Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology: Navigating Climate Change in the Anthropocene 1138300489, 9780203733394

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Table of Contents
List of illustrations
Permissions
Preface
1. Start here
1.1 Challenges
1.2 Holistic maps
1.3 Arguments
Notes
References
2. The Anthropocene
2.1 Timeline
2.2 Impacts
2.3 Boundaries
Notes
References
3. Gaia and science
3.1 Systems dynamics
3.2 Earth system science
3.3 Gaia theory
3.4 Controversies
Notes
References
4. Psyche and beyond
4.1 Disenchantment
4.2 Analytical psychology
4.3 The psyche
4.4 The psychoid
4.5 The Stages of Life
4.6 Dual–aspect monism
4.7 Nonlocal mind
Note
References
5. A Psyche–Gaia conjecture
5.1 Domains
5.2 Dynamics
5.3 Structures
5.4 Contents
5.5 Pathologies
Notes
References
6. Heroic development
6.1 Success story
6.2 Perfect storm
6.3 Inertia
6.4 Nostalgia
6.5 Hubris
Notes
References
7. Frugal individuation
7.1 Deep ecology
7.2 Related practice
7.3 Reducing emissions
7.4 Learning from nature
7.5 Embracing panentheism
7.6 Re-visioning economics
7.7 Working with systems
Notes
References
8. End here?
8.1 Inspiration
8.2 Transformation
Notes
References
Appendix: Resources
Index

Citation preview

“If we want to understand the causes of our present crisis and our disastrous alienation from nature, both within and without, we could learn much from this brilliantly perceptive and comprehensive book. Connecting a profound understanding of Jung’s concept of Individuation with the Deep Ecology of Arne Næss, Fellows demolishes the dangerous concept of ‘limitless growth’ and shows how we need urgently to abandon our hubristic and exploitive will to power over planetary life. Truly, a clarion call to us all!” – Anne Baring Ph.D., author of The Dream of the Cosmos: A Quest for the Soul “Andrew Fellows is passionate about the urgent need to address the damage we are doing to our planet. His combined professional background in both applied science and depth psychology offers an all too rare perspective that is in the best traditions of Jungian thought—erudite, multi-disciplinary and concerned with the most profound and pressing problems of our time. His book makes valuable food for thought and I share his hope that it will make even better fuel for action. It deserves to be widely read.” – Warren Colman, Jungian psychoanalyst; former editor of Journal of Analytical Psychology; author of Act and Image: The Emergence of Symbolic Imagination “This book written by heart and head, reminds us that ‘we may not be able to save what we do not love.’ A fine scientific mind gathers fact and technical theory to plead this love’s cause. Analogies (between psyche’s individuation process and Earth’s Gaia theory) are compelling. The ‘uncanny’ parallel between ego’s domination of the western psyche and civilization’s domination of the planet challenges our inertia, nostalgia and hubris, responses Fellows identifies as leaving us traumatized by the task of halting imminent ecological disaster. Fruit of years of scientific and psychological commitment, this new approach excites reverence for the ‘panorama of stratified living beings’.” – Rev. Josephine Evetts-Secker, Assoc. Prof. Emerita, University of Calgary, CA; Jungian Analyst; author of At Home in the Language of the Soul

“We all live in thought bubbles. Fellows clearly declares his bubble as Jungian and he forced me to think about my own, which I suppose must be Newtonian. These two bubbles are unlikely companions and it is therefore unusual to find an author who has occupied both. He has successfully used his wide spectrum of experience to encourage new thoughts, which so often occur when different disciplines are interwoven. I did find that looking at deep ecology from a Jungian point of view both novel and stimulating. This is a well-researched and highly unusual book and will be of interest to the occupants of all bubbles.” – Andrew Garrad, CBE FREng; past president of the European Wind Energy Association “This richly detailed book will delight you, inform you and transform you with its fine writing, profound insight and its detailed, original synthesis of ecological science and philosophy with Jung’s depth psychology. A vital and important contribution to the development of the Gaian consciousness so badly needed in these darkening times.” – Dr Stephan Harding, coordinator of Holistic Science at Schumacher College, Dartington, UK; author of Animate Earth: Science, Intuition and Gaia “Andrew Fellows, in this remarkable book offers deep and compelling insight into the nature of this transformative moment in Earth’s history, while also bringing to bear equally compelling insights into how human beings will have to respond to the crisis. Ranging from the analytical psychology of C. G. Jung to the most recent insights of quantum mechanics, the Gaia hypothesis of Lovelock and the deep ecology of Arne Naess, Fellows, with his own background in alternative energy engineering and training as a Jungian analyst, achieves a level to synthesis in his approach to the environment that is otherwise unmatched in the literature. This book should be read not only by concerned individuals but also by policy makers at all levels of government and industry.” – George B. Hogenson, Ph.D., Jungian psychoanalyst, Vice President of the International Association for Analytical Psychology “Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology is a work of sweeping scope that explores our rich, multifaceted relatedness to the natural world. Fellows provides a concise, insightful summary of the issues related to climate change and our role in causing this great disruption. At the core of the work, Fellows unveils the Psyche-Gaia Conjecture which illustrates the deep, interconnectedness between human and non-human worlds. This is an important work for all, given the challenges we face at this time of great climatic disruption.” – Jeffrey T Kiehl, Climate scientist and Jungian analyst; author of Facing Climate Change: An Integrated Path to the Future

“Andrew Fellows looks squarely at the painful data on climate change and related environmental issues and the poor record of our collective attempts to address them. What is needed, he argues, is nothing less than a metanoia and a new worldview. As knowledgeable as he is urgent, Fellows outlines a potential contribution to bringing about such changes of heart and perspective with this book’s bold transdisciplinary synthesis of Gaia theory, analytical psychology, deep ecology, dual-aspect monism, and panentheism. This is a profound, challenging and inspiring work, and to my mind is on the right track.” – Professor Roderick Main, Department of Psychosocial and Psychoanalytic Studies, University of Essex, UK “Andrew Fellows’ book addresses many important questions in clear language. His open-minded and erudite argument will inspire those who are concerned about the future of the biosphere.” – Jeremy Narby, Ph.D., Amazonian Projects Director at Nouvelle Planète; author of The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge, and Intelligence in Nature: An Inquiry into Knowledge “Andrew Fellows’s Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology is a remarkable synthesis of ecology, general systems, earth science, Jungian psychology, and deep ecology, all by way of constructing a case for the profound change of consciousness that is the only true solution for the host of interlocking problems confronting late industrial civilization. Valuable for its extensive sources alone.” – William Ophuls, author of Plato’s Revenge: Politics in the Age of Ecology and Immoderate Greatness: Why Civilizations Fail “Andrew Fellows, with his encompassing knowledge and deep insight into the realms of applied physics (PhD Dunelm) and analytical psychology (diplomate Jungian Analyst) is more suited than anyone else I know to show and lead us into this complex area that is vital for our global future. It is his sense for the whole of the world, and his ability to bridge or close the gap between the cognitive thinking of natural science and the deep-running insights of the psyche that will make his book an essential contribution in the discussion of deep ecology.” – Christa Robinson MA, Jungian analyst and supervisor, published in America and China “Supported by thorough scholarly research and passionate argumentation, this book looks at deep ecology from a psyche-oriented perspective and at analytical psychology from an ecological world-soul perspective. It is a treasure chest of inspiration, carefully chosen quotes and clear directives to engage in what is arguably the prime challenge confronting us at this stage of our evolution as a species: moving beyond destructive anthropocentrism to the recognition that we are part of a larger organism.” – Shantena Augusto Sabbadini, Director of the Pari Center for New Learning; author of Pilgrimages to Emptiness

“This is a big book that demands our serious attention. On the major threat of our times—climate change—Andrew Fellows marshals all of his considerable faculties in science, philosophy, psychology and spirituality to give us a truly integrative account of this multi-layered catastrophe that demands a complete change in our relationship to ourselves, to the societies around us, and to Mother Earth herself if we are to survive. Fellows invites the reader to join with him and all of humanity in trying to confront this all too real apocalypse.” – Thomas Singer M.D., San Francisco Jung Institute “As humans living on credit on this exceptional planet Earth, we must change our wanton ways, urgently! Andrew Fellows argues the case intelligently and with compassion for such a dramatic reversal of attitude and behaviour. And, even more extraordinary and impressive, he shows the way to do it. I only hope many people will read this timely work and accept the challenge it presents so convincingly—before it’s too late.” – Murray Stein, Ph.D., Past President of IAAP; author of Minding the Self

GAIA, PSYCHE AND DEEP ECOLOGY

In Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology: Navigating Climate Change in the Anthropocene, Andrew Fellows uniquely connects Earth systems, Jungian and philosophical approaches to the existential threats that we face today. He elucidates the psychological basis of our dysfunctional relationship with nature, thereby offering a coherent framework for transforming this in our personal and professional lives. Demonstrating the imperative for new ideas that transcend the status quo, Fellows tackles unprecedented 21st century challenges such as climate change through his interdisciplinary approach. Fellows proposes a worldview, informed by depth psychology, which radically contradicts the prevailing shibboleths of unlimited economic growth, dominion over outer nature and negation of our inner nature. To accommodate a broad readership, he first introduces the Anthropocene and sufficient basics of systems dynamics, Gaia theory and analytical psychology before exploring the mind–matter conundrum. He then correlates the structure, dynamics, contents and pathology of Gaia and of psyche, critiques the Western Zeitgeist as midlife crisis and establishes parallels between deep ecology and psychological individuation. This ground-breaking synthesis of Gaia theory, analytical psychology and deep ecology reveals synergies which show how we can, and why we must, relinquish anthropocentrism in order to survive sustainably as equals in and with the natural world. Combining Jungian theory with other cutting-edge disciplines to inform, inspire and heal, this book is essential reading not only for Jungian analysts, students and scholars, but for all—including professionals in Earth systems science, environmental philosophy and ecopsychology—who realise that ‘business as usual’ is no longer an option. Andrew Fellows is a Jungian analyst with private practices in Zürich and Bern. He holds a Doctorate in Applied Physics, and enjoyed many years of international professional engagement with renewable energy, sustainable development and energy policy.

This page intentionally left blank

GAIA, PSYCHE AND DEEP ECOLOGY Navigating Climate Change in the Anthropocene

Andrew Fellows

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Andrew Fellows The right of Andrew Fellows to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him/her/them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fellows, Andrew, 1955- author. Title: Gaia, psyche and deep ecology : navigating climate change in the anthropocene / Andrew Fellows. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2019. Identifiers: LCCN 2018052286 (print) | LCCN 2018054125 (ebook) | ISBN 9780203733394 (Master eBook) | ISBN 9781351403542 (epub) | ISBN 9781138300484 (hardback) | ISBN 9781138300507 (pbk.) Subjects: LCSH: Gaia hypothesis. | Environmental psychology. | Deep ecology. Classification: LCC QH331 (ebook) | LCC QH331 .F35 2019 (print) | DDC 570.1--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018052286 ISBN: 978-1-138-30048-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-138-30050-7 (pbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-73339-4 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Taylor & Francis Books

This is for everyone—human and otherwise.

This page intentionally left blank

CONTENTS

List of illustrations Permissions Preface

xii xiv xvii

1

Start here

1

2

The Anthropocene

20

3

Gaia and science

35

4

Psyche and beyond

68

5

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

116

6

Heroic development

140

7

Frugal individuation

171

8

End here?

203

Appendix: Resources Index

216 220

ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures

1.1 Percentages of CO2 emissions by world population. (Gore, 2015: 4) 2.1 Past, present and projected population. 2.2 Current status of the control variables for seven of the planetary boundaries. (Steffen et al., 2015) 3.1 The dynamic interaction of the Earth’s oceans, climatological and geochemical systems. (Image extracted from NASA Science at https://science.nasa.gov/earth-science/oceanography/oceanearth-system) 3.2 Possible future pathways of the climate against the background of the typical glacial–interglacial cycles. (Steffen et al., 2018) 3.3 Global map of potential tipping cascades. (Steffen et al., 2018) 4.1 Simplified structure of the Self. (adapted from Jung, 1951/1968: §390) 4.2 The human life cycle, showing major life transitions. (adapted from Staude, 1981: 92) 4.3 Dual-aspect monism according to Bohm. (adapted from Atmanspacher, 2014: 257) 4.4 Dual-aspect monism according to Pauli and Jung. (adapted from Atmanspacher, 2014: 253) 4.5 Treble clef. 5.1 Domains and boundaries of the conjecture. 6.1 Common responses to the mid-life transition in the contexts of psyche and Gaia.

4 26 31

44 45 45 87 90 103 105 107 117 147

List of illustrations xiii

7.1 United Nations population projections to 2100. Courtesy of Population Matters. 7.2 A comparison of CO2 emissions reductions from various individual actions. (Wynes & Nicholas, 2017: 4) 7.3 The Doughnut: a twenty-first century compass. (Raworth, 2017: 44)

177 183 197

Tables

4.1 Bohm and Pauli–Jung compared. (adapted from Atmanspacher, 2014: 263) 5.1 Correlated dynamics of psyche and Gaia. 5.2 Correlated structures of psyche and Gaia. 5.3 Correlated pathologies of pysche and Gaia. 7.1 Correlated dynamics of deep ecology and individuation.

108 122 126 137 180

PERMISSIONS

Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of the material in this book. Any omissions brought to the attention of the publisher will be corrected in future editions. The material on https://policy-practice.oxfam.org.uk/publications/extreme-ca rbon-inequality-why-the-paris-climate-deal-must-put-the-poorest-lowes-582545, from ‘Extreme Carbon Inequality: Why the Paris Climate Deal Must Put the Poorest, Lowest Emitting and Most Vulnerable People First’, 2015, is reproduced with the permission of Oxfam, Oxfam House, John Smith Drive, Cowley, Oxford OX4 2JY, UK, www.oxfam.org.uk. Oxfam does not necessarily endorse any text or activities that accompany the material. Excerpts from Atmanspacher, H. & Fach, W. (2013) ‘A Structural-Phenomenological Typology of Mind-Matter Correlations’, Journal of Analytical Psychology, 58 (2): 219–244, © 2013, The Society of Analytical Psychology. Excerpts from Atmanspacher, H. (2014) ‘20th Century Versions of Dual–Aspect Thinking’, Mind and Matter, 12(2): 245–269; Atmanspacher, H. (2017) ‘Contextual Emergence in Decompositional Dual–Aspect Monism’, Mind and Matter, 15(10): 111–129; and Main, R. (2015) ‘Essay Review: Theorizing Rogue Phenomena’, Mind and Matter, 13(2): 249–256. The permissions are granted by the editorial office of Mind and Matter and by the author/s. Editors and authors do not take responsibility for topicality, correctness, completeness or quality of text quotations within the context they are used or reproduced. Excerpts from Berry, T. (1987/1995) ‘The Viable Human’ in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century (Ed., Sessions, G.) Boston & London: Shambhala: 8–18. This was originally published in Re-View 9, no. 2 (Winter/Spring 1987) and reprinted in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century with permission of the Helen Dwight Reid Education Foundation.

Permissions xv

Excerpt from Bohm, D. (1990) ‘A New Theory of the Relationship of Mind and Matter’, Philosophical Psychology, 3(2–3): 271–286 reprinted by permission of the publisher (Taylor & Francis Ltd, http://www.tandfonline.com). Excerpt from Currier, M. (2006) ‘Anima Mundi: The World Soul’ in Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature (Ed., Taylor, B.R.) London & New York: Thoemmes Continuum. © Continuum Publishing, used by permission of Bloomsbury Publishing plc. Excerpt from The Selfish Gene (2nd Edition) by Dawkins (1976) 79w from p. 22. By permission of Oxford University Press. Excerpts from Devall, B. & Sessions, G. (1985) Deep Ecology: Living As if Nature Mattered. Salt Lake City, Utah: Gibbs Smith. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. Excerpts from Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P. (Eds) (2015) Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Republished with permission of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers; permission conveyed through Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. Excerpt from Ages of Gaia by Lovelock (1988) 89w from pp. 204–205. By permission of Oxford University Press. Excerpts from Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth by Lovelock (2000) 597w from pp. x–xi, xvi, 10, 21, 37, 40–41, 45, 48, 137, 137–140. By permission of Oxford University Press. Excerpts from Meadows, D.H. (2008) Thinking in Systems: A Primer. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. Courtesy of Chelsea Green Publishing Company. Excerpt from Pauli, W. (1955) ‘The Influence of Archetypal Ideas on the Scientific Theories of Kepler.’ in The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche. New York: Pantheon: 147–240. Reprinted with permission from CERN Pauli Archive. Reprinted/adapted by permission from Springer Nature: Springer Nature, ‘The Amsterdam Declaration on Global Change’ by Jan Pronk, in Challenges of a Changing Earth: Proceedings of the Global Change Open Science Conference, Amsterdam, the Netherlands, 10–13 July 2001, edited by W. Steffen, J. Jäger, D.J. Carson and C. Bradshaw (2002). Excerpts from Roszak, T., Gomes, M.E. & Kanner, A.D. (Eds) (1995) Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth / Healing the Mind. San Francisco, CA: Sierra Club Books. Copyright © 1995 by Theodore Roszak, Mary E. Gomes, and Allen D. Kanner. Reprinted by permission of Counterpoint Press. Figure 2.2: Current status of the control variables for seven of the planetary boundaries, from Steffen, W. et al. (2015) ‘Sustainability. Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet’, Science, 347(6223). Reprinted with permission from the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS). Transcript from Tatsumura, H. (1992) Gaia Symphony No. 1. Jin Tatsumura Office, Inc. Japan, feat. Nozawa, Shigeo, Botanist.

xvi Permissions

Excerpts from Awakening the World: A Global Dimension to Spiritual Practice, by Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee, pp. 82, 86 and 91, copyright © 2006 by The Golden Sufi Center, https://goldensufi.org/book_desc_awakening.html. Reprinted by permission from Springer Nature: Springer Nature, Nature, ‘Diversity and Productivity Peak at Intermediate Dispersal Rate in Evolving Metacommunities’, Venail, P.A. et al. (2008).

PREFACE

Marshalling the unwieldy morass of information needed in support of my case has been like herding a very large number of particularly independent-minded cats. Each subject area, of which there are many, seems to have taken on a life of its own, drawing me ever further in as if it wanted to take centre stage. This is all as it should be, for the book in your hands is ultimately about life in all its glorious and messy complexity. However, for one blessed with unlimited self-doubt (I was once wisely advised to stop practising as a Jungian analyst if that special gift were ever to run out), such Panglossian optimism offers no grounds for complacency. My ventures into multiple disciplines, principally depth psychology and the new sciences, plus my own synergistic speculations, may push the proverbial envelope so far in so many directions that it could choke even the most enthusiastic reader’s mental mailbox. It is often said, with an ease of certitude that I can only envy, that the truth is ‘out there’. I believe that more than a few original scraps of it are also ‘in here’, even if sometimes buried beneath a barrage of mixed metaphors. There are bound to be mistakes too, especially when passion overrides precision, but there is never intentional deception. At times of greatest uncertainty, I take solace in and encouragement from H.H. Price’s timeless assertion in his Presidential Address to the Society for Psychical Research (Price, 1939: 341) that ‘We may safely predict that it will be the timidity of our hypotheses, and not their extravagance, which will provoke the derision of posterity.’ The greatest motivator of all for this book, however, is love—a deep, fierce love of Nature in all her guises, and a determination to play my small part in healing our broken relationship with her. That, and that alone, has kept me at this for over a decade without any financial or institutional support, enjoying the freedom to find my own way, almost entirely unfettered by fear or favour. I am, nonetheless, indebted to many friends, colleagues and others, some sadly now deceased (*), of whom the following is a non-exhaustive list.

xviii Preface

For their help and encouragement with, but not limited to, my 2009 Diploma Thesis Jungian Ecopsychology: Depth Psychology and Deep Ecology Meet in the Anima Mundi and the Arc of Life, which is the seedbed of ideas for this book: Peter Ammann, Janet Atkins, Ean Begg, Susanna Bucher-Alther, Diane Cousineau-Brutsche, John Dorward, Deborah Egger-Biniores, Hansueli Etter, Thomas Fellows*, Gotthilf Isler, Hannelore Isler-Feller*, Jeffrey Kiehl, Rose Shao-Chiang Li*, Marianne Ligeti, Sonja Marjasch*, Cedrus Monte, Françoise O’Kane*, F. David Peat*, Christa Robinson, Gaby Rüfenacht, Andreas Schweizer, J. Marvin Spiegelman*, Brian Stevenson, Ingrid Stucki, Dudu Tucci and Myung-Ok Yoo. For helpful discussions, correspondence and permissions pertaining directly to this book, several of the above plus: the Academy for Systems Change, Harald Atmanspacher, the Climate Psychology Alliance, Warren Colman, the Gaia Media Foundation, the Golden Sufi Center, Clive Hamilton, Stephan Harding, Judith Harris, the Institute of General Semantics, Nathan Kowalsky, Roderick Main, Jeremy Narby, Patrick Ophuls, Oxfam GB, Ian Player*, Population Matters, Hallina Popko, Shantena Sabbadini, Florence Shepard, Thomas Singer, Murray Stein, Tony Woolfson, Seth Wynes and all the publishers who responded to my requests. For helpful feedback on parts of my manuscript, Joan Allen-Smith, and for her clarity, diligence and patience, my editor at Routledge, Susannah Frearson. I am indebted to many media outlets, most notably The Guardian, which has taken a consistently strong and responsible stance on climate change and other environmental and social issues. I am particularly grateful to its correspondents, who would otherwise go uncredited here—Carole Cadwalladr, Damian Carrington, Suzanne Goldenberg, Leo Hickman, Oliver Milman, George Monbiot, Dana Nuccitelli and John Vidal—for their dedicated research and brilliant investigative journalism. This is because I have where possible followed their leads to primary sources of information in peer-reviewed journals and similar rather than citing their articles per se. I am also grateful to the generosity of the Swiss library system, which gives independent researchers like myself invaluable access to books and online journal articles. Above all, I thank my dear wife and soul-mate, Yuriko Sato, through and with whom the opposites endlessly meet and love of Nature is shared.

Reference Price, H.H. (1939) ‘Presidential Address: Haunting and the “Psychic Ether” Hypothesis.’ Proceedings of the Society for Psychical Research, 45: 324–343.

1 START HERE

1.1 Challenges At a time when we are divided both collectively and individually by walls, this book seeks to build bridges, to cross boundaries and establish connections. Collectively, we have built a wall between science and spirituality that cripples our imagination. Today the interrelated resurgences of populist nationalism and religious fundamentalism are building walls, sometimes literally, between nations, races and creeds. Neoliberal policies steered by corporate agendas have reinforced the pre-existing walls between rich and poor, and erected new ones to protect political and commercial oligarchies. Individually, we have built walls that isolate our ego from both inner and outer nature, by which I mean from our inner being or soul and from the outer, other-than-human world respectively. The walls that shelter us from the truth and from those who think differently are being massively reinforced by modern communications technologies and media, especially the internet. We have walled off our knowledge into academic disciplines, each with its own theories, models and terminology. In short, our entire mode of mental functioning is fragmented to the point of incapacity at a critical juncture in human history when, as an absolute minimum, what British civil servants have liked to call ‘joined-up thinking’ is required. This book bucks the trend by identifying and exploring some remarkable correlations between disciplines, each of which is intrinsically holistic. Thus ‘Gaia’ in its title refers to the Gaia hypothesis, now theory, formulated by James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis; ‘Psyche’ indicates the depth psychology originally developed by Carl Gustav (C.G.) Jung that is widely known as ‘analytical psychology’; and ‘Deep Ecology’ is a philosophical and practical worldview that values all life equally, propounded by the Norwegian

2 Start here

philosopher Arne Næss and others. The aim of this synthesis is to prepare us for the Anthropocene Epoch in which the great forces of nature are becoming irreversibly more unpredictable and hostile to life itself because of human activity, a challenge which should not be underestimated. For example, consider the dilemma posed by the following two contemporary statements, both of which are essentially as true as they are unwelcome: Ours is the first generation to properly understand the damage we have been doing to our planetary household, and probably the last generation with a chance to do something transformative about it. (Raworth, 2017: 286)

The green movement, which seemed to be carrying all before it in the early 1990s, has plunged into full-on mid-life crisis. Unable to significantly change either the system or the behaviour of the public, assailed by a rising movement of ‘sceptics’ and by public boredom with being hectored about carbon and consumption, colonised by a new breed of corporate spivs for whom ‘sustainability’ is just another opportunity for selling things, the greens are seeing a nasty realisation dawn: despite all their work, their passion, their commitment and the fact that most of what they have been saying has been broadly right—they are losing. There is no likelihood of the world going their way. In most green circles, sooner or later, the conversation comes round to the same question: what the hell do we do next? (Kingsnorth, 2013/2017: 131) Kate Raworth, who has recently rethought economics from the ground up (she describes herself as a ‘renegade economist’), succinctly explains why we have to act now. However, my own environmental engagement, which has ranged over decades from direct action to technical consulting to governmental lobbying to lecturing and writing, bears out self-confessed ‘recovering environmentalist’ Paul Kingsnorth’s bleak assessment, unpalatable as it is. Many other thinkers and writers implicitly or explicitly endorse either or both of these statements. What emerges from these two examples and my own experience is acknowledgement that the route we take next will have to be radically different from our present road to hell that is only partially paved, at best, with good intentions. This book points to an entirely different path. It won’t be easy; hence it’s tempting to just ignore the whole problem. In the preface to his highly recommended Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene, Professor of Public Ethics Clive Hamilton characterises our response to the Anthropocene as the ‘great silence’ and recounts: At a dinner party one of Europe’s most eminent psychoanalysts held forth on every topic but fell mute when climate change was raised. He had nothing to

Start here 3

say. For most of the intelligentsia, it is as if the projections of Earth scientists are so preposterous that they can safely be ignored. Perhaps the intellectual surrender is so complete because the forces that we hoped would make the world a more civilised place—personal freedoms, democracy, material advance, technological power—are in truth paving the way to its destruction. The powers we most trusted have betrayed us; that which we believed would save us now threatens to devour us. For some the tension is resolved by rejecting the evidence, which is to say, by discarding the Enlightenment. For others, the response is to denigrate calls to heed the danger as a loss of faith in humanity, as if anguish for the Earth were a romantic illusion or superstitious regression. Yet the Earth scientists continue to haunt us, following us around like wailing apparitions while we hurry on with our lives, turning around occasionally with irritation to hold up the crucifix of Progress. (Hamilton, 2017: x–xi) To face up to the challenges of the Anthropocene proportionately and honestly isn’t just a social taboo, it is political and, so we are told, commercial suicide. It is nonetheless my contention, as one of Europe’s less eminent psychoanalysts, that the realisation that we are now living in the Anthropocene demands nothing less than a metanoia—a revolution in the way we understand our being in the world. The unprecedented magnitude, suddenness and longevity of our impacts on Earth’s atmosphere, oceans and land have already begun to have grave environmental and humanitarian consequences. These include, respectively, geophysical degradation and the sixth mass extinction, most notably through climate change (global heating),1 pollution and depletion, and geopolitical destabilisation, for example forced migration and resource conflicts. While we know that the behaviours of such massively interconnected systems as Earth and human society means that the consequences will take decades or longer to unfold, these systems’ inherent complexity and nonlinearity renders the timing and severity of their responses dangerously unpredictable. By the time we know for sure what to expect, if that ever comes, it will be too late; the imperative to apply the ‘precautionary principle’ is therefore axiomatic. As historians Christophe Bonneuil and Jean-Baptiste Fressoz warn in The Shock of the Anthropocene, to frame the Anthropocene as just another crisis is gravely mistaken because does it not maintain a deceptive optimism? It leads us to believe, in fact, that we are simply faced with a perilous turning-point of modernity, a brief trial with an imminent outcome, or even an opportunity. The term ‘crisis’ denotes a transitory state, while the Anthropocene is the point of no return. It indicates a geological bifurcation with no foreseeable return to the normality of the Holocene. (Bonneuil & Fressoz, 2017: 21)

4 Start here

However, despite being both sole agents and among the victims of the Anthropocene, our actions to date have been demonstrably inadequate. This is a disgraceful failure, since we have both the science to understand and the means to meet Raworth’s challenge. So why, when we know what to do, have we chosen not to do it? There is of course no single or simple answer, but it is surely in part because the principal agents and human victims are mostly not the same people. By far the highest per capita planetary impacts result from the lifestyles of the affluent; but the human suffering their aggregated consequences cause is borne primarily by the poor in the majority world, conveniently far away and out of sight. A quantified example of this is shown in Figure 1.1, which illustrates the disparity of agency for emissions of CO2—the principal anthropogenic driver of climate change and ocean acidification.

World population arranged by income (deciles)

Richest 10%

49%

Richest 10% responsible for almost half of total lifestyle consumption emissions

19% 11% 7% 4% 3% 2.5% Poorest 50%

2% 1.5% 1%

FIGURE 1.1

Poorest 50% responsible for only around 10% of total lifestyle consumption emissions

Percentages of CO2 emissions by world population. (Gore, 2015: 4)

This shows emissions resulting from direct consumption by households only, which globally is about 64% of the total, though this varies by country. Emissions associated with consumption by governments, capital and international transport sectors of the economy are excluded. Further explanation of the underlying calculations and assumptions is freely available in an Oxfam technical note (King, 2015). Gore notes that: the poorest half of the global population—around 3.5 billion people—are responsible for only around 10% of total global emissions attributed to individual consumption, yet live overwhelmingly in the countries most vulnerable to climate change. Around 50% of these emissions meanwhile can be attributed to the richest 10% of people around the world, who have average carbon

Start here 5

footprints 11 times as high as the poorest half of the population, and 60 times as high as the poorest 10%. The average footprint of the richest 1% of people globally could be 175 times that of the poorest 10%. (Gore, 2015: 1) Unsurprisingly, most of the world’s 10% highest per capita emitters still live in Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) countries, and around a third are from the U.S., which means that we are probably among them. This has led some to object to the term ‘Anthropocene’ because it implies that all of humanity is equally to blame. I agree with this objection; but in lieu of a better and as widely known alternative I will continue to use the term ‘Anthropocene’ with the caveat that just because it is solely attributable to human activity does not mean that all humans are equally responsible. Ever was the disparity of human privilege and blight thus, at least since the Industrial Revolution as, for example, the settlement patterns of major cities and siting of known pollution sources reveal. Such iniquity is now on a global scale, and so the demand for environmental justice is, quite rightly, gaining traction. However, this is vastly more than a human-only issue. Other-than-human life is also suffering, but is likewise largely shut out from our consideration by the psychological and physical walls that we have built between ourselves and the natural world. The root cause of the problem isn’t economic, political, institutional, legal or technological, or any combination of these alone—even though these sectors can and should all contribute to its solution. To respond adequately to the challenges of the Anthropocene, we must first acknowledge some even more ubiquitous and intractable ‘inconvenient truths’. Firstly, the laws of ‘outer’ nature, of the physical world, do not bend to human will; nor do they conveniently desist when ignored. Failure to accept these incontrovertible facts is simply delusional; denying the former is symptomatic of hubris, the latter of inertia, nostalgia, evasion or, more seriously, Machiavellianism. The extent and hardening of such denial, and the associated character traits—particularly among those with the greatest power, influence and ecological footprints—endangers everyone, above all those at the opposite end of the wealth spectrum who are disenfranchised by poverty. Of course, we have manipulated the physical world throughout our history to develop the technology on which our civilisation increasingly depends; but we have done so by discovering, understanding (albeit still incompletely) and exploiting the laws of nature. Changing or disregarding them has never been, and never can be, an option. Secondly, the laws of ‘inner’ human nature, of our psychological world, inevitably include human will, but extend far beyond it. Disregard does not stop them any more than it does physical laws, but is in itself an exacerbating factor with unpredictable and hazardous consequences. Despite, or arguably because of, the European ‘Enlightenment’, we remain at the mercy of often archaic

6 Start here

unconscious forces, including our animal instincts; we are not as exclusively modern or rational as we like to think. Failure to accept these humbling realities is no less deluded yet, astonishingly, goes absolutely unchallenged in mainstream society. Unfortunately our discovery, investigation and understanding of such psychodynamics are often academically marginalised by incompatibility with the established, but now questionable, criteria of ‘objective’ Western science. More to the point, they are unwanted distractions from ‘business as usual’. After all, what good did self-knowledge ever do for the economy? It is therefore hardly surprising that we seem to understand the world of matter much better than we do the world of mind. This was memorably summarised (and attributed to Albert Einstein) on a placard I saw at a demonstration against nuclear weapons in the seventies: ‘Technologically we are in the Atomic Age. Psychologically we are in the Stone Age.’ Exaggeration certainly, and false attribution perhaps; but few would wholly disagree with the underlying premise, which has certainly been confirmed in my professional experience. Many years of political, institutional and corporate negotiations during my former career in the energy sector have shown me that reason and realism rarely, if ever, prevail. For example, so-called ‘free market’ economics, that Holy Grail of neoliberalism, are anything but, thanks to massive institutional subsidies and almost universal failure to internalise or even quantify external costs; the ‘information deficit’ model—the belief that providing sufficient objective information promotes rational decision-making—repeatedly fails, so some prejudices enshrined in policies can withstand any amount of contradictory evidence; and across the outmoded left–right political spectrum we perpetuate a state of cognitive dissonance by demanding both economic growth and ecological sustainability. Self-interest dressed up as ideology which, in turn, masquerades as reason is the well-disguised elephant in the boardroom; dispassionate and compassionate common sense must wait outside. Our tunnel vision, increasingly walled in by deliberate disinformation and algorithm-driven confirmation bias, is ephemeral and parochial, i.e., it is fragmented in time and space respectively, and thus totally unsuited to tackling the challenges posed by the Anthropocene that are, in contrast, inherently long term and delocalised. We desperately need a wider alternative worldview that is plausible, intelligible and appropriate. As a minimum, this means it has to be coherent, substantive, transnational and translatable into effective practice in our personal and, where possible, working lives. Taking all these criteria and more into account, I will propose an original approach to this metanoia that the current predicament of humankind and the planet demands. Ecopsychology, the origins of which can be traced back to the early nineties, deserves special mention at this point. Definitions and descriptions of it abound in print and on the internet. For example, according to the International Community of Ecopsychology (2017),

Start here 7

Ecopsychology is situated at the intersection of a number of fields of inquiry, including psychology, ecology, spirituality, and environmental philosophy, but is not limited by any disciplinary boundaries. Put most simply, Ecopsychology explores the synergistic relation between personal health and well-being and the health and well-being of our home, the Earth. Two aspects of this statement are noteworthy. Firstly, it resonates with the trans-disciplinary nature of this book. Secondly, its non-hierarchical formulation of the person–planet relationship suggests a spectrum of endeavour from deep ecology, where this book is situated, to ‘ecotherapy’, in which nature is used to promote human psychological well-being. The majority of people who describe themselves as ‘ecopsychologists’, and the subject matter of the peer-reviewed journal Ecopsychology, 2 are towards the latter end of this spectrum. Another umbrella organisation with a narrower remit more closely aligned with the aim of this book is the UK-based Climate Psychology Alliance (2018), who describe themselves as ‘a forum for people wanting to make connections between depth psychology and climate change, as we all face the difficult truths of climate change and ecological crisis’. The organisation is currently expanding to North America. My first encounter with the term ‘ecopsychology’, its literature and practitioners was at the ‘Nature and Human Nature’ conference held at Pacifica Graduate Institute, Santa Barbara, California in 2007. My presentation there (Fellows, 2007) was independently conceived before this encounter, so I had even coined my own neologism—‘psychecology’. My thinking has been almost as independently refined over the intervening decade into this book. I returned to Switzerland with several purchases from the conference bookstall, three of which were particularly inspiring and informative: Theodore Roszak, Mary Gomes and Alan Kanner’s seminal compilation Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind (1995); David Abram’s The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-than-Human World (1997); and Andy Fisher’s Radical Ecopsychology: Psychology in the Service of Life (2002). I strongly recommend each for different reasons. Fisher’s observations that ‘the dualistic cleavage of our “inner” lives from an “outer” world may well be the core problem of ecopsychology, for it divorces mind from nature’ and that ‘The broad historical requirement of ecopsychology is, then, to “turn psyche inside out”, locating mind in the world itself—healing our dualism by returning soul to nature and nature to soul’ (Fisher, 2002: 9–10) are especially pertinent. So too is Roszak’s assertion that ‘Ecopsychology holds that … the psyche is rooted inside a greater intelligence once known as the anima mundi, the psyche of the Earth herself’(Roszak, 1995: 16). Yet he is critical of Jung, claiming that: Jung’s collective unconscious belongs wholly to the cultural realm; it is filled, not with the tracks of beasts and the vegetative energies, but with high religious symbols and ethereal archetypes. It is a conception that has more to do with Plato than Darwin. (Roszak, 1995: 11–12)

8 Start here

It may come as a surprise that I have no problem with the last sentence. However, I consider the remainder of Roszak’s criticism to be erroneous. Jung emphasised the importance of dreams, folk tales and mythology—all replete with ‘the tracks of beasts and the vegetative energies’—as vital modes of access to the individual and collective unconscious respectively throughout his writings. Roszak deserves great credit for establishing ecopsychology as a discipline, but his quasi-Freudian perspective differs from mine. Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind also includes the essay ‘Jungian Psychology and the World Unconscious’ by Stephen Aizenstat, and perspectives from other schools of psychology. While my approach is also explicitly Jungian, it differs in language and emphasis from Aizenstat’s, though there is clearly common ground. I remain open to others—we are all finding our way in highly subjective and little-explored territory. Since that conference in 2007, however, my geographical isolation from the English-speaking ecopsychology community, the difference of my emphasis and my inability to keep up with its pace of publication has curtailed my engagement with it. Nonetheless, if this book had to be consigned to a single-word ‘file under …’ category, which would be a pity, I can think of none more appropriate than ecopsychology. I now look forward to a constructive dialogue with the broader community, and apologise in advance if any of my original ideas appear to have been plagiarised—they haven’t. However, there may, indeed arguably should, be overlaps and synergies.

1.2 Holistic maps If we are to even attempt to navigate climate change in the Anthropocene, and even though our chances of success are questionable we really have no choice, we are going to need one or more maps. However, this immediately evokes Alfred Korzybski’s celebrated statement, ‘A map is not the territory it represents, but, if correct, it has a similar structure to the territory, which accounts for its usefulness’ (Korzybski, 1933/2000: 58), which he originally presented in greater detail to the American Mathematical Society in 1931 (Korzybski, 1931/2000); this is often reduced to ‘the map is not the territory’. Korzybski’s obvious, but routinely overlooked, observation has ‘a devastating impact on all attempts to capture reality in a system of thought … as soon as we try to describe reality in any kind of language, we are creating a map’ (Sabbadini, 2013: 12). This amounts to an inevitable incompleteness of truth, but is not to be confused with the relativisation of truth that characterises postmodernism—a standpoint I do not adopt. Korzybski was a holistic thinker, as were notable contemporaries who he influenced, such as David Bohm and Gaston Bachelard. However, it is precisely the humbling limitation of any map that leaves room for, indeed requires, imagination and opens up the possibility of synergy between different maps. Korzybski’s axiomatic caveat also arguably saves holism from the hubris that critics contend could lead to totalitarianism.

Start here 9

In holism, the parts of a whole are regarded as interconnected, interdependent and interacting to the extent that they cannot be understood without reference to the whole. This view, which commonly finds expression as ‘the whole is greater than the sum of its parts’, is often applied to mental states and ecology, as it is here. Thus, Jung, Lovelock and Næss, and any quantum or systems theorist, could all be added to the list of holistic thinkers. However, for diehard reductionists, of whom there are still many, holism evokes wishful thinking or some kind of vaguely benevolent New Age fog, and therefore provokes the commensurate antipathy. Unfortunately the term and its derivatives have been misappropriated into some trivial contexts, often for commercial reasons, so I should emphasise that the holistic maps which I will use are the results of rigorous enquiry and profound insights. In the following chapters, I propose an innovative and potentially sustainable long-term worldview, emphasise its necessity, and outline its practical and ethical implications. This offers a framework for healing our relationship with the otherthan-human world, and for re-visioning humanity’s future. In so doing, it is utterly incompatible with our shibboleths of unlimited economic growth, technological omnipotence and dominion over nature, whether outer or inner. It is substantiated as far as possible by psychological and ecological realities and validated scientific theories, rather than driven by ideology or dogma. The novel aspect is a synthesis of essentially holistic, non-physicalist theories of mind and/or matter with the principles of deep ecology. The maps I will be using include, in approximate order of appearance:  

 



Earth systems science (matter): specifically Gaia theory, but embracing other, more general but still relevant, properties of dynamical systems such as resilience, complexity, emergence and (quasi-) self-similarity across scale. Analytical psychology (mind): classical Jungian theories of the contents, structure and short- and long-term dynamics of the psyche, especially the interaction between conscious and unconscious aspects thereof and the psychoid archetypes and ‘Self’. Dual-aspect monism (mind and matter): post-Cartesian worldviews following Spinoza, especially the Pauli–Jung conjecture and David Bohm’s ‘implicate order’. Evolutionary panentheism (mind and matter): evidence-based theory from multiple fields, collated by the Esalen Center for Theory and Research (CTR), which broadly supports the theories of nonlocal mind of Fredric W.H. Myers and William James. Deep ecology (mind and matter): the shift from an anthropocentric to a biocentric worldview, and its practical implications, developed by Arne Næss and others on philosophical and psychological, rather than moralistic, grounds.

To substantiate this synthesis, I have the invidious task of introducing analytical psychology to scientists and environmentalists, including no doubt some sceptical rationalists; explaining the cold logic of systems thinking to Jungian psychoanalysts and scholars, few of whom have such inclinations; and advocating deep ecology,

10 Start here

which effectively cuts Homo sapiens down to size, to H. sapiens. Along the way, I invoke many issues which have gained a reputation as ‘hard problems’—consciousness, mind and matter, teleology, the definition (if not the meaning) of ‘life’, the Trump administration and so on. Therefore, while the primary goal of this book is to equip educators, in the broadest sense of that term, with an original and much-needed interdisciplinary insight, it makes no claim to be a teaching text in any of its component fields, each of which is being continuously refined and developed in its corresponding academic and professional communities. Instead, recommendations for further introductory reading have been provided. Gaia theory and analytical psychology independently take a global, holistic approach to their respective domains and view them in some strikingly similar ways. Both psyche and Gaia behave in ways that appear to be at least partially teleological, which is irreconcilable with the dogma of modern Western science. I contend that, to the extent this is the case, it is due to the ordering influence of the psychoid (psychophysically neutral) aspect of the Jungian ‘Self’ (capitalised for differentiation from everyday usage).3 Whatever the underlying mechanisms, their behaviour demonstrably reconciles the conflicting requirements of stability and change. In terms of structure, again independent but similar speculations by Jung and Lovelock about the unique role of human consciousness in the world suggest equivalent relationships of ego to the totality of psyche and of Homo sapiens to the natural world of which, lest we forget, H. sapiens is a part. I postulate further significant structural and phenomenological correlations between psyche and Gaia, and even correlated pathologies. A particularly thought-provoking aspect of the latter is the co-incidence of our current ‘monotheism of consciousness’, as labelled and decried by Jung (Jung, 1929/1967: §51), with the Anthropocene Epoch, in which human activity is now the dominant disruptor of the Earth system. Beyond identifying and exploring these remarkable correlations, I contend that, albeit in ways that are not yet fully understood, Jung and Lovelock were mapping different aspects of the same territory. I have called this the ‘Psyche–Gaia conjecture’. The next step is to review human history through the lens of Jung’s ‘Stages of Life’ cradle-to-grave developmental theory (Jung, 1954/1969). Its most notable stages in this context are the emergence of consciousness in infancy, and especially the enantiodromia of mid-life, which is closely associated with the so-called ‘mid-life crisis’. I show how these can be scaled up from the individual to the collective. Thus the growth and agglomeration of tribes into nations, cultures and entire civilisations, and the triumphs of agriculture, science and technology, parallel respectively the emergence of consciousness and healthy human development. However, the fact that business as usual is no longer an option in the Anthropocene indicates that we have reached a turning point, just as in individual mid-life. The environmental, social, political, economic and, at their common root, psychological implications of this are bewildering and frightening. Heroic development, which is how our extraordinary past success can be understood archetypally, has had its day—more of the same would now be suicidal. Unable to accept this, I show that we have largely resorted to denial in the forms of inertia, nostalgia and hubris.

Start here 11

At this critical juncture, I combine all the aforementioned correlations and theories to evince a radically different ethos equivalent to the Jungian concept of individuation in contradistinction to development. Typically development is more important in the first half of life, and individuation in the second, though both are life-long processes. Specifically, I show how the psychological shift of the centre of the personality from the ego towards the Self in the individuation process translates into a cultural shift of our worldview from being exclusively human-centred (anthropocentric) to life-centred (biocentric). Again, it should be emphasised that ‘life’ in the latter means the totality of life, in its broadest sense, and explicitly includes Homo sapiens. This cultural shift was, again completely independently of Jungian theory, proposed by the Norwegian philosopher Arne Næss in the 1970s as the basis of the long-range deep ecology movement. Like both Lovelock and Jung, Næss distrusted ideology and clearly valued diversity, including cultural diversity, within wholeness. My framework thus comprises a three-way synergy between the independent, vital (and arguably vitalist) insights of Jung the psychologist, Lovelock the scientist and Næss the philosopher. This provides substantive evidence that all three pioneers were converging on some incompletely understood, but fundamental, truth. The resulting holistic planetary ethos thus emerges reinforced, clarified and transcendent of its individual inputs. As the philosopher Mary Midgley writes in her introduction to Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia, Pluralism pays. We get on better by combining a number of different ways of thinking than by signing up for just one of them … by combining the various ways in which we can use the concept of Gaia to perceive the earth, and grasping the connection between them, than we will by treating them as alternatives. This is urgent business. (Midgley, 2007: 4–5) This ethos challenges each of us individually to transform our relationship with nature, and to redirect our actions accordingly. It helps and encourages us to do so with a coherent framework of guiding principles which, by acknowledging the unique destiny of each individual and the need for diversity and wholeness, whether ecological, psychological or cultural, avoids becoming dogmatic. It both honours our past success and highlights our current failings. It makes no claim to be a panacea for the unprecedented dangers of the Anthropocene; but it does demand to be considered as a necessary, albeit not alone sufficient, factor in their mitigation. I have cited Jung, Lovelock, Næss and others rather extensively to substantiate this synthesis to show that I have not misrepresented them to support my case. Jung in particular is not always an easy read, so I have at times resorted to competent interpreters of his writings for succinctness and clarity. Ultimately, my conclusion is a philosophical and metaphysical conjecture, unprovable within the current scientific paradigm. Nonetheless, after a decade of refinement (Fellows 2009, 2015, 2017, forthcoming) it is at least as well substantiated, and clearly far more appropriate in our present situation

12 Start here

than the callous and cynical assumptions that underpin neoliberal economics, globalisation and the authoritarian and nationalist backlash they have precipitated. The title of this book is not intended to suggest that safely and successfully navigating climate change in the Anthropocene, however interpreted, is a foregone conclusion. However, at a more modest level, the following chapter-by-chapter outline should at least help with navigating its contents: Chapter 2, ‘The Anthropocene’, provides supporting evidence for this new geological epoch and summarises the threats it poses to life on Earth, both human and other-than-human. It examines our agency in sufficient detail to clarify the target of this book.7 Chapter 3, ‘Gaia and Science’, summarises both Gaia theory and the controversies it has generated, especially among evolutionary biologists, and the broader disciplines of Earth system science and general systems theory. Chapter 4, ‘Psyche and Beyond’, introduces relevant, non-clinical aspects and roots of analytical psychology—especially crucial concepts such as the Self, the archetypes and the unus mundus—and summarises Jung’s developmental theory. Beyond that, it reviews dual-aspect monism, including Jung’s collaboration with Wolfgang Pauli, and the exploration of nonlocal mind and the reconciliation of science and spirituality by the ‘Sursem project’ at Esalen. Chapter 5, ‘A Psyche–Gaia Conjecture’, draws upon Chapters 3 and 4 to present a detailed exposition of the correlations between the dynamics, structure, phenomenology and pathology of the planetary domain as understood by Gaia theory, and of the human psyche as understood by analytical psychology, allowing for the ordering role of the Self in both domains. Chapter 6, ‘Heroic Development’, further integrates Jungian theory from Chapter 4 with these correlations to view Homo sapiens’ extraordinary past achievements developmentally as the emergence of ego from the unconscious, and archetypally as the hero’s journey of separation from the Great Mother. Like the anamnesis and ‘confession’ typically at the start of a Jungian analysis, this leads to a critical examination of the Zeitgeist. Chapter 7, ‘Frugal Individuation’, explores reconciliation with Gaia by correlating the shift from development to individuation, using material from Chapters 4, 5 and 6, with the theoretical basis of the long-range deep ecology movement, and reviews examples of emerging best practice consistent with these principles. Chapter 8, ‘End Here?’, reviews the novel synergies I have identified, and elucidates the opportunities and responsibilities that they bring to our engagement with the unprecedented challenges of the Anthropocene, using narrative and stories at times to engage the soul as well as the intellect, and thereby, hopefully, to inspire.

1.3 Arguments I should examine briefly some arguments and assumptions that run throughout this book but are more general than any of the disciplines that I traverse. I use the word ‘argument’ in both senses, i.e., a thesis or proposition, and a controversy or

Start here 13

disagreement. Some of the former seem to me to be axiomatic, but then I am not a professional philosopher, while others remain the subject of heated debate, in some cases after millennia. As for assumptions, those most entrenched are the hardest to be conscious of. A wise old woman from Beijing, Rose Shao‐Chiang Li—who taught me Chinese internal martial arts (nei jia wu shu) beginning in 1977, and subsequently the Mandarin language and Chinese calligraphy4—once told me a story of a bird which grew and grew until it eventually filled the entire sky from horizon to horizon. With nothing to see in the sky that was ‘not bird’—its outline had disappeared—the bird could no longer be seen. Miss Li passed away in 2001 and I am unsure of the origin of this motif; but enquiries to several Chinese scholars, including Marnix Wells, author of Scholar Boxer (2005), confirm that it was an idiosyncratic but possible interpretation of the Great Peng (phoenix) of Zhuangzi. Wherever it originated, the image has stayed with me ever since. We all inadvertently fill the metaphorical sky, and sometimes necessarily so to function at all; but more sinister are the fundamentalists who consciously strive to do so. For much of the time that I was learning from Miss Li in England, Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister and widely nicknamed by those less than enamoured of her conviction politics ‘Tina’—the acronym for her infamous assertion: ‘There is no alternative.’ Removing alternatives from consciousness is the goal of totalitarianism of all political hues, of religious fanaticism and, arguably, of globalisation, but also a natural function of the ego. The Zeitgeist is largely defined by unconsciously and consciously limited assumptions. Conversely, we are all susceptible to ‘blind spots’ too. There is a delightful anecdote in the 1898 annual of the French Alpine Club about a famous alpinist who was asked about the panoramic view after his first ascent of the Matterhorn. ‘It was very beautiful’, he replied, ‘only the Matterhorn was missing!’ I am likewise acutely conscious that the body is missing from this book, which seems ungrateful since I could not have researched and written, not had the experiences I report, without it. This is not because it doesn’t merit inclusion, but because I have had to set boundaries somewhere to avoid producing an epic on the scale of Tolstoy’s War and Peace. Closely related to this is the tension between either/or and both/and thinking. The crucial point here is knowing when to employ which. The former is the basis of individual and collective decision-making. Thus, for example, Barack Obama’s ‘all of the above’ energy policy wasn’t a policy at all, but an evasion of tough and unpopular but necessary decisions under corporate pressure. More widespread, I suggest, is the opposite—erroneous use of either/or thinking when both/and is more appropriate. This is both the cause and effect of dogmatism in one form or another via what systems theorists, as we shall see later, call ‘reinforcing feedback’. Conversely, the need for plurality and diversity will crop up repeatedly in my arguments. Our Western worldview is trapped in an either/or approach which, from a Jungian perspective, is the hero’s cleaving sword, the tool of differentiation that can help us make sense of the world in an archetypally masculine way. The alternative, both/and, is inclusive and containing, and therefore archetypally feminine. This may be why both/and is persistently conflated with indecisiveness and

14 Start here

weakness, and cruelly devalued in our patriarchal culture. Indeed, just how onesided we have become is shown by the pejorative, even heretical, stigma around words like ‘irrational’ and ‘unscientific’ that render them as unacceptable—as, for example, ‘un-Islamic’ or ‘un-Christian’ are in their respectively most fundamentalist environments. I make no apology for including metaphysical conjectures and spirituality alongside scientific theories in this book; science, like everything known to us, has its limits. I have been a scientist for decades now, but abhor scientism. At the risk of labouring this point, we need both either/or and both/and approaches, just as we need both Newtonian and quantum physics.5 Analytical psychology is predicated on both/and via the complexio oppositorum, and Jung’s later work, most notably his monumental Mysterium Conjunctionis, is largely concerned with the interplay of opposites. Eastern worldviews, especially the dynamics of yin-yang (which correspond broadly with the aforementioned archetypal feminine and masculine respectively) in Chinese thought, explicitly recognise this principle and profoundly influenced Jung. It should not be inferred from my advocacy of holistic thinking that I reject reductionism per se; my swipe at ‘diehard reductionists’ was aimed at those for whom it is the only valid method because that is misapplied either/or thinking. Likewise, I began with the stated aim of building bridges rather than walls, and thereby connections where separation exists, but acknowledge that separation can be advantageous, even essential in some circumstances. Any doctor or nurse will recognise the importance of isolation units, and any forester the need for fire breaks. Conversely, the ‘internet of things’—the connection of household appliances and even children’s toys to the internet—poses immense risks as the number of such devices, mostly without firewalls, surpassed the human population in 2017, and the scope for cyber-attacks has increased commensurately. Everything has two sides, and this book aims, like both psyche and Gaia, to restore balance, and that means emphasising the neglected side. To an either/or mindset, I may likewise appear to be putting the unconscious, the unscientific, the irrational or even the spiritual on a pedestal, whereas I maintain that unquestioning and exclusive advocacy of anything is extremely dangerous; I am just trying to give them, together with holistic thinking, a voice in the crowd. Above all, championing the rights of the other-than-human world does not, as some of its critics would have you believe, make deep ecology misanthropic. This book is written for, and strives to be comprehensible to, any open-minded lay reader, especially those among, or who can influence, those privileged to be towards the top of Figure 1.1. This is for hopefully obvious, i.e., utilitarian, not elitist, reasons—I want to maximise the impact reductions this book inspires. However, in our polarised Zeitgeist perhaps the greatest challenge of all is to communicate anything to those not already predisposed to agreement. Just the title of this book, never mind the contents, may have consigned me to merely ‘singing to the choir’. Whoever I sing to, an important caveat concerning readership is the politically charged question of exactly who is meant by ‘we’ and the other personal pronouns I have already used without qualification. Environmentalist George Marshall wisely insists that great care must be taken to clarify who is included in

Start here 15

and who is excluded from the first person plural as this is not explicit in the English language (Marshall, 2014: 31). So, for the avoidance of doubt, I have tried consistently to use ‘we’ etc. to refer by default to those of us living comfortably in modern, Western(ised), industrial(ised) nations, implicitly weighted by ecological footprint. The underlying assumption here, as with my target readership, is that the greater the individual or collective agency in the Anthropocene upheaval, the greater the need for a metanoia. In contrast, I use ‘humans’, ‘Homo sapiens’ and similar to refer to our species as a whole. On a similar note, I have not modified quotations when they appear to assume that males constitute all, rather than about half, of humankind, disagreeable though that is. In Jung’s writing, inappropriate use of the masculine may be largely, but perhaps not entirely, down to the sexism of his era since it may in some cases be an artefact of translation from the original German. The insights upon which this book is based, which are essentially about the patterns of relationship within and between the domains of mind and matter, are largely informed by my career. I have been professionally engaged with both worlds—with matter as an applied scientist and engineer, and with mind as a depth psychologist. Perhaps the most significant common ground between these apparently disparate fields is the search for meaningful patterns. For example, in my former profession I looked for correlations hidden in sets of numerical data, and in my psychoanalytical practice I try to identify the complexes that constellate patterns of neurotic emotions and/or behaviour in an individual. However, the motivating spark for this book, which is an example of an altogether different kind of pattern beyond conscious choice, is best illustrated by a brief personal story. After obtaining a doctorate in applied physics in 1985, I enjoyed many years of international professional engagement with renewable (especially wind) energy, sustainable development and energy policy. It really was a joy and a privilege to work with such talented, passionate and principled colleagues. In November 2000 I was invited by the European Wind Energy Association to present my research for the International Energy Agency’s Greenhouse Gas R&D Programme (Fellows, 2000) at a Side Event of COP-6—the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change Conference of the Parties (UNFCCC) sixth session (Earth Negotiations Bulletin, 2001). This was at the critical stage between the adoption of the Kyoto Protocol in 1997 and its coming into force in 2005. As I mingled with hundreds of other scientists at the conference exhibition, I was consistently impressed by how diligent and apolitical they were and how this manifested in the quality of their work. I felt confident that the UNFCCC was competent, conscientious, and had sufficient gravitas to bring the key players to the table. My optimism was to be short-lived. Just four months later, George W. Bush reneged on a campaign pledge to regulate CO2 emissions from U.S. power plants. Shortly thereafter, his administration explicitly opposed the Kyoto Protocol. Political interference in federal climate science was subsequently investigated by the Union of Concerned Scientists and the Government Accountability Project, and a chilling critique, backed up by documented evidence from climate scientists, was jointly published (Donaghy et al., 2007). The situation has both improved and worsened

16 Start here

since then, polarising into developments such the much-fêted Paris Accord established at COP-21 in 2015 versus the wilfully retrogressive and toxic environmental policies of the Trump administration and beyond. But back to the pattern, which resembles the closure of a circle. At my presentation, one member of the international audience stayed behind after the session was formally closed to ask more questions. I became curious about his accent because, unbeknown to any of my colleagues, I had just applied to study analytical psychology at the C.G. Jung Institute in Switzerland. It transpired over a beer that my intuition was correct—my interlocutor was not only Swiss, but also lived within a few hundred metres of the Institute, with which he was well acquainted. Later, at the Institute I met, and in 2007 married, a woman from Kyoto. In 2016 I presented the kernel of this book at the 20th triennial Congress of the International Association for Analytical Psychology (Fellows, 2017) in the Kyoto International Conference Center—the venue where the Kyoto Protocol had been signed. A chain of apparently unconnected events had come full circle. These personal digressions will not be the last, for which I ask forbearance. As a scientist, and like Jung, I value the empiricism of experience above unsubstantiated belief, and much of the subject matter I present is inherently subjective to some degree. I am nonetheless conscious that the strait between the Scylla of abstraction and the Charybdis of narcissism is narrow and unforgiving. That said, sometimes the points I wish to convey, especially the reality of extra-ordinary and elusive phenomena or the drier aspects of theory, can best be illustrated, animated or validated from life events. These too are reality checks. So was the ‘full circle’ of events merely meaningless coincidence? While I cannot prove otherwise, it touches on questions of causality and teleology that will periodically resurface in this book. Most critics agree that some form of teleology is implicitly assumed, despite Lovelock’s protestations, in Gaia theory, and it is explicitly, through the agency of the Self, a cornerstone of analytical psychology. The term originated in Plato’s worldview, in which phenomena are explained by the purpose they serve rather than postulated causes. Aristotle’s ‘Prime Mover’ likewise acts as a sort of ‘final’, rather than proximate, cause. Teleology is explicitly rejected by Western science, and is a major obstacle to the reconciliation of science with spirituality, which in many cases can be viewed as the quest for telos (e.g., the ‘will of God’ and so on). The development of cybernetics and subsequent aspects of systems theory in the 20th Century complicated the teleology versus causality debate, especially in Lovelock’s case, as discussed in Chapter 3. My personal assumptions, which I cannot prove, include belief that life has meaning and purpose and that free will is not an illusion; this book makes no sense without them. At the risk of falling between the requirements of academia and activism, I have striven for a modicum of both rigour and imagination, those opposites proposed by Gregory Bateson (Bateson, 1985: 233), to inspire sufficient behavioural change through psychological growth in response to the challenges of the Anthropocene. Despite using extant scientific theories to frame my original insights, almost all of the ‘big ideas’ in this book have come to me from the process of imagination in dreams, during walks in nature or conversations in analysis, and from out of the

Start here 17

blue ‘aha!’ moments, especially upon waking. Some of these experiences, all of which felt spontaneous, have had a numinous and/or somatic degree of intensity. I particularly recall travelling back home by tram one dark evening after a conceptual breakthrough, and everything appearing brighter, more colourful and bursting with innate energy. Such excitement, feeling so alive, is as far removed as imaginable from the monochrome flatness of the ennui or even depression which afflicts ever more of us. Those who can translate such vivid ‘here and now’ experiences into subsequent descriptions and do them justice are few and far between and I do not count myself among them, but I hope this conveys an inkling of how this book has come into being. It is a snapshot, for the ideas keep coming, and my thesis raises at least as many questions as it provides answers. The harder—for me at least—processes of systematically thinking about and reading around the subject have had to come afterwards, ostensibly to satisfy the criteria of academic rigour, but much more importantly to act as reality checks in often scarcely known territory. I wholeheartedly agree with the American philosopher and psychologist William James (1842–1910), who in 1902 wrote in The Varieties of Religious Experience: The truth is that in the metaphysical and religious sphere, articulate feelings are cogent for us only when our inarticulate feelings of reality have already been impressed in favor of the same conclusion. … Our impulsive belief is here always what sets up the original body of truth, and our articulately verbalised philosophy is but a showy translation into formulas. The unreasoned and immediate assurance is the deep thing in us, the reasoned argument is but a surface exhibition. Instinct leads, intelligence does but follow. (James, 1902/1905: 74) Nonetheless, reasoned argument is the most effective way to communicate my ideas in writing because it is a familiar mode of discourse through which to convey unfamiliar notions. Beyond that, I have adopted an applied and pragmatic approach rather than pursued truth for its own sake, and so this book is academic but not merely so. Viewed from the perspective of social and environmental activism, it may appear needlessly arcane and unfamiliar compared with more established and potentially nimbler measures such as political, institutional and technological interventions. I should therefore stress that there is no more an either/or dichotomy between my approach and these measures than there is between each of them. Throughout this book I acknowledge, and refer the interested reader to, pertinent literature and other media, critiques and developments in politics, economics, environmentalism, science and technology, philosophy, ethics, cognition and beyond. Informed and inspired by, and indebted to, all of these fields as I am, my approach nonetheless stands not so much on their shoulders as beneath their feet, for depth psychology goes to the roots of human endeavour. This is precisely why Jung succinctly and presciently warned that ‘the world today hangs by a thin thread, and that thread is the psyche of man’ (Jung, 1957/1977: 303). Those sixteen simple words could be the leitmotif of this book.

18 Start here

Notes 1 This term is more accurately descriptive than ‘global warming’ and less vulnerable to spurious challenge since climate change may result in at least temporary localised cooling in some regions of the globe. It also avoids erroneous confusion between climate and weather. 2 http://www.liebertpub.com/overview/ecopsychology/300/. 3 I have adopted the convention of Erich Neumann, i.e., capitalising this word to differentiate it clearly from its everyday usage. This is viewed with scepticism by some Jungians as a form of reification, but my intention here is purely practical. However, the editors of Jung’s Collected Works and some other writings elected not to capitalise it, so I have respected their conventions when quoting text. 4 After 8 years of teaching she insisted that I could go no further without understanding the Chinese worldview, and I couldn’t understand that without learning the language. I doubt whether she had heard of Sapir-Whorf, but her attitude is commensurate with their hypothesis. Initially a means to an end, this enabled me to travel independently through China in 1988 when almost nobody I met spoke any language other than Mandarin. 5 In quantum phenomena such as superposition, arguably even the distinction between either/or and both/and breaks down.

References Abram, D. (1997) The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-than-Human World. New York: Vintage. Bateson, G. (1985) Mind and Nature: A Necessary Unity. London: Fontana. Bonneuil, C. & Fressoz, J.-B. (2017) The Shock of the Anthropocene: The Earth, History, and US. London & New York: Verso. Climate Psychology Alliance. (2018) ‘What We Do.’ http://www.climatepsychologyallia nce.org/about/what-we-do, accessed 10 May 2018. Donaghy, T. et al. (2007) Atmosphere of Pressure: Political Interference in Federal Climate Science. Cambridge, MA: UCS Publications. Earth Negotiations Bulletin. (2001) ‘Special Report on Selected Side Events at UNFCCC COP-6.’ International Institute for Sustainable Development (IISD)/UNFCCC Secretariat http://enb.iisd.org/climate/cop6/side/17_friday.html, accessed 2 Feb 2018. Fellows, A. (2000) The Potential of Wind Energy to Reduce CO2 Emissions. Cheltenham: IEA Greenhouse Gas R&D Programme. Fellows, A. (2007) ‘Psychecology: Gaia Meets Anima Mundi.’ Nature and Human Nature: Changing Perspectives, Pacifica Graduate Institute, Santa Barbara CA: Foundation for Mythological Studies. Fellows, A. (2009) Jungian Ecopsychology: Depth Psychology Meets Deep Ecology in the Anima Mundi and the Arc of Life. Diploma Thesis, International School of Analytical Psychology, Zürich. Fellows, A. (2015) ‘Letting Go of Success.’ in Jungian Odyssey Series Vol. VII: The Crucible of Failure. (Eds, Wirtz, U., Wirth, S., Egger, D. & Remark, K.) New Orleans: Spring Journal Books: 51–70. Fellows, A. (2017) ‘Gaia and Psyche: Anima Mundi for the 21st Century.’ Kyoto 2016 Anima Mundi in Transition: Cultural, Clinical & Professional Challenges, Proc. Twentieth Congress of the International Association for Analytical Psychology. (Eds, Kiehl, E. & Klenck, M.) Einsiedeln: Daimon: 473–490. Fellows, A. (forthcoming) ‘Irreducible Responsibility: Applying Holism to Navigate the Anthropocene.’ in Holism: Possibilities and Problems. (Eds, McMillan, C., Main, R. & Henderson, D.) London: Routledge.

Start here 19

Fisher, A. (2002) Radical Ecopsychology: Psychology in the Service of Life. Albany: State University of New York Press. Gore, T. (2015) Extreme Carbon Inequality. Oxfam Media Briefing. Oxfam International. Hamilton, C. (2017) Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene. Cambridge: Polity Press. International Community for Ecopsychology. (2017) What is Ecopsychology?http://www. ecopsychology.org/, accessed 3 Jun 2017. James, W. (1902/1905) The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature. London: Longmans, Green. Jung, C.G. (1929/1967) ‘Commentary on “the Secret of the Golden Flower”.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 13: Alchemical Studies. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 1–56. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969) ‘The Stages of Life.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 387–403. Jung, C.G. (1957/1977) ‘The Houston Films.’ in C. G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters. (Eds, McGuire, W. & Hull, R.F.C.) Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 276–352. King, R. (2015) Carbon Emissions and Income Inequality. Oxfam Technical Note. Oxfam International. https://oxfamilibrary.openrepository.com/bitstream/handle/10546/ 582545/tb-carbon-emissions-inequality-methodology-021215-en.pdf. Kingsnorth, P. (2013/2017) ‘Dark Ecology (Dark Mountain, Issue 3, 2013).’ in Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and Other Essays. Minneapolis, MN: Graywolf: 119–149. Korzybski, A. (1933/2000) Science and Sanity: An Introduction to Non-Aristotelian Systems and General Semantics. New York: International Non-Aristotelian Library. Korzybski, A. (1931/2000) ‘A Non-Aristotelian System and its Necessity for Rigour in Mathematics and Physics.’ in Science and Sanity: An introduction to Non-Aristotelian Systems and General Semantics. New York: International Non-Aristotelian Library: 747–761. Marshall, G. (2014) Don’t Even Think about It: Why Our Brains Are Wired to Ignore Climate Change. New York: Bloomsbury. Midgley, M. (Ed.) (2007) Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia. Exeter: Imprint Academic. Raworth, K. (2017) Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st Century Economist. London: Random House. Roszak, T. (1995) ‘Where Psyche Meets Gaia.’ in Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind. (Eds, Roszak, T., Gomes, M.E. & Kanner, A.D.) San Francisco: Sierra Club Books: 1–17. Sabbadini, S.A. (2013) Lao Tzu: Tao Te Ching: A Guide to the Interpretation of the Foundational Book of Taoism. Cordoba: The Valley Spirit. Wells, M. (2005) Scholar Boxer: Chang Naizhou’s Theory of Internal Martial Arts and the Evolution of Taijiquan; With Complete Translation of the Original Writings. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books.

2 THE ANTHROPOCENE

2.1 Timeline The Anthropocene is a proposed epoch dating from the commencement of significant human impact on the Earth’s geophysical and biological systems including, but not limited to, anthropogenic (human-caused) climate change. The name is a combination of the ancient Greek terms anthropos, meaning ‘human’, and kainos becoming -cene, meaning ‘new’ or ‘recent’. The latter is conventionally used at the end of other recent epoch names such as the Holocene and Pleistocene. Widespread contemporary usage of the term was started in 2000 by the atmospheric chemist Paul J. Crutzen. Although the Working Group on the Anthropocene voted to formally designate the epoch Anthropocene and in August 2016 presented the recommendation to the International Geological Congress, the International Commission on Stratigraphy in July 2018 surprised and angered scientists around the world by instead subdividing the Holocene Epoch (which encompasses all of human history) into three subdivisions. According to this, we now live in the ‘Meghalayan Age’, so named after the mega-drought around 2250 BCE (Meyer, 2018). Nonetheless, the Anthropocene phenomenon and the term are important in the public imagination and in scholarly discourse, and there are already many published books, and several dedicated journals, dealing with the Anthropocene and its implications. Hamilton offers perhaps the ultimate ‘big picture’ summary of the phenomenon: In a few short decades we have seen the entire history of the Earth—from its formation through to its eventual vaporisation when the Sun finally explodes—split irrevocably into two halves—the first 4.5 billion years in which Earth history was determined by blind natural forces alone, and the

The Anthropocene 21

remaining 5 billion years in which it will be influenced by a conscious power long after that power is spent. (Hamilton, 2017: 5) While it is beyond doubt that human impacts have indeed become significant, there is less agreement about when they became so, and hence about the duration of the Anthropocene to the present day. While an exact commencement date is of secondary importance here, and arguably unrealistic anyway since ‘significant’ is inherently unquantifiable when multiple impacts are evaluated, it is nonetheless worth mentioning some of the primary contenders. The earliest of these was about eight thousand years ago, after the Agricultural Revolution had begun. Although the human population was three orders of magnitude smaller than today, settlement and land-use changes, especially deforestation, were already extensive. By two thousand years ago, human settlement had become global, and the economic activity of the great civilisations and empires of antiquity, notably mining, was substantial. A more widely proposed contender is the Industrial Revolution, beginning in the 18th Century with mechanical power in the form of the steam engine. The consequences included a rapid increase in fossil fuel use—initially coal, then more recently oil and gas—and large-scale migration to urban centres that continues unabated to the present day. The criterion ‘significant’ can be viewed qualitatively as well as quantitatively, i.e., by dating the start of the Anthropocene from the appearance due to human activity of material not otherwise found in the Earth’s environment. Candidates here include the radionuclides in the fallout from nuclear weapons testing and use beginning in the 1940s, and the numerous synthetic chemicals, especially those most widely dispersed such as pesticides and plastics, that have been introduced from the 20th Century onwards. These qualitative criteria can be viewed as events, and quantitative criteria as trends. As the infamous ‘frog in hot water’ analogy vividly demonstrates, we are much better at recognising events than trends. For readers unfamiliar with this (it should be stressed) thought experiment, a frog dropped into hot water will immediately jump out, whereas a frog placed in cold water that is gradually heated will remain there until it is boiled to death. Thus, it was an event—the widespread introduction of newly developed pesticides in the U.S.—which proved to be the wake-up call that encouraged the establishment of research bodies through which the Anthropocene has eventually been identified and modelled. In 1962, the American marine biologist and nature writer Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, which criticised the overuse of synthetic pesticides, in particular DDT. This has been shown to be a persistent organic pollutant in both terrestrial and aquatic ecosystems, including in regions such as the Arctic where it has never been used, that reaches its highest concentrations in apex predators. Though ferociously attacked by the chemical industry,1 her treatise proved to be the catalyst that is most widely credited for the emergence of the so-called ‘environmental movement’.

