as though death is a place of comfort, a place his faithful pet cannot endure without finding closeness again with his long lost master. The disaster of 9/11 resonated with an inner wound, a feeling of disconnection with the deeper Self. On this theme, Edinger (1995) spoke of Captain Ahab’s scar that is visible from head to toe:

Such a scar would in effect separate his right side from his left. Since right and left symbolize the conscious from the unconscious aspects of the psyche respectively, the implication would be that Ahab has an innate personality defect which tends to dissociate consciousness from the unconscious — his madness, of course, also demonstrates it. (p. 58)

Is it fair to say that Ahab’s wound could be healed by a deeper collective understanding? Edinger stated that, “The source of both the hurt and the healing is the same, the transpersonal psyche” (p. 56). Ahab seeks the whale, the source of his torment and his wound. He moves towards healing unconsciously, doggedly searching for the white whale that crippled him. Still, he appears unaware of what he may truly need. Ahab is separated from his men, ever wandering the deck of the ship at night, disconnected from human contact and from the collective (Edinger). Ahab has been driven mad by his wound and cannot behold himself or his internal suffering. His attempts at controlling his inner demons through extroverted means end in his own death. Ahab meets his end harpooned and tethered to the very whale that he sought. Like Ahab, we quickly and foolishly extend outward to look within, while Odysseus takes his time coming home. Even his wife, who may be viewed as the core of Odysseus’ home, holds up a cautionary hand. She will not accept him as her husband and bedmate until Odysseus reveals something intimate about himself: the origin of his bed that he has made from a live olive tree (Homer, trans. 1996). In other words, Odysseus’ journey is a slow and beautiful trip inward, a nekia of the deepest order.

Mastery

An outwardly directed need for control manifests itself in the idea of Mastery. One example of this occurs when one substitutes lay knowledge and injects “common sense” into events in order to reclaim or rewrite the reason behind the event. Goldberg (2004) cited one 9/11 theorist who espoused that the attacks had to be an inside governmental job, since the Pentagon would never have allowed a missile to strike it: “Curiously, he offers no evidence of the existence of a Pentagon missile defense” (p. 252). Writer Phil Mole (2006) offered another example: “The conspiracy theorists assume that damage sustained by WTC-7 during the attack was not sufficient to trigger its collapse” (p. 34). This, of course, is not true. According to Mole, the damage and subsequent fire was quite extensive. Still, from an outside perspective, the collapse of World Trade Center Seven (WTC-7) is somewhat perplexing: If the plane did not strike the building, how did it come down? Like Belzer’s (1999) box containing the rifle, the opportunity for projection is rife here. However, the motivation behind the projection is fueled by a desire to lay claim to the situation.

Jung (1964) noted of the industrial age worker, “No matter how conscientiously he worked, he could still fall victim at any moment to economic changes that were utterly beyond his control. And there was nothing else for him to rely on” (p. 222). The sheer agitation produced in a human being when one’s world is crumbling around one cannot be overstated. My own feelings of loss and emptiness surrounding the events of 9/11 imbued me with an innate desire to put back in place the thing that was suddenly ripped from me. Like the old man at the congress, I felt as though everything was gone. Surely the old man was forced to re-evaluate his understanding of reality. How could the old man have faired better?

If one watches the reactions of the narrators of Loose Change, (Democracy Now, 2006) a popular documentary film outlining many of the popular 9/11 conspiracy theories, one catches a glimpse of religious fervor. In an online interview conducted by Democracy Now (2006), the narrators vehemently attacked the editors of Popular Mechanics, one even placing his hand on the back of the other to calm him down. These men were shaken and possessed, attacking Popular Mechanics as “yellow journalism.” The narrators each exhibited eye rolling, wild hand gestures, and voracious shouting. One is made to feel as though the editors are painted as heretics and subject to fiery damnation. I was reminded again and again of the congress in which the existence of ether was disproven. And while I cannot prove that these men are projecting their inner contents onto the events of 9/11, I feel that I am witness to a sense of security and nourishment that is obtained as they scramble through one sordid detail after another, as though ravished for glimmerings of meaning.

