“Crashing  Out  with  Sylvian:  David  Bowie,  Carl  

Jung  and  the  Unconscious”  

by  Tanja  Stark  2015  

 

 

 

(This  is  a  transcript  of  the  online  version  of  this  essay  which  appears  in  the  book,  ‘David  Bowie:  

Critical  Perspectives’  Edited  by  Eoin  Devereux,  Aileen  Dillane  &  Martin  J.  Power,  Routledge,  

2015)  View  online  with  full  illustrations  and  hyperlinks  at:  

http://tanjastark.com/2015/06/22/crashing-­‐out-­‐with-­‐sylvian-­‐david-­‐bowie-­‐carl-­‐jung-­‐and-­‐the-­‐

unconscious/  

 

 

David  Bowie  inhabits  Carl  Jung’s  world  of  archetypes,  reading  and  speaking  

of  the  psychoanalyst  with  a  passion.”  (Oursler  2013)  

 

The  haunting  figure  of  an  intubated,  dystopian  and  alienated  creature  inhabiting  

‘Ashes  to  Ashes’  (1980)  world  of  religious,  sci-­‐fi  and  industrial  imagery,  singing  

of   Major   Tom’s   trajectory   like   some   perpetually   unconsummated   rapture   is   a  

poignant  image  in  David  Bowie’s  oeuvre.  No  longer  worldly,  not  quite  heavenly,  

but  suspended  in  some  purgatorial  cursed  space  in  between,  it  is  hypnotic,  erotic  

and  somewhat  psychotic.    

 

Yet   contained   within   the   cryptic   layers   of   ‘Ashes   to   Ashes’,   with   its   alluring  

convergence   of   iconography,   symbols,   sound   and   vision,   lie   essential   thematic  

concerns  that  repeatedly  permeate  Bowie’s  prodigious  output  and  have  intrinsic  

parallels   with   ideas   in   Jungian   psychology;   a   profound   engagement   with   the  

Unconscious,   a   complex   relationship   with   the   Numinous   [i],   tension   between  

opposing   polarities   (the   celestial   and   the  chthonic,   visceral   and   cerebral,   sarx  

and   pneuma   [ii])   and   the   ongoing   spectre   of   a   shadow   that   threatens   to  

overwhelm   and   displace   the   ordered   surface   reality.   Indeed,   Jungian   concepts  

are  so  inextricably  woven  throughout  Bowie’s  multi-­‐decadal  tableau  of  creativity  

that   in   Bowie’s   synthesis   of   mythopoeic   themes   of   the   Unconscious   with   the  

zeitgeist   of   pop   culture,   together   with   his   palpable   struggle   for   meaning,  

catharsis   and   knowledge,   Bowie   has   become   a   poignant   contemporary  

representation   of   Jung’s   ‘visionary   artist’,   potentially   illuminating   his   deep  

resonance  in  popular  cultural  consciousness.  

 

This  chapter  begins  by  revealing  evidence  of  Bowie’s  long-­‐term  fascination  with  

Carl   Jung,   introduces   some   of   Jung’s   ideas   and   begins   an   exploration   of   some  

intriguing   links   between   Bowie   and   Jung.   Contrasting   ideas   found   in   Jung’s  

writings   and   his   confrontation   with   the   subterranean   unconscious   in   the  

recently   revealed   Red   Book   (2009)   with   Bowie’s   own   creative   expression  

uncovers  significant  parallels  in  thought  and  theme  that  illuminate  core  aspects  

of   Bowie’s   often   cryptic,  multi-­‐layered  work.   The   territory   is   often   conceptual  

and   poetic   barely   touching   the   nuances   inherent   in   Jungian   psychology   but  

nonetheless  compellingly  suggests   Jung  has  been  a  central   influence  upon  (and  

compass   for)   Bowie   as   both   men   have   navigated   the   mysterious,   sometimes  

perilous,  depths  of  the  psyche.  

 

C.G.  Jung  the  Foreman  

 

When  Bowie  famously  sung  of  ‘Jung  the  foreman’  on  Aladdin  Sane,  with  it’s  iconic  

‘lightning  flash’  cover  and  word  play  on  sanity,  it  seems  the  artist  was  heralding  

the   pivotal   resonance   the   psychiatrist’s   ideas   had   upon   his   life.       Forty   years  

later,  artist  Tony  Oursler,  Bowie’s  long-­‐term  friend  and  director  of  the  ‘Where  are  

We   Now?’   (2013)   film-­‐clip,   affirmed   Bowie’s   deep   and   abiding   connection   to  

Jung.   “David   Bowie   inhabits   Carl   Jung’s   world   of   archetypes,   reading   and  

speaking   of   the   psychoanalyst   with   passion”   revealed   Oursler,   who   also  

accompanied  Bowie  to  the  first  public  exhibition  of  Jung’s  Red  Book  in  New  York  

in  2009  (Duponchelle  2013).  

 

Symbolic   and   specific   references   to   Jung   abound   throughout   Bowie’s   career.  

Arguably   beginning   with   his   1967   song   ‘Shadow   Man’   that   poetically  

encapsulates  a  key  Jungian  concept,  in  1987  Bowie  tellingly  described  the  Glass  

Spiders   of   ‘Never   Let   Me   Down’   (1987)   as   “…Jungian   figures,   mother   figures”  

around   which   he   not   only   anchored   a   worldwide   tour,   but   also   created   an  

enormous   onstage   effigy   (Swayne   1987).   Bowie   acted   in  Merry   Christmas  Mr.  

Lawrence  (1983)  a  story  by   Jung’s  close   friend  and  proponent  of   Jungian   ideas,  

Laurens   Van   der   Post   (Van   der   Post,   1976),   in  Labyrinth  (1986),   and  The  Last  

Temptation  of  Christ  (1988),   films  with   archetypally   Jungian   shadow   struggles,  

and   expressed   interest   in   a   proposed  Derek   Jarman   film  based   on   Jung’s   book  

Aion  (Matthews  2009).  .                  

   .    

So   who   is   Carl   Jung   and   why   is   Bowie   fascinated   by   him?   Born   in   1875,   this  

highly   intelligent,   intuitive   and   internally   conflicted   Swiss   psychiatrist   was  

fascinated   by   the   mytho-­‐spiritual   dimensions   of   the   psyche   in   the   context   of  

emotional  health  and  psychological   integration.  Most  popularly  associated  with  

the   concepts   of   synchronicity,   introversion,   extroversion   and   with   defining   the  

psychological  categories  of  sensation,  intuition,  feeling  and  thinking  that  underpin  

the  Myers-­‐Briggs  Type  Indicator  personality  test  in  his  book  Psychological  Types  

(Jung   1971),   Jung   extensively   researched   religion   and   esoteric   spirituality,   the  

occult,   alchemy,   mythology   and   even   the   UFO   phenomenon   in   his   quest   to  

understand  human  behavior  and  mental  illness.  Indeed  it  was  Jung’s  fascination  

with  these  subjects  that  contributed  to  his  split  with  Sigmund  Freud.  

 

A   prolific   writer,   Jung’s   theories   are   complex   but   at   their   core   was   an  

understanding   of   life   as   an   ongoing   process   of   Individuation,   a   psychological  

journey   of   emergence,   transformation   and   centered   integration   of   the   psyche  

within  a  holistic  Self  through  conscious  awareness,  engagement  and  balance  with  

the  energies  of  the  Personal  and  Collective  Unconscious.  Jung  held  that  subliminal  

essences   and   universal   energies   profoundly   influenced   the   lives   of   individuals  

and   societies   and   believed   the   recurring   mythopoeic   symbolism,   imagery   and  

narratives   found   across   cultures   in   art,   myth   and   religion   drew   from   the  

powerful   energies   of   this   Collective   Unconscious.   Manifesting   in   ways   such   as  

dreams,   visions,   art,   intuitions,   spiritual   experience   and   synchronicities,   active  

attention  to  these  expressions  could  provide  pathways  to  greater  integration  and  

wholeness.   In   contrast,   unhealthy   repression,   denial   or   unbalanced   inflation  of  

unconscious   energies   could   result   in   pathology,   illness,   psychosis   and  

psychological  disintegration  (Jung  1967:  391-­‐402;  Jung  1972:  203-­‐210).  

 

For  Jung,  expressions  of  the  Unconscious  often  took  form  as  Archetypal   images:  

thematic  ideas  that  pulsated  through  art,  dream,  myth  and  narrative,  such  as  the  

Hero,  the  Savior,  the  Trickster  and  the  Apocalypse.  While  archetypal  expressions  

are  unlimited,   Jung  placed  recurring  emphasis  upon  several  primal   images  that  

emerged  around  the  journey  toward  individuation  that  are  evident  in  the  work  of  

Bowie;  the  Persona,  the  Anima/Animus,  the  Shadow  and  the  Self  (Jung  1968).  As  

archetypes   contain   both   light   and   dark   aspects   in   the   way   pharmakon   can   be  

medicine  or  poison,   they   can  be   creative  and   life  developing  or   stagnating  and  

toxic.   Importantly,   Jung   noted   over-­‐identification   with   archetypes   could   be  

problematic,  a  significant  observation,  as  will  be  seen  later,  in  relation  to  Bowie’s  

cascading  series  of  personae  and  roles.  

 

Jung  also  emphasized  the  centrality  of  ‘Coniunctio  Oppositorum’  –  the  conjunction  

of  opposites  –  in  the  journey  toward  wholeness,  believing  synthesis  of  polarities  

could   be   psychologically   transformational   if   inherent   tensions   could   be  

creatively   balanced   [iii].   As   Jung   noted,   “nothing   promotes   the   growth   of  

consciousness  as  inner  confrontation  of  opposites”  (Jung  1967:  345)  –  a  tension  

that  abounds  throughout  Bowie’s  writing.  

 

Something  in  the  Air:  Bowie  and  the  Unconscious  

 

“Whether   it’s   fortunate  or  not   I  don’t  know,  but   I’m  absolutely  and   totally  

vulnerable  by  environment,  and  environment  and  circumstances  affect  my  

writing  tremendously.  To  the  point  of  absurdity  sometimes”  (Bowie  cited  in  

Jones  1977).  