22 The Anthropocene

In response to the resulting public pressure and scientific concern, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) was established in 1970 and the United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP) in 1972. The latter, in collaboration with World Meteorological Organization (WMO), established the umbrella organisation for climate change research, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), in 1988. Another key focus for research into phenomena now recognised as aspects of the Anthropocene was the International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme (IGBP), which was set up in 1987 by the International Council of Scientific Unions, a coordinating body of national science organisations. The IGBP looked at the total Earth system, especially the influence of human actions. Among its reports, the book Global Change and the Earth System: A Planet Under Pressure (Steffen et al., 2004) is regarded as a landmark publication.2 Steffen et al. provided strong evidence that the rate of quantitative anthropogenic impacts has accelerated massively since the mid-20th Century. Using data from the best available sources covering the period since the start of the Industrial Revolution, the authors presented twelve charts of trends in human activity, and twelve of trends in Earth system impacts, plotting major variables such as human population and atmospheric greenhouse gas (GHG) concentrations against year from 1750 to 2000. In every case, a tremendous acceleration of growth beginning around 1950 was clearly visible. Their broad findings amounted to:    

Biological processes play a much stronger role than previously acknowledged in regulating the Earth system. This, as we shall see, amounts to at least partial recognition of Gaia theory. Anthropogenic impacts are more than climate change, and equal some of the great forces of nature in their extent. They cascade through the Earth system in complex ways, driving multiple, interacting effects. Anthropogenic impacts could inadvertently trigger changes with catastrophic consequences for the Earth system, including, of course, us. This refers to so-called ‘tipping points’. The Earth system is currently in a state unprecedented in human history, and perhaps that of the planet.

In 2005, in recognition of Karl Polanyi’s prescient (it was first published in 1944) and influential The Great Transformation (Polanyi, 1944/2001), the dramatic multiple and concurrent accelerations identified by the IGBP were collectively named the ‘Great Acceleration’. This term was incorporated into the title of the 2015 update of the 2004 publication, which used data up to 2010 instead of 2000 (Steffen et al., 2015b). There the authors noted that: The post-1950 acceleration in the Earth System indicators remains clear. Only beyond the mid-20th century is there clear evidence for fundamental shifts in the state and functioning of the Earth System that are beyond the range of

The Anthropocene 23

variability of the Holocene and driven by human activities. Thus, of all the candidates for a start date for the Anthropocene, the beginning of the Great Acceleration is by far the most convincing from an Earth System science perspective. (Steffen et al., 2015b: 81) The authors concluded that: There are several glimmers of hope that the growth/collapse pattern may be avoided … exponential population growth is over and global population seems more likely to stabilise this century. Regulation of chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) through the Montreal Protocol has resulted in early signs of recovery of Antarctic stratospheric ozone … Policies in OECD countries to regulate excessive use of fertilizers have stabilised their consumption in these nations. The amount of domesticated land is increasing more slowly as agricultural intensification takes over (albeit with pollution problems from excessive use of nitrogen and phosphorus fertilizers in some agricultural zones …). The rapid rise of mobile telecommunication devices in the developing world is an excellent example of leapfrogging. If such leapfrogging could be extended to energy systems, the developing world may lead the way in decoupling development from environmental impacts. On the other hand, greenhouse gases are still rising rapidly, threatening the stability of the climate system, and tropical forest and woodland loss remains high. The pursuit of growth in the global economy continues, but responsibility for its impacts on the Earth System has not been taken. Planetary stewardship has yet to emerge. Will the next 50 years bring the Great Decoupling or the Great Collapse? The latest 10 years of the Great Acceleration graphs show signs of both but cannot distinguish between these scenarios, or other possibilities. But 100 years on from the advent of the Great Acceleration, in 2050, we’ll almost certainly know the answer. (Steffen et al., 2015b: 94) This is a very mixed message, which wisely acknowledges the limits of numerical extrapolation. The uncompromising assertion that ‘planetary stewardship has yet to emerge’ shows that there is no room for complacency, and the preceding sentence highlights the cognitive dissonance between economic growth and environmental protection that I have already mentioned. I will now briefly review our current understanding of selected anthropogenic impacts.

2.2 Impacts Of all the scientific content of this book, the estimation and understanding of anthropogenic impacts is undoubtedly the most rapidly evolving, so the following

24 The Anthropocene

information should be regarded as a snapshot. As significant new knowledge emerges, I will endeavour to report it in the blog on the companion website to this book (www.irreducible.world). Veteran oilman-turned-environmentalist Jeremy Leggett has an excellent online digest covering anthropogenic impacts and many other issues touched upon in this book (jeremyleggett.net), which is updated almost daily.

Climate change (global heating) Of all our impacts, none is more ubiquitous, serious in the long term but invisible in the short term and, of course, entangled with massive vested interests than climate change. Amidst the ongoing miasma of information and disinformation, in my view one statistic stands out to convey the enormity of the phenomenon, hence I have presented it in the form of a real-time counter on the companion website. The net result of human activity, above all the burning of fossil fuels, is that we are adding heat to the climate, primarily via the atmosphere and oceans, at an average rate in excess of four Hiroshima nuclear bombs per second (Nuccitelli et al., 2012). This is a continuous, ongoing heating process with long-term consequences that are irreversible over any conceivable human timescale. The resulting increases in global temperatures are already causing sea level rise, increased extreme weather events and regional climatic shifts that threaten food production. The humanitarian consequences—displacement of millions from coastal cities, famine, resource warfare, forced migration, spread of diseases and so on—are so serious that the U.S. Department of Defense, which is hardly renowned for its tree-hugging tendencies, in 2015 released a report on the security implications of climate change (U.S. Department of Defense, 2015). Even under the Trump administration, the Center for Climate & Security, whose advisory board is ‘a group of military, national security and foreign policy experts’, continues to explore the security risks of climate change. Current levels of atmospheric carbon dioxide are now, at over 400 ppm (parts per million), almost certainly higher than they have been for the last 4 million years and, according to the World Meteorological Organization (2018), Seventeen of the 18 warmest years on record have all been during this century, and the degree of warming during the past three years has been exceptional. Arctic warmth has been especially pronounced and this will have profound and long-lasting repercussions on sea levels, and on weather patterns in other parts of the world. The same press release notes that global average temperatures in 2015, 2016 and 2017 were, respectively, 1.1, 1.2 and 1.1°C above pre-industrial levels. Earth is now hotter, on average, than at any other time in more than 100,000 years. We are already perilously close to the Paris Accord target of 1.5°C warming, and

The Anthropocene 25

many climate scientists, e.g., Raftery et al. (2017), now believe that we will exceed 2°C before the end of this century, the consequences of which will be extremely dangerous. The aforementioned potential tipping points have been a major concern to climate scientists for decades. Prior to the exceptionally stable and benign Holocene epoch, during which human civilisation has flourished, major shifts in the global climate were the norm. Potential positive (reinforcing) feedbacks, through which rising temperatures massively increase greenhouse gas emissions, include sudden methane release due to thawing of the tundra permafrost, warming of Arctic wetlands, and from ocean floor clathrates (methane has 84 times the global warming potential (GWP) of carbon dioxide over a 20-year time horizon). Another potential reinforcing feedback is large-scale loss of sea ice, thereby reducing Earth’s albedo (reflectivity) and increasing solar heat absorption. One tipping point that we seem to be even closer to is the partial or even total shutdown of part of the global oceanic thermohaline circulation—the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC), which transports warm surface water from the tropics towards the Arctic. In the North Atlantic waters it cools, becomes denser and sinks, and then flows back southwards. However, warming of the Arctic increases glacier and sea ice melt, mixing local freshwater with the transported surface water and reducing its density, thus inhibiting the sink. Two concurrent articles published in Nature (Thornalley et al., 2018; Caesar et al., 2018) indicate that the AMOC is now at its weakest for at least 1,600 years. The findings challenge previous predictions that a catastrophic collapse of the Gulf Stream would take centuries to occur. Shutdown of the AMOC would see Western Europe suffer far more extreme winters, sea levels rising fast on the eastern seaboard of the U.S. and disruption to vital tropical rains. The research shows that the circulation is now 15% weaker than around 400 CE, an exceptionally large deviation, and that anthropogenic global heating is largely responsible for the weakening. In all of these potential tipping points, the crucial question is not if, but when— how much further can global average temperatures rise before one or more of them is triggered? Nobody knows for sure, but there is universal agreement among climate scientists that the risk increases with temperature. All targets, such as the 1.5°C target set in Paris in 2015, are scientifically arbitrary but politically significant. Just as this book was being completed, Will Steffen and his colleagues published a new paper suggesting that the Earth system could, due to all the aforementioned feedbacks and more, be tipped onto an irreversible trajectory towards an uncontrollable and dangerous state they call ‘Hothouse Earth’ within decades, and before exceeding even the Paris Accord temperature targets (Steffen et al., 2018). Subsequently, even the politically diluted report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change released on 6 October 2018, which doesn’t take feedback into account, warns with high confidence that global warming is likely to reach 1.5°C between 2030 and 2052 (IPCC, 2018).

26 The Anthropocene

Population I have already emphasised in Figure 1.1 the disproportionate agency of the most affluent among us; but there is still no escaping the fact that numerical growth of the global human population has been, and will continue to be, a major driver of virtually all aspects of the Anthropocene. Figure 2.1 shows the extraordinary recent rate of this growth. According to the U.N. data used to generate this chart, there were less than a billion people in the world until the early 1800s. Thereafter the global human population has doubled successively to 2 billion by the 1920s, 4 billion by the 1970s and, at a figure of around 7.5 billion at the time of writing, has almost doubled again. It was around 2.7 billion when I was born, so my perception that the world is becoming more crowded is no misanthropic projection. Put another way, having taken millennia to reach the first billion, the population is now increasing by another billion every 12–15 years. Babies are being born at an average rate of around four per second which, while I am not suggesting they can be put in the same metaphorical basket as nuclear bombs— babies are infinitely more lovable—makes both statistics easier to remember.

FIGURE 2.1 Past, present and projected population. Data source: Population Division, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, United Nations Secretariat (1999) The World at Six Billion (ESA/P/WP.154), Table 1

The membership charity Population Matters, whose patrons include James Lovelock, Sir Crispin Tickell and Sir David Attenborough, addresses population size and environmental sustainability.3 Their activities include compiling and presenting factual data and best estimates from reputable third parties. They have also, using country-bycountry data from the Carbon Dioxide Information Analysis Center at the Oak Ridge National Laboratory, presented by the World Bank, calculated that, based on today’s average global emission rates, population growth until 2050 will produce the same

The Anthropocene 27

additional CO2 emissions as four additional United States. Likewise, also as a result of continuing population growth, it is estimated that we will need 70% more food, but availability of land per person in developing countries is expected to halve by 2050 (Food and Agriculture Organization, 2011), global energy demand will increase by 30% by 2040 (International Energy Agency, 2017) and so on. The role of global population and consumption in greenhouse gas emissions is enumerated in an equation developed by the Japanese energy economist Yoichi Kaya and now known as the Kaya Identity. The version of this used in a Population Matters briefing paper (Kummerow, 2015) is: C = C/E * E/Y * Y/P * P C = Carbon (or more broadly, greenhouse gas) emissions E = Energy generated and consumed by humans Y = Economic output (goods and services, GDP) P = Population Although apparently merely stating that C = C (hence ‘identity’), the decomposition has facilitated the development of future emissions scenarios for the IPCC using a range of assumed conditions for future development of each of the inputs, data for which are readily available. The first factor, C/E, is the carbon intensity of energy production. While this can be reduced by switching to minimal-carbon energy sources, such as renewables, it has been rising recently by around 0.3% per year due to increasing use of dirtier energy sources such as coal and tar sands. The second factor, E/Y, shows the energy intensity of providing goods and services. It is often overlooked in the debate about energy that it is our demand for goods and services, the latter including heating, lighting and transport, rather than for energy per se, that drives economic growth. Energy intensity has been improving globally, falling by about 1.4% annually since 1990, but obviously it cannot do so indefinitely. The third factor, Y/P, shows per capita incomes, which have been growing (especially in Asia) at an average rate globally of about 2% annually since 1970. Economic growth remains a central goal of governments, firms and individuals. Billions of people still live in poverty and need additional growth in output to meet even basic needs. The bottom line here is that the only way to alleviate material poverty without further disrupting the climate is for consumption by the affluent to be dramatically curtailed. The fourth factor is global population, P, which is still growing at over 1% annually, despite average fertility declining from over 5 children per woman in 1970 to 2.5 children in 2010. Thus, three of the four factors are trending upwards, i.e., in the wrong direction, indicating an annual rate of increase in carbon emissions of more than 2%. Of the four, the first has the greatest potential for rapid reduction, which is why winning the ‘carbon war’—to use Jeremy Leggett’s label for the fight against entrenched opposition to make the transition to clean energy—is so crucial. However, as Kummerow concludes, it is hard to see how carbon emissions could be substantially reduced without all four factors going in the right direction—downwards.

28 The Anthropocene

Human dominance Homo sapiens is now not only extremely and increasingly numerous but, thanks largely to technology, demonstrably the global apex predator on land and at sea. Our species dominates every continent to the extent that by the year 2000 we accounted for some 30% by dry mass of all terrestrial vertebrates, and our domesticated animals another 67%, leaving just 3% for wild animals (Smil, 2011: 619). More recent estimates of the biomass distribution on Earth suggest similar proportions of 36%, 60% and 4% respectively by carbon mass for mammals (Bar-On et al., 2018: 3), while the biomass of domesticated poultry is about three times higher than that of all wild birds. We, and our livestock, outweigh all vertebrates combined, with the exception of fish, even though we amount to only about 3% of animal biomass, among which the biggest taxa are arthropods (50%) followed by fish (35%). Among wild animal populations, long before the Anthropocene H. sapiens and our ancestors disproportionately extirpated large-bodied mammal species from ecosystems—whither the mammoth, the sabre-toothed tiger, the auroch? During the Quaternary Megafauna Extinction some 3–50,000 years ago, around half of the large (>40 kg) land mammal species disappeared. Analysis of data from up to 125,000 years ago clearly shows that humans have been a primary driver of taxonomic losses and ecosystem homogenisation (Smith et al., 2018: 310). Extrapolating these trends up to 200 years into the future suggests that by then the largest land mammal could be the domesticated cow. Our impact on global biomass has not been limited to mammals but has also dramatically reduced the total quantity of carbon sequestered by plants as the total plant biomass—currently some 80% of all biomass on Earth (Bar-On et al., 2018: 2)—has been approximately halved since the advent of human civilisation. The total biomass of crops still accounts for only about 2% of the extant total plant biomass. Meanwhile, the physical ‘technosphere’, defined as the summed material output of the contemporary human enterprise, has been preliminarily estimated to have a mass of approximately 30 trillion tonnes, equivalent to an average of 50 kg/m2 of the Earth’s surface (Zalasiewicz et al., 2016: 11). To put this into perspective, it is some five orders of magnitude greater than Smil’s estimate of the total live weight of the global ‘anthropomass’ of 6.1 billion people in 2000, which was about 300 million tonnes (Smil, 2011: 617), and over fifty times the estimated carbon mass of all life on Earth (Bar-On et al., 2018: 2). The Anthropocene means ever more of us and our stuff, and less other-than-human life, both in terms of diversity and quantity, however measured. The danger of monoculture has been known to farmers since time immemorial, and is recognised in systems theory, including in Gaia theory and Earth system science. This is discussed later; but in the context of the Anthropocene it is necessary to examine another serious phenomenon that is a consequence of all the foregoing impacts.

The Anthropocene 29

The Sixth Mass Extinction Over 95% of all species that have ever lived on Earth over the last 3.5 billion years are now extinct, and there is ample fossil evidence of five mass extinctions to date due primarily to extreme geological events, though the first appears to have been due to the development of oxygenic photosynthesis some 2.5 billion years ago. Mass extinctions are characterised by the loss of at least 75% of species within a geologically short period of time (Barnosky et al., 2011: 51). To put the Anthropocene extinction into context, a major review published in Nature (Monastersky, 2014), which compiled the best available data from around the world, indicated that a staggering 41% of all amphibians on the planet now face extinction, while 26% of mammal species and 13% of birds are similarly threatened. The threats to less-studied groups, such as fish and insects, are not so well understood, and thus there is great uncertainty about the overall rate of extinction, which is estimated to range from 0.01% to 0.7% of all existing species a year. At the upper estimated rate, thousands of species are disappearing each year which, if continued, could lead to a mass extinction over the next few centuries. Even at the lowest estimated rate, the timescale of the extinction event would be millennia, which certainly qualifies as ‘a geologically short period of time’. Other researchers have estimated the rates of species population shrinkage and/ or extinctions in terms of numbers and range which, while not technically part of the above definition of a mass extinction event, are orders of magnitude more frequent than species extinctions, to which they are a prelude: as much as 50% of the number of animal individuals that once shared Earth with us are already gone, as are billions of populations. … Beyond global species extinctions Earth is experiencing a huge episode of population declines and extirpations, which will have negative cascading consequences on ecosystem functioning and services vital to sustaining civilization. (Ceballos et al., 2017) Ceballos et al.’s analysis of almost half of all known vertebrate species indicated that some 32% of them were decreasing in population size and range, and their more detailed analysis of 177 mammal species confirmed the high rate of loss even among International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN)-designated ‘species of low concern’. They describe the phenomenon in the title of their paper as ‘biological annihilation’ to convey the magnitude of this ongoing extinction event because, as they wrote previously, ‘our global society has started to destroy species of other organisms at an accelerating rate, initiating a mass extinction episode unparalleled for 65 million years’ (Ceballos et al., 2015: 4). Finally, the latest edition of the Living Planet Index, which is managed by the Zoological Society of London in collaborative partnership with WWF, measures the population abundance of thousands of vertebrate species around the world, and shows an overall decline of 60% in population sizes between 1970 and 2014 (Grooten & Almond, 2018: 7).

30 The Anthropocene

Plastic There are so many facets to the Anthropocene that one can drown in shocking facts and statistics. The advent of plastics, for example, is a contender for a stratigraphic indicator of the advent of the Anthropocene. Rates of plastic production, and the scale of its accumulation, are staggering. According to figures obtained by The Guardian, every minute a million plastic bottles are bought around the world, and more than half a trillion will be sold annually by the end of this decade (Laville and Taylor, 2017). The same newspaper also reported analysis of tap water from more than a dozen nations which found that, on average, 83% of samples were contaminated with microplastics (Carrington, 2017), the highest incidence of 94% being in the U.S. Microplastics are the main constituents of the ‘Great Pacific Garbage Patch’, the size of which has been estimated to be between that of Texas and that of Russia. Geyer et al. (2017) estimate that 8.3 billion metric tons of plastics had been produced by 2017 and that, as of 2015, some 6.3 billion metric tons of plastic waste had been generated, of which only around 9% had been recycled and 12% incinerated; the remaining 79% (almost 5 billion metric tons) was in landfill or polluting the natural environment.

2.3 Boundaries The big picture One way to visualise and appraise the mass of data that characterises the Anthropocene is the notion of ‘planetary boundaries’, first published in 2009 (Rockström et al., 2009) and updated six years later (Steffen et al., 2015a); Figure 2.2 is taken from the latter publication. The language of both papers is that of Earth system science (ESS)—of which more in the next chapter—and the estimates obtained by system modelling. In the discussion below, I use the authors’ terminology, in particular ‘control variables’ and ‘perturbations’ which can be considered, for the purposes here, to be synonymous with anthropogenic impacts. As the original figure was in colour, some additional explanation is needed here. The zone bounded by the innermost circle is the safe operating space; that between the two heavier circles represents the zone of uncertainty (increasing risk); and beyond the outer heavier circle is a high-risk zone. The planetary boundary itself is the inner heavier circle. Processes for which global-level boundaries cannot yet be quantified are flagged with question marks. Proceeding clockwise around the figure: Climate change: The control variable shown for climate change is atmospheric CO2 concentration, and the planetary boundary set at 350 ppm; the concentration at the time of writing is around 410–412 ppm, and rising. This is one of the two ‘core’ boundaries identified by the authors, ‘each of which has the potential on its own to drive the Earth system into a new state should they be substantially and persistently transgressed’ (Steffen et al., 2015a: 1259855-1).

The Anthropocene 31

Current status of the control variables for seven of the planetary boundaries. From Steffen, W. et al. (2015) ‘Sustainability. Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet.’ Science, 347(6223). Reprinted with permission from AAAS.

FIGURE 2.2

Novel entities: Defined by the authors as ‘new substances, new forms of existing substances, and modified life forms that have the potential for unwanted geo-physical and/or biological effects’ (Steffen et al., 2015a: 1259855-7), this is a ‘wildcard’ inclusion to accommodate unknown developments resulting from, for example, DDT, plastic, genetically modified organisms (GMOs), radionuclides and so on. Lovelock’s thought experiment prompted by the question ‘what could destroy Gaia?’ would come under this heading. Stratospheric ozone depletion: Thanks to the successful implementation of the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer from 1989 onwards, the authors report that ‘This is an example in which, after a boundary has been transgressed regionally, humanity has taken effective action to return the process back to within the boundary’ (Steffen et al., 2015a: 1259855-6). As such, it remains a vital beacon of hope, illustrating the potential power of international cooperation and agreement. Atmospheric aerosol loading: This refers to visible air pollution including emissions of black carbon and organic carbon from biofuels (cooking and heating), from outdoor biomass combustion (agricultural, forest, peat bog etc.), and from diesel transportation, emissions of sulphates and nitrates from fossil fuel combustion, and miscellaneous industrial emissions. It has been estimated

32 The Anthropocene

to cause about 3.3 million premature human deaths per year, doubling by 2050 under a business-as-usual emissions scenario (Lelieveld et al., 2015). It can also perturb Earth system behaviours, among which the South Asian monsoon is of particular concern. Ocean acidification: This is intimately linked with CO2 emissions, for which the oceans have acted as a partial sink, with the result that acidity has increased by about 30% over the last 200 years. It is now very close to the planetary boundary, and the ecological damage, such as massive die-off in coral reefs around the world, is increasingly visible. The authors nonetheless contend that the boundary would not be transgressed if the above atmospheric CO2 concentration boundary of 350 ppm were to be respected. Biogeochemical flows: Labelled ‘Biochemical flows’ in Figure 2.2, these include many flows apart from the carbon cycle (which has already been considered in the context of climate change). The authors have concentrated on phosphorous and nitrogen pro tem due to these elements’ massive transgressions of planetary boundaries, which is almost entirely due to the application of agricultural fertilisers. The threats posed to the Earth system include large-scale ocean anoxic events and eutrophication of freshwater systems; instances of both are now widespread. Freshwater use: From a global perspective this is well within the planetary boundary, but there is no room for complacency as that is a meaningless statistic for communities afflicted by drought. Chronic or acute regional freshwater shortages are serious events that are exacerbated by rising human population, and this is another control variable that is sensitive to climate change. Land-system change: In this update the boundary is focused on the biogeophysical processes in land systems that directly regulate climate, especially nonlocally. The control variable is therefore afforestation since forests, above all tropical forests, exert a significant influence through evapotranspiration and albedo change, in addition to photosynthetic carbon fixing (which is again considered separately in the carbon cycle). This too has transgressed the planetary boundary due to historical and recent deforestation in all three biomes—tropical, temperate and boreal, the current rate of which is estimated to be an area the size of a football pitch every second. Biosphere integrity: Last but definitely not least, as this is the second of the two ‘core’ boundaries, biosphere integrity is considered in terms of functional and genetic diversity. The former, which seems related to Gaia theory (not mentioned by the authors), relates anthropogenic changes in population abundance (q.v. (Ceballos et al., 2017, discussed above) to Earth system responses; but, as these are not yet well understood, they cannot be confidently estimated. The latter, derived from extinction rates, is crucial because genetic diversity promotes resilience of the Earth system. The fact that the estimated rate has transgressed the planetary boundary by 1–2 orders of magnitude should be a wake-up call to those whose grasp of the significance of biodiversity loss is limited to ‘save the panda’ sentimentality.

The Anthropocene 33

To summarise, of the nine planetary boundaries modelled, both of the ‘core’ boundaries (climate change and genetic diversity) have been transgressed, along with those for biogeochemical flows and land-system change. Of the three that have not been transgressed, those for freshwater use and, especially, ocean acidification, are being approached, while that for stratospheric ozone depletion has been safeguarded thanks to effective human intervention. The authors stress that they are providing data (that cannot be reverse-engineered to regional scales) to inform, not dictate, how we should proceed. That has also been the intention of this chapter.

Notes 1 For example, Monsanto published and distributed five thousand copies of a brochure parodying Silent Spring entitled The Desolate Year, relating the devastation and inconvenience of a world where famine, disease and insects ran amuck because chemical pesticides had been banned. It can, at the time of writing, still be accessed online. 2 A 44-page PDF of the Executive Summary is highly recommended and, at the time of writing, freely available online (details in the Appendix at the end of this book). 3 https://www.populationmatters.org, accessed 3 June 2015.

References Bar-On, Y.M., Phillips, R. & Milo, R. (2018) ‘The Biomass Distribution on Earth.’ Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences: 201711842. doi:10.1073/pnas.1711842115 Barnosky, A.D. et al. (2011) ‘Has the Earth’s Sixth Mass Extinction Already Arrived?’ Nature, 471(7336): 51–57. doi:10.1038/nature09678 Caesar, L. et al. (2018) ‘Observed Fingerprint of a Weakening Atlantic Ocean Overturning Circulation.’ Nature, 556(7700): 191–196. doi:10.1038/s41586-018-0006-5 Carrington, D. (2017) ‘Plastic Fibres Found in Tap Water around the World, Study Reveals. Environment,’ The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2017/sep/ 06/plastic-fibres-found-tap-water-around-world-study-reveals, accessed 23 Oct 2017. Carson, R. (1962) Silent Spring. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. Ceballos, G. et al. (2015) ‘Accelerated Modern Human-Induced Species Losses: Entering the Sixth Mass Extinction.’ Science Advances, 1(5): e1400253. doi:10.1126/sciadv.1400253 Ceballos, G., Ehrlich, P.R. & Dirzo, R. (2017) ‘Biological Annihilation via the Ongoing Sixth Mass Extinction Signaled By Vertebrate Population Losses and Declines.’ PNAS, 114(30): E6089–E6096. doi:10.1073/pnas.1704949114 Food and Agriculture Organization (2011) The State of the World’s Land and Water Resources for Food and Agriculture (SOLAW): Managing Systems at Risk. Rome & London: Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations/Earthscan. Geyer, R., Jambeck, J.R. & Law, K.L. (2017) ‘Production, Use, and Fate of All Plastics Ever Made.’ Science Advances, 3(7): e1700782. doi:10.1126/sciadv.1700782 Grooten, M. & Almond, R.E.A. (Eds) (2018) Living Planet Report 2018: Aiming Higher. Gland, Switzerland: WWF. Hamilton, C. (2017) Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. International Energy Agency (2017) World Energy Outlook 2017. Paris: OECD. https://web store.iea.org/world-energy-outlook-2017

34 The Anthropocene

Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). (2018) Global Warming of 1.5°C: Summary for Policymakers. Geneva: IPCC. Kummerow, M. (2015) Kaya’s Equation. http://populationmatters.org/documents/kaya_ equation.pdf, accessed 29 Nov 2015. Laville, S. & Taylor, M. (2017) ‘A Million Bottles a Minute: World’s Plastic Binge “as Dangerous as Climate Change”.’ Environment, The Guardian, https://www.theguardian. com/environment/2017/jun/28/a-million-a-minute-worlds-plastic-bottle-binge-as-da ngerous-as-climate-change, accessed 22 Jan 2018. Lelieveld, J. et al. (2015) ‘The Contribution of Outdoor Air Pollution Sources to Premature Mortality on a Global Scale.’ Nature, 525(7569): 367–371. doi:10.1038/nature15371 Meyer, R. (2018) ‘Geology’s Timekeepers Are Feuding.’ The Atlantic, https://www.theatla ntic.com/science/archive/2018/07/anthropocene-holocene-geology-drama/565628/, accessed 9 Aug 2018. Monastersky, R. (2014) ‘Biodiversity: Life—a Status Report.’ Nature, 516(7530): 158–161. doi:10.1038/516158a Nuccitelli, D. et al. (2012) ‘Comment on Ocean Heat Content and Earth’s Radiation Imbalance. II. Relation to Climate Shifts.’ Physics Letters A, 376(45): 3466–3468. doi:10.1016/j.physleta.2012. 10. 01doi:0 Polanyi, K. (1944/2001) The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time. Boston, MA: Beacon. Raftery, A.E. et al. (2017) ‘Less Than 2 C Warming By 2100 Unlikely.’ Nature Climate Change, 7(9): nclimate3352. doi:10.1038/nclimate3352 Rockström, J. et al. (2009) ‘A Safe Operating Space for Humanity.’ Nature, 461(7263): 472–475. Smil, V. (2011) ‘Harvesting the Biosphere: The Human Impact.’ Population and Development Review, 37(4): 613–636. Smith, F.A. et al. (2018) ‘Body Size Downgrading of Mammals over the Late Quaternary.’ Science, 360(6386): 310–313. doi:10.1126/science.aao5987 Steffen, W. et al. (2015a) ‘Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet.’ Science, 347(6223): 1259855. doi:10.1126/science.1259855 Steffen, W. et al. (2015b) ‘The Trajectory of the Anthropocene: The Great Acceleration.’ Anthropocene Review, 2(1): 81–98. doi:10.1177/2053019614564785 Steffen, W. et al. (2018) ‘Trajectories of the Earth System in the Anthropocene.’ Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(33): 8252–8259. doi:10.1073/pnas.1810141115 Steffen, W. et al. (2004) Global Change and the Earth System: A Planet under Pressure. Berlin & Heidelberg: Springer. Thornalley, D.J.R. et al. (2018) ‘Anomalously Weak Labrador Sea Convection and Atlantic Overturning during the Past 150 Years.’ Nature, 556(7700): 227–230. doi:10.1038/ s41586-018-0007-4 U.S. Department of Defense. (2015) National Security Implications of Climate-Related Risks and a Changing Climate. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of Defense. World Meteorological Organization. (2018) ‘Press Release Number: 18-01-2018: WMO Confirms 2017 Among the Three Warmest Years on Record.’ https://public.wmo.int/en/m edia/press-release/wmo-confirms-2017-among-three-warmest-years-record, 28 April 2018. Zalasiewicz, J. et al. (2016) ‘Scale and Diversity of the Physical Technosphere: A Geological Perspective.’ Anthropocene Review, 4(1): 9–22. doi:10.1177/2053019616677743

3 GAIA AND SCIENCE

3.1 Systems dynamics There are many possible sources for coverage of the huge field of systems theory, so to ensure consistency and brevity, I will focus on the approach and terminology of just one of them. I have chosen Donella H. Meadows for several reasons. She was the lead author of the ground-breaking Limits to Growth, commissioned and published by the Club of Rome in 1972 (Meadows et al., 1972/1974), and posthumously (she died tragically early in 2001) of Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update (Meadows et al., 2004). Though less well known to the public than the likes of Carson, Lovelock and Margulis, she was regarded as one of the most important environmental thinkers of the 20th Century. Despite being a high-flyer in the rarefied world of computer modelling, Meadows wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty—she was also a farmer. I have used her seminal introduction to systems dynamics, Thinking in Systems: A Primer (Meadows, 2008) extensively because of her clarity of presentation and her animation of dry theory with real-life examples throughout. The book, which has been highly praised by environmental luminaries such as Lester Brown, Amory Lovins and Bill McKibben, could therefore be read as a supplement to this section. We seem to be predisposed to think of cause and effect in terms that are exclusively linear and sequential. In other words, input determines output, and that’s the end of the matter. To take perhaps the simplest possible quantitative example: I add, say, £10 to my bank account (input), which increases it by £10 to a new total (output). However, many, if not most, real-life systems have at least a degree of circular causality—the output also determines the input or, more generally, the state of a given element influences the state of a preceding element, to some extent over time. If my bank account earns interest, the input added over a

36 Gaia and science

given period of time will be determined by the product of the interest rate and the output, and thus the more capital I have invested, the more interest I will receive (one of the problems with capitalism). Such circular causality is, for obvious reasons, called feedback. To complicate things further, systems are often nonlinear— changes in input and output are not necessarily proportional to each other (many banks offer variable interest rates depending on how much money is in the account), or there may be delay at some point in the feedback loop (e.g., interest is only awarded annually). The behaviour of even apparently simple systems with any or all of these properties can be exotic and unpredictable, even though it is entirely deterministic. This, especially in the controversy around Gaia theory, is an important point. Systems, even when they appear to be teleological, are invariably causal, mechanistic phenomena. Meadows defined a system as: A set of elements or parts that is coherently organised and interconnected in a pattern or structure that produces a characteristic set of behaviour, often classified as its ‘function’ or ‘purpose’. (Meadows, 2008: 188) She favoured the term ‘purpose’ for human systems, and ‘function’ for non-human, though many systems are a combination of both, and summarised systems principles as follows:    

A system is more than the sum of its parts. It may exhibit adaptive, dynamic, goal-seeking, self-preserving, and sometimes evolutionary behaviour. Many of the interconnections in systems operate through the flow of information. Information holds systems together and plays a great role in determining how they operate. The least obvious part of a system, its function or purpose, is often the most crucial determinant of the system’s behaviour. System structure is the source of system behaviour. System behaviour reveals itself as a series of events over time.

Meadows’ language here and throughout her book is straightforward but meticulously consistent and precise, so the above principles contain a lot of information in just a few lines and merit careful study. The elements or parts of a system can be physical or intangible, and often a system includes both. As we will see, Lovelock drew on cybernetics—a subset of fully fledged systems dynamics involving closed signalling loops—to develop Gaia theory of physical elements. Jung formulated his model of intangible elements—the psyche— without the conceptual framework, language and formalism of any version of systems theory, which only began to emerge as a recognised discipline during the last two decades of his life. Nonetheless, post-Jungian researchers are showing it too largely complies with the above definition and principles. The behaviours of both psyche and Gaia resemble those of complex adaptive

Gaia and science 37

systems, which can be surprisingly sophisticated. Both Jung and Meadows used the neo-Platonic word ‘archetype’—Jung to explain and Meadows to categorise, characteristic patterns of behaviour. However, both Lovelock and, to a greater extent, Jung ultimately and controversially went beyond causality to embrace teleology in their own different ways, so their respective models cannot be explained away entirely in terms of systems theory. Many of the other authors mentioned in this book—including Gregory Bateson, Kenneth Boulding, Fritjof Capra, Kate Raworth and E.F. Schumacher—are considered to be systems and holistic thinkers, for the two approaches are intimately related. Like every discipline, systems theory has fragmented into many schools, each with its own terminology—hence my use of the terms favoured by Meadows throughout for consistency. This is particularly important in the context of feedback loops where I find her terms ‘balancing’ and ‘reinforcing’ more transparent and less misleading than the ‘negative’ and ‘positive’ equivalents typically used in cybernetics, and hence by Lovelock. A balancing (negative) feedback loop opposes whatever direction of change is imposed upon the system. This can be desirable if the goal is stability (homeostasis), as in Gaia theory, but frustrating if the goal is change. On the other hand, a reinforcing (positive) feedback loop amplifies change, as in the simple foregoing example of bank interest, resulting in exponential growth or runaway collapse that may often, but not invariably, be problematic. This ambivalence in both cases is why the value-implicit terms ‘negative’ and ‘positive’ can be confusing. Many of the archetypal ‘system traps’ which Meadows identified and analysed, such as escalation, addiction and competitive exclusion (success to the successful), are driven by reinforcing feedback. Other traps, such as policy resistance, are the result of balancing feedback, while yet others, such as the tragedy of the commons, can be attributed to too little feedback; so even whether feedback per se is beneficial or not is also context-dependent. These are generalised patterns or categories of behaviour, so while we most commonly associate addiction, for example, with individuals dependent on drugs, it is equally applicable to other, including collective, patterns of dependence, such as our entire civilisation’s reliance on fossil fuels. Likewise, the tragedy of the commons, so-named because early examples included over-grazing of common land which benefitted an animal’s owner more than it cost them, is just as applicable to, for example, the benefit of consumption to an individual compared with the impact on them of the environmental cost. Systems analysis is a powerful tool for stepping back from the elements that a system is modelling to examine how it works in terms of structure and behaviour, and thus prepares the ground for many of my comparisons between psyche and Gaia. As Meadows stresses over and again, although understanding how a system works may well help us to predict, and even control, its behaviour, it by no means guarantees that we can do so. The fundamental reasons for this humbling

38 Gaia and science

limitation, which she admits deflated the optimism of early systems theorists, can be considered in two categories—our inability to know everything about a system, and the exotic behaviour of some systems as already intimated. The former category is familiar from the maps and territories metaphor, and summed up by Meadows (2008: 87) as: ‘Everything we think we know about the world is a model. Our models do have a strong congruence with the world. Our models fall far short of representing the real world fully.’ Just as we have to omit detail to create a map, in order to model a system, we have to set arbitrary boundaries that isolate it from the rest of the world, but in reality don’t exist. Reasonable decisions based on the resulting incomplete information are inevitably sub-optimal because of what the Nobel Laureate economist Herbert Simon called ‘bounded rationality’. This throws a spanner into the works of some of our most cherished assumptions, notably mainstream economic theory over the last two centuries since Adam Smith’s ‘invisible hand’, which naively assumes that we all make perfectly rational decisions out of selfinterest based on perfect information. This has rightly earned it the moniker ‘invisible foot’ from World Bank economist Herbert Daly. Conversely, Meadows also argues that too much information can sometimes distract us from what we already know needs to be done. For example, in massively complex systems such as the global climate, the need to incorporate as much information as possible results in extremely complicated models requiring supercomputers. Such models, though undoubtedly worthwhile for predicting future behaviour, are no substitute for taking practical action in the present. The second category—the inherently unpredictable and unmanageable future behaviour of some systems irrespective of how much we may know about them—is less obvious but no less significant. Such systems include nonlinearity in relationships and/or feedback delays, and can be especially bewildering if the relative importance of the feedback loops and/or the duration of their delays are in themselves variable, as is often the case. Those systems with balancing feedback delays, as in real-world cybernetics, tend to oscillate around their goals. Systems with multiple inputs are most limited at any instant by the input that is most important to them, and there will always be limits to growth (hence the title of Meadows’ eponymous aforementioned 1972 best-seller). The same system can behave predictably or chaotically over different input ranges. A complex system, such as many of those found in nature and culture, may to an observer effectively be a ‘black box’ between one or more inputs and outputs. To understand it involves a degree of mental reverse engineering which, in turn, benefits from careful monitoring of the system’s behaviour over a prolonged period. This is why we cannot understand climate from weather or, as Meadows points out, make sense of current affairs from a daily diet of short-term news—a long-term, historical perspective is needed. So-called ‘complex adaptive systems’ can exhibit intriguingly life-like properties such as resilience, self-organisation and emergence, the importance of which for both psyche and Gaia will become increasingly obvious. Systems of very low

Gaia and science 39

complexity, such as a thermostat or a mechanical governor, may have homeostasis— constant temperature and engine speed respectively—as a goal. The operating environment for many systems is, however, characterised by multiple parameters, each of which has a range (that is often dependent upon others) beyond which the system cannot function properly. Here the quality of resilience—the ability to continue functioning within a variable environment—becomes important. Resilience is not to be confused with the more immediately visible quality of static stability; indeed, the two are unlikely to be compatible. For example, in hurricane-prone regions, trees with flexible trunks and branches bend and deform in the wind, thereby reducing the force on their canopy, whereas stiffer trees are more likely to be broken or uprooted. Resilience is an important aspect of adaptation, and tends to increase with both diversity and redundancy in a system, i.e., with its complexity. The sale and consumption of food in a city is a good example—there is no centralised planning, yet the huge number of suppliers, retailers and purchasers produces a resilient system in which supply almost exactly matches demand. Unfortunately, we repeatedly take resilience for granted until its limits are exceeded, so systems are often engineered for static stability and/or productivity instead. Conversely, awareness of resilience permits a system’s inherent restorative powers to be preserved or enhanced through human intervention. While resilience is a life-like quality of complex adaptive systems, self-organisation is surely their most apparently miraculous capability. Both properties resemble those of life because they are characteristic of, indeed, prerequisites for, life, whether biological or psychological. Self-organisation is the capacity of a system to increase its own complexity over time—to diversify, learn, evolve. It is the basis of growth, whether of crystals, animals or rainforests. Its progress is unpredictable, and hence its outcomes heterogeneous, thereby often contributing to resilience. However, as with resilience we often sacrifice self-organisation for stability and/or productivity, but for a different reason—the desire to control. The closely related phenomenon of emergence refers to increasing complexity over scale rather than over time. It occurs when the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, i.e., the whole has properties its parts do not have. These properties come about because of interactions among the parts—it is holistic. Since scale increases over time in growth, the difference between self-organisation and emergence is subtle, and they are often confused. When comparing both self-regulation and self-realisation in psyche and Gaia, I will favour the term ‘emergence’ over ‘self-organisation’ to avoid muddying the waters further. The mathematical study of nonlinear dynamical systems, a subset of systems dynamics popularly known as ‘chaos theory’, offers a modern, scientific rationale for some of the apparently abstract assumptions upon which my thesis depends, in particular scaling and timing. Chaos theory was my initial, numinous encounter with systems dynamics, and I confess that I arrived at the C.G. Jung Institute in 2001 in a state of some excitement, if not inflation, convinced that I was bringing an original insight into the parallels between archetypes and strange attractors, only to learn that others, notably John van Eenwyk (1997), had got there first. Two recommended books about chaos theory that are relatively accessible to non-mathematicians are Chaos: Making a New Science (Gleick, 1987) and Turbulent Mirror: An

40 Gaia and science

Illustrated Guide to Chaos Theory and the Science of Wholeness (Briggs & Peat, 1990). Both convey its revolutionary nature and the intense excitement as chaos was discovered in one field after another—mathematics, biology, computer science, economics, engineering, finance, philosophy, physics, politics, population dynamics, psychology and robotics. One of the most successful applications of chaos theory has been in ecology, where dynamical systems modelling has been used to show how, for example, population growth under density dependence can lead to chaotic dynamics. More generally, chaos theory has enforced a return from fragmentation to wholeness and an acknowledgement of unpredictability in even simple nonlinear systems. It has revealed chaos within order, order within chaos, and unfathomably complex behaviour that is nonetheless deterministic. As such it should have dealt a body blow to reductionism and to linear assumptions, for although purely linear systems are never chaotic, we now know that nonlinearity is the rule, not the exception. Intriguingly, many of these generalities have been understood since antiquity in the East, and in the West through Hermetic thought, with which Jung was of course well acquainted. Prescient as ever, he wrote decades before chaos theory had emerged: ‘in all chaos there is a cosmos, and in all disorder a secret order, in all caprice a fixed law, for everything that works is grounded on its opposite’ (Jung, 1934/1959: §66). One characteristic of nonlinear dynamical systems is that they may be highly sensitive to initial conditions, i.e., small perturbations produce enormous changes. Conversely, they may exhibit a high degree of resilience, i.e., even large perturbations fail to change their state significantly. The former behaviour is popularly known as the ‘butterfly effect’ because of a paper given by the meteorologist Edward Lorenz in 1972 to the American Association for the Advancement of Science Annual Meeting in Washington, D.C. titled ‘Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wings in Brazil Set off a Tornado in Texas?’ The implications of this for the nonlinear physical systems upon which life depends are worrying. Thus, for example, at some unknown higher greenhouse gas concentration the entire climate system may reach a bifurcation point and flip abruptly to a completely different state. We cannot predict when this will happen, or what the other state will be. This is the dark side of chaos, the ‘tipping point’ that Earth systems scientists in particular warn of. However, high sensitivity to initial conditions has human, social and cultural implications too. As Briggs and Peat note (1990: 75), ‘On a philosophical level, chaos theory may hold comfort for anyone who feels his or her place in the cosmos is inconsequential. Inconsequential things can have a huge effect in a nonlinear universe.’ They cite a famous practical example of this—Rosa Parks who, in 1955, refused to give up her seat in the ‘coloured section’ of an Alabama bus to a white passenger. Her act of defiance led, via a court case and a bus boycott, to nationwide publicity, and she was later hailed as the ‘mother of the (African American) Civil Rights Movement’. Evidence of tipping points in social convention has recently been experimentally demonstrated: ‘When minority groups reached the critical mass—that is, the critical group size for initiating social change— they were consistently able to overturn the established behavior’ (Centola et al., 2018: 1116). As ever, whether this is a good or bad thing depends on the intentions of the minority group.

Gaia and science 41

Resilience, though less exotic, is also important. As already mentioned in the discussion about balancing feedback loops, it can be advantageous or disadvantageous. Resilience is essential for healthy psychological or ecological functioning in changing environments. On the other hand, it is often the reason why political strategies reliant upon greater numbers or force, such as mass movements or military engagement, have no guarantee of success (a classic example being the Vietnam War). Ironically, the persistence of such simplistic thinking in the face of all the facts merely confirms the resilience of our mindset. We have forgotten the wisdom of antiquity, that the timing of an intervention may be more important than its magnitude. This was the ancient Greek notion of kairos (καιροσ)—the healing moment. Peat elaborated these implications of chaos theory to great effect and with many inspiring real-life examples in Gentle Action: Bringing Creative Change in a Turbulent World, in which he observed that: Rather than dancing with nature and engaging in a conversation with the world, we had constantly been trying to shout it down, for we had become inebriated with the sound of our own voices. Chaos theory taught us the hubris of that position and demoted us from our position of pride in our own abilities. (Peat, 2008: 31) A second characteristic of nonlinear dynamics is the phenomenon of ‘self-similarity across scale’. Much of the study of chaotic systems involves the iteration of simple mathematical formulae. Computers enabled rapid repetition of such calculations and made it possible to visualise the results. When a geometer iterates an equation instead of solving it, the equation becomes a system instead of an identity, dynamic instead of static. Rich, sometimes infinite, complexity develops in this uroboric manner. Here I am reminded of Jung’s statement that: The serious problems in life, however, are never fully solved. If ever they should appear to be so it is a sure sign that something has been lost. The meaning and purpose of a problem lies not in its solution but in our working at it incessantly. This alone preserves us from stultification and petrifaction. (Jung, 1954/1969: §771) Self-similarity found its most striking visual expression in the fractal geometry of Benoit Mandelbrot, especially in images of the most complicated object known to mathematics and the numinous icon of chaos theory, the Mandelbrot set. A cataloguing of the different images within it, or a numerical description of the set’s outline, would require an infinity of information; yet it is generated simply by mapping the results of an iteration that requires just a few lines of computer code in the complex plane.1 The colouring of the popular images of the Mandelbrot set is arbitrary, but essentially each is a contour map of the number of iterations of the function fc(z) = z2+c, where both z and c are complex, before it diverges. The ‘bug-like’ regions where the function never diverges are conventionally coloured black. In short, the Mandelbrot set shows the infinite boundary

42 Gaia and science

between order and chaos. Fields of view orders of magnitude apart reveal endlessly recurring patterns that resemble one another closely but are never exactly identical. This phenomenon is known as self-similarity or, strictly speaking, quasi-self-similarity across scale. Although the set appears to contain isolated ‘islands’, further magnification invariably reveals that these are connected to the main body by ‘filaments’; it is a contiguous whole and not what mathematicians call a ‘dust’. From a qualitative, non-mathematical perspective, theoretical physicist Shantena Augusto Sabbadini refers to the boundary between order and chaos in his introduction to the ‘Eranos’ I Ching: ‘Life itself arises at the boundary between order and chaos: it requires both, it is a daughter of both … It is on the edge between order and chaos that the subtle dance of life takes place’ (Ritsema & Sabbadini, 2005: 3). Understood in conjunction with the properties of the Mandelbrot set, we could anticipate that all life is connected and that living systems exhibit self-similarity. This, and more, is indeed the case, as Briggs and Peat note: ‘It is now clear that fractals embrace … forms such as coastlines, trees, mountains, galaxies, clouds, polymers, rivers, weather patterns, brains, lungs, and blood supplies’ (Briggs & Peat, 1990: 91). Another vivid illustration of selfsimilarity, albeit not narrated in the language of fractals, is the nine-minute documentary film Powers of Ten (Eames et al., 1978), viewable on YouTube at the time of writing. The film zooms out from the human scale at a rate of one order of magnitude per 10 seconds to a field of view of 1024m—the size of the observable universe. It then zooms back in at the same rate to the human scale and smaller to quarks in a proton of a carbon atom at 10−16m. The most striking feature of the sequence is the recurrence of mandalalike patterns across forty orders of magnitude—sub-atomic structures, cells, the planet, the solar system, galaxies and so on—alternating with the voids which they populate. Yet intriguingly, as so often, this was already known centuries ago through Hermetic intuition summarised in the famous maxim ‘As above, so below!’ and the associated relationships between microcosm and macrocosm. Life is fractal in both space and time, so the life cycles of a cell, a person, a civilisation and our species have much in common, from birth and growth to decline and death.

3.2 Earth system science An ever-more important specialism of applied systems research is Earth system science (ESS), some findings of which we have already encountered in coverage of the Anthropocene in Chapter 2. Gaia theory was a pioneering contribution that kick-started the whole discipline, as John Lawton acknowledged in his editorial in Science journal titled ‘Earth System Science’: James Lovelock’s penetrating insights that a planet with abundant life will have an atmosphere shifted into extreme thermodynamic disequilibrium, and that Earth is habitable because of complex linkages and feedbacks between the atmosphere, oceans, land, and biosphere, were major stepping-stones in the emergence of this new science. (Lawton, 2001: 1965)

Gaia and science 43

ESS applies the insights of systems theory to vast datasets collected through direct measurement and remote sensing. Its aim is to understand and predict the behaviour of the Earth system by modelling the interactions between its elements, including the inorganic, organic and human domains, and thus involves both the natural and social sciences. The inorganic elements include the atmosphere, the hydrosphere and cryosphere (water and ice), and the lithosphere and pedosphere (the upper layer of the solid planet and its surface). Organic elements, which comprise all that is conventionally considered to be living, are referred to collectively as the biosphere. The principal interest in the human domain as an element in ESS is the impact of human activity on the Earth system which, as we have seen, is significant and, in some ways, unique. This is one reason why climatology and climate change have been top priorities for ESS since its inception. The Earth’s climate system is a prime example of an emergent property of the whole planetary system which cannot be fully understood without regarding it as a single integrated entity. As each of the inorganic and organic elements in the integrated entity is itself an amalgam of many subsystems, Earth system models (ESMs) are extremely complex and their information-processing requirements formidable. Figure 3.1 is a highly simplified schematic illustration of the interactions between three of the Earth’s principal systems. Figures 3.2 and 3.3 show recently published predictions from the ESS modelling mentioned in the previous chapter (Steffen et al., 2018) that can be better appreciated after the foregoing introduction to systems dynamics. They convey both the complexity and sophistication of ESS and the extreme nature of ‘Hothouse Earth’ which is unprecedented in human history. The glacial–interglacial cycles are relatively recent phenomena that coincide with a roughly 100,000-year periodicity in the Earth’s orbit. The interglacial state of the Earth system is at the top of the cycle, while the glacial state is at the bottom. Sea level follows temperature change relatively slowly through thermal expansion and the melting of glaciers and ice caps. The horizontal line in the middle of the figure represents the preindustrial temperature level, and the current position of the Earth system is shown by the small sphere close to the divergence between the Stabilized Earth and Hothouse Earth pathways. The proposed planetary threshold at 2°C above the preindustrial level is also shown. The letters along the Stabilized Earth/Hothouse Earth pathways represent four time periods in Earth’s recent past: A, Mid-Holocene (c. 6,000 years ago); B, Eemian (c. 115–130,000 years ago); C, Mid-Pliocene (c. 4 million years ago); and D, Mid-Miocene (c. 15 million years ago). The individual tipping elements are shaded according to estimated thresholds in global average surface temperature (tipping points). Arrows show the potential interactions among the tipping elements based on expert elicitation that could generate cascades. As the original figure is in colour and the grey shading here may be unclear, the tipping elements have been assigned as follows:

44 Gaia and science

n tio

C li m a t e Variability

Evaporatio n Minus Preciptatio Forcings n

●

Cycle er at W

Oceans S E n e a-Ic e vir o nmen t

FIGURE 3.1

  

● arine Estu oastal & Cviroment En

●

cle

Carbo nC y

la

●A lka li

y nit

Fr (G esh ol W Cir dsbo ate cu rou

ort sp an r rT h g )

n Halineicatio f S tr ati

The dynamic interaction of the Earth’s oceans, climatological and geochemical systems. (Image extracted from NASA Science at https://science. nasa.gov/earth-science/oceanography/ocean-earth-system)

1°C–3°C: Greenland ice sheet, Arctic summer sea-ice, Alpine glaciers, West Antarctic ice sheet, Coral reefs 3°C–5°C: Boreal forest, Jet stream, El Niño southern oscillation, Thermohaline circulation, Amazon rainforest, Sahel, India summer monsoon >5°C: Arctic winter sea-ice, Permafrost, East Antarctic ice sheet

The authors note that, although the risk for tipping (loss of) the East Antarctic ice sheet is proposed at >5°C, some marine-based sectors in East Antarctica may be vulnerable at lower temperatures. ESS is generally considered to be ‘respectable’ science, but Gaia theory remains mired in controversy. ESS is geared to making predictions from mechanistic assumptions about biogeophysical interactions without presuming a goal, instead

FIGURE 3.2

Possible future pathways of the climate against the background of the typical glacial–interglacial cycles. (Steffen et al., 2018)

Tipping elements at risk: 1ºC - 3ºC 3ºC - 5ºC > 5ºC

Boreal forest

EI Nino Southern Oscillation

Greenland Ice Sheet

Jet Stream

Arctic winter sea-ice Arctic summer sea-ice Permafrost Alpine glaciers

Thermohaline circulation

Sahel

Indian summer monsoon

Amazon rainforest

West Antarctic Ice Sheet

FIGURE 3.3

Coral reefs

East Antarctic Ice Sheet

Global map of potential tipping cascades. (Steffen et al., 2018)

46 Gaia and science

attributing stabilising factors in any period to an undirected emergent property of the system. Part of the essential contribution that Lovelock and Margulis made to ESS was to greatly expand the type and number of possible interactions to be assumed. Lovelock in particular bemoaned the separation of the Earth and life sciences since the Victorian era (Lovelock, 1989: 217); ESS brings them back together. What is beyond dispute is that Gaia theory remains profoundly influential on ESS. This is perhaps best exemplified by the Amsterdam Declaration on Global Change, which was made in 2001 by the scientific communities of four international global change research programmes—the International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme (IGBP), the International Human Dimensions Programme on Global Environmental Change (IHDP), the World Climate Research Programme (WCRP) and the international biodiversity programme DIVERSITAS. Results and predictions from the first of these programmes, the IGBP, were presented in the previous chapter and characterised as the Great Acceleration and planetary boundaries. The Declaration, which was the outcome of a conference of some 1,400 scientists from 105 countries, includes text that amounts to a definition of the common understanding that underpins ESS: The Earth System behaves as a single, self-regulating system comprised of physical, chemical, biological and human components. The interactions and feedbacks between the component parts are complex and exhibit multiscale temporal and spatial variability. The understanding of the natural dynamics of the Earth System has advanced greatly in recent years and provides a sound basis for evaluating the effects and consequences of human-driven change. (Pronk, 2002: 207–208). Reprinted/adapted by permission from Springer Nature: Springer Nature, ‘The Amsterdam Declaration on Global Change’ by Jan Pronk, in Challenges of a Changing Earth: Proceedings of the Global Change Open Science Conference, Amsterdam, The Netherlands, 10–13 July 2001 edited by W. Steffen, J. Jäger, D. J. Carson, and C. Bradshaw (2002) ESS has not replaced Gaia theory—the systems assumptions of both continue to be refined as our understanding of the above-mentioned components, interactions and feedbacks deepens. Gaia theory could be viewed as ‘ESS plus’, where the ‘plus’ includes philosophical and even spiritual perspectives. I will begin the next section with an introduction to these before exploring some of the elements and dynamics of the model in more detail.

3.3 Gaia theory Hypotheses can emerge from flashes of insight or intuition, and Gaia theory had just such an origin. However, its roots can be traced back much further. Thus, before coming to the science of Gaia theory, I want to approach it briefly from the perspectives of history and philosophy.

Gaia and science 47

Heraclitus taught that the world existed as a tension of opposites animated by a ‘soul’ or essence, while some 150 years later Plato (427–347 BCE) proposed in Timaeus that the creator-god placed soul at the world’s centre. The following brief extract is from Robert J. Zeyl’s recent translation (2000: 16 (30c, d)): divine providence brought our world into being as a truly living thing, endowed with soul and intelligence … that Living Thing of which all other living things are parts, both individually and by kinds. For that Living Thing comprehends within itself all intelligible living things, just as our world is made up of us and all the other visible creatures. Plato’s notion of the world soul, or anima mundi, persisted in the West largely via Plotinus (204–270 CE), despite its rejection by Aristotle and incompatibility with the Abrahamic religions. Finality (teleology) was increasingly outlawed by the emerging hegemony of Western science, but proved harder to dismiss from the life sciences than from the physical sciences, as even Immanuel Kant conceded. The subsequent rise of German idealism and romanticism found expression in the 19th Century in Joseph Schelling’s Naturphilosophie, which, as Michael Ruse writes in his critique The Gaia Hypothesis: Science on a Pagan Planet: did not come out of nowhere. It is almost self-evident that in major respects, going back through Fichte, Kant and Spinoza, his philosophy stood in a line that began with the thinking of Plato—and not just any part of Plato, but the Plato of the Timaeus. We see this not just in Schelling’s collapsing of the distinction between objective and subjective and making central the organic metaphor (or literal claim, if you prefer), but also in his insistence that everything is ultimately one and that this one (or Absolute) is essentially ideal and the source of all things. This is deeply Platonic. (Ruse, 2013: 64) Ruse maintains that Lovelock is ‘basically a very conventional scientist’ (Ruse, 2013: 181), and a very good one at that, but with no great knowledge of philosophy. Nonetheless, the resonance of Naturphilosophie with the way he has chosen to express his ideas, if not his theory per se, is obvious. Although this strand of Germanic thought, plus Neoplatonism in general, was also profoundly influential upon Jung and analytical psychology, Plato’s anima mundi and teleological worldview have arguably found their most influential contemporary expression in Gaia theory. As ecologist Stephan Harding, one of Lovelock’s close scientific colleagues and collaborators, notes in his highly recommended book Animate Earth: Science, Intuition and Gaia (Harding, 2009: 35): This dawning awareness of the anima mundi in our times is in truth a reawakening of the old, non-dualistic animism that has been dormant for so long. It

48 Gaia and science

is a reassertion of our indigenous soul, and of the felt solidarity with earthly nature common to our indigenous, tribal ancestors. Our task now is to explore ways in which the new animism can be integrated into the very heart of Western culture. Holistic science is one possibility. Harding, who lectures worldwide on ecology and is, at the time of writing, Coordinator and Senior Lecturer in Holistic Science and Estate Ecologist at Schumacher College in England, clearly views Gaia theory as part of holistic science. Mary Currier, writing in The Encyclopaedia of Religion and Nature (Currier, 2006: 63), links Gaia to the anima mundi even more explicitly: In 1969, the British scientist James Lovelock suggested that planet Earth be regarded as a totality or a cybernetic (self-correcting) mechanism that seeks to keep all its physical and chemical elements in the right balance for life to exist. This system could be hypothetically regarded as a living entity, ‘Gaia,’ he suggested. According to Lovelock, it seems extremely unlikely that this balance occurred by mere chance; thus, the intention behind it might be said to derive from the anima mundi, the world soul. The unusual move of naming his then hypothesis after Gaia, the Greek goddess of Earth, was suggested in 1967 by Lovelock’s then neighbour and friend, the Nobel Laureate author William Golding. Best known for his novel Lord of the Flies, which warns that the veneer of ‘civilisation’ restraining us from savagery is dangerously thin, Golding had changed from studying Natural Sciences to English while at Oxford University, and was thus not just fascinated by Lovelock’s ideas, but capable of grasping them. Golding’s suggestion proved to be a double-edged sword, attracting great public interest and support, but provoking hostility from much of the scientific community. In the first paper for a general audience (Lovelock & Epton, 1975: 304), the authors boldly stated that: The system seemed to exhibit the behaviour of a single organism, even a living creature. One having such formidable powers deserved a name to match it; William Golding, the novelist, suggested Gaia—the name given by the ancient Greeks to their Earth goddess. After this article appeared in New Scientist, Lovelock received invitations from 21 publishers to write a book for the general public. The result, Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth, was first published in 1979 (Lovelock, 1979/2000). The understanding of Gaia has evolved over the decades since Lovelock’s original insight. His most recent published definition of Gaia theory (Lovelock, 2009: 166) that I am aware of is more conventionally scientific than the previous statement, resembling but still at odds with that of mainstream ESS because of the crucial word ‘goal’:

Gaia and science 49

A view of the Earth introduced in the 1980s that sees it as a self-regulating system made up from the totality of organisms, the surface rocks, the ocean and the atmosphere tightly coupled as an evolving system. The theory sees this system as having a goal—the regulation of surface conditions so as always to be as favourable as possible for contemporary life. It is based on observations and theoretical models; it is fruitful and has made eight successful predictions. Lovelock describes how the epiphany, which led to his original hypothesis, came to him one afternoon while he was working at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in California in 1965. It was a year or so after he had become a largely home-based independent scientist, and in the context of his commission from NASA to think of new approaches to planetary life detection for extra-terrestrial research, e.g., remote observations of Mars or Venus. This led him to consider life as a globalscale phenomenon, at which point he suddenly realised the sheer improbability of conditions, in particular the atmosphere, on Earth compared with our extant knowledge of the inhospitable equilibria prevailing on other planets. Air is … a strange mixture of unstable, almost combustible gases … that somehow always keeps constant in composition. My flash of enlightenment that afternoon was the thought that to keep constant something must be regulating it and that somehow the life at the surface was involved. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: xvi) Lovelock turned to cybernetics to explain the mysterious ‘something’ that was regulating the atmosphere. The term, first given common use a few years after ‘Behaviour, Purpose and Teleology’ by Norbert Wiener (1948), stems from the Greek word for steersman, governor,2 pilot, or rudder; but it is important to repeat that cybernetics refers to self-contained processes (characterised by closed signalling loops) within the broader context of systems theory, and does not need to invoke any form of external agency. Cybernetics is an entirely mechanistic theory, and Lovelock appears to distance himself from any taint of teleology when he writes: One of the most characteristic properties of all living organisms, from the smallest to the largest, is their capacity to develop, operate and maintain systems which set a goal and then strive to achieve it through the cybernetic process of trial and error. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: 45) The problem for conventional science is that the largest living organism Lovelock had in mind was Gaia herself. Cybernetic systems do indeed have goals and participate in circular, causal chains that move from action to sensing to comparison with the desired goal, and again to action. Their causality is concealed within their circular logic, and their goal is homeostasis—a relatively stable equilibrium, as is exhibited by the composition and temperature of Earth’s atmosphere. Lovelock

50 Gaia and science

stresses their holistic aspect, noting that: ‘The key to understanding cybernetic systems is that, like life itself, they are always more than the mere assembly of constituent parts. They can only be considered and understood as operating systems’ (Lovelock, 1979/2000: 48).3 This insight led to important publications (Lovelock, 1965; Hitchcock & Lovelock, 1967), but three years elapsed before Lovelock first put forward Gaia theory as whole in 1968, and another eleven before it reached a wide audience. The timing coincided with an unprecedented rise of global environmental concern. It was becoming uncomfortably apparent that one form of life—us—was having a very different impact on the state of the planetary system. In a sense, Gaia put us to shame and inspired a range of responses from Earth systems science to pagan spirituality to environmental activism. Throughout the 1970s Lovelock collaborated with the microbiologist Lynn Margulis and others, and together they tested and significantly revised the hypothesis. It was a fruitful collaboration between people with very different backgrounds and attitudes. Lovelock is schooled in chemistry and physics, whereas Margulis, who was at one point married to astrophysicist Carl Sagan, was schooled in the life sciences; they remained friends until her death in 2011. Thanks to her input, the vital influence of microorganisms was proportionately acknowledged: Life on this planet is a very tough, robust, and adaptable entity and we are but a small part of it. The most essential part is probably that which dwells on the floors of the continental shelves and in the soil below the surface. Large plants and animals are relatively unimportant. … The tough and reliable workers composing the microbial life of the soil and sea-beds are the ones who keep things moving. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: 37) This remains devastatingly humbling, and hence almost entirely overlooked, news for Homo sapiens. The bottom line is that Gaia can survive without us, but would collapse immediately without microbes and other ‘lower’ organisms. In the 1980s the hypothesis was elevated through empirical validation to a theory. The foundational evidence for Gaia is the fact that the temperature of the biosphere has remained within the limits necessary for supporting life as we know it since life itself emerged some 3.5 billion years ago, despite a 25–30% increase in the sun’s brightness over that period. This indicates self-regulation on a planetary scale, and such behaviour is a property of all living organisms. Further long-term evidence includes the spontaneous ability of biodiversity to recover within 5–10 million years from mass extinctions, of which there have been five over the last 550 million years according to the fossil record. In the shorter term, ice core analysis has shown the relative stability of atmospheric CO2 levels between 180 and 300 ppm and temperatures within a 14 deg. C range over the last 700,000 years, with a periodicity approximately every 100,000 years (Harding, 2009: 76). These are the glacial–interglacial cycles shown in Figure 3.2.

Gaia and science 51

Criticisms from fellow scientists, above all evolutionary biologists, for whom Gaia relied upon the heresy of altruistic teleology, spurred Lovelock and his colleagues to develop a computer model called ‘Daisyworld’—the aforementioned ‘empirical validation’. Charles Darwin’s monumental On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life was published in 1859, and is rightly still influential, so Lovelock’s reductionist critics wanted to know how natural selection could bring about planetary self-regulation. However, as Lovelock (1989) points out, as early as 1925 a holistic alternative was being proposed by Alfred James Lotka, an American biophysicist who, with Vito Volterra, introduced the concept of population dynamics to ecology: It is customary to discuss the ‘evolution of a species of organisms’. As we proceed we shall see many reasons why we should constantly take in view the evolution, as a whole, of the system (organism plus environment). It may appear at first sight as if it should prove a more complicated problem than the consideration of a part only of the system. But it will become apparent, as we proceed, that the physical laws governing evolution in all probability take on a simpler form when referred to the system as a whole than to any portion thereof. It is not so much the organism or the species that evolves, but the entire system, species plus environment. The two are inseparable. (Lotka, 1925: 16) Lotka considered the dynamics between, not just changes within, species, and included the wider environment within which they lived. Lovelock didn’t just complain that theoretical ecology had ignored Lotka’s wise advice for (then) over 60 years, he tested it using Daisyworld. The mathematical model was originally developed with Andrew Watson (Watson & Lovelock, 1983), and further refined with others, including Harding, whose account of later experiments is recommended (Harding, 2009: 76–91). The results both validated Lotka and to some extent addressed the criticism from evolutionary biologists by demonstrating that planetary self-regulation can emerge spontaneously from physically realistic feedback between life and its environment, without any need for foresight or planning on the part of the organisms. Daisyworld has become an iconic model which is still being explored (Wood et al., 2008), and is the mathematical basis of long-term climate prediction models being made at the U.K.’s official centre for climate change research, the Meteorological Office Hadley Centre, and elsewhere. Daisyworld also supported the suggestion dating back to the 1950s, but subsequently contested, that more complex ecological communities should be more stable. Clearly mathematical models can simulate enormous timescales, whereas empirical evidence for positive relationships between diversity, resilience and productivity of ecological communities from living organisms is harder to establish. This is why researchers like Venail et al. (2008) note, ‘little attention has been given to the problem of understanding how diversity and productivity are linked

52 Gaia and science

over evolutionary timescales’. However, by using fast-growing metacommunities of bacteria (which can evolve over experimental timescales) assembled by divergent natural selection, they show that: both regional diversity and productivity peak at an intermediate dispersal rate. Moreover, [they] demonstrate that these two patterns are linked: selection at intermediate rates of dispersal leads to high niche differentiation between genotypes, allowing greater coverage of the heterogeneous environment and a higher regional productivity. [They] argue that processes that operate over both ecological and evolutionary timescales should be jointly considered when attempting to understand the emergence of ecosystem-level properties such as diversity–function relationships. (Venail et al., 2008: 210) Reprinted by permission from Springer Nature: Venail, P.A. et al. (2008) ‘Diversity and Productivity Peak at Intermediate Dispersal Rate in Evolving Metacommunities.’ Nature, 452(7184): 210–214. In other words, Darwinian evolution, although it does not necessarily lead to greater complexity of individual organisms, may lead to a much greater complexity of ecosystems, resulting in their improved functioning. This process is maximised when the resources available are heterogeneous and the biological systems suitably connected. By creating and studying a greatly simplified environment, this approach is in principle analogous to that of Daisyworld, but with real organisms, not numbers in a computer. Gaia is, of course, incomparably more complex than either of these experiments, but the extraordinary biogeochemical interactions that give rise to planetary selfregulation are increasingly well understood. These involve archaea, bacteria, algae, fungi, plants and animals interacting with each other and with the atmosphere, rocks and oceans in predominantly balancing, but also reinforcing, feedback loops. The emergence of land-based life some 550 million years ago was a key stage in this process. The great cycles of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus and sulphur—the six most important elements for life and Gaia—operate over a vast range of timescales. The carbon cycle, for example, is most directly relevant to climate due to the importance of CO2 and methane (CH4) as greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. In the short term, there are diurnal and yearly cycles due to the seasonality of photosynthesis through which plants (temporarily) remove CO2 from the atmosphere. At the other extreme the so-called ‘deep carbon cycle’ involves accelerated rock-weathering by terrestrial plants and micro-organisms, oceanic deposition of calcium carbonate by coccolithophores, and the subduction and volcanism caused by plate tectonics. This entire cycle may take millions of years to complete. Over the billions of years since life first appeared, and as the sun has progressively warmed, the balancing feedback of biogeochemical CO2 removal has become ever-more efficient, and the component of the interactions that has changed in this respect is evolving life.