Consider the public anxiety caused by intelligence failures cited by Goldberg (2004), or Basham’s (2001) description of explanatory completeness, or even Irvine and Beattie’s (1998) discussion on co-opting information from higher institutional powers. Each one of these articles describes a society shaken to the core as it attempts to wrap catastrophic events with some kind of psychologically appealing design. But why should it? Why is it so important to make a higher sense of order out of something so clearly out of our control? “Psychologists might add that the sheer randomness of modern life is so distressing that conspiracy theories offer a weirdly reassuring ‘master narrative’ no longer provided by religion” (Case, 2005, p. 42). Not only would the narrators of Loose Change be able to create a master narrative, but one that involves a god or main character. In this case, the main character would be the United States government.

If Von Franz’s (1980) [a4] old man can project his sense of God onto ether, I do not think it a leap of reasoning to assume that the collective has projected its sense of God onto the government. The attacks of 9/11 ruthlessly tore away a veneer of projection and revealed a longing for Ithaca, a futile exodus from the Self into which so many have been unconsciously conscripted. Suddenly the United States became a nation consumed with panic, a people forced to bare the weight of its darkest projections, to stare with frozen, abject terror onto the unknown. Yet a malevolent god is certainly better than no god at all; we do not mean to place blame but to know the source of suffering. Like Job pointing a broken, bruised finger towards heaven, the conspiracy theory allows us to identify our tormentor and place ourselves within His kingdom.

Mastery of the narrative of 9/11 is certainly not limited to the conspiracy theorists. The movement against the 9/11 conspiracy theories is almost as baffling as the theories themselves. It is as though there exist two competing religious quests, both jockeying for mastery of the situation. While the JFK controversy is still very much with us, I am personally surprised by the rate at which the theories surrounding 9/11 have vanished from the media. Reporter John Ray (2008) stated that a well known author and proponent of many 9/11 conspiracy theories, “Continues to lecture, but to shrunken audiences, and this year’s big 9/11 rally looks to be set in Ottawa, not New York City — evidently due to lack of interest” (p. 1). In addition, the accuracy and diligence with which articles attack the 9/11 conspiracy theories is nothing short of ferocious. According to Mole (2006) the 9/11 conspiracy theorists posit that the World Trade Center had all the hallmarks of a controlled demolition. Mole retorted:

It was not a controlled demolition, the buildings fall at an angle, fires did start in building seven, though steel doesn’t melt it does weaken by as much as 50% at 1000 degrees Fahrenheit, and the pools of molten metal were pools of aluminum from the planes. Just a little informed investigating debunks just about any 9/11 theory. (p. 31)

This kind of writing goes on for pages, smashing one 9/11 conspiracy theory after another: Why did building 7 of the World Trade Center collapse if it was not hit by a plane? Surely it was demolished intentionally. Why was no debris found at the Pentagon? Surely it was struck by a missile. Delving into the particulars of how and why these ideas do not stand up is not germane to this discussion. At issue here is the motivation behind the debunking. “9/11 was a powerful reminder of how precious and fragile human life and liberty are — the greatest possible rebuke to those who would live in service to delusions” (Mole, 2006, p. 42). Although this excerpt does not state it directly, I feel that this vigorous backlash against such theories is a bid for consciousness.

If 9/11 reminds us of our disassociated state from our unconscious, perhaps grappling with the disaster directly yields the greatest form of healing. To accuse the U.S. government of atomizing nearly 3000 of its own people is an attack on sanity and a denial of the ultimate reality that 9/11 presents us with: that we live in a vulnerable, unknowable world, and that we are disconnected from the Self.

Perhaps it is appropriate to animate the shadows of the grassy knoll. For if an inflated state allows for a numinous experience, why not indulge in the 9/11 conspiracy theories? If the task is to integrate the Self and the ego, how else may one succeed than by basking in the mystery in the only way western civilization appears collectively capable? Here is another “use” for the conspiracy theory. For if the job of myth is to create a liminal state between the conscious and unconscious, is it not the duty of the collective to follow through? Perhaps the conspiracy theory is a best attempt at animating the dark forces at work within us. To negotiate the shadow is to begin to understand the shadow and bear its terrible weight. In order to rein in the extroverted chaos of the modern world catastrophic events present as psychological opportunities. In the wake of the attack, the world suddenly glows with meaning, a world where towers collapse for a reason and God is firmly in control.