 

Amongst  artists,  Jung  distinguished  the  ‘visionary  artist’  as  one  whose  creativity  

drew   from   primal   impulses   of   the   Unconscious   (such   as   dreams),   manifesting  

archetypal   themes   that   resonate   across   cultures.   Highly   sensitive   to   energies  

within   and   around   them,   Jung   believed   these   artists   were   acutely   affected   by  

emotional   nuance   and   social   turbulence,   their   art   often   expressing   repressed  

energies  and  ideas  that  swirled  beneath  dominant  paradigms.  Jung  wrote:  

“…whenever   the   creative   force   predominates,   human   life   is   ruled   and  

molded  by  the  unconscious  as  against  the  active  will,  and  the  conscious  ego  

is  swept  along  on  a  subterranean  current…  the  work  in  process  becomes  the  

poet’s   fate   and   determines   his   psychic   development.   It   is   not   Goethe   who  

creates  Faust,  but  Faust  which  creates  Goethe[iv]…  [primordial  images]  are  

activated–one  might  say,   ‘instinctively’–and  come   to   light   in   the  dreams  

of  individuals  and  the  visions  of  artists  and  seers”  (Jung  1933:  173).  

 

Yet   while   this   could   create   deeply   resonant   art,   the   process   was   often  

overwhelmingly  destabilizing  for  artists.  Jung  wrote:  

 

“Every   creative   person…   is   a   duality   or   a   synthesis   of   contradictory  

aptitudes…   Art   is   a   kind   of   innate   drive   that   seizes   a   human   being   and  

makes  him  its  instrument…  There  are  hardly  any  exceptions  to  the  rule  that  

a  person  must  pay  dearly  for  the  divine  gift  of  the  creative  fire”  (Jung  1933:  

175).  

 

Bowie   overtly   identified   with   Jung’s   view   of   the   creative   process.   In   1999   he  

described  himself  as  “quite  Jungian”  in  his  belief  in  the  pervasive  influence  of  the  

unconscious   dream   state   upon   life   and   acknowledged   his   art   reflected   this  

synthesis  between  the  unconscious  and  conscious,  articulating  Jung’s  theoretical  

constructs  and  embodying  the  creative  process  of  his  ‘visionary  artist’:  

 

“Being   imbued   with   a   vividly   active   imagination,   still,   I   have   brilliantly  

Technicolor   dreams.   They’re   very,   very   strong.   The   ‘what   if?’   approach   to  

life  has  always  been  such  a  part  of  my  personal  mythology,  and  it’s  always  

been  easy  for  me  to  fantasize  a  parallel  existence...   I  suspect  that  dreams  

are  an  integral  part  of  existence,  with  far  more  use  for  us  than  we’ve  

made  of  them,  really.  I’m  quite  Jungian  about  that.  The  dream  state  is  

a   strong,   active,   potent   force   in   our   lives…the   fine   line   between   the  

dream  state  and  reality  is  at  times,  for  me,  quite  grey.  Combining  the  

two,   the   place   where   the   two   worlds   come   together,   has   been  

important   in   some   of   the   things   I’ve   written,   yes”   (Bowie   in   Roberts  

1999).  

 

Confirming  what  he  had  sung  from  the  beginning:  “Tell  them  I’m  a  dreaming  kind  

of  guy  and  I’m  going  to  make  my  dream,  tell  them  I  will   live  my  dream”  (‘When   I  

Live  My  Dream’  1967),  as  Jung  wrote,  the  gift  had  a  price.   ‘Time’   intimated  how  

attachment   to   the   ‘strong,   active,   potent   force’   of   the   unconscious   could   be  

alienating:  

 

‘Breaking  up   is  hard,  but  keeping  dark   is  hateful,   I  had  so  many  dreams,  I  

had  so  many  breakthroughs,  But  you,  my   love,  were  kind,  but   love  has   left  

you  Dreamless,  The  door   to  dreams  was  closed…  But  all   I  had  to  give  was  

the  guilt  for  dreaming’.  Time,  (1973)  

 

Both   Bowie   and   Jung   shared   a   pervading,   nebulous   sense   of   memories   and  

‘nostalgia’   outside   present   time.   Jung   (1967:34)   spoke   of   a   strange   sense   of  

having  lived  in  the  past:  “[as  a  boy]  I  could  not  understand  this  identity  I  felt  with  

the   eighteenth   century…I   was   overcome   by   an   inexplicable   nostalgia”.   Bowie  

expressed  a  similar  sentiment:  “It’s  odd  but  even  when  I  was  a  kid,  I  would  write  

about  ‘old  and  other  times’  as  though  I  had  a  lot  of  years  behind  me”  (Bowie  in  

Concert  LiveWire  2002).  Both  Jung  and  Bowie  were  also  intrigued  by  a  strange  

familiarity  around  the  future,  Jung  in  his  prophetic  visions  about  a  coming  epoch,  

while  Bowie  described:  

 

“…the   sensibility   that   comes  over   is   some   feeling  of  nostalgia   for  a   future.  

I’ve  always  been  hung  up  on  that;  it  creeps  into  everything  I  do,  however  far  

away  I  try  to  get  from  it  …  that’s  obviously  part  of  what  I’m  all  about  as  an  

artist…The  idea  of  having  seen  the  future,  of  somewhere  we’ve  already  been  

keeps   coming   back   to   me…I’ve   often   had   that   feeling   very   strongly   with  

myself   that  …well,   it’s   like  what  Dylan  said  about   the  tunes  are   just   in   the  

air.”  (McKinnon  1980:  37)  

 

So  it  seems  through  this  artistic  openness  to  the  unconscious,  Bowie  cryptically  

carved   his   symbolic   iconography,   infusing   primal   archetypal   concepts   that  

permeate   philosophy,   esoteric   spirituality   and   literature   –   timeless  

undercurrents   and   anxieties   of   existence   –   into   the   metaphorically   futuristic  

tongue   of   sexuality,   psychology   and   spiritualized   science   fiction   evident   in   his  

music.  

 

The  Red  Book:  Dream  Dystopia  and  Mystic  Myth  

 

Jung  himself  was  no  stranger  to  the  raw  energies  of  the  unconscious.  Already  an  

established   therapist,  during  a  period  of  personal  and  societal   turbulence,   Jung  

experienced  an  overwhelming  flood  of  bizarre  waking  visions  beginning  in  1913  

and  continuing  almost  daily  for  many  years.  “I  often  had  to  cling  to  the  table,”  he  

wrote,   “so   as   not   to   fall   apart”   (Corbett   2009:   34).   Yet   Jung   believed   by  

confronting   and   engaging   with   these   visions   he   could   discover   wisdom   and  

psychological   integration,   documenting   this   journey   in   calligraphically  

illustrated   journals   now   known   as   the   Red   Book.   While   claiming   this   was   the  

seminal   experience   upon   which   all   his   later   work   was   drawn,   Jung   kept   it  

unpublished  during  his  lifetime  for  fear  it  “would  look  like  madness”  (Jung  1967:  

19).  

 

Finally  published  in  2009,  the  Red  Book  reveals  Jung’s  Dantean  descent  into  the  

depths   of   the   unconscious   on   a  metaphorical   soul   quest.   Throughout   its   pages  

Jung  dialogues  with  a  pantheon  of  mysterious  archetypal  figures  who  teach  and  

torment  him  with  strange  visions  and  syncretic  parables  of  darkness  and   light,  

the  narrative  weaving  like  a  Shamanic  mystery  play  through  a  psychedelic  maze-­‐

world  to   final  visions  of  personal  enlightenment  and  gnosis  [v].  And  while   Jung  

believed   the   process   contained   collective   and   personal   archetypal   images,   he  

was   emphatic   that   the   content   itself   was   unique   to   his   own   individuation  

process,   and   encouraged   individuals   to   embark   on   their   own   process   of  

engagement  with  the  unconscious  to  discover  their  own  myth  (Jung  2009:  216).  

 

Intriguingly,   there   seem   to   be   a   number   of   thematic   convergences   between  

Jung’s   raw   confrontation  with   the   unconscious   and  Bowie’s   oeuvre.  While   it   is  

impossible  to  discern  the  extent  to  which  Bowie’s  expression  is  intentionally  or  

subconsciously  derivative  of  Jungian  themes,  or  spontaneously  and  analogously  

synchronous,   the   answer  might   be   a   little   of   both,   giving  weight   to   Jung’s   idea  

that   the   unconscious   manifests   in   primal   archetypal   patterns   and/or   that   the  

psyche  of  both  men  share  some  similar  frameworks.  

 

Oursler,   once   again,   seems   to   confirm   the   link  [vi],   tellingly   hinting   that   Jung’s  

Red  Book   confrontation  with   the   unconscious   provides   perspective   on   Bowie’s  

recent  work   (Duponchelle   2013),  while   poet   and   essayist   Norman  Ball   (2013)  

has   written   extensively   on   the   inextricable   wedding   between   these   two   men.  

This   powerful   association   seems   to   have   been   evident,   though   largely  

overlooked,  for  decades.  

 

The  following  section  explores  some  of  these  Jungian  references  and  archetypal  

ideas,   from   Bowie’s   manifestation   of   Jung’s   persona   archetype,   shadow  

explorations,  expression  of  the  anima/animus  and  the  integrated  Self,  to  Bowie’s  

approach  to  the  Numinous  and  his  struggle  to  integrate  opposites,  as  exemplified  

by  ‘Ashes  to  Ashes’.  At  times  linking  these  aspects  within  the  context  of  modern  

neurology  and  ancient  esoterica,  in  the  following  sections  I  suggest  Bowie  is  ‘torn  

between  the  light  and  dark’,  his  multi-­‐layered,  symbolic  and  complex  dance  with  

dark   and   mysterious   chthonic   energies   simultaneously   empowering   and  

threatening   to  overwhelm   in  his  creative  quest   for  authenticity  and  wholeness.  

In  this  struggle,  Bowie,  the  consummate  dreamer,  found  a  roadmap  in  the  life  of  

Jung.  

 

The  Sound  of  Visions  

 

“Jung  the  foreman  prayed  at  work  /Neither  hands  nor  limbs  would  burst  /  It’s  hard  

enough  to  keep  formation  with  this  fall  out  saturation  /  Cursing  at  the  Astronette  /  

Who   stands   in   steel   by   his   cabinet   /   He’s   crashing   out   with   Sylvian   /   …With  

snorting  head  he  gazes  to  the  shore  /  Once  had  raged  a  sea  that  raged  no  more”  

Drive  In  Saturday’  (1973).  