Gaia and science 53

Another example of these cycles is the regulation of atmospheric oxygen content which, for the last 350 million years, has remained around 21%—the optimal level for large multicellular organisms, and a key component of Lovelock’s original insight as it is so far from equilibrium. Moreover, were it to rise over about 25%, Gaia would go up in flames; below about 15%, and human consciousness would cease. At least three major cybernetic systems regulating oxygen levels have been identified, and many more for the other elements and environmental parameters required for life. Harding’s coverage of all these is highly recommended. There is one common feature to all of them that should be mentioned, and that is the extraordinary extent of communication and information exchange between living organisms. This is the process of ‘signalling’ in cybernetic systems as described above, without which they cannot function. It appears to be predominantly the activity of the small and early-appearing forms of life—archaea, bacteria, fungal mycorrhizae and so on; and the language, refined over billions of years in some cases, is primarily chemical. Bacterial quorum sensing, ‘open source’ genetic exchange and other means of chemical communication is now recognised to be so complex as to resemble the basic grammatical structures of human language (Harding, 2009: 166). Out of sight and unacknowledged, an immense microbial network continues to run the planet, just as the autonomic nervous system and other unconscious processes regulate our own metabolisms. Even among those who accept Gaia theory, there is a widespread misunderstanding that it allows for complacency. After all, if self-regulation has been so successful, why shouldn’t it continue to be? The disturbing answer is that Gaia’s temperature regulation is exhibiting the behaviour characteristic of a cybernetic system close to the point of failure. The aforementioned 100,000-year periodicity of long-term average planetary temperature coincides with that of the Earth’s orbit around the sun, which varies from elliptical to circular. Although this only makes a difference of around 0.2% to the solar energy received, the 14 deg. C temperature variations, including periodic ice ages, suggests that available balancing feedbacks are reaching their limits. For example, global temperatures plummeted over just a few decades at the start of the Younger Dryas cooling about 11,600 years ago, perhaps due to collapse of the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC) mentioned in Chapter 2, and recovered just as suddenly. Moreover, some biogeochemical feedbacks can flip from balancing to reinforcing above certain temperature thresholds. When the apparently ailing system is further perturbed by anthropogenic impacts (especially pushing atmospheric CO2 levels over 400 ppm—far in excess of the 180–300 ppm range over the last 700,000 years), the risk of catastrophic disruption multiplies. On this vital point, there is full agreement between Gaia theory and ESS. Lovelock was elected a Fellow of the famously conservative Royal Society in London in 1974. In 2001 he received a Discovery Lifetime Award from the Royal Geographic Society, and in 2006 the Wollaston Medal from the Geological Society of London. Perhaps most significantly in the context of this book, in 2007 the Arne Næss Chair at the University of Oslo was shared by Lovelock and Stephan

54 Gaia and science

Harding, both of whom expressed their intellectual indebtedness to the legacy of Arne Næss and the philosophy of deep ecology. However, I cannot see how some of Lovelock’s recent views, such as his enthusiasm for nuclear power and fracking, and his erroneous scepticism about renewable energy, can be reconciled with the implications of Gaia theory for us, let alone with the worldview of deep ecology. Nonetheless, his achievements have been extraordinary, his stubborn persistence in the face of unrelenting criticism inspiring, and his core insight world-changing. I don’t know Lovelock at all, but wish him a very happy hundredth birthday in, coincidentally, the year of this book’s publication. Looking back, Lovelock wryly expressed the challenge of crossing boundaries in his pursuit of holistic science: The quest for Gaia, which began nearly thirty-five years ago has ranged through the territories of many different scientific disciplines, indeed from astronomy to zoology. Such journeys are lively, for professors jealously guard the boundaries between their sciences. I had to learn a different arcane language in each territory I passed through. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: xvi) This brings us to the opposition Gaia theory has provoked from perhaps the most jealously guarded territory, or at least map, of all in this context—evolutionary biology.

3.4 Controversies Systems dynamics in general, and Gaia theory in particular, raise some challenging and interrelated questions about teleology and evolution respectively. I will begin with the complications that systems theory introduces to a clear demarcation of teleology. The boundary between determinism and teleology was first challenged from this perspective in a now classic paper from 1943, ‘Behaviour, Purpose and Teleology’, by three of the pioneers of what would come to be called cybernetics—Arturo Rosenblueth, Norbert Wiener and Julian Bigelow. The authors begin by differentiating behaviouristic from functional analyses of natural events. Behaviouristic analysis considers the extrinsic characteristics of the object of study—its interactions with its surroundings, whereas functional analysis examines its intrinsic characteristics—its structure and properties. The former approach concerns itself with what is apparent to an external observer, and is the basis of systems theory as elaborated. The authors then distinguish between active and passive behaviour, and within active behaviour between purposeful and random (non-purposeful) behaviour. They then demarcate successive sub-classifications within purposeful behaviour: firstly between that with feedback (which they call teleological) and that without (non-teleological); then within teleological between predictive (extrapolative) and non-predictive (non-extrapolative); and finally within predictive ranked by orders of prediction. They assert that these broad classes of behaviour are applicable to

Gaia and science 55

both machines and living organisms, even if specific, narrow classes may be exclusive to one or the other (Rosenblueth et al., 1943: 22). At first glance this is a somewhat shocking erosion of the presumed boundaries between animate and inanimate, and even free will and automatism, as well as between teleology and causality. The authors’ concluding remarks include some interesting statements that are worth reproducing verbatim: In classifying behavior the term ‘teleology’ was used as synonymous with ‘purpose controlled by feed-back.’ Teleology has been interpreted in the past to imply purpose and the vague concept of a ‘final cause’ has been often added. This concept of final causes has led to the opposition of teleology to determinism. … It may be pointed out, however, that purposefulness, as defined here, is quite independent of causality, initial or final. Teleology has been discredited chiefly because it was defined to imply a cause subsequent in time to a given effect. When this aspect of teleology was dismissed, however, the associated recognition of the importance of purpose was also unfortunately discarded. Since we consider purposefulness a concept necessary for the understanding of certain modes of behavior we suggest that a teleological study is useful if it avoids problems of causality and concerns itself merely with an investigation of purpose. … Teleological thus becomes synonymous with behavior controlled by negative feedback, and gains therefore in precision by a sufficiently restricted connotation. According to this limited definition, teleology is not opposed to determinism but to non-teleology. Both teleological and non-teleological systems are deterministic when the behavior considered belongs to the realm where determinism applies. The concept of teleology shares only one thing with the concept of causality: a time axis. But causality implies a one-way, relatively irreversible functional relationship, whereas teleology is concerned with behavior, not with functional relationships. (Rosenblueth et al., 1943: 23–24) Few would challenge the self-consistency of this position; but it brings us back to the problem of maps and territories, the map in this case being cybernetics. What the authors appear to have overlooked, however, is that although machines in the broadest sense of that term can, like living organisms, exhibit self-correcting and goal-seeking behaviour, their goal is defined by their human creators. This is still the case even in cutting-edge examples such as the AlphaGo computer program developed by Google’s AI research acquisition DeepMind, which by 2017 could defeat professional Go players, because its single pre-programmed goal, albeit brilliantly implemented, was to win at Go-play. From a Platonic or Aristotelian perspective, cybernetic theory and its machine-learning successors have, if I may mix metaphors, merely kicked the teleological can of worms down the road. However, the ability to design such ‘purpose’ into machines—originally for military applications from the Second World War onwards (e.g., servomechanisms for anti-aircraft guns, missile

56 Gaia and science

guidance systems and so on)—has been profoundly influential beyond technology by encouraging a mechanistic view of mind. As objects of study using the cybernetic map, the behaviour of both psyche and Gaia can be considered as active, purposeful and teleological as defined by Rosenblueth et al., yet their behaviour cannot be explained in cybernetic terms alone. The more recently discovered implications of complex adaptive systems and emergence for teleology, especially in the context of the regulation and evolution of living organisms, are significantly more subtle. In a brief but pertinent article posted online, ‘Thoughts on Emergence’, philosopher David Chalmers (1990) engagingly wrestles with the ‘something for nothing’ phenomenon of emergence. Apparently motivated by the widespread use and abuse of the term, his goal is a concept of it somewhere between the extremes of mysticism (which he rejects out of hand) and an overly general definition which he gives that in my view resembles that of holism rather than emergence. Along the way he concludes that emergence is a psychological property, not a metaphysical absolute, because it is used by a given observer to class properties that are sufficiently both interesting and hard to deduce. Eventually he arrives at the concept of a system designed according to certain principles that exhibits interesting properties beyond the goals of the designer. As Chalmers is the first to admit, the concept is teleological because of the word ‘goal’, which, as I previously mentioned, is the crucial distinction between the brief formulations of ESS and Gaia theory. However, he goes on to argue that, because emergence is a psychological property, it only requires the appearance of teleology, and hence there is no inescapable requirement for a designer. This takes him immediately to consideration of evolution—the second area of controversy. Before moving on to that, however, another interesting thinker about complex adaptive systems and emergence, the mathematical biologist and advocate of holistic science, Brian Goodwin, merits consideration. In his essay ‘Gaia and Holistic Science’ Goodwin challenges the presumption that systems behaviour is limited to blind mechanism by asserting that: science has now developed to the point where complex systems with their emergent properties are seen to have intrinsic values of the type we recognise in conditions of health, coherence and well-being, and that these are now being used to describe observable conditions of complex processes, whether these are ‘natural’ or ‘cultural’ … where words like ‘meaning’ can be legitimately applied to the processes in which natural systems engage, such as the life cycles of organisms or the maintenance of wholeness and healthy balance in ecosystems. (Goodwin, 2007a: 17–18) Goodwin strove to end the artificial schism between nature and culture, and to introduce quality to scientific thinking in addition to quantity. Although he, perhaps wisely, eschews the word ‘teleology’, he comes close to it with ‘meaning’,

Gaia and science 57

which he applies explicitly to evolution in his argument for hermeneutic biology in a chapter of his last book, Nature’s Due: Healing Our Fragmented Culture, called ‘Evolution with Meaning’ (Goodwin, 2007b). Goodwin was at odds with the majority of his peers in the life sciences, in particular as a supporter of Gaia theory, which revealed deep divisions in our worldviews, above all between mechanism and organicism, in both the scientific and broader cultural arenas. I say ‘revealed’ because these divisions were already extant, for example in the differing approaches to biotic communities by the Oxford botanist Sir Arthur Tansley (mechanism) and the American ecologist Frederic Clements (organicism) in the first half of the 20th Century (Harding, 2009: 239). Clements viewed the ‘climax’ community—the stable end-product of plant colonisation of previously bare ground—as the result of an emergent, self-organising network that could be viewed as a complex organism in its own right (with hindsight, one could say a ‘micro-Gaia’). Tansley insisted that the communication between organisms on which Clements’ assumption was predicated was a fantasy, and therefore wanted to expunge even the word ‘community’ from the language of ecology. Gaia theory has dramatically raised the profile of such academic debate into the public domain, and in so doing has polarised opinion between enthusiastic, even reverential, endorsement and dogmatic criticism. It is judged by scientists in terms of truth or falsehood, and by non-scientists in emotional, even spiritual terms. Yet the most interesting perspectives are from those able to hold the tension between science and spirituality: people such as Margulis, Harding and Goodwin, whose credentials as life scientists are impeccable, yet who are open to considering the ‘unscientific’ aspects of Gaia theory too—in other words rigorous both/and thinkers. The distinction that analytical psychology draws between union and fusion is important in this context, as in so many others. Union is a process of conscious synthesis, whereas fusion is one of unconscious merger; needless to say, union is the preferred modus operandi. Mainstream evolutionary biology has a thoroughly mechanistic lineage, beginning with Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, which, it is asserted to this day, successfully and permanently removed any notion of final cause (teleology in the classical sense) from biology. Natural selection, driven by Malthusian competition, leads to adaptive advantage; the process is not random but is naturalistic and therefore, so to speak, blind. In the early 20th Century the modern evolutionary synthesis integrated Darwin’s theory with genetic variation and Gregor Mendel’s ideas on heredity (ignored until then) through the discipline of population genetics. Thanks to the progress made in molecular genetics, the gene is now, to varying degrees, taken as the focus of selection. Evolutionary biology embraces not just mechanism, but reductionism. It would nonetheless be misleading to present this as a homogenous school of thought—it is riven by fierce disagreements—so I will concentrate on those aspects of Gaia theory which are incompatible with the shared fundamentals of evolutionary biology. These can be summarised as follows:

58 Gaia and science



 

The mechanism of evolution is competition between individual organisms in a given geophysical environment for reproductive success, i.e., to pass on their genes to subsequent generations. It does not permit modification of the geophysical environment for the benefit of all organisms, including non-kin and even other species. The achievement of planetary homeostasis as proposed in Gaia theory is inconceivable without some teleological factor. To describe the planet ‘as if’ it is a single giant organism is a metaphor, not a mechanism. If it really is to be considered as a single giant organism, it has no competitors and thus no route to adaptive advantage through natural selection. Even Lynn Margulis disagreed with Lovelock on this, pointing out that no organism consumes its own waste.

Gaia theory further riled evolutionary biologists by touching on two particularly sore points in their field at that time: 



It raises the spectre of altruism, which is problematic to Darwinism, and enters the more general debate, which is still raging, about group selection. For example, among the Hymenoptera (ants, bees, wasps, etc.) some individuals are sterile, and others sacrifice themselves for the sake of the community. Darwin argued that each such nest or hive should be considered as a single organism. Subsequently William D. Hamilton, the most significant contributor to this view, argued that ‘kin selection’—passing on one’s genes by proxy via a genetically identical relative—resolved the quandary. Gaia theory effectively extends the group scale to the planetary biosphere with its myriad species and individuals, almost none of whom are even distantly related. Concurrent with Gaia theory, evolutionary biology was unexpectedly under attack from a completely different direction. Religious fundamentalists, above all evangelical Christians in America, rejected all the scientific evidence supporting evolution—and ultimately there is no way to win against those convinced that ‘fossils and carbon dating were put there by God’—in favour of a literal interpretation of the Abrahamic creation myth, according to which Earth is about six thousand years old. This must surely have bewildered and exasperated scientists dedicated to the progress of reason, and the clamour for ‘creationism’ or ‘intelligent design’ to be taught in schools infuriated them. It was thus doubly hurtful for the besieged evolutionary biology community to see Gaia theory so warmly welcomed by other sectors of the general public.

These factors appear to have created an emotionally charged atmosphere that contaminated the purely intellectual disagreement that is the lifeblood of science, and this was reflected in the tone of some of the criticism directed at Gaia theory. As Lovelock told Ruse, ‘The biologists hated it right from the beginning. They loathed it.’ John Maynard Smith called Gaia theory an evil religion, Richard Dawkins argued (in language that Ruse diplomatically describes as ‘robust’) that it

Gaia and science 59

contradicted Darwinian evolution and Paul Ehrlich described Lovelock as radical and dangerous (Ruse, 2013: 32–33). Stephen Jay Gould dismissed it as mere metaphor, offering no new mechanisms. However, as ecophilosopher David Abram points out in Scientists on Gaia, mechanism is itself a metaphor going back to Descartes’ statement in 1644 that ‘I have described the earth, and all the visible world, as if it were a machine’ (Abram, 1991). Amidst the controversy it should, however, be remembered that Gaia theory also enjoys support from many eminent scientists, albeit predominantly non-biologists, such as Richard Betts (Head of the Climate Impacts strategic area at the U.K. Meteorological Office Hadley Centre, and the current Astronomer Royal, Martin Rees. Fighting back, Margulis has criticised the ‘blinkered abomination’ of evolutionary biologists, branding them as a subfield of loyalists and their discipline as a distortion of Darwin and (Lovelock’s term) ‘academic apartheid’ (see Harding, 2009: 12). In addition to all the foregoing factors, the divisions within the domain of science run deep, and cannot be entirely separated from subjectivity, as Ruse observes: the side one takes influences the science one does and the science one finds acceptable. The holist/emergentist is going to be looking for groups, for wholes, in a way that the mechanist/reductionist is not. And the kinds of theories acceptable to the holist/emergentist are going to be different from those acceptable to the mechanist/reductionist. We have seen this point illustrated starkly in the different attitudes taken toward the individualisticcompetitive nature of Darwinism: the mechanist/reductionists endorse it, and the holist/emergentists reject it. … You can say the same about mechanists and organicists when it comes to individual selection versus group selection. Their allegiance is beyond reason and evidence. It is all about commitments, philosophies. (Ruse, 2013: 199–200) Decades earlier, the philosopher Georg Henrik von Wright came to a similar conclusion when he considered the Aristotelian and Galilean traditions in the history of ideas. While the former espouses the notion of a final cause, i.e., teleology, the latter rejects it in favour of methodological standardisation across all the sciences presuming causality. However, von Wright identified a reawakening of the Aristotelian tradition in the 19th Century in the social sciences, hermeneutics and their opposition to positivism. Concerning the incompatibility of the two traditions, von Wright concluded that: there is also basic opposition, removed from the possibility both of reconciliation and refutation—even, in a sense removed from truth. It is built into the choice of primitives, of basic concepts for the whole argumentation. This choice, one could say, is ‘existential.’ It is a choice of a point of view which cannot be further grounded. (von Wright, 1971: 32)

60 Gaia and science

Harding tries to bridge the holist/emergentist versus mechanist/reductionist schism with a strictly scientific approach couched in animistic language. Thus, for example, he writes: The very word ‘feedback’ is redolent of the notion that nature is nothing more than a deterministic set of complex interacting parts, so I prefer to breathe a sense of animism into the notion by thinking of feedback loops as circles of participation—as manifestations of the ways in which the deep, awesome sentience of nature organises itself into meaningful relationships that bring either constancy or change. (Harding, 2009: 77) The extent to which he succeeds is of course unknowable; but his tacit acknowledgement of the importance of language is echoed elsewhere, such as in the writing of David Abram and in religious scholar and environmental advocate Thomas Berry’s famous insistence on viewing the material world as a ‘communion of subjects’ rather than a ‘collection of objects’. Also addressing language, Lovelock wrote in the new (2000) foreword to his first book about Gaia theory for the general public: ‘Because of my ignorance twenty-six years ago, I wrote as a storyteller and gave poetry and myth their place alongside science.’ He continued, indicating the levels of hostility he attracted: ‘The critics took their science earnestly and to them mere association with myth and storytelling made it bad science. … The force of their objections slowed the natural development of Gaia theory’ (Lovelock, 1979/ 2000: x-xi). There may be some truth in this because Golding’s suggestion to invoke the ancient Greek Earth goddess compounded Lovelock’s ‘as if’ organismic sins and gave his hypothesis a quasi-religious dimension. However, the latter charge could perhaps be levelled at some scientists’ dogmatic insistence on root and branch Darwinism, and at the conviction of many more of the exclusive veracity of science per se. Analytical psychology, which explicitly associates with myth and storytelling, is probably even further off the maps of largely the same critics. Returning briefly to Mary Currier’s description of Gaia theory, the central questions raised are essentially metaphysical rather than scientific: what is a ‘living entity’ and can ‘intention’ be equated with ‘function’ as understood in systems dynamics, or does it go beyond that? Concerning the former, many scientists have noted the difficulty of defining ‘living entity’ (life). Lovelock has illustrated this with simple but patently absurd examples for two of the most commonly accepted criteria—a biological emphasis on the potential for reproduction would exclude postmenopausal women, whereas a physical emphasis on entropy reduction would include refrigerators. His systems approach instead emphasises physiological self-regulation as the defining characteristic of life-like systems, i.e., networks of interacting processes which serve to regulate each other to preserve the functioning of the organism. This brings us to the harder question of ‘intention’ since, as already noted, cybernetic systems have goals, and complex systems exhibit uncannily life-like properties—including selforganisation, adaptability and emergence, and even, according to Goodwin, value and

Gaia and science 61

meaning. The foregoing discussion of teleology and emergence goes as far as possible within the remit of this book to address this, and I had already hedged my bets with the term ‘apparent teleology’ before encountering Chalmers’ ‘apparent’ justification of it. Ultimately, whether one accepts ‘living entity’ and/or ‘intention’ in the context of Gaia theory appears to be subjective, i.e., down to psychological predisposition. Ruse speculates that, despite being at heart a mechanist, Lovelock is above all a gifted gadget-maker. It was his extraordinarily sensitive electron capture detector which won him recognition long before the seeds of Gaia theory had ever been sown. A device has a purpose, and the designer works (teleologically) backwards from that, as I noted in my comments on ‘Behaviour, Purpose and Teleology’. This is why creationists claim that an organ like the eye—a photon capture detector—disproves Darwinism. Lovelock would surely not agree, but teleology never seems to be far from his thinking. Yet somehow he has managed, or at least striven, to maintain a status resembling quantum superposition, claiming not to contradict orthodox evolutionary biology yet alluding, if only metaphorically, to some higher organising principle. It is, of course, the latter that has ensured fame and support for Gaia theory among the general public. ‘Gaia’ has become a social code, a shorthand for a suite of beliefs about, and attitudes to, the natural world and our significance and responsibilities within it. Ruse concludes that: Failure as science is balanced by success as philosophy. We see why the project to which Lovelock and Margulis committed themselves ultimately could not work. Conceal and modify it as you may, if you are true to the Gaia project— to see the world as an organism—you are committed to something deeply end-directed, deeply teleological. Earth is in balance because that is its destiny, that is what it should be. That is a good thing. Modern science, shorn of teleology and value, simply will not allow this kind of vision within its borders. Hence, Gaia theory was doomed to failure. We also see why the project to which Lovelock and Margulis committed themselves worked wonderfully. For many people, the vision endures and in their books … Jim Lovelock and Lynn Margulis are heroes for their attempt to meld the two worlds of the 1960s. They brought together the world of science and technology … and the world of feeling, of mysticism and religion. (Ruse, 2013: 223–224) One might ask in response to this at what point science and philosophy became so irreconcilable. Western science used to be called natural philosophy, and I am not ashamed to hold a doctorate in philosophy for a higher degree in science. More seriously, our worldview is still conditioned by Cartesian dualism, whereas Baruch Spinoza’s epistemological dualism is conducive to both philosophy and the sciences. Moreover, Ruse’s view of modern science ‘shorn of teleology and value’ is more a statement of the prevailing problem with modern science than a convincing dismissal of Gaia theory. Stephan Harding and others suggest that Gaia theory can, indeed should, bring science and spirituality together. In 2001 a small interdisciplinary group

62 Gaia and science

of prominent thinkers—the Gaia Network, chaired by the philosopher Mary Midgley and including Harding and Goodwin—began meeting in the U.K. 3–4 times yearly to explore this issue among the wider implications of Gaia for society. The resulting book, Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia (Midgley, 2007), is highly recommended. Reconciling science and spirituality is also the goal of the Sursem Project. To the extent that both groups approached the same problem, the former began from the material domain and the latter from the mental domain. Before concluding this chapter, however, I want to return to the fray from one more angle—a three-part documentary series made by the four-time BAFTA awardwinning film-maker Adam Curtis for the BBC which was first broadcast in 2011 (Curtis, 2011). Curtis studied genetics, evolutionary biology, psychology, politics, sociology and elementary statistics at the University of Oxford, and taught politics there for a time after graduating. His engaging and provocative films embrace both the big picture and the long view, revealing intriguing and often troubling connections and patterns that the 24-hour attention span of conventional news misses entirely. His trademark video- and audio-montage technique can feel overwhelming, gratuitous and propaganda-like at time; and although he excels in critical ‘twenty-twenty hindsight’, he shies away from proposing constructive alternatives. This uncomfortable experience resembles the anamnesis, confession and encounter with the shadow in the early stage of a typical Jungian analysis, but on a collective rather than individual scale. The series, named after a poem published by Richard Brautigan in 1967, All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace, is uncannily relevant here because it critiques both systems theory and evolutionary biology. Part 2 of the series, The Use and Abuse of Vegetational Concepts, claims that the application of systems theory to the natural world and to human behaviour is dangerously deluded. Curtis mentions Norbert Wiener and interviews Jay Forrester, who was Donella H. Meadows’ mentor. Forrester designed the prototype for the ‘World3’ computer model that was commissioned by the Club of Rome, the findings of which were published in The Limits to Growth (Meadows et al., 1972/1974). Curtis concentrates on early hostility to the work but overlooks more recent acknowledgement that, unwelcome as its conclusions were, they are basically correct. The 30-year update (Meadows et al., 2004), which Curtis doesn’t mention, adds three decades of new data to the model, and its conclusions about our devastating impacts are no less alarming or plausible. He goes on to assert that ecosystems are not homeostatic, that the ‘balance of nature’ is merely wishful thinking, and thus that systems theory cannot be applied to the natural world. This, as we have seen, is erroneous because systems can behave in complex and unpredictable ways, and population dynamics are a classic example. Moreover, resilience is more important than homeostasis in an ever-changing environment. More serious is Curtis’ contention that human behaviour cannot be entrusted to systems principles. While self-organising networks may be good at precipitating change, such as in the Arab Spring or the Occupy movement, they fail to follow through with agreed goals, and therefore leave people helplessly divided in the face of those already in power in the world. Curtis’ criticism is aimed above all at people he

Gaia and science 63

calls ‘computer utopians’ and their belief that self-determination and freedom for all can be achieved spontaneously. Neither nature nor humans behave like machines, and the world cannot be reduced to a system. What he fails to make clear enough is that self-organisation and emergence in a system don’t guarantee that it will deliver what we want, and that understanding a system does not necessarily enable us to predict, let alone control, its behaviour. Curtis nonetheless makes a valid point about human behaviour because one vital factor absent from the computer utopians’ approach is any sense of ethics, and there are arguably other factors that are not reducible to numbers in an algorithm. Yet the project that produced The Limits to Growth was driven as much by ethical concerns as it was by a computer model. Donella H. Meadows’ strong sense of ethics shines through in her writing (which included a nationally syndicated newspaper column, ‘The Global Citizen’) and the affection with which she is remembered. As the Author’s Preface to Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update, penned by her two co-authors after her death, notes (using her familiar name): Dana was the unceasing optimist. She was a caring, compassionate believer in humanity. She predicated her entire life’s work on the assumption that if she put enough of the right information in people’s hands, they would ultimately go for the wise, the farsighted, the humane solution … Dana spent her whole life working for this ideal. (Meadows et al., 2004: xvi) It seems that she was, despite her logical clarity, hardly the stereotypical computer geek. Whatever one may think about her ‘information deficit model’ assumption, the underlying message is the need for a both/and rather than either/or attitude to the factors that systems can and can’t model; the fallacy of computer utopians was to entrust everything to those that they can. Thankfully Lovelock, in the same book that elaborates his Daisyworld defence against teleology, includes a chapter called ‘God and Gaia’, which includes statements about his own religious beliefs. When asked 45 years previously if he had ever had a religious experience, he had answered no, but in 1988 wrote therein: I should have said yes. Living itself is a religious experience. At the time, however, the question was almost meaningless because it implied a separation of life into sacred and secular parts. I now think that there can be no such division. (Lovelock, 1988: 204) This is truly a personal reconciliation of science and spirituality that goes beyond even both/and above. A little later, he continues: I am happy with the thought that the Universe has properties that make the emergence of life and Gaia inevitable. But I react to the assertion that it was created with this purpose. It might have been; but how the Universe and life began are ineffable questions. (Lovelock, 1988: 205)

64 Gaia and science

This seems to me to be a carefully formulated and nuanced statement, allowing as it does for one or more unknown factors that cannot be incorporated into any conceivable computer system model, but without unconditionally accepting the need for external teleology in the Platonic sense. The prominent evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins would presumably still disagree, which brings us to the third part of All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace, which was called The Monkey in the Machine and the Machine in the Monkey. Here Curtis critiques the advocacy of Darwinian fundamentalism, in particular the ‘selfish gene’ theory formulated by William D. Hamilton and popularised by Dawkins, which holds that humans are essentially machines controlled by genes.4 Curtis portrays Hamilton as a solitary man who saw everything through the lens of Darwin’s theory of evolution. Struggling to understand altruism— which, as already mentioned, is inherently problematic for the principle of natural selection—Hamilton went to London’s Waterloo station and stared at human behaviour for hours, looking for patterns. In 1963, he concluded that these were mostly due to genes, and so he began looking at humans from the genes’ point of view. Humans, and indeed all other organisms, were simply gene-carrying machines, and it made sense for a gene to sacrifice an individual if it meant that another copy of the gene in a relative could prosper. This was his ‘kin selection’ theory mentioned above. In 1967, the American physical chemist George R. Price, who had worked on the Manhattan Project, went to London after by chance discovering Hamilton’s highly mathematical and, at the time, little-known papers that have subsequently been recognised as classics in their field (Hamilton, 1964a; Hamilton, 1964b). Price realised that he was already familiar with Hamilton’s equations from his experience in computing, and that they also explained murder, warfare, suicide, goodness and spite, since these behaviours could help the carried genes. He went on to show that John von Neumann’s ‘self-reproducing machines’ already existed as individual organisms, including us. Price began to believe that these equations had been given to him by God, even though some argue that they are evidence against the existence of God. In 1973, after converting to an extreme form of Christianity, and as a last chance to disprove the limitations on altruism mandated by kin selection, Price decided to start helping poor and homeless people, giving away all his possessions to complete strangers in acts of random kindness. Subsequently convinced that his altruism did more harm than good, and that his attempt to disprove Hamilton’s theory had therefore failed, he eventually committed suicide in 1975. Dawkins popularised Hamilton’s theories, emphasising individual over group selection and omitting the difficult mathematics, in his 1976 best-seller The Selfish Gene. As the title makes clear, he contends that humans and other organisms are simply machines created by and for their selfish genes: We are all survival machines for the same kind of replicator—molecules called DNA—but there are many different ways of making a living in the world, and the replicators have built a vast range of machines to exploit them. A monkey

Gaia and science 65

is a machine which preserves genes up trees, a fish is a machine which preserves genes in the water; there is even a small worm which preserves genes in German beer mats. DNA works in mysterious ways. (Dawkins, 1976: 22) Curtis concludes with a conjecture that Dawkins has—ironically for an ardent atheist— ended up reinventing the immortal soul in the form of genetic code. That may be pushing the envelope too far, but is Dawkins attributing intention to genes? If so, surely that brings teleology, albeit of the Aristotelian ‘Prime Mover’ variety, back into the picture. I therefore wonder if Dawkins is an atheist because he has to be as a defence against Platonic external teleology which would expose, as Margulis asserted, the incompleteness of Darwinism. Some two decades later Dawkins wrote: ‘The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil and no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference’ (1995: 133). I have nothing personal against Dawkins, who I don’t know at all; but I don’t want to live in his apparently meaningless (yet oddly anthropomorphic) universe. More generally, if someone came out with something similar to the above statement in my analytical practice, alarm bells would be ringing. Even Stephen Jay Gould, another critic of Gaia theory, said that we may not be able to save what we do not love. If loss of soul and disenchantment of the world are the hallmarks of our Zeitgeist, it is hard to imagine a more succinct and all-encompassing expression of them, which brings us to the next chapter.

Notes 1 The word ‘complex’ here is used in its strictly mathematical sense, and not to be confused with its usage in analytical psychology or systems theory. The complex plane has ‘real’ and ‘imaginary’ axes. Thus, any complex number z = x+iy, where i is the (imaginary) square root of minus one (√-1), can be represented by a point on the plane. Complex algebra is nonetheless widely used to model real-world phenomena. 2 The centrifugal governor invented at the end of the 18th Century regulated the speed of a steam engine in a cybernetic manner, and was crucial to the Industrial Revolution. 3 This, originally written in 1979, was not meant in the now more familiar computing sense of ‘operating systems’, and could be replaced by simply ‘systems’. 4 Hamilton had few friends, but Curtis’ principal interviewee about him was Michael Ruse!

References Abram, D. (1991) ‘The Mechanical and the Organic: On the Impact of Metaphor in Science.’ in Scientists on Gaia. (Eds, Schneider, S.H. & Boston, P.J.) Cambridge, MA: MIT Press: 66–74. Briggs, J. & Peat, F.D. (1990) Turbulent Mirror: An Illustrated Guide to Chaos Theory and the Science of Wholeness. New York: Perennial Library. Centola, D. et al. (2018) ‘Experimental Evidence for Tipping Points in Social Convention.’ Science, 360(6393): 1116–1119. doi:10.1126/science.aas8827 Chalmers, D.J. (1990) Thoughts on Emergence. http://consc.net/notes/emergence.html, accessed 12 June 2018.

66 Gaia and science

Currier, M. (2006) ‘Anima Mundi-the World Soul.’ in Encyclopedia of Religion and Nature. (Ed., Taylor, B.R.) London & New York: Thoemmes Continuum. Curtis, A. (2011) All Watched Over By Machines of Loving Grace. Documentary film series (3 parts, 180 min.), BBC. Dawkins, R. (1976) The Selfish Gene. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dawkins, R. (1995) River Out of Eden: A Darwinian View of Life. New York: Basic Books. Eames, C. et al. (1978) Powers of Ten. Pyramid Films, Santa Monica, CA. Gleick, J. (1987) Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Viking. Goodwin, B. (2007a) ‘Gaia and Holistic Science.’ in Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia. (Ed., Midgley, M.) Exeter: Imprint Academic: 12–22. Goodwin, B. (2007b) ‘Evolution with Meaning.’ in Nature’s Due: Healing Our Fragmented Culture. Edinburgh: Floris: 85–110. Hamilton, W.D. (1964a) ‘The Genetical Evolution of Social Behaviour. I.’ Journal of Theoretical Biology, 7(1): 1–16. doi:10.1016/0022-5193(64)90038-4 Hamilton, W.D. (1964b) ‘The Genetical Evolution of Social Behaviour. II.’ Journal of Theoretical Biology, 7(1): 17–52. doi:10.1016/0022-5193(64)90039-6 Harding, S. (2009) Animate Earth: Science, Intuition, and Gaia. Totnes: Green Books. Hitchcock, D.R. & Lovelock, J.E. (1967) ‘Life Detection by Atmospheric Analysis.’ Icarus, 7 (1–3): 149–159. doi:10.1016/0019-1035(67)90059-0 Jung, C.G. (1934/1959) ‘Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 9i: The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul: 3–41. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969) ‘The Stages of Life.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 387–403. Lawton, J. (2001) ‘Earth System Science.’ Science, 292(5524): 1965. doi:10.1126/ science.292.5524.1965 Lotka, A. (1925) Elements of Physical Biology. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins. Lovelock, J.E. (1965) ‘A Physical Basis for Life Detection Experiments.’ Nature, 207(4997): 568–570. doi:10.1038/207568a0 Lovelock, J.E. (1988) Ages of Gaia. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lovelock, J.E. & Epton, S. (1975) ‘The Quest for Gaia.’ New Scientist, 65(935): 304–306. Lovelock, J. (1979/2000) Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press. Lovelock, J. (2009) The Vanishing Face of Gaia: A Final Warning. London & New York: Allen Lane/Penguin. Lovelock, J.E. (1989) ‘Geophysiology, the Science of Gaia.’ Reviews of Geophysics, 27(2): 215–222. doi:10.1029/rg027i002p00215 Meadows, D.H. (2008) Thinking in Systems: A Primer. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. Meadows, D.H. et al. (1972/1974) The Limits to Growth: A Report for the Club of Rome’s Project on the Predicament of Mankind. New York: Universe Books. Meadows, D.H., Randers, J. & Meadows, D.L. (2004) Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. Midgley, M. (Ed.) (2007) Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia. Exeter: Imprint Academic. Peat, F.D. (2008) Gentle Action: Bringing Creative Change to a Turbulent World. Pari, Italy: Pari Publishing. Plato (2000) Timaeus. (Trans. Donald J. Zeyl). Indianapolis: Hackett. Pronk, J. (2002) ‘The Amsterdam Declaration on Global Change.’ in Challenges of a Changing Earth. (Global Change—the IGBP Series). (Eds, Steffen, W., Jäger, J., Carson, D.J. & Bradshaw, C.) Berlin & Heidelberg: Springer: 207–208.

Gaia and science 67

Ritsema, R. & Sabbadini, S.A. (2005) The Original I Ching Oracle: The Pure and Complete Texts With Concordance. London: Watkins. Rosenblueth, A., Wiener, N. & Bigelow, J. (1943) ‘Behavior, Purpose and Teleology.’ Philosophy of Science, 10(1): 18–24. doi:10.1086/286788 Ruse, M. (2013) The Gaia Hypothesis: Science on a Pagan Planet. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Schneider, S.H. & Boston, P.J. (Eds) (1991) Scientists on Gaia. Cambridge, MA & London: MIT Press. Steffen, W. et al. (2018) ‘Trajectories of the Earth System in the Anthropocene.’ Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(33): 8252–8259. doi:10.1073/pnas.1810141115 Van Eenwyk, J.R. (1997) Archetypes & Strange Attractors: The Chaotic World of Symbols. Toronto: Inner City Books. Venail, P.A. et al. (2008) ‘Diversity and Productivity Peak at Intermediate Dispersal Rate in Evolving Metacommunities.’ Nature, 452(7184): 210–214. doi:10.1038/nature06554 von Wright, G.H. (1971) Explanation and Understanding. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press. Watson, A. & Lovelock, J.E. (1983) ‘Biological Homeostasis of the Global Environment: The Parable of Daisyworld.’ Tellus B, 35B(4): 284–289. doi:10.1111/j.1600-0889.1983.tb00031.x Wiener, N. (1948) Cybernetics, or, Control and Communication in the Animal and the Machine. New York & Paris: Wiley/Hermann. Wood, A.J. et al. (2008) ‘Daisyworld: A Review.’ Reviews of Geophysics, 46(1). doi:10.1029/ 2006rg000217

4 PSYCHE AND BEYOND

4.1 Disenchantment Throughout this book I challenge incrementally our insidious ‘disenchantment’ of the world, to use the term borrowed by the pioneering social theorist Max Weber (1864–1920) from Friedrich Schiller. By this Weber (who, incidentally, inspired Adam Curtis) meant the hegemony of reason, especially science, and the commensurate devaluation of the spiritual in our bureaucratic, secularised and technological society, and the resulting orientation of processes toward rational goals. He contrasted this with indigenous cultures for whom, perhaps alluding to Eden, the world remains a great enchanted garden. While my usage of the term may not be precisely synonymous with Weber’s, it is close enough to be useful thanks to its succinctness. Weber appears to have been ambivalent about disenchantment, and it is true that without disenchantment this book could not have been produced as it has; but then arguably it wouldn’t have been necessary either. Gaia theory was the first significant increment in this book, challenging disenchantment within a relatively conventional scientific framework. The difficulty of doing even that is reflected in the length of the previous section. However, the contents of this chapter offer much stronger, and therefore controversial and neglected, challenges. Michael Moore suggested in his film Bowling for Columbine (2002) that frightened people make good consumers, and that fear is therefore perpetuated through the media acting in the interests of business and government. I suggest that this, and more, is true of disenchantment, which is a major driver of our rampant consumption, individualism and alienation from inner and outer nature. Disenchantment is at the heart, not the margins, of the problems this book addresses. Attempts at re-enchantment are actively and passively resisted by being ignored, ridiculed, demonised, marginalised and, in some cases, even prohibited. Yet all the while we thirst for meaning while drowning in information, and crave endless novelty to distract us from our inner emptiness. It is

Psyche and beyond 69

therefore worth recalling that however inexorable such loss of soul—which is what this amounts to psychologically—may now seem, it is atypical of other epochs and cultures. Among intact indigenous cultures, the world soul—the anima mundi—remains a lived reality through participation mystique, and loss of soul on any scale is correspondingly viewed with the utmost seriousness. Under present circumstances it is inconceivable that we could revert to such a way of life, but we need the humility to supplement and temper our knowledge with their wisdom. As we will see in greater detail, the reactivation of the anima mundi in our modern collective psyche though personification as Gaia is a hugely important development, and a long overdue step towards reconciliation between science and spirituality. In the burgeoning civilisations of India, China and around the Mediterranean, luminaries such as Buddha, Laozi, Heraclitus and Plato all emerged between 800 and 300 BCE, an epoch labelled the ‘Axial Age’ by the influential psychiatrist and philosopher Karl Jaspers (1883–1969). Their diverse insights and teachings were a step-change in human consciousness, emphasising the transcendent and transpersonal while remaining firmly grounded in the natural world; science and spirituality coexisted meaningfully. In the West, a holistic and ensouled worldview has persisted, albeit largely underground, through the unus mundus and anima mundi of Neoplatonism and Hermeticism. The unus mundus is an important concept throughout this chapter and the next. Beyond its literal translation as ‘one world’, it is generally used to refer to an underlying unified reality from which everything emerges, and to which everything returns. The term was used by Jung, who took it from Gerhard Dorn, a student of the famous alchemist Paracelsus in the 16th Century. It is an essential element in the Pauli–Jung conjecture, about which Jung wrote: Undoubtedly the idea of the unus mundus is founded on the assumption that the multiplicity of the empirical world rests on an underlying unity, and that not two or more fundamentally different worlds exist side by side or are mingled with one another. Rather, everything divided and different belongs to one and the same world, which is not the world of sense but a postulate … even the psychic world, which is so extraordinarily different from the physical world, does not have its roots outside the one cosmos. (Jung, 1956/1963: §767) In the East the essentially non-physicalist influence of Dharmic and Taoic religions remains extensive, but is under siege from Westernisation. As theoretical physicist Fritjof Capra (1991) demonstrated, there are profound resonances between the paradoxes inherent in Eastern spirituality and in modern physics; and many Western physicists, Pauli included, have expressed affinities with Taoism, Buddhism or Hinduism. Likewise, ‘classical’ physics, which is still immensely important, is a product of the Western worldview. Isaac Newton, indubitably one of the greatest scientists of all time, thought he would be remembered for his alchemical writings, and believed a contemporaneous Christian doctrine that the world was created on Sunday, 23 October 4004 BCE. Paradigms can change.

70 Psyche and beyond

The ideas and findings presented here suggest strongly that physicalism is not just inadequate, but erroneous and stifling; that the relationship between mind and matter is far more subtle and complex than one-way dependency; and that the everyday world of our experience has a hidden common origin, the unus mundus. It may, nonetheless, be difficult to see what difference this makes in practical terms to us as individuals. James Hillman, one of the most interesting and provocative enfants terribles of Jungian psychology, wrote less abstractly in his essay, tellingly titled ‘A Psyche the Size of the Earth’: ‘There is only one core issue for all psychology. Where is the “me”? Where does the “me” begin? Where does the “me” stop? Where does the “other” begin?’ (Hillman, 1995: xvii). Thus, for example, even the apparently simple act of breathing challenges the presumed boundaries of ‘me’ both physiologically and psychologically. At what point do inhaled air molecules become ‘me’, and those exhaled return to the ‘other’? When is breathing ego-directed, and when is it autonomous? No wonder breath is the Western etymological root of both soul and spirit, and integral to almost all Eastern meditative practice.

4.2 Analytical psychology ‘Analytical psychology’ is far—one could with some justification say infinitely— greater in scope than the conventionally understood discipline of psychology, and transgresses the implied logical limitations of the descriptor analytical. It was, nonetheless, Jung’s eventual preferred label for his theory and practice, and remains the official name of the discipline, so I will adhere to it. Jung, despite his best efforts at scientific credibility, is still widely dismissed as a ‘mystic’, a knee-jerk reaction which speaks volumes about our Zeitgeist. His holistic depth psychology is radically different from other schools, such as the experimentalism of ‘rats and stats’ or, more generally, biological, behavioural or cognitive psychology, and even mainstream psychiatry despite the fact that he was a pioneering psychiatrist. Just how different can be gauged from some of the opening lines of Jungian scholar Roderick Main’s The Rupture of Time: Synchronicity and Jung’s Critique of Modern Western Culture (Main, 2004: 1): Analytical psychology, the psychological model developed by Carl Gustav Jung (1875–1961), presents a set of ideas that in many respects is at variance with the embedded assumptions of mainstream modern culture in the West. With its concepts of the collective unconscious, universal archetypes, the teleological process of individuation, the transpersonal self, and the epistemological priority of psychic over physical reality, Jung’s model champions notions that are not easily squared with the materialistic, reductive, naturalistic and causal emphases of modern Western culture. … the variance is unfortunate, for Jung himself, later Jungians, and others interested in analytical psychological ideas have wished to make positive and acceptable contributions to mainstream Western culture.

Psyche and beyond 71

To reassure ‘non-Jungian’ readers who may be wondering at this juncture whether they are sufficiently open-minded after all, an immense body of Jung’s writing and post-Jungian literature has been available from mainstream academic publishers for over a century, and continues to flourish. His insights and theories have been taken seriously by numerous prominent intellectuals in the sciences and humanities, notably the quantum physicist Wolfgang Pauli, philosophers and theologians such as Gershom Scholem, Henry Corbin and Victor White, and authors such as Hermann Hesse and James Joyce. His psychological understanding of myth has been popularised directly and indirectly by writers such as Joseph Campbell, and has influenced artists and film-makers. More generally, analytical psychology has been further vindicated by its widespread applicability to many other fields, often without acknowledgement or even conscious realisation. All this at least suggests that Jung, his associates, and subsequent analytical psychologists and scholars were and continue to be onto something enduring and real. Jung’s output, the majority of which has still not been published, was prolific. Almost all of it was originally written in his mother tongue, German, before being translated into English. I refer by default to the English translations, with the necessary caveats (as expressed in the French adage, traduire, c’est trahir—to translate is to betray). Jung’s Collected Works alone comprise hundreds of often abstruse essays organised into 18 large volumes plus a separate bibliography and index, and another 30 volumes (The Philemon Series) are in preparation at the time of writing. He was also a talented artist, a prodigious correspondent and a major contributor to the annual multi-disciplinary Eranos roundtables begun in 1933. His redacted autobiography, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, recorded and edited by Aniela Jaffé at the end of his life, is extraordinary and fascinating, as is his monumental Das Rote Buch (The Red Book) published, in accordance with his wishes, 50 years after his death; but these are not the best introductions to analytical psychology. Jung was nonetheless keen for his ideas to reach a wider audience, and to that end two books were published with his direct involvement and approval. The first, The Psychology of C.G. Jung by Jolande Jacobi (Jacobi, 1942/1973), including a foreword by Jung, was originally published in Switzerland in 1940. Although the language is dated and the approach prescriptive, it contains many useful diagrams, especially those which illustrate, insofar as possible, aspects of the contents, structure and dynamics of the psyche. Jung conceived, edited and contributed to Man and His Symbols, together with Jaffé, Jacobi, Marie-Louise von Franz (probably his closest collaborator) and Joseph L. Henderson (Jung et al., 1964). It was first published posthumously, and copiously illustrated to do justice to its topic. While both are worth reading, better introductions are available nowadays. I especially recommend Murray Stein’s Jung’s Map of the Soul: An Introduction (Stein, 1998) as an adjunct to this book because it largely overlooks the development of Jung’s thought and its therapeutic use, as do I, to emphasise the intellectual coherence of his later theories. Stein’s acknowledges therein that Jung’s map of the psyche is also only loosely systematic and self-consistent because Jung was a visionary intuitive thinker, but doesn’t view this as a drawback because over-rigid systems can be

72 Psyche and beyond

lifeless and even paranoid. At the semantic as well as conceptual level, I should admit my culture shock when I began reading Jung from a background in ‘hard’ science, and as a member of a mountain rescue team where the rule for radio comms was ABC—accuracy, brevity, clarity! Other decent introductory texts include Jung: A Very Short Introduction (Stevens, 2001) and How to Read Jung (Tacey, 2006). Jungian terminology is explained in A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis (Samuels et al., 1986), The Jung Lexicon: A Primer of Terms and Concepts (Sharp, 1991) and in greater detail, though less systematically, by Jung himself (Jung, 1921/ 1971). More comprehensive modern coverage is available in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications (Papadopoulos, 2006). Jung’s 1959 BBC Face to Face interview with John Freeman, which at the time of writing can be viewed on YouTube, gives a good feel for the man himself. The aspect of analytical psychology already most familiar to the general public is probably Jung’s ‘psychological types’ theory of consciousness through his neologisms ‘introversion’ and ‘extraversion’, and psychometrics such as the Myers–Briggs (MBTI), Singer–Loomis and Gifts Compass type inventories. Each individual has a more or less unique balance of the four ego functions—thinking, feeling, sensation and intuition—and their direction towards the inner or outer world (introverted and extraverted respectively). While quantitative results should probably be taken with a pinch of salt, the broader implication that each of us experiences the world differently led Rafael López-Pedraza to suggest that Jung should have been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize (see Johnston, 2016: 9). ‘Typology’, as it is often called, undermines the tacit assumption in our interactions that the other party experiences the world as we do. Thus, for example, my description of how the ideas for this book emerged may have felt familiar to some readers and utterly alien to others. Stephan Harding, who is also engaged with analytical psychology, even associates four prominent individuals’ approaches to Gaia with these ego functions: James Lovelock with thinking; Arne Næss with feeling; David Abram with sensation; and Aldo Leopold with intuition. We will encounter all of them in due course. Other terms from analytical psychology in popular use include ‘mid-life crisis’ from Jung’s ‘stages of life’ theory—the first full life-cycle developmental theory in psychology—and the often-misused adjective ‘archetypal’ from his theory of archetypes. Analytical psychology has of course evolved and diversified during the decades since Jung’s death, and variants from ‘classical’ Jungian psychology have emerged, notably the ‘developmental’ (Michael Fordham et al.) and ‘archetypal’ (James Hillman et al.) schools, as documented in Jung and the Post-Jungians (Samuels, 1986). Each has different emphases, strengths and weaknesses, and there are numerous theoretical disagreements between them, especially about the more speculative aspects of analytical psychology. The ‘classical’ approach of Jung himself, in which I am schooled, is best suited to the purposes of this book, especially because it is the natural precursor to ongoing refinement of the Pauli–Jung conjecture, which extends Jung’s theories to the mind–matter problem. All of these schools are accommodated within a global professional body, the International Association for

Psyche and beyond 73

Analytical Psychology (IAAP), which has grown since its establishment in 1955 to a membership of more than three thousand Jungian analysts, and now recognises some 58 groups or societies throughout the world. The International Association for Jungian Studies (IAJS) facilitates academic exchange between Jungian scholars worldwide, including a series of ‘Analysis and Activism’ conferences begun in 2014. Analytical psychology offers a profoundly introverted counterbalance to our over-extraverted Zeitgeist. This in part explains how my own interest, significantly around mid-life, was triggered by reading a history of Western esotericism, which noted the outstanding importance of Jung: He constitutes, undoubtedly, the supreme example of the psychologist as authentic Renaissance magus. The very breadth and sweep of his scope places him squarely in the tradition of men like Agrippa and Paracelsus—as does his insistence on integration, organism, synthesis, balance, equilibrium and harmony. (Baigent & Leigh, 1998: 289–290) Or, as I later read in Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture: He took the basic idea … of a history of the magical ‘nightside of nature’ and its experiential manifestations, but repackaged it in modern psychological terms as the history of Western culture’s suppressed unconscious … In this narrative, the official representatives of the mainstream (Christian theologians, rational philosophers, modern scientists) have always tried to suppress it. (Hanegraaff, 2014: 295) With hindsight, Jung’s appeal to me was, above all, as an antidote to disenchantment and the fragmented, dogmatic worldview of our age. It offered a very different perspective from the rationalism of my scientific background, although I didn’t anticipate the synergies resulting in this book. Jung’s thinking and output inevitably reflected his own times, which included two world wars and, towards the end of his life, the threat of nuclear annihilation. Despite his emphasis on the individual inner life, he was passionately concerned about these outer collective issues too. There is also abundant evidence that Jung and some of his associates, notably Marie-Louise von Franz, C.A. Meier and Laurens van der Post, were likewise acutely aware of our weak and dysfunctional relationship with the natural world. Jung died in 1961, a year before the ground-breaking publication of Silent Spring. I have no doubt that this, and the broader environmental crisis, would have engaged Jung as much as his other concerns about the fate of the world. Indeed, there is sufficient nature writing by Jung to fill a book compiled by Meredith Sabini, The Earth Has a Soul: The Nature Writings of C.G. Jung. Sabini begins her preface ‘Concern for the loss of connection with nature runs like a leitmotif throughout Jung’s entire opus’ (2002: XI). So, for example, Jung wrote:

74 Psyche and beyond

Through scientific understanding, our world has become dehumanised. Man feels himself isolated in the cosmos. He is no longer involved in nature and has lost his emotional participation in natural events, which hitherto had a symbolic meaning … No river contains a spirit, no tree means a man’s life, no snake is the embodiment of wisdom, and no mountain still harbours a great demon. Neither do things speak to him not can he speak to things like stones, springs, plants and animals. He no longer has a bush-soul identifying him with the wild animal. His immediate communication with nature is gone for ever, and the emotional energy it generated has sunk into the unconscious. (Jung, 1961/1976: §585) Such eloquent expressions of disenchantment show how far Jung was beyond the purview of mainstream psychology. This aspect of Jung, together with his personal relationship with the natural world, will be important in the context of deep ecology. More immediately relevant and necessary for the Psyche–Gaia conjecture are some of the core theories of classical analytical psychology—the structure and dynamics of the psyche, the psychoid, lifetime development and the individuation process. ‘Classical’ Jungians are sometimes accused of reifying Jung and his theories, so I should make it clear that, like Lovelock and Gaia theory, I do not consider him and them to be beyond criticism. Some of the problems can be attributed to Jung’s cultural milieu and being ‘a man of his time’, and others to his typology. The qualities he attributes to animus and anima now appear antiquated and sexist, and are disputed by many Jungians of all schools, including classical. At times the degree of his introversion led to an unrealistic emphasis of psychic over social and other factors in contemporary events, and to over-extrapolation of his unique inner life into generalised theory. It is widely believed that Jung was on the threshold of psychosis during his mid-life crisis, yet thanks to his extraordinary ego strength he managed to not only survive this but also to remain extremely creative throughout. In his defence, Jung was exploring vast tracts of uncharted territory, and inevitably made mistakes. However, I should not end this all-too-brief introduction to analytical psychology without also acknowledging the breadth and legacy of Jung’s endeavours, few of which I can even mention in this book. These revolve around his revival of the Gnostic and Hermetic traditions, his translation of them into contemporary understanding and his application of them into therapeutic practice. In my view, the three most significant components of Jung’s achievement were his rediscovery of alchemy as psychological metaphor, his engagement with Eastern worldviews and his explorations with Wolfgang Pauli. His simultaneous encounter with the first two of these in The Secret of the Golden Flower had such a profound impact that he abandoned the Rote Buch on which he had worked for 16 years. It is through Jung’s writings that I first encountered the anima mundi (world soul), the unus mundus (one world), the lumen naturae (light of nature) and his re-telling of Richard Wilhelm’s enigmatic account of the ‘rain maker’ that he said embodied his entire psychology.

Psyche and beyond 75

4.3 The psyche One of our most widespread and persistent contemporary delusions about our psychological constitution is the sole reality and agency of ego to the exclusion of all else. The existence of any psychic entities beyond ego, like that of dark matter, can only be inferred from a process of careful iteration between indirect observation (i.e., of their effects, not of them per se) and theory. Jung developed and refined his theory of the contents, structure and dynamics of the psyche in this way over decades. His principal tools were unflinching empirical observations of himself, of his patients as a psychiatrist and psychotherapist, and his methodical study of neuroses, complexes, mythology and folk tales, religion and esotericism, ethnology and, above all, dreams—some forty six thousand of them. He relegated the ego from being the sum of psychological existence to merely the visible tip of the psychic iceberg as the centre of consciousness, but gave it an additional role as mediator between the unconscious aspects of the psyche and the outside world. While admitting that the unconscious could not be described scientifically as more than a working hypothesis, Jung made no attempt to conceal either his awe for the full object of his lifelong research or his astonishment, perhaps reflecting his introversion, that it attracted so little interest elsewhere: The psyche is the greatest of all cosmic wonders and the sine qua non of the world as an object. It is in the highest degree odd that Western man, with but very few—and ever fewer—exceptions, apparently pays so little regard to this fact. Swamped by the knowledge of external objects, the subject of all knowledge has been temporarily eclipsed to the point of seeming non-existence. (Jung, 1954/1969b: §357) Jung’s model of the psyche extended into an impersonal, psychophysically neutral realm beyond direct experience that he called the ‘psychoid’. I will introduce this in the next section, but here concentrate on those aspects of what could broadly be called the mental domain that are available to experience, though not necessarily on demand. I begin at our interface with the outer world, and move ever further from it. This progression away from the known and knowable broadly parallels the timeline of Jung’s enquiry, so especially at the deeper levels of the psyche, and especially the psychoid, his theories evolved significantly. Due to the highly interconnected structure of the psyche, some terms unavoidably appear before they are explained.

Persona Taken from the word for mask in classical Greek theatre, this is ‘a functional complex that comes into existence for reasons of adaptation or personal convenience’ (Jung, 1921/1971: §801). It is what we consciously, or even unconsciously, especially out of habit, choose to show to the outer world, mediating between our ego and others. If the ego is our personal identity, persona is our social identity which, typically, strives for acceptance and recognition. In the age of

76 Psyche and beyond

online social networking, shortened attention spans and the ‘selfie’, persona has perhaps assumed greater cultural importance than ever before. It is, however, not part of the conjecture I outline in Chapter 5.

Ego This is the default centre of consciousness, a functional complex that emerges from the unconscious in infancy under the ordering influence of its archetypal counterpart, the Self. Ego provides one’s sense of identity (I am me and not anyone or anything else) and continuity (when I wake I am the same person who fell asleep last night or years ago). It is the centre of will, desire, self-awareness and action. While Jung didn’t claim that the ego was the totality of consciousness, he did, according to Stein (1998: 18), question the notion of consciousness without ego. When I pressed Stein on this point, he wrote: ‘Jung was quite adamant on this point to the end of his life—without a knower (ego) it is impossible to know’ (Stein, 2018). This does indeed appear to be an accurate summary of Jung’s attitude to the Western mind, but about the Eastern mind he wrote: It is safe to assume that what the East calls ‘mind’ has more to do with our ‘unconscious’ than with mind as we understand it, which is more or less identical with consciousness. To us, consciousness is inconceivable without an ego; it is equated with the relation of contents to an ego. If there is no ego there is nobody to be conscious of anything. The ego is therefore indispensable to the conscious process. The Eastern mind, however, has no difficulty in conceiving of a consciousness without an ego. Consciousness is deemed capable of transcending its ego condition; indeed, in its ‘higher’ forms, the ego disappears altogether. (Jung, 1954/1969c: §774) Jung also reminded us that: Western consciousness is by no means the only kind of consciousness there is; it is historically conditioned and geographically limited, and representative of only one part of mankind. The widening of our consciousness ought not to proceed at the expense of other kinds of consciousness; it should come about through the development of those elements of our psyche which are analogous to those of the alien psyche, just as the East cannot do without our technology, science, and industry. The European invasion of the East was an act of violence on a grand scale, and it has left us with the duty—noblesse oblige—of understanding the mind of the East. This is perhaps more necessary than we realize at present. (Jung, 1929/1967: §84) It is interesting to note in this context that the Western historical ‘Enlightenment’ was in many ways the triumph of the ego leading to our current ‘monotheism of consciousness’, whereas most Eastern concepts of ‘enlightenment’, such as bodhi, prajna and satori, are closer to the Jungian notion of individuation and relativisation

Psyche and beyond 77

of the ego. Moreover, Jung’s closest associate, Marie-Louise von Franz, who has been criticised in some quarters for seemingly not taking a more independent position from him, wrote of an enlargement of consciousness together with a decrease of ego intensity, as will be elaborated in the discussion of individuation in ‘The Stages of Life’. Then there are the altered states of consciousness that have been deliberately cultivated in many cultures, Eastern, Western and elsewhere, and may still be achieved through meditation, entheogens, trance, etc. These are an integral part of many religious practices, perhaps most notably shamanism, and are often experienced and described as ‘consciousness-expanding’, but also as ‘ego-loss’, episodes. The Greek etymological root of ‘ecstasy’, meaning ‘to stand outside’, to which many interpreters would add ‘the ego’, resonates with the importance of ‘liberation’ in Eastern concepts of enlightenment. I will refer to ego extensively in my Psyche–Gaia conjecture, and in that context the term is synonymous with human consciousness.

Personal unconscious This is in many ways similar to Freud’s concept of the unconscious, its contents including ‘forgotten, repressed, subliminally perceived, thought and felt matter of every kind’ (Jung, 1921/1971: §842). Jung’s great innovation here was to propose that these contents can, under the ordering influence of the archetypes, cluster by association into complexes. As the archetypes per se are, according to Jung’s theories, in the psychoid domain, I will describe his and subsequent understanding of them in the next section. For now, it is sufficient to consider them as universal ontological ordering principles or agents.

Complexes Jung’s famous ‘association experiment’ provided empirical evidence for autonomous, split-off and highly negatively or positively charged psychic entities which he called ‘feeling-toned complexes’. Normally lurking in potentia in the personal unconscious, they comprise clusters of associations ordered by the archetypes, and this gives them a universal quality. Complexes can erupt into consciousness when triggered (or ‘constellated’ in the language of analytical psychology), even displacing the ego temporarily to abruptly change our mood or social behaviour, often for the worse. On the other hand, we would be relatively dull characters without them—if integrated sufficiently with ego consciousness, complexes can enrich the personality; if not, they ensnare it in neuroses. We all ‘have complexes’, among which mother and father complexes are typically the most powerful; but, as Jung pithily inverted, ‘complexes can have us’, before continuing: ‘The existence of complexes throws serious doubt on the naïve assumption of the unity of consciousness, which is equated with “psyche”, and on the supremacy of the will’ (Jung, 1954/1969a: 200). The attentive reader may already be reminded of some of the key concepts of systems dynamics here. Archetypal ordering resembles self-organisation, constellation resembles tipping points and so on. Although Jung didn’t encounter systems theory, some of the most important post-Jungian thinking explores such

78 Psyche and beyond

similarities. Perhaps the most relevant in this context is Bridges to Consciousness: Complexes and Complexity, a book by my Jungian colleague Nancy Krieger who, like me, has a background in physics. Krieger developed an interest in complexity theory, originally from Bernard Baars’ ‘global workspace’ theory of consciousness (Baars, 2005). She contends that: By applying Dynamical Systems Theory and modelling of the neural correlates of psychological states, the feeling-toned complex can be seen as an attractor state in the psychic landscape. I conclude that three concepts or processes are of primary importance to the emergence of consciousness:  symbolisation and the emergence of meaning,  the concept of self  coordination/synchronisation over many psychological and physical levels forming a global workspace. (Krieger, 2013: 1) Krieger (2013: 2–3) investigates the psyche per se as an emergent state arising from the global functioning of the brain and the body, and extends systems theory to apply it to the continual flux of complexes in their competition for control of the conscious psyche. Her research is important not only for integrating systems dynamics with analytical psychology, but also for giving the body—which I have already confessed to neglecting in this book—due consideration because complexes are somatic as much as psychic phenomena. While ‘neural correlates’ do not necessarily imply directionality in the mind–brain relationship, it would be interesting to revisit Krieger’s work from the perspective of nonlocal mind. The emergent origins, rather than the contents, of complexes are an integral part of my Psyche–Gaia conjecture.

Symbols Symbols are also products of the unconscious and the ‘language’, primarily in the form of images, through which unconscious contents have the possibility of entering consciousness. Jung defined symbols and symbolism in many ways; but first it is important to differentiate a symbol from a sign as the words are used more or less interchangeably in common parlance. Essentially a symbol in the sense used here has two defining properties: it is the best possible expression of unknown psychic contents; and it is a transformer of psychic energy, which Jung called libido.1 In contrast, the whole point of a sign is to indicate the known. Signs can be consciously designed (e.g., this statement) or unconsciously expressed (e.g., body language) by humans, and also appear in the other-than-human world (e.g., the mating rituals of many species). We too can ‘read’ natural signs—indeed our survival depends on it at times, not least now. This is the basis of Western science. Another way of looking at the difference is to say that signs convey information, whereas symbols convey meaning. Whether something is interpreted as a sign or a symbol depends mainly on its origin and the attitude of the observer. Jung linked

Psyche and beyond 79

the semiotic and symbolic approaches, respectively, to the causal and final (teleological) points of view, and acknowledged the importance of both. He explained the difference between a sign and a symbol thus: A sign is always less than the thing it points to, and a symbol is always more than we can understand at first sight. Therefore we never stop at the sign but go on to the goal it indicates; but we remain with the symbol because it promises more than it reveals. (Jung, 1961/1976: §482) I will explore further, with examples, the nature and role of symbols in our interaction at the soul level with Gaia and, more generally, emphasise their importance in the Psyche–Gaia conjecture.

Shadow The shadow can be said to comprise all those parts of the personality that are rejected by the ego or, as Jung succinctly stated, ‘the thing a person has no wish to be’ (Jung, 1946/1985: §470). It is typically the first unacknowledged aspect of ourselves to be encountered in analysis—an unnerving, dispiriting and humbling, but essential process, because the less we are aware of our shadow, the more we are at its mercy. We often project our shadow qualities onto others, or may act them out ourselves, especially in moments of extreme disinhibition, such as from drinking too much alcohol. This typically manifests in a ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ inversion of the outwardly expressed personality, transforming the sweetest nature into something thoroughly unpleasant, or extreme righteousness into depravity, as exemplified by more than one celebrity evangelist. We cannot avoid having a shadow, for selectivity is part of ego functioning; this makes it an ego responsibility and, by extension, a moral problem. That said, if the ego rejects positive aspects of the personality, these can manifest in the shadow too. The shadow’s coexistence alongside ego is a prime example of the problematic psychic oppositions that characterise Jung’s model of the psyche and challenge all of us as individuals.

Anima/animus Jung posited the existence of contrasexual elements, i.e., female (anima) in a man and male (animus) in a woman, acknowledgement of which is an essential part of the individuation process. Controversy around this is widespread. Thus Verena Kast, for example, while acceding that this innovation is greatly to Jung’s credit, writes that he ‘is basically using the established gender stereotypes of his time to define what is female and what is male’ (Kast, 2006: 113). Since anima and animus are archetypal in origin, and Jung never assigned gender-specificity to archetypes, Kast and some others follow this to its logical conclusion, while restoring a modicum of ‘political correctness’, viz., ‘both can be constellated in men as well as women’ (Kast, 2006: 127). Politically correct or not—and here I feel I’m tiptoeing through a minefield—I have to say that this doesn’t accord with my personal

80 Psyche and beyond

experience, either as a heterosexual male or in work with both male and female analysands, including gay men. A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis begins the definition of anima and animus simply and more conventionally as: ‘The inner figure of a woman held by a man and the figure of a man at work in a woman’s psyche. … Both are psychic images. Each is a configuration arising from a basic archetypal structure’ (Samuels et al., 1986: 23) While accepting Kast’s initial critique, I find this definition both experientially and theoretically more satisfactory, the latter because it differentiates between gender-specific images and their common underlying, and therefore implicitly gender-neutral, archetype. When encountered in projection onto others, as is common, one’s anima or animus can arouse intense erotic (in the more-than-sexual sense) feelings, leading to love relationships. She or he may appear in dreams as the alluring unknown stranger suggestive of unexplored possibilities. More to the point in the context of this book, anima/animus can be considered as the embodiment or personification of soul, acting as mediator between the ego and the inner world (and thus functionally the opposite of persona). The word anima is of course related to the world soul, anima mundi, and is the etymological route of animate, animal and so on—the essence of life. From this enriched perspective, Lovelock’s use of the name Gaia unwittingly achieved something much more profound than that described in Chapter 3—it activated the anima mundi in human consciousness. Just as the individual soul image is experienced through personification of the anima/animus in dreams, projections and so on, Lovelock personified the world soul with a feminine identity resonant with indigenous religions around the world and antidotal to the prevailing patriarchy of our civilisation. In short, Gaia didn’t merely generate public interest; she triggered the collective imagination, the consequences of which are still unfolding. Perhaps the greatest of these is that through personification it gave Earth a voice, transforming ‘it’ to ‘her’, and our relationship from command and control to dialogue and negotiation, i.e., to reciprocity. It has even been mooted from outside analytical psychology (Goodwin, 2007: 21–22) that the ‘Orphic Trinity, the union of Gaia, Chaos and Eros as the basic principles of endless creativity and freedom in the cosmos’ emerged concurrently in the 1960s— Gaia and Chaos in their respective scientific formulations and Eros as love in the counter-culture of that time.

Self The Self (capitalised as previously explained to differentiate it from the everyday use of the word) is, among other things, the archetype of ordering and wholeness, and the goal of individuation, and therefore unique among the archetypes. Prominent critics of Jung, notably archetypal psychologist James Hillman, and religious conservatives generally, argue that he was unable to let go of his monotheistic background (Jung’s father was a Protestant pastor) and merely internalised the Abrahamic God; but the Self is conceptually closer to the Atman of the Upanishads and even to the unus mundus. Just as other archetypes are linked to complexes, the Self can be considered to connect with the ego via the ego–Self axis (a term also

Psyche and beyond 81

coined by Neumann). Confusingly, and this is why some aspects of the Self belong here and others to subsequent discussion of the psychoid, it seems to share many of the characteristics of psyche, as indicated by one of Jung’s most enduring definitions of Self as totality of psyche: conscious and unconscious are not necessarily in opposition to one another, but complement one another to form a totality, which is the Self. According to this definition the Self is a quantity that is superordinate to the conscious ego. It embraces not only the conscious but also the unconscious psyche. (Jung, 1928/1953: §274). A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis tries to clarify this ambiguity thus: The conceptual overlap between the psyche and the Self may be resolved as follows: Though the Self refers to the totality of the personality, as a transcendent concept it also enjoys the paradoxical capacity to relate to its various components, for example, the ego. The psyche encompasses these relationships and may even be said to be made up of such dynamics. (Samuels et al., 1986: 116) Worse still, ‘Jung’s major definitions of the Self’ have been summarised in a more comprehensive review of his writings in Warren Colman’s essay ‘The Self’ (Colman, 2006: 161) as follows:        

individuality mid-point between conscious and unconscious union of opposites totality of the psyche centre of the psyche archetype wholeness organising principle.

