Healing practices and rituals

Throughout history, healing practices and rituals have been developed to deal with illness, with cultures oscillating between reductionism and holism in their medical practices. An overview of cross-cultural studies can enhance understanding of the issue of health and healing. In some cultures, the origin of disease and the healing process are seen as originating from the world of spirits. Healing has been practiced by folk healers who conceive of illness as a disturbance that involves not only the physical body but also the mind, the physical and social environment, as well as the relationship with the cosmos and deities. Even today, around the world, they employ rituals to alleviate tensions, helping to stimulate the healing powers that all living organisms possess. These healing ceremonies involve an intense relationship between the healer and the patient, always understood in terms of supernatural forces channeled through the healer. The phenomenon of shamanism, existing since the early days of history, continues to hold sway in many cultures. The shaman is the person, whether male or female, capable of making contact with the world of spirits. They are usually the religious or political leader, a charismatic and powerful figure whose function in these communities is to preside over rituals. They communicate with spirits to diagnose and heal diseases. The shamanistic conception is based on the belief that human beings are an integral part of an ordered system, with disease being a disharmony of cosmic order. In some traditions, it is emphasized that organs, bodily functions, and an individual’s symptoms are inseparably linked to social relationships, plants, and other environmental phenomena. The functions of rituals aim to expand consciousness of conflicts and defenses in search of a solution.

Healing in Ancient Greece

Throughout ancient Greece, the healing process was considered essentially a spiritual phenomenon and was associated with many deities. Hygieia is the goddess of health, the daughter of Asclepius and sister of Panakeia. These two goddesses, associated with Asclepius, represent two aspects of the healing art, just as relevant today as in ancient Greece. Hygieia (health) was responsible for maintaining health, and Panakeia (panacea) possessed knowledge of remedies derived from plants or the earth, seeking a cure for all ailments. ^{Meier (1989)} shows us how, for the ancient world, mind and body constituted inseparable units – mens sana in corpore sano. In antiquity, the “symptom” was an expression of sympatheia; consensus, cognatio, or coniunctio naturae, the point of correspondence between the external and the internal. This corresponds to the notion of synchronicity in Jung. Disease was an effect of divine action, which could only be cured by a god or another divine action – similia similibus curantur, a form of homeopathy. “When disease is adorned with such dignity,” says ^{Meier (1989, p. 15)}, “it has the invaluable advantage of being endowed with healing power.” Just as the divine physician was the disease and the remedy, the correct attitude was achieved through worship, which consisted of leaving the art of healing to the divine physician. This is where the oracle of Apollo applies: “The one who wounds also heals.” Telephus, when wounded in the thigh by Achilles, is forced to seek shelter among his former enemies, where he finds the cure. Psychologically, it represents the “realization of the shadow” – where, through dreams or in relation to others, aspects of our personality are recognized. The myth of pharmakon, or ambivalent drug, poison and antidote at the same time, is also found in the unconscious of modern man.

In ancient Greece, Epidaurus was the center of the cult of the god Asclepius, son of Apollo, who, upon learning of Coronis’ betrayal, kills her and rescues Asclepius through a cesarean section and entrusts him to Chiron, the centaur, to be educated by him. Regarding the rescue, some say, “He who brought death also gave life,” recalling the phrase “The one who wounds also heals.” Asclepius learned the art of healing from Chiron, who had been wounded by Hercules’ poisoned arrows, thus becoming a wounded healer.

Touch, for the Greeks, had the power to heal (^{MEIER, 1989}). The fingers of Rhea were stuck in the maternal earth of mount Ida, becoming dactyls, bearers of generative power. In the painting of the creation of Adam (frescoes by Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel), the gesture of the outstretched hand appears. Zeus healed Io of her madness by extending his hand over her, and she gave birth to Epaphus despite being a virgin. Zeus derived the epithet Zeus Epaphos, “the one who touches.” Apollo receives the epithet Apollo hyperdexios (extending the hand over) and also uses the gesture of extending the hand over the patient. Chiron also healed through the touch of hands; Chiron, as a cheirourgos (working with hands – Chirurg = surgeon in German), degenerated into a chiropractor in our day. The idea that the finger possesses generative power appears in the German expression “to pull something out of the fingers,” which means “to invent” or “produce something.” The performance through fingers in healing enchantments is well known.

