21 March 1934 Visions Seminar LECTURE IX
Here is a question by Mrs. Bailward: “When you see somebody for the first time, can you see them as they really are? Or do you see only what is in yourself, and have to regain your projection by testing it against reality?”
You never see people exactly as they are, you always project something.
It would mean that you had absolute knowledge otherwise.
You are always prejudiced by your own point of view.
For the perceiving individual is not just a standard article; he has naturally a limited understanding due to preexisting conditions, and these premises will always be operative in any act of supposition or perception.
So you never escape a sort of projection, there is always a certain amount of prejudice or premise, because you can only understand by what you are, by what you have.
Of course that is not what is usually called projection, but it functions in exactly the same way.
The ordinary idea of projection is that you find a part of your personal psychology in somebody else and assume that it belongs there, whereas it is really a prejudice in yourself of which you are unconscious; yet it colors your vision, your every act of cognition.
Your understanding is merely an approximation of understanding, it can never be complete.
Then we have a question by Mrs. Crowley: “Would you discuss a little further the symbolism of the number nine in relation to the restoration of the buried treasure? I believe there is a legend in Pindar-Walter Pater speaks of it-that Persephone restores every nine years the souls of those who ill-treated her.”
I don’t know, but it would be the same idea probably-it is typically a period of pregnancy.
The treasure which grows up from the depths during nine years, nine months, and nine nights would be a sort of rebirth of the treasure.
It has the qualities of the psychological treasure naturally, which is always symbolized by a child about to be born, and that takes nine months.
The unconscious generally follows such rules.
For example, nine months before something important is going to happen, there is a chance that one may foresee it or dream of it.
Or nine months after some decisive move has been made, it is quite possible that something happens as the result of the first movement.
Nine months after you enter analysis, or nine months after any important decision, something else of importance may occur, even if it is only a dream.
I have seen that very often.
And people often have dreams of a child nine years or nine months old.
Or suddenly a birth takes place and if you reckon back nine months, you find that something happened then which would be analogous to a conception.
Sometimes it is quite definitely ten months minus three days; I remember a case where it was exactly that date.
Mrs. Crowley: Where does the particular legend that you told us come from?
Dr. Jung: Oh, that is German folklore.
We were speaking last time of that man who was growing into the earth, and our patient’s idea was obviously to detach him from the earth in which he was caught.
In the scene before, she found the remains of a human sacrifice-the animus was sacrificed.
And I told you in that connection that it was impossible for us to contain the whole of our psychology within ourselves; it is quite inevitable that certain parts will always be
projected.
That is the reason why we need other human beings, why we need objects; life makes no sense if completely detached, we are only complete in a community or in a relationship.
There is no possibility of individuation on the top of Mount Everest where you are sure that nobody will ever bother you.
Individuation always means relationship.
Of course having a relationship does not mean that you are individuated, for relationship can also dismember you; you can be split into many parts, dissolved, if you don’t hold onto yourself.
But inasmuch as it forces you to cling to yourself, relationship is even the instigator of individuation.
So collectivity is the worst poison if you dissolve in it; but if you can hold on to yourself while still keeping in touch with it, that is the ideal condition.
If you cut yourself off from collectivity completely, it is as bad as if you were submerged by it, only instead of going under in collective mankind, you then go under in the collective unconscious, where you are just as much dissolved as in a crowd.
To be in the lap of a crowd or of an institution or an assembly is the same as being in the
collective unconscious, that is the visible side of it; to know what the collective unconscious looks like from the outside, go to church or to a political meeting or any big gathering; that crowd of men, beasts, and things is the collective unconscious looked at from the outside.
So when you run away from it you dive into it, and when you remain with it you also dive into it-if you want to drown yourself; but if you can hold on to yourself, the inside as well as the outside of the collective unconscious will help you to individuate.
Individuation is impossible without relationship.
Mrs. Crowley: Would you hold that to be the case in the East where there is a different milieu?
Dr: Jung: Oh yes, that is the same all over the world.
Mrs. Crowley: But how would you account for the Yogins, for example? They went alone into the forests.
Dr: Jung: Yes, they [Forest Yogins] go into the collective unconscious with great pleasure.
That is just the important argument against Eastern psychology, they simply go into it-as if into nirvana-and I don’t consider that to be real individuation.