While these definitions are not all mutually exclusive, being both the totality and the centre of the psyche seems particularly paradoxical, and reminiscent of ‘an infinite sphere, whose centre is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere’. This has its roots in the Liber XXIV philosophorum (with which Jung would have been familiar), attributed variously to Nicolas of Cusa or the mythical figure Hermes Trismegistus, which describes a meeting of 24 philosophers, each of whom gives a definition of God. Colman goes on to consider, in addition to the above, such a variety of post-Jungian views of the Self that I once showed in a lecture a photo of jelly being nailed to a wall. More recently, I somewhat despairingly speculated in correspondence with Colman whether the Self ended up being the ‘God (or not) of the gaps’, and remarked on his omission of the psychoid aspect, to which he replied that:

82 Psyche and beyond

My starting point has always been the self in its ordinary sense as something that is definitive of persons; I can see that for your work, the more collective or even cosmic aspect of the Self as somehow equivalent to unus mundus might well be more important. (Colman, 2018) Having listed and outlined the principal elements of the psyche, it is tempting to devise a schema to convey how they all interact. To the best of my knowledge, Jung never attempted to draw a structural diagram of their configuration. Apart from the topological challenge posed by the Self, it is questionable how successfully ‘the greatest of all cosmic wonders and the sine qua non of the world as an object’ can be reduced to fit the constraints of a two-dimensional surface. By way of comparison M-theory, which attempts to explain the substance of the universe, in its present state requires 11 dimensions. Nonetheless, many have tried to convey Jung’s model graphically, often (as Jacobi did) wisely producing multiple diagrams, none of which shows all of the elements. A search for ‘Jung psyche’ in Google Images is revealing in this context. Even if we accept the pluralistic reality of psyche, we do still tend to view it as relatively self-contained, personal and somehow limited to being inside us; if not in our skulls then confined to our bodies, and just as discrete in everyday life. Jung, in an echo of his previous quote which I equated with disenchantment, explained this inner experience of psyche thus: It remained for modern science to despiritualize nature through its so-called objective knowledge of matter … with a two-fold result: firstly man’s mystical identity with nature was curtailed as never before, and secondly the projections falling back into the human soul caused such a terrific activation of the unconscious that in modern times man was compelled to postulate the existence of an unconscious psyche. (Jung, 1954/1969g: §375) Note that here Jung uses the words ‘psyche’ and ‘soul’ in the same sentence, yet soul is already equated with anima/animus. Indeed, his definition of psyche actually appears within his definition of soul as a precursor to his conceptual distinction between them. The origin of the confusion is primarily linguistic rather than, as in the case of the Self, conceptual. It lies in the German word Seele, the translation of which is fraught with difficulty because it combines the words ‘psyche’ and ‘soul’ into a word without an English equivalent, as the translator and editors of the Collected Works comment in a footnote to Volume 12. Likewise, Sabini notes that ‘Jung uses the words soul, psyche, and spirit somewhat interchangeably. “Psyche” is Greek for soul, life, and breath; so psyche is Nature herself’ (Sabini, 2002: 1–2), while John Hopcke also uses both ‘psyche’ and ‘soul’ in his, if I may, ‘spirited’ defence of Jung:

Psyche and beyond 83

He attempts in his writings a nearly impossible and sometimes abstruse task: to systematically describe the structure and nature of the psyche while at the same time leaving room for the living, breathing, developing reality of the soul in all its myriad individual, collective, and transpersonal manifestations. (Hopcke, 1989: 38) Despite the foregoing ambiguities, Jung and Jungians do tend to use the words in different contexts. For example, we may speak of ‘loss of soul’ but never ‘loss of psyche’. Hence, although Jung uses ‘psyche’ in the titles of most of the essays that I cite, and ‘soul’ in none of them, the English translation of ‘The Stages of Life’ discussed in Section 4.5 was originally published in Modern Man in Search of a Soul (Jung, 1933). Concerning (specifically) psyche, A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis asserts that: Jung’s thinking about the psyche is systemic and flexible, in that developments at one point send ripples throughout the entire system. What we see is a tension in Jung’s ideas between structure and dynamic. To some extent, this is resolved In Jung’s description of the psyche as a structure made for movement, growth, change and transformation. He refers to these capacities of the psyche as its distinguishing characteristics. A degree of evolution towards self-realisation is therefore embedded in all psychic processes. (Samuels et al., 1986: 115) This suggests both a degree of compatibility of Jung’s model with systems dynamics as explored by Krieger and others, and a transcendent prospective, or teleological, dimension. These characteristics are again significant for the Psyche– Gaia conjecture. A second tension in Jung’s model of the psyche is between change and stability. This is partly resolved by his attention to energetics and dynamics in addition to contents and, above all, by his insistence that the psyche is a self-regulating system through interactions between its conscious and unconscious aspects. Jung amassed empirical evidence for this from careful observations of the neuroses and dreams of his patients and of himself. The compensatory function of dreams, through which the unconscious attempts to restore balance when the conscious attitude has become too one-sided, is a clear example. The prospective viewpoint is therefore an essential characteristic of Jungian dream analysis. It is precisely because psychic activity embraces both causality and finality that ‘developments at one point send ripples throughout the entire system’. Jung described psychic self-regulation in ‘The Transcendent Function’, which, although written in 1916, wasn’t published until over four decades later: Since the psyche is a self-regulating system, just as the body is, the regulating counteraction will always develop in the unconscious. … the psyche of civilized man is no longer a self-regulating system but could rather be compared to a

84 Psyche and beyond

machine whose speed-regulation is so insensitive that it can continue to function to the point of self-injury, while on the other hand it is subject to the arbitrary manipulations of a one-sided will. (Jung, 1954/1969f: §159) This gives a clear exposition of natural intra-psychic feedback processes and, ominously, warns of their breakdown as a cultural phenomenon. As such, it describes stability, but not the other goal of the psyche—‘movement, growth, change and transformation’ towards Self-realisation. The latter was of paramount importance to Jung, who wrote that ‘We could therefore translate individuation as “coming to Selfhood” or “Self-realisation”’ (1928/1953: §266). This process of ‘individuation’ is described in more detail in the ‘Stages of Life’ commentary. Suffice it to say here that Jung’s model of psychodynamics is an ever-shifting amalgam of two processes: self-regulation and Self-realisation. It is important to distinguish between the prefix ‘self’, indicative merely of apparent autonomy and reflexivity in a process, from the agency of the archetypal ‘Self’—the former is ordered by the latter. From all these definitions, I wish to emphasise those aspects which differentiate long-term Self-realisation from our habitual yet transient ego-direction. The former is the purposeful movement of the centre of gravity of a constantly moving, self-regulating system towards, and under the influence of, the Self. Looking ahead, Jung’s concept of psychic selfregulation will be most important for comparison with feedback processes in Gaia theory, and Self-realisation (individuation) for comparison with evolution. It should also be borne in mind that these two levels of psychic dynamics cannot be clearly separated. To deepen our understanding of them, we must now consider the ontological dimension of Jung’s model—the psychoid.

4.4 The psychoid I use the term ‘psychoid’ as both a noun and an adjective to describe the entire domain of Jung’s model that is permanently inaccessible to consciousness, and sometimes interchangeably with ‘psychophysically neutral’ as this term is favoured by other authors, notably Harald Atmanspacher and his colleagues in their discussion of the Pauli–Jung conjecture. Jung first proposed his concept of the psychoid unconscious relatively late in his career, in 1946, and after many years of dialogue with Wolfgang Pauli. Its posited contents and behaviour are arguably the most radical, significant, fundamental and controversial aspects of analytical psychology. Despite being beyond direct experience, aspects of the psychoid unconscious influence and pattern psychic behaviour in ways that cannot be explained by personal factors. Such phenomena, carefully observed by Jung, provide indirect evidence for the psychoid, just as gravitational and other anomalies indicate the existence of dark matter. I begin with these aspects—the collective unconscious and the archetypes—before exploring Jung’s ideas about the deepest aspects of the psychoid: the Self and the unus mundus.

Psyche and beyond 85

Collective unconscious It is an established fact that universal motifs, symbols, patterns, complexes and narratives manifest in human behaviour and in non-rational phenomena such as dreams, hallucinations, myths and folk tales, rituals and religions across all cultures and eras. This was the first evidence for Jung of a deeper, transpersonal ‘objective psyche’ devoid of subjective, personal contents. One example that impressed him deeply (Jung, 1934/1959: §104–110) was an encounter with a long-term paranoid schizophrenic psychiatric patient with no knowledge of mythology or archaeology who was staring out of the window at what he described as the sun with a downward-hanging phallus from which the wind blew. At the time Jung was bewildered by this bizarre hallucination, but he subsequently discovered a description of a tube from which the wind blew hanging down from the sun in an esoteric text from the Alexandrian school of mysticism that was only first published years after the patient had been committed. The collective unconscious acts like an invisible undercurrent or stratum that has the capacity to connect us all across space, time and culture, and is the psychoid domain of the archetypes. Psychoid processes are intermediate between psyche and soma, between mind and instinct and, I later contend, between psyche and Gaia. Research into the aforementioned universality is ongoing, perhaps most notably at the Archive for Research into Archetypal Symbolism (aras.org), and its application is a vital element of Jungian analysis.

Archetypes Jung’s notion of archetypes, initially modelled on Plato’s Ideas, evolved over decades from psychoid phenomena, with their spiritual and instinctual poles, to his final notion of psychophysically neutral, transcendental (or metaphysical) principles. These are not mutually exclusive, but reflect a difference of perspective and emphasis. Jung’s earlier notion is more explicitly connected to biological life, and is explored further, with an evolutionary twist, in the Psyche–Gaia conjecture. Jung’s later thinking, undoubtedly influenced by his interaction with Pauli, who was a physicist rather than a life scientist, pertains to the material domain in general. Following the thread running through Jung’s evolving concept, the archetypes can be considered to act as universal, invisible organising agents or principles whose effects manifest both psychologically and physically as complexes and patterns of behaviour, emotion, images, projections and so on, often with numinous intensity. Jung insisted that the archetypes per se are beyond conscious experience, but their images can be encountered symbolically, often through personification in dreams or projection onto others. The most important archetypes for my thesis are the shadow, the anima/animus, the hero and the Self.

The Self In conjunction with his dialogue with Pauli, Jung deepened his understanding of the Self—the archetype of ordering and wholeness, the psychic aspects of which I introduced in the previous section—into the psychophysically neutral ontic domain

86 Psyche and beyond

of the Pauli–Jung conjecture. Jung is explicit in Aion, his deepest theoretical approach to the Self, about its psychophysical neutrality (Jung, 1951/1968). This is an extraordinarily difficult text based upon Jung’s extensive researches into Christian, Gnostic and alchemical symbolism. Fortunately, it has been rendered more accessible by others, including Murray Stein, who notes that Jung, by naming the book after the Mithraic god ‘who rules over the astrological calendar, and thus over time itself … suggests a factor that transcends the time/space continuum that governs ego-consciousness’ (Stein, 1998: 157)—to which one might add ‘and the causality/teleology debate’. Stein summarises the Self as ‘The self forms the ground for the subject’s commonality with the world, with the structures of Being. In the self, subject and object, ego and other are joined in a common field of structure and energy’, and describes Jung’s later conception of it as ‘the prime archetype (the One) from which all the other archetypes and archetypal images ultimately derive’ (Stein, 1998: 152, 156). In other words, it is the fundamental agent of ordering in the psyche and, I contend because of its psychophysically neutral roots, in nature—the mental and physical domains respectively of the Pauli–Jung conjecture. In paragraphs 359–389 of Aion, Jung attempts to convey his vision of the Self in several diagrams, which he then condenses in paragraphs 390 and 391. Although a talented artist, and fascinated by the symbolism of images, Jung rarely resorted to diagrams which, in contrast, are signs. Stein suggests that he may have done so here because ‘he is reaching for a level of complexity and intelligibility that may be beyond human grasp’ (Stein, 1998: 162). Most of these diagrams are reproduced, together with Stein’s helpful commentary, in Jung’s Map of the Soul. I have already expressed doubts as to whether the psyche could be diagrammed onto a twodimensional surface, and Jung clearly ran into the same problem here, resorting to multiple views of the same ‘object’. The following figure and description go into sufficient detail for my thesis, but no more. The Self can be represented as a stack of four quaternities on a continuum. From the spiritual pole at the top to the material pole at the bottom, these are the Anthropos Quaternio, Shadow Quaternio, Paradise Quaternio and Lapis Quaternio, as shown in the greatly simplified version of Jung’s diagram (Figure 4.1). This is simply as an aide-memoir, and non-Jungian readers need not concern themselves with the arcane terminology (of which I have omitted far more than I have included). The points or levels at the top and bottom of each quaternio, three of which are shared, are shown in normal font. Homo, at the meeting point of the Anthropos and Shadow quaternities, is the level of ego consciousness. Above this, the Anthropos quaternity represents ideal wholeness at the spiritual level, symbolised by the ideal figure of the Gnostic Anthropos. The Shadow quaternity is a dark mirror image of the Anthropos quaternity which, as Stein writes: connects our ideal spiritual wholeness to our biological animal nature. A person who is not connected in consciousness to this quaternity lives in the head, in a realm of intellectual and spiritual ideals that has little relation to everyday life or to the biological stratum of existence. (Stein, 1998: 164)

Psyche and beyond 87

Spiritual pole Anthropos Anthropos Quaternio Homo Shadow Quaternio Christus—Serpens—Diabolo Paradise Quaternio Lapis Lapis Quaternio Rotundum Material pole FIGURE 4.1

Simplified structure of the Self. (adapted from Jung, 1951/1968: §390)

In other words, the ego attitude needs to be balanced between these two quaternities, but according to Jung has over-emphasised idealised spirituality for the last two millennia in the Piscean age since the birth of Christ. Since we therefore fail consciously to acknowledge our instinctual nature sufficiently, we act it out in a crude, undifferentiated manner. The Shadow quaternity rests on the serpent, which is on the Christus–Diabolus line, the psychoid boundary that separates the psychic realm above from the physical realm below. ‘The serpent has traditionally been a paradoxical symbol, referring both to wisdom and to evil (or the temptation to do evil). The serpent therefore symbolises the most extreme tension of opposites within the self’ (Stein, 1998: 165). Of greater interest still, as will become apparent later, is Although the serpent is somewhat psychic, or quasi-psychic, being coldblooded it represents an energy that is also very distant from ego-consciousness and from the personal will. … The serpent is a consciousness-creator; and in this it represents the psychization process. (Stein, 1998: 166–167) Below this boundary, the Paradise Quaternio represents the level of organic material processes common to all life, and below that the Lapis Quaternio represents the inorganic realm through the molecular, elemental and subatomic levels to the rotundum—an absolute transcendental idea of energy. These inorganic factors ‘must forge some kind of unity and organisation, interacting in such a way as to produce a stable creature that can maintain physical equilibrium sufficient for life at the organic and psychic and spiritual levels’ (Stein, 1998: 165). It is interesting to note here that all life is based on carbon (valency four) and contains DNA (with four nucleotides—cytosine [C], guanine [G], adenine [A] and thymine [T]); it seems that quaternities, which fascinated Jung throughout his career as embodiments of wholeness, are part of the fabric

88 Psyche and beyond

of life itself. That observation aside, the psychoid aspects of the Self ultimately connect the human psyche with all life and even inorganic matter, and hence with Gaia, and permeate the ontic, psychophysically neutral domain considered in the Pauli–Jung conjecture. Indeed, in a subsequent diagram (Jung, 1951/1968: §391), Jung brings the spiritual and material poles of Figure 4.1 together. Colman stated that an aspect of the Self was somehow equivalent to the unus mundus, and correspondence with Stein (2018) elicited a similar verdict: ‘I think that at the end of the day Jung thought of them as coterminous. The self has no boundaries that we can know or perceive, so it is part and parcel of unus mundus.’

4.5 The Stages of Life Thus far I have outlined Jung’s theories of the structure, contents and short-term dynamics of the psyche, with occasional hints of longer-term processes; but what of the evolution of the psyche over the lifetime of an individual? Every life is of course unique, but can any common patterns be identified? Jung, who viewed our progress through life as the emergence of psychic contents, believed that they could, and summarised his ideas in his relatively well-known essay ‘The Stages of Life’ (Jung, 1954/1969e). This, his most coherent statement of developmental theory, was translated from Die Lebenswende in ‘Seelenprobleme der Gegenwart’ (1931, translated as ‘Modern Man in Search of a Soul’)—a revised and largely rewritten version of the original publication as Die seelischen Problemen der menschlichen Altersstufen in the Neue Zürcher Zeitung newspaper on 14 and 16 March, 1930. I am using this essay for three reasons. Firstly, I have found its full life-cycle approach, and especially its analysis of mid-life, to be more helpful in understanding my own development, and that of many of my adult analysands, than other developmental theories, which focus in much greater detail, but exclusively, on the early stages of life. In other words, I have personally found Jung’s theory to be valid, although not all analytical psychologists, especially those from the developmental schools, would agree. I accept that Jung was relatively uninterested in child development, and that this is reflected in his essay; but my emphasis here is on adult development. Secondly, and more pragmatically, it is relatively jargon-free and employs a unifying analogy throughout that makes it readily comprehensible to readers unfamiliar with depth psychology, analytical or otherwise. Thirdly, its explanation of why ‘civilised man’, uniquely, has problems at all can be upscaled to describe our collective development, as Jung himself speculated, with illuminating consequences, so it is helpful to keep this bigger picture in mind. However, I begin with John-Raphael Staude’s critique of Jung’s theories of adult development, in which he notes that: The implications of Jung’s psychology for life-span developmental psychology are profound. Instead of focusing on the achievement of ego competencies, Jung evaluated lives in terms of their balance, well-roundedness, wholeness. He emphasised developing the underdeveloped aspects of the self and

Psyche and beyond 89

maintaining an ongoing dialogue between the ego and non-ego aspects of the self as a total self-regulating developing system. (Staude, 1981: ix–x) He considers Jung’s approach atypical in that it attributes changes throughout life at least as much to intra-psychic dynamics as to outer world circumstances. Staude summarises the strengths of Jung’s theory in terms of the richness of his multiple perspectives which, in addition to its cradle-to-grave scope, are typological, cross-cultural, mythic/religious, archetypal, dialectical, holistic/systemsoriented and practical. Staude also identifies weaknesses, and is especially critical of Jung for basing his theories too much on his own, predominantly introverted, life experience and personality type. In particular, Staude criticises the exclusivity of individuation, writing that ‘Most people in our society do not have the time, education, or other resources to undergo the Jungian journey of individuation.’ He also asks, ‘if the Jungian path of healing entails a temporary withdrawal from the world in order to encounter the images from the unconscious, is there a path leading from individuation back to the world?’ (Staude, 1981: 102, 103) I broadly agree with both of these criticisms, and have therefore given them some thought in the context of this book. The first criticism painfully highlights the limitations of this book in general. From the outset I identified my target audience as the privileged minority who are most responsible for our anthropogenic impacts and therefore most empowered and, indeed, obliged to do something about it—i.e., largely those with the resources Staude alludes to. I have tried to justify this selectivity as pragmatic, realistic and utilitarian, not elitist. I acknowledge that my approach probably won’t make much sense to, or be appropriate for, someone without the luxury of the aforementioned resources, though I would of course be delighted if it did. In my defence, I challenge anyone to formulate a non-coercive approach that will work for everyone. Conversely, an explicit aim of this book is to redress Staude’s second criticism by going beyond Jung’s (and Jungian) introversion to connect individuation with the outer world. My thesis is nonetheless grounded in psychology—the study of the inner world—and there is no need to repeat here my explanation why. By the end of this book, beginning in earnest with the next section, ‘inner’ and ‘outer’ will be less distinct as categories. This all resonates with Andy Fisher’s appeal to ‘“turn psyche inside out”, locating mind in the world itself—healing our dualism by returning soul to nature and nature to soul’ (Fisher, 2002: 10). Perhaps Staude’s judgement was over-influenced by his personal experiences as a relatively extraverted American at the C.G. Jung Institute in Switzerland, for Jung emphasised in his writings the impossibility of individuation in isolation from the world. I mentioned Jung’s use of analogy in ‘The Stages of Life’—actually he employs at least two, both of which are coincidentally and, in the context of this book, satisfyingly geocentric. The first is his description of the emergence of the infant ego from the unconscious in terms of ‘islands of consciousness’ (Jung, 1954/1969e:

90 Psyche and beyond

§755). One way to imagine this is as a submerged mountain range where the floodwaters are gradually receding or, alternatively, the mountains are rising. As they do so, the peaks are increasingly uncovered, and slowly they appear to join up as the intervening passes are also exposed. Incidentally, bodies of water, such as lakes or oceans, are universal symbols of the unconscious and, generally, the larger the deeper. What Jung is trying to convey here is the gradual unification of separated ego fragments into a coherent whole—the emergence of identity. The second analogy, which is of greater interest here, is the diurnal passage of the sun across the sky, representing the whole life cycle from birth to death. Figure 4.2 shows a simplified schematic of this. Just as water is a symbol of the unconscious, the sun is a universal symbol of (Apollonian) ego consciousness. One might expect a cycle to be represented by a full circle, not an arc thereof, in which case the circle could be completed by the ‘night sea journey’ of the ancient Egyptian Amduat (‘that which is in the netherworld’). This classic text tells of the passage of the Sun-god Re through the netherworld from sunset to sunrise, representing the cycle of death and resurrection, both physical and psychic. The rich message of this story persisted in Gnostic, alchemical and even early Christian texts (Schweizer, 2010). However, in the daylight world of human life as conventionally understood, Jung begins to describe his admittedly non-Copernican metaphor thus: I must take for comparison the daily course of the sun—but a sun that is endowed with human feeling and man’s limited consciousness. In the morning it rises from the nocturnal sea of unconsciousness and looks upon the wide, bright world which lies before it in an expanse that steadily widens the higher it climbs in the firmament. (Jung, 1954/1969e: §778)

Mid-life transition Young adulthood

Adolescent transition

Childhood

Birth

FIGURE 4.2

Middle adulthood

Late life transition

Old age (late adulthood)

Death

The human life cycle, showing major life transitions. (adapted from Staude, 1981: 92)

Psyche and beyond 91

Everything seems to be going well—our knowledge of the world expands and we feel firmly in charge of our own destiny. We are increasingly aware of our personal strengths and weaknesses, so favour the former and avoid the latter. However, just as pride comes before the fall, Jung continues in the same paragraph: At the stroke of noon the descent begins. And the descent means the reversal of all the ideals and values that were cherished in the morning. The sun falls into contradiction with itself. This midday reversal, as Jung elaborates, is the underlying dynamic of the so-called ‘mid-life crisis’ experienced by so many people. It is symptomatic of the more general play of opposites in the psyche, and specifically of a process that Jung called ‘enantiodromia’. To understand it in this context, we must begin by examining the concept of hubris, which is another recurrent theme in this book. Hubris is intoxication with success, extreme pride or self-confidence, a loss of contact with reality and an overestimation of one’s own competence, accomplishments or capabilities; it results in fatal retribution, or nemesis. In classical Greece, hubris described the actions of those who challenged the gods or their laws, especially in Greek tragedy, leading to the protagonist’s downfall. It was considered the greatest sin of the ancient Greek world. In its modern usage too, hubris denotes overconfident pride and arrogance, which is characterised by a lack of humility. It is also referred to as ‘pride that blinds’ because it often manifests as beliefs and behaviour that defy common sense. Hubris can be the origin and perpetuator of both individual and collective delusions as the sun in Jung’s metaphor climbs ever higher in the sky. Enantiodromia is the dynamic that, in this context, causes nemesis to follow hubris. Jung acknowledged the origin of his term in the philosophy of Heraclitus as ‘the play of opposites in the course of events, the view that everything that exists turns into its opposite’ (Jung, 1921/ 1971: §708). However he coined the term himself: I use the term enantiodromia for the emergence of the unconscious opposite in the course of time. This characteristic phenomenon practically always occurs when an extreme, one-sided tendency dominates conscious life; in time an equally powerful counterposition is built up, which first inhibits the conscious performance and subsequently breaks through the conscious control. (Jung, 1921/1971: §709) Enantiodromia is a counter-intuitive cornerstone of analytical psychology, which has sometimes been called the ‘psychology of opposites’. The phenomenon is largely ignored in Western culture because it tends to frustrate to our goal-directed mentality. However, it has been an integral aspect of classical Eastern, especially Chinese, worldviews from antiquity to the present day, perhaps most explicitly formulated as the endless interplay of yin and yang:

92 Psyche and beyond

The Chinese world view is essentially dynamic and cyclical: all things constantly change, the only permanent reality is change. Thus Yin and Yang are not static categories. They are animated by a cyclical movement, which transforms them into each other … When the light quality (Yang) reaches its culmination, it gives birth to the seed of the dark quality (Yin), which at that moment begins to grow. When the dark quality (Yin) reaches its apex, it develops inside itself the seed of the light quality, which at that moment begins to grow. (Ritsema & Sabbadini, 2005: 9) What does this mean in practice? Is it always as smooth as the contours of the eternally revolving taijitu (☯), which has acquired such iconic status within the New Age movement? Of course not, as the Chinese themselves have known for millennia. The Original I Ching (Pinyin: Yi Jing) introduction notes that the essential word in the book’s title is yi, which means, among other things, ‘change’. However, this yi isn’t the regular change involved in the cycle of day and night or the natural growth of living things, but unpredictable change. There is a vivid description of it in another of the Five Classics of ancient Chinese literature, Shu Jing (~6th century BCE): When in years, months and days the season has no yi, the hundred cereals ripen, the administration is enlightened, talented men of the people are distinguished, the house is peaceful and at ease. When in days, months and years the season has yi, the hundred cereals do not ripen, the administration is dark and unenlightened, talented men of the people are in petty positions, the house is not at peace. (Adapted from Karlgren, The Book of Documents, cited in Ritsema & Sabbadini, 2005: 2) Summarised more generally, this sounds uncomfortably like both individual midlife crisis and the times we live in: We have yi when things are off track, when chaos irrupts into our life and the usual bearings no longer suffice for orientation. We all know that such times can be very fertile—and extremely painful, disconcerting and full of anxiety. (Ritsema & Sabbadini, 2005: 2) The irruption of chaos means the end of the established order. In many respects, this worldview is closer than ours to the principles and consequences of systems dynamics. The end of the certainty that comes with established order does not always manifest dramatically; mid-life does not have to be a crisis. I have experienced the mid-life transition in myself, giving up a career in renewable energy to become a Jungian analyst, and witnessed it in my analytical practice. It can nonetheless be a deeply distressing process, in which the ego is in conflict with the slow but

Psyche and beyond 93

inexorable dynamics of the psyche as a whole. I have seen many instances of analysands complaining of ‘losing their bearings’, ‘the wind going out of their sails’, ‘feeling adrift’ and so on, often accompanied by a degree of withdrawal from their usual engagement with the outer world and by feelings of depression and/or anxiety. It is easier to agree in principle that the old has to die for the new to be born than to let it happen, especially when in limbo with no idea of what the new will be. Joseph Campbell once memorably described mid-life crisis as climbing to the top of the ladder, only to discover that it’s leaning against the wrong wall! Dante’s Divine Comedy, written seven centuries ago, begins with a succinct exposition of the feeling of disorientation, and the imminent confrontation with the unconscious, characteristic of the mid-life transition: Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. (Alighieri, 1320/1997: 4) The forest is another universal symbol of the unconscious that appears in countless folk tales and myths. Later we learn that Dante’s character has his 35th birthday during the second stage of his epic journey through Inferno and Purgatorio to Paradiso. The phenomenon that Jung so acutely described is nothing new; nor was he merely theorising from a safe distance—he had his own ‘confrontation with the unconscious’ in mid-life. He broke with Freud and the psychoanalytical group, embarked upon the Red Book, and endured years of introspective personal crisis and professional isolation, the purpose of which only became fully apparent decades later. The teleology that inescapably underpins analytical psychology becomes explicit here, for Jung makes it clear that this enantiodromia is not only inevitable, it is also part of life’s great plan: A human being would certainly not grow to be seventy or eighty years old if this longevity had no meaning for the species. The afternoon of human life must also have a significance of its own and cannot be merely a pitiful appendage to life’s morning. The significance of the morning undoubtedly lies in the development of the individual, our entrenchment in the outer world, the propagation of our kind, and the care of our children. This is the obvious purpose of nature. But when this purpose has been attained—and more than attained—shall the earning of money, the extension of conquests, and the expansion of life go steadily on beyond the bounds of all reason and sense? Whoever carries over into the afternoon the law of the morning, or the natural aim, must pay for it with damage to his soul. (Jung, 1954/1969e: §787) This is a powerful mixed message of hope and warning. Jung makes it clear that the goal of the first half of life is broadly aligned with accepted developmental

94 Psyche and beyond

norms of establishment in human society that few would disagree with—education, leaving the parental home, finding a partner, securing a livelihood, raising and supporting a family, and so on. His view of the goal of the second half of life, though not yet spelled out, is adaptation to the inner world, the process he called individuation. This presents radically different challenges that are no less demanding than those of the first half of life. Just as the aforementioned developmental norms may not necessarily be achieved strictly in the sequence listed, if at all, the following should be regarded as aspects, not steps, of individuation. It is also important to emphasise that there isn’t so much a sudden flip or switch from development to individuation at mid-life as a shift of emphasis from the former to the latter—both are life-long processes. We tend to play to our strengths, especially in the first half of life, concealing our weaknesses as much as possible. Associated with this, we become ever more convinced of the rightness our behaviour, attitudes and so on; every other possibility is rejected. However, like the physical laws of conservation, these hidden and rejected aspects of our being don’t conveniently disappear, but become our shadow; and the bigger our ego, the bigger our shadow. We really don’t want to deal with this, so deny its existence and/or project it onto others, the latter resulting in violent dislikes and other negative emotions. Accepting the reality of our shadow and withdrawing our projections are unwelcome, often excruciatingly uncomfortable, but unavoidable aspects of individuation. It isn’t easy to acknowledge the existence in ourselves of that which we detest in others. As one of my Jungian colleagues once remarked, ‘Individuation isn’t a wellness course!’ If we consider individuation from the perspective of the movement towards wholeness under the organising influence of the Self, it is immediately apparent that we have to face, and work on, our weaknesses. In typological terms, the latter mean in particular our ‘inferior’ (most neglected) function and our less-favoured attitude, both of which are typically characteristics of our shadow. We are obliged to view life through an unfamiliar lens, and as a result feel disorientated and behave clumsily. This is one aspect of the transitional discomfort and uncertainty through which we must pass en route to developing a more rounded, balanced personality. It is likely to reduce our effectiveness in the outer world by our own, and society’s, standards, but will eventually reduce our need for such comparisons at all. We will need to relax our ego’s controlling grip and trust psyche to lead the way, which is easier said than done. It is a humbling process that can erode our sense of self-worth, but can also begin to liberate us from the pressures of social conformity and expectation. Like the proverbial fish realising the existence of water, we become more acutely aware of the milieu in which we operate, and less driven to follow others. This is where the unfortunate confusion between individualism and individuation arises. The respective general dictionary definitions of the two words are ‘the habit or principle of being independent and self-reliant’ and ‘distinguish from others of the same kind; single out.’ The definition of individuation in the Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis begins: ‘A person’s becoming himself, whole, indivisible and distinct from other people or collective psychology (though also in relation to these)’

Psyche and beyond 95

(Samuels et al., 1986: 76). Individualism suggests a degree of isolation, even selfishness—the ‘every man for himself’ mentality taken to extremes by libertarians and so-called ‘survivalists’. Jung clearly differentiates individuation from individualism: As the individual is not just a single, separate being, but by his very existence presupposes a collective relationship, it follows that the process of individuation must lead to more intense and broader collective relationships and not to isolation. (Jung, 1921/1971: §758) Elsewhere he writes: ‘Individuation does not shut one out from the world, but gathers the world to oneself’ (Jung, 1954/1969b: §432), and at several points in the published notes of his Visions and Zarathustra seminars he stressed the impossibility of individuating on the summit of Everest (which, for the benefit of non-mountaineers, was significantly less crowded in those days as even the first ascent wasn’t made until over a decade later). While an alternative selection from Jung’s writings could emphasise his no less frequently stated belief in the primacy of the individual, I am unaware of any point at which he advocates individualism per se. His concern was to avoid the kind of mass mentality which had resulted in so many atrocities that he witnessed during his lifetime, including two world wars and the Nazi genocide. His essay ‘The Undiscovered Self’ (Jung, 1957/1970) is largely preoccupied with this vexed question of the role of the individual in the collective. Implicit in all of the foregoing perspectives on individuation is a process of reconciliation with the unconscious indicated by the descent of the sun in Jung’s metaphor. However, while Jung acknowledges that we are a burden on others at both the beginning and end of life, the second half of life is not a regression into childhood. Rather, it is an opportunity, albeit taken up by only relatively few, for encounter with the soul, the flowering of spirituality, and the shift of the centre of the personality from the ego to the Self. This is the essence of individuation, which Jung also called ‘Self-realisation’—a process of stripping away, not of ego-directed self-reinvention as offered by so many variants of ‘pop-psychology’. Individuation is resonant with the widespread, especially Eastern, religious and philosophical teaching that the truth can only be reached through negation, and not by any fixed path. Thus Jung writes, ‘The aim of individuation is nothing less than to divest the Self of the false wrappings of the persona on the one hand, and of the suggestive power of primordial images on the other’ (Jung, 1928/1953: §269). This demands humility and honesty, for ‘one cannot individuate as long as one is playing a role to oneself; the convictions one has about oneself are the most subtle form of persona and the most subtle obstacle against any true individuation’ (Jung, 1998: 821). While Jung wrote often about individuation as a process, he rarely mentioned it as an achievable end state; the journey is more important than the destination. He points to the Self as the unknown goal of individuation, and aspects of the Self are in the ontological psychoid domain with the unus mundus. Marie-Louise von Franz completes the picture by relating individuation to both the unus mundus and the Self.

96 Psyche and beyond

This rather long extract includes her important comment about the relationship between ego and consciousness, and again refers to Gerhard Dorn: Dorn says that the state of the Unus Mundus only takes place after death; in other words, it is a psychological event by which one becomes one with everything existing. Concretely, as Jung pointed out, the Unus Mundus manifests in synchronistic phenomena. While we normally live in a dual world of ‘outer’ and ‘inner’ events, in a synchronistic event this duality no longer exists; outer events behave as if they were a part of our psyche, so that everything is contained in the same wholeness. […] This experience is the ultimate stage of the process of individuation, a becoming one with the collective unconscious, but not in a pathological way as in certain psychoses where the individuation process has gone astray and everything is given a wrong twist. When this occurs positively, it brings about a union of consciousness with the collective unconscious instead of an explosion of consciousness; it means an enlargement of consciousness together with a decrease of intensity in the ego-complex. When this happens the ego retires in favour of the collective unconscious and its centre, the Self. To reach that point where outer and inner reality become one is the goal of individuation. Through it one also reaches some of what Jung calls the ‘absolute knowledge’ in the unconscious. (von Franz, 1979/1997: 148–149) This extraordinary text clarifies several key points. Firstly, the ultimate goal of individuation is never reached during this life, hence it is unknowable. No sensible Jungian would view someone as ‘having individuated’, however much progress along the way may be apparent. Secondly, von Franz’s formulation is entirely consistent with both Jung’s ‘Self-realisation’ description and the Pauli– Jung conjecture, and the goal is clearly the psychophysically neutral ontic domain ‘where outer and inner reality become one’. Thirdly, although the ego ends up being relativised, its healthy functioning is essential to navigate the process safely. Jung’s ‘confrontation with the unconscious’, as he named the chapter of his autobiography dealing with his crisis after his break with Freud, made immense demands on his ego strength. From the perspective of analytical psychology, and thus based on Jung’s extensive experience of working with schizophrenic patients, psychosis occurs when the ego is overwhelmed by unconscious contents which flood consciousness uncontrollably. Finally, ‘enlargement of consciousness’ is an emergent process synonymous with fulfilment of psychic potential. Returning once more to ‘The Stages of Life’, Jung’s diurnal metaphor ends with sunset, psychologically the return of the ego to the unconscious, and physically death—the only certainty in life (the old ‘death and taxes’ aphorism is now redundant thanks to widespread tax evasion by the rich, a few of whom probably

Psyche and beyond 97

less successfully now also seek death evasion). The crucial difference between the beginning of life and the natural end of life is that at the beginning the ego is emerging from a state of undifferentiated fusion with the unconscious, whereas at the end they are approaching a state of conscious union. I have qualified this statement about the end of life with the adjective ‘natural’ to exclude the tragedy of premature death due to accident, sudden illness, violence, suicide and so on. The sunset of Jung’s metaphor is surely alluding to the individual whose ‘time has come’. For Jung, such death has great meaning and is the ultimate goal, rather than merely fate, of the second half of life: when we penetrate the depths of the soul and when we try to understand its mysterious life, we shall discern that death is not a meaningless end, the mere vanishing into nothingness—it is an accomplishment, a ripe fruit on the tree of life. Nor is death an abrupt extinction, but a goal that has been unconsciously lived and worked for during half a lifetime. (Jung, 1927/1976: §1706)

seen in the correct psychological perspective, death is not an end but a goal, and life’s inclination towards death begins as soon as the meridian is passed. (Jung, 1929/1967: §68) Through my marriage to a Japanese woman, I am reminded that many people around the world believe in reincarnation rather than the Abrahamic concept of an eternal afterlife in heaven or hell. In the increasingly secular, materialist West, the belief that death is simply the end of everything is widespread. We are, of course, all guessing, as Jung freely admitted; but his famous analogy of the rhizome is worth quoting here: Life has always seemed to me like a plant that lives on its rhizome. Its true life is invisible, hidden in the rhizome. That part that appears above ground lasts only a single summer. Then it withers away—an ephemeral apparition. When we think of the unending growth and decay of life and civilisations, we cannot escape the impression of absolute nullity. Yet I have never lost a sense of something that lives and endures underneath the eternal flux. What we see is the blossom, which passes. The rhizome remains. (Jung, 1963/1995: 18) Here is an intimation of scaling up from an individual life to a civilisation, which again substantiates my use of Jung’s model to situate modern civilisation in our development as a species. Both Freud and Jung speculated that the psychology of the individual could be extrapolated to the collective. In 1930, long before the phenomenon of self-similarity across scale could be explored computationally, Sigmund Freud wrote:

98 Psyche and beyond

If the development of civilisation has such a far-reaching similarity to the development of the individual and if it employs the same methods, may we not be justified in reaching the diagnosis that, under the influence of cultural urges, some civilisations, or some epochs of civilisation—possibly the whole of mankind—have become ‘neurotic’? (Freud, 1930/1961: 144) Jung similarly wrote, ‘If, for a moment, we regard mankind as one individual, we see that it is like a man carried away by unconscious powers’ (Jung, 1961/1976: §561) and, more generally and grandly, ‘Ultimately, every individual life is at the same time the eternal life of the species’ (Jung, 1954/1969d: §146). While scaling up the stages of life model per se doesn’t seem to have occurred to Jung, others before me have seen its potential merits, as A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis indicates: There is one way in which Jung’s first/second half dichotomy can be of enormous help. This is an aid to looking at the culture we live in now which, in spite of sporadic signs to the contrary, has a cast of a first half of life type, as Jung described it. We value independence and success; it seems we cannot control our destructiveness. And we have but glimpses of the meaning and purpose of life. The qualities of the second half of life represent what our culture desperately needs to grow toward. (Samuels et al., 1986: 171) This psychological change is the essence of the metanoia which I contend is so urgently needed.

4.6 Dual–aspect monism According to prevailing Western orthodoxy, the material and the mental are entirely separate, the latter being entirely dependent on the former. Thus, our minds are merely the result of neural electrochemistry; we are, according to cognitive scientist Marvin Minsky’s repulsive label, merely ‘meat computers’, with all that implies. More generally, the post-Enlightenment triumphs of science and technology have consolidated our worldview from naturalism and materialism into the hegemony of physicalism—the doctrine that only the physical world is real— which is closely related to my previous usage of ‘disenchantment’ of the world. As I will be using the terms ‘ontological’ and ‘epistemological’ and their derivates repeatedly in this section, I should clarify and contrast their meanings for (other) non-philosophers. Ontology is a branch of metaphysics concerned with the basic, fundamental, objective nature of being, becoming, existence or reality, as well as the basic categories of being and their relations. All of these, which are beyond direct experience, constitute what ethnobotanist Terence McKenna famously called ‘the wiring under the board’. Epistemology deals with the theory

Psyche and beyond 99

of knowledge in the realm of experience. Returning to Korzybski’s metaphor, we could say that the unknowable territory is ontological, and the various maps that we use to navigate it are epistemological. In the West, Cartesian dualism—Descartes’ ontologically conceived separation of the world into the mental (res cogitans) and the material (res extensa) domains—has exerted a largely unseen iron grip on our worldview since the 17th Century. The alternative philosophical approaches that have subsequently been proposed can be classified into three categories: other forms of dualism; essentially monistic approaches; and combinations of these assuming a monistic domain underlying the mind–matter distinction. I will explore the last of these categories—dual-aspect thinking—in more detail because it is a prerequisite for my Psyche–Gaia conjecture. Among the variants of dual-aspect thinking, I examine two closely related versions of dual-aspect monism developed independently but more or less concurrently: David Bohm’s theory of ‘implicate order’ and the Pauli–Jung conjecture. These, and other variants—Bertrand Russell’s ‘neutral monism’, David Chalmers’ ‘naturalistic dualism’—are concisely compared in the essay ‘20th Century Versions of Dual–Aspect Thinking’ in Mind and Matter (Atmanspacher, 2014). I have relied extensively on material encountered through my membership of the Society for Mind–Matter Research, in particular the writings of, and occasional conversations with, its president, Harald Atmanspacher. I refer the interested reader to the source material in the Appendix for a definitive exposition lest any details have been ‘lost in translation’. This seems an appropriate moment to pay tribute to my friend F. David Peat, who died in 2017—a brief obituary to him is on the website for this book. In 1989, Peat’s book Looking Glass Universe: The Emerging Science of Wholeness, again co-authored with John P. Briggs (Briggs & Peat, 1984/1985), sparked my original interest in the mind–matter conundrum, in particular the ideas of David Bohm, and other holistic approaches to science. Atmanspacher is a theoretical physicist, as were Bohm, Pauli and Peat. This is no coincidence, for physics has led the way, through quantum physics and cosmology, in the unravelling of our classical worldview. However, the foundation of Western dual-aspect thinking can be traced at least as far back as Baruch Spinoza (1632–1677) whose famous proposition of God or Nature—Deus sive Natura—as the substrate of reality, is open to pantheist or panentheist interpretation. In other words, Spinoza related mind and matter (epistemological dualism) to a ‘unity of essence’ i.e., God/nature (ontological monism). In the dual-aspect worldview, the physical and mental domains are construed as aspects of an underlying reality, which is itself neutral with respect to the mind–matter distinction. The first of the two variants with which I am most familiar was proposed by David Bohm, who I also encountered through his interactions with the religious teacher and philosopher, Jiddu Krishnamurti. In this model, the epistemic domains of mind and matter are ‘explicate orders’ produced by ‘unfolding’ of an underlying ontic reality called the implicate order. The second variant is a version of dual-aspect monism that emerged from years of

100 Psyche and beyond

dialogue between Jung and Pauli, and can thus be considered as an extension of analytical psychology. The resulting Pauli–Jung conjecture regards the physical and mental domains as strictly complementary, epistemic aspects of an underlying ontic, psychophysical reality called the unus mundus. The development of quantum mechanics in the early 20th Century successfully accounted for empirical phenomena that could not be explained by classical physics, but introduced new perplexities, most fundamentally the ‘measurement problem’. Quantum theory is robust and its predictions accurate, but its interpretation remains unresolved after decades. There is widespread, but not universal, agreement that the process of measurement (which includes any form of observation) ‘can be viewed as an intervention decomposing a system constituting an inseparable whole into locally separate parts’ (Atmanspacher & Fach, 2013: 222), i.e., from quantum nonlocality (holism) to local realism. The ‘inseparable whole’ is what Jung and the Hermetic philosophers called the unus mundus. This apparently abstract decompositional formulation has profound implications for the relationship between mind and matter, as does the related principle of complementarity—mutually exclusive properties that are both needed for a full description of a phenomenon. Thus, both quantum holism and local realism are necessary for a comprehensive description of reality, while neither of them alone is sufficient. These correspond mathematically with so-called ‘ontic’ and ‘epistemic’ states respectively. Epistemic states are empirically accessible through measurement and observation, but ontic states characterise the system independently of its observation and our resulting knowledge. Specifically: Ontic states and associated intrinsic properties refer to the holistic concept of reality and are operationally inaccessible, whereas epistemic states and associated contextual properties refer to a local concept of an operationally accessible reality. The process of measurement represents the link between the two. Measurement suppresses the connectedness constituting a holistic reality and generates (approximately) separate local objects constituting a local reality. (Atmanspacher & Fach, 2013: 223). The notion of complementarity originated in the thinking of William James (who we have already encountered; he was also known to Jung, cited by Lovelock, influenced Næss and was a crucial inspiration for the Sursem project almost a century after his death) at the end of the 19th Century. It was adopted in physics where it is now better known, but continues to be used in other fields. The verb ‘to complement’ and its derivates are, of course, more widely used in other contexts, including by Jung elsewhere in his writings, without this specific meaning; but in this section I use them only in the formal sense. A textbook example of complementarity in physics is the observed behaviour of an electron or photon in the apparently simple double-slit experiment being like that of a wave or a particle, but never both at the same time. I say ‘apparently’ because, although the experimental setup is indeed simple, debate over the interpretation of the results, which defy classical understanding, continues to this day after almost a century and,

Psyche and beyond 101

arguably, goes to the heart of quantum mechanics. The prevailing ‘Copenhagen’, or ‘standard’ interpretation, is statistical; but there are other interpretations, among them deterministic variants, such as Louis de Broglie’s ‘pilot wave’ theory proposed at the 1927 Solvay meeting and, incidentally, most vigorously opposed by Wolfgang Pauli. The two versions of dual-aspect monism under consideration are related to these categories: David Bohm’s development of de Broglie’s deterministic interpretation which led ultimately to his ‘implicate order’ theory; and the Pauli–Jung conjecture, which is based on the standard interpretation. These both go far beyond the arcane world of quantum theory, yet could be said to derive from its difficulties. My first numinous encounter with a holistic worldview grounded in physics, more than a decade before the start of my engagement with analytical psychology, was with David Bohm’s theory of implicate order. This immediately brings to mind an impressive coincidence in a launderette in Grenoble, where my climbing partner and I were drying our clothes after a forced retreat from Mont Gioberney in the Massif des Écrins due to a thunderstorm. I was reading a biography of Krishnamurti, whose teachings still interest me, and my partner was reading a book by Bohm. Almost simultaneously—certainly without further page-turning—we discovered that they knew each other. I mention this not only as a possible synchronicity, but also because Krishnamurti and Bohm engaged in extraordinarily profound dialogues over almost 25 years, just as Pauli and Jung were mutually enriched by their interactions. Some of the best of the former are to be found in The Ending of Time (Krishnamurti & Bohm, 1985/1988), and can now be watched on YouTube. At the risk of labouring a foundational assumption of this book, both liaisons exemplify the merits of interdisciplinary discourse. The de Broglie–Bohm, or Bohm’s ‘ontological’, causal interpretation of quantum mechanics has, despite its fundamental differences from the standard interpretation, continued to gain ground among a sizeable minority of physicists since Bohm’s death in 1992 (Buchanan, 2008: 29) and recently received empirical support using weak measurement via entangled photons in the aforementioned double slit experiment (Mahler et al., 2016). It has widespread implications for quantum theory, relativity theory and the relationship between mind and matter, about which Bohm concludes that ‘the explicate and manifest order of consciousness is not ultimately distinct from that of matter in general’ (Bohm, 1981: 208). Einstein had once remarked that he thought Bohm would one day be the person to solve the unified field theory problem (Briggs & Peat, 1984/1985: 153). However, the incompatibility of quantum theory with relativity theory instead motivated Bohm to develop his own theory of wholeness and implicate order. In the introduction to his eponymous book, Bohm states: In the enfolded (or implicate) order, space and time are no longer the dominant factors determining the relationships of dependence or independence of different elements. Rather, an entirely different sort of basic connection of elements is possible, from which our ordinary notions of space and time, along with those of separately existent material particles, are abstracted as forms

102 Psyche and beyond

derived from the deeper order. These ordinary notions in fact appear in what is called the ‘explicate’ or ‘unfolded’ order, which is a special and distinguished form contained within the general totality of all the implicate orders. (Bohm, 1981: xv) Bohm gives primacy to the undivided whole and the implicate order inherent within it, rather than to its constituent parts, which may be entities normally regarded as physical, such as atoms or subatomic particles, or as abstract, such as quantum states. This whole encompasses everything, and these parts are considered in terms of the whole, thereby constituting relatively autonomous and independent ‘sub-totalities’. The implication of the view is, therefore, that everything is interrelated. The new form of insight can perhaps best be called Undivided Wholeness in Flowing Movement. This view implies that flow is, in some sense, prior to that of the ‘things’ that can be seen to form and dissolve in this flow. (Bohm, 1981: 11) The whole is in continuous flux, and Bohm even invented a new language—the ‘rheomode’—in an attempt to accommodate this. The emphasis throughout Bohm’s approach is on process and gradation between the underlying psychophysically neutral, ontic realm of implicate order and an epistemically accessible explicate order of mind and matter: The whole universe is in some way enfolded in everything and each thing is enfolded in the whole. From this it follows that in some way, and to some degree, everything enfolds or implicates everything, but in such a manner that under typical conditions of ordinary experience there is a great deal of relative independence of things. The basic proposal is then that the enfoldment relationship is not merely passive or superficial. Rather, it is active and essential to what each thing is. Because the implicate order is not static but basically dynamic in nature, in a constant process of change and development, I called its most general form the holomovement. All things found in the unfolded, explicate order emerge from the holomovement in which they are enfolded as potentialities, and ultimately they fall back into it. The general implicate process of ordering is common both in mind and matter. This means that ultimately mind and matter are at least closely analogous, and not nearly so different as they appear on superficial examination. (Bohm, 1990: 273) Atmanspacher created a set of ‘cartoon’ schemas for each of the approaches reviewed in ‘20th Century Versions of Dual–Aspect Thinking’ Figure 4.3 is based on his schema for Bohm’s theory of implicate order.

Psyche and beyond 103

mental pole

material pole

explicate thoughts

explicate objects

subtle levels of implicate order

holomovement

FIGURE 4.3

Dual-aspect monism according to Bohm. (adapted from Atmanspacher, 2014: 257)

The mental and the material are unfolded explications of an enfolded, implicate order with many subtle levels. These levels are increasingly holistic, and they are not static but dynamic, hence Bohm coined the term holomovement to describe them. (Atmanspacher, 2014: 257) The shading which I have added is intended to convey the subtlety of Bohm’s model, in which potentially every level of implicate order can be explicated. Bohm’s ‘hidden variables’ or causal interpretation of quantum theory builds on de Broglie’s ‘pilot wave’ to introduce the notion of ‘active information’, which governs psychophysical connections: There is a kind of active information that is simultaneously physical and mental in nature. Active information can thus serve as a kind of link or ‘bridge’ between these two sides of reality as a whole. These two sides are inseparable, in the sense that information contained in thought, which we feel to be on the ‘mental’ side, is at the same time a related neurophysiological, chemical, and physical activity (which is clearly what is meant by the ‘material’ side of this thought). (Bohm, 1990: 282) Active information is thus similar in nature to archetypal ordering as understood in analytical psychology, and which plays an important role in the Pauli–Jung conjecture, to which I now turn. Jung had drawn extensively upon ethnological, philosophical, religious and esoteric perspectives on the mind–matter conundrum before beginning his scientific

104 Psyche and beyond

exchanges with Wolfgang Pauli in 1932. Pauli was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1945 for his eponymous ‘exclusion principle’ based on spin theory, and combined (infamously!) rigorous scientific thinking with a largely private interest in phenomena beyond rational analysis. Pauli and Jung’s radical conjecture, which took almost two decades to emerge, is a form of decompositional dual-aspect monism best known through the theory of synchronicity. In my opinion, the longest exposition of this in Jung’s Collected Works, ‘Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle’ (Jung, 1952/1969), is confusing and unconvincing, and now outdated in the light of ongoing refinement of the Pauli–Jung conjecture (Atmanspacher and Fuchs, 2014) which draws on other, and better, sources. Jung’s monograph was originally published in German alongside Pauli’s Der Einfluss archetypischer Vorstellungen auf die Bildung Naturwissenschaftlicher Theorien bei Kepler (Jung & Pauli, 1952) before both were translated and published in English in 1955. Pauli stated the mind–matter problem thus: The general problem of the relation between psyche and physis, between the inner and the outer, can, however, hardly be said to have been solved by the concept of ‘psychophysical parallelism’ which was advanced in the last century. Yet modern science may have brought us closer to a more satisfying conception of this relationship by setting up, within the field of physics, the concept of complementarity. It would be most satisfactory of all if physis and psyche could be seen as complementary aspects of the same reality. (Pauli, 1955: 209–210) Likewise, Jung wrote in 1954: Since psyche and matter are contained in one and the same world, and moreover are in continuous contact with one another and ultimately rest on irrepresentable, transcendental factors, it is not only possible but fairly probable, even, that psyche and matter are two different aspects of one and the same thing. (Jung, 1954/1969b: §418) These statements are a good starting point for presenting a contemporary explication of the Pauli–Jung conjecture which, like Bohm’s implicate order, has been summarised schematically by Atmanspacher with similar caveats. Figure 4.4 is correspondingly my variant of that schema. The mental and the material are epistemic manifestations of an ontic, psychophysically neutral, holistic reality, called the unus mundus, whose symmetry must be broken to yield dual, complementary aspects. From the mental, the unus mundus is approached via the collective unconscious, while from the material it is approached via quantum nonlocality. (Based on Atmanspacher, 2014: 253)

Psyche and beyond 105

mental domain

material domain

conscious objects

observed objects

collective unconscious

⟺

quantum nonlocality

unus mundus

FIGURE 4.4

Dual-aspect monism according to Pauli and Jung. (adapted from Atmanspacher, 2014: 253)

Atmanspacher is quick to point out that, as in Bohm’s model, there are no firm boundaries between the mental and physical aspects on the one hand and their underlying domain on the other, and suggests that his schema ‘should be refined by a whole spectrum of boundaries … each one indicating the transition to a more comprehensive level of wholeness until (ultimately) the distinction-free unus mundus is approached’ (Atmanspacher, 2014: 254), hence again my added shading in Figure 4.4. I have again retained the dividing line between the epistemic and ontic domains as the ‘default’ boundary, which can, under certain circumstances, be transgressed in both directions. Decomposition necessarily implies correlations between the emerging parts, and Atmanspacher and Fach divide these into two categories—structural and induced—with different origins: Structural correlations refer to the role of archetypes as ordering factors with an exclusively unidirectional influence on the material and the mental. They arise owing to epistemic splits of the unus mundus, which manifest themselves as correlations at the level of mental and material aspects. Since these correlations are a straightforward consequence of the basic structure of the model, they do not depend on additional contexts. They must be assumed to be persistent, and insofar as they are persistent, they should be empirically reproducible. Induced correlations refer to the back-reaction that changes of consciousness induce in the unconscious and, consequently, in the physical world as well. (Likewise, measurements of physical systems induce back-reactions in the physical ontic reality, which can lead to changes of mental states.) In this way, the picture is extended to a bidirectional relation. In contrast to structural,

106 Psyche and beyond

persistent correlations, induced correlations depend on all kinds of contexts, so they must be expected to occur only occasionally, and to be evasive and not (easily) reproducible. (Atmanspacher & Fach, 2013: 231) Structural correlations arise at the ‘default boundary’ in Figure 4.4. Of more interest, certainly to Jungians, are induced correlations—the back-reactions that changes of consciousness induce in the unconscious (a basic principle of Jungian analysis) and, consequently, in the physical world as well. Induced correlations can be positive ‘coincidence phenomena’ (above the default boundary) or negative ‘dissociation phenomena’ (below). Atmanspacher and Fach (2013: 236) have been generating empirical statistics about four classes of exceptional human experiences—‘resulting from deviations in a subject’s world model, self model, and their mutual correlations’—that appear to provide statistical support for the conceptual framework of the Pauli–Jung conjecture; this ground-breaking research is ongoing. However, I want to briefly return to the most well-known feature of the conjecture— synchronicity—because it offers supporting evidence from my own experience, which I find more compelling than any amount of metaphysics. The term ‘synchronicity’ is in common usage but widely misunderstood, even among Jungians. One reason for this is that it is something of a misnomer, as is apparent from the absence of simultaneity as a condition in the following condensation of Pauli and Jung’s definition: two (or more) seemingly accidental, but not necessarily simultaneous events are called synchronistic if the following three conditions are satisfied. 1 Each pair of synchronistic events includes an internally conceived and an externally perceived component. 2 Any presumption of a direct causal relationship between the events is absurd or even inconceivable. 3 The events correspond with one another by a common meaning, often expressed symbolically. (Atmanspacher & Fach, 2013: 229) ‘Meaning’ is of course a major philosophical conundrum in its own right, but the difficulty of conveying to another person the impact of a synchronicity suggests that it is at least highly subjective. Nonetheless, I hope that the following two examples from my own experience convey something of the flavour of synchronicity. In October 2001 I attended my very first lecture, ‘The Ritual Drama of Life’ by Ian Baker, as an eager new ‘training candidate’ at the C.G. Jung Institute in Zürich. In the questions and answers session at the end, I asked him about the origin of a silver filigree figure he had shown. To my surprise, and in front of the entire audience, he gave me his phone number, invited me to leave the message ‘Cosmic man’ and my phone number, and undertook to call me back. Unbeknown to him or anyone else in the room, my nickname in Glasgow for the last decade had been ‘Cosmic’.

Psyche and beyond 107

On 2 July 2005, Pink Floyd performed at the London ‘Live 8’ charity concert with their original line-up. I have always been passionate about music, and throughout my youth they had been one of my favourite bands. This was their first reunion in over 24 years, and turned out to be their last. I was moved to tears as I watched a tiny image of the gig streamed over the narrowband internet connection to my computer. As it was almost midnight local time, I had brushed and flossed my teeth beforehand. When I returned to the bathroom after their performance, I was so astonished by the shape of the dental floss I had carelessly discarded previously that I photographed it (Figure 4.5).

FIGURE 4.5

Treble clef.

108 Psyche and beyond

I have no means of authenticating either story, and synchronicities are not reproducible; nor can they be willed into existence. It is nonetheless interesting to note that both occurred in states of high psychic charge, and that I probably experienced a greater incidence of synchronicities during my studies at the C. G. Jung Institute and the International School of Analytical Psychology (ISAP Zürich) than previously. I have subsequently wondered whether the frequency was due to a heightened awareness of the phenomenon, or even a greater receptiveness, though not all synchronicities are as positive as these examples. My primary reactions in both these cases were surprise and a sense of awe or wonder at the realisation (in both senses of the word) of an utterly different and incomprehensible level of order. Somewhat later I had a calm feeling of affirmation, a sense of being on the right path, but at no time of being ‘big or clever’ because of what had happened to me. My feelings about the circle of my life events around Kyoto, as described in Chapter 1 of this book, are similar. Does that make it a protracted synchronicity, or a succession of synchronicities? It isn’t always easy to draw the line, even given the above conditions, of which the second—acausality—is often the hardest to be sufficiently certain of. Thus, remarkable though the aforementioned coincidence of the books in the launderette was, a degree of causality was not inconceivable as my climbing partner and I had broadly similar interests, so I conservatively hesitate to label it as synchronistic, impressively meaningful as it was. Table 4.1 summarises the main similarities and differences between Bohm’s implicate order and the Pauli–Jung conjecture. Note that this is a table rather than a diagram, with no structure implied. Atmanspacher (2014: 264) notes that the main difference between each of the four variants ‘has to do with the way in which the underlying, psychophysically neutral reality is conceived’, which is hardly surprising as this is furthest from empirical accessibility. He highlights two differences between Bohm’s implicate order model and that of Pauli and Jung (Atmanspacher, 2014: 256–258): Bohm’s model is fundamentally based on process rather than substance, whereas Pauli and Jung regarded structure and dynamics as equally important, and only Bohm

TABLE 4.1 Bohm and Pauli–Jung compared.

neutral domain empirically mereology interlevel implicit meaning explicit meaning

Bohm’s Implicate Order

Pauli–Jung Conjecture

implicate order holomovement conditionally accessible decomposition holistic active information correlations between aspects

archetypes unus mundus inaccessible decomposition holistic symbolic content synchronistic events

Based on a subset of Atmanspacher’s Figure 9 (Atmanspacher, 2014: 263), which also included dual-aspect variants proposed by Bertrand Russell and David Chalmers.

Psyche and beyond 109

explicitly embraces panpsychism—the doctrine that mind is a fundamental feature of the world which exists throughout the universe. The latter suggests that Bohm’s model could be more closely aligned with the Sursem project research summarised in the next section; yet of the two, only the Pauli–Jung conjecture is given significant coverage in their second and concluding volume, Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality (Atmanspacher & Fach, 2015). In pre-emptive defence of my own, much more tentative Psyche–Gaia conjecture, I leave the last word to Atmanspacher (2014: 266): No philosophical position in the mind-matter debate comes free of charge. The most costly issue in dual-aspect thinking is arguably the unclarified, some might say obscure, nature of the psychophysically neutral domain underlying the mental and the material aspect. Since current science is almost exclusively concerned with explorations of the two aspects, progress in understanding the neutral domain can be expected primarily through conceptual speculations and conjectures. At first glance they may seem as outrageous as their creators need to be courageous.

4.7 Nonlocal mind The foregoing two variants of dual-aspect monism have been largely derived by physicists from quantum theory. In the context of disenchantment, without which physics could not have arisen, they constitute an impressive enantiodromia. They are commendably rigorous, radical and self-consistent, and the Pauli–Jung conjecture in particular is a worthwhile subject for the further empirical research though exceptional experiences being conducted by Atmanspacher and Fach. However, one could relativise these models with the cautionary aphorism that ‘If all you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail.’ Indeed, one of the Sursem project’s principal authors alludes to the limitations of physics-based approaches (Kelly, 2015: 504–506), although they are included and taken seriously. I therefore conclude this chapter with, to pursue the analogy, a veritable toolbox used to question physicalism by investigating both empirically, via a broad range of phenomena, and theoretically from multiple academic disciplines, the relationship between mind and matter. The mind–brain relationship is perhaps the most controversial and actively investigated subset of the general mind–matter problem, and post-mortem survival the most acid test of physicalism. I first learned of the ‘Survival Seminar’ (Sursem) research project in this field under the auspices of the Esalen Center for Theory and Research (CTR) in an enthusiastic essay review by Roderick Main in Mind and Matter (Main, 2015). More than 50 participants, of whom about 20 were active during any given year, were involved over the 15-year duration of the project. These included physical, biological and social scientists, scholars of religion, philosophers and historians of science. Most of them described themselves as ‘spiritual’ but not conventionally ‘religious’, sceptical of the physicalist worldview but equally wary of uncritical embrace of any of the world’s major religions with their often conflicting beliefs and decidedly mixed historical records.

110 Psyche and beyond

The contributors to the two compendious Sursem project publications (Kelly et al., 2007; Kelly et al., 2015), whose expertise included neuroscience, psychiatry, parapsychology, philosophy, religion and theoretical physics, have rehabilitated and modernised the ‘filter’ or ‘transmission’ theories of mind first proposed at the end of the 19th Century, notably by Frederic W.H. Myers (1843–1901, also known to Jung) in England and his friend and admirer William James (again!) in America, and ultimately gone beyond them. The principal starting point for the enquiry was Myers’ two-volume magnum opus, Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death (Myers, 1903a; Myers, 1903b). The spirit of the endeavour, with its emphasis on outlying phenomena, could be summed up in Francis Bacon’s dictum at the dawn of modern science in the 17th Century cited in both of the Sursem project’s books: ‘The world is not to be narrowed till it will go into the understanding … but the understanding to be expanded and opened till it can take in the image of the world as it is in fact.’ The first of the Sursem books, Irreducible Mind: Toward a Psychology for the 21st Century (Kelly et al., 2007), presents a vast body of carefully researched and scrutinised empirical evidence for a broad range of psi, or ‘rogue’ phenomena. Many of these come under the ‘paranormal’ umbrella, surely one of the last taboo areas for ‘serious’ science which, incidentally, attracted much attention from Jung during his career. Some indication of the variety of phenomena investigated can be gleaned from the core chapter headings: Psychophysiological Influence; Memory; Automatism and Secondary Centers of Consciousness; Unusual Experiences Near Death and Related Phenomena; Genius; Mystical Experience. The authors’ ‘Occam’s razor’ analysis of these phenomena suggests that our brains interact in ways that are not yet fully understood with external, nonlocal mind, rather than generating internal local mind, to permit individual consciousness. I have chosen my words rather carefully here because the terms ‘filter’, ‘transmission’ or even ‘permission’ theory of mind favoured by the Sursem project imply unidirectionality. As explained in the previous section, induced ‘back-reactions’ onto the objective unconscious in the Pauli–Jung conjecture indicate bi-directionality. This disagreement aside, the Sursem project has demonstrated with commendable and convincing rigour the nonlocality of mind, and therefore that physicalism doesn’t stand up to serious scrutiny in the context of the mind–brain problem. Not only does a theory of nonlocal mind afford parsimonious explanations of psi phenomena, but it is also entirely compatible with the correlates between neural and mental states established in neuroscience (as are the aforementioned two variants of dual-aspect monism). The crucial difference from the physicalist interpretation of these correlates in mainstream neuroscience appears to be simply, as every school science student is taught, that correlation doesn’t prove causality. The authors are reasonably sympathetic to Jung in Irreducible Mind, noting parallels with his concept of the collective unconscious. Jung’s own writings do indeed include striking resonances, such as: ‘Through the self we are plunged into the torrent of cosmic events. Everything essential happens in the self and the ego functions as a receiver, spectator, and transmitter’ (Jung, 1973: 326), and:

Psyche and beyond 111

The ego stands to the self as the moved to the mover, or as object to subject, because the determining factors which radiate out from the self surround the ego on all sides and are therefore supraordinate to it. The self, like the unconscious, is an a priori existent out of which the ego evolves. It is, so to speak, an unconscious prefiguration of the ego. It is not I who create myself, rather I happen to myself. (Jung, 1954/1969g: 391) However, Jung’s apparent insistence that there can be no experiences without the ego cannot be reconciled with those of great mystics in all cultures (not just Eastern) through the ages (Kelly et al., 2007: 557). Jung’s definition of ego as the centre, rather than explicitly as the totality, of consciousness still leaves open a path to speculation as to whether he was hedging his bets on this issue. Like teleology, this is an issue that apparently won’t go away. The second Sursem publication, Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality (Kelly et al., 2015), considers candidate non-physicalist frameworks to accommodate not only these rogue phenomena, but also consciousness and the mind–body relationship in general. Atmanspacher and Fach’s work on the Pauli– Jung conjecture is included. Edward F. Kelly (2015: 535) notes that the active role of the unus mundus therein makes it unusual among the variants of dual-aspect monism but close to Bohm’s implicate order and even the Vedanta school of Hinduism, and reiterates Roderick Main’s assertion that panentheistic metaphysics is implicit in analytical psychology. The range of approaches considered goes beyond science, as conventionally understood, to embrace the world’s great, often ancient cultural traditions and their foremost exponents. I have made a few, comparatively very minor, points in a similar vein, highlighting instances of apparently uncanny prescience in, for example, the Hermetic tradition. Of Beyond Physicalism, Main concludes that: While [its] range is inevitably selective and contingent on the available expertise, it is sufficient to provide comparisons and triangulation among scientific and religious, modern and ancient, Western and Eastern, and mainstream and esoteric bodies of thought … the theoretical convergence towards a panentheistic metaphysics is probably the most significant finding of the book and of the Sursem project as a whole. … In panentheistic metaphysics … God permeates and gives structure and meaning to the world, including to humans, who therefore have an inborn capacity for obtaining direct, experiential, soteriological knowledge of the divine. (Main, 2015: 253) Given the evolution in Jung’s late thinking, Main argues that his eventual marginalisation in Irreducible Mind because of his aforementioned position on the ego ‘could be profitably revisited’ because ‘For the later Jung, the ego is essentially for Self-realisation in a way that is parallel to, or a microcosm of, the way the world is essential for God’s self-realisation in panentheistic metaphysics’ (Main, 2015: 256).

112 Psyche and beyond

The two Sursem project books run to over 1,400 pages of dense text, and no summary here can do them justice. I will, however, defer two long concluding excerpts from Beyond Physicalism to near the end of this book because their message is vital, forward-looking and part of the metanoia towards which I am striving.

Note 1 Most people associate the term ‘libido’ exclusively with sexual energy, which was indeed Sigmund Freud’s definition. Jung’s broadening of the term to include all psychic energy was one of his early and irreconcilable disagreements with his former mentor.

References Alighieri, D. (1320/1997) ‘Inferno, Canto 1.’ in The Divine Comedy [1308–1321]. Project Gutenberg Digital Edition. Atmanspacher, H. (2014) ‘20th Century Versions of Dual–Aspect Thinking.’ Mind and Matter, 12(2): 245–269. Atmanspacher, H. & Fach, W. (2013) ‘A Structural-Phenomenological Typology of Mind-Matter Correlations.’ Journal of Analytical Psychology, 58(2): 219–244. doi:10.1111/1468-5922.12005 Atmanspacher, H. & Fach, W. (2015) ‘Mind-Matter Correlations in Dual–Aspect Monism According to Pauli and Jung.’ in Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. (Eds, Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P.) Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield: 195–226. Atmanspacher, H. & Fuchs, C.A. (Eds) (2014) The Pauli-Jung Conjecture and its Impact Today. Exeter: Imprint Academic. Baars, B.J. (2005) Global Workspace Theory of Consciousness: Toward a Cognitive Neuroscience of Human Experience. San Diego, CA: The Neurosciences Institute. Baigent, M. & Leigh, R. (1998) The Elixir and the Stone: A History of Magic and Alchemy. London: Penguin. Bohm, D. (1981) Wholeness and the Implicate Order. London & Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Bohm, D. (1990) ‘A New Theory of the Relationship of Mind and Matter.’ Philosophical Psychology, 3(2–3): 271–286. doi:10.1080/09515089008573004 Briggs, J. & Peat, F. David. (1984/1985) Looking Glass Universe: The Emerging Science of Wholeness. London: Fontana. Buchanan, M. (2008) ‘Our Deterministic Universe: The Quantum World May Look Random, But it’s Hiding a Strange Kind of Order.’ New Scientist, 2648: 28–31. Capra, F. (1991) Tao of Physics. Boston: Shambhala. Colman, W. (2006) ‘The Self.’ in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. (Ed., Papadopoulos, R.K.) London & New York: Routledge: 153–174. Colman, W. (2018) Pers. Comm. Email, 26 March 2018 Fisher, A. (2002) Radical Ecopsychology: Psychology in the Service of Life. Albany: State University of New York Press. Freud, Sigmund (1930/1961) ‘Civilisation and its Discontents.’ in The Standard Edition of The Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. Volume XXI: The Future of an Illusion, Civilisation and its Discontents and Other Works, 1927–1931. London: Hogarth Press/Institute of Psychoanalysis: 59–145. Goodwin, B. (2007) ‘Gaia and Holistic Science.’ in Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia. (Ed., Midgley, M.) Exeter: Imprint Academic: 12–22.

Psyche and beyond 113

Hanegraaff, W.J. (2014) Esotericism and the Academy: Rejected Knowledge in Western Culture. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Hillman, J. (1995) ‘A Psyche the Size of the Earth.’ in Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth, Healing the Mind. (Eds, Roszak, T., Gomes, M.E. & Kanner, A.D.) San Francisco: Sierra Club Books: xvii–xxiii. Hopcke, Robert H. (1989) A Guided Tour of the Collected Works of C.G. Jung. Boston: Shambhala. Jacobi, J. (1942/1973) The Psychology of C.G. Jung: An Introduction with Illustrations. New Haven: Yale University Press. Johnston, J.G. (2016) Jung’s Indispensable Compass: Navigating the Dynamics of Psychological Types. MSE Press. Jung, C.G. (1921/1971) ‘Definitions.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 6: Psychological Types. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 408–486. Jung, C.G. (1927/1976) ‘The Spirit in Man, Art and Literature.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 18: The Symbolic Life. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 756–778. Jung, C.G. (1928/1953) ‘The Relations between the Ego and the Unconscious.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 7: Two Essays on Analytical Psychology. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul: 121–239. Jung, C.G. (1929/1967) ‘Commentary on “the Secret of the Golden Flower”.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 13: Alchemical Studies. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 1–56. Jung, C.G. (1933) Modern Man in Search of a Soul. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. Jung, C.G. (1934/1959) ‘Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 9i: The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul: 3–41. Jung, C.G. (1946/1985) ‘The Psychology of the Transference.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 16: The Practice of Psychotherapy. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 163–320. Jung, C.G. (1951/1968) ‘The Structure and Dynamics of the Self.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 9 ii: Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 222–265. Jung, C.G. (1952/1969) ‘Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 419–519. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969a) ‘A Review of the Complex Theory.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 92–104. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969b) ‘On the Nature of the Psyche.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 159–234. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969c) ‘Psychological Commentary on ‘the Tibetan Book of the Great Liberation.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 11: Psychology and Religion: West and East. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 475–508. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969d) ‘Psychology and Religion.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 11: Psychology and Religion: West and East. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 4–105. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969e) ‘The Stages of Life.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 387–403. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969f) ‘The Transcendent Function.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 67–91.