Bathing was one of the preliminaries in incubation rituals; it was believed to have a purifying effect on both the soul and the body. Bathing was related to the idea of hieros gamos (sacred marriage), like mysterium coniunctionis. The bridal bath had the meaning of a preliminary condition for marriage, which was considered in the ancient world as initiation or mystery. After the preliminary sacrifices, the patient would sleep in the ábaton or ádyton (innermost sanctuary). Ábaton or ádyton means a place where one cannot enter without being invited. The word incubare is translated as “sleeping in the sacred enclosure.” The incubant would be cured if Asclepius appeared in the dream and touched the wound. In cases where the inner sensation of the disease was personified and expressed through symbols, a cure could occur. Everyone had to report their dreams. In the cult of Asclepius, water played an important role, as did music, theater, serpents, and sacred dogs. The healing process in the sanctuaries of Asclepius was considered synousia (union) with the god. Healing occurred in the ábaton during the night, whether the patient was asleep or awake; if not through a dream, then through a vision. Incubation took on a mysterious character. The invitation to the mysteries was given through dreams to the aspirant. The incubant was reborn, healed after visiting the underworld and, upon emerging, became a religious person, a devotee of the goddess, corresponding to the Greek term therapeutes. Mysteries presuppose epoptai (spectators) who contemplate the dromenon (the action). In the case of incubation, the incubant would be the epoptes, and the dromenon witnessed would be the dream, with the cure itself being the mystery. In the narrow sense, mysteries are personal, and ^{Meier (1989, p. 124)} quotes Reitzenstein: “The initiate in the mysteries not only witnesses what the god experiences but experiences it himself, thus becoming the god.” However it may be, says Meier, “he was alone with the god. There was a dialectical situation, and a personal mystery of this kind led to the gnosis Theou” (knowledge of the god). In ancient literature, it is clear that all dreams were considered messages from the gods. The variety of meanings attributed to dreams was not only due to the era in which the dreamer lived but also to their social position, education, and philosophy. If we try to find a constant, it will most likely consist of the dreamer’s attitude toward the irrational.

Body, mind, and environment

Recently, a 50-year-old woman told me the following dream: “I dreamed that I was in a place full of unfamiliar people. I met a young woman who was looking for a child but couldn’t find her”. Then she told me she was an adopted child. I tried to help her in the search and suddenly said, “Let’s both close our eyes and ask for help to find her.” That’s what we did. When we opened our eyes, I looked to a spot and saw a child (about 5 months old) in someone’s arms. We embraced each other because we succeeded.

Given the circumstances, I suggested that she experience the dream. I helped her relax and imagine meeting that child, in an exercise of imagination. Moved and filled with profound tenderness, she could feel the closeness and recall past encounters with the same affective quality. The dream tells us that integration is psychophysical. Since ancient times, starting with the blind seer Tiresias, there has been the idea that for the unconscious to speak, the conscious must remain silent. As Jungians, connected to modernity, we use techniques (active imagination, relaxation, among others) as a way to reinterpret the Asclepian ritual of incubation - always seeking a connection with the Self, the gods or goddesses that populate our imagination. Therefore, I consider that the Greeks’ observations about dreams still hold true.

