God’s Wretched Servants: The Father’s Ambiguity
The following myth reformulates several themes regarding human existence and describes very well what I call the propitious attitude. Its heroes adopt a nonheroic, pragmatic approach that allows them to survive, but that also implies giving up understanding or controlling their wretched situation.
An abridged version will suffice to show the elements of interest:
The Malagasy Myth of the Lost Son
Once upon a time God sent down to earth His son to look into everything and advise on the possibility of creating living beings. At his father’s orders the son left the sky and came down to the globe of the earth. But it was insufferably hot and he could not live anywhere, and so he plunged into the depths of the earth to find a little coolness. He never appeared again.
God waited for a long time for his son to return. Uneasy at not seeing him, He sent servants to look for him. They were men who came to earth and each of them went a different way to try to find the missing person. But all their searching was fruitless.
God’s servants were wretched, for the earth was almost uninhabitable, it was so hot, so arid and so bare. Seeing the uselessness of their efforts, men sent from time to time one of their number to inform God of the failure of their search and to ask for fresh instructions. Numbers of men were thus despatched back to the Creator, but unluckily not one returned to earth. They are the dead.
To this day messengers are still sent to Heaven since the son has not yet been found and no reply from God has reached the earth, where the first men settled and multiplied. They do not know what to do—should they go on looking or should they give up? Alas, not one of the messengers has returned to give us information on this point. And yet we still keep sending them, and the unsuccessful search continues.
For this reason it is said that the dead never return to earth. But to reward mankind for their persistence in looking for His son, God sent rain to cool the earth and to allow His servants to cultivate the plants they need for food. — From the Malagasy; see Rosemary Gordon, Dying and Creating: A Search for Meaning, p. 71.
The Channel of Communication
Rosemary Gordon writes that this myth expresses the human need to look for God and the fear of never finding Him. But it also speaks of the creation and maintenance of a communication channel between humans and God.
Obviously, this channel is not used in a symmetrical manner: the messengers (the dead) are sent to Heaven, but God remains silent—or, rather, communicates only indirectly, by sending rain to cool the earth. However, it is essential that this channel remain open, because even indirect communication is indispensable to the group’s survival.
Parallels with the Christian Narrative
A few parallels may be drawn with the Christian myth. Both narratives have in common:
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The image of God’s son being sent down to earth.
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The presence of “messengers” (represented by prayer in Christianity).
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The idea that the dead will eventually go back to Heaven or to God.
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The ambivalent nature of a Father who has lost His son (in Madagascar) or who had to make him an intermediary (in Christianity).
In both cases, it is as if God were not able to interact directly with humans. In the tribal myth, one wonders at the men’s continuing inability to find the son, whereas Christian man is clearly responsible for the Father’s message being (not) understood. And yet in Madagascar these motifs reflect a very different existential atmosphere, due probably to the tribal culture that produced the myth as well as to drastically harsh environmental conditions.
Creation by Coincidence
Let us look at the different stages of the Malagasy myth, beginning with creation. Because God sends His son down to earth, man is created. Or, rather, the son is given the task of investigating such a creation and, after he does not come back, God is compelled to send His servants—that is, to create man.
Can the loss of the son be interpreted as a kind of mishap on God’s part, as a result of which man must be created? This creation does not really compensate the Father’s loss, for the son remains missing; but the very fact of man’s existence on earth at least allows the hope that one day the situation may change, and that God may recover His son.
On the other hand, human existence results from an accident; it is created almost by coincidence, and not because man is legitimately part of the Creation. What a contrast with the Western perception of the human race occupying the summit of a pyramid in which all other creatures are of lesser value!
The son vanishes into the depths of the earth and, with this, the only person who may have been able to inform man of the nature of God or of His intentions disappears. Does that make him the “Son on earth” of Christianity? If it does, it is only in such a way that despair must prevail: the search for the missing son remains unsuccessful.