 

When  Bowie  sings  of  Jung  in  ‘Drive  in  Saturday’  (1973)  with  its  post-­‐apocalyptic  

themes,  the  verses  seems  to  contain  a  compellingly  cryptic  allusion  to  Jung’s  Red  

Book  experiences,  the  therapist  standing  by  his  office  cabinet  facing  a  raging  sea  

of   visions   finding   it   “hard   enough   to   keep   formation”   and   forced   to   “cling   to   a  

table”  (as  Jung  confessed,  above)  in  their  saturating  fall  out.  Jung’s  recollection  of  

the  period,  “My  entire  life  consisted  in  elaborating  what  had  burst  forth  from  the  

unconscious  and   flooded  me   like  an  enigmatic   stream  and   threatened   to  break  

me”   is   certainly   consistent   with   Bowie’s   lyrics   (Jung   2009:   back   cover).   This  

concept   of   Jung   ‘clinging   to   the   table’   in   the   face   of   a   hallucinatory   stream   of  

images   is   also   synchronistically   reflected   decades   later   in   Bowie’s   film   clip   for  

‘Survive’   (1999),   the  singer  clinging   to  a   table  as  his  grounded  domestic   reality  

merges  with  a   space-­‐like  dream  world  and  he  begins   to   float   strangely  around  

his  kitchen.  

 

Curiously,   in   a   sublimely   clever   or   incredibly   synchronistic   allusion   in   the  

context   of   Jung’s   bizarre   visions,   the   inclusion   of   “crashing   out   with   Sylvian”  

could  plausibly  refer   to   the  Sylvian  Fissure   in   the  brain,  a   region  discovered   to  

produce   hallucinogenic   visions   and   ‘paranormal’   perceptions  when   electrically  

stimulated   and,   presciently,   in   2006,   to   generate   what   neurologists   called   an  

‘illusory   shadow   person’   or   doppelgänger   phenomenon;   themselves   highly  

charged  and  recurring  Bowie  archetypes  (Penfield  1955;  Arzy  et  al.,  2006  [vii]).  

 

Bowie  would  also  invoke  Jung  when  discussing  ‘Oh!  You  Pretty  Things’  (1971)  –  

“…look  out  my  window  what  do  I  see  /  a  crack  in  the  sky  and  a  hand  reaching  down  

to  me  /  all  the  nightmares  came  today  /  and  it  looks  as  if  they’re  here  to  stay”  –  a  

strange   visionary   intrusion   seemingly   alluding   to   Bowie’s   half-­‐brother’s  

hallucinations   or,   as   Dogget   (2012:   102)   suggests,   Bowie’s   own.   Jung   advised  

patients   with   disturbing   dreams   and   visions   to   express   them   in   “beautifully  

bound   journals”   to   help   process   their   experience   and   free   them   from   their  

power,  suggesting:  

 

“It  is  of  great  help  …to  express  their  peculiar  contents  either  in  the  form  of  

writing   or   of   drawing   and   painting.   There   are   so  many   incomprehensible  

intuitions  in  such  cases,  phantasy  fragments  that  rise  from  the  unconscious,  

for  which  there  is  almost  no  suitable  language.  I  let  my  patients  find  their  

own  symbolic  expressions,  their  ‘mythology.”  (Jung  2009:  216)  

 

Bowie   seemed   to   internalise   this   advice,   reflecting,   “…according   to   Jung,   to   see  

cracks   in   the   sky   is   not   really   quite   on…I   thought   I’d   write   my   problems   out”  

(Doggett   2012:   102).   But  where   Jung   used   paper   and   kept   his   strange   visions  

relatively  private,  Bowie,  as  an  artist,   intuitively  recorded  his  own  ‘Red  Book’   in  

spiral  grooves  of  vinyl,  adorned  the  sounds  and  visions  of  his  dreams  and  fears  

with   glitter   and   dye,   and   shared   them   with   a   youth   hungering   for   new  

manifestations  of  old  myths.  

 

Facinatingly,   the   nightmare   inducing   hallucinogenic   hand   reaching   down   from  

the   cracked   sky   in   Bowie’s   lyrics   darkly   mirrors   Michelangelo’s   archetypal  

painting   in  the  Sistene  Chapel  of  The  Creation  of  Adam  with   its  crack   in  the  sky  

and   the   hand   of   God   reaching   down   to   spark   life   into   Adam,   a   metaphorical  

fusion   of   spirit   (pnuema)   and   flesh   (sarx),   and   the   conscious   and   unconscious  

dimensions.  

 

 

 ‘ALL  THE  JUNG  DUDES’  MICHELANGELO’S  CREATION  OF  ADAM  CENTERS  AROUND  THE  ICONIC  IMAGE  OF  ‘A  CRACK  IN  

THE  SKY  AND  [GOD’S]  HAND  REACHING  DOWN’  TO  SPARK  LIFE  INTO  MAN.  

 

Intriguingly,   the   American   Medical   Journal   reported   that   the   portrait   of   God  

appears  to  conform  deliberately  to  the  neuro-­‐anatomical  shape  of  the  brain,   its  

Sylvian   Fissure   (associated   with   Jung   in   ‘Drive   in   Saturday’)   clearly   evident,  

suggesting  Michelangelo,   a   student   of  mystic   esoterica,  may   have   intentionally  

conflated   theology   and  neurology  with   the   spark   of   consciousness,   and   adding  

further   layer   to   the   strange   archetypal   associations   between   Bowie,   the   brain  

and   Jung’s   idea  of   the   spontaneous  manifestation  of   the  collective  Unconscious  

(Meshberger  1990:  1837;  Blech  &  Doliner  2008).  

 

Changing  Personas:  Chameleons  and  Caricatures  

 

The   resonances   with   Jung   continue   throughout   Bowie’s   life   and   work.   Jung’s  

classic   ‘persona’   archetype   has   been   conceptually   defining   throughout   Bowie’s  

career,  often  taking  exaggerated  theatrical  forms.  While  David  Bowie  himself  is  a  

creative  persona  of  David  Jones,  the  multiple  (sub)  personae  from  Ziggy  Stardust  

and   The   Thin  White   Duke   to   the  more   recent   Reclusive   Artist   are   a   fusion   of  

caricaturized  masks   and   an   underlying   psyche   that   appear   a  mix   of   deliberate  

and  unconscious  creation,  enabling  a  plethora  of  public  and  private  projections,  

transference   and   countertransference   to   abound.   Bowie’s   frequent  

metamorphosis,  both  musically  and  visually,  became  part  of  the  Bowie  myth  and  

gained   him   a   popular   reputation   as   rock’s   Chameleon,   an   archetypal   image   of  

camouflage  and  perpetual  change.  [viii]  

 

While   Jung  believed  inner  plurality  was  normal,   indeed  virtually   integral   to  the  

visionary   artist,   extreme   imbalance   was   psychologically   problematic.   When   a  

young  Bowie  intimated  that  his  personas  involved  a  dissociative  psychic  splitting  

of  his  underlying  identity,   it  suggested  powerful  personal  complexes[ix]  behind  

the   creative   masks.   “…Offstage   I’m   a   robot.   Onstage   I   achieve   emotion.   It’s  

probably  why  I  prefer  dressing  up  as  Ziggy  to  being  David”,  he  tellingly  remarked  

(Saal  1972).  

 

 Jung   believed   all   people   have   complexes;   clusters   of   emotionally   charged  

images,   emotions   and   ideas   “…derived   from   one   or   more   archetypes,   and  

characterized  by  a  common  emotional  tone”  that  influence  behaviours  (Samuels,  

Shorter  and  Plaut  1986:  34).  Jung  would  write  (1960:  97)  “…there  is  no  difference  

in   principle   between   a   fragmentary   personality   and   a   complex…   complexes   are  

splinter   psyches”.   In   becoming   conscious   of   our   complexes,   “…provided   the   ego  

can  establish  a  viable   relationship  with  a   complex,  a   richer  and  more  variegated  

personality  emerges”  (Samuels,  Shorter  and  Plaut  1986:  34).  Yet  Jung  (1960:  96)  

also   warned   that   “…what   is   not   so   well   known,   but   far   more   important  

theoretically,   is   that   complexes   can   have   us.   …   The   unity   of   consciousness   is  

disrupted  and  the  intentions  of  the  will  are  impeded  or  made  impossible”.  Powerful  

complexes  split  off  as  autonomous  archetypes,  like  possessions,  had:  

 

“...a  powerful  inner  coherence,  it  has  its  own  wholeness  and,  in  addition,  a  

relatively  high  degree  of  autonomy,  so  that  it  is  subject  to  the  control  of  the  

conscious  mind  to  only  a  limited  extent,  and  therefore  behaves  like  an  

animated  foreign  body  in  the  sphere  of  consciousness.”  (Jung,  1960:  96)  

 

So   while   Bowie’s   chameleon-­‐like   procession   of   personas   functioned   as   potent  

archetypal   images   within   society,   (the   subversive   artist,   mysterious   outsider,  

androgynous   alien,   the   illuminated   prophet),   as   they   took   on   a   psychic   life   of  

their   own,   amplified   by   hubris,   fans   and   media,   it   seems   he   was   perpetually  

forced  to  manage,  integrate  or  crucify  these  characters  with  their  potentially  self-­‐

fracturing   and   possessing   energies   that   entangled   him   as   they   split   off   and  

dominated  his  psyche   like   autonomous  archetypes.  Bowie  would   later   seem   to  

affirm  Jung’s  caution  around  this  imbalance:  

 

“…that  fucker  [Ziggy]  would  not  leave  me  alone  for  years…my  whole  

personality  was  affected…It  became  very  dangerous.  I  really  did  have  

doubts  about  my  sanity…  I  think  I  put  myself  very  dangerously  near  the  line.  