Consider the fact that, with conspiracy theories[a5] , many tend to focus on forces working within the U.S. Mole (2006) cited numerous bombings of U.S. embassies, the initial bomb attempt of the World Trade Center, and the attack on the U.S.S. Cole, to name a few. Why is it so inconceivable to so many that the attacks could have originated outside the U.S.? And if not in the Middle East, then why not elsewhere? There are a thousand enemies could have perpetrated the attacks of 9/11 , yet so many have chosen to focus on some dark force coming from within the United States. . I would refer the reader again to the idea of circulation. To bring blood and energy to a wound is to promote healing. Without a myth a civilization is without internal cohesion. We are not only abandoned by God, but also abandoned by ourselves. Such self-directed energy indicates an unconscious need for integration and deep connection.

Are the conspiracy theorists of 9/11 in fact reinstating the internal structures that were suddenly torn down? Edinger (1984) stated that, “Man’s task is to become conscious of the unconscious” (p. 16). My question, then, is this: How can one become a proponent of consciousness? I feel that both sides are making a fundamental mistake. Like Ahab, the wounded drive pell-mell towards healing, the whale forever in their midst. It appears that the creation of the conspiracy theory and the quashing of it are both expressions of this, one frantically trying to outdo the other in an unconscious bid for wholeness. Ultimately, both sides are unable to grapple with the opposites, see a larger picture, manage shades of gray, or truly contemplate the unknown. A desire for control supersedes higher functions as a fear of the abyss is cashed in for a shallow knowing.

While Odysseus naturally searches for home, Ahab doggedly pursues the white whale. Although both are at sea, one man is healthy in his quest for wholeness and the other is not. These opposites represent the varying positions our collective takes in its efforts to rediscover myth and to heal itself. Home is a natural and inward nesting and healing place of the human psyche, while the white whale indicates an outward direction, an externalization, and a projection of healing. One man knows what he needs, the other thinks he does. The ideas of wounding and control are forces that move us in healthy and unhealthy directions. Will society succumb to inner confusion? How many of us will finish as corpses lashed to the white whale rather than coming home to an olive tree bed?

I believe the answer lies in examining the collective’s current progress in myth-making. If the conspiracy theory is indeed part of the creation of a modern myth, where is the water mark which indicates that the river god of Jung’s primitive man has moved toward a modern nationalized Odysseus myth? Has Charon succeeded in bringing the old myths across the river, or is the collective adrift in the mythic milieu? The next section will attempt to map such processes within the collective the steps that have or have not taken towards knowing a new myth.

The Temple

I do not recall the date, but one night I awoke to a faint, anxious-sounding buzz. I must have left the radio on. My regularly scheduled program had ended. A hasty, high-pitched voice spoke earnestly of “full disclosure” and “government operations.” It was a panel discussion concerning Barack Obama’s introduction into the secret UFO files long kept by the government. The files concerned coveted briefs regarding the supposed UFO crash landing at Roswell and presidential liaisons with a bug-eyed alien race known as “the Greys.” The sense of mystery and awe was palpable in the air, and so was the newness of the idea, the sense that I was part of a select few let in on a dark, terrible secret. For a moment, I felt that amidst the facts and dates tumbling out of the mouths of the nervous voices, I was saturated with the numinous.

As I review the video of the interview of the narrators of Loose Change (Democracy Now, 2006), I encounter the fanatical look of those who know; two men conscripted into a cult of secret knowledge and keepers of a sacred light. While these men are infused with a sense of mystery, they lack consciousness. They do not appear to know why they take the positions they do, or what their motivations are behind their desire to seek out this elusive animal called, the Truth. What is the final step that western civilization may take in order to bring this encounter with the numinous to the level of a nationalized myth? ? Certainly the energy of the conspiracy theory alone is not enough. Perhaps our grandchildren will sit around the fire as old men and women and tell of the towers of Babel that fell in New York City. As outrageous as that sounds, the spirit of this idea is worth considering.