Voluminous writings known as the Hippocratic Corpus, attributed to Hippocrates, the famous physician who lived in Greece around 400 BCE, represent a compendium of medical knowledge. They acknowledge the healing forces inherent in living organisms, which Hippocrates called the “healing power of nature.” The role of the physician was to assist these natural forces by creating conditions for the healing process – that was the original meaning of the word “therapy,” derived from the Greek therapeuim (“to give assistance,” “to take care of”), depicting the therapist as an assistant to the natural process. The Hippocratic writings contain a rigorous code of medical ethics known as the “Hippocratic Oath,” which remains to this day as an ideal of the medical profession.

The holistic and ecological conception considers the universe as a living organism, emphasizing the interrelationship and interdependence of all phenomena. It understands nature not only in terms of fundamental structures but also in terms of underlying dynamic processes. The systemic concept of health is seen as a continuous process that implies activity and changes reflecting the organism’s creativity in response to environmental challenges. There can be no absolute level of health independent of the environment. Therefore, health encompasses physical, psychological, and social aspects, all interdependent. The sense of “being healthy” occurs when these dimensions are balanced. “At the same time, the new framework naturally takes into account the spiritual dimensions of health; it is thus in harmony with the conceptions of many spiritual traditions” (^{CAPRA, 1982, p. 315}). For the system to be healthy, it needs to be flexible; it is essential for the organism’s health to adapt to environmental changes. Loss of flexibility means loss of health, although many times, in our extroverted culture, rigidity is mistaken for balance. Health is a dynamic equilibrium. Like traditional models, the “dynamic equilibrium” (^{CAPRA, 1982}) recognizes the healing forces inherent in all living organisms, the innate tendency of the organism to return to a state of equilibrium when disturbed. Some simple everyday ailments heal on their own. In certain phases of life, the organism undergoes self-transformative processes involving stages of crisis, resulting in a new equilibrium. A serious illness can induce reflections on one’s own identity and facilitate changes in lifestyle; thus, dynamic equilibrium means going through phases of illness that can lead to growth and transcendence. Therefore, the systemic concept of health is ecological and aligned with the Hippocratic tradition that underlies Western medicine.

In Chinese medicine, the human body is a microcosm of the universe, with its parts attributed qualities of yin and yang. Disease is not considered an intruding agent but the result of disharmony within the individual or in society. The idea of the body has always been functional, focusing more on the interrelations of its parts. For example, thinking about the lungs includes not only the lungs themselves but the entire respiratory system, the nose, the skin, and the secretions associated with that organ. In the Chinese conception, the individual is primarily responsible for maintaining their own health, with an emphasis on preventive measures, and the role of the physician is to prevent imbalance in their patients. The ideal physician there is considered wise when they understand that all models of the universe work together. The role of the physician is quite different from what we observe in the West, where their reputation increases with greater specialization.

In his research, Jung sought to empirically discover a point of contact with ancient healing cults. For him, the human psyche has a spiritual function, and in the second half of life, no patient was healed without finding a way to connect with this spiritual function. A 23 year-old woman, referring to her aerobic practice, told me, “I can’t go for walks because I think too much, so I run, run, and feel better.” Thinking, introversion, and daydreaming always carry the risk of reflection (from Latin reflectere, “to turn back”). At 23, we can run and escape from ourselves, tense our muscles, and, like in a system, some muscles compensate for the rigidity of others. Thus, curvatures begin to form; “lordoses,” “hyperlordoses,” and so many “arthroses and arthritides” point to imbalance because if one side is stretched, the muscles on the other side contract. However, until when can we run without listening to the bodily signals that cry out for reflection? There comes a moment when the compensatory system weakens, and the pains become unbearable. They may seem new arrivals, but they have been there for months or years, yet at that moment, running becomes impossible. It seems that no one reaches midlife unscathed; somehow, consciousness is warned. Unfortunately, it is always the last to know... As the body releases muscular tensions, pressures in the head and heart reawaken. Homeostasis is being disturbed, anxieties and deficiencies are being perceived, thus characterizing phases of imbalance. Many cannot bear it and return to running, justifying, without knowing for whom, that relaxation, meditation, yoga, and antigravity exercises are for old people: “The thing is to work out.”