Not  in  physical  sense  but  definitively  in  a  mental  sense”  (Bowie  in  Jones  

1977)  

 

All  the  Jung  Dudes  

 

Jung  himself  was  a  man  of  contradictions,  paradox  and  internal  conflict  cognizant  

of  internal  splits  within  himself  (Jung  1967:  45).  Interestingly  in  one  vision  from  

the  Red  Book,  Jung  wrestles  with  multiplicity  and  his  quest  to  resolve  the  psychic  

tension   constant   ‘changes’   bring   to   integration   through   the   archetype   of   the  

chameleon:  

 

“All  your  rebirths  could  ultimately  make  you  sick.…a  chameleon,  a  

caricature,  one  prone  to  changing  colors,  a  crawling  shimmering  lizard…  I  

recognized  the  chameleon  and  no  longer  want  to  crawl  on  the  earth  and  

change  colors  and  be  reborn;  instead  I  want  to  exist  from  my  own  force,  like  

the  sun  which  gives  light  and  does  not  suck  light…”  (Jung  2009:  277)  

 

Although   the   Red   Book   wasn’t   revealed   until   2009,   Bowie   synchronously  

reflected  Jung’s  visionary  archetypes  of  himself  as  “chameleon”  and  “caricature”  

amongst   the   layers   of   1971’s   enigmatic   Bewlay   Brothers   “…he’s   chameleon,  

comedian,  Corinthian  and  caricature”   (Bewlay  Brothers  1971).  Consistent  with  

Jung’s   theory   that   the   collective   unconscious   emerged   in   visions,   dreams   and  

hallucinations   in   the   work   of   visionary   artists,   those   words   followed   “…my  

brother  lays  upon  the  rocks/  He  could  be  dead,  He  could  be  not  /  He  could  be  You”  

again   invoking   Bowie’s   half-­‐brother’s   hallucinations   and   seizures,   and   strange  

liminal   spaces   into  which   the   unconscious   can   flood.   Bowie   acknowledged   the  

song   had   “…   layers  of  ghosts  within   it.   It’s  a  palimpsest…I  distinctly   remember  a  

sense  of  emotional  invasion”,  affirming  its  genesis  in  the  mysterious  realms  of  the  

unconscious   (Bowie   in   Daily   Mail   2008).   Jung’s   visionary   chameleon’s   quest  

toward   a   ‘solar’   nature   also   reveals   his   interest   in   the   esoteric   and   alchemic  

symbolism   of   the   Sun/Sol,   a   symbolism   similarly   reflected   in   the   name   of   the  

Music  Chameleon’s  1976  Tour  and  personal  company  Isolar  Enterprises.  

 

But  while  he  may  aspire  to  a  solar  nature,  Bowie’s  creative  expression  can  only  

be  fully  understood  by  grasping  his  intense  artistic  wrestling  with  the  energies  of  

the  shape  shifting  shadow  as   it  has  manifested  both  in  him,  and  in  society.   It   is  

this   struggle   from   projection   and   awareness,   to   inflation   and   possession,  

repression   and   integration   that   has   Bowie   and   the   shadow   locked   in   a  

tumultuously   hypnotic   dance   of   Faustian   conflation,   catharsis   and   Jacobean  

control   for   decades,   creating   an   energetic   tension   that   permeates   his   creative  

work.  

 

Shadow  Man  

                                                                                                 

“I  ran  across  a  monster  who  was  sleeping  by  a  tree,  and  I  looked  and  frowned  and  

the  monster  was  me”  (‘The  Width  of  a  Circle’  1970)  

 

As   the   repressed,   unconscious   aspects   of   the   psyche,   Jung   believed  

acknowledging   and   integrating   the   shadow   was   an   immensely   difficult,   but  

crucial   part   of   individuation   as   it   could   allow   conscious   awareness   of,   (and  

therefore   the   ability   to   manage)   dark   primal   impulses.   But   this   was   a   risky  

process   that   presented   real   danger   of   the   highly   charged   and   potent   shadow  

merging   precariously   with   the   ego   during   the   descent   into   the   shadow   realm  

overwhelming  the  conscious  aspects  of  the  personality  with  dark  and  destructive  

forces   of   the   unconscious   (Jung   1968:   123).   The   undeniable   energy   and   raw  

authenticity   associated  with   art  borne   from  seeking   truth  within   the  depths  of  

human  experience  saw  Jung  observe,  “…in  spite  of  its  function  as  a  reservoir  for  

human   darkness—or   perhaps   because   of   this—the   shadow   is   the   seat   of  

creativity”   (Jung   1967:   262).   Yet   artists   could   find   themselves   in   deeply  

vulnerable,  precarious  positions  when  immersed  in  energy  so  often  imbued  with  

psyche   twisting   permeations.   Shadow   Man[x],   an   early   Bowie   song  

acknowledges  this  component  of  the  psyche,  recognizing  its  dual  capacity  to  be  

“foe”  or  “friend”:  

 

“Look  in  his  eyes  and  see  your  reflection  /  Look  to  the  stars  and  see  his  eyes  

/  He’ll  show  you  tomorrow,  he’ll  show  you  the  sorrows  /  Of  what  you  did  

today  /  You  can  call  him  foe,  you  can  call  him  friend  /  You  should  call  and  

see  who  answers  /  For  he  knows  your  eyes  are  drawn  to  the  road  ahead  /  

And  the  shadow  man  is  waiting  round  the  bend  /  Oh,  the  shadow  man  

oooo…  It’s  really  you.”  (‘Shadow  Man’1971)  

 

The   specter   of   shadow   sublimation/possession   has   been   a   potent   thematic  

undercurrent,  manifesting   therianthropically   [xi]   as  Diamond  Dogs   (1974)   and  

the   dangerously   seductive   Minotaur   of   ‘Beauty   and   the   Beast’   (1977)   with   its  

polarized  duality   that   sought  exorcising  –   “Someone  else   inside  me  /  Someone  

could   get   skinned…my-­‐my   /   Someone   fetch   a   priest   /   You   can’t   say   no   to   the  

Beauty   and   the   Beast”   –   or   insanity   inducing   spirits   on   ‘Scary   Monsters   (and  

Super  Creeps)’  (1980)  “She  asked  me  to  stay  and  I  stole  her  room,  she  asked  for  

my  love  and  I  gave  her  a  dangerous  mind…now  she’s  sleeping  in  the  streets  and  

she   can’t   socialize”.    The   ongoing   struggle   was   sometimes   too   hard.   “…I   don’t  

care  which  shadow  gets  me…  switch  the  channels,  watch  the  police  cars.  I  can’t  

read  shit  [reach  it]  anymore,”  a  war-­‐weary  Bowie  would  confess  on  ‘I  Can’t  Read’  

(1989).  

 

Bowie’s  surprise  re-­‐emergence  in  2013  was  pierced  with  a  dark  adult  retelling  of  

the   original   Bowie   mythopoeic   narrative   that   had   begun   so   naively   with   the  

laughing  gnome  in  1967;  possession  by  the  repressed  unconscious  shadow  that  

inspires  creative  passion  yet  ominously  threatens  to  overwhelm  and  displace  the  

ordered  surface  reality.      When,  in   ‘The  Stars  are  out  Tonight’  (2013)  film  clip  a  

dull   married   couple’s   lives   are   infested   by   daimonic   celebrity   doppelgangers  

(autonomous  archetypes)  dwelling   in   the  house  next  door,  possessing   the  wife  

and  replacing  domestic  reality  with  eccentric  orgiastic  passions,  it  was  virtually  a  

poetic  retelling  of  Jung’s  warning  on  the  danger  of  ignoring  the  repressed  energy  

of  an  unconscious  shadow:  

 

“A  man  who  has  not  passed   through   the   inferno  of  his  passions  has  never  

overcome  them.  They  may  dwell  in  the  house  next  door,  and  at  any  moment  

a   flame  may  dart  out  and  set   fire  to  his  own  house.  Whenever  we  give  up,  

leave   behind,   and   forget   too   much,   there   is   always   the   danger   that   the  

things  we  have  neglected  will  return  with  added  force.”  (Jung  1967:  277)  

 it  is  disabled  in  your  browser.</div></div>  

The   disturbing   ‘Valentines   [xii]   Day’   (2013)   merged   the   personal   with   the  

collective,   channeling   the   unconscious   shadow   of   society’s   darkest   impulses,  

Bowie  singing  of  a  mass  murderer  viscerally  relishing  the  slaughter  of  innocents,  

ominously   revisiting   1970’s   ‘Running   Gun   Blues’.       ‘The   Next   Day’   (2013)  

illustrated  shadow  possession   in  religious  guise  while   ‘If  You  Can  See  Me  I  Can  

See  You’  (2013)  suggested  the  collective  disassociation  of  a  society  so  possessed  

by   the   shadow   spirits   of   greed   and   theft,   it’s   psychotically   delusional   in   its  

hubris.    

 

In  Bowie’s  overt  alliance  with  William  Burroughs  in  the  first  Jimmy  King  portrait  

released   after   his   long   public   absence,   one   wondered   if   Bowie   had   been  

thrashing   about   with   his   own   ‘Ugly   Spirit’   in   a   creative   exorcism   of   sorts.  

Certainly   Burroughs   (1985:   xxiii)   solution   to   “…the   constant   threat   of  

possession…with   the   invader,   the   Ugly   Spirit…  maneuvered  me   into   a   lifelong  

struggle,  in  which  I  have  had  no  choice  except  to  write  my  way  out”  finds  parallel  

with  Bowie’s  invocation  of  Jung  and  the  compulsion  to   ‘write  my  problems  out’  

as   discussed   earlier.   But   while   its   presence   is   never   far   from   the   surface,   the  

shadow  has  not  always  held  the  upper  hand.  

 

I  will  be  King  and  you  will  be  Queen:  Archetypal  Anima  and  Alchemy  

 

As  the  inner  feminine  and  masculine  aspects  of  a  man  and  woman,  respectively,  

the  Anima[xiii]   and  Animus  were,   to  Carl   Jung,   externally   projected   archetypal  

images   seeking   integration   within   the   Self.   Jung   called   this   balanced   union  

‘Syzygy’,  a  Greek  word  also  used  to  describe  the  alignment  of  celestial  bodies,  and  

male-­‐female   pairing   of   spiritual   emanations   in   Gnosticism   (Jung   1951:   11-­‐22),  

itself   an   interesting   concept   within   the   context   of   Bowie’s   androgynous  

expressions   and  gnostic   spiritual   interests,   hinting,   perhaps,   at  Syzygy  Stardust  

as   futuristic   alchemical   theatre.   The   hermaphroditic   construction   also  

presciently  foreshadows  the  double-­‐headed  mannequins  of  ‘Where  Are  We  Now’  

(2013).  

 

Bowie’s   love   songs   often   manifest   an   archetypal   longing   for   a   conjunction  

transcending  earthly  constraints   into  the  realm  of   the  metaphysical.  Within  the  

pulsating   surges   of   ‘Heroes’   (1977)   Bowie   imagines   a   male   and   female  

momentarily  conjoined  as  King  and  Queen,  echoing  the  archetypal  union  of   the  

Sun   King   and  Moon   Queen   in   the  Rosarium  Philosophorum,   the   alchemic   Holy  

Wedding   that   so   fascinated   Jung   (Jung   1963)   and   seems   to   have   inspired  

concepts   in  Bowie’s   ‘Soul  Love’   (1972).  This   fascination  with   the   integration  of  

opposites  in  Heiros  Gamos  is  even  more  explicit  in  Bowie’s  ‘Sex  and  the  Church’  

(1993)  with  its  allusions  to  gnostic  theology  and  alchemy,  laden  with  symbolism  

around  ‘The  Mysteries’  (1993)  of  mystic  union:  

 

“…the  union  of  Christ  and  his  bride,  the  Christian  /  It’s  all  very  puzzling  /…  

All  the  great  mystic  religions  /  Put  strong  emphasis,  on  the  redeeming  

spiritual  qualities…  a  union  between  the  flesh  and  the  spirit  /  It’s  sex  and  

the  church…freedom  of  spirit  /  And  the  joys  of  the  flesh”  (Sex  and  the  

Church  1993).  

