It was 1994, maybe. 1995? It hardly matters. I was on an elliptical orbit heading out of the world of organised Buddhism at the time, the world which had been my homebase for many years. I was teaching English part-time on Fulham Road in west London, living with a friend on a council estate in Waterloo ( Morrissey, dream on), and getting to know the lady who would eventually become my wife. The days of teaching mindfulness meditation to newcomers, the Buddha's Eightfold Path and the rest were over. Nevertheless, once a fortnight I would make the trek up to Westbourne Grove, not far from Bayswater and the famed Portobello Market, to attend a business meeting at the Buddhist centre there.
Most of the topics on the agenda were of peripheral interest to me, and I really had little constructive to offer. I sometimes wondered whether my presence was more as the token wise old man of the centre - in which case it was a grave misjudgement. From my perspective, my purpose for attending was quite different, and quite specific - even if nobody else realised it.
A major aspect of those meetings was the ritual tearing to pieces of the centre chairman by various other members of the council, as it was called. He would present progress reports, make business proposals, which would be duly pulled apart by some of the others. Then his personal life, actions, and the rest would come up for ripping to shreds. The somewhat hedonic nature of some of his attitudes and weekend activities rendered him easy meat for a quasi-spiritual savaging. It was reminiscent of the myth of Actaeon, torn into bits by his dogs, who should have been faithful to their owner, but who pull him to pieces as a result of his cupidity, having spied the goddess Artemis naked.
My main function was to try and put the unfortunate guy back together again. I was in a unique postion for the self-appointed task: though arguably less vicious, ten years previous I had been in a similar situation to his. So, typically, following the conclusion of the sports, the chairman -who also happened to be a good friend of mine - and I would adjourn to a nearby cafe where, bloodied and bruised, he would replay the events of the morning, and I would try to chip in helpfully.
On several occasions, sitting at a table adjacent to ours could be seen Brett Anderson, singer in the famous indie group 'Suede'. His features are as distinctive as features can get; though, curiously, my chairman friend didn't know who I was talking about, despite being far more in tune with the 'youth culture' of the time than I was.
I quite like Suede. Or at least some of the music of Suede. Or at least some of their music that I've actually listened to. 'Coming Up' is their best-known album, full of memorable songs and well-crafted melodies, some really fine pieces of indie pop-rock (a genre that I've just created).
So let's imagine a certain randomly-chosen male (he is not a caricature of me, by the way, despite sharing a few similarities). He is educated, informed, and generally well-intentioned. A man of principle, high principle; a man of thought, adept in the art of abstract thinking in particular, quietly proud of his ideas and his logic. Reason is the way forward, his badge of identity and the key to civilisation. He spends a good deal of time with his Kindle, where he has a collection of works by not-too-difficult-to-read slightly modern philosophers and political commentators. 'Understanding', 'meaning' are two more words that are important to him.
Then one day, for reasons completely beyond our limited comprehension, Anima enters the scene. Amongst other possible labels which she may or may not have attached to her elusive being, Anima comes as Soul-Image, the contrasexual Other. She stands at the threshold to the collective unconscious, if we follow Jung. All those things which go to fascinate and identify our randomly-chosen male mean absolutely nothing to her. Abstract thought: no way. Meaning: what's that? Linear rationality: entirely irrelevant to the purpose of Anima - in the garbage bin. And her voice is heard loud and clear on 'Coming Up' by Suede.....
So what's so anima-like about these particular songs for our randomly-chosen male? Listen to 'Coming Up' and there is a shine, a gloss, a sparkle, which appears to simply jump off many of the songs. It is part of the attraction. To our champion of abstract thought, surface matters are just that: surface, superficial, and the subject of self-justified disdain. Sheen, shine, surface texture: he is above and beyond all that - although it may cause him a slight involuntary discomfort. In general, however, it is just wrapping paper, with no meaning. And this is the horror of horrors. Anima announces herself without 'understanding', without 'meaning', at least in the way our hero of reason interprets these words. It's not her style, not her interest. She revels in appearance, just as it is and just as she is. Should she have a 'meaning', this is it.
Then there are the words, the lyrics. Little stories of banal lives, devoid of philosophical thought or speculation. Songs about totally mediocre people, according to our random male. Take 'Trash' for instance:
"Maybe maybe it's the clothes we wear/ The tasteless bracelets and the dye in our hair/ Maybe it's our kookiness......... We're trash you and me/We're the litter on the breeze/We're the lovers on the streets....Maybe it's our cheapness.... our sweetness.... the crazes and the fads...."
Thus, into the world of our principled, high-minded, academically-inclined random male, enters Anima. To her, trash is magnificent - and her feeling comes devoid of value judgement. Cheapness, ordinariness, surface sparkle and charm: how, to him, it's anathema; and how she loves it.