And yet, the very fact that he exists, somewhere within the bowels of the earth, makes it possible—more than that, makes it imperative—that a relationship should develop between humanity and the Father. The son’s disappearance thus first provokes the creation of people and later leads them to find a solution to God’s sorrow.
An Interdependent, Relational God
This God is not particularly threatening; He is worried about His son, a very human feeling. And humanity is not so much guilty—not having provoked the son’s disappearance by breaking a taboo or by committing a sin—as responsible, in charge of the search, this being the very reason for their creation.
This image of God may strike us, at least at first, as rather un-godlike. Of course, the Father is availed of a certain power, but He is unable to use it in order to find His own son and has to rely on humans. In this sense, His behavior is rather unclear: he cannot any longer function without people, but why did he put Himself in this situation?
Humanity’s anxiety at not being able to find God’s son is thus paralleled by the Father’s inability to bring him back. This symmetry—where both are powerless, if not really condemned to impotence—together with the despair they share, moves God and humans to conclude a pact; they become interdependent. We find here, as in the Christian Incarnation, the notion of a Godhead who cannot be (divine) without being granted a reflection in the human soul, which highlights the idea of God’s relativity.
What do humans do in this terrible situation, faced with a God in sorrow whose reaction may, after all, be rather unpredictable? In fact, they do what they can, and no more, unsure of the results. Human beings send messengers to Heaven, not in order to bring good news, but simply to keep God informed. This is far from the idea that man must do good to please or placate God, and even farther from the image of a symbiotic, paradisiac fusion between the human race and God, provided that man does what God wants.
Psychological Dimensions: Ego and Self
In psychological terms, the Malagasy myth pictures a very tenuous relationship between the ego and the Self: the ego’s instinctive need to be part of a transcendent entity seems to remain, in part, unsatisfied. The Self, symbolized by this Father who has lost His son, is less than perfect. It has neither power nor absolute knowledge and cannot solve its own problem; further, God cannot cope alone with the suffering and worry provoked by the loss.
And yet, despite the Self’s imperfect nature and despite the ego’s frustrated longing for the safety of a blissful relationship with a loving god, humanity survives. More, new life is created.
But the situation remains precarious: what would happen if God suddenly got angry or lost patience? And how can humans live on this arid, barren earth? One wonders whether the first dead, beyond their function of reporting on the failure of the search, were not also sent to get advice from God, the Creator, on how to live in His creation. However, there was soon no need for anxiety about this aspect of the problem, since the persistence of these first searchers in looking for the Son was rewarded by rain, making it possible to grow food.
The Paradox of Adaptability
Indeed, this is the truly paradoxical element in the myth: an obscure move, an uncertain attempt at modifying a desperate situation, does not bring a solution, but it does allow individuals to adapt to the situation, despite the son not having been found. This move, of course, is accompanied by another: not only is the search for the son continued, but, in the meantime, messengers are sent at regular intervals. Both aspects are interdependent, for there would be no need for a progress report if the search did not go on. And, inversely, what would become of the relationship between God and humans if the son were found?
On the other hand, the despatching of messengers is not just a gratuitous gesture, since it implies that these will be lost to the group. But here, Thanatos (the death drive) as one pole of the Self is neither instinct nor drive; it is a last resource, a means of keeping in touch with God.
The need for death is partially clear: humanity knows why the messengers must go, but not why they do not come back. Of course, one may see this passage, or even the whole myth, as an attempt at explaining death. That would be one possible interpretation; but there is also the moral element: humanity must feel at least partially responsible for death, since the search for the son has remained unsuccessful.
And yet, death is not seen as a punishment for breaking a taboo, nor as the willful revenge of a moody God. It has a function, preventing the situation from getting worse. What is more, God shares the responsibility: after all, why did He have to go and lose His son, and why can’t He find him Himself?