You see they pass through the zone of individuation in which they have lived and had their successes, and then suddenly they give up their worldly aspirations and begin the wood-life, as people did here in the Middle Ages.
It happened even very recently that a well-known politician here suddenly left his worldly life and went into a monastery.
Of course it is an age-old custom in the East.
When a man has arrived at forty-five, let us say, having lived a full life, having been perhaps a minister at the court of his rajah, he then withdraws and goes into the woods and becomes a saint; inasmuch as he was dissolved in the world before, he then dissolves into the unconscious.
That is always a way.
But Buddha designated those two ways as errors; he said there was a middle path, meaning the path of individuation, which does not remove people from the world.
Even those saintly hermits who live in the jungle or on the slopes of the Himalayas are not what Buddha understood to be saints; his idea was that a Buddhist saint would live not only one life, but many long lives on this earth among other human beings, until they attained to a more or less perfect condition.
He himself did not remove himself from the world in order to become one of those hermits in the mountains, he remained in the world with crowds of people, he went on teaching his disciples.
The saint who removes himself from the world, then, is merely a repetition of the old Indian custom, but it means complete withdrawal; instead of being a drunkard one is an abstainer, which is not ideal.
First you lose yourself in the meanness of ordinary successful existence, and then in the exaltations of a spiritual life; in both cases it is seeking pleasure, first in the sensuality of all concrete things, and then in the delights of ecstasy, so it is hedonism all along the way.
Naturally, on that way from the most sensual existence to a most spiritual existence, people encounter all the stations on the way of individuation, they rise from
muladhara to ajna; it is as if they lived first on the ground floor, then slowly reached the first story, and so on up to the sixth where they evaporate through the roof.
But the idea of individuation is that as long as you are in the flesh you are in the flesh, and there is no evaporating through the roof; you remain in the body and you suffer from it.
We have learned that from Christianity, and therefore I don’t want to imitate Eastern
ways; Christianity contains tremendous values and we must retain them, we cannot give them up, though we have to make certain changes because that way has become absurd in many forms-for instance, the mistake that one should seek suffering, that it is beautiful to suffer; it looks like something so it is a sort of surrogate for life.
But one would be a fool to seek suffering; there is suffering enough, we don’t need to seek it; that is masochism, a hidden form of hedonism.
The Eastern way is extreme indulgence, from the most concrete sensuality to the most absurd spirituality, where the body is completely denied.
Look at those fakirs who sleep on pointed nails, or starve themselves, working out their
spiritual stunts; that has no value whatever, you can see the same thing in a museum of abnormalities, it is just that.
Those fakirs in India are by no means holy, one could call them spiritual tricksters.
If the idea of individuation should penetrate to the East, they would be forced to accept the suffering of banality, the suffering of the middle path.
The teaching of Buddha is very clearly the middle path, he even used that word; he brought this reformation to the East.
That doesn’t mean that one is on the one side a dirty ordinary beast and on the other a disembodied spirit; one is both and therefore neither, and that was his idea. It is a doctrine of extraordinary humanity.
The Christian teaching is the same.
Christ saw that you cannot possibly walk on the middle path without suffering and so he spoke of the suffering, because the whole world was hedonistic then, enjoying a dissolute kind of life, even seeking pleasure in inflicting cruelty upon other people, as well as in spiritual delights.
But people didn’t understand, they invented the idea that you must seek suffering; they even created bodily suffering for themselves, they went as far as actual flagellation, beating themselves.
As if there were not enough sufferings!
If you live the ordinary life as an ordinary individual-which you are, mind you-you will have the full share, you need not seek any more.
To be convinced that you ought to suffer more is, as I said, a sort of masochism, an artificial perverted hedonism.
It is merit enough if you can stand the human life in the body; if you can stand that, you have stood everything you possibly can, and anything else is an excuse, it is veiled hedonism.
So the fact that we discover: the symbols of individuation in the Eastern philosophy does not prove that way to be the right one for us; their intuitions may be quite true but it is not meant that we should rise to the topmost chakra; we are only somewhere in the chakras.
If you find yourself in a certain chakra, which means a sort of psychological mood, live it,
and it will provide all the pleasure and all the pain you can possibly wish for.
Let us assume that we find ourselves generally in anahata, though even that is not necessarily generally true; or at least on the way to it; only a very good Christian is in anahata, most people are in manipura really or somewhere in between the two.
