jected.” It so happened, then, that when her physical resistance was weakened by the effect of the climate, anxiety, and various other troubles, the dissociated emotions were too strong to be longer held in check, and so had to find an outlet.

If our interpretation be correct, the factors in the phobia are:

(a) A hidden system of fear of the vague unrealised elements in the sex life which had originated in childhood and had become consolidated in adolescence.

(b) A body of emotion left as a legacy from the subject's love episode. (c) The process known as 'transference of feelings' or 'displacement' viz. the attributing a sentiment to an object which does not itself cause it—the object in this case being the natural phenomenon of a storm.

It was not until the subject had been brought to recognise that a storm symbolised sex in general, and that the tropical storm was a reproduction of the whole love tragedy, that the tension was released, and a complete cure effected.

The transference, and therefore the analysis, ended with dreams peculiarly appropriate to this view. There were two funerals, the first in which the coffin was carried on a steam-roller and the mourners followed on steam-tractors, signifying a slow and heavy process of crushing underground; the second conducted with triumphant ceremonial in a Church, with music, vestments, lights and even a Bishop. This was the orthodox, the real burial (the process of psycho-analysis), and from this came joy and an exquisite sense of freedom,-"a new birth indeed."

A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF THE NIGHT
JOURNEY UNDER THE SEA1.

BY JOAN CORRIE.

DR JUNG in his Psychology of the Unconscious has familiarized us with the conception of the Sun-God's "night journey under the sea," and the subject of my paper is my personal experience of that journey undertaken during the early months of this year.

We are all acquainted with the fact of the recapitulation in the lifehistory of the individual of the physical and psychological steps by which the race has evolved from the lowest forms of life. In our pre-natal existence we ascend from a single cell, through lower embryonic forms, to the perfect human infant, and psychologically we recapitulate the mental development of the race as we pass through our own infancy and childhood to adult life. In the long upward climb of the race no experience has been lost, and just as physically we carry about with us vestigial remains of organs no longer necessary to our well-being, so we retain in the psyche traces and memories of experiences lived through ancestrally, which reappear from time to time in our dreams. This we know, but perhaps it is less generally understood that a person during the course of psychological analysis may literally undergo just such an experience as primitive man embodied in myth, religious belief or ritual, such, for instance, as the night journey under the sea.

It was natural that primitives, as they watched the Sun 'go West' every evening devoured by the ocean monster, should have thought of it as a death, and of the flaming sunrise as a rebirth after the passage below the sea. Dr Jung quotes Frobenius, who says: "Perhaps in connection with the blood-red sunrise the idea occurs that here a birth takes place, the birth of a young son; the question then arises inevitably, whence comes the paternity? How has the woman become pregnant? And since this woman symbolizes the same idea as the fish, which means the sea (because we proceed from the assumption that the Sun descends into the sea as well as arises from it) thus the curious primitive answer is that this sea has previously swallowed the old Sun. Consequently the

1 Read at a meeting of the Zürich Psychological Club, on July 10, 1922.

resulting myth is that the woman (sea) has formerly devoured the Sun and now brings a new Sun into the world, and thus she has become pregnant."

Here the sea is the mother and the God has performed the night journey in her womb. Sometimes it is a fish which conveys the hero, as Jonah's immortal whale. Sometimes the receptacle is a box or chest as in the case of Osiris, whose body enclosed in a coffer was cast into the Nile, later to be reborn as Horus. In one form or another the theme of death and rebirth, or of the disappearance of the hero and his subsequent return, is universal. Tammuz returns from the underworld, rescued by Ishtar. His Greek counterpart, Adonis, who was hidden in a chest as a babe by Aphrodite, and deposited in Hades, returns and spends alternate cycles of time in the upper and lower worlds. Dionysus brings back his mother, Semelê, from the dead, Orpheus descends to recover Eurydice. J. M. Robertson says, in Mythology and Christianity: "The same conception is fully developed in the Northern myth of the Sun-God, Balder, who, wounded in a great battle...goes to the underworld of Hel, where he grows strong again by drinking sacred mead, and whence he is to return at the ... Twilight of the Gods, when Gods and men are alike to be regenerated." The same motive is seen in the legend of our own King Arthur, who, wounded unto death in his last great battle with Mordred in the West, hies him to the island valley of Avalon there to heal him of his grievous wound, and from whence he will return.

The idea is dominant in most of the great religious cults. The death and resurrection of the God were ceremonially enacted in the annual festivals of Adonis and Attis. In the mysteries of Mithra a stone image representing the God was placed on a bier by night, and liturgically worshipped. Robertson writes: "This symbolical corpse is then placed in the tomb and after a time is withdrawn, whereupon the worshippers rejoice, exhorting one another to be of good hope, lights are brought in, and the priest anoints the throats of the devotees murmuring slowly: 'Be of good courage; ye have been instructed in the mysteries; and ye shall have salvation from your sorrow."