114 Psyche and beyond

Jung, C.G. (1954/1969g) ‘Transformation Symbolism in the Mass.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 11: Psychology and Religion: West and East. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 201–296. Jung, C.G. (1956/1963) ‘The Conjunction.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 14: Mysterium Conjunctionis: An Inquiry into the Separation and Synthesis of Psychic Opposites in Alchemy. New York: Pantheon: 457–553. Jung, C.G. (1957/1970) ‘The Undiscovered Self (Present and Future).’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 10: Civilisation in Transition. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 246–305. Jung, C.G. (1961/1976) ‘Symbols and the Interpretation of Dreams.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 18: The Symbolic Life. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 183–266. Jung, C.G. (1963/1995) Memories, Dreams, Reflections. London: Fontana. Jung, C.G. (1973) ‘Letter to Aniela Jaffé, 22 December 1942.’ in Letters [of] C.G. Jung. Vol. 1, 1906–1950. (Eds, Adler, G. & Jaffé, A.) Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 325–326. Jung, C.G. (1998) Visions: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1930–1934. London: Routledge. Jung, C.G. & Pauli, W. (1952) Naturerklärung und Psyche. Zürich: Rascher. Jung, C.G. et al. (1964) Man and His Symbols. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. Kast, V. (2006) ‘Anima/Animus.’ in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. (Ed., Papadopoulos, R.K.) London & New York:Routledge: 113–129. Kelly, E.F. (2015) ‘Toward a Worldview Grounded in Science and Spirituality.’ in Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. (Eds, Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P.) Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield: 493–551. Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P. (Eds) (2015) Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Kelly, E.F., Kelly, E.W. & Crabtree, A. (Eds) (2007) Irreducible Mind: Toward a Psychology for the 21st Century. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Krieger, N.M. (2013) Bridges to Consciousness: Complexes and Complexity. (Research in Analytical Psychology and Jungian Studies). London: Routledge. Krishnamurti, J. & Bohm, D. (1985/1988) The Ending of Time: Thirteen Dialogues. London: Gollancz. Mahler, D.H. et al. (2016) ‘Experimental Nonlocal and Surreal Bohmian Trajectories.’ Science Advances, 2: e1501466. doi:10.1126/sciadv.1501466 Main, R. (2004) The Rupture of Time: Synchronicity and Jung’s Critique of Modern Western Culture. Hove & New York: Brunner-Routledge. Main, R. (2015) ‘Essay Review: Theorizing Rogue Phenomena.’ Mind and Matter, 13(2): 249–256. Moore, M. (2002) Bowling for Columbine. Alliance Atlantis Communications. Myers, F.W.H. (1903a) Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death Volume I. London: Longmans, Green. Myers, F.W.H. (1903b) Human Personality and its Survival of Bodily Death Volume II. London: Longmans, Green. Papadopoulos, R.K. (Ed.) (2006) The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. London & New York: Routledge. Pauli, W. (1955) ‘The Influence of Archetypal Ideas on the Scientific Theories of Kepler.’ in The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche. New York: Pantheon: 147–240. Ritsema, R. & Sabbadini, S.A. (2005) The Original I Ching Oracle: The Pure and Complete Texts with Concordance. London: Watkins. Sabini, M. (2002) ‘Preface.’ in The Earth Has a Soul: The Nature Writings of C.G. Jung. (Ed., Sabini, M.) Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic: xi–xiii.

Psyche and beyond 115

Samuels, A. (1986) Jung and the Post-Jungians. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Samuels, A., Shorter, B. & Plaut, F. (1986) A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis. London & New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Schweizer, A. (2010) The Sungod’s Journey through the Netherworld: Reading the Ancient Egyptian Amduat. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Sharp, D. (1991) Jung Lexicon: A Primer of Terms and Concepts. Toronto: Inner City. Staude, J.R. (1981) The Adult Development of C. G. Jung. Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Stein, M. (1998) Jung’s Map of the Soul: An Introduction. Chicago: Open Court. Stein, M. (2018) Pers. Comm. Email, 26 March 2018 Stevens, A. (2001) Jung: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tacey, D. (2006) How to Read Jung. London: Granta. von Franz, M.-L. (1979/1997) Alchemical Active Imagination. Boston: Shambhala.

5 A PSYCHE–GAIA CONJECTURE

5.1 Domains In this chapter I posit a novel ‘Psyche–Gaia conjecture’, which builds upon the various theories introduced so far. As I will endeavour to minimise their repetition, although some is inevitably necessary, this chapter cannot be comprehended fully in isolation. Jung died seven years before Lovelock’s first tentative Gaia hypothesis, and I have no evidence to suggest that Lovelock, who was born in 1919, is aware of, or would be particularly receptive, to Jung’s ideas. If so, their theories are, from a conventional perspective, independent. However, the following caveat from Marie-Louise von Franz seems especially pertinent here: What is essential for us at the moment is that there is not a single important scientific paradigm that is not based on a primal archetypal intuition. An archetypal structure pre-existing ego consciousness has generated the themes of Western natural science. (von Franz, 1988/1992: 15) If mind and matter are complementary aspects due to epistemic splitting of the unus mundus as per the Pauli–Jung conjecture, or at least correlated according to the unfolding of Bohm’s implicate order, this suggests that Jung and Lovelock were drawing different maps of ultimately the same territory, or at least territory with a common substrate, somewhat like political and physical maps of the world. Maps in the literal sense are static, so such an assertion deals with structure, however different the contents. Metaphorical maps can, however, embrace dynamics, and in this respect psyche and Gaia can be partially described in terms of systems theory. This is a second reason why a degree of correlation between Jung’s map of the psyche and Lovelock’s map of the planet is to be expected.

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 117

Before I present detailed correlations of the dynamics, structure, contents and pathologies of psyche and Gaia, I want to examine their relationship as a subset of that of mind and matter more generally. A proposed schema is shown in Figure 5.1: Psyche

Gaia

conscious objects

observed objects

emergence (complexes etc.)

emergence (climate etc.)

symbolism

instinct

chemistry

archetypes

Self unus mundus FIGURE 5.1

Domains and boundaries of the conjecture.

This is an anthropocentric and terrestrial version of Atmanspacher’s dual-aspect monism schemata. Atmanspacher and Fach (2015: 195) emphasise that their proposition based on the Pauli–Jung conjecture is, despite its theoretical approach, a framework and not a scientific theory, and such a caveat certainly applies here too. Following the systems principle of setting boundaries appropriate to the problem at hand, the generic mental domain has been narrowed down specifically to the human psyche, and the generic physical domain correspondingly limited to this planet, while acknowledging that neither domain is in reality a closed system. Psyche, or at least sentience, is clearly not exclusively a human phenomenon nor, according to Gaia theory and evidence I will present later, even limited to the animal kingdom. This is made all the more universally plausible if ‘mind’ is nonlocal as the Sursem project results strongly suggest. However, psyche as experienced by humans is all that is known in sufficient detail for meaningful speculation. Likewise, I am open to the possibility, indeed probability, of life on other planets, but consider it extremely unlikely to be anything like life as we know it, let alone human. The everyday ‘default’ position of the epistemic/ontic divide is again represented by the central horizontal line between the two rows in Figure 5.1, and the progressive shading likewise allows for a degree of fluidity both upwards and downwards. The schema does not satisfy the requirements of a strictly decompositional model, not least because of the possibility of bidirectional direct (efficient) causality between the two epistemic domains. For example, the evolution of the human psyche has been in part determined by the physical environment and,

118 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

conversely, the Anthropocene can be viewed as the impact of the human psyche on the physical environment. The dashed vertical dividing line between the epistemic domains allows for this. The underlying cell represents the ontic, psychophysically neutral domain, the contents and even existence of which we can only infer, although the evidence, theories and speculations presented in the previous chapter encourage us to do so. Its parallel ordering influence on both psyche and planet manifests to an unknown degree in the correlations between their properties and behaviour. Careful observation and investigation of the epistemic domains can tell us much about these correlations and the apparent teleology beyond systems dynamics inherent in their behaviour, but it cannot explain to what any such teleology can be attributed. To accommodate this at the deepest level, the conjecture relies on the ontic, impersonal and psychophysically neutral ordering aspect of the Self that is coterminous with the unus mundus. Despite being omitted from the schema in the interests of clarity, personal aspects of the Self, such as those described by Colman (2006), are not excluded. Also in the ontic domain, the psychoid archetypes act as the unseen agents patterning the epistemic domains of the human psyche and Gaia respectively under the ordering and unifying influence of the Self. The conjecture does not posit to what extent the same archetypes influence both domains, but since psyche and Gaia have co-evolved a significant degree of commonality seems probable. The upper-left cell represents the epistemic ‘inner world’ of the human psyche, including all aspects thereof that can potentially be experienced, whether voluntarily or not, persistently or fleetingly. According to Jung’s model, this ‘subjective psyche’ extends far beyond the ego to include all the contents of the personal unconscious, in particular complexes, which may be experienced through emotions, dreams, projections, the body and so on, as described previously. Despite Jung’s insistence on there being no consciousness without ego, at least in the Western mind, human non-ego consciousness is not excluded. In the ‘grey zone’ of the schema between the psychoid archetypes and the range of psychic experience, I have tried to convey how ordering information crosses the ontic–epistemic divide to reach consciousness and influence behaviour according to analytical psychology. The languages of this information are primarily symbolic and instinctual respectively, and the principal process by which it is transmitted is emergence, especially in the case of complex constellation as proposed by Krieger and others, with strong supporting evidence from neuroscience (Krieger, 2013). The upper-right cell represents the knowable—of which much remains unknown—epistemic ‘outer’ (from our perspective) material planet. This consists of Earth’s inorganic, organic and anthropogenic domains, including Homo sapiens and the technosphere. It therefore explicitly includes all the physical aspects and consequences of humankind. It can be modelled through Gaia theory and Earth systems science and has, since the emergence of Homo sapiens, been the object of human curiosity, experienced directly through the senses, or indirectly via our

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 119

instruments. It has likewise, through human ingenuity, been the source of sustenance and the subject of exploitation. Since Gaia theory, unlike analytical psychology, does not posit an ontic, psychophysically neutral underlying domain, the proposed corresponding ways in which ordering information may reach Gaia from there are inevitably more speculative. I have suggested that the languages are primarily instinctual because this is incontrovertibly the case in the animal kingdom and beyond, and chemical because this is the most widespread mode of interaction between life forms and between what is conventionally called ‘living’ and ‘non-living’ matter. The process is again emergence, but manifest in phenomena such as the climate, the composition of the atmosphere and ecosystems across a wide range of scales which, unlike in analytical psychology, is explicitly part of Gaia theory’s systems approach. By basing the conjecture on a subset of dual-aspect monism with conceptual origins in physics, I have arguably neglected the more explicitly biological aspect of the archetypes that characterised Jung’s earlier thinking. Since an essential element in the Gaian domain is life per se, it is worth speculating how archetypal influence might manifest specifically in organisms. A possible contender is DNA (the aforementioned ‘evolutionary twist’), which is of course a subset of the chemical language I have posited for Gaia as a whole. I am not the first to have this idea, which has been proposed independently by specialists in different disciplines, suggesting at least a degree of consilience. Within analytical psychology, it appears perhaps most strongly in the work of Anthony Stevens. Stevens, until his retirement, was an influential Jungian analyst, psychiatrist and author of books and articles on psychotherapy, evolutionary psychiatry and the scientific implications of Jung’s theory of archetypes. Indeed, I have already recommended his Jung: A Very Short Introduction (Stevens, 2001). Stevens’ most recent original published thinking about archetypes also appeared in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. In the section of this monograph titled ‘The psychoid archetype and the unus mundus’, Stevens notes that: Jung proceeded to propose not only that archetypal structures were fundamental to the existence and survival of all living organisms but also that they were continuous with structures controlling the behaviour of inorganic matter as well. (Stevens, 2006: 87) This condensation of Jung’s thinking, originally published with almost identical wording in Stevens’ intriguingly titled The Two Million-Year-Old Self (Stevens, 1993: 13), succinctly supports my contention that archetypal ordering influences the biogeophysical totality of Gaia. However, Stevens then invokes the ideas of two theoretical physicists, Werner Heisenberg and F. David Peat, about the parallels between quantum and archetypal symmetries in ‘outer’ and ‘inner’ nature respectively; and, because of their generative and animating effect (Peat, 1987: 112), proposes that:

120 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

Evidently, biology must function as a bridge between these two sets of symmetries, and it is conceivable that this could be provided by symmetries within the structure of DNA or by molecular symmetries responsible for neuronal and synaptic events in the brain and central nervous system, which are being studied by the molecular biologists. (Stevens, 2006: 89) Stevens has been perhaps unfairly criticised by some Jungians for his scientific approach and biological emphasis, which reflects not only his academic background but also that of his own analyst, Irene Champernowne, who, before she trained with Jung and Toni Wolff in Zürich, had been a lecturer in biology. Stevens responds to such criticism robustly in his ‘Personal Afterword’ in Archetype Revisited (Stevens, 2002/2015): I totally reject the charge that I am a ‘Darwinian fundamentalist’ or a ‘genetic determinist’. Why I hold to the Jungian perspective is precisely because it transforms the Dawkinsian view of genes as our puppet-masters into an optimistic view of the Self as endowed with all the potentials of humanity. … One of the most congenial attributes of Jung was his Janus head, which enabled him to look at and comprehend both the imaginal life of the spirit and the organic processes of biology, and thus transcend the Cartesian divide. (Stevens, 2015: 182) This illuminating riposte echoes both the line in the sand that I have tried to draw in the controversy about evolutionary biology and the dual-aspect monism, originating with Spinoza, that has inspired the schema shown in this section. It nonetheless again raises the issue of ‘hammer and nails’ mentioned previously in the context of physics. However, rather than viewing that as problematic, I believe that it reflects the richness and breadth of analytical psychology which can be fruitfully approached from so many different directions. Beyond analytical psychology, we have already encountered the ideas of Stephan Harding’s late colleague at Schumacher College, Brian Goodwin, in the discussion around teleology and complexity. Goodwin studied biology and mathematics, held research and teaching positions at MIT, the University of Sussex and Schumacher College, was Professor of Biology at the Open University and associated with the Santa Fé Institute in the 1980s and 1990s. His published contribution to the Gaia Network near the end of his life included some intriguing statements: The issue that has always challenged the reductionist assertions of genetics, that genes are the necessary and sufficient conditions for life, is the question of the organism as a coherent whole. … It is this junk DNA that has turned out to be crucially important in generating the coherent forms of organisms, by processes that are largely unknown. (Goodwin, 2007: 19)

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 121

The very creativity of the evolutionary process depends on the same kind of ambiguity of meaning that exists in language. Nature and culture now become one continuity of intelligible but not controllable creativity, combining freedom of the parts with coherent form of the whole. We seem to be recovering perennial wisdom in science. (Goodwin, 2007: 21) Goodwin placed great store on the concept of coherence, which I understand to be expressible in Jungian language as archetypal ordering or in Bohmian terms as active information. The former statement refers to the noncoding majority of DNA which still has largely unknown functionality despite biological activity having been detected in some 70–80% of it since Goodwin wrote. We know that genetic information is transmitted accurately and unambiguously (subject to random mutations) by coding DNA, a process that is analogous to Jung’s definition of a sign. In the light of Goodwin’s second statement above, could a chemical analogue to the creative ambiguity of the language of symbolism be somehow transmitted by all or part of the noncoding portion of DNA? If so it could, paradoxically, play a role in the ordering of all life forms above and beyond the neo-Darwinian purview of mainstream evolutionary biology. Goodwin did not couch his own ideas in such language; but he did elaborate in considerable detail why he viewed orthodox genetic theory as incomplete, and appeared to be open to the possibility of adaptive mutation (Goodwin, 1994). I will defer a third supporting perspective from anthropology to Chapter 7 because it is an example of learning from, rather than about, nature, which I advocate therein. As such, it is based on an entirely different way of knowing, and thus far removed from the rather dry but necessary intellectual arguments presented here. To summarise, the Psyche–Gaia conjecture posits correlations between the behaviour and properties of psyche and Gaia as understood according to two maps: analytical psychology plus systems theory, and Gaia theory plus ontic ordering factors. The qualifier ‘primarily’ has been used throughout as a euphemism for ‘non-exclusively’ to allow for other factors without unduly complicating the conjecture or schema.

5.2 Dynamics Perhaps the most readily apparent resemblance between psyche and Gaia is in the way in which they behave. It was certainly the first aspect to strike me over a decade ago, which led ultimately to this book. The most significant dynamical qualities common to both are behaviours that result in stability and continuity (selfregulation) and long-term change (Self- or self-realisation) or, in the language of systems theory, resilience and complexity respectively. I favour ‘resilience’ over ‘homeostasis’ here because it is a more realistic and practical goal in changing psychological and physical environments. However, systems theory alone cannot

122 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

explain all their dynamics, hence the aforementioned allowance in each instance for posited ordering factors in the ontic realm—the Self and the archetypes. TABLE 5.1 Correlated dynamics of psyche and Gaia.

Self-regulation Self-regulation Self-realisation Self-realisation

process: goal: process: goal:

Psyche

Gaia

compensation function in the present individuation wholeness

biogeochemical feedback favour contemporary life evolution biodiversity

Table 5.1 summarises these behaviours according to Jung’s model of the psyche and to Gaia theory. Unlike Figure 5.1, this is simply a table and not an attempted structural schema. Note that the word ‘self’ in ‘self-regulation’ indicates reflexivity, i.e., the existence of feedback, and is not to be confused with the Jungian ‘Self’. Human psychological self-regulation is a short-term process that is nonetheless required over the lifetime of an individual. Gaian self-regulation is over timescales that are orders of magnitude greater than individual organism lifetimes, which is of course a major reason why the theory is so radical and controversial. Critics ask how an individual organism can ‘know’ what is optimal beyond its own lifespan, let alone for other species. Human psychological Self-realisation proceeds, as far as can be known,1 over an individual lifetime, whereas the biological and ecological processes of evolution with which I equate it have lasted as long as life itself on this planet and show no signs of stopping anytime soon. In both psyche and Gaia, the boundaries between the two processes are in reality blurred—they proceed in parallel, and what serves one tends to serve the other. How, and why, these dynamics manifest according to the theories of Jung and Lovelock respectively, will now be recapitulated and compared. According to Jungian psychodynamics, psychic self-regulation is achieved through interaction between the conscious and unconscious domains that Jung called compensation: the unconscious processes stand in a compensatory relation to the conscious mind. I expressly use the word ‘compensatory’ and not the word ‘opposed’ because conscious and unconscious are not necessarily in opposition to one another. (Jung, 1928/1953: §274) This suggests that the process depends on something more nuanced than only what Meadows would call balancing feedback loops. In dream analysis, for example, it is often instructive to ask what imbalance in the conscious attitude the dream symbolism is compensating. From experience of my own and my analysands’ dreams, compensation usually manifests in forms that are more sophisticated and effective than simple opposition, such as exaggeration, ridicule, horror and so on. Thus, interpretation and meaning are involved, which means that dreams are hermeneutic phenomena.

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 123

A paper by J. Linn Mackey, ‘Why Don’t Holisms Describe the Whole? The Psyche as a Case Study’ to be published more or less concurrently with this book (Mackey, forthcoming), implies that this reopens the possibility of teleology beyond causality, thereby eroding further the boundary between development and individuation. Drawing upon the philosophy of Georg Henrik von Wright (1971) and John Macmurray (1936), Mackey concludes that adaptation to the external world can now be adequately explained with a complex adaptive system model of psyche, i.e., it is causal and Galilean, but that the individuation process and its inward focus in the second half of life is essentially hermeneutic, and therefore teleological. In other words, dreams and compensation per se play a role in our psychological adaptation to both the outer and inner worlds as they can be influenced by, and influence, both. However achieved, Jungian psychodynamics explicitly account for self-regulation. Lovelock’s definition of Gaia theory explicitly extends the self-regulating role beyond living systems into what is conventionally regarded as inanimate matter. I have summarised this process in Table 5.1 as ‘biogeochemical feedback’ to emphasise that it involves both organic and inorganic matter and systems, which are primarily connected through chemistry as indicated in Figure 5.1. The goals of self-regulation in psyche and Gaia are to ensure the optimum functioning and well-being of the individual human and the whole planet respectively under their corresponding current conditions—psychological and/or environmental. Psychologically and socially too, humans need to maintain a sense of continuous identity for healthy mental functioning, as evidenced by the fact that its breakdown in the form of discontinuity—an abrupt and radical disconnect of the personality between ‘before’ and ‘after’—is generally the fundamental disruptive and damaging symptom of overwhelming psychic trauma. Environmental conditions continuously change in regular or unpredictable ways. Regular changes include the diurnal and seasonal cycles, often requiring tolerance of widely varying physical parameters. Unpredictable changes include predation, disease, extreme weather events and other natural, and now anthropogenic, disruptions. Most serious of all are mass extinction events which affect entire ecosystems, not just individual organisms, and here the phenomenon of resilience is crucial. Resilience in any dynamic system tends to increase with complexity, hence, as Meadows (2008: 3–4) points out, the aphorism ‘don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ Lovelock’s explicit emphasis was initially on homeostasis rather than resilience, and early versions of Gaia theory therefore seemingly understate biodiversity as a means of self-regulation, perhaps because empirical systems ecology was significantly less advanced in 1979. However, Lovelock (1979/2000: 21) reports confirmation by subsequent modelling in Daisyworld that: ‘A diverse chain of predators and prey is a more stable and stronger ecosystem than a single self-contained species, or a small group of very limited mix … it seems likely that the biosphere diversified rapidly as it evolved.’ The fossil record confirms that this has happened after each mass extinction event.

124 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

In much shorter time-frames than evolution, biodiversity can be achieved by habitat-sharing. Habitats are shared over a huge range of scales, from microbiomes such as the human gut (resulting in dynamics such as symbiosis or parasitism) to biomes (with dynamics such as trophic cascades) to the planet (Gaia). The consequences of these processes can be unpredictable, counter-intuitive and sometimes, but not invariably, beneficial. Trophic cascades, an ecological concept commonly held to have been first described by Aldo Leopold, are biome-scale phenomena that can control entire ecosystems, whether terrestrial, aquatic or both. They result from predators in a food web reducing the population or altering the behaviour of their prey, thereby releasing the next lower trophic level, whether flora or fauna, from predation, and so on. Trophic cascades help us understand the consequences of our intervention in ecosystems. In ‘top-down’ cascades, human removal of top predators from food webs, as has been and still is widespread, causes extensive disruption such as vegetation depletion by the increased population of herbivores that results. ‘Bottom-up’ cascades occur when a primary producer or consumer is removed, and there is a reduction of population size throughout the ecological community. An inspiring example of top-down trophic cascade reversal is the effect of reintroducing wolves to Yellowstone National Park in 1995 after a 70-year absence due to human intervention. A 5-minute documentary about this, called How Wolves Change Rivers and narrated by George Monbiot, a prominent supporter of ‘rewilding’ (Monbiot, 2014), has at the time of writing been viewed over 3 million times on YouTube. The psychological correlate of resilience through habitat-sharing manifests in the complexity of the contents, structure and dynamics of the entire psyche, which, as we have seen in Jung’s model, more closely resembles an ecosystem than an individual organism. All the elements are in place, but require a receptive ego attitude—freedom from dogma and the ability to listen to the ‘inner voice’, the soul. This movement towards wholeness is a fulfilment of psychic potential, which is referred to more generally in analytical psychology as individuation, indicated in Table 5.1. The midpoint of the personality shifts from the ego towards, and under the influence of, the Self—the process of Self-realisation we encountered in Chapter 4. However, the deepest level of the Self is far from the epistemic domain of experience, so individuation is, like evolution, movement towards an unknown destination. This is the paradox of analysis—we want to move on from where we are, but fear doing so without first knowing where we are going. Individuation could be compared with taking a lifelong leap without being able to look beforehand. Likewise, the fossil record provides ample evidence of evolution’s past, but doesn’t enable us to predict its future. Living organisms have inhabited Earth for all but about the first billion of its 4.5 billion-year existence, during which time genetic changes in the populations of organisms over successive generations have led, via natural selection, to new species. Although the first organisms were inevitably extremely simple, Darwinian evolution is not viewed as a progression from ‘inferior’ to ‘superior’ organisms; nor does it necessarily result in an increase in complexity. This approach is rational and self-consistent, but limited to considering organisms and species as discrete entities rather than elements in interconnected

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 125

systems. Even if evolution does not necessarily lead to greater complexity of individual organisms, it may as shown lead to a much greater complexity of ecosystems, resulting in their improved functioning.

5.3 Structures Despite their unawareness of each other, it appears that Jung and Lovelock had broadly similar views, albeit expressed very differently, on the unique role of human consciousness in the world. In his autobiography, Jung recounts his travels beyond Europe between the two world wars. Although some of his language would now be deemed politically incorrect, it is very much to his credit that he immersed himself in radically different cultures in Africa, India and New Mexico, for these encounters made him aware of ‘how completely … I was still caught up and imprisoned in the cultural consciousness of the white man’ (Jung, 1963/1995: 275). During his 1925 expedition to East Africa, Jung experienced an epiphany while gazing down from a hilltop onto the vast savannah of the Athai Plains near Nairobi. Leaving his companions behind, he quietly contemplated the scene, replete with great herds of wild animals: There the cosmic meaning of consciousness became overwhelmingly clear to me. … I knew … that man is indispensable for the completion of creation; that, in fact, he himself is the second creator of the world, who alone has given to the world its objective existence … Human consciousness created objective existence and meaning, and man found his indispensable place in the great process of being. (Jung, 1963/1995: 284–285) I too have travelled in Kenya and climbed in the Ruwenzori (‘Mountains of the Moon’) in Uganda,2 and can well imagine the breath-taking scale and richness of the panorama before Jung’s eyes, even though the wildlife populations will have fallen dramatically over almost a century since then. These experiences can cut us down to size and shut up the ego’s endless chatter. In such moments, although I tend to ‘lose myself in nature’, many insights for this book have also come to me in these situations—perhaps we need to lose ourselves to find inspiration. Jung, temporarily unshackled from his European conditioning but curious as ever, had this mysterious vision of the unique role of Homo sapiens. His experience, and mine, suggests that Gaia has a voice if we are quiet enough to listen. In his epilogue to Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth over half a century later, Lovelock allowed his imagination free play to contemplate the most speculative and intangible aspects of his hypothesis. He was especially curious about the relationship of humans with Gaia and our role beyond the problematic aspects which, understandably, came increasingly to dominate his subsequent publications. He is rightly unflinching in his conviction that we cannot control Gaia—a blindingly obvious message from systems theory that has yet to strike home where it matters, as will be

126 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

discussed in the next chapter. We are not tenants, and certainly not owners, of Gaia, but partners in ‘a very democratic entity’. Lovelock nonetheless recognised the unique nature of human consciousness, as Jung did, and therefore speculated: Do we as a species constitute a Gaian nervous system and a brain which can consciously anticipate environmental changes? … Still more important is the implication that the evolution of homo sapiens, with his technological inventiveness and his increasingly subtle communications network, has vastly increased Gaia’s range of perception. She is now through us awake and aware of herself. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: 139–140) I therefore posit a correlation between the relationship of ego to psyche on the one hand, according to analytical psychology, and Homo sapiens to planet (Gaia) on the other, based on these strikingly similar insights of Jung and Lovelock, as shown in Table 5.2. TABLE 5.2 Correlated structures of psyche and Gaia.

Psyche

Gaia

ego (individual centre of consciousness) shadow (rejected /denied by ego) anima / animus (soul)

Homo sapiens (global centre of consciousness) anthropogenic impacts (rejected /denied by H. sapiens) anima mundi (world soul)

This table is not necessarily exhaustive, and a fascinating potential area for future study would be to explore still other aspects of the psyche and their possible Gaian correlates, and vice versa. Concerning shadow, the following quote from Jung seems particularly apposite here: Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. … If it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected, and is liable to burst forth suddenly in a moment of unawareness. At all counts, it forms an unconscious snag, thwarting our most well-meant intentions. (Jung, 1954/1969b: §131) My attribution of rejection and denial to our anthropogenic impacts, which is the basis of their correlation with shadow, needs to be substantiated. Rejection applies to all forms of pollution arising from human activity. Pollution is an unwanted, but inevitable, consequence of virtually all human activity, and hence a material product of human consciousness. Whether sent up factory chimneys into the air, down rivers into the sea or buried in the ground, we try to get rid of it. Examples

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 127

include greenhouse gases, microplastics, pesticides, nitrates and toxic waste. ‘Denial’ includes these impacts and almost any other forms of harm to Gaia that are deliberately concealed, ‘out of sight, out of mind’, or at least conveniently ignored lest they distract us from the production and consumption on which our way of life depends. Major candidates include mining, deforestation, soil depletion and, above all, the sixth great extinction. The above statement by Jung makes clear the dangers of failure to acknowledge and deal with the shadow, and the same can be said of our anthropogenic impacts. The soul, whether personal or global, is not in such an antipathetic relationship to consciousness, but is also routinely ignored in our culture. The gender controversy around anima / animus has already been covered, but under current cultural conditions it seems more reasonable than ever to describe the world soul as the implicitly feminine anima mundi. This is because our collective consciousness and our entire civilisation are so dangerously skewed towards patriarchy that an archetypally feminine counterbalance is required, hence Golding’s genius in suggesting Gaia as the personification of Earth in Lovelock’s theory. Verena Kast suggests that anima and animus are archetypes of relationship and bonding, capable of ‘bringing us closer to the individual personality, to the Self, and perhaps even to images of being in relationship with something like an Anima Mundi’ (Kast, 2006: 127). The anima mundi was proclaimed by some ancient philosophers to be diffused throughout all nature, and thought to animate all matter in the same sense in which the soul was thought to animate the human. The name may have originated with Plato, but the archaic experience seems to be universal, expressed in feminine Earth deities in countless cultures (the Egyptian Earth god Geb being a notable exception). However, the various goddess cults were supplanted in the West around 3,000 years BCE by Indo-Europeans (Kurgans or Aryans), advancing in waves from the Central Asian steppes, who worshipped male sky gods instead, and later by the influence of patriarchal religions, notably the Abrahamic faiths. Nonetheless, in conjunction with the unus mundus she remained central to the Hermetic tradition of Europe and the Orient, finding her most sophisticated expression in philosophical and spiritual alchemy and in Renaissance philosophy. Since then, however, the connection has been progressively lost: The development of Western philosophy during the last two centuries has succeeded in isolating the mind in its own sphere and in severing it from its primordial oneness with the universe. Man himself has ceased to be the microcosm and eidolon of the cosmos, and his ‘anima’ is no longer the consubstantial scintilla, or spark of the Anima Mundi, the World Soul. (Jung, 1954/1969a: §759) This ‘severing’ is the common root of both the individualism and the alienation from nature characteristic of our Zeitgeist. It is the reason we no longer feel known in the way that, for example, the indigenous San hunter-gatherer people of southern Africa have a sense of being ‘contained in a greater form of being known’

128 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

(van der Post, 1984/1985: 50). Their archaic—I use the term descriptively, not pejoratively—worldview of ‘we belong to the land’ survives against worsening odds, as it does among other indigenous cultures. Almost everywhere else it has been inverted and perverted into ‘the land belongs to us’ since the legally enforced loss of the commons that has been widespread in England from the 16th Century, and is now global in its reach and ambition. Von Franz suggests that the origin of the severing can be traced much further back to the Sophists, who were contemporary with Plato (around 300 BCE): This was the birth-moment of enlightened rationalism, which still haunts us, because it means robbing the world of its divine and psychic qualities. The basic motivation behind this way of thinking is fear. … The second motivation is a power complex. … Because matter was no longer included in the divine symbol of totality, a compensatory materialism came into being, a vengeance, so to speak, of the rejected mother archetype. (von Franz, 1988/1992: 154) By ‘the divine symbol of totality’ von Franz means the Christian Trinity—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—lacking either the feminine or the material (and, as Bohm pointed out, ‘mother’ and ‘matter’ are etymologically related). Von Franz’s observation is interesting for its explicit linkage to materialism and, implicitly, to patriarchy—two great problems of our time. Our ‘loss of soul’ is mirrored in our disconnect from the world soul, and is a major aspect of our collective dissociation discussed in the context of pathological correlations. That said, moments of connection are still possible for those of us who remain open to them.

5.4 Contents We take the phenomenological correlation between psyche and Gaia so much for granted that it was the last correlation that I thought of writing about. We experience the world through our senses, and impact the world through our actions. This routine ‘efficient causality’ is direct interaction between the epistemic domains. The less obvious, but here more interesting, route for interaction transgresses the default epistemic / ontic boundary in a way reminiscent of synchronicity. The boundary is mediated by the personified soul (anima / animus) and the world soul (anima mundi). The language of such interactions is symbolic, about which Jung also wrote: all knowledge of the psyche is itself psychic; in spite of all this, the soul is the only experient of life and existence. It is, in fact, the only immediate experience we can have and the sine qua non of the subjective reality of the world. The symbols it creates are always grounded in the unconscious archetype, but their manifest forms are moulded by the ideas acquired by the conscious mind. (Jung, 1952/1970: §344)

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 129

What this means in practice is that symbols usually appear in forms that we experience in and recognise from Gaia, as a glance through any symbol dictionary will confirm. Our dreams, folk tales, myths, rituals, religions and other symbolically charged phenomena are redolent with animals, plants, terrestrial and aquatic features, weather and so on in addition to artefacts in the broadest sense. In most symbol dictionaries, ‘snake’ has the longest entry, and is a good example of the ambivalent nature of symbols, from healer (entwined around the staff of Asclepius) to killer. The serpent is at the interface between the psyche and psychoid at the level of Christus and Diabolo (Christ and the Devil) in Jung’s model of the Self, and the core of Jeremy Narby’s vision and subsequent association to DNA reported in Chapter 7. There is no identity, in the logical sense of that word, between symbol and meaning, which is why symbol dictionaries should be used sparingly and with care as contextual, not prescriptive, tools, otherwise symbols are reduced to signs. Symbols, and the archetypes they express, are far more ancient than we are, yet can still resonate with us, but only if given the opportunity. Even a 21st-Century urban-dweller can experience the lure, mystery and terrors of the dark forest in a dream, but by and large we are losing our connection, as Jung decries: You see, man is in need of a symbolic life—badly in need. We only live banal, ordinary, rational or irrational things—which are naturally also within the scope of rationalism, otherwise you could not call them irrational. But we have no symbolic life. Where do we live symbolically? Nowhere, except when we participate in the ritual of life. But who, among the many, are really participating in the ritual of life? Very few. (Jung, 1939/1976: §625) This quote is from the last, and largest, volume of the Collected Works, which contains a miscellany of Jung’s writings not published elsewhere in the series. The volume title—The Symbolic Life—gives an idea of the central importance of the symbol to Jung, and to life itself. Symbols are somehow alive. I recall a conversation with a dear and wise old Jungian colleague, Sonja Marjasch, about dream interpretation, in which we concluded that we should treat a dream like a living creature by respectfully allowing it space in which to simply be itself, and observing it. That way we would learn so much more about it than by staking it out and dissecting its inert corpse. With hindsight, that was an expression of the difference between non-Western and Western science, and of the correspondence of the psychic microcosm with the Gaian macrocosm. In James Hillman’s version of analytical psychology—the archetypal school—the central role of the Self has been replaced with an emphasis on the soul and the deepening of imaginal experience (see Colman, 2006: 166), and thus ‘the purpose of analysis is not individuation but animation’ (Adams, 1997: 113). In his essay ‘Anima Mundi: The Return of the Soul to the World’, Hillman writes:

130 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

Let us imagine the anima mundi neither above the world encircling it as a divine and remote emanation of spirit, a world of powers, archetypes and principles transcendent to things, nor within the world as its unifying panpsychic life-principle. Rather let us imagine the anima mundi as that particular soul-spark, that seminal image, which offers itself through each thing in its visible form. Then anima mundi indicates the animated possibilities presented by each event as it is, its sensuous presentation as a face bespeaking its interior image—in short, its availability to imagination, its presence as psychic reality. (Hillman, 1982/1995: 101) Hillman is inviting the reader to go beyond the mere concept of the anima mundi into a direct experience of it through a response, that he calls ‘aisthesis’, from the (organ of perception of the) heart. ‘Sensing the world and imagining the world are not divided in the aesthetic response of the heart’ (Hillman, 1982/1995: 107). Here he seems to be using ‘heart’ to emphasise that this is not a rational or ego-directed ‘head’ process. This evokes Kast’s previous speculation about the potential of the anima / animus to bring us into contact with the anima mundi. Sensing is the direct perception of Gaia by psyche, i.e., from one epistemic domain to the other, whereas imagination is a product of psyche informed by Gaia via the ontic realm, i. e., involving the soul and the world soul. Hence Hillman’s aisthesis is a both/and, rather than an either/or process. In linguistics, computer code and poetry are examples par excellence of the extremes of semiotic and symbolic content respectively. Jung’s writing is so laden with symbolic content that my expectation of the kind of precision I had come to expect from conventional scientific writing was bound to be unfulfilled. Since we use the spoken and written word for so much of our communication, especially without corporeal presence or, in the case of social media, even a known recipient, such language is important. Closely related to this is the role of metaphor, about which Jungian scholar David Tacey writes: ‘A true metaphor for Jung, like a true symbol, points beyond itself to something real’ (Tacey, 2009: 23). For all of us, as Murray Stein observes, metaphor largely makes up our notions of reality (Stein, 1998: 11). Even in science, David Bohm and F. David Peat write that ‘Metaphoric perception is, indeed, fundamental to all science and involves bringing together previously incompatible ideas in radically new ways’ (Bohm & Peat, 1987/2000: 35) and What is essential to this form is that in equating two very different kinds of things, the mind enters a very perceptive state of great energy and passion, in which some of the excessively rigid aspects of the tacit infrastructure are bypassed or dissolved. In science, as in many other fields, such a perception of the basic similarity of two very different things must further unfold in detail and lead to a kind of analogy which becomes ever more literal. (Bohm & Peat, 1987/2000: 61)

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 131

The roles of language, symbolism and metaphor in the experience of the anima mundi have been brilliantly explored and described by the polymath David Abram (anthropologist, ecophilosopher, deep ecologist, magician and more). In The Spell of the Sensuous, Abram explores how language, especially our increasingly abstract alphabets, has contributed to our severance from the world soul, paradoxically reanimating the world through the same medium. Indeed, the double-entendre of ‘spell’ in the title is no accident. His first-hand experience of oral, indigenous cultures and his application of the phenomenology of Husserl and Merleau-Ponty lead to an impassioned and convincing plea to come to our (bodily) senses. The seeds of his argument that we live in psyche and not vice versa, as summed up in the final chapter, ‘Coda: Turning Inside Out’, are already there in the first, ‘The Ecology of Magic’. Granted unprecedented access thanks to his conjuror’s sleight of hand, Abram challenges the anthropocentric assumptions of Western researchers who fail to recognise that the primary task of the indigenous shaman or medicine person is as an intermediary between the human and non-human worlds, and to care for the relationships between them. It is precisely because we overlook this dimension that we become obsessed with the supernatural, when all along: that which is regarded with the greatest awe and wonder by indigenous, oral cultures is, I suggest, none other than what we view as nature itself. The deeply mysterious powers and entities with whom the shaman enters into a rapport are ultimately the same forces—the same plants, animals, forests, and winds—that to literate, ‘civilised’ Europeans are just so much scenery, the pleasant backdrop of our more pressing human concerns. (Abram, 1997: 9) Turning the spotlight back on ourselves, Abram articulates a profoundly Jungian insight in refreshingly non-Jungian language, suggesting that: the ‘inner world’ of our Western psychological experience, like the supernatural heaven of Christian belief, originates in the loss of our ancestral reciprocity with the animate earth. When the animate powers that surround us are suddenly construed as having less significance than ourselves, when the generative earth is abruptly defined as a determinate object devoid of its own sensations and feelings, then the sense of a wild and multiplicitous otherness (in relation to which human existence has always oriented itself) must migrate, either into a supersensory heaven beyond the natural world, or else into the human skull itself—the only allowable refuge in this world for what is ineffable and unfathomable. (Abram, 1997: 10) There are resonances here too with Andy Fisher’s Radical Ecopsychology and with the panentheistic conclusions of the Sursem project. However, it is not enough merely to cite Hillman and Abram, with their emphasis on lived, sensuous experience, without trying to convey something of my own connection to the world soul. Some of my

132 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

most powerful experiences of this have been through immersion in indigenous cultures. Thus, for example, my first contact with the Quechua and Aymara cultures of the Peruvian Andes and their Earth deity Pachamama in 2000 moved me so deeply that I almost abandoned my plans to come to Zürich in favour of studying anthropology as a means of staying in that land with those people (Fellows, 2003). On my last day in Cuzco, I bought an original watercolour that ‘found’ me. It depicted Machu Picchu, which I had hiked to through the mountains for many days and entered at sunrise. The image enfolded the principal creatures of Quechua and Aymara myth—the condor, puma and snake—into the extraordinary topography of Machu Picchu. This beautiful painting continues to remind me of the seamless integration of cosmology with nature, of the world of imagination with that of the senses, of a culture that excelled in terraforming and astronomical observation. Few people would think of Japan as an archaic culture, yet its indigenous religion, Shinto, is deeply rooted in animism and the natural world. Time and again, when hiking in remote parts of the country, I suddenly had a strong feeling that where I was would be a good site for a shrine, turned the corner of the path, and encountered one. I have no idea whether the unusual energy of such places dictates or reflects the existence of shrines, but these repeated coincidences clearly indicate the agency of an unknown, transpersonal dimension, what in the West could be called genius loci—the spirit of the place. The shrines honour or celebrate the existence of (often local) Kami, which may be translated only approximately as ‘spirits’, ‘essence’ or ‘deities’. They are associated with many things, in some cases being human-like and in others animistic or associated with more Gaian natural forces in the world—mountains, rivers, lightning, fire, wind, waves, trees, rocks and so on. They may be best thought of as sacred elements and energies. Kami and people are not separate; they exist within the same world and share its interrelated complexity. These were all thoroughly pleasant personal experiences, but is there a dark side of the anima mundi? After all, Hillman asserts that: The renaissance of a psychology that returns psychic reality to the world will find its starting point in psychopathology, in the actualities of the psyche’s own suffering where depth psychology always arises, rather than in any psychological concepts about that reality. (Hillman, 1982/1995: 91–92) In 1999 I was avalanched while ice-climbing on Scotland’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis. I was swept several hundred feet down the mountainside and then had to deal, alone at first, with a female casualty who recovered consciousness, and with one fatality—her partner. Still roped together, they had fallen about a thousand feet down a rock buttress in the avalanche. Although climbing independently that day, I was also a long-standing mountain rescue team (MRT) member and was able to stabilise the woman’s condition, which was extremely serious, until the Lochaber MRT arrived after a couple of hours. My account of the incident was later published (Sharp & Whiteside, 2005: 26–30) but I did not share my inner experience of awe, in the true

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 133

sense of that now devalued word—a mixture of intense fear and wonder. The terrible power of nature was numinous and humbling, and the response of the other climbers who eventually came to my assistance deeply moving. During the period of shock, which took a couple of days to dissipate, I felt that nature had been malicious, even evil, but that feeling has long departed. Nonetheless, nature is dangerous, and it is as unwise to put Gaia on a pedestal as it is the unconscious. Both have their dark sides, and both demand ego strength in extremis. Almost a decade later, and after many years of Jungian analysis, I was diagnosed with a serious illness and underwent major surgery. It was a time of suffering and of an abrupt forced acceptance of limitation and of my own mortality; yet it was one of the richest episodes of my inner life in which I felt unfailingly ‘known’ by the anima mundi throughout. Disease is just as much a part of Gaia as disaster, but this time I never felt the temptation to ‘blame nature’. Rather, it felt as if a relationship carefully cultivated over the years was sustaining me, beginning with the evening sky just two days after my diagnosis about which I wrote, ‘A striking and beautiful sunbeam and cloud formation is visible through the kitchen window. It fills my heart with hope!’ On the day of the surgery I wrote, ‘Even my beloved mountains have come to greet me today.’ The Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau—the ‘big three’ of the Bernese Alps—were never as clearly visible beforehand or afterwards during my hospital stay. In the days immediately after the operation I recalled: I feel weak, slightly nauseous, as if all my systems are in energy-saving survival mode. I begin to feel unhappy with my lack of bravery, or at least of bravado. Then I have a vision of a palm tree surviving a hurricane by yielding to it rather than standing stiffly upright. I too have survived a hurricane. I have already mentioned the vision without attribution in my discussion of resilience in systems theory, about which I was unaware at this time. Later, a dream included ‘I am travelling three millennia or more into the past, into the safety of an archaic, molecular world of DNA, of life itself.’ Perhaps such experiences are what Thomas Berry was alluding to when he wrote in his contribution to Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century: Acceptance of the shadow aspect of the natural world is a primary condition for creative intimacy with the natural world. Without this opaque or ever threatening aspect of the universe we would lose our greatest source of creative energy. The opposing element is as necessary for us as the weight of the atmosphere that surrounds us. This containing element, even the gravity that binds us to the earth, should be experienced as liberating and energizing rather than confining. (Berry, 1987/1995: 16) Does this include human action? In England I have been assaulted and robbed by Hell’s Angels armed with a machete and (separately!) by a street-gang at knifepoint, and in California trapped in a car most of the way from San Francisco to Los Angeles with a drunk and violent driver who repeatedly threatened to blow my brains out.3 I

134 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

can only say that my inner experiences of such events have been utterly devoid of the transcendent, numinous qualities that characterised my encounters with the dark side of the anima mundi. These were encounters with human evil—one of the very few unique capacities of our species—that felt utterly meaningless. All of these experiences, for good or ill, have been rather unidirectional; but is there scope for a more reciprocal, even playful interaction between soul and world soul? I believe there is, as happened for example in a more active imaginal dialogue with nature I had in the mountains of Graubünden in 2006. Streams flowing from glacier melt diverged and then converged in a vast plain, where they resembled opposed deltas. I encountered this unusual feature while hiking with another goal in mind, but it impressed me so much that I returned a week later without knowing why. I was in crisis about research for my Diploma Thesis—the initial precursor of this book. I was also mid-way between two I Ching consultations where the question was ‘What is the meaning of the block which prevents me from writing my thesis?’ As the flow from the glacier spread out into a wider and wider field, the water was eventually no longer visible on the surface. This spoke to me of the block in my writing, but more generally than that of the need to let go of my focus, to stop trying so hard, to slow and to sink down away from the bright sunlight of consciousness. Gradually the process reversed, the water reappeared and converged to pass through a bottleneck, before repeating the whole cycle again further downstream. This resonated with the process of consulting the I Ching, with bringing unconscious contents to consciousness, with Bohm’s implicate and explicate order, and even with the collapse of the quantum wave function. It manifested in nature’s cycles in contrast to ego’s linearity. On my return visit, I lingered for an hour or more at a point where the exiting waters had cut a deep channel only a few feet wide through hard bedrock before tumbling down into the valley below. The water, murky with glacial silt at the start of its journey, had been transformed. It was crystal clear and sweet-tasting. I drank my fill! More generally, I have also previously mentioned moments of inspiration (breathing in) for this book while walking in nature. This is a less conscious form of dialogue without overt analogies being constructed, but I believe ultimately also a communion of souls.

5.5 Pathologies The correlations between the dynamics, structure and contents of psyche and Gaia are necessarily simple given our current knowledge, but nonetheless offer powerful tools for analysing our current predicament. Most important here is the correlation of ego with Homo sapiens in the context of psyche and Gaia. There is an uncanny parallel between the accelerating collective psychological phenomenon of ego dominance of the psyche and human dominance of the planet. Jung succinctly described the former as our ‘monotheism of consciousness’—a phrase I have used repeatedly, but here in its fuller context to emphasise the vehemence of Jung’s critique of the modern Western mind:

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 135

We lack all knowledge of the unconscious psyche and pursue the cult of consciousness to the exclusion of all else. Our true religion is a monotheism of consciousness, a possession by it, coupled with a fanatical denial of the existence of fragmentary autonomous systems. … This entails a great psychic danger, because the autonomous systems then behave like any other repressed contents: they necessarily induce wrong attitudes since the repressed material reappears in consciousness in spurious form. … The effect is collectively present all the time. (Jung, 1929/1967: §51) This spells out clearly the autonomy of the unconscious, which, as I have argued from the outset, doesn’t conveniently go away when ignored. Note too the term ‘fanatical denial’ because it is the defence mechanism that I will explore in some detail in the next chapter. Jung also explicitly warned about the breakdown of healthy psychic self-regulation in ‘civilised man’, attributing it to the ‘arbitrary manipulations of a one-sided will’ (Jung, 1954/1969c: §159). Since ego is the agent of will, Jung is again alluding to ego operating unchecked by the compensatory function of the unconscious. In both quotations he is addressing a collective pathology symptomatic of our ‘civilised’ culture rather than individual mental illness. The common thread is that we ignore the unconscious at our peril because of enantiodromia which occurs ‘when an extreme, one-sided tendency dominates conscious life’ (Jung, 1921/1971: §709). It is also to be expected from Jung’s warning that: The unconscious is … a natural entity which, as far as moral sense, aesthetic taste and intellectual judgement go, is completely neutral. It only becomes dangerous when our conscious attitude to it is hopelessly wrong. To the extent that we repress it, its danger increases. (Jung, 1946/1985: §329) One-sidedness and repression are forms of dissociation, a consequence of habitually misapplied either/or thinking, and the antithesis of wholeness. In their definition of dissociation, Samuels, Shorter and Plaut also link the phenomenon to problematic predispositions which have we have run into over and again in this book: Dissociation refers to an unconscious fragmenting of what should be linked in the personality, a kind of ‘disunion with oneself’. This suggests a collapse of a person’s potential to embody wholeness. Alternatively, dissociation may be used to describe a more or less conscious approach, one which fragments in order to ‘analyse’ when a holistic, all-embracing attitude would be more productive. Western society’s dependence on science and technology and on a certain ‘rational’ style of thinking illustrates this point of view. (Samuels et al., 1986: 47)

136 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

The origins of the dependence described in the last sentence can be traced back at least to the Enlightenment. It is simultaneously our greatest triumph and our most dangerous weakness. The terrible consequence of our over-rationality, one-sided will and monotheism of consciousness is our loss of soul—being strangers to our inner selves, to outer nature, to Gaia. This is the essence of what I meant by ‘disenchantment’. From a systems perspective, holism and complexity are lost, and resilience dangerously reduced. From the early days of Gaia theory, Lovelock warned that, through farming and technology, human dominance was reducing the range of responses open to Gaia, i.e., the diversity and resilience of the Earth system (Lovelock & Epton, 1975). He subsequently took this concern to its logical conclusion in a thought experiment to determine whether anything could annihilate Gaia. Having ruled out the capacity of even a meteor impact or all-out nuclear war to do so, his ‘doom scenario in which all life on earth down to that last deepburied spore is annihilated’ was the result of a genetically engineered bacterium, albeit created with the laudable intention of increasing food supply, running amok outside the laboratory through an unexpected symbiosis with another organism. Within six months The near infinity of creatures performing essential cooperative tasks was replaced by a greedy, uniform green scum, knowing nothing but an insatiable urge to feed and grow. … With Gaia moribund, the cybernetic control of the Earth’s surface composition and atmosphere at an optimum value for life had broken down … this stricken Earth would move slowly but inexorably towards a barren steady state. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: 38, 40–41) While Lovelock’s hypothetical apocalyptic monoculture may seem like science fiction, it illustrates the unpredictable consequences of human agency and the extreme danger of tipping points. While we haven’t yet reached such a catastrophic state of affairs, the major features of the Anthropocene share many of these characteristics. The explosion of human and livestock populations, the extent of human land-use, the technosphere and the Sixth Mass Extinction are all indisputable trends towards and reflecting human dominance. The two ‘core’ boundaries of climate change and biosphere integrity (Steffen et al., 2015) have the terrifying potential to tip the Earth system into an unknown state that is unlikely to be anything like (as hospitable to life as) present conditions. Only three years since that landmark publication, Will Steffen and his colleagues now starkly warn that this could happen to the climate within decades (Steffen et al., 2018). Table 5.3 sums up the correlations between pathologies of psyche and Gaia thus established. It is our relentless attempts to control and exploit nature that have led to the Anthropocene, which is physical enantiodromia on a global scale—material suffering caused by the quest for material comfort, or simply the deprivation resulting from greed.

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 137

TABLE 5.3 Correlated pathologies of pysche and Gaia.

Cause: Effect:

Psyche

Gaia

monotheism of consciousness enantiodromia

human dominance Anthropocene

Notes 1 I have qualified the timescale of human Self-realisation to accommodate both the widespread belief in reincarnation, especially in the Dharmic tradition, and the possibility that the process may continue after bodily death anyway. 2 The best maps available at that time had been made in 1952 by British botanists. The extent of glacier retreat due to climate change in the intervening decades was shocking, and in places made navigation difficult and the ascent and descent of all three principal peaks dangerous. 3 This precipitated my only (to date) out-of-body experience, in which I looked down on the two of us from above trying to see if he really did have a gun. It was my first ride hitchhiking in the U.S. after literally thousands of miles safely travelled likewise in Europe.

References Abram, D. (1997) The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-than-Human World. New York: Vintage. Adams, M.V. (1997) ‘The Archetypal School.’ in The Cambridge Companion to Jung. (Eds, Young-Eisendrath, P. & Dawson, T.) Cambridge, UK & New York: Cambridge University Press: 101–118. Atmanspacher, H. & Fach, W. (2015) ‘Mind-Matter Correlations in Dual–Aspect Monism According to Pauli and Jung.’ in Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. (Eds, Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P.) Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield: 195–226. Berry, T. (1987/1995) ‘The Viable Human.’ in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. (Ed., Sessions, G.) Boston & London: Shambhala: 8–18. Bohm, D. & Peat, F.D. (1987/2000) Science, Order, and Creativity. London: Routledge. Colman, W. (2006) ‘The Self.’ in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. (Ed., Papadopoulos, R.K.) London & New York: Routledge: 153–174. Fellows, A. (2003) ‘The Andean Concept of Pacha.’ Ethnology Paper, C.G. Jung Institut, Zürich. Goodwin, B. (1994) How the Leopard Changed its Spots: The Evolution of Complexity. New York: Scribner. Goodwin, B. (2007) ‘Gaia and Holistic Science.’ in Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia. (Ed., Midgley, M.) Exeter: Imprint Academic: 12–22. Hillman, J. (1982/1995) ‘Anima Mundi: The Return of the Soul to the World.’ in The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World. Woodstock, CT: Spring: 89–130. Jung, C.G. (1921/1971) ‘Definitions.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 6: Psychological Types. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 408–486. Jung, C.G. (1928/1953) ‘The Relations between the Ego and the Unconscious.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 7: Two Essays on Analytical Psychology. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul: 121–239.

138 A Psyche–Gaia conjecture

Jung, C.G. (1929/1967) ‘Commentary on “the Secret of the Golden Flower”.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 13: Alchemical Studies. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 1–56. Jung, C.G. (1939/1976) ‘The Symbolic Life.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 18: The Symbolic Life. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 267–292. Jung, C.G. (1946/1985) ‘The Practical Use of Dream Analysis.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 16: The Practice of Psychotherapy. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 139–162. Jung, C.G. (1952/1970) ‘Symbols of the Mother and of Rebirth.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 5: Symbols of Transformation. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 207–273. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969a) ‘Psychological Commentary on The Tibetan Book of the Great Liberation.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 11: Psychology and Religion: West and East. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 475–508. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969b) ‘Psychology and Religion.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 11: Psychology and Religion: West and East. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 4–105. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969c) ‘The Transcendent Function.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 67–91. Jung, C.G. (1963/1995) Memories, Dreams, Reflections. London: Fontana. Kast, V. (2006) ‘Anima/Animus.’ in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. (Ed., Papadopoulos, R.K.) London & New York: Routledge: 113–129. Krieger, N.M. (2013) Bridges to Consciousness: Complexes and Complexity. (Research in Analytical Psychology and Jungian Studies). London: Routledge. Lovelock, J.E. & Epton, S. (1975) ‘The Quest for Gaia.’ New Scientist, 65(935): 304–306. Lovelock, J. (1979/2000) Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press. Mackey, J.L. (forthcoming) ‘Why Don’t Holisms Describe the Whole? The Psyche as a Case Study.’ in Holism: Possibilities and Problems. (Eds, McMillan, C., Main, R. & Henderson, D.) London: Routledge. Macmurray, J. (1936) Interpreting the Universe. London: Faber and Faber. Meadows, D.H. (2008) Thinking in Systems: A Primer. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. Monbiot, G. (2014) Feral: Rewilding the Land, Sea and Human Life. London: Penguin. Peat, F.D. (1987) Synchronicity: The Bridge between Matter and Mind. Toronto & New York: Bantam. Samuels, A., Shorter, B. & Plaut, F. (1986) A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis. London & New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Sharp, B. & Whiteside, J. (2005) Mountain Rescue. Kirkby Stephen: Hayloft. Steffen, W. et al. (2015) ‘Sustainability: Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet.’ Science, 347(6223): 1259855. doi:10.1126/science.1259855 Steffen, W. et al. (2018) ‘Trajectories of the Earth System in the Anthropocene.’ Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(33): 8252–8259. doi:10.1073/pnas.1810141115 Stein, M. (1998) Transformation: Emergence of the Self. (Carolyn and Ernest Fay Series in Analytical Psychology). College Station: Texas A&M University Press. Stevens, A. (1993) The Two Million-Year-Old Self. (Carolyn and Ernest Fay Series in Analytical Psychology). College Station: Texas A & M University Press. Stevens, A. (2001) Jung: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stevens, A. (2006) ‘The Archetypes.’ in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. (Ed., Papadopoulos, R.K.) London & New York: Routledge: 74–93.

A Psyche–Gaia conjecture 139

Stevens, A. (2002/2015) Archetype Revisited: An Updated Natural History of the Self. (Routledge Mental Health Classic Editions). London & New York: Routledge. Stevens, A. (2015) ‘Personal Afterword, From Archetype Revisited (2002).’ in Living Archetypes: The Selected Works of Anthony Stevens (World Library of Mental Health). London; New York: Routledge: 179–185. Tacey, D. (2009) Edge of the Sacred: Jung, Psyche, Earth. Einsiedeln: Daimon. van der Post, L. (1984/1985) ‘Wilderness: A Way of Truth.’ in A Testament to the Wilderness: Ten Essays on an Address by C. A. Meier. Zürich: Daimon: 45–57. von Franz, M.-L. (1988/1992) Psyche and Matter. Boston & London: Shambhala. von Wright, G.H. (1971) Explanation and Understanding. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press.

6 HEROIC DEVELOPMENT

6.1 Success story The rationale for this chapter can be summed up in the immortal words from a foundational book of Taoism, the Tao Te Ching attributed to the semi-legendary ‘old master’, Lao-Tze,1 variously believed to have lived between the 4th and 6th centuries BCE: ‘a thousand miles journey begins with the ground under your feet’ (Laozi, Daodejing, Chapter 64; Sabbadini, 2013: 499). Navigation—an admittedly optimistic motif of this book—begins with knowing where one is and how one got there; otherwise any map, however accurate, is useless. Taking stock of the here and now provides a solid starting point and hints at the way ahead. This is also how I almost invariably begin a Jungian analysis in my practice, exploring the facts of the situation without unduly psychologising or imposing my own interpretation or judgement. Since this chapter is informed throughout by Jung’s ‘cradle to grave’ developmental theory, focusing especially on the enantiodromia of mid-life, a brief historical review of how we came to this point is needed. By any biological standards, the history of human development has been an extraordinary success against some formidable odds. Homo sapiens (which means discerning, wise, sensible human being) is the only surviving member of the genus Homo. We have a highly developed brain, capable of abstract reasoning, rich language, introspection, creativity, symbolic awareness and sophisticated problem-solving. This mental capability, combined with walking on two legs that frees the hands and arms for manipulating objects, has allowed us to make far greater use of tools than any other species. The controlled use of fire, estimated to be from 200,000 to 1.7 million years ago, was a turning point in our, or our ancestors’, cultural evolution. The current estimate from mitochondrial DNA and fossil evidence is that anatomically modern humans originated in Africa about 315,000 years ago (Hublin et al., 2017; Richter et al., 2017), though new discoveries such as these in Morocco continue to push this

Heroic development 141

estimate back further and further.2 As previously noted, we are extremely numerous and widely dispersed, and have established ourselves as the planetary apex predator in all environments—terrestrial, aquatic, marine and even aloft. This is a staggering achievement for a relatively weak, naked ape devoid of any outstanding physical capabilities, which has catapulted us into a position of unprecedented planetary dominance among vertebrates. Like most higher primates, we are social by nature, and appear to be supremely adept at utilising systems of communication for self-expression, the exchange of ideas, and organisation. We create complex social structures composed of many cooperating and competing groups across a huge range of scales, from families to nations to empires. Social interactions have established an extremely wide variety of values, social norms, and rituals, which together form the basis of human society. We have a marked appreciation for beauty and aesthetics which, combined with our desire for self-expression, has led to cultural innovations such as art, literature and music. We desire to understand and influence our environment, seeking to explain and manipulate natural phenomena through science, philosophy, mythology and religion. This natural curiosity has led to the development of advanced tools and skills, which are passed down culturally; we are the only extant species known to build fires, cook their food, clothe themselves, and use numerous other technologies. Although evidence for modern human migration out of Africa some 177–194,000 years ago based on a jawbone found in present-day Israel has recently been reported (Hershkovitz et al., 2018), it is generally believed that the human exodus from Africa was in two waves about 100–130,000 and 50–70,000 years ago. To put this into perspective, European settlers reached the Americas only 500 years ago, the Industrial Revolution was just over 300 years ago, and the Great Acceleration described in Chapter 2 began in the 1950s—less than 70 years ago. Perhaps still the most iconic image of our astounding technological progress is the scene in Stanley Kubrick’s epic science-fiction film 2001: A Space Odyssey (Kubrick & Clarke, 1968), when a prehistoric ancestor throws a large bone, now used as a weapon, spinning high into the air and the scene cuts, without any intervening narrative or images, to a spaceship.3 Our development from a ubiquitous hunter-gatherer existence about 10,000 years ago to the Neolithic Revolution—the development of agriculture—until the earliest nation states emerged around 6,000 years ago is paralleled in ‘The Stages of Life’ by Jung’s ‘islands of consciousness’ model of infant ego development. It is a fact that in the early years of life there is no continuous memory; at most there are islands of consciousness which are like single lamps or lighted objects in the far-flung darkness. But these islands of memory are not the same as those earliest connections which are merely perceived; they contain a new, very important series of contents belonging to the perceiving subject himself, the so-called ego. (Jung, 1954/1969: §755)

142 Heroic development

Although this is widely regarded as rudimentary and unsophisticated in comparison with other infant development theories, I find in it a striking correlation with the emergence of multiple cultures—from prehistoric tribal groupings to the great early civilisations of Egypt, Central America, China and so on—separated by sometimes vast distances from one another. It is also the first appearance in the essay of geocentric analogy, a device which Jung resorts to at greater length in his central motif, the daily course of the sun across the sky. I have called this chapter ‘Heroic Development’ for two reasons. The first is to celebrate our past achievement as a species, not least to balance the criticism that lies ahead. The second is to emphasise the archetypal nature of human evolution which has been a process of psychological and, increasingly now, physical separation from Gaia / the anima mundi / the Great Mother. It is the story of the hero figure universally present in mythology. As Hopcke notes, ‘Jung saw with these common themes that the Hero could be understood as an archetype within the collective psyche and, moreover, that this archetype was the one most often identified with humanity’s emerging ego consciousness’ (Hopcke, 1989: 113) However, and this is entirely in the spirit of ‘The Stages of Life’, he continues: Jung’s deep appreciation for the power and potentiality of the unconscious led him to be suspicious of any overvaluation of heroic ego consciousness, viewing humanity’s capacity and struggle for self-awareness as but one stage in the evolution of collective consciousness, a stage perhaps now worn out and in need of transformation. For Jung, the classical Greek concept of hubris, overweening pride, applies as much to our contemporary faith in our ability to produce, act and achieve as it did in the time of Sophocles or Homer. To identify ourselves with the Hero is to flirt with disaster, psychologically and these days perhaps literally. (Hopcke, 1989: 114–115) I suggest that this is exactly what we have collectively done, and in so doing have succumbed not only to hubris but, partly because the hero is archetypally masculine, also to rampant patriarchy. The problem is that the heroic attitude was essential for our species and we are now unable to let it go. Anyone who doubts this need only look at any mainstream cinema programme or go into the boy’s department of a toy shop! This extraordinary growth of power—and the associated overcrowding, urbanisation, technology and the abstractions of money and now cyberspace—has largely severed our relations with the natural world, ourselves, and even our own bodies. ‘The Stages of Life’ explains why we are so fixated: The nearer we approach to the middle of life, and the better we have succeeded in entrenching ourselves in our personal attitudes and social positions, the more it appears as if we had discovered the right course and the right ideals and principles of behaviour. For this reason we suppose them to be eternally valid, and make a virtue of unchangeably clinging to them. We overlook the

Heroic development 143

essential fact that the social goal is attained only at the cost of a diminution of personality. Many—far too many—aspects of life which should also have been experienced lie in the lumber-room among dusty memories; but sometimes, too, they are glowing coals under grey ashes. (Jung, 1954/1969: 772) Jung’s warning becomes more explicit still: The significance of the morning undoubtedly lies in the development of the individual, our entrenchment in the outer world, the propagation of our kind, and the care of our children. This is the obvious purpose of nature. But when this purpose has been attained—and more than attained—shall the earning of money, the extension of conquests, and the expansion of life go steadily on beyond the bounds of all reason and sense? Whoever carries over into the afternoon the law of the morning, or the natural aim, must pay for it with damage to his soul. (Jung, 1954/1969: 787) Here, clearly spelled out, is the unwelcome intimation of enantiodromia and its challenges that I will explore in the next section. To segue into that, however, I want to explore the historical roots of our ecological crisis via the eponymous lecture to the American Association for the Advancement of Science by Lynn White Jr., Professor of History at the University of California Los Angeles, that was published in the journal Science half a century ago. This classic overview is deservedly still widely cited. While acknowledging that all forms of life modify their contexts, White noted that concern about the consequences of anthropogenic changes was growing rapidly in the last third of the 20th Century, going on to say that acceptance of the Baconian creed that scientific knowledge means technological power over nature in the 19th Century ‘may mark the greatest event in human history since the invention of agriculture, and perhaps in nonhuman terrestrial history as well’ (White, 1967: 1203). He contends that the concept of ecology (the word first appeared in the English language in 1873) was in response to this. White nonetheless asserts that, while acknowledging its indebtedness to other cultures, Western leadership in science and technology can be traced back much further to around 1000 CE at the latest, thus far pre-dating the so-called scientific and industrial revolutions. As evidence, he cites the harnessing of water, then wind, power for industrial processes other than milling grain, followed by the translation of Arabic and Greek scientific texts into Latin, which enabled European science to overtake that of Islam by the late 13th Century. By the 15th Century this superiority enabled even small European nations to conquer, loot and colonise much of the rest of the world. Having situated the development of science and technology much earlier than do conventional historians, White then examines the impacts of contemporaneous assumptions and developments, beginning with agriculture—specifically the humble plough. The gradual replacement in northern Europe of the scratch plough by the more effective

144 Heroic development

turn plough, which began in the late 7th Century, transformed the basis of land distribution and, he argues, through its inherent brutality our relationship to the soil: Formerly man had been part of nature; now he was the exploiter of nature. Nowhere else in the world did farmers develop any analogous agricultural implement. Is it coincidence that modern technology, with its ruthlessness toward nature, has so largely been produced by descendants of these peasants of northern Europe? (White, 1967: 1205) Alongside the rise of science, technology and exploitation of nature in Europe was the replacement of paganism by Christianity, which White described as ‘the greatest psychic revolution in the history of our culture’, before commenting that ‘Especially in its Western form, Christianity is the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen’ (White, 1967: 1205). The resulting combination of the power to exploit nature with the attitude to do so not only with indifference, but also in the conviction that it is God’s will, has contributed to the ‘perfect storm’ that now engulfs us. White makes it clear that he is not opposed to Christianity per se; indeed, he describes himself as a troubled churchman. Moreover, he contends that many others who would describe themselves as non-Christian still unconsciously adopt the Christian axioms with which Europeans have lived for seventeen centuries. I would add to his argument that, conversely, some of the deepest ecological thinkers, such as Teilhard de Chardin and Thomas Berry, were devout Christians; and Alistair McIntosh’s highly recommended Soil and Soul: People Versus Corporate Power (McIntosh, 2004) demonstrates the vital role of deeply embedded Christian belief in cherishing the sanctity of the natural world, and hence defending it. White’s point, and the raison d’être for this book, is that science and technology alone are unlikely to redeem our dysfunctional relationship with nature without a transformation of our attitude. He concludes by positing an alternative Christian view to replace the dominator ethos of our science and technology due to ‘orthodox Christian arrogance’ with the egalitarian and reciprocal attitude towards nature exemplified by Saint Francis of Assisi. Judging by the consensus among American evangelicals and other fundamentalists on the ‘religious right’, White’s plea has largely fallen on deaf ears in the U.S. If you are in any doubt about this, take a look at the websites of the Cornwall Alliance and similar organisations or read ‘The Greening of Christianity? A Study of Environmental Attitudes over Time’ by David Konisky, which found that: In contradistinction to the ideas of Lynn White and others who have long suggested that the Judeo-Christian tradition fosters a ‘dominion over nature’ ethos, a number of scholars have recently argued that there has been a ‘greening of Christianity’. Largely missing from this debate is strong evidence at the individual level as to whether Christians have in fact adopted deeper environmental concerns over time. This study provides such evidence through an examination of longitudinal data from Gallup’s annual surveys on the

Heroic development 145

environment. The analysis reveals little evidence that Christians have expressed more environmental concern over time. In fact, across many measures, Christians tend to show less concern about the environment. This pattern holds across Catholic, Protestant and other Christian denominations and for differing levels of religiosity. These findings support a conclusion that there has not been a discernible ‘greening of Christianity’ among the American public. (Konisky, 2017: 267) There are of course devout adherents to all faiths who are extremely concerned and conscientious about the environment, including among U.S. Christians. Pope Francis’ Laudato Si, or Encyclical Letter ‘On Care for our Common Home’ in 2015 made climate change and more generally the issue of the environment central to the church’s teaching. Organisations such as GreenFaith, who describe themselves as ‘interfaith partners for the environment’, encourage human stewardship of the Earth. White was nonetheless correct—a largely religious problem requires a commensurately religious, in the broadest sense of that word, solution. Much more recently, environmentalist George Marshall urged the environmental movement to appeal to people’s convictions, as religious movements do (Marshall, 2014: 214–225). However one interprets ‘religion’, it clearly goes beyond reason alone, was a lifelong object of fascination and study for Jung, and therefore brings us back into the domain of analytical psychology.

6.2 Perfect storm As the novelist and poet Thomas Hardy wrote in 1898, and again in 1918, ‘If a way to the Better there be, it exacts a full look at the Worst.’ The substance of this section, and the emphasis of this chapter, is therefore a circumscribed critique of the dominant Zeitgeist. As noted previously, humankind is so diverse, both culturally and individually, that a homogeneous Zeitgeist cannot be said to exist, hence the qualifier ‘dominant’. By this I mean specifically the main driver of anthropogenic environmental impacts, the historical roots of which have just been so eloquently outlined by White. More recent factors such as the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution and the invention of capitalism also all originated in Europe, so this worldview is still most strongly entrenched in Europe and North America. It is spreading throughout the world via globalisation, but ‘we’, as I have carefully defined, remain the exemplars, so will be the focus of my attention.