Dean (1998) stated, “Roswell may be a celebration of conspiracy thinking, a festival recreating that paranoia, justified or not, which has been central to American political histories” (p. 191). Surely the conspiracy theorists congregate for more reasons than to share their ideas about government and space. Perhaps they gather to process their feelings and personal transformations that may have occurred as a result of being immersed in the conspiracy theory. What story are they trying to tell? What is trying to be brought forth? The conspiracy theory may lead one to a place of image, celebration, and story rather than to a pulpit where blame is assigned and governmental powers are rebuked. The conspiracy theory as a psychosocial structure needs to be opened to brand new ideas. A forum could be created to further this process. While I do not see the conspiracy theory as necessarily relying on the campfire for its transformation, I do see within it a symbolic kernel of truth. Edinger (1984) wrote:

According to Gnostic myth, the cosmos (including man) was created in order to collect and retrieve the scattered particles of light which had been lost in the beginning. Evidently God needs the human ego to transmit consciousness to Him. (p. 56)

The light of modern consciousness has been scattered. As theorists scramble for information, I am reminded of the stained glass and the colored shadows on the cathedral wall. While the glass is solid, the light is not. It is the sun, the light of consciousness that flows through glass and lends glass its numinous glow. As the conspiracy theorist gathers information consciousness can coalesce, A cathedral gives form to relationship and knowledge, it allows for objectification of this process and the knowing of an invisible, wholly internal process. It is my hope that the conspiracy theorist could construct a forum that would give recognition and celebration to such a process.

The Christian church provides a fine example. An internal understanding of Christ may be projected upon the cross, or felt during a hymn. An objectification of our inner world is therefore manifested in the figure of Christ. In a sense one transforms the thing upon which one projects. Like the alchemists, matter itself transforms into psychic energy. Is this an effort to transform government in the literal, or the symbolic sense, or both? Perhaps the role of the conspiracy is to infuse government, or anything it can, with the numinous.

The utility of the conspiracy theory could be even more specific. Perhaps the “job” of conspiratorial thinking is to root out the shadow Perhaps it’s purpose is to locate the darkness within government and transform it into an entity worthy of a benevolent projection , and finally into a healing myth. The U.S. Constitution itself, which is regarded in a similar way to a biblical text, functions at the center of this nation and stresses individuation. The semi-circular construction of the senate floor places the president in the middle as a kind of god or Self. The U-shape suggests a missing piece, a mandala that cannot be relied upon fully until its numinous aspect is realized and the circle is closed. It is an incomplete temple that requires the external arrangement of its members to fulfill the expression of an internal process.

Jung (1961/1969) stated that the task of human kind was “to become conscious of the contents that press upward from the unconscious (p. 326). To build a temple is to worship the source of our ideas, to recognize that one’s journey is entirely internal and that the sacred light we seek is Gnostic in origin. Edinger (1984) posited:

All psychic contents have substance, so to speak, if they are experienced as objectively real. What then distinguishes the psychic substance of consciousness? Consciousness is psychic substance connected to an ego. Or, more precisely, psychic contents which are potential entities become actualized and substantial when they make connection with an ego, i.e., when they enter an individual’s conscious awareness and become an accepted item of that individual’s personal responsibility. (p. 17)

If consciousness is a substance, then the construction of a temple must involve the ego. That is, the conscious self, the I, must have a way of actively participating in the energy the Self has to offer, if integration is to occur. Therefore, the construction of a temple could take any number of forms, so long as it serves this purpose. In short, the ego must have a place to worship the Self, to bring full recognition to the importance of the Self and the Self’s influence upon the ego.
Like the temple, the myth is a construct stemming from the needs of the unconscious, a concrete but paradoxically liminal space between the conscious and the unconscious realms. The difference is that myths are born from within the culture while temples are consciously built. I feel that the construction of a temple (in the sense as I have outlined here) would improve the psychic health of the culture, to the extent that myths would be born.
Such a temple could take many forms, from the concrete to the ritualistic. What is most important is enabling us to look at systemic beliefs and recognize their hidden contents. For the conspiracy theorist to gaze within and behold his or her ideas in a new light is to transform those ideas into a healing element. Just as the extroverted expression of alchemy must have done wonders for the inner contents of the alchemist, so too has the church aided the Christian, and the Mosque, the Muslim. The conscious creation of a space, psychological or concrete, where the numinous and the factual may have dialogue, where the Self and the ego may be negotiated, is necessary before transformation and integration can occur.