The great and wonderful religion of Egypt is, of course, the crowning example of the ubiquity of the rebirth idea. The abode of the dead, of whom Osiris was judge and ruler, was called Tuat. To this place the dead Sun-God went at night. Dr Budge, in his great work on Egyptian religion, tells us it was a gloomy valley situated between heaven and earth, shut in on each side by mountains and beset by evil spirits, beasts, and demons, waiting to harass the souls of the dead. A great river ran

through this valley which began in the west and ended in the east. In the Boat of Osiris as it passed through Tuat, and so directly under the protection of the dead Sun-God, all those souls travelled whose bodies had been buried with the requisite ceremonies, and, sharing in the death of “the chief of chiefs divine," the triumphant souls shared also in his resurrection.

“I am the God of the morning," cries one in Chap. XIII of the Book of the Dead, quoted by Brinton: "I have finished the journey and worshipped the Sun in the lower world...I have finished the journey and worshipped Osiris.”

In nearly all initiation ceremonies a mimic death of the past, and a rebirth into a new future, form a conspicuous part of the ritual. The child is dead: the man is born: is the lesson inculcated.

The slaying of the dragon by the hero, the rescue of the princess, the finding of the treasure after dangerous striving, are all familiar to us in Folk-lore, and express the same thought: "the conquest of death," and a new richness of existence. Dr Jung has told us in the Psychology of the Unconscious who the hero or God is. He says: "The hero who is to accomplish the regeneration of the world and the conquest of death, is the libido, which, brooding upon itself in introversion, coiling as a snake around its own egg, apparently threatens life with a poisonous bite, in order to lead it to death, and from that darkness, conquering itself, gives birth to itself again."

It is now time to relate my own experience. It began about September last with the dream of a child about to be born. A rather severe problem was filling my mind at the time, namely, whether I should give up the rooms which I occupied in London in the house of a friend and come here. I could not afford to keep them on if I came to Switzerland for an indefinite period as I wished to do, and there were other reasons why it might be wise to leave my friend, but it practically meant giving up a home in which I had been very happy. So it was not easy to decide, though the urge to come to Zürich was very strong.

In this dilemma I dreamed that I was lying on the left side of a bed, and before the woman doctor present, who is a personal friend and an extravert, could deliver me of the child, it was necessary for me to move to the right side. The left side in dreams is always the wrong side; as, in the Apocalyptic Vision, the souls of the wicked are on the left hand of the Judge. It seemed to me, therefore, that I was called on by the dream to consciously extravert and take action, and I accordingly relinquished my rooms and prepared to come here.

In October there was a message from the unconscious hinting at death. I saw in a dream a long, flat slab or pedestal, but the sculptured figure for which it was designed was not yet placed on it.

In January the regression of libido became very marked and the waters closed over me, or, to change the figure, I entered the Western Gate of Tuat. In retrospect my experience has seemed to me to bear a strong resemblance to that of the Pilgrim when passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death in Bunyan's famous Allegory, for we are told that over that valley "hang the discouraging clouds of confusion, and death also doth always spread his wings over it." Moreover, the terrors which beset the Pilgrim were intangible things that "cared not for his sword."

My dreams during this period, which lasted many weeks, were at first mostly death dreams. I will narrate a few.

(1) The body of my mother is borne downstairs to be buried.

(2) I see a steamer on the sea. A man who is a prisoner escapes into the water and swims. While he is there he cannot be re-captured. My associations connected the boat with the body, and the escaped prisoner with the soul. It is the ocean of death and the prisoner is free. The conflict between death and a desire for life is symbolized in another dream the same night by a cat, which animal, we say, has nine lives. It hides under a piece of furniture and has to be dragged out by force. In the Book of the Dead, quoted by Budge in his Gods of the Egyptians, we find that "Ra took the form of a cat and slew Apep, the prince of darkness, who had taken the form of a monster serpent, in the first battle which the god of light waged against the fiends of darkness at Annu (Heliopolis) after which he rose in the form of the sun upon the world." My cat form was not yet triumphant.

I ought to say here that twenty years ago my death was foretold by a world-famous palmist to take place during the year which ended in March last, so that it was not, perhaps, unnatural that I should be apprehensive that it was actual physical death with which my dreams were concerned.

(3) In the next dream I see an open door leading into outer darkness. I am to pass through it, but I shrink back from doing so. On waking I say to myself, "It is the Bridge of Death."

One of the most important dreams was the next. It exactly described my condition and is as follows:

(4) I am to go to Dr Jung for analysis, but I forget whether the appointment is for three o'clock or for three-thirty. I decide to go at