More importantly still, the sacrifice effected each time a messenger is sent to Heaven seems to bring results: the earth becomes less barren, and the rain allows God’s servants to cultivate the plants they need for food. For this reason, there really is no alternative. Humans must see that even though it may not make the situation less precarious, the attempt to cope cannot be entirely wrong. The earth carries the fruits of life, making it possible to survive under these conditions. Put in more abstract terms, the acceptance of death allows humanity to remain in contact with a transcendent deity and thus to live.
The Hidden Imago Dei
Let us move to a more psychological level and look for parallels rather than contrasts between the Christian and the Malagasy myths, in particular with regard to the relationship between the ego and the Self.
First, another fundamental difference deserves mention: the idea of a Savior, such as was incarnated in Christ after the Crucifixion, is missing from the tribal myth. Or, rather, this Son of God around whom the whole story revolves is strangely absent, having disappeared into the depths of the earth—into the unconscious. He was delegated by God to investigate the possibility of creating living beings, apparently because the Father was unable to do this Himself (though the story does not tell us why).
As in Christianity, it is thus the Son who serves as the primary link in the chain that connects the Godhead and humanity—and this may be no small part of the Son’s redeeming function. But in Madagascar, after this initial stage, it is enough that he exists—and that he remains inaccessible. We are very far from the idea of Christ as a model to imitate or as a Savior.
Psychologically speaking, the Malagasy Son of God represents a dynamic element in the Self that is more personal and less archetypal than the Father residing in a remote Heaven. He is the imago dei buried in the depths of the unconscious that the Self, as the archetype of a transcendent dimension, forces us to search for, so that a relationship between the ego and the Godhead might develop.
In this myth, neither the Father nor the Son is described with the standard supernatural strength or cosmic control that characterizes most tribal deities. He corresponds to an unusual type of projection of the imago dei, one that leaves us with great freedom and responsibility. We ourselves must discover how to relate to this particular Godhead.
Such a relationship parallels the Self’s dependence on the ego to realize itself. The Self may suggest what the ego should do, and can, up to a certain point, impose its will by provoking neurosis and other symptoms when the ego’s attitude does not correspond to its intentions. But finally, it is always the ego—the conscious standpoint—that must choose to accept the Self’s guidance or rebel.
Describing the options open to the ego when confronted with the Self’s will, C.G. Jung used a powerful metaphor:
“It is the task of the conscious mind to understand these hints [from the unconscious]. If this does not happen, the process of individuation will nevertheless continue. The only difference is that we become its victims and are dragged along by fate toward that inescapable goal which we might have reached walking upright, if only we had taken the trouble and been patient enough to understand in time the meaning of the numina that cross our path.” — C.G. Jung, “Answer to Job,” Psychology and Religion, CW 11, par. 746.
Confronting the Numinous Sandbox
In the Malagasy myth, people have few alternatives, and the situation requires urgent action. At first, the action taken is not very conscious. A first “blind” attempt at facing the anxiety involved in God’s loss seems to bear fruit and humanity starts hoping that the Father is satisfied.
Is this not also a basic psychological experience? When in a quandary, we may take concrete action, work on dreams, or do some creative work without knowing in advance whether it is the right thing to do. Or we may decide to do nothing and wait, relinquishing the desire for an immediate solution. Then something happens, energies are set in motion, and better feelings arise. Is it really necessary that we should know exactly what happened, or how it worked? Do we need more than the experience of the earth being fertilized by rain?
Living with Indeterminacy
A few more aspects of the ego-Self relationship symbolized in the myth transfer cleanly to our everyday reality:
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Persistent Uncertainty: In spite of the familiarity that progressively enters the relation between humans and the Father, some uncertainty remains; we can never be quite sure we have done the right thing.
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The Ambiguous Numina: The Father’s obscure behavior corresponds to the unclear nature of the numinous as a transcendent power that includes a tremendum (a terrifying mystery) and a fascinans (a fascinating mystery), inspiring both fear and enchantment.
Were this dimension absent, individuals might decide to stop “working,” forgetting to maintain the communication channel with God or abandoning the search for His son. With this dimension present, the persistent threat of unforeseeable events keeps them trying.