I would like to move from the construction of the temple to the construction of myth itself. I do not mean to call attention to such particulars regarding narrative and character. I do not mean to literally construct an actual story. I am interested rather in the larger picture. From what source would the myth arise? Who would tell it and how would it be propagated throughout our culture? I subscribe to Jung’s (1961/1989) idea of the personal myth. For as the alchemist must have engaged deeply with his own process, I see no reason why a myth could not take on a similar dialectic within the individual. Jung (1961/1969) described a dream, which he maintained was the beginnings of his personal myth:

The various quarters of the city were arranged radically around the square. In the center was a round pool, and in the middle of it a small island. While everything round about was obscured by rain, fog, smoke, and dimly lit darkness, the little island blazed with sunlight. On it stood a single tree, a magnolia, in a shower of reddish blossoms. It was as though the tree stood in the sunlight and were at the same time the source of light. . . . One could not go beyond the center. The center is the goal, and everything is directed toward that center. Through this dream I understood that the self is the principal and archetype of orientation and meaning. Therein lies its healing function. For me, this insight signified an approach to the center and therefore to the goal. Out of it emerged a first inkling of my personal myth. (pp. 198–199)

The mandala-like arrangement of Jung’s dream is no coincidence. Is it a matter of chance that the city, which is a symbol of the collective, surrounds the island and the water, which is a symbol of the unconscious? Here, the collective is illuminated by the fruit of the unconscious. Edinger (1984) stated that, “The purpose of human life is the creation of consciousness” (p. 17). Here, a temple is built within the soul, but only after a lifetime of inner exploration by Jung. If knowing the Self is the beginning of the personal myth, I would posit that consciousness is the first sign of the personal myth’s emergence. As one approaches the center of the inner mandala, so too does one approach self-knowledge, and a deep connection with the collective unconscious as well. The conspiracy theorist looks outward to confront the unconscious. I wonder if the conspiracy theorist need only approach the proposed temple, constructed by others, to finally behold an inner world. Paradoxically, the construction of such a temple may only begin with the simple act of looking inward. While the alchemist worked with concrete substances, there was also the recognition that these substances were reflective of something far deeper. I cannot say where western civilization lies exactly in the process of creating a new myth, but if it is to succeed, it is this process alone of which conspiracy theorists and others like them must become aware.

CHAPTER V
CONCLUSION

If you bring forth what is within you, what is within you will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth, will destroy you.

Pagels, 2003, p. 230

The conspiracy theory is ultimately a collective movement resulting from a deficit within the culture, a hollow left behind by the absence of myth. The resulting fragmentation causes a desperate need for inner healing, a healing which is often sought through submersion into the world of the conspiracy theory. It is through these stories that prying eyes obtain glimpses of a world beyond their own, a world where the mythic may saturate life and hopefully bring wholeness. Factual or not, conspiracy theories are tales ultimately woven from Jung’s (1961/1989) alchemical prima materia and may one day be counted among the vast lexicon of the archetypal language.

In writing this paper, I have not discovered answers, but rather observed the workings of previously unexplored collective unconscious processes. A bid for integration and connection through finding myth is a far more complex and unexpected phenomena than I had previously realized. The societal implications are of course myriad. I try to imagine the shape and appearance of Western culture with a new myth. What problems would vanish and what new difficulties would arise? Is this civilization creating the myth successfully or drowning in its own projections?

Until now, these pages have looked forward to the birth of myth; they have been a going towards: the conspiracy theory as a kind of psychic alarm clock — predictor of a new apocalypse, either literal or psychological. Such ideas can only lead in one direction and are not psychologically or philosophically productive. Edinger (1995) grappled with the paradox of whether or not dreams were indicative of a psychological process that had passed, or one that was about to emerge. Such a paradox elucidates the dual nature of the conspiracy theory: Is it descriptive of a current psychological breakdown in the culture or is it foretelling an event? What if these theories are teleological phenomena where the “terribleness” that is to come is working backward to affect the present? Perhaps the governments of tomorrow have already collapsed and western culture is experiencing the first psychological throws of a world overcome with anarchy.

A few months ago, I dreamt of a nuclear war. I have such dreams every few years. They are polished, succinct. In these dreams, clear lines and bright, solid colors replace the fuzzy edges often present in dreams. The steel rivets of a bridge are more defined than any photograph. In this dream, I stood on the Golden Gate. To the right of Angel Island, a cluster of warplanes, half as large as the island itself, hovered in a globe formation. Stealth bombers slowly tilted their massive wings and took off into the sky. I could see the blue fire of their engines. Then, the bombs from another country fell. The light that coursed across the sky and enveloped the city of my birth was real. I saw the houses crumble, the hills sliced from the earth like dough.