Enantiodromia My critique of the dominant Zeitgeist combines the dynamics of mid-life in Jung’s ‘Stages of Life’ developmental theory with the posited correlations between psyche and Gaia, especially their pathologies. I will briefly recap the most salient points from these chapters, including repeated citations where helpful, to frame my

146 Heroic development

arguments. I am well aware of many excellent critiques from other perspectives— political, cognitive and so on—and have included recommended further reading in those areas in the Appendix. I cannot pursue them in detail here, despite the immense temptation to do so, but I may include aspects of them when appropriate. The starting point of my own long-term, generalised and psychological critique here is enantiodromia—the inexorable ‘rebound of the unconscious’ when anything becomes too one-sided. In the collective psychological context, we have succumbed to ‘a monotheism of consciousness, a possession by it, coupled with a fanatical denial of the existence of fragmentary autonomous systems’ (Jung, 1929/1967: §51) which manifests largely as ‘Western society’s dependence on science and technology and on a certain “rational” style of thinking’ (Samuels, Shorter & Plaut, 1986: 47). It is this onesidedness which, to repeat that colourful if exaggerated slogan, has propelled us into the technological ‘atomic age’ but stranded us in the psychological ‘stone age’—a dangerous mix. Reducing our post-Enlightenment dependence on science and technology is now advocated by some, though to the majority is inconceivable, and there’s little sign of it happening any time soon. However, controversial as that may be, relying less exclusively on our cherished ‘rational’ style of thinking is even harder to contemplate. As Jung warns, the rebound from the long-neglected and undervalued unconscious will be equally powerful, and dangerous to the extent that we repress it or our attitude to it is wrong. In other words, such a rebound can be crude and destructive. One way to understand the difference between what appears to be happening now and the principles of deep ecology presented in the next chapter is that the former is the decline of reason, leaving a dangerous void due to a Machiavellian but ultimately unconscious abdication of ego responsibility, whereas the latter is a process of re-enchantment through a voluntary and healthy process of ego relativisation. In the collective, abdication of ego responsibility manifests as disregard for social impacts; in the context of Gaia it amounts to denial of anthropogenic impacts. As we shall see, these tendencies are strongly connected. ‘The Stages of Life’ puts enantiodromia into the context of the individual and, via upscaling, collective lifecycle as the shift of emphasis throughout life, and especially at mid-life from ego development to Self-realisation (individuation). Another way to view our one-sidedness is that we have pursued the former at the expense of the latter. The Psyche–Gaia conjecture maps these processes onto separation from, and reconciliation with, nature (Gaia) respectively. Figure 6.1 revisits Jung’s ‘passage of the sun’ schema to illustrate these features. To repeat what he wrote about the midlife transition: ‘At the stroke of noon the descent begins. And the descent means the reversal of all the ideals and values that were cherished in the morning. The sun falls into contradiction with itself’ and ‘Whoever carries over into the afternoon the law of the morning, or the natural aim, must pay for it with damage to his soul’ (Jung, 1954/1969: §778, 787). I have added arrows to Figure 6.1 to represent three common responses to this challenging time of life—inertia, nostalgia and hubris—all of which ignore Jung’s warnings. These can legitimately be viewed as different modes of denial of the profound self-questioning that is required to negotiate the

Heroic development 147

Hubris

Nostalgia Mid-life transition

Self-realisation Reconciliation with nature

Ego development Separation from nature

Birth

FIGURE 6.1

Inertia

⇐ Nature / Gaia ⇒

Death

Common responses to the mid-life transition in the contexts of psyche and Gaia.

transition. I have labelled the base line ‘Nature / Gaia’ to emphasise our evolving relationship with the outer world as well as the inner. Birth and death can remain on this base line as they are integral to all nature, not just the human life cycle. Other features have been removed for clarity as they have no significant bearing on the following discussion. We are now passing through the zenith of the sun’s passage, the crowning glory of our ego development and our maximum separation from nature; but, like it or not, all that is about to change. Yet another way to view our predicament is as hostages of our own success. As someone once said, and was famously cited by the American literary critic and Marxist political theorist Fredric Jameson, it is now easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism. I mention this not to advocate Marxism (I don’t, nor any other political ideology), but to illustrate the mesmerising power of presumed ‘eternal validity’. Whether mid-life is a transition or escalates into a full-blown crisis depends on how inflexible we have become, and the signs are not good. Jung describes what very frequently happens: one’s cherished convictions and principles, especially the moral ones, begin to harden and to grow increasingly rigid until, somewhere around the age of fifty, a period of intolerance and fanaticism is reached. It is as if the existence of these principles were endangered and it were therefore necessary to emphasize them all the more. (Jung, 1954/1969: §773)

148 Heroic development

Few would dispute that overt intolerance and fanaticism are on the rise, but still living as we do in unprecedented luxury, we don’t want to give anything up, as shown by our insatiable consumption, and our obsession with economic growth; this is the covert fanaticism that, together with population growth, drives us into the Anthropocene. In the 1960s President Kennedy’s environmental advisor, the economist Kenneth Boulding, trenchantly observed that ‘Anyone who believes in indefinite growth in anything physical, on a physically finite planet, is either mad— or an economist.’ Yet almost half a century later, at his press conference after being re-elected President, Barack Obama (whose successor makes him look like a paragon of environmentalism) declared that: I think the American people right now have been so focused, and will continue to be focused on our economy and jobs and growth, that if the message is somehow we’re going to ignore jobs and growth simply to address climate change, I don’t think anybody is going to go for that. I won’t go for that. Apart from being a prime example of misapplied either/or thinking, this shows that Boulding’s simple axiom is apparently intolerable across the established political spectrum in America and elsewhere. In The Turning Point, Fritjof Capra wrote of the difficulty we have in understanding that more of something good isn’t always better, insisting that ‘getting’ this was essential to ecological thinking. (Capra, 1982/1983: 25) Indeed, coming back to the fundamental attitude that we cling to, and hence the title of this chapter, it is again worth citing Jung, who wrote ‘If heroism becomes chronic, it ends in a cramp, and the cramp leads to catastrophe or to neurosis or both’ (Jung, 1928/1953: 41). Like the monkey trapped by its fist in the rice jar, we are stuck, and hence neurotic: The very frequent neurotic disturbances of adult years all have one thing in common: they want to carry the psychology of the youthful phase over the threshold of the so-called years of discretion. … It is as if unknown and dangerous tasks awaited him, or as if he were threatened with sacrifices and losses which he does not wish to accept, or as if his life up to now seemed to him so fair and precious that he could not relinquish it. (Jung, 1954/1969: §777) Taken together, the above citations express the essence of our current confusion, paralysis and denial, which are inseparable from the decline of reason. This isn’t merely passive decay; reason, and its companion truth, are currently suffering sustained and widespread degradation and even attack via many vectors, including advanced technologies that are themselves the ‘rational’ products of post-Enlightenment science. That technology can have harmful psychological as well as environmental impacts may come as no surprise, but its role in the decline of reason is particularly ironic and, perhaps, unexpected—as if ego has turned against itself. Whatever the causes of decline, the consequences of our one-sided conscious life are just as Jung warned—our

Heroic development 149

conscious performance is indeed inhibited, and there are signs that we are beginning to lose conscious control. Since navigation is a process of reason based on facts, how are we now to navigate anything, let alone the challenges of climate change and the Anthropocene? This is surely a defining question of our time. Before I examine our modes of denial through the lens of the theories I have presented, I should reiterate that not everything can be explained in this way, least of all the problem of evil, which Jung regarded as an active principle, not merely the absence of good as per the Catholic doctrine of privatio boni. I must confess to a feeling in my bones that something immense, dark, dangerous and entirely beyond reason is constellating worldwide, finding expression in countless ways, from individual and group bigotry to institutionalised racism and the rapid rise of authoritarianism. I imagine that many people must have had similar fears prior to World War II—Jung certainly did—and many do now. Jung famously observed that: Logically the opposite of love is hate, and of Eros, Phobos, (fear); but psychologically it is the will to power. Where love reigns, there is no will to power; and where the will to power is paramount, love is lacking. The one is but the shadow of the other. (Jung, 1928/1953: §78) The will to power is once more rampant, most frighteningly in our leaders and their associates. Our undiminished capacity for evil towards one another is summarised with terrifying intensity in W.B. Yeats’ poem ‘The Second Coming’ (1920) which, tellingly, seems to be frequently cited these days. Geopolitical stressors such as over-population, environmental degradation and competition for resources, notably oil, constitute the unacknowledged lifeblood of demagogues everywhere who inflame the risks of fascism, conflict and perhaps another genocide. Forced migration within and between countries is now on an almost unimaginable scale and, according to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), at its highest level since records began. By the end of 2016, some 65.6 million individuals were forcibly displaced worldwide as a result of persecution, conflict, violence or human rights violations (UNHCR, 2017). Evidence of enantiodromia even in recent history isn’t hard to find, but few look for it because our faith in progress goes unquestioned. Special Adviser to the U. N. Secretary General and international relations specialist Jennifer Welsh’s The Return of History: Conflict, Migration and Geopolitics in the Twenty-First Century (Welsh, 2016) chillingly and meticulously documents the return of barbarism, mass flight, the Cold War and inequality. Coming back to denial as the common feature in our collective response to the dangers of the Anthropocene, the following examination covers inertia, nostalgia and hubris as shown in Figure 6.1. It should be borne in mind that these modes overlap in many areas, and that my differentiation is in part a way to organise research material.

150 Heroic development

6.3 Inertia Of the three modes of denial, inertia is the most important, being so widespread as to merit description as our ‘default attitude’. After all, what could be easier than unquestioningly ‘going with the flow’ in a culture that encourages us to conform and consume in so many ways? To examine these ways, I have concentrated on the U.S. and the U.K., as indeed I do throughout this section, for several reasons. The most pragmatic is that, thanks to my British origins, a more-or-less common language and ‘special relationship’, these are the countries and cultures that I know most about. More significantly, they have been the historical epicentres of industrialisation, consumerism, capitalism and neoliberal globalisation, and have led the global exploitation of fossil fuels. In all these respects they have built up more momentum than other countries over a longer period of time, and have therefore impacted Gaia disproportionately, as Bonneuil and Fressoz note: The overwhelming share of responsibility for climate change of the two hegemonic powers of the nineteenth (Great Britain) and twentieth (United States) centuries attests to the fundamental link between climate change and projects of world domination. (Bonneuil & Fressoz, 2017: 117) Their suggestion that the Anthropocene should be called the ‘Anglocene’ cannot be dismissed as mere Gallic pique—according to the Carbon Dioxide Information Analysis Center data that they graph, Great Britain and the United States together were responsible for an estimated 60% of cumulative global anthropogenic CO2 emissions to 1900, and still some 50% by 1980. Although China overtook the U.S. in 2005,4 with such a historical background it is unlikely to be a coincidence that climate change denial is best orchestrated in the English-speaking world, including significantly Australia with its massive coal reserves, and Canada with its tar sands. More controversially, I contend that both nations are now demonstrably in decline and therefore serve as ‘canaries in the cage’ for what lies ahead elsewhere in the world, especially as they are, ostensibly at least, democracies permitting free speech and thus revealing of collective attitudes. This selectivity does not let other nations embracing more or less the same Zeitgeist off the hook; nor does it, despite appearances in some of my fiercer criticisms, imply generalised animosity to the good people on both sides of the pond. Inertia, stasis and even deliberately induced paralysis are the ‘business as usual’ responses to our present circumstances favoured by those—principally corporations and the extremely wealthy—that benefit from the status quo and are threatened by change. They all have huge vested interests in keeping things just as they are, whether promoting consumption, opposing tax reform or resisting environmental legislation. The obvious flaw is that ‘things’ don’t stay as they are because of the economic growth that inertia presumes and depends upon and the resulting environmental impacts. Of the three modes of denial, inertia implicates us all the most because it is a very human failing.

Heroic development 151

It would of course be simplistic to claim that the unconscious has been totally ignored, and one profoundly influential sector actually exploits a conscious attitude to it that is ‘hopelessly wrong’—advertising. I want to examine this in some detail because of its importance both psychologically and environmentally as the driver par excellence of consumption, and because of the assertion in an essay, ‘The All-Consuming Self’, in Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth / Healing the Mind that ‘Corporate advertising is likely the largest single psychological project ever undertaken by the human race, yet its stunning impact remains curiously ignored by mainstream Western psychology’ (Kanner & Gomes, 1995: 80). The oversight has not been mutual, and thanks to the extraordinary discoveries of the early depth psychologists—Freud, Jung and others—the unconscious psyche has been monetised and weaponised in the 20th Century. Although I stand by my argument in this book that depth psychology is integral to the metanoia needed to confront the Anthropocene, here I admit that it has also been largely responsible for many of our current problems. Like all forms of knowledge and technology, depth psychology is a two-edged sword, and whether it is therapeutic or manipulative depends on who wields it. This has been brilliantly exposed in another Adam Curtis documentary, The Century of the Self (Curtis, 2002). The first two episodes of this four-part BBC series expose the perversion of depth psychology to serve the economy and make a great deal of money for the guilty parties in the process. The principal protagonist was Sigmund Freud’s nephew in America, Edward Bernays (1891–1995), who invented the term ‘public relations’ (PR) because he felt that the Germans had brought ‘propaganda’ into disrepute in World War I. Bernays believed that psychoanalysis could be used not just to understand the baser human drives, but to control them. His aim was to manipulate public opinion by appealing to, and attempting to influence, the unconscious. James Hillman’s uncompromising warning seems horribly pertinent here: ‘By identifying the soul and psychological work with the subjective ego and its aims, psychology becomes satanic’ (Hillman, 1975: 48). Bernays’ influence grew until he had the ear of President Hoover who, in 1928 after his election, told a group of advertising and corporate executives: ‘You have taken over the job of creating desire and turned people into constantly moving happiness machines, machines which have become the key to economic progress.’ Indeed, the process of stimulating ‘wants’ and turning ‘wants into needs’ has been a major driver of the Great Acceleration. Curtis then directs his wrath towards Anna Freud, whose influence was behind President Truman’s establishment in 1946 of the National Mental Health Act. He shows how she insisted that the way to control (a euphemism for the repression that Jung warned against) inner drives was by conforming to social norms in order to build up a stronger ego5—a recipe for inertia that could be viewed as diametrically opposed to individuation. Then came the Institute for Motivational Research and Ernest Dichter, Sigmund Freud’s former neighbour and colleague in Vienna, who established the first focus groups. The last two episodes of Curtis’ series document the fall from favour, and therefore from power, of psychoanalysis,

152 Heroic development

and the emergence of what might most generally be called the human potential movement to fill the void. But psychology is still being prostituted to manipulate the collective by stimulating consumerism. Curtis shows the development of VALs (values, attitudes and lifestyles) by ‘social scientist and consumer futurist’ Arnold Mitchell and his colleagues at SRI International in 1978, and the new concepts of ‘self-actualisation’ and ‘inner-directeds’ that were so influential on the free-market politics of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. Curtis asserts that they understood perfectly that consumerism was the way to give people the illusion of control, and concludes that our desires are in charge, not we ourselves. This is tantamount to the wilful and dangerous erosion of reason in the interests of economic growth. I should add that, although Curtis never mentions Jung, analytical psychology or any of its practitioners, this should not be interpreted as exoneration, or as a rebuke of Freudian and other schools of psychoanalysis per se. The specifically Jungian theory of archetypes, to take just one aspect, has been consciously applied in contemporary culture. A relatively well-known example of this was the recruitment of Joseph Campbell, an expert in the archetypal patterns of mythology, by George Lucas to assist in creating the original Star Wars stories; but it would be naive not to suspect less benign forms of subliminal manipulation using comparable techniques. Advertising is a subset of the broader dark art and science of ‘perception management’ that depends on exaggerated claims, selective truths and even demonstrable lies which, as Joseph Goebbels realised, could become believable if repeated often enough. Above all, it depends on mass media for communication—a capability that has reached unprecedented potency and ubiquity in our culture. Reeling from the horrors of Nazi and Stalinist totalitarianism, in 1949 George Orwell wrote his landmark dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four, which, with its ruthlessly orchestrated disinformation and inescapable surveillance, seems increasingly prescient today. Likewise, in 1951 Hannah Arendt observed in The Origins of Totalitarianism that it is the inability to distinguish between true and false, and between fact and fiction (the standards of thought and experience respectively) rather than political conviction that render people susceptible to totalitarian rule (Arendt, 1951/1973: 474). In a newspaper article promoting her new book, The Death of Truth: Notes on Falsehood in the Age of Trump (Kakutani, 2018a), Pulitzer Prizewinning former New York Times book critic Michiko Kakutani warns that Arendt’s acute observation is terrifyingly relevant today—we are confronted not just with ‘fake news’, but with fake science and history, for example climate scepticism and Holocaust denial respectively, with fake social media postings from Russian troll factories and many others, and so on (Kakutani, 2018b). In short, she presents devastating evidence for the erosion of truth over recent decades, drawing on many of the sources that have informed this book. Trust in reality will be compromised even further in the next few years as artificial intelligence becomes more proficient at creating ‘deep fakes’ using genuine audio and video to help create fake audio and video in which people can be made to appear to say or do things that they haven’t (Chesney & Citron, 2018).

Heroic development 153

While stirring up wild swings of belief and emotion in the short term, the result of all this in the long term—the view I am taking here—is confusion, and therefore inertia, whether in the form of the political dream of eternal power, the economic fantasy of endless growth or the corporate subversion of evidence that threatens the bottom line. A rigorously substantiated exposition of the last of these is presented in Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues from Tobacco Smoke to Global Warming (Oreskes & Conway, 2012), which shows how right-wing think-tanks, the fossil fuel industry and other corporate groupings with a vested interest in discrediting science have for decades employed a strategy first used by the tobacco industry (‘doubt is our product’) to try to confuse the public about the dangers of smoking. Their spectacular success in prolonging the anthropogenic climate change ‘debate’ has inflicted incalculable damage upon psyche by corrupting reason and truth, upon soma by preventable disease, and upon Gaia through greenhouse gas emissions and other forms of pollution that would otherwise have been abated. Warning: inertia can damage your health. Another ‘perception management’ tactic is to manufacture reality, as revealed in filmmaker Taki Oldham’s extraordinary undercover documentary film, (Astro) Turf Wars: How Corporate America is Faking a Grassroots Revolution (Oldham, 2010). Oldham, an Australian drawn by curiosity, investigated the ostensibly ‘grassroots’ opposition to Barack Obama’s agenda, especially concerning climate change and healthcare, and the rise of Sarah Palin and the Tea Party. He captured incontrovertible evidence on film of ‘astroturfing’—the practice of manufacturing citizens groups for the purpose of delivering corporate messages. One connection led to another, and often ultimately back to two organisations—Americans for Prosperity (funded by Koch Industries) and FreedomWorks. The sheer scale and coordination of astroturfing, which involved many of the corporate-sponsored libertarian and conservative individuals and groups identified by Oreskes and Conway, turned out to be far greater than Oldham initially imagined. His chart of a network of some 90 groups and individuals thus engaged in deceiving and orchestrating the public appears briefly in the film; I have made a screenshot copy, but dare not reproduce it here, even with his permission. Before we blame everything on the ‘bad guys’, however, we have to acknowledge an uncomfortable truth. These professional manipulators of reason, truth and even reality are knocking at an open door—they are telling significant numbers of us what we want to hear. Wouldn’t it be nice if smoking didn’t cause cancer, or if burning fossil fuels didn’t cause global heating? Oldham’s film makes this point powerfully by showing people’s genuine enthusiasm for the causes they believed they had originated. Whether manufacturing desire, doubt or grassroots movements, success ultimately depends on seduction, not coercion, so that our illusion of control, as Curtis observed, remains intact. To the extents that these protagonists are telling us what we want to hear, and that we are therefore spreading, accepting or merely failing to oppose their disinformation, we are their accomplices. As pop-psychologists like to say, point a finger at someone and the rest point back to you.

154 Heroic development

The problem of paralysis via the medium of the internet has other dimensions which are so widespread that in only a few years the computer utopians’ dream of the ‘information age’ has, in a spectacular and perhaps unforeseeable enantiodromia, inverted into the nightmare of the ‘disinformation age’. A major driver of this is the bogus impartiality of algorithm-driven online search, news and social (content creation) media dominated by Google and Facebook, currently with around 1.5 (YouTube) and 2 billion users respectively. The business models of such companies depend on maximising advertising revenue, which their algorithms help to realise by anticipating what content their users want. Caveat emptor—‘if the service is free, you are the product’. The dangers of self-reinforcing algorithms, even in apparently benign non-commercial sectors such as education and law enforcement, have been convincingly highlighted in Cathy O’Neil’s Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy (O’Neil, 2017). Another tactic to maximise advertising revenue is preferentially to feature, or at least to permit, sensationalist or attractive ‘clickbait’ to encourage users to stay online. The commercial success of Facebook, Google and others indicates that they are extremely good at doing all this, as is comprehensively documented, along with some alarming insights into the ideologies of some of the internet’s most influential individuals, in Jonathan Taplin’s Move Fast and Break Things (Taplin, 2017). Advertising per se is, as we have seen, a major cause of inertia, but the problem now runs much deeper. Although ostensibly neutral platforms such as Google and Facebook do not directly seek to confuse, their business models have exacerbated the current climate of polarisation by promoting a state of profound fragmentation in which individuals and groups inhabit self-reinforcing ‘thought bubbles’ or ‘information silos’. These now almost ubiquitous information media have, paradoxically, precipitated a breakdown of communication that renders rational, tolerant and informed debate all but impossible. To make matters worse, their dynamics and policies have encouraged the rapid and widespread dissemination of often inflammatory ‘alternative facts’ from privately owned media such as Breitbart and Infowars, and from Russian and other state-sponsored disinformation. This confronts us with an even more uncomfortable truth: online search and social media don’t impose their opinions on us; they reinforce and segregate our own. In other words, truth, reason and reality aren’t only under attack from a handful of paid cronies; they are being eroded by millions of willing volunteers! Conversely, these giant corporations hold unparalleled databases of their users’ interests, preferences, beliefs, contacts and so on, which enable advertising to be finely targeted and priced accordingly. Again, caveat emptor—‘data is the new oil’. As the recent Cambridge Analytica scandal exposed by Carole Cadwalladr and her colleagues at The Guardian and its Sunday sister paper, The Observer, has shown, the huge datasets owned by Facebook and others may be weaponised by third parties for more sinister purposes, such as covert interference in the Brexit referendum and the 2016 U.S. presidential election. Appropriately enough, Cadwalladr won the 2018 Orwell journalism prize, awarded by the Orwell Foundation for the best political writing of the year, with the support of the family of the Nineteen Eighty-Four author, for her efforts.

Heroic development 155

Former ‘reality TV’ star Donald Trump, remotely diagnosed as a pathological narcissist, sociopath and more by 27 psychiatrists and mental health experts (Lee, 2017), exhibits blatant disregard for either reason or truth.6 Yet he remains hugely popular among his millions of supporters because he has a gift for telling them what they want to hear, apparently as untroubled as they are by scruples about honesty or consistency. This unnerving ability, which is seriously under-estimated by his critics, makes Trump at least as much a symptom as a cause of the Zeitgeist. Given the known impact of reinforcing feedback loops on system behaviour, this is profoundly worrying. Meanwhile his daily attention-seeking exhibitionism hogs the headlines and provides the perfect distraction from his ruthlessly pro-corporate agenda that is systematically disempowering the Environmental Protection Agency and undoing vital government regulations elsewhere. The interests exposed by Oreskes, Conway and Oldham have their man in the White House at last, and institutional inertia is now being propagated from the very top of the power structure. Amidst all the ‘sound and fury, signifying nothing’ of the media circus, long-term issues are forgotten. For example, the most universal and serious of these—climate change—was not once mentioned by either party in the four U.S. presidential debates in 2016. Perhaps it would have been if we were sufficiently interested. I have focused so far on aspects of ‘perception management’ that effectively distract us from meaningful change and thereby perpetuate ‘business as usual’. Inertia is also attributable to other factors, and I will very briefly review those with the most negative implications for navigating the Anthropocene. Dan Kahan and his colleagues at the Cultural Cognition Project at Yale Law School report the tendency of individuals, irrespective of their degree of science literacy or numeracy, to conform their beliefs about climate change to values that define their cultural identities (Kahan et al., 2012). They come to similar conclusions about responses to the scientific consensus about risk, additionally monitoring attitudes to nuclear power and gun control (Kahan et al., 2011), and highlight the disruption caused by a ‘polluted science-communication environment’ (Kahan, 2012). One of the very long-term collective values defining our cultural identity is surely, as I have suggested repeatedly, patriarchy. In the West, this can be traced back to around 3000 BCE when various Great Mother goddess cults were supplanted by the Indo-Europeans (Kurgans or Aryans) advancing in waves from the Central Asian steppes who worshipped male sky gods instead, and later by the influence of Judaism and then Christianity. The ecological consequences of the Judaeo-Christian creation myth were elaborated by White (1967) as noted in the previous section, but patriarchy has even broader and unexpected consequences. Just one intriguing example that I attribute to patriarchy is my first-hand experience of inertia in the energy sector. I was always puzzled by the widespread bias among conservatives, in the broadest sense of that term, towards fossil fuels and nuclear power and against renewables such as wind and solar power. The technological and economic arguments in favour of renewables have been won. For example, a 100% wind-, water- and solar-powered energy

156 Heroic development

infrastructure across all sectors (electricity generation, transport, heating/cooling, industry, agriculture, forestry and fishing) has now been road-mapped for 139 countries (Jacobson et al., 2017). So why the resistance against all reason? It now seems to me that the penetrative extracting of fossil fuels, the authoritarian policing of nuclear power, the controlling of concentrated ‘firm’ power (it really is called that) and the potential for fuelling or weaponising conflict indicate that they are archetypally masculine. Conversely, the receiving and gathering of diffuse renewable energy resources according to the rhythms of nature is archetypally feminine. While all this suggests a grimly amusing new perspective on Sarah Palin’s (in)famous exhortation to ‘Drill, baby, drill!’, the more serious point is that analytical psychology can reveal the hidden cultural complexes that are holding back well-understood and practical initiatives to ameliorate our anthropogenic impacts. Three factors that delay meaningful change in our relationship to nature and are especially prevalent in the U.S. are the conceit of manifest destiny, the ideology of Ayn Rand and her cohorts, and the rise of apocalyptic thinking. Although only ever vaguely defined and contested by many, manifest destiny was a widely held and passionately felt belief in the U.S. of the 19th Century that its settlers were destined to expand across North America. Its espousal of the special virtues of the (non-native) American people and their institutions, their essential mission and irresistible destiny resembles man’s dominion on Earth mapped onto settlers’ dominion of a continent. Although the ‘manifest destiny’ label is specifically American, ‘white settlers’ have colonised huge tracts of the world with broadly comparable attitudes. It has, nonetheless, arguably persisted for longer in the American psyche due to the nation’s hegemony in the 20th Century and its status as the world’s only superpower by the turn of the millennium, and visitors to the U.S. to this day may be taken aback by this belief in American ‘exceptionalism’. The historical origin of all this is the parallel and more widespread presumption of dominion over nature originating from European cultures and their interpretation of the Judaeo-Christian creation myth, as pointed out by White. The persistence, even resurgence, of Ayn Rand’s ideology is on another axis altogether. As Adam Curtis reported in the first episode of All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace (Curtis, 2011), U.S. respondents to the Survey of Lifetime Reading Habits, conducted in 1991 for the Book-of-the-Month Club and the Library of Congress Center for the Book, ranked Rand’s final novel, Atlas Shrugged, second only to The Bible when asked to name a book that had made a difference in their lives. Rand’s philosophy of ‘objectivism’, which is essentially a glorification of the right of individuals to live entirely for their own interest, and hence of the merits of laissez-faire capitalism, was famously described by Gore Vidal as ‘nearly perfect in its immorality’. In February 2012, the executive director of the Ayn Rand Institute said that since the election of Obama sales of Atlas Shrugged were higher than when it was a best-seller in 1957. Rand, a Russian émigré, rationalist and atheist, cultivated an inner circle of disciples, among whom was the former chairman of the U.S. Federal Reserve, Alan Greenspan. Prominent American admirers of her work past and present include Ronald Reagan, Paul Ryan, Mike

Heroic development 157

Pompeo, Rex Tillerson and many powerful figures in Silicon Valley, most notably Steve Jobs and Peter Thiel (Freedland, 2017). In the U.K. the current Home Secretary and possible future Prime Minister, Sajid Javid, claims to read another Rand novel, The Fountainhead, twice a year, while even Donald Trump, not famed as a big reader, has said it was one of the only three novels he liked. Moreover, many of the ‘thinktanks’ and other professional persuaders identified by Oreskes and Conway and by Oldham are explicitly or implicitly acting in accordance with Rand’s ideology. This all matters in the context of our relationship to nature, and not only because Rand’s ‘virtue of selfishness’ is a manifesto for extreme individualism. While the next chapter of this book begins by equating deep ecology with individuation, and continues to examine the potential for positive individual actions, it also examines collective measures such as government regulation because only a both/and, not either/or, approach has any chance of success. A common temptation is to put all the responsibility on ‘the authorities’, thus exonerating oneself; but Rand’s toxic version of libertarianism sets the individual above any form of government in a distinctly either/or formulation. To make matters worse, this doesn’t only leave out half of the individual/collective synergy, but also the relentless promulgation of individual self-interest fosters the tragedy of the commons. One aspect of Atlas Shrugged that seems to have escaped sufficient criticism, as I realised after reading it from cover to cover (in the spirit of Sun Tzu, and perhaps the greatest sacrifice I’ve made in researching this book), is the recurrent motif of gleeful plundering of nature, especially through mining, heavy industry and railroad construction by the book’s heroes. The sum of individual and collective responsibility to the other-than-human world in Atlas Shrugged is zero. More generally, I was astonished that anyone could take this tome of almost a thousand pages seriously; that they do is deeply disturbing. It seems that I am not alone, as Nobel Prize-winning economist Paul Krugman’s New York Times Op-Ed column confirms (Krugman, 2010). Another economist, Milton Friedman, has probably had a still deeper, broader and longer-term influence through his macroeconomic policy of monetarism. Apparently Friedman never met Rand, or felt comfortable with her writings, but described her as an utterly intolerant and dogmatic person who did a great deal of good. His seminal book Capitalism and Freedom, originally published in 1962 (which I also read in its entirety), nonetheless appears to have much in common with Rand’s philosophy, asserting that ‘As liberals, we take freedom of the individual, or perhaps the family, as our ultimate goal in judging social arrangements’ and opposing measures that ‘seek through government to force people to act against their own immediate interests in order to promote a supposedly general interest’ (Friedman, 1962/2002: 12, 200) That is the very essence of the tragedy of the commons, and the reason why neoliberalism is incapable of dealing with climate change and other aspects of the Anthropocene. Socially, the problem with the primacy of freedom as propounded by both Rand and Friedman was illustrated by the celebrated philosopher Sir Isaiah Berlin in his critique of ‘negative liberty’ via his famous analogy of wolves and sheep, since freedom for the former often means

158 Heroic development

death to the latter (Berlin, 1969: xlv). Capitalism and Freedom was selected by the Times Literary Supplement as one of the 100 most influential books since the war, and we all know how Friedman’s economic theories greatly influenced Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher and their successors. For a comprehensive critique of the origins and consequences of neoliberalism, I recommend Naomi Klein’s The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. (Klein, 2007), and of its aforementioned failure on climate change her subsequent book, This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate (Klein, 2014). The only book more influential than Atlas Shrugged in the U.S., according to the aforementioned 1991 survey, is The Bible, which is open to a far wider range of interpretations. In The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity and Islam (Armstrong, 2001: xiii–xvi), religious scholar and former Roman Catholic religious sister Karen Armstrong argues that the roots of religious fundamentalism lie in the loss of our capacity for mythical thinking and the resulting hegemony of literalism. Perhaps nowhere, apart from the anthropocentrism criticised by White, is this more problematic in the Christian faith than in the interpretation of the cryptic biblical book of Revelation with its apocalyptic intimations. In their introduction to The Last Myth: What the Rise of Apocalyptic Thinking Tells Us about America, Mathew Barrett Gross and Mel Gilles begin by reporting the growing sense of impending apocalypse, whether in its secular guise as some form of collapse or as the ‘Rapture’, as is believed by many evangelicals. In support of this assertion, they cite a 2002 Time magazine poll which indicated that some 59% of Americans believe that the events foretold in the book of Revelation will literally happen, before concluding that: conflating our expectation of the apocalypse with the issues before us is an error: the apocalypse is a belief; the challenges facing us are real. To intertwine the two in either direction is dangerous: to discount real crises because they resemble myth in scale is foolishness; to disregard how apocalyptic belief impinges our ability to address those problems is equally imprudent. (Gross & Gilles, 2012: 16) The ‘bring it on’ attitude to the Rapture largely explains the surprisingly solid support for Trump, who hardly meets Christian standards of morality, from the ‘religious right’ because his interventions in the Middle East seem likely to fulfil biblical prophecy. More generally, such fatalism, whether religious or secular, is a major obstacle to tackling or even taking an interest in long-term problems such as climate change. If the world is about to end, in whatever way, why bother? To varying degrees and at every level, from the POTUS to corporations to individuals, we are all complicit in perpetuating the confusion, beliefs, technologies and above all consumption that are the major causes of inertia. Scrutiny of the interest groups and individuals making greatest use of disinformation in all the manifestations I have described, and with whom many of us knowingly or unknowingly collude, reveals a many-headed Hydra. It also reveals some surprising

Heroic development 159

connections, for example between those promoting Brexit and climate change denial, which appear at first sight to be unrelated issues. However, I suggest that the common ground shared by these ‘usual suspects’ is denial of the really big picture and the need for a metanoia. Another defence mechanism employed by all of us to some degree is nostalgia, to which I now turn.

6.4 Nostalgia By nostalgia I refer to the longing, whether conscious or not, to return to the ‘good old days’ before environmental concern, political correctness and other distressing worries and irritating constraints on personal freedom impinged upon our consciousness. It is also the wish to reverse decline, such as physical and perhaps cognitive decline in the second half of life. In the collective context of our culture, decline afflicts both the U.S. and the U.K. As the old aphorism goes, once you’ve made it to the top, there’s only one way to go—down. It is therefore instructive in this context to recall the principal slogans used in the Brexit referendum and Trump election campaigns: ‘Take back control’ and ‘Make America great again’ respectively. Both explicitly look to the past, the former through ‘back’ and the latter through ‘again’. The Brexit slogan was brilliantly conceived, ‘take’ appealing to those who believed we were ‘giving’ too much to the EU and immigrants, and ‘control’ playing on national pride, fears of disempowerment by the evil ‘Eurocrats’ and, I suggest, an unconscious realisation that we really are losing control of almost everything. The U.K. clings, post-Empire, to an inflated notion of its importance in the world, while the U.S. is in decline as the balance of geopolitical power tips inexorably towards China. Geopolitics isn’t everything, and as Martha C. Nussbaum reminds us in The Monarchy of Fear: A Philosopher Looks at Our Political Crisis (Nussbaum, 2018), in many respects America has made great social progress since the 1950s—a decade in which racial segregation and lynching persisted in the South, anti-communist hysteria was at its peak, women’s access to education and employment was severely curtailed, homosexuality was a criminal offence and so on. She contends that the only people who could conceivably feel nostalgia for such an era are those who were unfettered by it—white heterosexual men. Let me give them the benefit of the doubt here, and posit that there was another characteristic of those bygone days that has much wider appeal to nostalgia—the triumphs of post-war manufacturing, which enabled unprecedented consumerism in blissful environmental innocence. Silent Spring was a decade away, climate change was unheard of and optimism about technology was at an all-time high. In 1954 the chairman of the United States Atomic Energy Commission promised electricity ‘too cheap to meter’. Growing up in England, I am just about old enough to remember Harold Wilson’s famous 1963 ‘white heat of technology’ speech, and watching spellbound in 1969 as Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. A visit to the Kennedy Space Center years later reminded me of what a monumental combination of imagination, ingenuity and sheer courage the American (and, for that matter, Russian) space

160 Heroic development

programme had been. We need those qualities more than ever today to face the Anthropocene, and part of that unglamorous, unappealing but essential process is to accept that we cannot turn the clock back, that we have lost our environmental innocence forever, and that our unqualified faith in technology has not been borne out. Nonetheless, the domestic and foreign policies of the U.S. are so heavily influenced by the fossil fuel industries that they are, like those pulling the strings, inevitably heading for redundancy. Meanwhile China’s regime is playing the long game from a more modern perspective, investing massively in strategic cyber-instruments such as quantum encryption, state censorship and surveillance; using soft power in Africa and elsewhere to secure fast-dwindling supplies of rare earths and minerals; developing its military capabilities and expanding its sphere of direct influence into the South China Sea. Nowhere is the contrast between the efforts of the U.S. administration to perpetuate the present and those of its Chinese counterpart to control the future more apparent than in environmental policy. The U.S. withdrawal from the Paris Agreement in 2017 handed perceived global environmental leadership to China on a plate. Meanwhile the vast new, and growing, middle classes of China and the other BRICS countries (Brazil, India and, to a much lesser extent, South Africa) increasingly emulate the conspicuous consumption of the West, thereby flexing their economic muscle. Nostalgia has a more individually regressive component too, a longing for kinship and a strong, protective father-figure that is finding expression in the resurgence of divisive nationalism and authoritarianism worldwide. This has catastrophic implications for our ability to deal with the Anthropocene that requires cooperative endeavour between, as well as within, nations alongside individual insight and action. More generally, it has triggered a period of heightened geopolitical turmoil and uncertainty that is fraught with danger. The major underlying trends are the shift of the balance of global power away from the West, the resurgence of nationalism, increasing polarisation and inequality, and forced migration. While these shifts of power have been consolidating over decades, the resurgence of nationalism in the West, at least in terms of electoral results, is a more recent phenomenon. It appears to have two major drivers: xenophobia exacerbated by the perceived threats of migration and terrorism; and rage against the failure of neoliberalism to reduce inequality, especially since the financial crash of 2008. They are of course interrelated—suspicion and hatred of any identifiable ‘other’ thrives in times of inequality and hardship. Xenophobia is the bigger factor in Europe, where the European Union has failed to cope collectively and equitably with the recent influx of asylum-seekers. Nationalist gains include the election of overtly right-wing populist regimes in Austria, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland and Italy; the growing support for similar political parties in France and Germany; and the U.K. referendum in favour of Brexit. The failure of neoliberalism was considered to be a major factor in Donald Trump’s victory in the U.S., as epitomised by his recurrent campaign promise to ‘drain the swamp’ and, more credibly, his dismissal of his opponent as merely offering more of the same.

Heroic development 161

Nationalism is not confined to the West, but its political drivers elsewhere are mostly different. The continued popularity of Vladimir Putin’s nationalistic stance in Russia is in no small part a reaction to the humiliation suffered during the collapse of the former Soviet Union, whereas Xi Jinping has exploited the burgeoning self-confidence of the new economic behemoth under his rule. Macho leadership is the style of the day, with Trump, Putin and Xi vying for the ‘strongman’ title, and others, such as Rodrigo Duterte and Recep Tayyip Erdog˘ an, leading brutally authoritarian regimes. Institutionally sanctioned human rights violations are widespread in almost all of the aforementioned countries, and in the foreign interventions of the U.S. and Russia especially. The latest arrival on the macho leadership scene at the time of writing is the new president of the world’s fourth largest economy, Brazil. In addition to his explicitly planned human rights abuses, Jair Bolsonaro will open up the entire Amazon region to agribusiness, mining, and oil and gas extraction as part of his policy of ‘production over protection’. The likely consequences of such a policy for the local and global environment, and for the indigenous population, will be catastrophic. To extend the analogy employed by Pope Francis in his criticism of Trump, many nations are turning their backs on the world and putting up walls instead of building bridges. Among the most powerful, the old environmentalist mantra ‘Think globally, act locally’ is reverting once more to its parochial inverse—‘Think locally, act globally’. This essentially regressive, and therefore nostalgic, behaviour seems increasingly hard to reconcile with the transnational remits and objectives of United Nations agencies and other non-governmental organisations (NGOs). The prospects for these essential bodies to get to grips with the challenges of the Anthropocene now look worse than for many years.

6.5 Hubris Perhaps the surest historical predictor of the impending collapse of a civilisation is hubris, which in our case sums up all that is most actively dysfunctional in our present attitude to the other-than-human world now that the age of the hero (as conventionally understood) has passed. Hubris is overweening pride, superciliousness or arrogance, often resulting in fatal retribution or nemesis, as the Old Testament explicitly warns: ‘Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall’ (Proverbs 16:18). In ancient Greece, hubris referred to actions which, intentionally or not, shamed and humiliated the victim, and frequently the perpetrator as well. It was most evident in the public and private actions of the powerful and rich, which in the global context today again means our culture. The word was also used to describe actions of those who challenged the gods or their laws, especially in Greek tragedy, resulting in the protagonist’s downfall. Hubris was considered a crime in classical Athens. It was also considered the greatest sin of the ancient Greek world. The parallels of all these aspects of hubris with our current collective situation are obvious and alarming.

162 Heroic development

The most general manifestation of hubris in our culture is the unquestioning belief in the benefits of progress. This has many consequences, the most obvious of which is the automatic equation of newer with better. At the fundamental level of Western science, peer review and empirical testing ensure that this is generally the case, and ‘better’ is unequivocally defined as a closer match between theory and observation. However, in other domains, notably the ideological and material, it is far from clear what constitutes improvement. For goods and services, newness per se without any other proven merit is not just a strong selling point, but a lynchpin of our growth economies; likewise built-in redundancy. The rate of technological change, especially since the Great Acceleration, and our obsession with the latest products has resulted in older wisdom being dismissed as redundant or simply forgotten. This has societal as well as cognitive consequences, not least in the widespread reversal of the status of older people from respected elders and repositories of knowledge in traditional cultures to marginalised techno-illiterati in ours. Our faith in progress and the commensurate assumption that our civilisation will endure forever, despite our knowledge of the decline and fall of all previous civilisations (which had presumably all assumed likewise), goes largely unchallenged. The ideology of globalisation extends that assumption to the acquisition and merger of every other civilisation on the planet into ours. No statement of these erroneous assumptions has been more succinct, uncompromising and, unfortunately, influential than that of the Stanford political scientist Francis Fukuyama in his now notorious essay, ‘The End of History?’ Amidst all the self-righteous gloating over the demise of the Soviet Union, Fukuyama trumpeted Western liberal democracy—an institution that just three decades later looks increasingly precarious—as the final form of human government (Fukuyama, 1989: 4). Flattery gets you everywhere, and Fukuyama’s triumphalist fundamentalism has continued to mesmerise Western policymakers and petrify our social imagination long after he repudiated it. He has nonetheless subsequently claimed to be a ‘rock star’ in recently democratised countries such as Ukraine, Poland, Myanmar and Indonesia, and his 2014 book Political Order and Political Decay has been privately translated, and is required reading, for the senior leadership in China (Yang, 2014). We are unable to let go of the heroic attitude that has brought us unprecedented material comfort and security, but now threatens us with the opposite. Nowhere is this more apparent than in our attitude to climate change, which Rex Tillerson, addressing the U.S. Council on Foreign Relations as CEO of ExxonMobil, reduced to an ‘engineering problem’ (Daily, 2012; Daily, 2012). The whole ‘techno-fix’ mentality is another instance of hammers and nails, but a dangerous one this time, and just one example of our ‘cherished convictions and principles’ beginning ‘to harden and to grow increasingly rigid’ (Jung, 1954/1969: §773). Jung’s bleak warning that ‘the world today hangs by a thin thread, and that thread is the psyche of man’ (Jung, 1957/1977: 303) is worth reiterating as it lays such hubris bare.

Heroic development 163

Apart from the extraordinary success of our technology, which is beyond dispute and mostly a cause for celebration, I suggest that alienation from nature is another contributing factor to our hubris. According to the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs 2018 Revision of World Urbanization Prospects (DESA, 2018), 55% of the world’s population lives in urban areas, a proportion that is expected to increase to 68% by 2050. The most urbanised regions include Northern America (with 82% of its population living in urban areas in 2018) and Europe (74%). By 2030, the world is projected to have 43 megacities with more than 10 million inhabitants, most of them in developing regions. This matters, not least because, as Lovelock notes, Scientists are usually condemned to lead urban lives, but I find that country people still living close to the earth often seem puzzled that anyone should need to make a formal proposition of anything as obvious as Gaia theory. For them it is true and always has been. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: 10) Thanks to light pollution, many city-dwellers, especially the urban poor, may rarely, if ever, see a starry night sky. Stargazing was an everyday experience for our ancestors, a constant source of awe and a humbling reminder of our smallness in the cosmos. Likewise, we are largely sheltered from the elements—earth reduced to dirt, water confined to pipes, fire controlled unseen in the internal combustion engine, power stations and central heating, and air conditioned to a standstill in our built environment. All are rebounding dangerously in the Anthropocene through erosion, floods, wildfires and storms respectively. However, intriguing though that may be, my point here is that alienation from nature not only engenders an exaggerated sense of human control, achievement and importance, but is also a major factor in our disenchantment. If hubris were a car, then this psychological doublewhammy of ego inflation and loss of soul would be a lethal combination of ‘pedal to the metal’ and cutting the brake pipes. Another demographic disproportionately susceptible to this path to hubris is those at the top of the power structure. By this I mean the people who determine many aspects of our lives, especially leaders in business and government whose professional environments alternate between cities, limousines, airports and aircraft cabins, with the other-than-human world limited to little more than potted plants and perhaps an occasional round of golf. Airports in particular are like a glimpse into a dystopian future of total isolation from nature or even fresh air and sunlight, combined with a heavily policed and paranoid human environment of unrelated strangers in which consumption is the only permitted activity. When such a way of life becomes normalised, it reinforces already unhealthily strong aspirations to power and recognition in the human world to fill the void. This form of personal hubris makes it even harder to envisage collective healing of our relationship with Gaia being a top-down process. Others, who I will label ‘techno-optimists’, can and do envisage, such healing aside, a transformative continuation of human progress through what they call ‘exponential technologies’—primarily (for now) artificial intelligence, augmented

164 Heroic development

and virtual reality, data science, digital biology and biotech, medicine, nanotech and digital fabrication, networks and computing systems, robotics, and autonomous vehicles. Unsurprisingly, the origin and epicentre of this flavour of futurist thinking is Silicon Valley, and perhaps its most prominent advocate is Ray Kurzweil, who is currently employed by Google in his seventies after many decades of brilliant technological innovation and entrepreneurship. Kurzweil achieved widespread fame and influence through his non-fiction best-selling book The Singularity is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology (Kurzweil, 2006). The concept of a technological singularity can be traced back to the mathematician and computer pioneer John von Neumann in the mid-20th Century. Kurzweil predicts that machine intelligence will become infinitely more powerful than all human intelligence combined, irreversibly transforming human life and transcending the biological limitations of our brains and bodies through ‘transhumanism’, ultimately merging machine and human intelligence. I confess to having had the book in my ‘to read’ stack for many years, but note, for what it’s worth, that the word ‘soul’ does not appear in its 50-page index, whereas ‘exponential’ and its sub-entries gets almost half a page. If systems theory has taught us anything, it is to be wary of anything ‘exponential’. Kurzweil is also co-founder and Chancellor of the Singularity University (https://su.org), founded in 2008, which attracted some 1,600 people from 64 countries to its 2018 Global Summit. The university is clearly inspiring a significant number of influential people and corporations— major ‘founding and current’ sponsors (Deloitte, Google, Genentech and 17 others) and many more sponsors of its 2018 Summit (including Boeing, Microsoft, Merrill Lynch, AIG, MIT, Red Bull, UBS, Shell, Goldman Sachs and Intel)—as much as it is terrifying me. Perhaps the ultimate example of transhumanistic hubris is the non-profit religious corporation founded in 2017 by Anthony Levandowski, another Silicon Valley wunderkind who has worked for both Google and Uber. His ‘Way of the Future’ (WOTF) aims to create a godhead based on artificial intelligence to smooth our transition through the singularity. Personally, I favour deleting the ‘O’. Transhumanism appears to extrapolate our separation from Gaia and exacerbate our disenchantment to a degree I could never have imagined, and as far as I can tell altogether ignores the other-than-human-or-machine world, not to mention the vast majority of humanity who cannot have, or do not want, such a future. I hope it can be dismissed as Silicon Valley’s very own ‘thought bubble’. While it undoubtedly amounts to a form of denial through hubris from the perspective of my analysis, its implications for the natural world are unclear as that, including the Anthropocene, doesn’t seem even to be on its map. However, another variant of ‘techno-optimism’ has much more explicit goals for our relationship with the environment. I am again indebted to Clive Hamilton’s excellent Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene for showing me that there are individuals and organisations for whom the Anthropocene is not a cause for denial, or even shame and concern, but a triumph to be embraced and exploited. The umbrella for this so-called ‘ecomodernist’ movement appears to be the non-profit Breakthrough Institute, whose website (https://thebreakthrough.org) links to An Ecomodernist Manifesto which sets out their stall and is well worth reading. As Hamilton observes:

Heroic development 165

Humankind is now confronted with a momentous decision: to attempt to exert more control so as to subdue the Earth with greater technological power—the express purpose of some forms of geoengineering—or to draw back and practice meekness, with all of the social consequences that would follow. (Hamilton, 2017: 9) This really is the crux of the matter, with the ecomodernists explicitly advocating the former path, asserting in their manifesto that wisely applied knowledge and technology could permit ‘green growth’ without the need to harmonise with nature since Earth has become a human planet, resulting in a ‘good, or even great’ Anthropocene. Green growth, so beloved of political fantasists, is of course a ‘have your cake and eat it’ oxymoron. The manifesto rejects the limits to growth that systems theorists such as Donella H. Meadows and her colleagues warned of (Meadows et al., 1972/1974, 2004), arguing that any physical boundaries to human consumption are so theoretical as to be ‘functionally irrelevant’. I’m not sure what that breezy dismissal is intended to convey, but surely any such boundary is theoretical until it is reached, and then it will become ‘functionally relevant’ with a vengeance. It should by now be clear that Hamilton, I and the deep ecology movement disagree profoundly with this central conceit of ecomodernism and advocate the latter path, to ‘draw back and practice meekness’. The choice is perhaps not quite as black and white as the above citations suggest, and none of us advocates throwing out the baby with the bath water. For example, we should make increasing use of technologies such as renewable energy (which, in fairness, ecomodernists also advocate) that work in harmony with nature to replace those that don’t. Nonetheless, I concur more with Hamilton’s assessment of ecomodernism than I do with his proposed alternative ‘new anthropocentrism’. While this may to some extent be because we are approaching the issue from different perspectives, and Hamilton stresses that by ‘anthropocentrism’ he means the scientific fact of human dominance rather than any normative claim thereto, our ways eventually part. However, returning to his critique, which echoes my own concerns expressed above: For the ecomodernists, instead of final proof of the dangers of hubris, the new epoch is greeted as a sign of humankind’s ability to renovate and control nature. … in this eco-Promethean view, the Anthropocene is not evidence of human short-sightedness or foolishness, nor of global capitalism’s rapaciousness, but presents an opportunity for humans finally to come into their own. Several years ago they began to speak of the good Anthropocene: there are no planetary boundaries that limit continued growth in human populations and economic advance because ‘human systems’ can adapt and indeed prosper in a warming world. (Hamilton, 2017: 23)

166 Heroic development

If only it were true! The Breakthrough Institute’s Directors and Senior Fellows include many capable and influential individuals, such as lifelong techno-utopian Stewart Brand, Erle C. Ellis—curiously author of The Anthropocene: A Very Short Introduction (Ellis, 2018) in the highly respected Oxford University Press series—and at least one Nobel laureate. Brand’s Whole Earth Catalog was something of a counter-culture icon during my student days, so I am especially intrigued by his allegiance. Have I succumbed to curmudgeonly pessimism (branded ‘environmentalist miserablism’ in at least one ecomodernist article) in contrast to his and his colleagues’ continued optimism? Even from outside ecomodernism, the influential Jungian analyst Andrew Samuels argued in his book The Political Psyche that the environmental movement ‘will fail unless it becomes more conscious of the authoritarianism and depression within it, and the idealization of nature is somehow moderated’ (Samuels, 1993: 103). I hope that the alternatives offered in the remainder of this book will convince otherwise, as does my personal experience. Irrespective of what I think of ecomodernism, its advocates are, above all, well connected and should not be under-estimated. However, although they include many scientists (especially nuclear scientists), they do not, to my knowledge, include any Earth system scientists, including any of those whose work I have referenced—draw your own conclusions. Later, Hamilton’s critique begins in earnest: Although the ecomoderns7 write as humanists, they construe the new epoch in a way that is structurally a theodicy, that is, a theological argument that aims to prove the ultimate benevolence of God. … Whereas in Leibniz’s theodicy God’s will ensures all is for the good, for the ecomoderns it is Progress driven by human creativity and urge to betterment that ensures good will prevail. So in place of a theodicy they instate an anthropodicy in which human-directed Progress takes the place of God. (Hamilton, 2017: 68–69) This is perhaps not as hard to swallow as a machine taking the place of God, but therefore more dangerous—the last seven words of this extract suffice to highlight the extraordinary hubris that underpins ecomodernism. Nonetheless, its message is seductive—it is what people, especially scientifically illiterate politicians utterly bereft of new ideas, want to hear. This means it has to be acknowledged and rebutted before it gains enough traction to steer us down the path of control and power. I would add to Hamilton’s critique that, while appearing to be futuristic, ecomodernism is essentially deeply nostalgic for a golden age of unprecedented technological progress and affluence unfettered by environmental concerns—in other words, to continue the Great Acceleration forever. In contrast to my analyses of inertia and nostalgia, I view the protagonists of hubris as misguided rather than malevolent, but that makes them no less dangerous.

Heroic development 167

The Singularity University and the Breakthrough Institute clearly attract brilliant, creative and, presumably, well-intentioned and even idealistic people; but perhaps their optimism about the future should be tempered by the humbling realities of the past. Consider, for example, this passage from Edward Gibbon’s late 18th-Century 12-volume classic, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: The rise of a city, which swelled into an empire, may deserve, as a singular prodigy, the reflection of a philosophic mind. But the decline of Rome was the natural and inevitable effect of immoderate greatness. Prosperity ripened the principle of decay; the causes of destruction multiplied with the extent of conquest; and as soon as time or accident had removed the artificial supports, the stupendous fabric yielded to the pressure of its own weight. The story of its ruin is simple and obvious; and instead of inquiring why the Roman empire was destroyed, we should rather be surprised that it had subsisted so long. (Gibbon, 1782/Rev.1845/2008) William Ophuls, an independent scholar who is well acquainted with Jungian psychology, translates this into the present with commendable succinctness and clarity in his book titled, in acknowledgement to Gibbon, Immoderate Greatness: Why Civilizations Fail, which is best summarised by the cover notes: A civilization’s very magnitude conspires against it to cause downfall. Civilizations are hard-wired for self-destruction. They travel an arc from initial success to terminal decay and ultimate collapse due to intrinsic biophysical limits combined with an inexorable trend toward moral decay and practical failure. Because our own civilization is global, its collapse will also be global, as well as uniquely devastating owing to the immensity of its population, complexity and consumption. To avoid the common fate of all past civilizations will require a radical change in our ethos—to wit, the deliberate renunciation of greatness—lest we precipitate a dark age in which the arts and adornments of civilization are partially or completely lost. (Ophuls, 2012) Just as in the individual psyche at mid-life, the collective tension between adherents to one or more of our collective means of denial, and those who accept the necessity of our ‘deliberate renunciation of greatness’, is rising. The sheer diversity of agents and beliefs within the former category, and the countless reinforcing feedback loops between them, constitute the ‘perfect storm’ of Section 6.2. The factual evidence that we cannot keep rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, but have to change course altogether, is indisputable. The era of heroic development is over, whether we like it or not. The time for growing bigger and cleverer is over; it is time for us to grow up.

168 Heroic development

Notes 1 There are many different possible translations of Chinese ideograms into the Western alphabet—I have used the more familiar Wade-Giles convention here, whereas Sabbadini uses the more modern Pin-yin. 2 This estimate was about 200,000 years when I researched it for my Diploma Thesis in 2009. 3 Indeed, there was no dialogue at all up to this point, approximately 20 minutes into the film. 4 China’s per capita carbon footprint remains about one-third of that of the U.S., and a large proportion of their emissions can be attributed to the production of goods for export. 5 One reason why I hesitate to label myself as an ecopsychologist is that it is almost invariably misheard as ‘ego-psychologist’, referring to the Anna Freud school, and my approach is based upon relativising, not strengthening, the ego. 6 ‘Remotely diagnosed’ means not in person or through interview. The American Psychiatric Association’s ‘Goldwater rule’ inhibits mental health professionals from diagnosing public figures they have not personally examined, but the book’s contributors judged Trump’s mental state sufficiently dangerous to justify their waiving this rule in the public interest. 7 Hamilton appears to switch from the term ‘ecomodernist’ to ‘ecomodern’ part-way through his book; I presume them to be synonymous.

References Arendt, H. (1951/1973) The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Harcourt. Armstrong, K. (2001) The Battle for God: Fundamentalism in Judaism, Christianity and Islam. London: HarperCollins. Berlin, I. (1969) Four Essays on Liberty. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bonneuil, C. & Fressoz, J.-B. (2017) The Shock of the Anthropocene: The Earth, History, and US. London & New York: Verso. Capra, F. (1982/1983) The Turning Point. London: Flamingo. Chesney, R. & Citron, D.K. (2018) ‘Deep Fakes: A Looming Challenge for Privacy, Democracy, and National Security.’ SSRN. doi:10.2139/ssrn.3213954 Curtis, A. (2002) The Century of the Self. Documentary film series (4 parts, 240 min.), RDF Television / BBC. Curtis, A. (2011) All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace. Documentary film series (3 parts, 180 min.), BBC. Daily, M. (2012) ‘Exxon CEO Calls Climate Change Engineering Problem.’ http://www. reuters.com/article/2012/06/27/us-exxon-climate-idUSBRE85Q1C820120627, accessed 22 Jul 2013. DESA. (2018) ‘World Urbanization Prospects: The 2018 Revision [Key Facts].’ United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs. https://population.un.org/wup/ Publications/Files/WUP2018-KeyFacts.pdf Ellis, E.C. (2018) The Anthropocene: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Freedland, J. (2017) ‘The New Age of Ayn Rand: How She Won over Trump and Silicon Valley.’ Books, The Guardian, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/apr/10/new-a ge-ayn-rand-conquered-trump-white-house-silicon-valley, accessed 16 Apr 2017. Friedman, M. (1962/2002) Capitalism and Freedom. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Fukuyama, F. (1989) ‘The End of History?’ The National Interest, 16, Summer: 3–18. Gibbon, E. (1782/Rev.1845/2008) ‘Chapter XXXVIII: Reign of Clovis.—Part VI.’ in The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Vol. III. Project Gutenberg. Gross, M.B. & Gilles, M. (2012) The Last Myth: What the Rise of Apocalyptic Thinking Tells US About America. Amherst, N.Y.: Prometheus.

Heroic development 169

Hamilton, C. (2017) Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Hershkovitz, I. et al. (2018) ‘The Earliest Modern Humans Outside Africa.’ Science, 359 (6374): 456–459. doi:10.1126/science.aap8369 Hillman, J. (1975) Re-Visioning Psychology. New York: Harper & Row. Hopcke, Robert H. (1989) A Guided Tour of the Collected Works of C.G. Jung. Boston: Shambhala. Hublin, J.-J. et al. (2017) ‘New Fossils from Jebel Irhoud, Morocco and the Pan-African Origin of Homo Sapiens.’ Nature, 546(7657): 289–292. doi:10.1038/nature22336 Jacobson, M.Z. et al. (2017) ‘100% Clean and Renewable Wind, Water, and Sunlight AllSector Energy Roadmaps for 139 Countries of the World.’ Joule, 1(1): 108–121. doi:10.1016/j.joule.2017.07.005 Jung, C.G. (1928/1953) ‘The Psychology of the Unconscious.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 7: Two Essays on Analytical Psychology. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul: 3–117. Jung, C.G. (1929/1967) ‘Commentary on “the Secret of the Golden Flower”.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 13: Alchemical Studies. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 1–56. Jung, C.G. (1954/1969) ‘The Stages of Life.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 8: The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 387–403. Jung, C.G. (1957/1977) ‘The Houston Films.’ in C. G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters. (Eds, McGuire, W. & Hull, R.F.C.) Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 276–352. Kahan, D. (2012) ‘Why We Are Poles Apart on Climate Change.’ Nature, 488(7411): 255. doi:10.1038/488255a Kahan, D.M. et al. (2012) ‘The Polarizing Impact of Science Literacy and Numeracy on Perceived Climate Change Risks.’ Nature Climate Change, 2: 732–735. doi:10.1038/ nclimate1547 Kahan, D.M., Jenkins-Smith, H. & Braman, D. (2011) ‘Cultural Cognition of Scientific Consensus.’ Journal of Risk Research, 14(2): 147–174. doi:10.1080/13669877.2010.511246 Kakutani, M. (2018a) The Death of Truth: Notes on Falsehood in the Age of Trump. New York: Tim Duggan Books. Kakutani, M. (2018b) ‘The Death of Truth: How We Gave up on Facts and Ended up with Trump.’ Books, The Guardian, 14 July. https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/jul/ 14/the-death-of-truth-how-we-gave-up-on-facts-and-ended-up-with-trump, accessed 14 July 2018. Kanner, A.D. & Gomes, M.E. (1995) ‘The All-Consuming Self.’ in Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth / Healing the Mind. (Eds, Roszak, T., Gomes, M.E. & Kanner, A.D.) San Francisco, CA: Sierra Club Books: 77–91. Klein, N. (2007) The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. New York: Metropolitan Books/Henry Holt. Klein, N. (2014) This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate. London: Allen Lane. Konisky, D.M. (2017) ‘The Greening of Christianity? A Study of Environmental Attitudes over Time.’ Environmental Politics, 27(2): 267–291. doi:10.1080/09644016.2017.1416903 Krugman, P. (2010) ‘I’m Ellsworth Toohey!’ New York Times, 23 September. http://krugma n.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/09/23/im-ellsworth-toohey/, accessed 18 Sep 2012. Kubrick, S. & Clarke, A.C. (1968) 2001: A Space Odyssey. MGM/United Artists. Kurzweil, R. (2006) The Singularity is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. New York: Penguin. Lee, B.X. (2017) The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump: 27 Psychiatrists and Mental Health Experts Assess a President. New York: Thomas Dunne Books.

170 Heroic development

Lovelock, J. (1979/2000) Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press. Marshall, G. (2014) Don’t Even Think about It: Why Our Brains Are Wired to Ignore Climate Change. New York: Bloomsbury. McIntosh, A. (2004) Soil and Soul: People versus Corporate Power. London: Aurum. Meadows, D.H. et al. (1972/1974) The Limits to Growth: A Report for the Club of Rome’s Project on the Predicament of Mankind. New York: Universe. Meadows, D.H., Randers, J. & Meadows, D.L. (2004) Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. Nussbaum, M.C. (2018) The Monarchy of Fear: A Philosopher Looks at Our Political Crisis. New York: Simon & Schuster. O’Neil, C. (2017) Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy. London: Penguin. Oldham, T. (2010) (Astro) Turf Wars. Larrikin Films. Ophuls, W. (2012) Immoderate Greatness: Why Civilizations Fail. North Charleston, S.C.: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Oreskes, N. & Conway, E.M. (2012) Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues From Tobacco Smoke to Global Warming. London: Bloomsbury. Richter, D. et al. (2017) ‘The Age of the Hominin Fossils from Jebel Irhoud, Morocco, and the Origins of the Middle Stone Age.’ Nature, 546(7657): 293–296. doi:10.1038/ nature22335 Sabbadini, S.A. (2013) Lao Tzu: Tao Te Ching: A Guide to the Interpretation of the Foundational Book of Taoism. Cordoba: The Valley Spirit. Samuels, A. (1993) The Political Psyche. London & New York: Routledge. Samuels, A., Shorter, B. & Plaut, F. (1986) A Critical Dictionary of Jungian Analysis. London & New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Taplin, J.T. (2017) Move Fast and Break Things: How Facebook, Google, and Amazon Have Cornered Culture and What It Means for All of US. London: Macmillan. Tillerson, R. (2012) ‘CEO Speaker Series: A Conversation with Rex W. Tillerson.’ Council on Foreign Relations. https://www.cfr.org/event/ceo-speaker-series-conversationrex-w-tillerson, accessed 20 May 2018. UNHCR. (2017) Global Trends: Forced Displacement in 2016. Geneva: United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Welsh, J. (2016) The Return of History: Conflict, Migration and Geopolitics in the Twenty-First Century. Toronto: House of Anansi. White, L. (1967) ‘The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.’ Science, 155(3767): 1203– 1207. doi:10.1126/science.155.3767.1203 Yang, W. (2014) ‘Francis Fukuyama: “In Recently Democratised Countries I’m Still a Rock Star”.’ Books, The Guardian, 27 December. http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/ dec/27/francis-fukuyama-end-history-books-interview, accessed 2 Jan 2015.

7 FRUGAL INDIVIDUATION

7.1 Deep ecology Examining our three modes of denial—inertia, nostalgia and hubris—can result in a sense of helplessness, grief, despair and even trauma, and conversely we often resort to them because of such feelings. Emotional and psychological states like these in the face of climate change are widespread according to Jeffrey Kiehl, who is both a leading climate scientist and a Jungian analyst. Kiehl, a good friend and gentle soul, has lectured widely about climate change, and makes a point of asking his audiences how they feel. We have corresponded and occasionally met since our first encounter at the 2007 Pacifica ‘Nature and Human Nature’ conference, and I recommend his book Facing Climate Change: An Integrated Path to the Future (Kiehl, 2016) for an alternative approach using analytical psychology but, unlike mine, also Buddhist philosophy. However, going back to Figure 6.1, it showed four possible responses to our present dilemma, and so far I have explored only three of them. This chapter explores the fourth, which is to continue along the ‘arc of life’ in a process I have called ‘frugal individuation’. This appears at first sight to be a hard sell, and indeed it may be. However, I use the word ‘frugal’ in the sense carefully elaborated by William Ophuls in Plato’s Revenge: Politics in the Age of Ecology: Frugality is not the same as stinginess or asceticism. To be frugal means to be sparing in the use of resources—that is, thrifty without being pinchpenny. Frugality is the art of making as little as possible go as far as possible. The etymology of frugal is revealing: it comes from frugalior, which is derived from the Latin word for fruit and denotes ‘useful’ or ‘worthy’. It therefore fits perfectly with the essential principle of ecological economics—usufruct, which is the use and enjoyment of property or resources without damaging or depleting their worth so that they remain permanently useful. (Ophuls, 2011: 186)

172 Frugal individuation

Although Ophuls may not publicly label himself as a deep ecologist, his perceptive and uncompromising writing is extremely relevant. To cite him one last time, I contend that the only ‘fundamental change in the ethos of civilization—to wit, the deliberate renunciation of greatness in favor of simplicity, frugality and fraternity’ (Ophuls, 2012: 69) sufficient to ameliorate global collapse is that of the ‘long-range deep ecology movement’ which arose in the 1970s. Its original proponent was the Norwegian philosopher Arne Næss (1912–2009), whose influences included Spinoza (see ‘Spinoza and Ecology’, Næss, 1977), William James, Mahatma Gandhi, Erich Fromm and Zen Buddhism—but not, as far as I know, Jung. He was especially inspired by Rachel Carson, whose Silent Spring profoundly challenged our anthropocentric assumptions. Other philosophical antecedents of deep ecology have been ascribed to the Americans Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862) and Robinson Jeffers (1887–1962), the Scottish-American John Muir (1838–1914) and the English writers D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930) and Aldous Huxley (1894–1963) (Sessions, 1995b: ix). I would add to that list the Americans George Catlin (1796–1872), who in 1832 raised the first ever proposal for a National Park to preserve the American wilderness and its inhabitants, and Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882), who was Muir’s mentor. Thoreau and Emerson were among the originators of (American) Transcendentalism, which posited the unity of God, man and nature. However, its roots are much older, and already familiar, as Bill Devall and George Sessions, two key figures in the parallel development of deep ecology in North America, summarise: Deep ecology is radically conservative in that it articulates a long-established minority stream of religion and philosophy in Western Europe, North America and the Orient. It also has strong parallels and shared insights with many religious and philosophical positions of primal peoples … In a certain sense it can be interpreted as remembering wisdom which men once knew. (Devall & Sessions, 1985: 80) Paul Shepard, another influential pioneer, gives examples of where and when this wisdom has manifested, and of how we can reconnect with it via a surprisingly diverse and predominantly non-rational range of approaches: That wisdom can be approached mathematically, chemically, or it can be danced or told as a myth. It has been embodied in widely scattered economically different cultures. It is manifest, for example, among pre-Classical Greeks, in Navajo religion and social orientation, in Romantic poetry of the 18th and 19th centuries, in Chinese landscape painting of the 11th century, in current Whiteheadian philosophy, in Zen Buddhism, in the world view of the cult of the Cretan Great Mother, in the ceremonials of Bushman hunters, and in the medieval Christian metaphysics of light. What is common among all of them is a deep sense of engagement with the landscape, with profound connections to surroundings and to natural processes central to all life. (Shepard, 1969: 5)

Frugal individuation 173

While there are obviously many more examples of approaches and of manifestations, ‘what is common among them’ is almost totally absent from our culture due to our alienation from nature. Three recommended deep ecology books are Deep Ecology: Living As If Nature Mattered (Devall & Sessions, 1985), The Deep Ecology Movement: An Introductory Anthology (Drengson & Inoue, 1995) and Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century (Sessions, 1995a), and there is a searchable free online library of The Trumpeter Journal of Ecosophy from 1983 onwards hosted by Athabasca University.1 Notable advocates of deep ecology in addition to those already mentioned include David Abram, Wendell Berry, Fritjof Capra, Warwick Fox, Chellis Glendinning, Martin Heidegger, Bernie Krause, Satish Kumar, Dolores LaChapelle, Joanna Macy, Terence McKenna, Theodore Roszak, John Seed and Gary Snyder. The eight ‘deep ecology basic principles’ (or ‘platforms’) were formulated during a camping trip in Death Valley, California, by Arne Næss and George Sessions in April 1984. This guiding framework for the deep ecology movement was first published the following month in the Ecophilosophy Newsletter (Sessions & Næss, 1984) and has been reprinted, with slight modifications, many times. The original version is: 1.

2. 3. 4.

5. 6.

7.

8.

The well-being and flourishing of human and nonhuman life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: inherent worth; intrinsic value; inherent value). These values are independent of the usefulness of the non-human world for human purposes. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a substantial decrease of the human population. The flourishing of non-human life requires such a decrease. Present human interference with the non-human world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening. Policies must therefore be changed. The policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present. The ideological change is mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwelling in situations of inherent value) rather than adhering to an increasingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between big and great. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation directly or indirectly to try to implement the necessary changes. Having presented them en bloc, some elaboration of these points is in order.

174 Frugal individuation

1. The well-being and flourishing of human and nonhuman life on Earth have value in themselves (synonyms: inherent worth; intrinsic value; inherent value). These values are independent of the usefulness of the non-human world for human purposes. The second sentence draws a line in the sand from the outset between deep ecology and anthropocentric ‘human survival’ or ‘reform’ environmentalism. Historically, championed by the likes of Ralph Nader, the latter has focussed on urban pollution problems at the expense of a wider ecological perspective, although Al Gore has commendably expanded this to embrace the global phenomenon of climate change, but still from his own human-dominant Christian position (as does GreenFaith with its emphasis on ‘stewardship’). This is probably the better known, and undoubtedly a more palatable, version of environmentalism. These differing orientations have led to allegations that deep ecology is misanthropic. Gore has even gone so far as to suggest that Arne Næss portrays humans as being ‘an alien presence on the earth’ (Sessions, 1995b: xiii)—not the last accusation of misanthropy we will encounter. Deep ecologists nonetheless express their indebtedness to reform environmentalism for opening up the debate and mobilising large numbers of people, and I personally greatly admire Gore’s integrity and efforts to influence. Deep ecology’s advocates share a wholehearted respect for Gaia’s interrelated natural systems and a sense of urgency about the need to make profound cultural and social changes in order to restore and sustain the long-term health of the planet. The cultural and social ‘elephants in the room’—patriarchy, injustice, inequality and so on—that reform environmentalism habitually evades are therefore integral, not incidental, to their approach.

2. Richness and diversity of life forms contribute to the realization of these values and are also values in themselves. This clearly echoes the systems dynamics principle of resilience.

3. Humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy vital needs. Our right to do as we please, whether individually or collectively, in this context passes entirely unchallenged, and is often explicitly asserted in the Zeitgeist. By limiting this right to satisfying our vital needs, deep ecology is entirely incompatible with economic growth beyond population growth, and thus with the government policy of every nation on Earth with the possible exception of Bhutan. Deep ecology rejects the ideology of economic growth and the associated reduction of all values to economic terms for the purposes of decision-making. It seeks to replace, not reconcile, this ideology with the practice of ecological sustainability. Thomas Berry frames this as

Frugal individuation 175

the ecologist standing against industrial enterprise in defense of a viable mode of human functioning within the context of a viable planetary process. This opposition between the industrial entrepreneur and the ecologist has been both the central human issue and the central earth issue of this late 20th century. … the efforts of the entrepreneur to create a wonderworld are, in fact, creating a wasteworld, a nonviable environment for the human species. The ecologist is offering a way of moving toward a new expression of the true wonderworld of nature as the context for a viable human situation. The current difficulty is that the industrial enterprise has such extensive control over the planet that we must certainly be anxious about the future. (Berry, 1987/1995: 11) Without Shepard’s ‘deep sense of engagement with the landscape, with profound connections to surroundings and to natural processes central to all life’ this disruption of our consumption would leave an intolerable void, hence the omnipresence of advertising to keep us addicted. Deep ecology does not compromise our quality of life, as Næss so beautifully illustrated in a 1982 interview with Stephen Bodian of the Los Angeles Zen Center: I’m not for the simple life, except in the sense of a life simple in means but rich in goals and values. I have tremendous ambition. Only the best is good enough for me. I like richness, and I feel richer than the richest person when I’m in my cottage in the country with water I’ve carried from a certain well and with wood that I’ve gathered. When you take a helicopter to the summit of a mountain, the view looks like a postcard and, if there’s a restaurant on top, you might complain that the food is not properly made. But if you struggle up from the bottom, you have this deep feeling of satisfaction, and even the sandwiches mixed with ski wax and sand taste fantastic. (Bodian, 1982/1995: 36) As John Muir famously said, a day in the mountains is worth a mountain of books, and no amount of text can convey the joy that such an attitude offers—it has to be lived and experienced in whatever environment one finds oneself.

4. The flourishing of human life and cultures is compatible with a substantial decrease of the human population. The flourishing of non-human life requires such a decrease. This breaking of an almost universal taboo provokes correspondingly widespread accusations of misanthropy against deep ecology. The role of human population growth on anthropogenic impacts is undeniable, yet we are trapped in a state of cognitive dissonance whereby a naturally decreasing population is an ecologist’s dream and an economist’s nightmare. However, hostility to any attempt to achieve such a decrease by empowering women and encouraging couples to have fewer

176 Frugal individuation

children extends far beyond economic concerns. Even prominent cultural critics such as Naomi Klein and George Monbiot, who I otherwise largely agree with, fudge the issue with misapplied either/or thinking (Klein, 2014: 114n; Monbiot, 2016). The ‘progressive’ presumption is that population reduction amounts to a self-righteous and racist subjugation of the world’s poor by the wealthy, even though the latter have vastly greater anthropogenic impacts. This is compounded by a parallel suspicion that it is also a patriarchal oppression of women’s rights. According to the President of Population Matters, the latter arose after the United Nations International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) in 1994.2 Unsurprisingly its Programme of Action frequently mentioned the need to reduce population growth, but ‘certain women’s groups’ from the U.S. manipulated peoples’ perceptions so successfully that any talk of ‘population’ as such, or even ‘family planning’, was interpreted as a euphemism for coercive ‘population control’. It isn’t; yet this ridiculous and ultimately tragic misperception has seriously set back thinking and action, and still crops up in ill-informed coverage of the issue. The former ‘rich versus poor’ presumption is based on stereotyping of, in Monbiot’s case, ‘post-reproductive wealthy white men’ shifting the blame for their anthropogenic impacts onto the growing populations of the majority world. As one who meets all these criteria (using the Chapter 1 definition of wealthy), albeit none of them through choice, I presumably stand accused. However, I take full responsibility for my own impacts, which I try to minimise, and advocate an absolutely even-handed and voluntary global approach to reducing human population as any other would be unethical and dangerous. I also acknowledged from the outset that the achievable per capita impact reductions are greatest among the wealthy, and that it is vital that we are educated and act accordingly. Klein’s dismissal, relegated to a footnote in an otherwise brilliant 566-page book, of ‘population control’ (that term again, with its implied coercion) as a distraction and a moral dead end uses the same straw man argument as Monbiot—i.e., that it is instead the excessive consumption by the rich that is the problem.3 Of course I share their outrage and disgust at such greed and selfishness, and deep ecology is both radical and uncompromising about the limits to consumption in point 3. Moreover, I admire both Monbiot and Klein enormously; so why this persistent blind spot? Even the simplest analysis shows that every contributing factor to anthropogenic impacts is ‘the problem’ and that they all have to be addressed concurrently; we have run out of wriggle room, hence the need for both points 3 and 4. One doesn’t need much imagination to see that our quality of life would improve if there were fewer of us, with more of everything to go round and less overcrowding, thereby reducing our alienation from nature and from each other. Conversely, the consequences of endless population growth look decidedly ugly to anyone except, presumably, an ecomodernist. The more of us there are competing for control of finite resources, the fewer of those resources will remain and the greater the risk of conflict, famine and flight. More of us will suffer directly from anthropogenic impacts such as climate change, extreme weather events and so on. Bluntly stated, both the absolute number and proportion of violent and agonising

Frugal individuation 177

human deaths, whether at the hands of another or from natural catastrophe, will inevitably increase with population. So how can voluntarily reducing our population size through peaceful means to enhance our quality of life and reduce human suffering be construed as misanthropic? I will return to this vexed topic, hopefully sounding less like a defence lawyer, in the following section. For now, it is worth noting that when the eight ‘deep ecology basic principles’ were formulated, the estimated global population was under 5 billion, and has increased by well over 50% since then. The 2017 U.N. population projections to 2100 shown in Figure 7.1 show what a dramatic difference an apparently small change in global fertility rates can make.

FIGURE 7.1

United Nations population projections to 2100. Courtesy of Population Matters.

5. Present human interference with the non-human world is excessive, and the situation is rapidly worsening. Indeed. The principles were formulated about half-way between the start of the Great Acceleration and the present day, and eight years before the first Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro and adoption of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) in 1992. Awareness of global heating outside the fossil fuel industry was minimal in 1984.

178 Frugal individuation

6. Policies must therefore be changed. The policies affect basic economic, technological, and ideological structures. The resulting state of affairs will be deeply different from the present. Indeed, which is why deep ecology upsets entrenched interests. The premise of this book is that psychology underpins all three basic structures. Lovelock’s concept of ‘sustainable retreat’ reflects the realities of the second half of life in Jung’s model.

7. The ideological change is mainly that of appreciating life quality (dwelling in situations of inherent value) rather than adhering to an increasingly higher standard of living. There will be a profound awareness of the difference between big and great. This is the vital shift of perception or attitude, which I personally hesitate to label as ‘ideology’. Without it, and the upsides mentioned under points 3 and 4, deep ecology appears unremittingly bleak and restrictive; with them, it can increase our quality of life. The difference between big and great, which resembles quantity versus quality, is the essence of frugality as defined above, and brings to mind the title of E.F. Schumacher’s ground-breaking Small is Beautiful: A Study of Economics as if People Mattered (Schumacher, 1973/1974).

8. Those who subscribe to the foregoing points have an obligation directly or indirectly to try to implement the necessary changes. Although I do indeed happen to ‘subscribe to the foregoing points’, my attempts to minimise my own impacts, engage with others and write this book began long before I became aware of the ‘eight principles’ or even deep ecology per se. In this I am surely not alone, for deep ecology is, like analytical psychology, decentralised and self-questioning, so its expression through women and men from diverse cultures and disciplines is both welcomed and constantly evolving. I suggest that the eight principles should be adopted more as a framework for mindful living than an environmentalist equivalent of Isaac Asimov’s ‘Three Laws of Robotics’ (with all the problems they entailed), otherwise they would become a new ideology which, thankfully, Næss explicitly rejects. Like individuation, it is ordered by something greater than any ego-driven will to conformity or power, finding unique conscious expression in, for example, Dolores LaChapelle’s passion for ritual, Joanna Macy’s ‘Council of All Beings’, David Abram’s magical prose and Gary Snyder’s poetry. The common thread is a way of being in the world in harmony with Gaia, and hence with oneself. These characteristics appear in an important passage from Jung that was written before deep ecology was even mooted: Resistance to the organised mass can be effected only by the man who is as well organised in his individuality as the mass itself. I fully realise that this proposition must sound well-nigh unintelligible to the man of today. The

Frugal individuation 179

helpful medieval view that man is a microcosm, a reflection of the great cosmos in miniature, has long since dropped away from him, although the very existence of his world-embracing and world-conditioning psyche might have taught him better. (Jung, 1957/1970: §540) The first sentence accords with Næss’ insistence that deep ecology is not institutionalised as a religion or an ideology, or even a philosophy in any proper academic sense (Næss, 1986: 17). The second sentence accords with deep ecology’s psychological rather than moralistic approach to environmentalism by expanding self beyond the boundaries of the narrow ego through the process of caring identification with larger entities such as forests, bioregions and the planet as a whole. Echoing Hillman’s questioning of the demarcation between ‘me’ and ‘not me’, this identification was not just theorised but clearly experienced by Jung at the simple (it had no electricity or even running water) stone dwelling he built at Bollingen: At times I feel as if I am spread out over the landscape and inside things, and am myself living in every tree, in the splashing of the waves, in the clouds and the animals that come and go, in the processions of the seasons. (Jung, 1963/1995: 252) Although Næss seems not to have been directly influenced by Jung’s ideas, there are intriguing parallels between the two men, not least in the importance for them both of solitude and communion with nature. Jung built his lakeside retreat at Bollingen in Switzerland, and Næss built a little cabin, ‘Tvergastein’, high on his favourite mountain in Arctic Norway, spending up to six months at a time living there. Jung sailed a dinghy, Næss climbed mountains—significantly both are activities which encourage and benefit from frugality as defined above. There are intriguing parallels between their theories too. Like Jung, Næss formulated a concept of ‘Self-realisation’ within his ‘Ecosophy T’ framework (which is, admittedly, hard going for anyone other than a professional philosopher; apparently ‘T’ is for Tvergastein). Although his concept of the ‘ecological Self’ is somewhat different from Jung’s, they both took inspiration from the Upanishads and clearly differentiated their respective ‘Self’ concepts from the domain of the individual ego: I do not use this expression in any narrow, individualistic sense. I want to give it an expanded meaning based on the distinction between a large comprehensive Self and narrow egoistic self as conceived of in certain Eastern traditions of atman. This large comprehensive Self … embraces all the life forms on the planet … together with their individual selves … Viewed systematically, not individually, maximum Self-realization implies maximizing the manifestations of all life. (Næss, 1986: 80)

180 Frugal individuation

This definition by Næss indicates that his ecological concept of ‘Self’ can legitimately be regarded as a Gaian complement to the Jungian Self, and he accords the same primacy to Self-realisation that Jung did. There is a striking similarity between the last line in the above citation—‘Viewed systematically, not individually, maximum Self-realization implies maximizing the manifestations of all life’—and the opening lines of Jung’s autobiography: ‘My life is a story of the self-realisation of the unconscious. Everything in the unconscious seeks outward manifestation, and the personality too desires to evolve out of its unconscious conditions and to experience itself as a whole’ (Jung, 1963/1995: 17). The former refers to the ‘outer’ world, the latter to the ‘inner’—they are complementary. Moreover, just as individuation encourages wholeness, deep ecology fosters diversity within unity, and not just biodiversity as in Gaia theory: ‘Deep cultural diversity is an analogue on the human level to the biological richness and diversity of life-forms’ (Næss, 1986: 73). In short, both Jungian psychology and deep ecology embrace wholeness, of which the majority is other-than-ego in the former, and other-than-human in the latter. In other words, deep ecology is, above all, biocentric, not anthropocentric, viewing us as just one constituency among others in the biotic community, and recognising the intrinsic value of all. It therefore asserts that ecologically effective ethics can only arise within the context of a cosmology of fundamental interrelatedness. This radical practical and ethical stance is widely misinterpreted as a denial of the unique role of Homo sapiens in Gaia—apparently the parting of the ways between deep ecology and the ‘new anthropocentrism’ advocated by Clive Hamilton. This is because, as is so often the case, equality is erroneously conflated with identity. Of course deep ecology recognises that humans have a unique role, unique powers and hence unique responsibilities, and are profoundly different from, say, trees, bacteria or fish. A more egalitarian relationship with other life forms does not reduce everything to homogeneity; if anything, it encourages a sense of wonder at their diversity. The foregoing already impressive parallels between deep ecology and analytical psychology are further enriched by the structural correlations between Homo sapiens and ego. These correlations explicitly connect the outer movement in deep ecology from our anthropocentric Zeitgeist towards a biocentric worldview/ethos and a smaller human population with the inner movement of the midpoint of the personality from the ego towards, and under the influence of, the Jungian Self in the individuation process. This is summarised in Table 7.1. TABLE 7.1 Correlated dynamics of deep ecology and individuation.

Change:

Goal: Agent:

Deep Ecology

Individuation

Of: worldview / ethos / population From: anthropocentric To: biocentric biotic flourishing and cultural diversity ecological Self

Of: midpoint of personality From: ego To: Self psychological wholeness Jungian Self

Frugal individuation 181

This schema highlights the difference between deep ecology and anthropocentric ‘reform environmentalism’, which could be more plausibly compared with psychological quick fixes such as medication, counselling or ‘pop psychology’. Its over-dependence on technological remedies is analogous to the widespread overuse of psycho-pharmaceuticals. While analytical psychology as a therapeutic practice does not depend on medication, in cases of serious disorder it may be necessary to restore sufficient psychic stability and structure, i.e., self-regulation, for psychotherapy to be effective. In other words, medication can be a prerequisite, but not a substitute, for Jungian psychotherapy. Unfortunately, in a healthcare industry driven by economic might, the relatively low financial costs of medication and powerful influence of ‘big pharma’ versus the high costs of psychotherapy favour the former in the long term too. This prejudice reflects our materialistic Zeitgeist. Technological remedies, such as renewable energy, are essential, but cannot be long-term substitutes for adapting our lifestyles along the lines proposed by deep ecology. As a postscript, it is intriguing to contrast the terms ‘deep ecology’ and ‘depth psychology’ with ‘high technology’, ‘high society’, ‘high flier’ etc. in the context of the movement of the Western religious perspective from Earth to heaven. Our entire notion of ‘progress’ is upward on the y-axis of the Cartesian coordinate system. Of course, as we ‘grow up’ we become taller, and I still remember my childhood pride in the pencil lines advancing up the wall. We forget, however, that in becoming taller we also press more heavily downwards upon the Earth.

7.2 Related practice It would be disingenuous and doctrinaire to claim that deep ecology had a monopoly on creative approaches to navigating climate change and other aspects of the Anthropocene. The following selection of initiatives is inevitably subjective and incomplete, but hopefully serves to convey the need for both individual and collective action. I have grouped them together under the heading ‘related practice’ to emphasise their tacit understanding of the interrelatedness of all things, but especially of us to Gaia and to each other; as such, they are intrinsically holistic. I will begin with individual initiatives, about which Jung wrote: As any change must begin somewhere, it is the single individual who will undergo it and carry it through. … Nobody can afford to look round and to wait for somebody else to do what he is loath to do himself. As nobody knows what he could do, he might be bold enough to ask himself whether by any chance his or her unconscious may know something helpful when there is no satisfactory conscious answer anywhere in sight. Certainly the conscious mind seems unable to do anything useful in this respect. Man today is painfully aware of the fact that neither his great religions nor his various philosophies seem to provide him with those powerful ideas that would give him the certainty and security he needs in face of the present condition of the world. (Jung, 1961/1976: §599)

182 Frugal individuation

The first two lines are entirely appropriate to the problem of anthropogenic greenhouse gas emissions, which are simply the aggregate of those due to consumption of goods and services by each and every one of us. In this context there are plenty of ‘satisfactory conscious answers’ in sight. In other contexts I contend that we need to not only learn about nature, but also to learn from nature which, given the Psyche–Gaia conjecture, is reflected in the remainder of the citation. My approach remains grounded in psychology, but there comes a point where individuation must be translated into meaningful practice. That is the emphasis throughout the remainder of this chapter.

7.3 Reducing emissions In addition to the cultural obstacles to reducing our individual contributions to anthropogenic greenhouse gas emissions already discussed, even if we want to, we are unsure how to go about it. Government advice is at best low-profile, at worst non-existent. Fortunately, others have done the hard work for us. Chris Goodall’s Clarion award-winning book, How to Live a Low-Carbon Life: The Individual’s Guide to Stopping Climate Change (Goodall, 2007), is packed with facts, figures and guidance, and aimed to help people bring down the (then) average annual U.K. per capita CO2 emissions from 12.5 tonnes to 3 tonnes. Less U.K.-centric, and a decade more up to date, is the open-access journal article ‘The Climate Mitigation Gap: Education and Government Recommendations Miss the Most Effective Individual Actions’ (Wynes & Nicholas, 2017). The authors conducted a meta-analysis of peer-reviewed literature with, where possible, a life-cycle approach, to consider a broad range of individual lifestyle choices and calculate their potential to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Their findings for developed countries, which were based on 148 scenarios from 39 sources, led them recommend four widely applicable individual actions with the potential to substantially reduce annual personal emissions: having one less child (an average for developed countries of 58.6 tonnes CO2-equivalent (t CO2e) emission reductions per year); living car-free (2.4 t CO2e saved per year); avoiding air travel (1.6 t CO2e saved per roundtrip transatlantic flight); and eating a plant-based diet (0.8 t CO2e saved per year). The reductions achievable through these actions and others are shown graphically in Figure 7.2. The heights of the bars represent the means of all studies identified in developed nations, while black lines indicate mean values for selected countries or regions (identified by ISO codes) where data were available from specific studies. Actions are classified as high (dark grey), moderate (mid-grey) and low (light grey) impact in terms of greenhouse gas emissions reductions. Note the break in the y-axis, which is required to include the impact of having one less child, which on average is over 24 times greater than the next highest impact action, and two orders of magnitude greater than any of the low-impact actions. The high-impact actions shown in Figure 7.2 have much greater potential to reduce emissions than commonly promoted strategies like comprehensive recycling (four times less effective than a plant-based diet) or changing household

Frugal individuation 183

FIGURE 7.2

A comparison of CO2 emissions reductions from various individual actions.

lightbulbs (eight times less), though in fairness recycling has other environmental benefits. Again, this is not an either/or debate—all actions are worthwhile and implementing one doesn’t absolve us of responsibility for implementing others. The problem Wynes and Nicholas’ paper highlights is that by focussing their recommendations on lower-impact actions, government resources on climate change from the E.U., U.S., Canada and Australia are being far less effective than they could be. Analysis of an authoritative government guide for each of these regions found that none recommended having fewer children (nor does Goodall) or eating a plant-based diet, though the E.U. guide did suggest eating less meat and more vegetables. Neither the American nor Australian guides suggested avoiding air travel. All four government guides discussed reducing the impact of personal vehicles through buying cleaner cars or driving or maintaining them better, and all suggested increased use of cycling or public transport; but only Australia adopted the framing of a car-free lifestyle. The explanations for the widespread discrepancy between guidance and reality are doubtless complex—the authors suggest ease of implementation as one factor—but I would expect any such government’s perspective to be compromised by their fixation on economic growth and fear of recommending anything that might weaken it. An alternative to abstaining altogether from high-impact activities such as air travel, for example, is to offset the emissions of essential flights with a verified not-for-profit offsets provider such as myclimate (www.myclimate.org), atmosfair (www.atmosfair. de) and carbon footprint (www.carbonfootprint.com)—again for the record, I have no commercial relationship with any of them. This is easily done online with sophisticated calculators that, in the case of flights, estimate emissions based on route (including changes/stopovers) and seating class as a minimum. The provider will then

184 Frugal individuation

indicate the cost of supporting projects, often in the majority world, that will result in the avoidance of the same amount of emissions. The critical requirement here is known as ‘additionality’, which means that the projects would not be implemented, and their reductions achieved, without this support. I currently pay around 30 Swiss Francs (approximately $30/£23) per tonne with a verified provider—any prices much lower than that, as offered by some airlines, are suspiciously cheap and therefore probably not verified. While verified offsetting is second-best to avoiding emissions in the first place and should be regarded as a stop-gap measure, its effects are real and bring other social benefits. It seems to incur an inordinate amount of criticism from some environmentalists, including legitimate concerns about the presence of ‘cowboy’ operators in the carbon trading market, but perhaps also out of less noble sentiments such as proselytising asceticism or self-righteousness. We can also try to raise awareness among our personal or professional communities, as I did when I asked the International Association for Analytical Psychology (IAAP) to circulate a letter encouraging delegates (a thousand or so of whom had flown from all over the world to its 2016 Congress in Kyoto) to consider offsetting their flight emissions. My request was courteously received but deemed ‘political’, and therefore inappropriate for inclusion in the IAAP Newsletter. I therefore submitted a motion to the General Assembly of the Association of Graduates in Analytical Psychology (AGAP), the member group of IAAP to which I belong, to make annual payments to a verified offsets provider to compensate the estimated flight emissions of its Executive Committee for their representative duties and of its members attending regular AGAP events. The motion was overwhelmingly adopted by the Assembly, with support from AGAP’s Executive Committee, putting AGAP in a strong position to make a similar suggestion to the IAAP at its next Congress.

7.4 Learning from nature A favourite accusation directed at anyone who questions the shibboleth of technological progress, especially deep ecologists, is that they are Luddites who want to take us back to living in caves. Ironically, if we are forced back into a Neolithic existence by nuclear war or some other anthropogenic catastrophe, which can’t be ruled out, it will be because their voices have been ignored. Changing our attitude to the other-than-human world in a way that may not reflect the mainstream notion of progress, yet is not regressive, is vital. I have noted that disenchanted people make good consumers; so becoming re-enchanted, of which contact with the natural world is an integral part, is one way towards ending our addiction to consumption. I have also given some examples of communion between the human soul and the anima mundi which there is no need to repeat or supplement here. Conversely, I have examined the negative consequences of our present alienation from nature. While at the most obvious level we have to reacquaint ourselves with nature because it is easier to care for something known than unknown, how do we get from alienation to communion?

Frugal individuation 185

Many of the principal authors I have cited found, or find, time for the simple life close to nature, as do I. To be re-enchanted through nature, we have to ignore cultural pressures, forego our habitual levels of material comfort, abandon ego-driven goals and open ourselves to the presence of the anima mundi. Entering into such communion with the world is both an encouragement to transform our attitudes in accordance with the principles of deep ecology and individuation and a reward for doing so—a much-needed positive (here in the value sense) reinforcing feedback process. Sceptics may argue that it is a privileged aspect of living that requires leisure time and access to nature, neither of which can be taken for granted in our overworked and over-urbanised society. Both Andy Fisher (2002) and Stephan Harding (2009) suggest simple exercises that can help us reconnect soulfully with the natural world in such circumstances, as doubtless others do too. One suggestion that I like is maintaining some kind of continuity of watchful engagement with a particular place, even somewhere as unglamorous as an overgrown patch of waste ground, in all weathers and seasons. This is what most other-than-human life does, and can reveal much that is not apparent from a cursory glance. Caring for an animal, garden or allotment, even a potted plant or two, all contribute to a continuity of contact with the other-than-human world. Wherever one is, and whatever one does in this context, it is essential to slow down and be quiet, attentive and receptive. The Cartesian notion that animals have no souls is an unspoken and insufficiently challenged assumption unique to modern Western culture. Our language systematically deprives animals of even personhood, as I am reminded whenever my (Japanese) wife and I encounter an unknown other-than-human being. I used to ask ‘What is that?’, whereas she would always ask ‘Who is that?’ even of something/someone as small as an insect. This struck me as odd at first, but now feels natural to me, and it makes a difference. Solid evidence of animals sharing more and more human capacities—intelligence, language, memory, emotionality, tool-making, friendship, loyalty, envy and so on to various extents (most notably among primates and cetaceans)—continues to accumulate and should not go unmentioned; nor should some species’ apparent ability to anticipate phenomena such as tsunamis that we can’t. However, I want to leapfrog all that to highlight the activities of a remarkable South African woman, Anna Breytenbach. I first saw her extraordinary 2012 documentary film, The Animal Communicator (Breytenbach et al., 2012) in 2014 as a member of the Psychologischer Club Zürich, which was established by Jung in 1916; the film was screened there as part of a season of lectures on the animal soul. It is not widely available on DVD but, at the time of writing, can be viewed in full on YouTube (and one 13-minute extract has had over 6.6 million views). In the course of 52 minutes, Breytenbach appears to be communicating with a variety of mammals (an elephant, eland, baboons, a capuchin monkey and a black leopard), a cockatoo and even fish. I have to say ‘appears to be’ because it is unprovable. Ever the sceptic, I checked out her bona fides with Ian Player, the great South African environmental educator, conservationist and activist, who was (he died later that year) perhaps best known for saving the white rhino from extinction. I had been introduced to Player, although we never met, some years earlier by my thesis advisor, Jungian colleague and filmmaker Peter Ammann, and we had corresponded

186 Frugal individuation

about my writing. In addition to his extraordinary conservation efforts, Player was engaged with analytical psychology for decades with Laurens van der Post, and was one of the founding forces for the Cape Town Centre for Applied Jungian Studies. He was the central figure in Amman’s documentary Hlonipa: Journey into Wilderness (Ammann et al., 1992), which is also well worth watching. ‘Hlonipa’ means respect, which Player says will not come from a scientific understanding, but from inside. As they set off into the wilderness, he tells the party he is guiding ‘I could tell you the names of all the trees, grasses and so on, but that would be a nature trail. I want to share the holistic experience, and that is a religious experience.’ His reply to my query endorsed Breytenbach and expanded the context: It was very synchronistic as I sent your animal communication to one of the field Rangers in the Wilderness Leadership School who happened to be out in the bush with Anna who he said was very impressive. I know from my own experience in one particular instance, I and a group of people on a wilderness trail were approached by a huge lioness and the old game scout who was with us stood up and addressed the lioness giving them their Zulu praise names and asking them to go away which they did, they slowly turned around and walked away. (Player, 2014) I can only urge you to watch The Animal Communicator and decide for yourself. I don’t buy into Breytenbach’s ‘quantum’ explanation of telepathy, but suggest that it is further evidence for nonlocal mind as proposed by Myers, James and the Sursem project, and well worth further investigation from that perspective. However, I do not doubt her ability, which, although exceptional, is surely not unique—least of all among traditional cultures, as she fully acknowledges with strikingly similar clips of indigenous people from Africa, Australia and North America describing their approaches. I had an experience of my own in the late nineties (long before I had heard of Breytenbach), which suggests that there is a latent ability to some degree which we can draw on when really needed. I was walking alone through wild woodland in KwaZulu-Natal when I unexpectedly encountered a troop of baboons. I am no expert on African wildlife, so had no idea how they would react to my presence, but I could see that there were maybe twenty or more of them. I instinctively began to silently apologise for encroaching on their territory as I slowly walked backwards away from them. I felt as if they accepted my apology and thanked me for my respect, but of course I could have imagined that. My unspoken contrition made me feel very close to them and at the same time kept me calm. As far as I could see, they took no notice of me, and although again I cannot prove it was because of communication, at the very least it was a spiritual experience. If animals are capable of the emotional range, long-term memory and richness of communication that Breytenbach claims, the implications for our understanding and appreciation of them, and hence our relationship with them, are truly revolutionary. This appears to be a vital area of lost knowledge that urgently needs to be recovered.

Frugal individuation 187

However, as mentioned, animals are estimated to constitute only about 0.36% by carbon content of the global biomass, and chordates (mostly fish) only about a quarter of even that amount (Bar-On et al., 2018). In contrast, plants are estimated to constitute about 80% of global biomass—their presence dominates the biosphere and the other-than-human life that we encounter in our everyday lives. We generally pay scant attention to them, dismissing them as inert, or at least passive, automata. It seems that we have under-estimated plants even more than we have animals, though this realisation hasn’t filtered through to our Zeitgeist. I first became curious about this after reading a book called The Secret Life of Plants (Tompkins & Bird, 1975), which documents Western plant research going at least as far back as Gustav Theodor Fechner, who was better known as a philosopher, physicist and pioneer of experimental psychology. His book Nanna oder über das Seelenleben der Pflanzen (Nanna, or the Soul Life of Plants) was published in Leipzig in 1848 and greeted with academic ridicule, yet remained in print for the next 75 years due to public interest. Broadly speaking, solid scientific evidence for sentience in, and sophisticated communication between, plants has been accumulating ever since. Among recommended recent books on this theme is one by a respected biologist, What a Plant Knows: A Field Guide to the Senses of Your Garden—and Beyond (Chamovitz, 2013). The book received positive reviews including, perhaps most significantly, from the journal Nature and the Director of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. Another, by a man who spent over twenty years working for the forestry commission in Germany, is The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate―Discoveries From a Secret World (Wohlleben, 2016). This demonstrates that a forest is a networked society, with all that implies. Both authors draw on cutting-edge scientific research to support their arguments. I want to explore the implications of this for our relationship with plants on two levels. The first is an extraordinary and inspiring example of what can happen if we relinquish our patriarchal obsession with control and, instead, simply support natural processes. This was the approach taken by the Japanese agronomist Dr Shigeo Nozawa. From a single seed of an ordinary tomato, Nozawa succeeded in growing a giant tomato tree with leaves spreading out to form a canopy 8 metres wide and the trunk growing to 15 centimetres in diameter and bearing some seventeen thousand (tasty) tomatoes, without any genetic manipulation or use of special fertilisers. His ‘Hyponica’ technique, which was first demonstrated to the public in 1985 at the Tsukuba Science and Technology Expo, uses a sophisticated array of sensors to optimise the environment for the plant, but not control the plant itself. The roots are allowed to grow freely in fresh water, which allows them to absorb more nutrition. Under these conditions, a huge mesh of fine roots covering several square metres, quite unlike the same plant’s root structure in soil, develops. Nozawa talked about the mind of plants and their infinite vitality in the wonderful Japanese documentary film series Gaia Symphony (Tatsumura, 1992) in language reminiscent of both Næss and Jung, though I doubt he was aware of either: ‘The only thing I did was remove conditions that would be hazardous to the trees’ growth. I just facilitated their fullest self-realisation.’ In other words, Nozawa’s

188 Frugal individuation

approach was not to coerce the plant, but ‘to provide assistance so it could reach its fullest potential … An infinite life force exists in the universe. The key to this life force is in our hearts.’ Deep ecology means working with, not against, nature to maximise self-realisation just as Næss and Nozawa said. Shigeo Nozawa died before James Lovelock visited the tomato tree in October 2003; I was privileged to do so in 2014, which gave me an opportunity to see not only tomato trees in various stages of growth, but also several other plant species thriving with the same ‘Hyponica’ technique. The company, which again I have no commercial relationship with, is based in Takatsuki city near Osaka, and has an English-language web page with further information (Kyowa, 2018). The second level is altogether more controversial, perhaps in part because it has such profound implications for our relationship with the other-than-human world. This is the effect of psychotropic plants on human consciousness, and particularly the new forms of knowledge that entheogens such as ayahuasca can impart. Any attempt to broach this subject immediately runs into our culture’s ill-informed and undifferentiated hysteria about non-medicinal ‘drugs’. At one end of the spectrum are addictive toxins such as heroin, cocaine, opioids, crystal meth, alcohol and tobacco, which can destroy lives and harm society, but ultimately merely perpetuate our Zeitgeist. At the other end are non-addictive entheogens such as psilocybin, mescaline and ayahuasca which, if used appropriately, can challenge the anthropocentrism of our Zeitgeist. I am not advocating the use of any drug, but I do believe that we should listen seriously to what some scrupulous individuals report from the use of entheogens instead of resorting to the usual knee-jerk judgement. It was in this spirit that in 2008 I attended the World Psychedelic Forum in Basel with a Jungian colleague who was at that time employed in a drug addiction unit in England.4 The event was presented by the Gaia Media Foundation, a non-profit organisation ‘with the purpose of communicating information that contributes to a holistic understanding of nature and human existence’. The theme of the event, which attracted over 1,500 delegates, was not dissimilar to that of this book—‘Consciousness Change: A Challenge for the 21st Century’. Moreover, in his preface to the conference at 101 years of age, the celebrated discoverer of LSD, Albert Hofmann (1906–2008) wrote: Alienation from nature and the loss of the experience of being part of the living creation is the greatest tragedy of our materialistic era. It is the causative reason for ecological devastation and climate change. Therefore, I attribute absolute highest importance to consciousness change. I regard psychedelics as catalyzers for this. They are tools which are guiding our perception toward other deeper areas of our human existence, so that we again become aware of our spiritual essence. Psychedelic experiences in a safe setting can help our consciousness open up to this sensation of connection and of being one with nature. (Hofmann, 2007)

Frugal individuation 189

I consider such use of psychedelics not medicinal in the conventional sense, and certainly not recreational, but educational. My colleague and I both came away deeply impressed by the lucidity and quality of the presenters and, for the record, didn’t see a single intoxicated individual there. The subject matter ranged from the therapeutic use of psychedelics, especially in psychotherapy and palliative care, to shamanism, above all in Central and South America. At the risk of labouring the above point about our culture’s undifferentiated attitude to ‘drugs’, a plea from a Kogi shaman from Colombia for a boycott of cocaine on account of the suffering it causes in the regions where it is produced was greeted with resounding applause. Out of the many fascinating presenters, I want to focus on the work of just one who, thanks to another Jungian colleague, Cedrus Monte, I have encountered both before and after this event—the Canadian-Swiss anthropologist, Jeremy Narby. In 1985, Narby went to live among the Ashaninca people in the Peruvian Amazon for a two-year period of fieldwork in pursuit of his doctorate in anthropology from Stanford University. His objective was to catalogue indigenous uses of rainforest resources to help combat ecological destruction by preserving the inhabitants’ land rights. The prevailing attitude among the development banks at that time was that indigenous people were failing to make ‘rational’ use of the rainforest, and that outside interventions in the form of razing the forest for cattle ranching or mineral extraction constituted ‘development’. Since 1989 Narby has led the Amazonian operations of the Swiss NGO Nouvelle Planète to promote self-determination for the indigenous Amazonian population. Among their achievements to date is the securing of indigenous land rights over a total area about the size of Switzerland (or New Hampshire and Vermont combined) in the Amazon basin. Narby quickly discovered through his fieldwork that the Ashaninca’s use of the rainforest resources was extremely ‘rational’, but had no idea how they knew what use to make of which plant in the world’s most diverse biome, which is estimated to contain at least 80,000 species. Rational use includes extremely sophisticated combination and preparation techniques that can be explained by Western science, yet originated without it. Examples include the hallucinogenic ayahuasca brew and the muscle-relaxant curare used for hunting. He was likewise astonished to hear these people speak of plants as their kin, as intelligent beings with personalities and intentions. Narby, who described himself as a materialist, rationalist agnostic when he embarked on his fieldwork, was told that he would have to take ayahuasca himself to understand all this. His book, The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge (Narby, 1999), recounts his experiences in the hallucinatory world of the local ayahuasqueros (ayahuasca shamans), his further insights into a mode of knowledge utterly unfamiliar to the Western mind, and the connections he subsequently made with molecular biology. The indigenous explanation of how they know what use to make of plants is that the plants themselves tell them in their visions. They listen and watch, the plants speak and show. This is an extraordinarily powerful example of learning from, not about, nature, which Western science cannot explain and therefore will not accept.

190 Frugal individuation

Narby’s initial ayahuasca experience included a vision of two enormous glowing boa constrictors which humbled him and challenged the foundations of his presumed knowledge so deeply that it determined the course of the subsequent research reported in his book. To cut short his long, interesting and plausible account, in which he equates the ubiquitous dual snake motif with the double helix of DNA, he concludes: I began my investigation with the enigma of ‘plant communication.’ I went on to accept that hallucinations could be a source of verifiable information. And I ended up with a hypothesis that a human mind can communicate in defocalized consciousness with the global network of DNA-based life. All this contradicts the principles of Western knowledge. … My hypothesis suggests that what scientists call DNA corresponds to the animate essences that shamans say communicate with them and animate all life forms. Modern biology, however, is founded on the notion that nature is not animated by an intelligence and therefore cannot communicate. (Narby, 1999: 132) Narby has been right about one thing at least, for despite being an engaging writer and an even better speaker (many of his lectures are on YouTube—Jeremy Narby on Nature & Life Intelligence is a good introduction), he has struggled for almost two decades now to be taken seriously in the orthodox scientific community, especially by biologists. However, his experience has an extraordinary resonance with Jung’s exploration of the Self in Aion, in which the serpent is at the psyche–matter divide, and about which Murray Stein wrote: ‘The serpent is a consciousness-creator; and in this it represents the psychization process’ (Stein, 1998: 167). It also resonates with the ideas of Stevens and Goodwin, and with my reported dream. Taken together, the findings of all the aforementioned pioneers offer a far richer and more animated view of other-than-human life than is characteristic of, or even permitted by, our Zeitgeist. In its limiting form, all living beings, by which I mean animals and plants, are sentient and can communicate with each other and, crucially, with us. Moreover, they share far more in common than is conventionally believed, a factor which transcends ‘inner’ and ‘outer’—whether Nozawa’s ‘infinite life force’, the shamans’ ‘animate essences’ or DNA as proposed by Narby. Perhaps they are all ultimately maps of the same territory. The implications for our culture are simultaneously humbling and exciting—humbling because they show that we are not as special as we like to think we are, and exciting because where there is communication there is the potential for cooperation and, above all, learning.

7.5 Embracing panentheism Learning from nature inevitably involves an element of personal spirituality, though not as understood by the mainstream variants of any of our institutionalised religions. Nobody, least of all Narby, is asking us to live like the indigenous

Frugal individuation 191

peoples of the Amazon, though it would do no harm to allow their and other indigenous peoples’ frugality and wisdom to inspire us. The ‘inner and outer’ factor that is common to all life, which is understood in different ways as I have just mentioned, seems to be inextricably linked with the teleological aspects of both psyche and Gaia that provoke so much hostility from orthodox Western science. Moreover, I limited ‘nature’ in the preceding discussion to other-than-human life, but it includes much more than that—landscapes, weather, minerals and so on—that are considered inanimate yet are, as we have seen, also part of the anima mundi with which we can experience some form of soul communication. More generally, the Psyche–Gaia conjecture suggests that the ‘outer’ connection with the anima mundi parallels the ‘inner’ connection with the soul, and that healthy relationship means opening the channels of communication in both cases. Thus, the process of individuation involves not just learning about the unconscious, but also learning from it by being attentive to dreams, synchronicities and so on, or devoting time to active imagination or creative self-expression. These connections and dynamics embrace entities and phenomena that the shamans’ ‘animate essences’ or Narby’s DNA theory appear unable to explain, perhaps more resembling Nozawa’s ‘infinite life force’; but we are at the limit of semantics here. Are we approaching a dead end, beyond our ability to explain and understand, or is there a potential framework of belief appropriate to our culture that can accommodate these apparent realities? Do we even need one? To answer the second question first, I would reply that life is otherwise meaningless. For example, science can tell us that X degrees of global temperature increase will cause Y metres of sea level rise which will displace Z million people, but all it is doing is mapping one fact onto another—it cannot tell us why it matters. That is the circumscribed role of value-free Western science. Only the soul, not the intellect, can feel the pain. The scope of the question can be extended to become biocentric (deep ecology) rather than merely anthropocentric (reform ecology): does the impact of X degrees of global temperature increase on other-than-human life and the biosphere as a whole matter? Reform ecology would answer this in terms of its impact on us—reduced food supply and so on—whereas deep ecology would answer it from the perspective of the biosphere, which requires some form of soul connection to the anima mundi. These are all reasons why we need some form of spirituality, and indicators of what it needs to accommodate. Re the first question, we are all free to find our own spiritual path to accommodate these realities. Others have gone into this question more deeply, and here I want to return to the Sursem project. The principal authors of the project’s second book, Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality, suggest that there is a framework for such spirituality, which they call ‘evolutionary panentheism’. They propose it more elegantly than I ever could, and it is the fruit of their entire project, so I will present two long excerpts from the book; but first a definition of ‘panentheism’ is required.

192 Frugal individuation

The more familiar belief of pantheism (from the Greek pan, meaning ‘all, of everything’ and theos, meaning ‘god, divine’) can be traced back thousands of years, but was (re-)popularised in Western culture in the 17th Century by Baruch Spinoza, who we have already encountered several times now, and deep ecology. As its etymology indicates, it is the belief that the divine, whether called ‘God’ or not, is everywhere and in everything—in other words that the cosmos and the divine are one and the same. In contrast, panentheism (meaning ‘all in god’ rather than ‘all is god’) maintains an ontological distinction between the divine and the nondivine, and thus that the divine, as the soul of the universe, both permeates and transcends it. This bears some resemblance to the unus mundus which I have equated with the ‘cosmic’ aspect of the Self. The first of the two excerpts is from Edward Kelly’s concluding chapter, ‘Toward a Worldview Grounded in Science and Spirituality’: the world pictured by panentheism is not just the same old physicalist world with an altered expression, but a world whose constitution is fundamentally different in ways that matter to us as human beings. The vision tentatively arrived at here provides an antidote to the prevailing postmodern disenchantment of the world and demeaning of human possibilities. It not only more accurately and fully describes our human condition but engenders hope and encourages human flourishing. It provides reasons for us to believe that freedom is real, that our human choices matter, and that we have barely scratched the surface of our human potentials. It also addresses the urgent need for a greater sense of worldwide community and interdependence, a sustainable ethos, by demonstrating that under the surface we and the world are much more extensively interconnected than previously realised. We strongly suspect that our individual and collective fates in these exceptionally dangerous and difficult times—indeed the fate of our precious planet and all of its passengers—may ultimately hinge upon wider recognition and more effective utilisation of the higher states of being that are potentially available to us but largely ignored or even actively suppressed by our post-modern civilisation with its strange combination of self-aggrandising individualism and fundamentalist tribalisms. Finally, and again with a certain amount of trepidation, we must say at least a few words about our sense of the implications of this emerging vision for traditional religious beliefs. Although Sursem’s members all take seriously the possibility that a tremendous collective something lies at the heart of Reality, we ourselves do not collectively advocate or accept the more detailed truthclaims of any existing faith. We surmise that persons who came to this book with such commitments in place, and who remain reluctant to abandon them, might at least find their spiritual lives enriched by taking more seriously the panentheistic currents already present in their faiths of choice. We certainly do not envisage creation of some new meta-faith with its own sacred book, clergy and communities! In the end all of us, Sursem members and readers alike, must decide individually how to integrate the data and arguments presented

Frugal individuation 193

here into our ongoing lives. The one thing we should all regard as unacceptable is unyielding and aggressive fundamentalism, whether of the religious or the scientific sort. (Kelly, 2015: 542) The emphasis throughout is on individual experience and tolerance, but in a profoundly holistic context. As such, I see nothing here that is incompatible with the parameters of individuation. Kelly only obliquely refers to other-than-human life and anthropogenic impacts, so meaningful comparisons with the spiritual aspects of deep ecology are not forthcoming. He nonetheless touches on many important issues that have appeared, some repeatedly, in this book, including disenchantment, interconnection, individualism and fundamentalism. The second excerpt is from the final chapter of the book, ‘The Emergence of Evolutionary Panentheism’, written by Director of the Esalen Center for Theory and Research and of the Sursem project, Michael Murphy, who contends that evolutionary panentheism: is based on just a few fundamental principles, among them, first, that evolution is a fact (although its discovery has given rise to various theories about it); second, that our universe arises from and is constituted by a world-transcending super nature, call it the One, God, Brahman, the Absolute, Buddha-Nature, Allah, Geist or the Dao; and third, that humans have a fundamental affinity or identity with that super nature, which can be known through immediate experience either spontaneously or by means of transformative practice. Because this worldview is so basic and so broad and because it can be embraced without superstitions, dogmas, or metaphysical abstractions that one cannot accept, it has been adopted, implicitly or explicitly, by countless men and women who have recognised its power to illuminate our human nature and destiny. However, its development has had a complex, meandering, often faltering history and remains on the margins of intellectual opinion today. While gathering support from wide-ranging scholarly studies of the wisdom traditions, depth psychology, and other disciplines that are giving us ever-greater understanding of our subliminal depths, its acceptance has been impeded by the reductive materialism that has accompanied the advance of mainstream science as well as by rancorous disagreements among its primary exponents and dramatic failures of social movements it has informed (among them Hegelian doctrines of inevitable human advance appropriated by the tyrannies of the Left and Right). And perhaps most importantly, it has lacked sufficient anchoring in the transformative practices that are necessary to actualise its promise. For more than two centuries now, evolutionary panentheism has been obscured in the fog of paradigm wars that have raged among scientists and philosophers even as discoveries from many fields have increasingly lent it support. It has, in short, sailed a zigzag course into powerful headwinds but with significant tailwinds. The story of its journey, I believe, will eventually be

194 Frugal individuation

described with scholarly depth and find a generally accepted place in the history of ideas, but however it comes to be viewed by historians, it will continue to be framed in various ways—and given different names—as it is adopted by people with different backgrounds and temperaments. Since that is the case, perhaps it is better to call it a ‘basic vision’ or ‘worldview’ rather than a ‘philosophy’ as that term is typically understood today by professional philosophers. (Murphy, 2015: 563) Here too the vital importance of gnosis—direct knowledge rather than received wisdom or doctrine—is emphasised, together with more explicitly stated scope for rapprochement with existing faiths (reminiscent of White’s approach to Christianity). Murphy contrasts the widespread appeal and applicability of evolutionary panentheism with the even more ubiquitous obstacles to its adoption, above all the reductionism of mainstream (Western) science. Just as Kelly rejects any ‘sacred book, clergy and communities’, Murphy leaves scope for evolutionary panentheism to be ‘given different names’. His coverage is even more anthropocentric than Kelly’s—I state this as an observation not a criticism as it is entirely consistent with the scope of the Sursem project. However, as already noted, I believe that further research into the implications of nonlocal mind for communication between humans, animals and plants—and which I have now extended to supposedly inanimate aspects of Gaia, all of whom and which are subsumed in the ‘world-transcending super nature’— would be extremely worthwhile.

7.6 Re-visioning economics Thus far I have given examples of individual related practice, from concrete action to shifts in our worldview. However, some dysfunctional aspects of our culture manifest as deeply embedded institutional assumptions, and can only realistically be tackled collectively. Since consumption of goods and services is the primary cause of anthropogenic impacts, and endless economic growth is the prevailing paradigm, radically re-visioning economics is perhaps the most important initiative in this context. The root meaning of ‘eco’ in both ecology and economics is ‘house, dwelling place, habitation’, yet these two disciplines have for decades been openly at war with one another, which is the single most destructive manifestation of our culture’s cognitive dissonance, as I have previously noted. Taking a different direction from the tired left–right debate, E.F. Schumacher’s provocatively titled Small is Beautiful: A Study of Economics as if People Mattered (Schumacher, 1973/1974) broke new ground and has inspired many to this day. His legacy also includes the Intermediate Technology Development Group and Schumacher College, an important hub for deep ecology education and thinking in the U.K. Critical of socialism and, even more so, of capitalism, Schumacher was an early advocate of sustainable development, human-scale technology and what he called ‘enoughness’. His perspective was global and multi-cultural, including his

Frugal individuation 195

suggestion that the Buddhist concept of ‘right livelihood’ could and should be translated into economic terms. Schumacher’s spirituality, aesthetics and writing style went far beyond the dry confines of economics per se, for example: Ever bigger machines, entailing ever bigger concentrations of economic power and exerting ever greater violence against the environment, do not represent progress: they are a denial of wisdom. Wisdom demands a new orientation of science and technology towards the organic, the gentle, the non-violent, the elegant and beautiful. (Schumacher, 1973/1974: 48) This, which is as apposite today as it was when written, may come as surprise from the man who was Chief Economic Advisor to the National Coal Board for the two preceding decades (Schumacher was a German-born émigré to the U.K.). Yet he was one of the first to propose joined-up thinking in which human and ecological well-being were at the forefront of consideration—the economy should serve us, not vice versa. The contrast between Schumacher’s writing, indeed that of all three authors I feature, and Milton Friedman’s horrendous Capitalism and Freedom written a decade earlier (Friedman, 1962/2002) could not be greater. The latter evokes Oscar Wilde’s famous definition of a cynic as a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Viewed in those terms, Friedman’s soulless vision, which still has our politicians in its thrall, is the ultimate expression of cynicism. Both Capitalism and Freedom and Small is Beautiful were selected by the Times Literary Supplement as among the 100 most influential books since World War II, but they appear to have influenced diametrically opposed demographics. Over three decades later, Tim Jackson’s Prosperity without Growth: Economics for a Finite Planet (Jackson, 2009/2011) appeared shortly after the 2008 financial crash amidst rapidly escalating environmental concern and realisation of ecological limits. Neoliberalism had, to all intents and purposes, become ubiquitous post-Reagan / Thatcher, and anthropogenic impacts, especially climate change, more widely understood since Schumacher’s book. Nonetheless, the books have much in common, especially their refutation of endless growth and the ‘bigger is better’ mentality. Whereas Schumacher’s perfectly reasonable argument was framed in terms of moral conviction (and none the worse for that), Jackson’s book is more technical and dispassionately based on an impressive compilation of facts and figures.5 Jackson is an ecological economist and Professor of Sustainable Development at the University of Surrey. He is now director of the Centre for the Understanding of Sustainable Prosperity, which has the appropriate acronym CUSP. In his book, he defines prosperity as ‘the ability to flourish as human beings—within the ecological limits of a finite planet’ (Jackson, 2009/2011: 189), and contrasts it with affluence: Affluence breeds—and indeed relies on—the continual production and reproduction of consumer novelty. But relentless novelty reinforces anxiety and weakens our ability to protect long-term social goals. In doing so it ends up

196 Frugal individuation

undermining our own well-being and the well-being of those around us. Somewhere along the way, we lose the shared prosperity we sought in the first place. (Jackson, 2009/2011: 188) Jackson cites as evidence studies which indicate a ‘social recession’—increased loneliness, anxiety, depression and alcoholism etc., and reduced trust and sense of community—throughout the Western world despite increased material wealth. He advocates absolute, not relative, decoupling of growth from its material impacts because ‘To resist growth is to risk economic and social collapse. To pursue it relentlessly is to endanger the ecosystems on which we depend for long-term survival’, but goes on to warn that: The sheer scale of this task is rarely acknowledged. In a world of 9 billion people all aspiring to Western lifestyles, the carbon intensity of every dollar of output must be at least 130 times lower in 2050 than it is today. By the end of the century, economic activity will need to be taking carbon out of the atmosphere, not adding to it. (Jackson, 2009/2011: 187) This would be the result of an economy 15 times that at the time of publication (2009) by 2050 and 40 times by the end of the century. An updated and expanded edition of the book was published in 2017, but all the above citations refer to the original. While the figures above have doubtless changed, it appears that the thrust of Jackson’s argument hasn’t. The most recent of the three economists I want to feature, Kate Raworth, worked for two decades at the United Nations and the British charity Oxfam. Her 2017 book Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st Century Economist has been highly praised, including by Jackson. In words similar to his quoted above, she too confronts the struggle to reconcile ecology and economics head-on: ‘No country has ever ended human deprivation without a growing economy. And no country has ever ended ecological degradation with one’ (Raworth, 2017: 245). Raworth re-thinks economics from the ground up, in the process delivering the most detailed and trenchant critique of the outdated absurdity of mainstream economics, especially that of ‘rational economic man’, that I have ever read. Beyond that, though, her book has two outstanding strengths. The first is her systems dynamics approach instead of the ‘old school’ fantasy of stable equilibrium. This was so revelatory that it motivated me to explore the work of Donella Meadows, whose (posthumous) influence permeates the book. Since I have introduced systems dynamics, I will only add here that Raworth’s approach is a splendid worked example. The second strength, and in my view the greatest of the book, is that she has come up with a single image that sums up her approach—the doughnut (Figure 7.3). According to Raworth, and I wholeheartedly agree with her, the goal of economics is no longer to juggle a bewildering assortment of endless graphed curves,

Frugal individuation 197

FIGURE 7.3

The Doughnut: a twenty-first century compass. ‘Between its social foundation of human well-being and ecological ceiling of planetary pressure lies the safe and just space for humanity.’ (Raworth, 2017: 38)

but to get, then to stay, within the safe and just space for humanity, however depicted. She had, like me, encountered the circular plots of ‘planetary boundaries’, first published in 2009 (Rockström et al., 2009) and updated six years later (Steffen et al., 2015) that I discussed in Section 2.3. The boundary labels in the doughnut don’t exactly match either of those from 2009 or 2015, and Raworth gives no citation, but has clearly been in contact with the authors and, as she says, is ‘inspired by cutting-edge Earth-system science’ (Raworth, 2017: 38). To stay safe, we have to remain within those planetary boundaries. The inner circle of the doughnut is based on the U.N. Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) agreed by 193 member countries in 2015. If social justice is ever to be achieved, then everyone has to meet or exceed these goals. There is no directional correlation between the items outside the doughnut; the importance is in the concentric boundaries—the ecological ceiling as the upper economic limit, and the social foundation as the lower.

198 Frugal individuation

One of the beauties of this representation is that, beyond being within the doughnut, there is no goal, i.e., there is no meaningful point or position within it; nor, despite being circular, is there a central target to aim at. Another is that Raworth’s choice of a circular image conveys wholeness and balance, and can be examined from a Jungian perspective. While it is a form of mandala, which has both a protective and a prayerful function and is a universal symbol of the Self as the totality and ordering principle of the psyche, it lacks the central feature of a mandala—the ‘Bindu point’. It more closely resembles the handdrawn circle, or enso-, of Zen Buddhism, which is, appropriately enough, a reminder to free oneself from attachments. It is likewise reminiscent of the ouroboros—the serpent devouring its own tail—of Western esotericism, which is a symbol of introspection and eternal re-creation. To a non-Jungian this may sound pretentious and irrelevant; but symbolism can affect us unconsciously, as every advertiser knows, and Raworth could have chosen an entirely different form, such as scales balancing stacks representing the ecological ceiling and the social foundation. At the very least, it conveys the notion of a circular economy, which is an essential element in the means she proposes to get into and remain in the doughnut. If ever there was a good example of a picture being worth a thousand words, this is surely one as it anchors Raworth’s argument in our minds (much as the single word ‘Gaia’ did for Lovelock). Our neoliberal Zeitgeist is overwhelmed with corporate logos, so we need a few competing icons to inspire a different worldview. Like Jackson, Raworth does not under-estimate the challenges ahead. We are far from being in the doughnut at the moment and, if anything, are moving further away from it: Getting there calls for many sectoral transformations, including a strong contraction of industries such as mining, oil and gas, industrial livestock production, demolition and landfill, and speculative finance, offset by a rapid and lasting expansion of long-term investment in renewable energy, public transport, commons-based circular manufacturing and retrofit buildings. It calls for investing in the sources of wealth—natural, human, social, cultural and physical—from which all value flows, whether it is monetised or not. And it opens up opportunities for rebalancing the roles of the market, the state and the commons as means of provisioning for our needs. (Raworth, 2017: 267) This is hardly something to be achieved overnight, especially when one considers the strength of corporate resistance it runs headlong into (the fossil fuel behemoths and the wolves of Wall Street for starters). This exemplifies the tragedy of our current situation—most of the creative imagination is on one side of the divide, and all the established power is on the other. But at least we are getting a clearer idea of what needs to be done.

Frugal individuation 199

7.7 Working with systems Donella Meadows, who I have subsequently discovered was also a muse to William Ophuls, wondered whether the effectiveness of different kinds of leverage points could be ranked to suggest in general terms where, when and how to intervene in a system. The following list, in reverse order of effectiveness, is taken from Chapter 6 of Thinking in Systems (Meadows, 2008). A similar list, complete with explanations, is freely available to download as a PDF from the Donella Meadows Project’s Academy for Systems Change (Meadows, 1999) and is recommended reading for a full understanding. I have, in consultation with the Academy, favoured the former because the terminology is consistent with that which I have already used (in particular balancing/ reinforcing instead of negative/positive): 12. 11. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

Numbers: Constants and parameters such as subsidies, taxes and standards Buffers: the sizes of stabilizing stocks relative to their flows Stock-and-flow structures: Physical systems and their nodes of intersection Delays: The lengths of time relative to the rates of system change Balancing feedback loops: The strengths of the feedbacks relative to the impacts they are trying to correct Reinforcing feedback loops: The strength of the gain of driving loops Information flows: The structure of who does and does not have access to information Rules: Incentives, punishments, constraints Self-organisation: The power to add, change, evolve system structure Goals: The purpose of the system. Paradigms: The mindset out of which the system—its goals, structure, rules, delays, parameters—arises Transcending paradigms

I will not comment on all of these as I cannot surpass Meadows’ helpful elaborations in both the book and the PDF, but instead offer a few relevant remarks. Leverage point 12—the least effective—is the favoured modus operandi of governments and mainstream economists, none of whom appear to have much grasp of systems thinking. Delays (point 9) can frustrate change when too long, as in my discussion of inertia, but can exacerbate instability if too short. Examples of the latter include market instabilities, such as the 2010 ‘flash crash’, due largely to algorithmic high frequency trading, and political instability when instant communication media such as Twitter are used. The latter is exacerbated by social media, which as discussed both reinforces sensationalist falsehood and intolerance (point 7) and isolates users into ‘information silos’ (point 6). Libertarianism and neoliberalism seek to negate point 5, in Ayn Rand’s case entirely and in Friedman’s case by leaving as much as possible to ‘the market’. Since regulation is relatively effective, the consequences of removing or preventing it, as the Trump administration is currently doing apace, are extremely serious.

200 Frugal individuation

Concerning self-organisation (point 4), as previously intimated, it seems that a relatively inflexible and monolithic power structure is preserving the status quo, whereas a much more heterogeneous assortment of creative thinkers and groups seeks to overturn it. After giving nearly 1,000 talks about the environment in 15 years, the American entrepreneur and social activist Paul Hawken decided in 2007 to research this phenomenon for himself by examining government records, tax data and so on, and concluded that there were well over a million organisations around the world working toward ecological sustainability and social justice. (Hawken, 2007) Self-organisation offers hope for non-hierarchical ‘ground-up’ change, as was exploited so cynically but effectively by fake self-organisation (‘astroturfing’). The first chapter of Doughnut Economics, ‘Change the Goal’, is in accordance with point 3 and prepares the reader for the radical nature and scope of Raworth’s subsequent analysis. When I resorted to that well-worn analogy of rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic when we should really be changing course, that too is an expression of point 3. The even more ambitious intention of this book is, however, to challenge paradigms (point 2): ‘The mindset out of which the system—its goals, structure, rules, delays, parameters—arises’. I have proposed alternatives to our assumptions about ourselves, our culture, the other-than-human world, the relationship of mind and matter, and so on. Moreover, I contend that our chances of navigating climate change and other aspects of the Anthropocene are nil without changing the dangerously deluded assumptions on which the Zeitgeist is predicated. Meadows equates transcending paradigms (point 1) with Buddhist enlightenment, or letting go into not-knowing and, in an echo of Paul Shepard’s examples of ways of approaching wisdom, dancing with the system. By her own admission, this is a tall order, and one I find impossible to accommodate within the strictures of an academic text. I hope that my repeated invocation of Korzybski’s ‘the map is not the territory’ is, nonetheless, a very small step in this direction.

Notes 1 http://trumpeter.athabascau.ca/index.php/trumpet/index. 2 See https://www.populationmatters.org, accessed 3 June 2015. 3 Perhaps this explains why Klein was recruited by Pope Francis in 2015 to lead a highlevel conference on the environment, bringing together clergy, scientists and activists to debate climate change action. 4 The term ‘psychedelic’ is derived from the Greek psyche (soul) and delos (manifest), and means a state in which the soul manifests itself. It was coined in 1956 by the psychiatrist Humphrey Osmond, in a now-famous exchange with writer Aldous Huxley; both recognised the potential of these compounds for self-awareness, and their correspondence to psychoactive plants held sacred for millennia. 5 These were largely obtained in his capacity as Economics Commissioner for the Sustainable Development Commission, which was chaired by the well-known environmentalist Jonathon Porritt.

Frugal individuation 201

References Ammann, P., Hinshaw, R. & Gogel, L. (1992) Hlonipa: Journey into Wilderness. Peter Ammann, Aarau, Switzerland. Bar-On, Y.M., Phillips, R. & Milo, R. (2018) ‘The Biomass Distribution on Earth.’ Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(25): 6506–6511. doi:10.1073/ pnas.1711842115 Berry, T. (1987/1995) ‘The Viable Human.’ in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. (Ed., Sessions, G.) Boston & London: Shambhala: 8–18. Bodian, S. (1982/1995) ‘Simple in Means, Rich in Ends: An Interview with Arne Naess.’ in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. (Ed., Sessions, G.) Boston & London: Shambhala: 26–36. Breytenbach, A. et al. (2012) The Animal Communicator. Cape Town: NHU Africa. Chamovitz, D. (2013) What a Plant Knows: A Field Guide to the Senses of Your Garden—and Beyond. London: Oneworld. Devall, B. & Sessions, G. (1985) Deep Ecology: Living As if Nature Mattered. Salt Lake City, UT: Gibbs Smith. Drengson, A.R. & Inoue, Y. (1995) The Deep Ecology Movement: An Introductory Anthology. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. Fisher, A. (2002) Radical Ecopsychology: Psychology in the Service of Life. Albany: State University of New York Press. Friedman, M. (1962/2002) Capitalism and Freedom. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Goodall, C. (2007) How to Live a Low-Carbon Life: The Individual’s Guide to Stopping Climate Change. London: Earthscan. Harding, S. (2009) Animate Earth: Science, Intuition, and Gaia. Totnes: Green Books. Hawken, P. (2007) ‘A Global Democratic Movement is About to Pop.’ Orion Magazine, http://www.alternet.org/story/51088/, accessed 3 June 2009. Hofmann, A. (2007) ‘Preface to the 2008 World Psychedelic Forum.’ Gaia Media Foundation Basel, http://www.psychedelik.info/index_2_eng.html, accessed 6 August 2018. Jackson, T. (2009/2011) Prosperity without Growth: Economics for a Finite Planet. London & Washington, D.C.: Earthscan. Jung, C.G. (1957/1970) ‘The Undiscovered Self (Present and Future).’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 10: Civilisation in Transition. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 246–305. Jung, C.G. (1961/1976) ‘Symbols and the Interpretation of Dreams.’ in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung Volume 18: The Symbolic Life. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press: 183–266. Jung, C.G. (1963/1995) Memories, Dreams, Reflections. London: Fontana. Kelly, E.F. (2015) ‘Toward a Worldview Grounded in Science and Spirituality.’ in Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. (Eds, Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P.) Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield: 493–551. Kiehl, J.T. (2016) Facing Climate Change: An Integrated Path to the Future. New York: Columbia University Press. Klein, N. (2014) This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate. London: Allen Lane. Kyowa Co. Ltd. (2018) About Hyponica. http://www.kyowajpn.co.jp/hyponica/english/ introduction/, accessed 6 August 2018. Meadows, D.H. (1999) ‘Leverage Points: Places to Intervene in a System.’ Hartland, VT: The Sustainability Institute. http://donellameadows.org/wp-content/userfiles/Leverage_ Points.pdf, retrieved 7 March 2018. Meadows, D.H. (2008) ‘Leverage Points: Places to Intervene in a System.’ in Thinking in Systems: A Primer. (Ed., Wright, D.) White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green: 145–165.

202 Frugal individuation

Monbiot, G. (2016) ‘The Population Myth.’ in How Did We Get into this Mess?London & New York: Verso: 103–109. Murphy, M. (2015) ‘The Emergence of Evolutionary Panentheism.’ in Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. (Eds, Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P.) Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield: 553–575. Næss, A. (1977) ‘Spinoza and Ecology.’ Philosophia, 7(1): 45–54. doi:10.1007/BF02379991 Næss, A. (1986) ‘The Deep Ecological Movement: Some Philosophical Aspects.’ Philosophical Inquiry, 8(1): 10–31. doi:10.5840/philinquiry198681/22 Narby, J. (1999) The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge. London: Phoenix. Ophuls, W. (2011) Plato’s Revenge: Politics in the Age of Ecology. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Ophuls, W. (2012) Immoderate Greatness: Why Civilizations Fail. North Charleston, S.C.: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Player, I. (2014) Pers. Comm. Email, 11 September 2014. Raworth, K. (2017) Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st Century Economist. London: Random House. Rockström, J. et al. (2009) ‘A Safe Operating Space for Humanity.’ Nature, 461(7263): 472–475. Schumacher, E.F. (1973/1974) Small is Beautiful: A Study of Economics As if People Mattered. London: Sphere. Sessions, G. (1995a) Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. Boston & London: Shambhala. Sessions, G. (1995b) ‘Preface.’ in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. (Ed., Sessions, G.) Boston & London: Shambhala: ix–xxviii. Sessions, G. & Næss, A. (1984) ‘Basic Principles of Deep Ecology.’ Ecophilosophy Newsletter, 6: 3–7. Shepard, P. (1969) ‘Introduction: Ecology and Man—a Viewpoint.’ in Subversive Science: Essays towards an Ecology of Man. (Eds, Shepard, P. & McKinley, D.) Boston: Houghton Mifflin: 1–10. Steffen, W. et al. (2015) ‘Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet.’ Science, 347(6223): 1259855. doi:10.1126/science.1259855 Stein, M. (1998) Jung’s Map of the Soul: An Introduction. Chicago: Open Court. Tatsumura, H. (1992) Gaia Symphony No. 1. Jin Tatsumura Office, Inc., Japan. Tompkins, P. & Bird, C. (1975) The Secret Life of Plants. London: Penguin. Wohlleben, P. (2016) The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate— Discoveries from a Secret World. Vancouver: Greystone. Wynes, S. & Nicholas, K.A. (2017) ‘The Climate Mitigation Gap: Education and Government Recommendations Miss the Most Effective Individual Actions.’ Environmental Research Letters, 12(7): 074024. doi:10.1088/1748-9326/aa7541

8 END HERE?

8.1 Inspiration In the Shurangama Sutra, a core text for Zen/Chan Buddhist training, the Buddha alludes to the finger pointing at the Moon to differentiate between the teachings (Dharma) and their object (true mind). In a similar vein, Murray Stein recounts a story told of Jung by his students in Zürich thus: Once when he was criticised for being inconsistent on some point of theory, he responded: I have my eye on the central fire, and am trying to put some mirrors round it to show it to others. Sometimes the edges of those mirrors leave gaps and don’t fit together exactly. I can’t help that. Look at what I’m trying to point to! (Stein, 1998: 11) This book is of course full of gaps and inconsistencies, but I hope that it has conveyed something of the ‘central fire’ that has motivated it into existence. In this section I will add a few more mirrors from other walks of life in the hope of offering a modicum of inspiration as well as a couple of warning notes, and in the concluding section try to sum up and illustrate the ‘central fire’ itself, as far as is possible. Inspiration can motivate like the proverbial stick or carrot, offering warning or hope. I begin with two examples of the former, firstly with the wellknown Grimm’s fairy tale, The Fisherman and His Wife. Like all pure fairy tales, its origin is unknown as it was passed down orally.1 It can be summarised as follows: There was once a poor fisherman who lived with his wife in a hovel by the sea. One day the fisherman caught a fish, which claimed to be an enchanted prince and begged to be set free. The fisherman kindly released it. When his wife heard the story, she said he should have asked the fish to grant him a wish, and sent him back

204 End here?

to ask the flounder to grant her wish for a nice house. The fisherman returned to the shore but was uneasy when he found that the sea was becoming turbid as it had been so clear before. Nonetheless, he made up a rhyme to summon the flounder, and it granted the wife’s wish. The fisherman was delighted with his new wealth, but the wife was not satisfied and demanded that her husband go back and wish that he be made a king. He did so reluctantly, and again was granted his wish. But over and again his wife sent him back to ask for more and more. The fisherman knew that this was wrong, but was unable to reason with his wife. He tried to convince her that they should not annoy the flounder, and be content with what they had been given, but his wife was having none of it. So back he went, and each time the flounder granted his wish, saying ‘Just go home again, she has it already’, but each time the sea grew more and more fierce. Eventually, the wife wished to command the sun, moon and heavens, and she sent her husband to the flounder with the wish ‘I want to become equal to God.’ With that final wish, the flounder said, ‘Just go home again, she is already sitting in the old hovel once more.’ And with that, the sea became calm again. This story is arguably closer to a fable, and therefore self-explanatory. The second cautionary tale before I move on to more hopeful inspirations is the one sermon that has above all others stayed etched in my mind since my church-going youth. It revolved around the so-called ‘parable of the long spoons’. The version that I heard then went something like this: Heaven and hell are actually very similar (no floating clouds or subterranean inferno), both with enormous banqueting tables groaning under the weight of every imaginable kind of delicious food. Seated at each feast are countless people, all with long spoons manacled to their wrists. In hell, everyone is starving and fighting in their eternal but futile struggle to feed themselves—the spoons are too long to reach their mouths. In heaven, everyone is well fed and contented—they are feeding each other. The origins of this allegory and its many variants are unknown, but it has been told in Christian, Jewish, Hindu and Buddhist teachings, and in both occidental and oriental cultures. In medieval Europe, the food in the story is a bowl of stew; in China, it is a bowl of rice being eaten with long chopsticks. In other variants, everyone has splinted arms which they cannot bend. It has been interpreted in several ways, but what impressed me all those years ago seems even more relevant now. Given the same material circumstances, it is our attitude, psyche, that determines our well-being, as Jung said over and again. In other words, self-interest is self-defeating. This is the tragedy exemplified by Donald Trump’s inaugural speech to the United Nations General Assembly on 19 September 2017 and, more significantly, by the delegates’ response to it. After listening in stunned silence for several minutes, they first broke into applause when Trump said, ‘I will always put America first, just like you, as the leaders of your countries, will always and should always, put your countries first’ (Trump, 2017).