This indeterminacy is also found in the confrontation with the Self at the level of individual psychology. As an archetype, the Self contains both terrifying and fascinating energies. Thus, the only possible attitude toward its power is one in which the ego may never be too sure that it has “arrived.” This requires humility on the part of the ego toward the transcendent power inherent in the Self—a core requirement for ongoing vitality and meeting life’s constant changes.
The Dark Side of the Self
The Malagasy tribe must go on “paying the price” of a security that is temporary. The dead have to be sacrificed so that the situation remains bearable. Symbolically, the ego must acknowledge death in order to live fully.
This may be one point where the negative pole of the Self is expressed in the myth. We may see it as the moving force behind the sacrifice, but the dark Self also manifests in the original heat and aridity of the earth. Unbearable temperatures and the absence of fertility are part of the original cosmos, requiring even the Father Himself to wonder whether He may extend His Creation to such an inadequate environment. It is as if God were confronted with the problem of the shadow, facing potential destruction or at least impotence.
This view is confirmed by the fact that in the myth, God is almost as helpless as humans. Later, the Father sends rain and the tribe survives, but one part of the cosmos can always revert to a desert inimical to life. Thus the myth clearly expresses the destructive aspect of nature, on which tribes remain totally dependent. God, or the Self, is not only not loving toward man, He is also faced with His own dark side.
Further, the Father keeps the messengers as hostages, or just remains silent in a precarious situation. Both are actions that are inimical to humans, leaving them in a quandary similar to Christ’s in Gethsemane: God demands death as much as He gives life. However, the myth stresses not so much the revengeful, threatening nature of God as His inability to act differently. The Father is worried, having lost His son, and the dead are His own servants. How could one expect Him to behave differently?
Conclusion: A Pragmatic Surrender
As opposed to the Christian myth, this story stresses the uncertain consequences for humankind of unavoidable limitations in the Godhead. God’s ambivalence is perfectly natural. Here, as in Gethsemane, individuals can only accept this ambivalence, despite their suffering and doubts. Tribal groups accepted the double nature of the gods, destructive as well as nourishing, without hesitation.
This simple acceptance, though motivated more by pragmatism than by conscious choice, prevents the dark pole from gaining the upper hand. The earth will be fertile, and relations with the Father will be such that guarded hope may continue. In this sense, the Malagasy God is a complete deity, neither very loving nor too evil, who has not been split.
Madagascar tribal members are not preoccupied by moral considerations, nor do they try fundamentally to transform the situation. They surrender control, moved by an obscure instinct, involving submission to cycles of death, doubt, and wretchedness. But they have found something that corresponds rather well to the right attitude of the ego toward the Self, the proper ego-Self relation as it has been described by Jung. Furthermore, their surrender insures that they continue to find their just place within the cosmos.
The Analytical Application
The split in the God-image created by the Judeo-Christian tradition is a reality that greatly influences the Western collective psyche, and this situation will not change simply by substituting another myth. Yet, in everyday clinical practice, a pragmatic approach is required to help individuals face the dark side of God.
Using the Malagasy myth provides an amplification of the psychic situation in which individuals find themselves after they have given up defending against, splitting, and repressing the dark pole of the Self. It is a threatening, ambiguous situation that cannot adequately be dealt with by using contemporary Western models.
Once the analytic process helps individuals relate to the deeper layers of the unconscious, amplifications that allow them to temporarily gain some distance from their conscious or unconscious Judeo-Christian inheritance make it easier for them to accept the dark and to discover a propitious attitude. Up to a certain point, the world really is what we make it; our inner attitude, the way we write our own myth, greatly influences the way we are in the world. In that sense, the god and the attitude described by the Malagasy myth remain profoundly helpful with regard to psychic reality. ~ Francois O’Kane, Sacred Chaos Reflections of Gods Shadow and the Dark Self, Page 112-119
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