 

Early   on,   Bowie   articulated   Jungian   ideas   around   these   archetypes,   describing  

his   awareness   of   conflating   Anima   or   Eros   with   the   Numinous   in   a   1976   TV  

interview:  

 

“I  have  a  vast  capacity  to  love,  but  the  one  time  I  found  I  was  falling  in  love  

it  became  obsessive  to  a  point  where  the  object  of  that  affection  was  

becoming  overblown.  It  was  no  longer  a  real  thing,  it  was  becoming  my  

search  for  some  kind  of  mythological  feeling  that  man  is  supposed  to  have,  

and  probably  the  feeling  that  man  eventually  develops  for,  an  awareness,  of  

God  …[Obsessional  love  satisfies]  something  that  needs  to  be  fulfilled  in  

oneself”  (Bowie  on  Dinah!  1976).  

 

It  was  a  wise  observation  on   the  difference  between  external  anima  projection  

and   internal   integration.   Jung  had  written  his   archetypal   concept  of   the  Anima  

was  a  renaming  of  what  the  poet  Carl  Spitteler  had  called   ‘My  Lady  Soul’  (Jung,  

1968:13).  Consciously  or  not,  Bowie’s   ‘Lady  Grinning  Soul’  (1973)  laid  bare  the  

pull  of  her  archetypal  seductions.  

 

The  Self:  The  Man  who  Souled  the  World  

 

In   Jungian   psychology   the   central   archetype   of   the   ‘Self’   is   understood   as  

Wholeness,  the  integrated  outcome  of  individuation  and  centered  completeness  

through  unification  of  the  conscious  and  unconscious  aspects  of  the  psyche.  Ego  

differentiation   is  generally   the   task  of   the   first  half  of   life  while   the  return   to  a  

unifying   Self   usually   occurs   in   the   second.   This   is   a   difficult   life  work   and   the  

journey  around  Self  can  be  seen  in  the  questions  that  permeate  Bowie’s  art;  how  

to  reconcile  life  with  death,  manage  the  shadow,  nurture  an  inner  spiritual  life  in  

the  face  of  redundant  institutions  and  find  a  sense  of  hope  in  dystopian  realities.  

 

“   It’s  the  process  that  matters,  isn’t  it?  Rather  than  getting  your  information  –  

or  redemption  –  easily  and  directly  you  must  go  through  this  long  stubborn  

painful  trek.  As  with  alchemy,  the  end  result   isn’t  as  important  as  the  long  

process   whereby   all   the   inessential   aspects   of   “you”   have   been   stripped  

away…”  (Bowie  in  Penman  1995).  

 

The  1970s  titular  track  ‘The  Man  Who  Sold  the  World’  is  a  deep  and  ambiguous  

expression  of   an   intellectually   libidinous  pilgrim.  The   album   is   an   intense  dive  

into  existential  and  illusory  realities,  spiritual  and  sensory  exploration  and  dark  

social  commentary  wrapped  in  tripped  out  rock  and  roll.  But  it  is  the  enigmatic  

title   track   that   so   hauntingly   embodies   the   mysterious   early   search   for  

authenticity.  

 

A  possible  Jungian  interpretation  of  the  song  sees  the  protagonist  on  a  journey  of  

individuation  when  he  encounters  a  powerful  force  of  the  Unconscious.  Not  quite  

grasping   the   full   significance   of   what   he   has   glimpsed   “upon   the   stairs”,   he  

remains   partially   repressed,   splitting   it   off   from   himself,   or   minimizing   its  

influence.  After  years  of  searching  (ego  differentiation  of  the  first  half  of  life)  the  

significance   of   the   enigma   unfolds,   the   Personal   merges   with   the   Collective  

Unconscious  (‘I’  becomes   ‘we’)  and  the  enormously  mysterious   influence  of   the  

unconscious   is   revealed,   the   pilgrim   faced   with   integrating   this   into  

consciousness  or  remaining  blind  to  its  powerful  influence.  

Thirty   years   later  Bowie   spoke  of   a   later   sense   of   integration   that   allowed   the  

song  to  function  as  a  prescient  vision  of  his  soul  quest:  

 

“I  guess  I  wrote  it  because  there  was  a  part  of  myself  that  I  was  looking  for.  

Maybe  now  that  I  feel  more  comfortable  with  the  way  that  I  live  my  life  and  

my   mental   state   (laughs)   and   my   spiritual   state   whatever,   maybe   I   feel  

there’s  some  kind  of  unity  now.  That  song  for  me  always  exemplified  kind  of  

how   you   feel   when   you’re   young,   when   you   know   that   there’s   a   piece   of  

yourself   that   you   haven’t   really   put   together   yet.   You   have   this   great  

searching,   this   great   need   to   find   out   who   you   really   are”   (Hobbs,   BBC  

transcript,  1999).  

 

Four  decades   later   the  melancholic  reverie  of  2013’s   ‘Where  are  we  Now?’   is  a  

poignant  bookend  to   ‘The  Man  who  Sold  the  World’.  Brimming  with  archetypal  

images  around   the  Self   the  Tony  Oursler  directed   film  clip  opens   focusing  on  a  

large  diamond,  a  Jungian  symbol  of  the  integrated  Self  representing  “…the  union  

of   extreme  opposites   of  matter   and   spirit”   (von  Franz   in   Jung  1964:   221).  The  

curious   double   headed   mannequin   reflects   Jung’s   archetypal   anima/animus  

Syzygy  discussed  earlier,  the  alchemical  symbolism  of  the  Holy  Wedding  and  the  

hermaphrodite   noble   Empress   in  Rosarium  Philosophorum,  with  wings   formed  

by  Berlin’s  Victory  Tower  angel  (see  Figure  5.3).  Against  a  projection  of  Bowie’s  

own  Memories,  Dreams  and  Reflections  [xiv],  the  song  culminates  in  the  essential  

archetypal  (and  alchemically  symbolic)  elements  that  remain:  Sun   ,  Rain   ,  Fire   ,  

You,  Me  [xv]  suggesting  balanced  wholeness  in  the  process  of  individuation.  

 

IMAGERY  FROM  THE  ‘WHERE  ARE  WE  NOW?’  2013  FILM  CLIP  CONTRASTED  WITH  THE  NOBLE  EMPRESS  FROM  THE  

ROSARIUM  PHILOSOPHORUM,  A  MEDIEVAL  ALCHEMIC  WORK  THAT  INTRIGUED  JUNG  SHOWS  THE  SIMILAR  THEME  OF  

ANIMA/ANIMUS  INTEGRATION  OR  SYGYGY.  

 

Approaching  the  Numinous  

 

“…The  main   interest  of  my  work   is  not  concerned  with  the   treatment  of  neuroses  

but  rather  with  the  approach  to  the  numinous.”  (Jung  1973:  377)  

 

“….  The  one  continuum  [on  Outside]  that  is  throughout  my  writing  is  a  real  simple,  

spiritual  search…and  everything  I’ve  written  is  about  “Who  is  my  God?  How  does  he  

show  himself?  What  is  my  higher  stage,  my  higher  being?”  (Bowie  in  Ill  1997)  

 

 Undoubtedly   Bowie’s   complex   multi-­‐layered   and   conflicted   relationship   with  

spirituality,  meaning  and  existence  has  been  a  pervasive  theme  in  his  creativity  

and  a  life  long  work  in  progress.  In  the  mid  nineties  Bowie  claimed  that:  

 

“…there’s   no   doubting   for   me   [spirituality   has]   been   a   recurrent  

qualification   of   my   work   from   the   day   I   started   writing.   A   very   early  

example,  I  suppose,  is  Space  Oddity.  A  more  obvious  example  would  be  Word  

On  A  Wing,  More  recently,   the  underlying  thread  of  Black  Tie  White  Noise  

tried  to  unify  a  sort  of  passion  and  the  spiritual  font  from  which  it  flowed:  

the  wedding  thing”  (Bowie  in  Hollywood  On  Line  1996).  

 

Eight  years  later  he  would  affirm  this  sentiment:  

 

“…I  honestly  believe  that  my  initial  questions  haven’t  changed  at  all.  There  

are  far  fewer  of  them  these  days  but  they  are  really  important.  Questioning  

my  spiritual  life  has  always  been  germane  to  what  I  was  writing.  Always.  It’s  

because  I’m  not  quite  an  atheist  and  it  worries  me.  There’s  that  little  bit  that  

holds  on…”  (DeCurtis  2005).  

 

Cast  in  this  light,  Bowie’s  iconic  and  recurring  space  imagery  can  legitimately  be  

understoodas   new   spiritual   metaphors   for   age   old   themes   of   alienation   and  

enlightenment,  archetypes  of  pilgrimage,  tension  and  search,  as  above,  so  below;  

outer  space  as   inner  space;  his  cosmology  of  stars,   suns  and  serious  moonlight  

infused  with   rich   layers   of   symbolism   and   contemporary   re-­‐imaginings   of   old  

mythologies.  

 

Yet  Bowie’s  work  has  always  had  overt  and  cryptic  markers  of  a  spiritual  seeker,  

his  grappling  with  the  Numinous  manifesting  in  riddle-­‐some  twists  across  half  a  

century.  Torn  between  the  light  and  dark  cornucopia  of  esoterica  in  ‘Quicksand’  

(1971),   Bowie   prayed   in   ‘Loving   the   Alien’   (1984),   descended   into   Dante’s  

Inferno   in   ‘Width   of   a   Circle’   (1970),   implored   the   suicidal   to   believe   in   ‘Jump  

They   Say’   (1993),   counseled   to   “seek   only   peace”   on   ‘Sunday’   (2002),   was   “at  

odds  with  the  Bible”  on  ‘Bus  Stop’  (1989),  pleaded  to  a  silent  God  in  ‘I  Would  be  

your  Slave’  (2002),  seemed  paranoid  at  the  alliance  between  Church  and  State  in  

‘I’m   Afraid   of   Americans’   (1997)   and   iconoclastically   railed   at   corrupt  

Catholicism  in  ‘The  Next  Day’  (2013).    

 

Song  after  song  speaks  of  faith  and  despair  referencing  a  pantheon  of  theologies  

from   Kabbalah,   Buddhism   and   Theosophy   to   Pentecostalism   and   paganism,  

woven   together   in   an   intensely   consuming   and   tangled  mix   of   spirit   and   flesh.  