The assumption in the Asclepian sanctuaries was that whatever was lacking in the patient would be integrated, and healing would be achieved through some epiphany of the god, both in waking state and in dreams. In the German language, this idea appears when they ask about the nature of an illness: “Was fehlt ihnen?” (“What is lacking for you?”). ^{LeShan (1992)}, in “Cancer as a Turning Point,” says that his goal as a physician is to help patients discover where they have lost their dreams. And, like Jung, he emphasizes that in successful healing, the individual must undergo a transformation of meaning during the process of illness and treatment. Jung’s definition of healing does not refer to symptoms. He has in mind the purpose of guiding the patient to understand the meaning of their life, their suffering, and being who they are. In “Psychology and Alchemy,” he said:

My task as a physician is to help the patient become fit for life [...] the supreme and decisive experience, that is, being alone with the Self, with the objectivity of the soul or however we want to call it. The patient must be alone to discover what sustains them when they themselves no longer sustain themselves. Only this experience will give them an indestructible foundation (^{JUNG, 1991, par. 32}).

This peculiar experience is so solitary that the encounter with the Self will result, in the words of ^{Meier (1989, p. 150)}, “in a well-established spiritual attitude, and the result would be not just mere remission but true healing, which can also be called transformation.” In this sense, the risk of relapse can only be avoided when we can incorporate our afflictions into a creative exercise or a flexible dance with the shadow to the sound of nature.

^{Kreinheder (1991)}, in “Conversing with Illness - A Dialogue of Body and Soul,” presents his experience of proximity to death, where he shows that human essence is something ineffable and immediate, spiritual and profane, which must be both endured and celebrated at the same time.

When illness arrives, it brings with it the idea of the inevitability of death and the fantasy of one’s own lifeless body. [...] we realize that everywhere, around us and within us, the surprising miracle of life is happening. [...] illness and the thoughts of death that accompany it can expand our state of consciousness toward a larger universe and minimize concerns with the everyday. By awakening us to the reality of the sacred dimension, illness promotes the salvation and healing of the soul (p. 26).

The healing process only occurs when this conscious encounter takes place. It is reminiscent of Faust, to whom the spirits said, “We were always here, but you did not see us.” And Jesus, who lamented, “I have been among you, but you did not recognize me.” According to Plato, whenever someone encounters the experience of original (archetypal) beauty, the “feathers of the soul” stand on end. It was believed that the soul had feathers and that the goosebumps on the skin would be the sprouting of the feathers of the soul. So many chills we feel, warmth, shivers when we come across aspects of the sacred, like feathers standing on end. The alchemists used the word “chill” when referring to the encounter of two substances. The union between the sacred and the profane, brought about by archetypal energies, is an experience that is both physical and psychological. Ego and archetype meet, causing a shiver. And we can only refer to archetypes when image and emotion present themselves simultaneously, and “there is no intervention with such a dramatic effect as that which can occur when mind and body, ego and archetype meet to create the soul” (^{KREINHEDER, 1991, p. 27}).

The envelope is always expressive

It is difficult for us to consider that death is neither good nor bad, but part of our nature. Often, death experiences are crucial for our reorientation in life. Illness can teach us about life. The exacerbation of a symptom can be the path to healing, constellating the “archetype of the invalid,” which reminds us of our limitations, wounds, or deformities, our flaws or accidents in the course of life, not forgetting the natural degeneration of our physical and mental abilities. Body awareness implies the perception of power and powerlessness, pleasure and pain, health and illness.

The principle of homeopathy is healing through small doses of certain poisons that cause similar symptoms: “Like must be treated with like,” the simillimum. The alchemical idea is that the raw material contains its own cure; thus, a process occurs until it transforms itself, until it produces the panacea. In modernity, we find this idea of amplification in the technique of biofeedback, which stimulates both the reaction and the control. ^{Mindell (1984)}, the founder of process-oriented work, uses symptom amplification by asking the patient to focus on the symptom until something new emerges, which can be a voice, a movement, a sound, or an image.