Part Two
Jung is not, in my view, exactly 'wrong' on Anima. It is more that he is inconsistent, sometimes unsure of himself, a bit muddled. This may be in part a reflection of the nature of Anima herself, who is anything but clear-cut, and notoriously reluctant to be caged by logical definitions gleaned from linear, rational thought. I also concede that Jung's own view of Anima morphed with time: in particular, he came to see her less suspiciously. All the same.....
This confusion and unsatisfactoriness is evidenced by the considerable quantity of literature to come out of the Jungian world on Anima since the death of Carl Gustav. It is also evidenced by the majority of 'information' to be found in more popular writings on Anima. This is, to me, overwhelmingly superficial, derivative, formulaic, if not downright incorrect. It seems the work of people who have copied out of textbooks rather than bathed and battled in personal experience of Anima.
An example. Some of the many sources (do a quick websearch on 'Anima') state that a prominent attribute of Anima is 'relatedness'. The insinuation is that, should you have a problem in your marriage or relationship, then Anima will provide the solution. In particular, that tricky husband will, under the influence of 'his anima', turn into that caring, sympathetic, infinitely understanding fellow who always does the dishes that you have always dreamed of. This is total bullshit. Anima is a catalyst for 'relatedness', but it is not 'relationship' in this sense. She is no patron saint of nice, warm, snugly, adjustment-to-life relatedness at all. Her relatedness is, to continue in Jungian vein, between consciousness and unconsciousness. Her 'relatedness' will bring all matter of unexpected hell-to-play into life, rather than a passport to happy-ever-after.
Fortunately, Anima has been saved by a number of more serious Jungian types; I include links to two long but worthwhile (if you are into this kind of thing) articles by Karen Hodges and Paul Watsky below. Above all, in my view, Anima has undergone redemption in the hands of James Hillman: in his book 'Anima' primarily (no surprise there), and in 'The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World'. To paraphrase serously, his overarching point is that, while all manner of idea may accrete to Anima as a result of historical and cultural circumstances, which change through time, her archetypal essence remains, by definition, constant. The task is to distinguish the two. Thus, some of the attributes accredited to Anima by Jung are more a reflection of his own times with their particular attitudes, his own moment in history, than anything inherently Anima.
Hillman takes to task the co-mingling and confusion of Eros and Anima: much that is erotic in nature has nothing to do with Anima. Similarly with 'feeling': Anima's coupling with feeling is not necessarily and always true. Most importantly, Hillman contends Jung's association of Anima as Soul-Image of men, and Animus as the equivalent for women. Anima is unique in her own right, says Hillman, with her own special role. Women and men both require the soul-making quality of Anima. In this way we avoid the way that Jung gets his contrasexual knickers in a twist with the never-ending ping-pong of opposites and compensations that plagues some of Jung's work on this issue.
Anima, if we can say anything, is 'Soul' in the Jungian sense. She mediates between conscious and unconscious. She is gatekeeper of the Unknown: beware.
Anima is for the experiencing rather than the theorizing. All the same, a little mental clarity can help us avoid disappearing up too many fruitless cul-de-sacs.
Some Quotes:
"I have noticed that people usually have not much difficulty in picturing to themselves just what is meant by the shadow.... But it costs them enormous difficulties to understand what the anima is. They accept her easily enough when she appears in novels or as a film star, but she is not understood at all when it comes to seeing the role she plays in their own lives, because she sums up everything that a man can never get the better of and never finishes coping with....... The degree of unconsciousness one meets with in this connection is, to put it mildly, astounding." (Carl Jung, Collected Works 9. Just so, Carl, just so).
"Recognizing the Shadow is what I call the apprentice-piece, but making out with the anima is the master-piece which not many can bring off" (Jung, letter to Traugott Egloff, 1959. Jung was 83 at the time....)
Some more Quotes:
"When I asked my anima how to sum her up, she replied irritably 'Don't patronize me!" (Paul Watsky)
"Do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us, it is a gift." (Dante, channelling the voice of Anima, maybe)
"I would speak of anima and animus as archetypal images and archetypal experiences only when numinous female or male figures appear, for example in dreams; they are emotionally highly charged and they produce an intense feeling that makes possible a sense of transcending everyday life. That would correspond with the archetypal experience as Jung describes it." (Verena Kast, as clarifying and concise as it gets)
Links:
jungatlanta.com/articles/Anima.pdf
Reflections on Women, Depression, and the Soul Image: Karen Hodges (use a search engine)
For all those eager to hear Suede doing 'Trash', go to Youtube. It's easy....
Images: Not pansies, but bluebells. A fifteen-minute walk from home.