End here? 205

The catastrophe here isn’t merely Trump, but all of our national leaders who simply don’t get it; and nor do we who support, or at least tolerate, them. Our present circumstances indicate more starkly than ever before that the ‘enlightened self-interest’ that was once supposed to justify capitalism is an oxymoron. If national, or any factional, self-interest is invariably the top priority, we have no chance of navigating climate breakdown and other challenges of the Anthropocene. In contrast, Gaia and psyche are massively interconnected and interdependent, both within themselves and with each other; that is the key to their survival. This brings us back full circle to the analogy of walls and bridges with which I began this book. We still look to our leaders and the powerful for salvation, despite all the indications that it will not come from them. Perhaps we persist out of despair, convinced of our own powerlessness. The hummingbird parable, attributed to the Quechua people whose culture so impressed me in 2000, is a powerful antidote to these feelings of helplessness and disempowerment that can so easily overwhelm and paralyse us as individuals faced with the immensity of the collective challenges ahead. The most well-known published version appears with a foreword by Wangari Maathai, the founder of the Green Belt Movement in Kenya for which she was awarded the 2004 Nobel Peace Prize, and an afterword by His Holiness the Dalai Lama (Yahgulanaas, 2009: 3–10); but again there are countless variants of the originally orally transmitted story: A fire had begun in the forest and was in danger of raging out of control. Terrified, many of the animals fled before it took over. But the hummingbird flew to the nearest water, collected a droplet and flew back to the fire dropping the water onto it. As she flew back and forth to protect her habitat, first the bear, and then the owl, the snake and cougar each called out: ‘Bird, what are you doing?’ The hummingbird answered them all in the same way: ‘I am doing what I can.’ The teller and illustrator of the published version is from the Haida Nation of the North Pacific. In the parables of many indigenous peoples such as the Quechua and Haida, it is often not the biggest or pushiest animal that can do the most good or have the greatest influence. Rather, it is those who are not afraid to act, and who are aware of what is at stake, who can make the biggest difference. Small wonder this story encourages environmentalists and activists who are committed to making meaningful change in the world. Although opposition to business as usual lacks a coherent or explicit ideology, it appears to share at least one vital asset—creativity. This is not limited to innovative thinking, of which I have presented but a few examples, but manifests in nonrational spheres too, especially in music and the arts. Here, this is as much the case among us amateurs as it is among the professional elite. It can be seen in the colour, humour and music of any broadly liberal demonstration, but more generally in the millions of us who sing, play, paint and dance for the sheer joy of it. The contrast with the difficulty Trump had to get anyone to play at his inauguration, and the

206 End here?

current climate in Hollywood, is striking. Creative self-expression is a passion and activity that goes beyond reason in a healthy way, and is therefore encouraged in Jungian analysis and practised by analysts themselves. Music is my passion, both making it and listening to it. While struggling with the dark content of the ‘perfect storm’ described in this book, I attended a local jazz festival. Run almost entirely by volunteers, and without any overt ideological message, it did much to restore my faith in human nature through engaging my soul, not by persuading my ego of anything. Many years earlier in the late nineties, I was working on a rural electrification project in the South African Transkei, bogged down in the conflicting political agendas brought to interminable meetings. It was clear that, while the Truth and Reconciliation Commission had achieved much, racial and historical tensions were still simmering. Just as my professional frustration reached its maximum and my personal faith in human nature its minimum, chance led to a memorable evening in a Cape Town jazz club, on Loop Street as I recall. In that hot and sweaty venue bursting at the seams, a band of black Africans and European and Asian immigrants played to an equally mixed and ecstatic audience united in their love of music, and nobody gave race a second thought. It was a healing antidote to all the ideological hot air being spouted in those talking shops. With hindsight and a training in analytical psychology, I can see that artistic expression can serve as what Jung called the transcendent function—the apparently unrelated third way to resolve the tension between stuck opposites. As we have seen, Jung emphasised over and again the vital importance of the symbol and the symbolic life. I have argued elsewhere that music fits his definition of symbols as transformers of psychic energy, but Jung was primarily interested in visual images. These can arise in many ways, but I would like to supplement my recommendations for further reading with a couple of suggestions for further watching. The first of these is an extraordinary 1992 documentary film called Baraka. The title means a challenge, a warning, a gift, a blessing. In the ancient Sufi language, it is a word that translates to the thread that weaves life together, breath of life. The film, which has no actors or narrative, is about human connection to the eternal, a guided meditation on humanity. According to its producer, Mark Magidson, the film’s goal was to reach past language, nationality, religion and politics and speak to the inner viewer. I have no idea to what extent Magidson and his colleagues are familiar with analytical psychology, but this goal sounds remarkably similar to the function of a symbol. The ground-breaking director and cinematographer of Baraka, Ron Fricke, was also cinematographer for the first and best of a trilogy of films in a similar format—Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance (1982), Powaqqatsi: Life in Transformation (1988) and Naqoyqatsi: Life as War (2002), all of which were produced by Godfrey Reggio and scored by Philip Glass. The titles are all based on the Hopi language, in which qatsi means ‘life’. Being wordless, none of these films preaches to the viewer, yet their impact is profound. Powaqqatsi opens with a long sequence filmed in the Serra Pelada gold mine in Brazil, which was also a subject for the great Brazilian photographer, Sebastião Salgado. One of Salgado’s iconic and influential monochrome images of the

End here? 207

workers toiling there is on the cover of Andrew Samuels’ The Political Psyche (Samuels, 1993). Salgado, who was born in 1944, trained as an economist and worked for the World Bank before taking up photography professionally. He has lived in exile for many years in Paris due to political persecution in his home country. For decades he unflinchingly and courageously documented human suffering around the world, above all in Africa, due to war, genocide, famine and other natural disasters, and exploitation, in a series of long-term projects of his own choosing. Brought to the edge of existential crisis by the horrors he had witnessed, Salgado took a different direction in 2004 with a new project, ‘Genesis’. He originally conceived this body of work as a record of human environmental destruction, but changed it before he started into a potential path to humanity’s rediscovery of itself in nature. Again, he travelled the world, but this time to photograph the unblemished faces of nature and humanity. Still in his beloved monochrome medium, he captured images of landscapes and wildlife, as well as of intact indigenous communities that continue to live in accordance with their ancestral traditions and cultures. The resulting book of photographs (Salgado, 2013) is highly recommended, as is his autobiography (Salgado, 2014). Perhaps even more inspiring is the 2014 documentary film about his life, The Salt of the Earth, directed by Wim Wenders and Salgado’s son, Juliano Ribeiro Salgado, in which the sheer humanity and compassion of the man shine through. All through the making of Genesis and the documentary, Salgado and his lifetime wife and partner, Lélia, have worked on the restoration of the denuded and parched land in the Atlantic Forest of Brazil that he had been given by his parents in 1990. In 1998, they succeeded in turning this land into a nature reserve and created the Instituto Terra, which is dedicated to a mission of reforestation, conservation and environmental education. By 2013 they had planted over 2 million trees of over 300 different species, and many animals—including jaguar, the apex predator—have returned. There are many more inspiring examples of exceptional individuals and their creations, but I conclude this section by honouring the simple acts of kindness and selflessness of millions, if not billions, of ‘ordinary’ people. Bad news tends to happen dramatically and suddenly, good news more slowly and without fanfare, so the former inevitably receives greater coverage. The subject matter of this book has obliged me to scrutinise the bad at the expense of praising the good, and may give an over-negative impression of my faith in humanity. It has likewise led me to generalise rather than focus on individual stories. As an example from first-hand experience of the difference this can make, my engagement with a local integration group for immigrants and asylum-seekers comes to mind. I mention this not to claim any moral high ground, but to stress how getting to know refugees as people and friends each with their own story, rather than mere statistics and strangers on the street, changes one’s perspective. Moreover, I am continuously touched by the goodwill that permeates the group, helpers and helped alike. There is an immense untapped well of human goodness that is just waiting to be released if we can only move from competition towards cooperation, from the politics of power to the power of love.

208 End here?

8.2 Transformation I have a wall-hanging of a labyrinth in my Bern practice room as an image of the therapeutic and/or individuation processes which never seem to proceed in an orderly, predictable or linear fashion. In moments of despair, we can feel as if we’ve come nowhere after a long journey, like two points on the labyrinth that are close together seen from outside, but far apart if one follows the path. The path through this book has been long and convoluted, even tortuous, but have we actually come far from our starting point? Are we at the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end? This book doesn’t offer an answer to the second question (nobody can), but has attempted to tip the scales towards the former without shying away from the dreadful possibility of the latter. As for how far we have come, that is perhaps answered by summarising the worldview that emerges. 

    

 



A degree of synergy and consilience2 has been established between several holistic maps—systems dynamics, Earth systems science, Gaia theory, analytical psychology, dual-aspect monism, nonlocal mind and panentheism to establish a Psyche–Gaia conjecture. Some of these maps have common origins, such in the ideas of Plato, Spinoza and James, that pre-date the disciplines with which they are now associated by centuries or even millennia. The territory remains unknown, so the conjecture is metaphysical, but is nonetheless coherent, consistent, comprehensible and compatible with the principles of the long-range deep ecology movement. As such, it offers a non-dogmatic framework for the kind of metanoia that is necessary, but perhaps not sufficient, to navigate climate change and other challenges of the Anthropocene. We, as defined from the outset, are demonstrably behaving individually and collectively in ways that are symptomatic of mid-life crisis, especially in various modes of denial—inertia, nostalgia and hubris. Resistance to the necessary metanoia is also evident indirectly from the number of mainstream scientific taboos that it violates by asserting the possibility of teleology, the existence of paranormal phenomena and the reality of insights obtained through altered states of consciousness. Conversely, it violates social and cultural taboos by questioning our faith in progress, endless growth, the superiority and permanence of our culture, the divine entitlement of our species and, most fundamentally, our monotheism of consciousness. Our species is a very recent arrival among millions in a massively interconnected world alive with sentience and even intelligence, albeit very different from ours; we should listen to cultures who have not lost touch with this instead of dismissing or destroying them. Opportunities for further research suggested by this book include further investigation of Gaian correlates to psychic phenomena and the extended role of nonlocal mind in other-than-human life and its relationship with us.

End here? 209

I have made repeated reference to the importance of Eastern worldviews to my thesis. The great mysteries of psyche and matter, microcosm and macrocosm, inner and outer, doing and not doing, and causality and non-causality converge in the story of the Rain Maker of Kiau Tschou that was told to Jung by the German missionary and sinologist Richard Wilhelm. Although short, it is profound enough for a book in its own right. The story as recounted by Jung first appeared in written form in 1931, and begins with a catastrophic situation resulting from a great drought: The Catholics made processions, the Protestants made prayers, and the Chinese burned joss sticks and shot off guns to frighten away the demons of the drought, but with no result. Finally the Chinese said: ‘We will fetch the rain maker.’ And from another province, a dried up old man appeared. The only thing he asked for was a quiet little house somewhere, and there he locked himself in for three days. On the fourth day clouds gathered and there was a great snowstorm at the time of the year when no snow was expected, an unusual amount, and the town was so full of rumors about the wonderful rain maker that Wilhelm went to ask the man how he did it. In true European fashion he said: ‘They call you the rain maker, will you tell me how you made the snow?’ And the little Chinaman said: ‘I did not make the snow, I am not responsible.’ ‘But what have you done these three days?’ ‘Oh, I can explain that. I come from another country where things are in order. Here they are out of order, they are not as they should be by the ordnance of heaven. Therefore the whole country is not in Tao, and I am also not in the natural order of things because I am in a disordered country. So I had to wait three days until I was back in Tao, and then naturally the rain came.’ (Jung, 1998: 333) Jung went on to link the story explicitly with his theory of synchronicity, especially in his most extended commentary on it, which appears in his seminar on Nietzsche’s Zarathustra: The world is an [sic] order only when somebody experiences that order, not before; it is a chaos if nobody experiences it as a cosmos. That has much to do with the Chinese idea of Tao. I always think of the story of the rain maker of Kiau Tschou. If that fellow had not gone into Tao it would not have rained, yet there is no causality; the two things simply belong together, the order is only established when order is established. He had to experience the order in that chaos, in that disharmony of heaven and earth; and if he had not experienced the harmony, it would not have been. … He does not curse the earth or pray to heaven to behave and produce rain. He says to himself that he was right when he left his village and when he got here he was wrong. This place is out of order so he is the one that is wrong; that wrong is nearest to him, and if he wants to do anything for the chaotic condition, it must be done in him—

210 End here?

he is the immediate object of himself. So he asks for that little house and there he locks himself in and works on himself; he remains shut in until he reconciles heaven and earth in himself, until he is in the right order, and then he has cured the situation: Tao is established. (Jung, 1988: 824–825) Even though Jung goes on to admit that: ‘I am unable to explain to you this great paradox’, its importance to him can be gauged from another of his close associates, Barbara Hannah, who claimed that, against his general principle of giving direct advice, he instructed her to always tell the story when giving a seminar, and usually when giving a lecture (Hannah, 1981: 13–14). Jung also invoked the concept of Tao elsewhere, as he did many times, when he wrote: if one is allowed to speak of complete individuation at all, I should say that it would be a conscious experience of the totality of nature. … The provisional life is a mutilated existence, it is only half a life, giving absolutely no chance of fulfilment, which is the only guarantee for a consciousness that is in harmony with the totality of nature. Only when you behave exactly as you are meant to behave are you the friend and the brother of all living things; then you are right in your place, and then you suddenly understand that everything else is in its place. That is the experience which old China called Tao. (Jung, 1998: 760–761) This too relates to the rain maker story, even though Jung does not make the connection explicit here. The appearance of ‘the totality of nature’, by which it is likely that Jung meant both inner and outer nature, twice in this extraordinary statement is remarkable. At no time does he mention power or control in our relationship with it, but ‘experience’ and ‘harmony’. Likewise, when behaving exactly as one is meant to, one is the ‘friend’ and ‘brother’ of all living things, not their lord or master—ecomodernists in particular take note. As such, Jung’s concept of individuation appears to be entirely compatible with the philosophy underlying deep ecology. We can learn much from Taoism, and I have indicated throughout the need for spirituality alongside science, which the Sursem project attempts to reconcile through evolutionary panentheism. However, I would not like this to be taken as an exclusion of other religions, not least because some 84% of the world’s population identifies with a religious group. These people are generally younger and have more children than those who have no religious affiliation, so humankind is becoming more religious as well as more populous, although not in the U.S. and Western Europe. Some 31.2% of the total world population identify themselves as Christians, followed by Muslims (24.1%), Hindus (15.1%) and Buddhists (6.9%); people who practise folk or traditional religions make up 6% of the global total. Adherents of lesser-practised religions, including Sikhism, Baha’i and Jainism, add up to less than 1%, and Jews comprise about 0.2% of the global population,

End here? 211

concentrated in the U.S. and Israel (Pew Research Center, 2015). Especially among the Abrahamic faiths, there seems to be a spectrum within each between fundamentalist dogma at one extreme and gnostic insight at the other. At the former extreme, they resemble each other far more closely than they would admit in their intolerance, especially of each other, that has resulted in centuries of hatred and violence. At the latter, there are again close resemblances between them, but in their convergence upon the same territory, albeit via different maps. As Fritjof Capra observed: In view of the ultimate identity of deep ecological and spiritual awareness, it is not surprising that the emerging new vision of reality is consistent with the ‘perennial philosophy’ of spiritual traditions, for example, with that of Eastern spiritual traditions, the spirituality of Christian mystics, or the philosophy and cosmology underlying the Native American traditions. (Capra, 1987/1995: 21) As an example, the following three quotes from Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee of the Golden Sufi Center, taken from his book, Awakening the World: A Global Dimension to Spiritual Practice, add up to an elegant summary of so much that I have attempted to convey—the ‘central fire’ in Jung’s analogy—via this book. They are so pertinent and free from religious jargon that no further commentary is required. we do need to recognize that there is a certain work that needs to be done, and that we can no longer stand on the sidelines and watch our collective dreams spin out of control. … Our own inner journey cannot be separate from the journey of the whole. An inner journey separate from the whole is no real journey; it is just another illusion created by an ego that wants to protect itself. (Vaughan-Lee, 2006: 82) At the moment, the world is asleep, suffering the dreams of humanity, which have become a nightmare of desecration and pollution. In our hubris we have forgotten that the world is more than our collective projections, that it is more mysterious and strange than our rational minds would like us to believe. Quantum physics has revealed a fluid and unpredictable world, in which consciousness and matter are not separate … But we remain within the images of Newtonian physics: matter that is dead, definable, and solid, and consciousness that is objective, safely divorced from the physical world. Matter and spirit remain split, and we continue in the patriarchal fantasy that we can have control over our world. (Vaughan-Lee, 2006: 86) As we turn away from the ego towards the soul, we see more of its power and purpose. Its light is the ordering principle in our lives; it can create harmony out of the disparate aspects of our psyche, bring the mandala of the Self into

212 End here?

being. Through the workings of the soul we begin to have an outer life in balance with our inner self. It is no different for the world. The anima mundi is the ordering and creative principle in creation. Without her presence we experience only the fractious elements of our egos, the greed, insecurity, and power dynamics that are so visible in our contemporary landscape. When her light is awakened, then she can bring the world into harmony and balance. (Vaughan-Lee, 2006: 91) No religion has a monopoly on truth or wisdom, and analytical psychology certainly makes no such claim. This is wonderfully illustrated in an essay written by Max Zeller called ‘The Task of the Analyst’. Zeller recounts being in Zürich in 1949 and asking himself: ‘With the overwhelming problems in the world, what am I doing as an analyst?’ It is a question that I have asked myself in the transition from the board room to the practice room, from dealing with collective environmental issues to individual suffering and growth. His answer came in the form of a dream which he reports together with his subsequent discussion with Jung: A temple of vast dimensions was in the process of being built. As far as I could see—ahead, behind, right and left—there were incredible numbers of people building on gigantic pillars. I, too, was building on a pillar. The whole building process was in its very first beginnings, but the foundation was already there, the rest of the building was starting to go up, and I and many others were working on it. Jung said, ‘Ja, you know, that is the temple we all build on. We don’t know the people because, believe me, they build in India and China and in Russia and all over the world. That is the new religion. You know how long it will take until it is built?’ I said, ‘How should I know? Do you know?’ He said, ‘I know.’ I asked how long it will take. He said, ‘About six hundred years.’ ‘Where do you know this from?’ I asked. He said, ‘From dreams. From other people’s dreams and from my own. This new religion will come together as far as we can see.’ (Zeller, 1991: 2–3) In the long term this is indeed inspiring. The problem is that we have nothing like that amount of time to adapt our psychological outlook. Jungian analyst and climate scientist Jeffrey Kiehl responds to this as follows: If we stay on the business-as-usual emissions curve for the next few centuries, then the forcing to the climate system will be extremely large. You would have to go back to the Eocene period in geologic time to have a forcing of similar magnitude. We know from many forms of evidence that the Eocene was a dramatically different world that the human species evolved through. The Eocene was a time of tremendous warmth with palm trees and crocodiles in the Arctic and sea levels far above present, since there were no ice sheets at either pole. It is difficult

End here? 213

to see how humans and other species can adequately adapt to such a radically different climate shift taking place over a relatively short time period. Past climate changes occurred over time scales of hundreds of thousands to millions of years. We are facing similar changes over a century or two. We also know that once we reach such an extreme climate state it would take over 100,000 years to return to a ‘normal’ climate even if we reduce carbon dioxide levels. Thus, we are facing a tremendous challenge to avoid planetary disruption within a time window now only 20 years into the future. This is the conundrum, for if it truly will take 600 years for a sufficient number of people to be individuated enough to begin to live in balance with Earth, then it will be too late for life on Earth. (Kiehl, 2018) Zeller’s dream nonetheless has the flavour of the hummingbird story in that all of us can engage in building the temple and protecting it from those who would destroy it. We may not be able to experience the collective unconscious directly, but our thoughts and deeds impact it; and meanwhile there is much that we know needs to be done on a practical level to give any ‘new religion’ time to emerge. Moreover, we know already that the sooner we start, the better our chances. Today would be a good time. To put the foregoing mixture of hope and warning into perspective, I have selected final quotes on behalf of each the three components of this book’s title—Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology:

Gaia Gaia is significant beyond science. If only to warn, that to act for the good of humankind alone is not enough. … the stable state of our planet includes man as a part of, or partner in, a very democratic entity. (Lovelock, 1979/2000: xvii, 137)

Psyche The decisive question for man is: Is he related to something infinite or not? … Only if we know that the thing which truly matters is the infinite can we avoid fixing our interest upon futilities, and upon all kinds of goals which are not of real importance. (Jung, 1963/1995: 357)

Deep ecology Part of the joy stems from the consciousness of our intimate relation to something bigger than our ego, something which has endured through millions of years and is worth continued life for millions of years. The

214 End here?

requisite care flows naturally if the ‘self’ is widened so that protection of free Nature is felt and conceived as protection of ourselves. (Næss, 1987: 40) Perhaps, however, I should leave the closing words to those of the man whose book, Small is Beautiful, was something of a metanoia for me personally over 40 years ago and long before I had even heard of analytical psychology—the visionary economist E.F. Schumacher, whose work I have all too briefly reviewed: Everywhere people ask: ‘What can I actually do?’ The answer is as simple as it is disconcerting: we can, each of us, work to put our inner house in order. The guidance we need for his work cannot be found in science or technology, the value of which utterly depends on the ends they serve; but it can still be found in the traditional wisdom of mankind. (Schumacher, 1973/1974: 250) Putting our inner house in order is a theme that has appeared repeatedly in this chapter, and is what this book, Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology: Navigating Climate Change in the Anthropocene, is ultimately about. Schumacher wrote in a subsequent book, A Guide for the Perplexed (Schumacher, 1977: 154): Can we rely on it that a ‘turning around’ will be accomplished by enough people quickly enough to save the modern world? This question is often asked, but no matter what the answer, it will mislead. The answer ‘Yes’ would lead to complacency, the answer ‘No’ to despair. It is desirable to leave these perplexities behind us and get down to work.

Notes 1 ‘Fairy tale’ is an unsatisfactory translation of the German word Märchen, whose meaning is closer to the lesser-known English term ‘folk tale’. Most fairy tales have nothing to do with fairies. They are widely studied in analytical psychology because they reveal what Marie-Louise von Franz called ‘the bare bones of the psyche’. Fables are not fairy tales, but more consciously created moralistic stories, usually with animal protagonists. The brothers Grimm didn’t create fairy tales, they collected them. 2 ‘Consilience’ is a term popularised by the great biologist E.O. Wilson, which he uses to describe how pieces of evidence, ideas and theories from different disciplines can converge to form stronger conclusions than could be reached by any of them independently. He believes that this could enable the sciences to be united with the humanities so as to establish that ‘ultimate unity of all knowledge’ originally envisioned by Thales of Miletus in the 6th Century BCE.

References Capra, F. (1987/1995) ‘Deep Ecology: A New Paradigm.’ in Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. (Ed., Sessions, G.) Boston & London: Shambhala: 19–25.

End here? 215

Hannah, B. (1981) Encounters with the Soul: Active Imagination as Developed by C.G. Jung. Santa Monica, CA: Sigo Press. Jung, C.G. (1963/1995) Memories, Dreams, Reflections. London: Fontana. Jung, C.G. (1988) Nietzsche’s Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1934–1939 by C.G. Jung. (Bollingen Series 99). Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. Jung, C.G. (1998) Visions: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1930–1934. London: Routledge. Kiehl, J. (2018) Pers. Comm. Email, 7 August 2018 Lovelock, J. (1979/2000) Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press. Næss, A. (1987) ‘Self-Realization: An Ecological Approach to Being in the World.’ The Trumpeter, 4(3): 35–42. Pew Research Center. (2015) The Future of World Religions: Population Growth Projections, 2010–2050. Washington, D.C.: Pew Research Center. Salgado, L.W. (2013) Sebastião Salgado: Genesis. Cologne: Taschen. Salgado, S. (2014) From My Land to the Planet. Rome: Contrasto. Samuels, A. (1993) The Political Psyche. London & New York: Routledge. Schumacher, E.F. (1973/1974) Small is Beautiful: A Study of Economics as if People Mattered. London: Sphere. Schumacher, E.F. (1977) A Guide for the Perplexed. London: Jonathan Cape. Stein, M. (1998) Jung’s Map of the Soul: An Introduction. Chicago: Open Court. Trump, D. (2017) ‘Remarks by President Trump to the 72nd Session of the United Nations General Assembly.’ U.S. State Department. https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefings-statem ents/remarks-president-trump-72nd-session-united-nations-general-assembly/, accessed 20 May 2018. Vaughan-Lee, L. (2006) Awakening the World: A Global Dimension to Spiritual Practice. Inverness, CA: The Golden Sufi Center. Yahgulanaas, M. (2009) Flight of the Hummingbird: A Parable for the Environment. London: Short. Zeller, M. (1991) The Dream: The Vision of the Night. Boston: Sigo Press.

APPENDIX: RESOURCES

The following lists contain a selection of references from those that I have cited or recommended in the main text of this book, plus others, including online material and other media, that I consider to be especially helpful for the interested reader wishing to learn more about an unfamiliar topic. As it is not a formal bibliography—those appear at the end of each chapter—I have not been so constrained by formats. For printed media, I have given preference to whole books rather than chapters or journal articles where possible. The entries are sorted by topic in order of appearance in the book. I will endeavour to provide online hyperlinks and updates to supplement this list on the Resources page of the companion website to this book at www.irreducible.world. Entries below with hyperlinks have the text ‘(link)’ appended.

Holism Briggs, J. & Peat, F. David (1984/1985) Looking Glass Universe: The Emerging Science of Wholeness. London: Fontana. Capra, F. (1982/2010) The Turning Point. London: Flamingo.

The Anthropocene Epoch Bonneuil, C. & Fressoz, J.-B. (2017) The Shock of the Anthropocene: The Earth, History, and Us. London & New York: Verso. Carson, R. (1962/1965) Silent Spring. London: Penguin. Hamilton, C. (2017) Defiant Earth: The Fate of Humans in the Anthropocene. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Steffen, W. et al. (2004) Global Change and the Earth System: A Planet under Pressure. Berlin & Heidelberg: Springer, ‘Executive Summary’ (link)

Appendix: Resources 217

Steffen, W. et al. (2015) ‘The Trajectory of the Anthropocene: The Great Acceleration.’ Anthropocene Review, 2(1): 81–98 (link) Steffen, W. et al. (2018) ‘Trajectories of the Earth System in the Anthropocene.’ Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(33): 8252–8259 (link)

Systems theory Gleick, J. (1987) Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Viking. Meadows, D.H. (2008) Thinking in Systems: A Primer. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. West, G.B. (2017) Scale: The Universal Laws of Life and Death in Organisms, Cities and Companies. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson.

Gaia theory Harding, S. (2009) Animate Earth: Science, Intuition, and Gaia. Totnes, UK: Green Books. Lovelock, J. (1979/2000) Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth. Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press. Midgley, M. (Ed.) (2007) Earthy Realism: The Meaning of Gaia. Exeter: Imprint Academic. Ruse, M. (2013) The Gaia Hypothesis: Science on a Pagan Planet. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Analytical psychology Hillman, J. (1998) The Thought of the Heart & the Soul of the World. Woodstock, CT: Spring Publications. Hopcke, Robert H. (1989) A Guided Tour of the Collected Works of C.G. Jung. Boston: Shambhala. Jacobi, J. (1942/1973) The Psychology of C.G. Jung: An Introduction with Illustrations. New Haven: Yale University Press. Jung, C.G. et al. (1964) Man and His Symbols. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Papadopoulos, R.K. (Ed.) (2006) The Handbook of Jungian Psychology: Theory, Practice and Applications. London & New York: Routledge. Staude, J.R. (1981) The Adult Development of C.G. Jung. Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Stein, M. (1998) Jung’s Map of the Soul: An Introduction. Chicago: Open Court. Stevens, A. (2001) Jung: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tacey, D. (2006) How to Read Jung. London: Granta. von Franz, M.-L. (1999) Archetypal Dimensions of the Psyche. Boston: Shambhala. Jung, C.G. (1959) BBC Face to Face interview with John Freeman. YouTube.

Mind and matter Atmanspacher, H. (2014) ‘20th Century Versions of Dual–Aspect Thinking.’ Mind and Matter, 12(2): 245–269. Atmanspacher, H. & Fuchs, C.A. (Eds) (2014) The Pauli-Jung Conjecture and its Impact Today. Exeter: Imprint Academic. Bohm, D. (1981) Wholeness and the Implicate Order. London & Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul.

218 Appendix: Resources

Main, R. (2004) The Rupture of Time: Synchronicity and Jung’s Critique of Modern Western Culture. Hove & New York: Brunner-Routledge. Main, R. (2015) ‘Essay Review: Theorizing Rogue Phenomena.’ Mind and Matter, 13(2): 249–256. von Franz, M.-L. (1988/1992) Psyche and Matter. Boston & London: Shambhala.

Science and spirituality Kelly, E.F., Kelly, E.W. & Crabtree, A. (Eds) (2007) Irreducible Mind: Toward a Psychology for the 21st Century. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Kelly, E.F., Crabtree, A. & Marshall, P. (Eds) (2015) Beyond Physicalism: Toward Reconciliation of Science and Spirituality. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

Deep ecology Abram, D. (1997) The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-than-Human World. New York: Vintage. Devall, B. & Sessions, G. (1985) Deep Ecology. Salt Lake City, UT: G.M. Smith. Drengson, A.R. & Inoue, Y. (1995) The Deep Ecology Movement: An Introductory Anthology. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic. Resurgence and Ecologist Magazine (link) Schumacher College (link) Sessions, G. (1995) Deep Ecology for the Twenty-First Century. Boston & London: Shambhala. The Trumpeter Journal of Ecosophy (link)

Related practice Curry, P. (2011) Ecological Ethics. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Jackson, T. (2011) Prosperity without Growth: Economics for a Finite Planet. London & Washington, DC: Earthscan. Peat, F. David (2008) Gentle Action: Bringing Creative Change to a Turbulent World. Pari, Italy: Pari Publishing. Raworth, K. (2017) Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st Century Economist. London: Random House. Roszak, T., Gomes, M.E. & Kanner, A.D. (Eds) (1995) Ecopsychology: Restoring the Earth / Healing the Mind. San Francisco, CA: Sierra Club. Schumacher, E.F. (1973/1974) Small is Beautiful: A Study of Economics As if People Mattered. London: Sphere. Vaughan-Lee, L. (2006) Awakening the World: A Global Dimension to Spiritual Practice. Inverness, CA: The Golden Sufi Center.

Miscellaneous (but still important) Kingsnorth, P. (2017) Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and Other Essays. Minneapolis, MN: Graywolf. Klein, N. (2007) The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. New York: Metropolitan/ Henry Holt. Klein, N. (2014) This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. the Climate. London: Allen Lane.

Appendix: Resources 219

Marshall, G. (2014) Don’t Even Think About It: Why Our Brains Are Wired to Ignore Climate Change. New York: Bloomsbury. Meadows, D.H., Randers, J. & Meadows, D.L. (2004) Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green. Monbiot, G. (2016) How Did We Get into This Mess? London & New York: Verso. O’Neil, C. (2017) Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy. London: Penguin. Ophuls, W. (2012) Immoderate Greatness: Why Civilizations Fail. North Charleston, SC: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. Oreskes, N. & Conway, E.M. (2012) Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues from Tobacco Smoke to Global Warming. London: Bloomsbury. Stiglitz, J. (2003/2017) Globalization and its Discontents. London: Penguin. Welsh, J. (2016) The Return of History. Toronto: House of Anansi. White, L. (1967) ‘The Historical Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis.’ Science, 155(3767): 1203–1207.

INDEX

Abrahamic religions 47, 58, 80, 97, 127, 211 Abram, D. 7, 59–60, 72, 131, 173, 178 Academy for Systems Change 199 acidification 4, 31–3 active information 103, 108, 121 addiction 37, 175, 184, 188 additionality 184 advertising 151–2, 154, 175, 198 afforestation 32, 207 Africa 125, 127, 140–1, 160, 186, 206–7 African Americans 40 Agricultural Revolution 21 agriculture 10, 21, 23, 31–2, 141, 143–4, 156 aisthesis 130 Aizenstat, S. 8 alchemy 69, 74, 86, 127 alienation 68, 127, 163, 173, 176, 184, 188 AlphaGo 55 altruism 58, 64 Amazon 161, 189, 191 American Association for the Advancement of Science 40, 143 American Mathematical Society 8 Americans for Prosperity 153 Americas 141 Ammann, P. 185–6 Amsterdam Declaration on Global Change 46 Analysis and Activism conferences 73 analytical psychology 1, 9–10, 12, 14, 16, 206, 217; and frugal individuation 171, 178, 180–1, 186; and heroic

development 145, 152, 156; and psyche 70–4, 80, 84, 88, 91–3, 100–1, 103, 111; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 118–21, 124, 126, 129; and science 47, 57, 60; and transformation 208, 212, 214 anamnesis 62 Anglocene Epoch 150 anima mundi 7, 12, 47–8, 69, 74, 80, 126–7, 129–34, 142, 184–5, 191, 212 anima/animus 74, 79–80, 82, 85, 126–8, 130 animal kingdom 117, 119, 125, 185–6, 190, 194 animism 47–8, 60, 132 Antarctic 23, 44–5 Anthropocene Epoch 2–6, 8, 10–12, 15–16, 20–34, 205, 216–17; and frugal individuation 181, 200; and heroic development 148–9, 151, 155, 157, 160–1, 163–5; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 118, 136–7; and science 42; and transformation 208 anthropocentrism 9, 11, 20, 131, 144, 158, 165, 172, 180–1, 188, 191, 194 anthropology 121, 131–2, 189 anthropomass 28 Anthropos Quaternio 86–7 apocalypse 136, 156, 158 Arab Spring 62 archetypes 7, 9–10, 12–14, 37, 39, 70, 72; archetypal ordering 77, 103, 119, 121; and heroic development 142, 152, 156; and psyche 79–81, 84–6, 89, 105, 108;

Index 221

and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–18, 122, 127–30 Archive for Research into Archetypal Symbolism 85 Arctic 21, 25, 44–5, 179, 212 Arendt, H. 152 arguments 12–17 Aristotle 16, 47, 55, 59, 65 Armstrong, K. 158 Armstrong, N. 159 artificial intelligence (AI) 55, 152, 163–4 artistic expression 206 Asia 27, 206 Asimov, I. 178 Association of Graduates in Analytical Psychology (AGAP) 184 astroturfing 153 Athabasca University 173 Atlantic 25 Atlantic Forest 207 Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC) 25, 53 Atman 80, 179 Atmanspacher, H. 84, 99, 102–3, 105–6, 108–9, 111, 117 atmospheric aerosol loading 31 Atomic Age 6 Attenborough, D. 26 Australia 150, 183, 186 Austria 160 authoritarianism 12, 156, 160–1, 166 Axial Age 69 Baars, B. 78 Bachelard, G. 8 back-reactions 105–6, 110 Bacon, F. 110, 143 BAFTA Awards 62 Baha’i 210 Baker, I. 106 Bateson, G. 16, 37 BBC 62, 151 Berlin, I. 157–8 Bernays, E. 151 Berry, T. 60, 133, 144, 174–5 Berry, W. 173 Betts, R. 59 Beyond Physicalism 109, 111–12, 191 Bhutan 174 bi-directionality 105, 110, 117 big data 154 big picture 20, 30–3, 62, 88, 159 Bigelow, J. 54 biocentrism 9, 11, 180, 191 biodiversity 32, 46, 50, 122–4, 180

biogeochemical flows 31–3, 52–3, 122–3 biomass 28, 31, 187 biomes 32, 124, 189 biosphere 31–2, 42, 50, 58, 123, 136, 191 Bodian, S. 175 Bohm, D. 8, 99, 101–3, 105, 108–9, 111, 116, 121, 128, 130, 134 Bolsonaro, J. 161 Bonneuil, C. 3, 150 Book-of-the-Month Club 156 Boulding, K. 37, 148 boundaries 30–3, 117 bounded rationality 38 Bradshaw, C. 46 Brand, S. 166 Brautigan, R. 62 Brazil 160–1, 206–7 Breakthrough Institute 164, 166–7 Breitbart 154 Brexit 154, 159–60 Breytenbach, A. 185–6 Briggs, J. 40, 42, 99 Broglie, L. de 101, 103 Brown, L. 35 Buddha 69, 193, 203 Buddhism 69, 171–2, 195, 198, 200, 203–4, 210 Bush, G.W. 15 butterfly effect 40 Cadwalladr, C. 154 Cambridge Analytica 154 Campbell, J. 93, 152 Canada 150, 183 Cape Town Centre for Applied Jungian Studies 186 capitalism 36, 145, 147, 150, 156–8, 165, 194, 205 Capra, F. 37, 69, 148, 173, 211 carbon cycle 27, 32, 52 Carbon Dioxide Information Analysis Center 26, 150 Carson, D.J. 46 Carson, R. 21, 35, 172 cascades 22, 29, 43, 45, 124 Catholicism 145, 158, 209 Catlin, G. 172 causality 13, 16, 35–7, 49, 55, 59, 209; and psyche 70, 79, 83, 86, 101, 103, 106, 108, 110; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 117, 123, 128 Ceballos, G. 29 Center for Climate & Security 24 Central America 142, 189 Central Asia 127, 155

222 Index

Centre for the Understanding of Sustainable Prosperity (CUSP) 195 challenges 1–8, 11–12, 14, 16, 54, 68, 79, 82, 94, 149, 158, 161 Chalmers, D. 56, 61, 99 Champernowne, I. 120 chaos theory 39–42 chemistry 50, 117, 123 China 69, 91–2, 142, 150, 159–62, 172, 204, 209–10, 212 chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) 23 Christianity 58, 64, 69, 128, 131, 204, 210; and frugal individuation 172, 174, 194; and heroic development 144–5, 155–6, 158; and psyche 73, 86–7, 90 Civil Rights Movement 40 Clarion Award 182 Clements, F. 57 clickbait 154 climate change 2–4, 7, 12, 43, 136, 171, 205; and Anthropocene 20, 22–5, 30–3; and frugal individuation 174, 176, 181–3, 188, 195, 200; and heroic development 145, 148–50, 152–3, 155, 158–9, 162; and science 46, 51; and transformation 208, 212–13 Climate Psychology Alliance 7 climatology 43–4 Club of Rome 35, 62 cognitive dissonance 6, 23, 175, 194 coherence 6, 11, 36, 56, 71, 88, 90, 120–1, 205, 208 Cold War 149 collective consciousness 127, 142 collective unconscious 7–8, 70, 84–5, 110, 213 Colman, W. 81–2, 88, 118 Colombia 189 commons 37, 128, 145, 157, 198 communism 159 compensation 83, 122–3, 128, 135 complementarity 100, 104 complex adaptive systems 38–9, 52, 56, 60, 121, 123, 141 complexes 77–8, 80, 85, 117–18, 156 confirmation bias 6 consciousness 10, 13, 53, 69, 72, 75–8, 80–1; and frugal individuation 181–2, 188, 190; and heroic development 142, 146, 148–9, 159; islands of 141; and psyche 83–4, 86–7, 89–91, 96, 101, 105–6, 110–11; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116, 118, 122, 125–8, 132, 134–7; and transformation 208, 210–11, 213

consilience 208 consumption 68, 127, 148, 150–2, 158–60, 163, 165, 175–6, 182, 184 contents 128–34 controversies 54–65 Conway, E.M. 155, 157 Copenhagen interpretation 101 Copernicus, N. 90 coral reefs 32, 44–5 Corbin, H. 71 Cornwall Alliance 144 corporations 1–2, 6, 13, 150–1, 153–5, 158, 164, 198 cosmology 99, 132, 180, 211 Council on Foreign Relations 162 counter-cultures 80, 166 creationism 58, 61 critical mass 40 Crutzen, P.J. 20 cryosphere 43 Cultural Cognition Project 155 Currier, M. 48, 60 Curtis, A. 62–5, 68, 151–3, 156 cyber-attacks 14 cybernetics 16, 36–8, 48–9, 53–6, 60, 136 cyberspace 142 Czech Republic 160 Daisyworld 51–2, 63, 123 Dalai Lama 205 Daly, H. 38 Dante 93 Darwin, C. 7, 51–2, 57–61, 64, 120–1, 124 databases 154 Dawkins, R. 58, 64–5, 120 DDT 21, 31 deep ecology 1, 7, 9, 11–12, 14, 218; and concept of ecology 143; and frugal individuation 171–81; and heroic development 77, 126, 135, 146, 151, 157, 165; and psyche 74; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 131, 133; and science 54; and transformation 208, 210–11, 213 DeepMind 55 deforestation 21, 23, 32, 127, 207 democracy 3, 150, 154, 162, 213 denial 5, 10, 126–7, 135, 146, 148–50, 152; and frugal individuation 171, 180, 195; and heroic development 159, 164, 167–8; and transformation 208 depth psychology 1, 7, 15, 17, 70, 88, 132, 151, 181, 193 Descartes, R. 9, 59, 61, 99, 120, 181, 185 determinism 36, 40, 54–5, 60, 101, 120

Index 223

Devall, B. 172 Dharma 69, 203 Dichter, E. 151 dimensionality 82, 86 Discovery Lifetime Award 53 disenchantment 68–70, 73–4, 82, 98, 109, 136, 163–4, 184, 192 disinformation 6, 152–4, 158 dissociation 135 DIVERSITAS 46 diversity 11, 13, 28, 33, 39, 51–2, 69; biodiversity 32, 46, 50, 122–4, 180; and frugal individuation 173–4; and heroic development 145; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 136 DNA 64–5, 87, 119–21, 129, 133, 140, 189–91 domains 10, 15, 43, 85–6, 99, 105, 116–21, 128, 130, 162 Dorn, G. 69, 96 double-slit experiment 100–1 doughnut economics 196–8, 200 dreams 8, 16, 71, 75, 80, 83, 85; and frugal individuation 175, 190–1; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 118, 122–3, 129, 133; and transformation 211–13 dual-aspect monism 9, 98–111, 117, 119–20; and transformation 208 dualism 7, 47, 61, 89, 99 Duterte, R. 161 dynamics 9, 12, 35–43, 54, 74, 77–8, 81; and frugal individuation 174; and heroic development 145, 154; and psyche 83–4, 91, 93, 103, 108; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–17, 121–5, 134 Earth systems science (ESS) 3, 9–10, 12, 22–3, 25, 30, 32; and frugal individuation 197; and Gaia 40, 42–6, 50, 53, 56; and heroic development 166; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 118, 136; and transformation 208 East 14, 40, 69–70, 74, 76–7, 91, 95, 111, 179, 209, 211 ecomodernism 164–6, 176, 210 economic growth 6, 9, 23, 27, 38, 148, 150–3; and frugal individuation 183–4, 194–5; and heroic development 161, 174 Ecophilosophy Newsletter 173 ecopsychology 6–8 ecotherapy 7 Eemian Epoch 43 ego 1, 10–13, 70, 72, 74–7, 79, 84; ego-Self axis 80–1; and frugal individuation 178–80, 185; and heroic development

141–2, 146–8, 151, 163; and psyche 86–90, 92, 94–7, 110–11; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116, 118, 124–6, 130, 133–5; and transformation 206, 211–13 Egypt 127, 142 Ehrlich, P. 59 Einstein, A. 6, 101 Ellis, E.C. 166 emergence 9–10, 12, 21, 38–9, 42, 46, 52; and frugal individuation 193; and heroic development 142, 152; and psyche 78, 88–91; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 117–19; and science 56–7, 59–61, 63 Emerson, R.W. 172 emissions 4–5, 15, 25–7, 31–2, 150, 153, 182–4, 212 enantiodromia 10, 91, 93, 109, 135–7, 140, 143, 145–9, 154 England 48, 110, 128, 133, 159, 188 Enlightenment 3, 5, 76, 98, 136, 145–6, 148 environmental movement 21, 145, 166 Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) 22, 155 Eocene Epoch 212 epistemology 61, 70, 98–100, 102, 104–5, 116–18, 124, 128, 130 Erdog˘ an, R.T. 161 Eros 80 Esalen Center for Theory and Research (CTR) 9, 12, 109, 193 esotericism 73, 75, 85, 103, 111 entheogens 188 ethics 2, 9, 17, 63, 180 Eurocrats 159 Europe 2–3, 5, 25, 131, 172, 204, 206; and heroic development 141, 143–5, 156, 160, 163; and psyche 76; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 125, 127; and transformation 209 European Union (EU) 159–60, 183 European Wind Energy Association 15 evapotranspiration 32 evil 149, 159 evolution 36, 39, 49, 52, 56, 61–2, 64; evolutionary biology 12, 51, 54, 57–9, 61–2, 120–1; evolutionary panentheism 9, 99, 111, 131, 190–4, 208, 210; and frugal individuation 178, 180, 191, 199; and heroic development 140, 142, 147; and psyche 83–5, 88; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 117–19, 122–6; and transformation 212 exceptionalism 156

224 Index

extinction 3, 28–9, 32, 50, 123, 127, 136, 185 extraversion 72–3, 89 ExxonMobil 162 Facebook 154 Fach, W. 105–6, 109, 111, 117 fake news 152 fascism 149 Fechner, G.T. 187 feedback loops 36–8, 41, 52, 60, 122, 155, 167, 199 feminine 13–14, 127–8, 156 fertilisers 23, 32 Fichte, J.G. 47 firewalls 14 First World War 73, 95, 125, 151 Fisher, A. 7, 89, 131, 185 focus groups 151 Fordham, M. 72 Forrester, J. 62 fossil fuels 21, 24, 31, 37, 150, 153, 155–6, 160, 177, 198 Fox, W. 173 fracking 54 fractals 42 France 160 Francis of Assisi 144 Francis, Pope 145, 161 free will 16, 55 FreedomWorks 153 Freeman, J. 72 freshwater use 31–3 Fressoz, J.-B. 3, 150 Freud, A. 151 Freud, S. 8, 93, 97–8, 151–2 Fricke, R. 206 Friedman, M. 157–8, 195, 199 Fromm, E. 172 frugality 12, 171–202 Fukuyama, F. 162 further reading 146, 173, 199, 206–7, 216–19 further research 109, 126, 194, 208 Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth 48, 125 Gaia Network 62, 120 Gaia/Gaia theory 1, 9–12, 14, 16, 22, 205, 217; and Anthropocene 31–2; and frugal individuation 174, 178, 180–1, 191, 194, 198; and heroic development 142, 145–7, 150, 153, 163–4; and psyche 68–9, 74, 79–80, 84–5, 88; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–19, 121–30, 132–4, 136–7; and science 36–9, 42, 44,

46–54, 56–61, 63, 65; and transformation 208, 213 Galileo 59, 123 Gandhi, M. 172 gender-specificity 79–80, 127 Genesis project 207 genetically modified organisms (GMOs) 31 genetics 31–3, 53, 57–8, 62, 65, 120–1, 124, 136, 187 genius loci 132 genocide 95, 149, 207 geoengineering 165 Geological Society of London 53 Germany 151, 160, 187 Geyer, R. 29 Gibbons, E. 168 Gifts Compass inventory 72 Gilles, M. 158 glacial-interglacial cycles 43, 45, 50 Glass, P. 206 Glendinning, C. 173 global heating 3, 24–5, 153, 177 global workspace theory 78 globalisation 12–13, 145, 150, 162 Gnosticism 74, 86, 90, 211 goals 10, 13, 27, 36–9, 44, 48–9, 206; and frugal individuation 175, 180, 185, 195–200; and heroic development 143, 157, 164; and psyche 68, 79–80, 84, 91, 93–7; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 121–3, 134; and science 55–6, 60, 62; and transformation 213 God 16, 58, 63–4, 80–1, 99, 111, 144, 158, 166, 172, 192–3, 204 gods/goddesses 48, 60, 91, 127, 155, 161 Goebbels, J. 152 Golden Sufi Center 211 Golding, W. 48, 60, 127 Gomes, M. 7 Goodall, C. 182–3 Goodwin, B. 56–7, 60, 62, 120–1, 190 Google 55, 82, 154, 164 Gore, A. 4–5, 174 Gould, S.J. 59, 65 Government Accountability Project 15 Great Acceleration 22–3, 46, 141, 151, 162, 166, 177 Great Mother 12, 142, 155, 172 Great Pacific Garbage Patch 29 Greece 161, 172 Green Belt Movement 205 GreenFaith 145 greenhouse gases (GHGs) 15, 22–3, 25, 27, 40, 52, 127, 153, 182 Greenland 44–5

Index 225

Greenspan, A. 156 Grimm’s fairy tales 203–4 gross domestic product (GDP) 27 Gross, M.B. 158 Gulf Stream 25 habitat-sharing 124 Haida 205 Hamilton, C. 2–3, 20–1, 164–6, 180 Hamilton, W.D. 58, 64 Hannah, B. 210 Harding, S. 47–8, 51, 53–4, 57, 60–2, 72, 120, 185 Hardy, T. 145 Hawken, P. 200 Hegel, W. 193 hegemony 47, 68, 98, 150, 156, 158 Heidegger, M. 173 Heisenberg, W. 119 Henderson, J.L. 71 Heraclitus 47, 69, 91 Hermes Trismegistus 81 Hermeticism 40, 42, 69, 74, 100, 111, 127 heroic development 10, 12–13, 85, 140–70 Hesse, H. 71 Hillman, J. 70, 72, 80, 129–32, 151, 179 Hinduism 69, 111, 204, 210 Hofmann, A. 188 holistic maps 8–12 Hollywood 206 Holocaust 152 Holocene Epoch 3, 20, 23, 25, 43 holomovement 102–3 homeostasis 37, 39, 49, 58, 62, 121, 123 Hoover, H. 151 Hopcke, J. 82–3, 142 Hopi 206 Hothouse Earth 25, 43 hubris 5, 8, 10, 41, 91, 142, 146–7, 149, 161–7, 171, 208, 211 human dominance 9, 21, 28, 43, 134–7, 141, 144–5, 150, 156, 165, 173–4, 177 human nature 5, 7, 171, 193, 206 human rights 149, 161 hummingbird parable 205, 213 Hungary 160 hunter-gatherers 127–8, 141 Husserl, E. 131 Huxley, A. 172 hydrosphere 43 Hyponica technique 187–8 I Ching 42, 92, 134 ice ages 53 ice core analysis 50

ice sheets 44–5, 212 ideology 6, 9, 11, 147, 154, 156–7, 162, 173, 178–9, 205 impacts 23–30, 62, 77, 126–7, 135, 145–6, 151, 156, 175–6, 182–3, 194–5 implicate order 9, 99, 101–4, 108, 111, 116, 134 India 69, 125, 160, 212 indigenous cultures 68, 80, 127–8, 131–2, 161, 172, 186, 189–91, 205, 207, 211 individual unconscious see personal unconscious individualism 68, 94–5, 127, 143, 156–7, 179, 192–3 individuation 11–12, 70, 74, 76–7, 79–80, 84, 89; frugal individuation 171–202; and heroic development 157; and psyche 94–5; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 122–4, 129; and transformation 208, 210, 213 Indo-Europeans 127, 155 Indonesia 162 Industrial Revolution 5, 21–2, 141, 143, 145 inertia 10, 146–7, 149–59, 166, 171, 199, 208 Infowars 154 inspiration 203–7, 212 instincts 6, 17, 85, 118–19, 186 Institute for Motivational Research 151 Instituto Terra 207 intelligent design 58 interest rates 36 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) 22, 25, 27 Intermediate Technology Development Group 194 International Association for Analytical Psychology (IAAP) 16, 72–3, 184 International Association for Jungian Studies (IAJS) 73 International Commission on Stratigraphy 20 International Community of Ecopsychology 6 International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) 176 International Council of Scientific Unions 22 International Energy Agency 15 International Geological Congress 20 International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme (IGBP) 22, 46 International Human Dimensions Programme on Global Environmental Change (IHDP) 46 international relations 149 International School of Analytical Psychology (ISAP) 108 International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) 29

226 Index

internet 1, 6, 14, 107, 154 introversion 72, 74–5, 89, 93 intuition 16, 42, 46–7, 71–2, 91, 116, 124 invisible hand 38 irreducible.world companion website 24, 216 Islam 143, 158, 210 Israel 141, 211 Italy 160 Jackson, T. 195–6, 198 Jacobi, J. 71, 82 Jaffé, A. 71 Jäger, J. 46 Jainism 210 James, W. 9, 17, 100, 110, 172, 186, 208 Jameson, F. 147 Japan 132, 185, 187–8 Jaspers, K. 69 Javid, S. 157 Jeffers, R. 172 Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) 49 Jet Stream 44–5 Jobs, S. 157 Joyce, J. 71 Judaism 144, 155–6, 158, 204, 210–11 Jung, C.G. 1, 7–17, 36–7, 40–1, 47, 203–4, 206; and frugal individuation 172, 178– 81, 185, 187, 190; and heroic development 140–3, 145–7, 149, 151–2, 162; and psyche 69–89, 91, 93–8, 100, 103–6, 108, 110–11; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116, 118–30, 134–5; and science 62; and transformation 209–13 Jung Institute 16, 39, 89, 106, 108 Jungians 8–13, 36, 62, 70–4, 76–8, 80–1, 206; and frugal individuation 171, 180–1, 185–6, 188–9, 198; and heroic development 140, 152, 166–7; and psyche 83, 85–6, 89, 92, 94, 96, 98, 106; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 119–23, 129–31, 133; and transformation 212 Kahan, D. 155 kairos 41 Kakutani, M. 152 Kanner, A. 7 Kant, I. 47 Kast, V. 79–80, 127, 130 Kaya Identity 27 Kaya, Y. 27 Kelly, E.F. 111, 192–4 Kennedy, J.F. 148 Kennedy Space Center 159 Kenya 125, 205

Kiehl, J. 171, 212–13 kin selection 58, 64 Kingsnorth, P. 2 Klein, N. 158, 176 Koch Industries 153 Konisky, D. 144–5 Korzybski, A. 8, 99, 200 Krause, B. 173 Krieger, N. 78, 83, 118 Krishnamurti, J. 99, 101 Krugman, P. 157 Kubrick, S. 141 Kumar, S. 173 Kummerow, M. 27 Kurzweil, R. 164 Kyoto International Conference Center 16 Kyoto Protocol 15, 108 LaChapelle, D. 173, 178 land-system change 31–3 Laozi/Lao-Tze 69, 140 Lapis Quaternio 86–7 Lawrence, D.H. 172 Lawton, J. 42 leadership 143, 149, 160–3, 186, 204–5 leapfrogging 23 learning from nature 184–90 Leggett, J. 24, 27 Leibniz, G. 166 Leopold, A. 72, 124 Levandowski, A. 164 Li, R.S.-C. 13 libertarianism 153, 157, 199 libido 78 Library of Congress Center for the Book 156 Limits to Growth 35, 38, 62–3 Limits to Growth: The 30-Year Update 35, 62–3 lithosphere 43 Living Planet Index 29 López-Pedrasa, R. 72 Lorenz, E. 40 Los Angeles Zen Center 175 Lotka, A.J. 51 Lovelock, J. 1, 9–11, 16, 26, 31, 35–7, 213; and frugal individuation 178; and heroic development 163; and psyche 72, 74, 80, 100; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116, 122–3, 125–7, 136; and science 42, 46–51, 53–4, 58–61, 63 Lovins, A. 35 Lucas, G. 152 Luddites 184

Index 227

M-theory 82 Maathai, W. 205 Machiavelli, N. 5, 77, 126, 135, 146, 151 McIntosh, A. 144 McKenna, T. 98, 173 Mackey, J.L. 123 McKibben, B. 35 Macmurray, J. 123 macrocosm 42, 129, 209 Macy, J. 173, 178 Magidson, M. 206 Main, R. 70, 109, 111 Malthus, T. 57 mandalas 42, 198, 211 Mandelbrot, B. 41 Mandelbrot set 41–2 Manhattan Project 64 manifest destiny 156 Margulis, L. 1, 35, 46, 50, 57–9, 61, 65 Marjasch, S. 129 Mars 49 Marshall, G. 14, 145 Marxism 147 masculine 13–15, 142, 156 materialism 128, 188, 193 Meadows, D.H. 35–8, 62–3, 122–3, 165, 196, 199–200 Meadows Project 199 media 1, 17, 68, 152, 154–5, 199, 216 Mediterranean 69 megacities 163 Meghalayan Age 20 Meier, C.A. 73 Mendel, G. 57 Merleau-Ponty, M. 131 metanoia 3, 6, 15, 98, 112, 151, 159, 208, 214 metaphor 13, 26, 38, 47, 55, 58–9, 61, 74, 90–1, 95–9, 116, 130–1 metaphysics 11, 14, 17, 56, 60, 85, 98, 106, 111, 172, 193, 208 Meteorological Office Hadley Centre 51, 59 microbial networks 50, 53, 124 microcosm 42, 111, 127, 129, 179, 209 microplastics 29, 127 Microsoft 164 mid-life crisis 10, 72–4, 91–4, 140, 145–7, 168, 208 Middle East 158 Midgley, M. 11, 62 migration 3, 21, 24, 141, 149, 159–60, 206–7 mind-brain relationship 78, 109–10 mind-matter problem 72, 99, 103–4, 109, 217–18

mining 21, 127, 157, 161, 198, 206 Minsky, M. 98 Miocene Epoch 43 misanthropy 14, 26, 174–5, 177 Mitchell, A. 152 modelling 1, 6, 21, 30, 33, 35–8, 40; and frugal individuation 178; and heroic development 141, 154; and psyche 70, 75, 78–9, 82–5, 97–9, 103, 105–6, 108–9; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 117–18, 122–4, 129; and science 43, 46, 49, 51, 62–4 Monbiot, G. 124, 176 monism 9, 12, 98–9, 101, 103–5, 109–11, 117, 119–20, 208 monoculture 28 monsoons 32, 44–5 Monte, C. 189 Montreal Protocol 23, 31 Moore, M. 68 Morocco 140 mountain rescue team (MRT) 132 Muir, J. 172, 175 Murphy, M. 193–4 music 107, 141, 205–6 Myanmar 162 Myers, F.W.H. 9, 110, 186 Myers-Briggs (MBTI) psychometrics 72 Nader, R. 174 Næss, A. 2, 9, 11, 54, 72, 100, 172–5, 178–80, 187–8, 213 Næss Chair 53 Narby, J. 129, 189–91 NASA 49 National Coal Board 195 National Mental Health Act 151 National Parks 172 nationalism 1, 12, 160–1 Native Americans 211 natural selection 51–2, 57–8, 64, 124 nature 1–19, 203–8; and Anthropocene 20–34; and frugal individuation 171–202; and heroic development 140–70; human nature 5, 7, 171, 193, 206; learning from nature 184–90; and psyche 68–115; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–39; and science 35–67; and transformation 208–15 Nature and Human Nature Conference 7–8, 171 Nazis 95, 152 nemesis 91, 161 neoliberalism 1, 6, 12, 150, 157–8, 160, 195, 198–9

228 Index

Neolithic Revolution 141, 184 Neoplatonism 37, 47, 69 neuroses 83, 98, 148 Newton, I. 14, 69, 211 Nicholas, K.A. 183 Nicolas of Cusa 81 El Niño 44–5 Nobel Prize 38, 48, 72, 104, 157, 166, 205 Nietzsche, F. 209 non-governmental organisations (NGOs) 161, 189 non-human world 36, 131, 157, 161, 163–4, 173–5, 177, 185, 190–1, 193, 200, 208 nonlinear systems 3, 36, 38–41 nonlocality 9, 12, 78, 100, 104, 109–12, 117, 186, 194, 208 North America 7, 145, 156, 163, 172, 186 Norway 179 nostalgia 10, 146–7, 149, 159–61, 166, 171, 208 Nouvelle Planète 189 novel entities 31 Nozawa, S. 187–8, 190–1 nuclear technology 21, 24, 54, 73, 136, 155–6, 184 Nussbaum, M.C. 159 Oakridge National Laboratory 26 Obama, B. 13, 148, 153, 156 obligations 178 Occupy movement 62 ocean acidification see acidification offsets providers 183–4 Oldham, T. 153, 155, 157 oligarchies 1 O’Neil, C. 154 ontology 77, 84, 95, 98–101, 104–5, 117–19, 121–2, 128, 130, 192 Ophuls, W. 168, 171–2, 199 ordering information 118–19, 121–2 Oreskes, N. 153, 155, 157 Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) 5, 23 Orphic Trinity 80 Orwell Foundation 154 Orwell, G. 152, 154 Oslo University 53 ouroboros 198 Oxfam 4, 196 Oxford University 48, 57, 62 ozone layer 31, 33 Pacific 29, 205 Pacifica Graduate Institute 7, 171

paganism 144 Palin, S. 153, 156 panentheism 9, 99, 111, 131, 190–4, 208, 210 panpsychism 109 pantheism 99, 192 Paracelsus 69, 73 Paradise Quaternio 86–7 Paris Accord 16, 24–5, 160 Parks, R. 40 parochialism 161 participation mystique 69 pathologies 134–7 patriarchy 14, 80, 127–8, 142, 155, 174, 176, 187, 211 Pauli, W. 9, 12, 69, 74, 84–5, 99–101, 104–6, 108 Pauli-Jung conjecture 9, 69, 72, 84, 86, 88, 96, 99–101, 103–4, 106, 108–11, 116–17 Peat, F.D. 40, 42, 99, 119–20, 130 pedosphere 43 perception management 152–3, 155 perfect storm 144–9, 168, 206 persona 75–6, 80, 95 personal unconscious 8, 77, 118 Peru 132 pesticides 21 phenomenology 131 photosynthesis 52 physicalism 9, 69–70, 98, 109–12, 191–2 physics 14–15, 40, 50, 69, 78, 99–101, 104, 109–10, 119–20, 211 pilot wave theory 101, 103 planetary boundaries 30–3, 46, 165, 197 plant kingdom 187–90, 194 plant-based diets 182–3 plastics 21, 29–31, 127 plate tectonics 52 Plato 7, 16, 37, 47, 55, 64–5, 69, 85, 127–8, 208 Plaut, F. 135 Player, I. 185–6 Pleistocene Epoch 20 Pliocene Epoch 43 Plotinus 47 pluralism 11, 13, 82 Poland 160, 162 Polanyi, K. 22 policymaking 178 pollution 3, 5, 21, 23, 29, 31, 126, 153, 155, 163, 174, 211 Pompeo, M. 156–7 population 21, 23, 26–7, 32, 51, 62, 124, 149, 168, 173–7, 180, 210 Population Matters 26–7, 176–7

Index 229

populism 1, 160 post-mortem survival 109–10 postmodernism 8, 192 poverty 4–5, 27 precautionary principle 3 predators 28, 123–4, 141, 207 Price, G.R. 64 projection 79–80, 82, 85, 94, 118, 211 Pronk, J. 46 propaganda 62, 151 Protestantism 80, 145, 209 psi phenomena 110 psyche 1, 7, 9–10, 12, 14, 17, 204–5; and frugal individuation 179, 190–1; and heroic development 142, 145, 147, 153, 156, 162, 168; psyche and beyond 68–115; Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–40; and science 36–9, 56; and transformation 209, 213 psychecology 7 Psyche-Gaia conjecture 10–12, 74, 77–9, 85, 99, 109, 116–39, 146, 182, 191, 208 psychoanalysis 2–3, 9, 15, 93, 151–2 psychoid 9–10, 74–5, 77, 81, 84–8, 95, 118–19, 129 psychological types theory 72 Psychologischer Club Zürich 185 psychosis 74, 96 public opinion 151 public relations (PR) 151 Pulitzer prize 152 Putin, V. 161 quantum physics 14, 99–103, 109, 119, 134, 211 Quaternary Megafauna Extinction 28 quaternities 86–8 Quechua 132, 205 racism 149, 176 radionuclides 21, 31 Rand, A. 156–7, 199 Rand Institute 156 Rapture 158 Raworth, K. 2, 4, 37, 196–8, 200 Reagan, R. 152, 156, 158, 195 reciprocity 80, 131, 134, 144 recycling 182–3 Rees, M. 59 Reggio, G. 206 reincarnation 97 reinforcing feedback 13 related practice 181–2 relativity theory 101

religious fundamentalism 1, 13–14, 58, 80, 109, 144, 158, 193, 211 Renaissance 73, 127 renewable energy 15, 27, 54, 92, 155–6, 165, 181, 198 repression 77, 126, 135, 146, 151 resilience 9, 32, 38–41, 51, 62, 121, 123–4, 133, 136, 174 rewilding 124 rheomode 102 rhizome 97 richness 174–5 Rio Earth Summit 177 Roman Empire 168 romanticism 47, 172 Rosenblueth, A. 54–6 Roszak, T. 7–8, 173 rotundum 87 Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew 187 Royal Geographical Society 53 Royal Society 53 Ruse, M. 47, 58–9, 61 Russell, B. 99 Russia 152, 154, 159, 161, 212 Ryan, P. 156 Sabbadini, S.A. 42 Sabini, M. 73, 82 Sagan, C. 50 Salgado, J.R. 207 Salgado, L. 207 Salgado, S. 206–7 Samuels, A. 135, 166, 207 Schelling, J. 47 Schiller, F. 68 schizophrenia 85 Scholem, G. 71 Schumacher College 48, 120, 194 Schumacher, E.F. 37, 178, 194–5, 214 science 12, 14–17, 20, 25, 68, 70–1, 218; and frugal individuation 187, 189–95; and Gaia 35–67; and heroic development 143–4, 146, 148, 152, 155, 162–3, 165–6; and psyche 73–4, 76, 78, 80, 82, 98–9, 103–4, 109–11; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–17, 120–1, 129–30, 135; and transformation 208, 210, 213–14, see also Earth systems science scientism 14 Scotland 132 sea level rise 24–5, 43, 191, 212 Second World War 55, 73, 95, 125, 158, 195 Seed, J. 173

230 Index

Self 9–12, 16, 76, 78, 80–2, 85–8, 211–12; and frugal individuation 190, 192, 198; and psyche 94, 110; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 117–18, 120, 127, 129; Self-realisation 39, 83–4, 95–6, 111, 121–2, 124, 146–7, 179–80, 187–8; and transformation 211–12 self-organisation 38–9, 57, 60, 62–3, 77, 199–200 self-regulation 39, 46, 49–53, 60, 83–4, 89, 121–3, 135, 181 self-similarity 9, 41–2, 97 semiotics 79, 130 sentience 60, 117, 187, 190, 208 Sessions, G. 172–3 sexism 15, 74 shadow 62, 79, 85, 94, 126–7, 133 Shadow Quaternio 86–7 shamanism 77, 131, 189–91 Shepard, P. 172, 175, 200 Shinto 132 Shorter, B. 135 Shurangama Sutra 203 signalling 36, 49, 53 signs 78–9, 86, 98, 121, 129 Sikhism 210 Silent Spring 21, 73, 159, 172 Silicon Valley 157, 164 Simon, H. 38 Singer-Loomis inventory 72 Singularity University 164, 167 Sixth Mass Extinction 3, 29, 127, 136 Smil, V. 28 Smith, A. 38 Smith, J.M. 58 Snyder, G. 173, 178 social justice 197, 200 socialism 194 Society for Mind-Matter Research 99 soma 83, 153 Sophists 128 soul 1, 7, 12, 65, 70–1, 73, 206; and frugal individuation 171, 184–5, 187, 191–2, 195; and heroic development 143–4, 146, 151, 163–4; and psyche 79, 82–3, 86, 88–9, 93, 95, 97; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 124, 129, 136; and transformation 211–12; world soul 47–8, 69, 74, 80, 126–8, 130–2, 134, see also anima mundi South Africa 160, 185, 206 South America 189 South Asia 32 Soviet Union 161–2 space programme 159–60

Spinoza, B. 9, 47, 61, 99, 120, 172, 192, 208 spirituality 1, 7, 12, 14, 16, 46, 218; and frugal individuation 186, 188, 190–3, 195; and psyche 68–9, 74, 82, 85–8, 95, 109, 111; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 120, 127; and science 57, 61–3; and transformation 210–11 SRI International 152 Stabilized Earth 43 Stages of Life theory 10, 72, 77, 83–98, 141–2, 145–6 Stalin, J. 152 stargazing 163 Staude, J.-R. 88–9 Steffen, W. 25, 46, 136 Stein, M. 71, 76, 86, 88, 130, 190, 203 Stevens, A. 119–20, 190 stewardship 23, 145 strange attractors 39 stratospheric ozone depletion 31, 33 structures 10, 12, 74, 82–3, 86, 105–6, 108; and frugal individuation 178; and heroic development 141, 155; and psyche 111; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–17, 119, 124–8, 134 success stories 140–5 Sufism 206, 211 sun 20, 50, 52–3, 85, 90–1, 95, 142, 146–7, 204 Sun Tzu 157 Surrey University 195 Sursem project see Survival Seminar project Survey of Lifetime Reading Habits 156 Survival Seminar (Sursem) project 12, 62, 100, 109–12, 117, 131, 186, 191–2, 194, 210 sustainability 2, 6, 15, 26, 192, 194, 200 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 197 Switzerland 7, 16, 71, 89, 179, 189 symbols 78–9, 85–6, 90, 93, 106, 108, 118, 121–2, 128–31, 140, 198, 206 synchronicity 70, 96, 101, 104, 106, 108, 128, 186, 191, 209 synergies 7–8, 11–12, 73, 157, 208 systems theory 9, 12–13, 16, 28, 77–8, 83, 217; and frugal individuation 196, 199– 200; and heroic development 164–5; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–17, 119, 121, 125, 133, 136; and science 35–43, 49, 54, 62; system definition 36; system traps 3; systems analysis 37; systems change 199–200; and transformation 208, see also Earth Systems science Tacey, D. 130 Tansley, A. 57

Index 231

Taoism 69, 140, 209–10 Taplin, J. 154 Tea Party 153 technology 1, 3, 6, 9, 17, 55–6, 68; and frugal individuation 173, 178, 181, 194–5; and heroic development 141, 143–4, 146, 155, 158–60, 162–6; and psyche 76, 98; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 135; technosphere 28, 118, 136; and transformation 214 Teilhard de Chardin, P. 144 teleology 10, 16, 36–7, 47, 49, 51, 54–9; and frugal individuation 191; and psyche 70, 79, 83, 86, 93, 111; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 118, 120, 123; and science 61, 63–5; and transformation 208 Thatcher, M. 13, 152, 158, 195 Thiel, P. 157 think tanks 153, 157 Thinking in Systems: A Primer 35, 199 Thoreau, H.D. 172 Tickell, C. 26 Tillerson, R. 157, 162 timeline 20–3 tipping points 22, 25, 40, 43–5, 77, 136 totalitarianism 8, 13, 152 tragedy of the commons 37, 128, 157 transcendent function 83, 206 Transcendentalism 172 transformation 208–14 transhumanism 164 trauma 123, 171 troll factories 152 Truman, H. 151 Trump, D. 10, 16, 24, 155, 157–61, 199, 204–5 Truth and Reconciliation Commission 206 Tsukuba Science and Technology Expo 187 Twitter 199 Uganda 125 Ukraine 162 unconscious 6–9, 12–14, 122, 126, 128, 133, 135; collective unconscious 7–8, 70, 84–5, 110, 213; and frugal individuation 180, 191, 198; and heroic development 142, 144, 146, 151, 159; personal unconscious 8, 77, 118; and psyche 73–8, 81–4, 89–91, 93, 95–8, 105, 110–11 unified field theory 101 Union of Concerned Scientists 15 United Kingdom (UK) 7, 51, 59, 150, 157, 159, 182, 194–5 United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP) 22

United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change Conference of the Parties (UNFCCC) 15, 177 United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) 149 United Nations (UN) 26, 161, 176–7, 196–7; Department of Economic and Social Affairs 163; General Assembly 204 United States (US) 5, 15, 144–5, 148, 150–1, 153–5, 204; and Anthropocene 21–2, 25, 27, 29; Atomic Energy Commission 159; Congress 156; Department of Defense 24; Federal Reserve 156; and frugal individuation 172, 176, 183; and heroic development 158–62; and psyche 110; and science 58; and transformation 210–11 University of California Los Angeles 143 unus mundus 69–70, 80, 82, 84, 88, 116–18, 127; and frugal individuation 192; and psyche 95–6, 100, 104–5, 108, 111; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116–18, 127 Upanishads 80, 179 urbanisation 142, 163, 185 values 141, 146, 152, 155, 173–5, 178, 185, 195, 198 Van der Post, L. 73, 186 Van Eenwyk, J. 39 Vaughan-Lee, L. 211 Vedantas 111 Venail, P.A. 51–2 Venus 49 vested interests 150, 153, 158 Vidal, G. 156 Vietnam War 41 vision 71, 194–8, 214 vital needs 173–4 vitalism 11 Volterra, V. 51 Von Franz, M.-L. 71, 73, 77, 95–6, 116, 128 Von Neumann, J. 64, 81, 164 Von Wright, G.H. 59, 123 Watson, A. 51 Way of the Future (WOTF) 164 weaponisation 151, 154, 156 Weber, M. 68 Wells, M. 13 Welsh, J. 149 Wenders, W. 207 West 6, 10, 13, 15–16, 40, 47–8, 61; and frugal individuation 181, 185, 187, 189–92, 194, 196–7; and heroic development 143, 146, 151, 155, 160–2;

232 Index

and psyche 69–70, 73, 75–8, 91, 97–9, 111; and Psyche-Gaia conjecture 116, 118, 127, 129, 131, 134–5 Western Europe 25, 172 White, L. Jr. 143–4, 155–6, 158, 194 White, V. 71 Wiener, N. 49, 54, 62 Wilde, O. 195 Wilderness Leadership School 186 Wilhelm, R. 74, 209 Wilson, H. 159 Wolff, T. 120 Wollaston Medal 53 Working Group on the Anthropocene 20 World Bank 26, 38, 207 World Climate Research Programme (WCRP) 46 World Meteorological Organization 24 World Psychedelic Forum 188 world soul 47–8, 69, 74, 80, 126–8, 130–2, 134, see also anima mundi World3 computer 62

WWF 29 Wynes, S. 183 xenophobia 160 Xi Jinping 161 Yale Law School 155 Yeats, W.B. 149 Yellowstone National Park 124 yin/yang 14, 91–2 Younger Dryas 53 YouTube 42, 72, 101, 124, 154, 185, 190 Zeitgeist 12–14, 65, 70, 73, 127, 145, 150; and frugal individuation 174, 180–1, 187–8, 190, 198, 200; and heroic development 155 Zeller, M. 212–13 Zen Buddhism 172, 175, 198, 203 Zeyl, R.J. 47 Zoological Society of London 29