Bowie  was  indeed  ‘writing  out  his  problems’  with  the  Numinous,  processing  this  

psycho-­‐spiritual   questions   through   music.   On   writing   Heathen,   Bowie   would  

reflect:  

 

“…I  wanted  to  prove  the  sustaining  power  of  music.  I  wanted  to  bring  about  

a  personal  cultural  restoration,  using  everything  I  knew  without  returning  

to  the  past.  I  wanted  to  feel  the  weight  and  depth  of  the  years.  All  my  

experiences,  all  the  questions,  all  the  fear,  all  the  spiritual  isolation…”  

(Bowie  in  Livewire  2002).  

 

Later   he   quipped   “…   Tibetan   Buddhism   appealed   to  me   at   that   time.   I   thought,  

‘There’s  salvation.’  It  didn’t  really  work.  Then  I  went  through  Nietzsche,  Satanism,  

Christianity…   pottery,   and   ended   up   singing.   It’s   been   a   long   road”   (Bowie   on  

‘Ellen’  2004).    

 

Yet  there  has  always  been  an  enduring,  pervasive  interest  with  the  psychology  of  

mind  and  spirit  percolating  around  gnostic,  alchemic  and  hermetic  concepts  that  

so  interested  Jung.  Speaking  around  Earthling,  Bowie  expressed  the  centrality  of  

his  drive  to  integrate  opposites  and  find  spiritual  balance  in  the  face  of  death:  

 

“…[there  is]  this  abiding  need  in  me  to  vacillate  between  atheism  or  a  kind  

of   Gnosticism.   I   keep   going   backwards   and   forwards   between   the   two  

things,   because   they  mean   a   lot   in  my   life….   I   have   no   empathy  with   any  

organised   religions.  What   I   need   is   to   find   a   balance,   spiritually,  with   the  

way   I   live   and  my   demise.   And   that   period   of   time   –   from   today   until  my  

demise  –  is  the  only  thing  that  fascinates  me”  (Cavanagh  1997:  52).  

 

Bowie  knew  from  experience  how  dangerous  imbalance  can  be.  Like  Mr.  Newton  

watching  a  wall  of   televisions   in  1976’s   film  The  Man  who  Fell  to  Earth  Bowie’s  

highly   sensitive   antennae   perpetually   tuned   to   the   zeitgeist   could   leave   him  

perilously  vulnerable  to  the  destabilizing  energies  of  the  unconscious.  When  an  

emaciated,  fragile  Bowie  empathized  with  a  fly  drowning  in  milk,  “  …  That’s  kind  

of  how  I  felt  –  a  foreign  body  and  I  couldn’t  help  but  soak  it  up,  you  know”  (Cracked  

Actor  1975)  it  was  a  vivid  analogy  of   the  visionary  artist’s  bittersweet  gift   that  

would   bring   him  precariously   close   to   the   edge   in   a   pivotal   period  marked   by  

apparent  psychotic  implosion  around  the  Station  to  Station  years.    

 

His  rational  psyche  subsumed  by  the  dopaminergic  excess  of  cocaine  abuse  and  

unbounded  esoteric  spiritual  and  occult  obsessions,  Bowie  would  reflect,  “I  was  

out   of   my   mind,   totally   crazed.   The   main   thing   I   was   functioning   on   was  

mythology”  (Sandford   1997:   158).   This   unrestrained   acquiescence   to   the  

unconscious  allowed  the  Shadow  to  overwhelm  in  the  persona  of  the  Thin  White  

Duke  with   all   his  mytho-­‐aryan  hubris   and  was   a   toxic  mix   to  his  disintegrated  

and  vulnerable  psyche.  So  while  the  creative  expression  of  this  period  is  imbued  

with   powerful   archetypal   energies   exploring   polarities   of   the   eternal   and   the  

ephemeral,  the  shadow  merger  destructively  subverted  this  into  psychologically  

dark   and   dangerous   territory,   a   risk,   as   discussed   earlier,   Jung   knew   faced   all  

visionary  artists.  

 

Yet  within  those  depths  a  numinous  light  also  emerged.  “A  man  who  is  possessed  

by   his   shadow   is   always   standing   in   his   own   light   and   falling   into   his   own  

traps…”  wrote  Jung  (1968:  123),  an  admonishment  Bowie  appeared  to  manifest  

in  ‘Word  on  a  Wing’  (1976)  “…and  I  don’t  stand  in  my  own  light,  Lord,  Lord,  my  

prayer  flies  like  a  word  on  a  wing/  And  I’m  trying  hard  to  fit  among  your  scheme  of  

things…”.  The  song  spoke  of  a  glowing  vision  flowing  from  the  unconscious  into  

his  conscious  life.  

.</div></div>  

That   this   was   a   profoundly   numinous   experience   for   Bowie,   a   spiritually  

enantriodromic   counterpoint   to   the   darkness,   functioning   as   a   psychological  

salvation  can  be  seen  in  a  significant  interview  he  gave  fours  years  later:  

 

“Word  On  A  Wing  I  can’t  talk  about.  There  were  days  of  such  psychological  

terror  when  making  [The  Man  who  fell  to  Earth]  that  I  nearly  started  to  

approach  my  reborn,  born  again  thing.  It  was  the  first  time  I’d  really  

seriously  thought  about  Christ  and  God  in  any  depth  and  Word  On  A  Wing  

was  a  protection.  It  did  come  as  a  complete  revolt…  The  passion  in  the  song  

was  genuine.  It  was  also  around  that  time  that  I  started  thinking  about  

wearing  this  (fingers  small  silver  cross  hanging  on  his  chest)  again…  now  

almost  a  leftover  from  that  period…  But  at  the  time  I  really  needed  this.  

Hmmm  (laughs),  we’re  getting  into  heavy  waters…  but  yes,  the  song  was  

something  I  needed  to  produce  from  within  myself  to  safeguard  myself  

against  some  of  the  situations  that  I  felt  were  happening…”  (MacKinnon  

1980).  

 

So   while   profound   numinous   experiences   can   be   genuinely   transformational,  

Jung  was  aware   the   intensity  of   the  process   ran   the  risk  of   sending   the  psyche  

spinning  wildly  between  polarities  from  dark  to  light,  and  the  important  work  of  

balanced   integration   and   individuation   must   continue   (Stein   2006).  

Interestingly,  at  the  time  of  the  interview  Bowie  was  promoting  Scary  Monsters  

(and   Super   Creeps)   (1980),   an   album   profoundly   cognizant   of   this   tension  

between   disintegrated   polarities   and   the   powerful,   often   frighteningly   dark  

energies   of   the   unconscious.   ‘Ashes   to   Ashes’,   together   with   its   earlier,   and  

according   to   Bowie,   spiritually   themed   counterpart   ‘Space   Oddity’,   provides   a  

graphic  illustration  of  this  concept.  

 

Strung  out  in  Heavens  High  

 

“I   was   high   up   in   space.   Far   below   I   saw   the   globe   of   the   Earth   bathed   in   a  

gloriously  blue  light…and  I  myself  was  floating  in  space,”   Jung  (1967:  289)  wrote  

of  a  numinous  vision  during  a  near  death  experience.  Paralleling  Major  Tom  in  

‘Space  Oddity’  “…here  am  I  sitting  in  my  tin  can,  far  above  the  world,  planet  Earth  

is   blue   and   there’s   nothing   I   can   do”   the   synchronistic   imagery   again   suggests  

archetypal   convergence.   But   if   Bowie’s   psychonaut  [xvi]   seems   blissful,   it   is  

because  he  is  oblivious  he  has  lost  touch  with  ground  control,  drifting  into  space  

severed  from  sustaining  realities,  at  the  mercy  of  the  unconscious.      Vulnerable  to  

the  chaos  that  will  emerge  in  ‘Ashes  to  Ashes’,  ‘Space  Oddity’  is  a  deeply  symbolic  

song   that   elicits  primal   recognition  of  personal   and   collective  anxieties   around  

fracture  and  disintegration,  with  Major  Tom  symbolically  personifying  the  split  

between  the  celestial  and  terrestrial,   spirit  and   flesh,  sanity  and  psychosis,  and  

society’s  increasing  disconnection  both  from  the  sacred  and  the  grounding  of  the  

Earth.  

 

The   psychic   tension   around   the   integration   of   opposites   becomes   extreme   in  

Ashes  to  Ashes,  giving  creative  form  to  Jung’s  prophetic  tone:  “You  yourself  are  a  

conflict   that   rages   in   and   against   itself   in   order   to   melt   its   incompatible  

substances….   in   the   fire   of   suffering….   crucified   between   the   opposites   and  

delivered   up   to   the   torture   until   the   reconciling   third   takes   shape.”   (Jung   1945:  

375)  

 

With   a   title   echoing   the   Christian   funeral   rite   and   the   alchemic   process   of  

calcination   (the   reduction  of   a   substance  by  heat   or   fire   to   ashes)   signaling   its  

metaphorically  spiritual   tenor,  Major  Tom  has  awoken  to   the  mental   torture  of  

psycho-­‐spiritual   alienation.   ‘Strung   out   in   heavens   high   hitting   an   all   time   low’,  

between  harsh  externalities  and  internal  complexities,  medieval  mystic  St  John’s  

Dark  Night   of   the   Soul  manifested   in   the   shrieking   silence   of   space.   The   lyrics  

despair   at   relativist,   biological   determinism  and   impotent   polarity   –   ‘I’ve  never  

done  good  things,   I’ve  never  done  bad  things,   I’ve  never  done  anything  out  of   the  

blue’   –  while   the   beloved   anima/wife   of   ‘Space   Oddity’   has   become   a   scolding  

Mother   archetype.   Screaming   for   an   axe   to   break   through   this   nihilistic,   frigid  

space  he  begs   for   the  grounding  of  Earth,  despite   ‘little   green’  demons  waiting  

there  too.    