Then that is our truth for the time being, those are our ideals and convictions, and if you live it there is individuation enough.
If you go beyond to vishuddha it is only artificial, because you get out of this world in which you ought to live.
As you know, the definition and the meaning of vishuddha denies your conscious ego existence, because in vishuddha you are thought by God.
In anahata you think God or you behold him, but in vishuddha God beholds you, you are nothing but the thought of God.
Now if anybody is bold enough to assert himself as being nothing but the thought of God, he must be a pretty grand fellow.
I doubt whether any living being could be that-except in thought.
It is even important that as long as he is a human being he retains his freedom.
You see, the anahata stage is by no means finished, we still have a great task to fulfill in the psychology of anahata; even to have reached the level where you can say: “I am angry, I am sad, I am in a bad mood,” takes the better part of any human existence.
Now we will go back to our vision.
The man whose limbs were growing into the earth is a derivative of that sacrificed animus.
We said that he must necessarily reappear in the form of a real man, just as when the anima is sacrificed, when there is nothing left but bloody remains of her former existence, she then appears in a real woman.
So this is a man in the flesh, an ordinary human being, who is perhaps so unconscious that he cannot detach his vision from the earth.
That would be quite characteristic, for a very young man must necessarily have his aims within the visible world, in position, money, family, etc.
Then he says if she cuts him off he will bleed to death, which means that his blood, his life substance is entirely connected with things on the earth, and he does not want to
be cut off, he wants to remain attached.
The vision continues: With the knife I cut him away from the ground. He fell forward on
his face, blood poured out of his severed arms and legs. I was afraid. I mixed earth with his blood and fashioned feet and hands for the bleeding stumps. Then he stood erect and he lifted his hands up and fire sprang forth from them and from his lips. He walked forward. Shadowy forms rose up from the earth and followed him. He stopped. I said to him: “Give, that they may live. I must continue to descend.” Veils came down and shut him from my sight. I stood alone.
Well, the rest of this vision could be described as one of those famous plots, one of the most precious devices of the female mind.
You see, the feminine mind is not as a rule fully occupied, and so-like Penelope when her old man was traveling around on the Mediterranean-women spin webs, they weave plots, which are apt to be so inept that they must be undone and a new one begun every day.
This is not a devaluation of the mind of woman; a man’s mind is very much the same if it is unoccupied.
Moreover, men have an anima who has her own special devices.
But the unconscious mind of any woman is forever weaving plots, and they are usually of a very immoral kind from the standpoint of respectability.
Therefore every natural woman prefers to keep these things in the dark, and she is quite incapable of telling the exact truth for even two hours, not to mention twenty-four, because all that must remain hidden.
So usually women are very innocent and know nothing about these plots, but they are there and of course in analysis they are trained to become aware of them.
This particular fantasy is very grand, one of the best; she fashions feet and hands for the man, action and standpoint, and he stands erect and becomes of course a prophet and a miracle worker, the word of God pours out of his lips like liquid fire.
It is like the fantasy of any ordinary woman when pregnant with an ordinary child; she nurses the fantasy that the child is probably a Messiah or anyway a very great man.
But the plot has obviously not hit the mark in this case because in the end she again stood alone.
One detects a sort of missionary spirit in it also, which is always a bit dangerous, for it adds a particular zest to the whole enterprise.
The missionary spirit is absolutely wrong in our times.
We have no great saints any longer, and it is not a particular asset to be considered a
great saint, because we know it is wrong, it is excessive and therefore it is not helpful; it leads to the wrong kind of hedonism and projection, everybody getting rid of his own burden, not in favor of himself but at the expense of his neighbor.
Therefore many necessary tasks remain undone, everybody leaves the task and the responsibility to somebody else; they cast all their troubles upon the great saint, the living God.
And that is nowadays the state; if anyone cannot help himself, the state must look after him.
It is impossible for things to go on in this way, it simply leads to a catastrophe, because everybody clings to everybody else and nobody tries to help himself.
So the first attempt of our patient at coping with that lower world consists of merely weaving a plot.
There is no actual effect upon the world.
Such plays of fantasy have the character of anticipatory gestures, as if practicing with a situation; for the time being that would be the guiding idea.
But it comes to an end.
She realizes that she has not arrived at reality, so she is put to the problem of again going down.