For Jung, healing happens in the relationship. Analysis is based on the relational dimension because it is in dialogue that we become conscious. But the therapeutic relationship does not always happen smoothly; sometimes there is no meeting of intentions in that relationship, either due to the therapist’s unconsciousness of the shadow or because the patient does not want assistance but only wants to be accompanied by the physician, someone who authorizes them to “be ill.” What we can observe is that when we initiate a creative process – the encounter with mystery – archetypal images and related emotions are unearthed, preventing us from disregarding our symptoms but, on the contrary, being grateful for them. When the body refuses to submit to the demands of the ego, it forms symptoms, screaming for the forgotten and banished aspects of our lives to be heard. When Jung said, “The gods have become diseases,” he was referring to the abandoned archaic experiences and the exalted rationality. Perhaps we educate our children poorly if we do not break the inheritance that “doing” is more important than “being.” It is necessary to take the risk of being authentic by expressing our feelings because the “dances of life” require dancing with the shadow. It is only through the relationship with the shadow that we can appreciate the delights of a family lunch, a phone call from a friend who wants to know how we are, or relaxation that leads us to creative activities.

Analytical psychology constantly refers us to polarities: yes-no, conscious-unconscious, light-shadow, and so on. The process of individuation depends on this equation that seeks to annul differences and balance polarities – the transcendent function. Balancing polarities always reflects in the body. The envelope is always expressive, and as Jung stated:

The so-called spiritual individuality is also an expression of the individual’s corporality. On the one hand, the body is something that makes individuals very similar, but on the other hand, the individual body distinguishes one individual from all others. Similarly, spiritual or moral individuality differentiates some from others, but it is also characterized by making them similar (^{1981, p. 287}).

As Jung showed us, mind and body are two aspects of the same reality, where the body is the external manifestation of the Self and the soul is the life of the body. And if we do not represent the Self in its unique nature in life, it rebels by manifesting itself in somatic symptoms. In this sense, we then understand that the problem is not the symptom itself but the way in which the individual relates to themselves and others. “If wholeness implies both health and illness, the presence of the latter is inevitable, and encountering it is part of the individuation process” (^{RAMOS, 1994, p. 118}). Considering the psyche-soma correspondence, what happens in one is mirrored in the other; the body appears as one of the avenues for the expression of fantasies and dreams. The symptom points to unconscious contents that need to be integrated into consciousness. Thus, in clinical practice, we come to the conclusion that to attenuate the specificity of symptoms, it is necessary to listen more to bodily experiences.

Every invasive symptom carries a symbolic content, and it is the task of the soul to expand so that it can assimilate the invading symbols and images. This can be a battle, but ultimately, it is not a fight but a process of liberation and expansion as we surpass our previous limitations. [...] Symptoms are the body’s lament, alerting it that enough is enough. Symptoms will break you exactly in the places where you have held yourself back the most (^{KREINHEDER, 1991, p. 40}).

Everyday stress

The concept of stress, very common nowadays and compatible with the systemic view, encompasses the interaction of mind and body. It is an imbalance of the organism seeking to respond to environmental influences and can result in a loss of flexibility. Transitory phases of stress are part of life, as they are also periods of contact with the shadow and the recognition of what belongs to us, which can have a creative outcome. When it becomes prolonged or chronic, it leads to the inability to perceive or take care of oneself, and thus, reaching its extreme limit of rigidity, it disrupts the system, and the person becomes vulnerable to illnesses.

Chronic and degenerative diseases, according to numerous studies, seem to be related to excessive stress. It has been observed that prolonged stress suppresses the body’s immune system and its natural defenses against infections and other diseases.