Afterwards, I emerged from my hiding place. The Bay Area had been wiped clean; there was nothing but a flatness that extended from horizon to horizon. The vastness of the Pacific Ocean, which normally extended beyond the Golden Gate, now spread in every direction. The Bay Bridge, the Oakland Hills, and the distant hump of Mount Diablo were replaced by calm, endless, open space, but instead of ocean, there were worms, billions of them; small, segmented white worms, writhing for miles around me. Even at the edges of the horizon, which I knew was 100 miles off, I could perceive each one, their tiny heads and tails twisting. Then the worms came for me, all in a regimented line, row after row, trillions of them now, enclosing (Author’s personal dream journal, September, 2008).

I am struck by how the dream sheds light on the hollowness of western culture. That is, once the cities and towns and people — the very tenants of civilization — are scraped away, there is very little left underneath. The shell of concrete and steel, symbolic of an extroverted existence, has little to offer but the foundations upon which it was born. This is the shadow that western society has long avoided: a lack of psychic content and development.

The clarity of the dream is also a testament to its importance, the worms symbolic of a culture reduced to its most primitive beginnings, and of rebirth. As the dream suggests, the collective death of the culture, and myself along with it, will surely be fed upon by the lowest possible form of life. While there may be little in the form of structure beneath the shell of an extroverted society, the contents, though primitive, are still rich. The dream may be indicative of our need to use our psychic material to enrich ourselves, Perhaps the task at hand is to plough under all extroverted notions (conspiratorial and otherwise) so that myth may be grown from more fertile soil.

Or perhaps this dream is not speaking of what will come, or what has come, but of what has always been: that our desire for myth is our desire for depth. For millennia, many have raked the fields of the unknown and preached their discoveries to the masses. To know each other and to know our Self is to unearth roots of knowing, to dig until there is a garden, and an apple, and a first taste of consciousness.

As Odysseus sought home, so too did Gilgamesh seek the secret of eternal life. They are not so different. Ours is a world obsessed with the search, not only for happiness, but also for wholeness, for which ultimately these two mythic figures yearned. Who is to say that the wholeness has not already arrived? Perhaps there is movement towards a myth that already lays in wait. This teleological position ultimately suggests a reversal of thought, that there is no forward or backward, but a totality of thinking and of knowing which leads downward, to the personal and collective unconscious. To connect the within with the without is to be fully present with ourselves and with the collective. If the Self is the new temple, then it is the Self that is our salvation. Our ancient myths connected us with the numinous, but it is the numinous that has always been with us.

Here is a final suggestion: As the ancient Greeks carried the myth of Odysseus, so too must humankind carry a personal myth in its waking moments. Maybe the way is easier than previously thought. The following passage from the Epic of Gilgamesh suggests the simple power of engaging in the present. Gilgamesh, after years of roaming the world in search of eternal life, has finally come to rest in Uruk, his home. He has laid down the burden of his search and has come to accept things as they are. Likewise, let the conspiracy theorists free themselves of incessant inquiries and finally come to rest. The magic of eternal life, the numinous that they seek, has been with them all along.

Gilgamesh, where do you roam?
You will not find the eternal life you seek.
When the gods created mankind
They appointed death for mankind,
Kept eternal life in their own hands.
So, Gilgamesh, let your stomach be full,
Day and night enjoy yourself in every way,
Every day arrange for pleasures.
Day and night, dance and play,
Wear fresh clothes.
Keep your head washed, bathe in water,
Appreciate the child who holds your hand,
Let your wife enjoy herself in your lap. (Heidel, 1963, p. 70)

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Autobiographical Sketch

Benjamin Russack works as a Residential Counselor at a rehabilitation center in Sausalito, CA, where he has yet to become a patient.

[1] Here I do not intend to use the word “primitive” in the pejorative sense. Unless otherwise specified, I mean only to employ the word as Jung intended it — to describe aboriginal and polytheistic cultures as well as cultures that reflected the earliest known vestiges of human-kind.

[2] This word describes thought or theory that aspires towards the scientific rather than exercising the scientific method or at least utilizing scientific data. The scientisitc refers to that which relies on sounding or appearing scientific in order to convey an air of authority.

[3] For this chapter, unless I specify otherwise,, when I refer to the reader and myself as “we” I am referring to individuals who specifically reacted to 911 as an advent of terror and horror. I do not mean to identify all Americans as identifying with this reaction nor to the psychological attributes which I attach to it.