And the veils shut her out, and she is alone as she was before.
The beginning of the next fantasy is a continuation of this one.
She says: I stood alone surrounded by veils. (In complete isolation and moreover covered up by veils that shroud her vision.) I looked up and saw the many steps which I had taken. I looked down-and saw steps leading down and down.
What do these many steps leading down indicate?
Miss Hannah: That she is a very long way off reality.
Dr. Jung: Exactly, she is still somewhere in heaven, or in the world of images.
So she says: “I began to descend in darkness.”
Mrs. Sigg: She does not understand where she is going.
Dr. Jung: Yes, she is in the dark about the way.
She would not be up in the air if she had realized why she was going down; as a matter of fact, she probably doesn’t even realize that she is up in the air.
On the contrary, she thinks she is particularly real and probably considers her plot as the most practical hypothesis and is quite astonished when it does not work.
Then she says: “I came upon a dark opening in the rocks.” What does that mean?
It is sometimes very useful to go into every detail of the images in dreams.
Put yourself into that situation, suppose you only see steps leading down into an unaccountable and unfathomable darkness, and then come suddenly to a hole in the rock.
Mrs. Bailward: It might be a refuge.
Dr. Jung: Not necessarily; it might also be a snake hole.
Dr. Reichstein: It means a particular new thing will come because it is a new level.
Dr. Jung: Well, that sort of entrance always designates a definite place, perhaps a man-made place into which one can enter.
We can be sure there is a definite fact or adventure behind it, or that she is at least approaching a definite situation.
She continues: “Strewn all about were ugly shapeless human forms. I stood upon the steps.”
Here again are shapeless human forms lying about. What does that suggest?
Mrs. Sigg: There might be a connection with the shadows to whom the man had to give life.
Dr. Jung: It is very probable that those shadows would always be changing into different shapes, just as one’s real shadow is shapeless.
I don’t mean the psychological shadow, though of course it is also true of that, but the physical shadow is distorted, it changes its form all the time.
So the natural condition of a shadow is shapelessness, indistinctness.
And that all these inanimate indefinite figures are lying on the ground would denote what?
You see, her task is to individuate, and she cannot do it on top of Mount Everest, and the descent from Mount Everest is pretty long. In coming down she naturally approaches the abodes of man, and there she will find human beings with whom she should enter into a certain relationship.
Now inasmuch as she has not established that relationship, the human beings to her are inanimate and ugly, devoid of libido, shapeless forms.
She has not yet been able to create her own world through relatedness.
You see, the world, inasmuch as you don’t shape it or participate in it, is ugly and shapeless and shadowy to you, a shadowy Hades.
Look at the perception of the world which lunatics have, for instance, particularly in the beginning of schizophrenia, when the libido leaves the world almost completely and so brings about a tremendous inrush from the unconscious.
One of the first symptoms, they all say, is that their eyes lose the vision of the glamor and splendor of the world. and everything looks terribly ugly; other people have a distorted appearance, they look like specters or demons, or they have the skulls of the dead.
That is because their feeling is withdrawn.
Not long ago I had a case, a girl of about twenty-one, who had always been a great lover of nature; she loved skiing, and could well appreciate the beauty of the sunshine and the snow on the mountains.
And now the only symptom she complained of-and she was quite alarmed by the fact-was that all that was no longer beautiful to her; she saw that they were the same as before but she did not react to them in the same way.
Instead of the perception of the beauty of nature, she was all the time assailed by the fear that people were plotting against her.
She was worried about the looks and remarks of people, what Mrs. So-and-So said, etc.
She was in doubt whether people really didn’t put their heads together and make disagreeable remarks about her.
It was as if she heard certain exclamations in the street when she passed by-she was not
quite certain but it might well be so, and the people who lived on the lower floor made such funny faces at her.
That is the beginning of persecution ideas.
In such a condition one doesn’t realize that instead of loving people, one hates them; and because one doesn’t realize, one projects the idea of hatred into other people and assumes that they hate and are persecuting oneself.
When a man says nobody loves him, it is invariably the case of a person who hates everybody else; naturally nobody loves him because he responds with hatred.
So this more or less complete withdrawal of libido from the world causes an inanimate and ugly state of things, which is expressed here.
Instead of an agreeable family or a circle of friends, this woman steps down into a dark gruesome place filled with the remains of former lives, a real Hades.