The origins of stressful situations are multiple. They can result from both negative and positive events, as long as they require rapid and profound changes from the organism. The high rate of violence in the country forces us to make abrupt changes in our lifestyle or live with numerous risks to our physical well-being. Unfortunately, we are not creative enough to invent, and worse yet, teach our children how to cope with the increasing volume of stress we face. When we exceed our capacity, illness can arise as a problem-solving mechanism. If we do not find a conscious way out of difficult situations or are prevented from expressing the emotion associated with that situation, we become ill. Illness appears as an “escape route,” a way of defending oneself, but as ^{Byington (1983)} shows us, the body can also play the role of a structuring symbol in psychic development. This means that the body can express itself symbolically without causing pathology. “If someone is attacked and complains, no one will think they are sick. So why do we not recognize the visceral symbolic complaints and seek the existential factors they are expressing?” (^{BYINGTON, 1983, p. 34}). According to him, the symbols expressed by the body should not be seen as erroneous, and the ideational-emotional path is not the only valid one. Symbols, as Jung showed us, represent natural attempts to reconcile the opposing elements of the psyche. Imbalance arises when energy manifests excessively in one of the opposites in a person. For example, someone overly fixated on form and excessive concern with appearance may develop an eating disorder. Similarly, the opposite pole, the spiritual, if excessive, will favor remaining in the realm of fantasy. The “instinct for individuation” is always indicating our effort to become whole. Analytical psychology advocates that the process of individuation is based on awareness of one’s own shadow, darkness, and what cannot or does not want to adapt to religious or societal conventions. Thus, it seems essential to consider the process of individuation as the path of healing and return to “home” and the feeling of inner freedom.

It is interesting to note that, although Western medicine has its roots in the Cartesian revolution, where Descartes’ philosophy led physicians to consider the body as a machine and ignore the psychological and social aspects of illness, Descartes himself acknowledged the union of body and soul. As ^{Capra (1982, p. 120)} tells us, the main theme of Descartes’ correspondence with Princess Elizabeth of Bohemia was the union of body and soul. In addition to being her physician, he was her teacher and friend, and when Elizabeth was unwell, he diagnosed her ailment as stemming from emotional tension, prescribing relaxation and meditation along with physical treatments. He appeared to be less “Cartesian” than most modern physicians.

Therefore, we understand that symptoms are the manifestation, the indicator that the system is out of balance. Thus, illness must provide a sense, but recognizing meaning is a complicated task – philosophically speaking. The causa finalis, a telos. The word “meaning” is equivalent to “function,” the function of bringing collective unconscious contents to consciousness, or as Mircea Eliade puts it, “the sacred is the function of giving meaning.” It seems difficult to draw a dividing line between health and illness. The path of life is not a straight line, and in the journey of individuation, libido fluctuates between balance and imbalance throughout the entire life cycle. In this sense, we can affirm that being healthy is being committed to the integrity of the personality, open to the symbolic manifestations that change both the unconscious and the conscious, giving rise to a third element: the transcendent function. “Spiritual phenomena and healing are practically identical and subjectively feel transcendent” (^{MEIER, 1989, p. 157}). We think of this third element as those moments of consciousness or light, of wholeness, in which we feel touched by a divine spark, perhaps the touch of the wounded healer god Asclepius.

We will conclude the text with the wisdom of the I Ching – the Book of Changes:

After a period of decline, the turning point is reached. The powerful light that had been banished returns. However, this movement is not caused by force [...] the movement is natural and arises spontaneously. Therefore, the transformation of the old becomes easy. The old is discarded, and the new is introduced [...] The idea of return is based on the course of nature. Movement is cyclic, and the path completes itself [...] This basic principle of allowing nascent energy to strengthen through rest applies to all similar situations. The health that returns after an illness, the understanding that resurfaces after discord, in short, everything that is beginning must be treated with gentleness and care so that the return leads to flourishing (^{WILHEM, 1993, p. 92}).