 

The   film   clip   shows   Bowie   in   several   guises.   A   hypnotic   whiteface   clown,   an  

archetypal   Trickster   perhaps,   wades   in   the   sea   of   the   unconscious   (recalling  

Jung’s   raging   sea   in   ‘Drive   in   Saturday’)   later   flanked  by   religious   figures,   as   a  

bulldozer,   a   symbol   of   industrial   progress,   threatens   to   crush   numinous   ritual  

into   the   ashes   of   modernity.   Later   he   is   an   alien(ated)   man   suspended   and  

entangled   in   a   mass   of   twisted   organic   fibres   and   tubes   resembling   an   alien  

brain,   then   a   Madman   alone   in   a   padded   room.   A   terrifying   psychotic  

convergence,  Major  Tom  has  become  conscious  of  the  powers  of  the  unconscious  

and   the   horrors   of   the   shadow   within   him   and   society,   strung   out   between  

opposing  polarities,  both  prophet  and  victim,  desperately  seeking  psychological  

reconciliation.      As  Jung  (1971:  824)  wrote:  

 

“…  full  parity  of  the  opposites…leads  to  a  suspension  of  the  will,  for  the  will  

can  no  longer  operate  when  every  motive  has  an  equally  strong  counter  

motive.  Since  life  cannot  tolerate  a  standstill,  a  damming  up  of  vital  energy  

results,  and  this  would  lead  to  an  unsupportable  condition  did  not  the  

tension  of  opposites  produce  a  new,  uniting  function  that  transcends  them”.    

 

The   symbols   of   psychic   tension   emerge   in   Jung’s  Red  Book   visions,   suggesting  

primal   resonance  of   an   archetypal   imagery   around  dis/integration.  Yet   in   Jung  

we   see   the   emergence   of   the   transcendent   function   that   is   borne   from   the  

struggle.  Crucified  between  opposites,  in  the  Nox  Toxtia  vision  (Jung,  2009:  300)  

Jung  describes  being  frighteningly  strung  out  between  heavens  high  and  the  low  

earth,  conjoined  between  blazing  fires.  But  unlike  Major  Tom  terrifyingly  adrift,  

Jung   remained   simultaneously   rooted   in   the   earth   and   hooked   upon   the   sky  

seeking  balanced   integration  of   the  polarized  Self.  Later  hanging   in   the  Tree  of  

Life  [xvii]tormented   by   the   devil   during   the   agonizing   process   of   reconciling  

opposites,   Jung   (2009:   324-­‐325)   holds   this   tension   until   transformational,  

transcendent   unity   emerges.   It   is   tempting   to   imagine   Jung   prefigured   Major  

Tom  when  writing  of  a  man  “…uprooted  and  hovering  above  earth,  succumbing  to  

exaggeration  and  irreality”(sic),  driven   insane  as  a  result  of  being  possessed  by  

nothing  more  than  the  inner  world  of  his  thoughts  without  grounding  in  real  life.  

Instead  it  was  Frederick  Nietzsche,  another  influential  figure  in  Bowie’s  writing  

(Jung  1967:  189).  

 

Lacerating  Entangled  Brains  

 

Allusions  to  tortured,  entangled  psyches  consistently  permeate  Bowie’s  albums,  

the   tension   between   the   cerebral   and   the   visceral   belying   an   enduring  

underlying  anxiety  around  the  trauma  experienced  by  his  immediate  family  and  

his   own   existential   questions.   There   is   an   unforgettable   apex   in   Bowie’s   dark  

anthemic   ballad,   ‘Rock   and   Roll   Suicide’   (1972)   where   he   cries   “All   the   knives  

seem  to   lacerate  your  brain   I’ve  had  my  share,   I’ll  help  you  with   the  pain…you’re  

not  alone”.   It’s  a  moment  of  empathy  that  promises  deliverance  from  the  agony  

of  internal  torture.  Decades  later  we  hear  this  anguish  again:  

 

“In  red-­‐eyed  pain  I’m  knocking  on  your  door  again,  my  crazy  brain  in  tangles  

pleading  for  your  gentle  voice,  those  storms  keep  pounding  through  my  head  and  

heart,  I  pray  you’ll  soothe  my  sorry  soul”  (Days,  2002).  

 

Indeed  over  two  dozen  songs  contain  a  specific  reference  to  the  brain  or  mind,  

often   hostile,   fragmented,   and   associated   with   violence   and   destruction   –  

something  Jung  would  describe  as  a  strong  (and  justifiable)  complex.  In  his  own  

practice  Jung  believed  word  association  tests  could  help  identify  the  presence  of  

complexes   with   pauses   and   inflections   indicating   emotionally   charged   words  

with   which   issues   were   associated   (Petchkovsky   et   al.   2013).   During   an  

interview  around  ‘Never  Let  Me  Down’  Jools  Holland  once  co-­‐opted  Bowie  into  an  

impromptu   word   association   test   (Holland   1987).   “Cor,   bloody   hell,   who   you  

bringing  on  this,  Jung?  Ha  ha  Jung!  C.G.  Jung!”  Bowie  laughingly  replied,  revealing  

his   familiarity   with   this   concept.   Deliberately   or   not,   in   this   lighthearted  

exchange  Bowie  smoothly  responded  to  all  words  offered,  with  two  exceptions:  

‘USA’…to  which   he   paused   and   said   “chasm”,   and   “David  Bowie”   followed  by   a  

long  pause  to  which  he  responded  “…lost”.  

 

Subterranean  Labyrinths  and  the  Chthonic  Underground  

 

Jung’s   own   cerebral   anxiety   emerges   in   a  Red  Book   vision  where   he   describes  

himself   entangled   in   a   strange   twisted   mass   of   organic   roots   and   fibres   he  

realises   is   his   own   brain   (recalling   the   ‘Ashes   to   Ashes’   image   of   Bowie  

suspended   in   an   organic   brain-­‐like   cave),   Met   by   gnome-­‐like   Cabiri   from   the  

subterranean  depths  Jung  is  presented  with  a  ‘Flashing  Sword’  they  have  forged  

to   lacerate   his   brain   and   sever   him   from   the   entrapment,   but   he   rails   against  

their  suicidal  instruction.  Yet  the  Cabiri,  who  are  also  part  of  this  entanglement  

insist   on   this   destruction.   Finally   slicing   through   his   brain,   Jung   (2009:   314)  

gains   balance   and   self-­‐mastery   submitting   his   analytical   mind   to   the   creative  

wisdom  of  the  depths.  

 

The  mythological  spirits  of  the  subterranean  Underworld  held  great  symbolism  

for  Jung,  embodying  the  fertile  juices  of  the  Unconsciousness  with  their  capacity  

for  wisdom;  and  he  cautioned  against  dismissing  them  lightly.  It  is  significant  in  

this   context   that   across   the   years   Bowie   creatively   manifested   his   own  

subterranean  creatures  of  the  underworld,  “hanging  out  with  your  dwarf  men”  on  

the  mysterious   ‘Bewlay  Brothers’   (1971),   “gnomes”   and   “dwarves”   on   the   free  

association  lyrics  of  ‘Little  Wonder’  (1997).      The  following  examples  poignantly  

illustrate  Jung’s  observations  and  reflect  once  again  a  central  Bowie  narrative.  

 

Instinctually   theatrical,   Bowie’s   expression   of   subliminal   energies   was   not  

bounded  by  the  intellectual  self-­‐constraint  of  Jung  and  his  earliest  creative  work  

reveals   a   foreboding   aspect   around   the   unbounded   Unconscious,   ironically  

illustrated   in   his   own   Cabiri-­‐esque   encounter   from   the   underworld   in   1967’s  

whimsical   ‘Laughing   Gnome’.       Followed   home   by   a   gnome,   the   narrator   feeds  

and   sends   him   off,   only   for   him   to   weirdly   reappear   later   with   a  

doppelganger[xviii].   Co-­‐opting   these   twins’   fertile   creativity   for   financial   gain,  

the  young  protagonist  seems  oblivious  to  the  potentially  subversive  energies  of  

unrestrained  Unconscious   invasion  and  his  ability   to  sanely  co-­‐exist  with   these  

uninvited  entities  now   infesting  his   chimneystack  [xix]   (a  now  blocked   interior  

vent)  who   taunt  him  “…  hee  hee  hee,  I’m  the   laughing  gnome,  you  can’t  catch  

me”  about  their  slippery  ungraspable  nature.  Jung  was  not  so  naïve:  

 

“…when  one  analyses  [sic]  the  psychology  of  a  neurosis  one  discovers  a  

complex,  a  content  of  the  unconscious,  that  does  not  behave  as  other  

contents  do,  coming  or  going  at  our  command  but  obeys  its  own  laws,  in  

other  words  it  is  independent  or  as  we  say,  autonomous.  It  behaves  exactly  

like  a  goblin  that  is  alluding  our  grasp.”  (Jung  in  Diamond,  1999:  100).  

   

In   contrast,   when   Bowie   portrayed   the   dark   yet   beguiling   Goblin   King   in   the  

movie  Labyrinth  (1986)   –   an   archetypal   quest   into   the   shadowy   depths   of   the  

Unconscious  –  it’s  dangers  were  palpably  and  seductively  clear.  The  film  clip  to  

Bowie’s   soundtrack   Underground   (1986)   is   a   classic   Nekyia   tale,   its   gospel  

sounding  “Daddy  Daddy  get  me  out  of  here”  mirroring  Christ’s  “Father  Father  why  

hast  thou  forsaken  me”,  while,   “wanna  live  underground”   reveals   the   temptation  

to   remain   in   this   subterranean  world   underlying   reality.   Significantly,   the  way  

out   of   this   movie   labyrinth   lay   in   consciously   confronting   the   shadow,   rather  

then   being   hypnotically   subsumed   by   its   dark   goblin   energy.   It   was   a   journey  

Jung   understood   intrinsically,   prefiguring   this   archetypal   movie   writing   of   his  

Red  Book  visions:  

 

“…in  order  to  grasp  the  fantasies  which  were  stirring  in  me  “underground”  

I  knew  I  had  to  let  myself  plummet  down  into  them…only  by  extreme  effort  

was  I  finally  able  to  escape  from  the  labyrinth”  (Jung  1967:  178).  

 

Flashing  Swords  and  Bowie  Knives  

 

Conceptually  speaking,  if  Jung’s  Cabiri  are  a  symbolic  personification  of  chthonic  

forces   of   the  Unconscious,   paralleling   Jung’s   vision,   perhaps   these   same   fertile  

energies   that   gave  David   Jones  his   imagination  and  mental   entanglements   also  

provided   him  with   his   own   ‘Flashing   Sword’   in   the   form   of   a   ‘Bowie’   knife,   a  

creative   identity   allowing  both   engagement   and   expression  of   the  unconscious  

and   the   ability   to   destroy   his   psychological   ‘brain’   entanglements   through   art.  