She says: I thought: “I cannot step down in this circle. It is too ugly, too shapeless, too formless.” As I hesitated I saw white snakes issue from the bodies of the human creatures that lay upon the ground. What about these white snakes?
Mrs. Fierz: In fairy tales white snakes are sort of royal snakes, very noble, so perhaps the life in them is better than she thought.
Dr. Jung: Suppose you are in a cave with the floor littered with corpses and suddenly white snakes creep out of them, I doubt whether you would have those associations.
What would you do?
Mrs. Fierz: Run away!
Mrs. Brunner: In fairy tales white snakes sometimes take revenge on human beings.
Dr. Jung: So the white snakes are rather questionable.
Mrs. Baumann: They make me think of things that have never seen the light of day.
Dr. Jung: Yes, things that are buried in the ground have no color, like potato sprouts in the cellar; they are rather disgusting.
Or they might be like the worms that issue from corpses, which is also an unappetizing idea.
One cannot help shuddering at the thought of those white creeping things.
And she says: “The snakes with awful touch of velvet writhed around me.”
The velvet touch of those disgusting worms is surely not pleasant; so this is almost like a personified disgust or fear.
Yet the important fact is that though we thought that all life was withdrawn from the
corpses, that they were perfectly inanimate, they now develop a certain life.
That life which comes out of them needs some consideration.
Snakes figure largely in folklore in all countries, and they usually represent the souls of the dead, they are spirit snakes.
In Africa it is understood that the medicine man has demon snakes that know everything and tell him secrets, and they also defend his life, he is always followed by them; they live round his hut and everybody is afraid of them.
That is like the soul serpent of Aesculapius, the great doctor.
If you see a snake upon the grave of a dead man you know it is his soul.
The old Greek heroes were supposed to have snake souls.
There was a snake cellar under the Erechtheum on the Acropolis at Athens, of which one can still see traces, and it was said that Erechtheus, that hero of old, lived down there in the form of a snake.
Also Cecrops, the founder of the Acropolis, was supposed to live in the form of a serpent in the rock, he took on the metaphysical form of a serpent.
Then you remember we spoke of the long ribbon or serpent that expressed the duration of time, the metaphysical form of the life of man; if you understand time as an extension, then life is one long serpent.
So the snake also has the quality of a soul being.
Now you can withdraw all life from the world or from human beings, you can consider the whole of humanity as a heap of corpses, but you cannot do away with the fact that they are in life, they do contain humanity and they contain souls which may come after you.
Therefore, as I said, one gets the idea of persecution.
You see, on account of the fact that she has withdrawn all life from those bodies, she is apparently completely detached; she is living flesh, she has an ego consciousness, yet she denies life to those bodies, and therefore the life in them persecutes her.
For in every human being, in every animal, in everything that exists, there is this claim; there is a peculiar life, and whether you want it or not, it seizes you and takes something out of you.
In schizophrenia, people not only have the idea of persecution by human beings, they are also persecuted by objects, by furniture, for instance.
This chair, which to me is an inanimate object, is not inanimate to my unconscious; it has a soul which speaks to me, and in cases of schizophrenia it would become alive and have a voice.
If I were like the great seer Swedenborg and were alone in this room for a while, the voices in this table would talk to me, everything in the room would contain spirits.
He did not say exactly that because he did not know it, but he said it was funny that the voices he heard always referred to objects in the room and seemed to be associated with them; so when the atmosphere in the room became stuffy on account of too many remarks being made in reference to certain books and pictures, etc., he simply left the room and went into another.
And there everything was quiet for a certain length of time, and then apparently the spirits became acquainted with the objects in that room too.
But as long as they had nothing to refer to-when he was surrounded by unknown objects-they could not speak to him.
So when one is in a room for a time with certain people or objects, one becomes acquainted with them, they become habitual, and one establishes a sort of rapport with them even when they are inanimate things; and it is not a one-sided relationship because they answer-it is as if they were talking to one.
Therefore those cases of schizophrenia do the most peculiar things with objects; they must touch them, for instance.
They feel with their fingers round a table or a window casing, every line must be touched and it must be continued over the whole, because the other lines are hurt when they have not been touched; a voice speaks out of the other side saying: “You are cruel, we want to be touched too.”
And that must be done because objects have a claim.
So if one is a bit too much in rapport with objects, one is exhausted by them.
One could almost say that every man who passes you in the street, and every taxi, every bus, carries something away from you because it has a claim; and it has a certain fatiguing effect on account of that peculiar participation mystique.
It is this that makes the primitives say: “My canoe is living, but your canoe is dead.” -because the one with which he is in connection is filled with life, presumably his own.
But those cases where libido is completely withdrawn show that it is not entirely their own life, it is also the life peculiar to the objects; they are something in themselves as human beings are something in themselves.
If the schizophrenic were surrounded by a completely dead world he might be quite satisfied.
But it does not remain like that, and the life in objects comes after him, and he has no claim when that other claim begins.
So here our patient’s complete isolation does not help.
She is surrounded by a type of soul serpent, the peculiar dark life in other human beings, and they creep at her with an awful velvety touch.
This may remind you of certain curious appearances in parapsychology; one sees such snakelike forms coming out of people’s bodies.
Ectoplasm is exactly like whitish worms; when photographed it looks like that, most gruesome, and it has the touch of a reptile.
Quite independently of each other, people have described the strange feeling it gave
them; they said one could only compare it to the touch of a reptile’s skin, soft and yet tight, no bones in it, like rubber.
Flournoy once described to me a hand he had touched: it was not exactly like a hand, there were only three fingers, like hard sausages, and it was not a human touch, there were no bones in it, yet it was hard and elastic.
He took hold of it and it gradually melted in his grasp; that impressed him the most, the fact that it actually melted, changed its quality, becoming thinner and thinner until finally there was nothing left.
These are strange phenomena which we cannot explain.
Many years before I ever heard of ectoplasm, before the war, a patient had a very peculiar dream.
It was a borderline case of schizophrenia where there was a high degree of libido withdrawal, and then these phenomena of duplication, or abnormal life of dead things, can occur in the individual.
But instead of projecting this duplication of life into objects, in her dream it came out of her own body; she dreamt that a whitish mass, like foam, issued from her neck, and gradually formed into a face which was as if plastered or stuck onto that foamy mass, exactly like the photographs in the books by Schrenck-Notzing.
She had never seen such things, because they were then not known.
But in the same week I got the first publication of the kind.
I could only understand that dream psychologically, I did not think it had anything to do with parapsychology, but it struck me very much.
I thought it must be typical because I had seen similar things in dreams before.
In the work of artists who are on the borderline, Picasso for instance, you see these peculiar figures with the duplication of forms, a head, perhaps, sticking out in the wrong place; that is the same phenomena-a snake could stick out of the figure just as well.
As a matter of fact it happens in cases of schizophrenia that the snake being, the Kundalini, which is really a great mystery, can be exteriorized in that ectoplasmic way in the form of rods.
I observed it in a schizophrenic peasant woman in about 1906 when nobody had the faintest idea of such things.
She told me that in the beginning of her illness a snake had suddenly crept up her back and right over her head to her forehead, where it split open-opened its mouth, in other words.
A few years later I became acquainted with that Mithraic figure, the lion-headed god en coiled by the snake, which comes over his head in just the same position as in her delusion.
This is a sort of psychological exteriorization of that snake being, the life proper to the body, which appears when something is wrong, as when too much libido is withdrawn from the surroundings.
Then, as I said, it can appear in dreams.
I remember another woman who was also peculiarly shut in, who dreamt that she was
standing under a tree, and a wind came up and shook the tree, and thousands and thousands of caterpillars fell down upon her and in no time ate up her clothes, so that she was quite naked and covered with caterpillars.
To dream of being covered with worms or snails or slugs is the same thing: it is always a matter of people who have withdrawn too much from the surroundings, who are not aware that there are other human beings outside of themselves living in their own right.
Those are utterly subjective people centered in their own egocentricity, not noticing that other people live too who have a right to be as egotistical as they are.
In their dreams the souls of objects fall upon them in a most disgusting way, in the form of those ectoplasmic things-velvety, slippery, mucous things.
And when such people return to reality, they first develop desires along those lines, against which of course they have the greatest resistances; they have sex fantasies about other people which are just as disgusting as those slugs.
That is the price they pay for the libido they have withdrawn, or were never able to give to others. ~Carl Jung, Visions Seminar, Page 1366-1378