This   metaphorical   convergence   becomes   all   the   more   intriguing   as   research  

suggests  the   ‘Flashing  Sword’  handed  to  Jung  by  the  visionary  Cabiri   is  actually  

an   obscure   Kabbalah   concept   associated   with   the   Mezla   Lightning   Flash   of  

Creation   that   zigzags   from   station   to   station   of   the  mystic  Tree  of  Life   (Stavish  

2007:  91)  conjuring  a  multitude  of  associations  with  Bowie,  from  Aladdin  Sane’s  

iconic  ‘zigzag’  Lightning  Flash  (on  the  album  that  cites  Jung)  to  Bowie’s  drawing  

of   the   Tree   of   Life   on   the   back   cover   of   Station   to   Station.   In   this   vein,   the  

surrealist   invocation   ‘Zane   Zane   Zane’   on   both   All   the   Madmen   (1970)   and  

Buddha  of  Suburbia  (1993)  is   likely  a  reference  to  the  Sword  of  Zain  associated  

with  unity,  duality,  sol/luna  and  heiros  gamos  (Web  of  Qabalah  2014).    

 

These   cryptic   links   once   again   recall   Michelangelo’s   archetypal   painting   The  

Creation  of  Adam  and  its  convergence,  according  to  Blech  &  Doliner,  (2008)  with  

mystic  Kabbalah,  science  and  consciousness  and  the  visionary  links  described  in  

this  paper,  between  Bowie’s  ‘Jung’  songs  and  the  Sylvian  Fissure.[xx]  

 

Keeping  with   the  visionary   ‘flashing   sword’   /  Bowie  knife  metaphor,   shades  of  

the  subterranean  Cabiric  wisdom  to  destroy  the  intellectually  entangled  brain  to  

enable  creative  and  spiritual  liberation  are  found  in  Seven  Years  in  Tibet  (1997)  

with   its   lyrics   that   sing   of   a   mystic   spirituality   facilitated   by   the   violent  

destruction  of  the  conscious  brain:  “Are  you  Ok,  you’ve  been  shot  in  the  head  and  

I’m  holding  your  brains  the  old  woman  said…I  praise  to  you  Nothing  ever  goes  

away”[xxi].   Indeed,  after  the  years  of  struggle,  1999’s  “hours…”  album  similarly  

stands  out  in  Bowie’s  oeuvre  as  reflecting  Jungian  ideas  of  balance,  portraying  a  

tangible  equanimity  in  its  reverie  that  speaks  so  often  of  the  unconscious  dream  

world:   ‘Something   in   the  Air’,   ‘If   I’m  Dreaming  My  Life’,   ‘Seven’,   ‘New  Angels  of  

Promise’,  ‘The  Dreamers’.  Even  the  album’s  interior  artwork  contains  a  ‘mandala’  

of  unified  duality,  a  balanced  circular  image  Jung  felt  symbolic  of  the  Self,  (Jung  

1967:   196)   lying   between   the   cover   iconography   of   an   ethereal   mythopoeic  

Bowie  cradling  his  Earthling  self,  and  on  the  reverse,  a  dark  Shadow  trinity,  black  

serpent  at   their   feet,  beginning  to  break  down.  Laden  with  spiritual  symbolism  

around   the   cosmic   interactions   of   light   and   dark,   its   imagery   recalls   Jung’s  

archetypal   release   from   the   crushing   grip   of   a   black   serpent   in   the   Red   Book  

(Jung  2009:  251).  

 

Would  that  it  were  always  so  poetically  balanced.    

 

In  contrast  to  ‘Where  are  we  Now?’  and  its  Jungian  themes  of  the  integrated  Self  

which  heralded  Bowie’s  return  in  2013,  the  final  song  on  The  Next  Day  album  is  

the   spiritually   tormented   and   ‘disintegrated’   Mobius   strip   of   ‘Heat’   a   song  

seemingly  wrestling  again  with  the  gnostic  prison  of  matter,  mystic  perception,  

prescience,   (self)   deception   and   identity:   “…My  father  ran  the  prison,   I  can  only  

love  you  by  hating  him  more,  That’s  not  the  truth  …And  I  tell  myself,  I  don’t  know  

who  I  am  …But  I  am  a  seer,  I  am  a  liar”  (Heat,  2013).  Entangled  in  another  psyche  

twisting   ‘hellish’   knot,   imprisoned   between   polarities,   the   song   echoes   themes  

explored  throughout   this  chapter  –  Bowie’s  complex  spiritual  relationship  with  

the  Numinous,  the  Shadow,  Persona,  and  the  Self.    

 

And,   as   if   to   underline   his   enduring   dance   with   the   mysterious   force   of   the  

Unconscious,  Bowie  opens  the  song  drawing  from  Mishima’s  novel  Spring  Snow,  

“Then   we   saw   Mishima’s   dog,   trapped   between   the   rocks…   The   peacock   in   the  

snow”,  a  novel  that  sees  the  protagonist  wrestling  with  prophetic  dreams,  omens  

and   the   specter   of   Unconscious   invasion.   Perhaps   unsurprisingly,   the   passage  

this   lyric   draws   from   –   “…   he   saw   a   flock   of   peacocks   settle   suddenly   on   the  

snow…‘I’m  too  involved  in  my  dream-­‐world’,  he  thought…  ‘They’ve  spilled  over  into  

reality,  they’re  a  flood  that’s  sweeping  me  away’”(Mishima  2010:  149)  –  has  deep  

echoes   of   Jung’s   description   of   his   overwhelming   flood   of   Red   Book   visions  

“…that   burst   forth   from   the   unconscious   and   flooded   me   like   an   enigmatic  

stream  and  threatened  to  break  me”  (Jung  2009:  backcover)  that  Bowie  had  sung  

of  forty  years  earlier.  

 

The  Last  of  the  Dreamers  

 

This  chapter  explores   the  relationship  between  David  Bowie,  Carl   Jung  and  the  

Unconscious,   revealing   a   compelling   connection   evident   in   the  way   Bowie   has  

been   spontaneously   and   deliberately   expressing,   articulating   and   synthesizing  

Jungian  ideas  and  archetypes  throughout  his  career.  Jung’s  ideas  appear  to  have  

resonated  strongly  with  Bowie  as  he  creatively  processed  the  complex  world  of  

the  psyche  exploring  numinous  dimensions,  and  wrestling  with  tension,  conflict  

and  paradox  through  archetype  and  caricature,  metaphor  and  myth.  

 

Encapsulating   Jung’s   idea   of   a   Visionary   Artist,   Bowie’s   creative   expression  

appears   to   have   drawn   intensely   from   the   Unconscious   in   creating   his   own  

metaphorical   ‘space’   cosmology   in   music   that   infuses   modern   anxieties   with  

ancient   and   contemporary   symbolism.   In  manifesting   these   archetypal   themes,  

from  the  Shadow,   the  Anima/Animus,   the  Persona  and  the  Self  ,with   the   tension  

between   opposites,   Bowie’s   art   reflects   a   raw   struggle   for   authenticity   in   the  

process   of   individuation.   While   this   has   often   come   at   great   cost   to   his   own  

psyche,  throughout  the  process  his  work  has  evoked  primal  motifs  that  resonate  

deeply   with   his   audience,   consciously   and   instinctually.   Jung   implored  

individuals  to  ‘find  your  myth’.  David  Jones  searched  for  his  and  not  only  found  

one,  he  creatively  embodied  one  for  our  time.  .  

 

Tanja  Stark  2015  

 

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Notes    

 

[i]  The  metaphysical,  sacred,  spiritual  and  /  or  transcendent  dimension.  See  Stein  

(2006).  

[ii]  Celestial  and  Chthonic:  the  heavens  and  the  underworld;  Sarx  and  Pneuma  

(Greek):  flesh  (matter)  and  spirit  

[iii]  “My  soul  flies  erratically  on  the  wings  of  what  I  would  imagine  is  a  feeble  bi-­‐

polarism…something  akin  to  that  brushes  past  me…”  (Bowie  in  Livewire,  2002).  

[iv]  Perhaps,it  was  not  Bowie  who  created  Major  Tom,  but  Major  Tom  who  

created  Bowie.  

[v]  Gnosis:  Greek  for  knowledge,associated  with  the  revelation  of  hidden  wisdom  

and  mystery.  

[vi]  From  the  original  French  interview  that  appeared  in  La  Figaro.  

[vii]  Electromagnetic  stimulation  of  the  left  temporo-­‐parietal  junction  of  a  

patient  with  epilepsy  caused  an  effect  similar  to  the  doppelgänger  phenomenon.  

[viii]  Despite  Bowie’s  stated  discomfort  with  this  term,  his  record  company  

released  a  compilation  album  entitled  Chameleon  in  1979.  

[ix]  Jung  believed  word  association  tests  could  indicate  the  presence  of  

complexes;  pauses  and  inflections  hinting  at  words  with  which  they  were  

associated  (Petchkovsky  et  al.,  2013).  

[x]  An  early  reference  to  the  Jungian  Shadow  archetype  that  ironically  converges  

with  the  2006  neuroscience  paper  “Induction  of  an  illusionary  Shadow  Person”  

suggesting  stimulation  around  the  Sylvian  fissure  could  produce  a  doppelganger  

effect.  

[xi]  Human  /  animal  metamorphosis  or  shape  shifting,  associated  in  mythology  

and  folklore  with  magical  powers  and  often  dark,  possessing  energies,  i.e.  

Werewolves  

[xii]  A  surprising  name  given  Bowie’s  (and  Jung’s)  overt  interest  in  Gnosticism.  

.Valentinius  was  a  Gnostic  teacher  from  Alexandria,  the  name  of  Bowie’s  

daughter.  

[xiii]  Jung  speaks  of  his  concept  of  Anima  as  a  renaming  of  what  poet  Carl  

Spitteler  termed  “his  Lady  Soul”.  

[xiv]  ‘Memories,  Dreams  and  Reflections’  :  Jung’s  semi-­‐autobiography.  

[xvi]  ‘Psychonaut’  :  a  sailor  of  the  mind  (Blom  2009:  434).  

[xvii]  The  Tree  of  Life  :  a  Kabbalah  concept  Bowie  draws  on  the  cover  of  Station  

to  Station  (1976).  

[xviii]  Sylvian  fissure  stimulation,  again  converging  neuro-­‐biology  with  mystic  

phenomenon  

[xix]  Perhaps  foreshadowing  of  a  darker  chimney-­‐phile,  the  reptilian,  narcissistic  

Jean  Genie  (1972).  

[xxi]  In  Jungian  psychology,  the  emergence  of  a  Wise  Old  Woman  archetype  

speaks  of  late  stage  individuation,  the  film  clip  incorporating  Minotaur  (shadow),  

Kirlian  photograph  of  his  cross  (energy  and  transcendence),  and  Buddhist  

(equanimity)  symbols.