"Hardly a modern man escapes this collision in his own life and he may end up in the sad state described in our story. His passion is killed and his vision is badly wounded.
The story of St. George and the dragon, which was adapted from a Persian myth at the time of the crusades, says much the same. In battle with the dragon, St. George, his horse, and the dragon were all mortally wounded. They would all have expired but for the fortuitous event that a bird pecked an orange (or a lime) that was hanging on a tree over St. George and a drop of the life-giving juice fell into his mouth. St. George arose, squeezed some of the elixir into his horse’s mouth and revived him. No one revived the dragon.
Much is to be learned from the symbol of the wounded Fisher King. The salmon or, more generally, the fish, is one of the many symbols of Christ. As in the story of the Fisher King coming upon the roasting salmon, a boy in his early adolescence touches something of the Christ nature within himself but touches it too soon. He is unexpectedly wounded by it and drops it immediately as being too hot. But a bit of it gets into his mouth and he can never forget the experience. His first contact with what will be redemption for him later in his life is a wounding. This is what turns him into a wounded Fisher King. The first touch of consciousness in a youth appears as a wound or as suffering. Parsifal finds his Garden of Eden experience by way of the bit of salmon. That suffering stays with him until his redemption or enlightenment many years later.
Most western men are Fisher Kings. Every boy has naively blundered into something that is too big for him. He proceeds halfway through his masculine development and then drops it as being too hot. Often a certain bitterness arises, because, like the Fisher King, he can neither live with the new consciousness he has touched nor can he entirely drop it.
Every adolescent receives his Fisher King wound. He would never proceed into consciousness if it were not so. The church speaks of this wounding as the felix culpa, the happy fall which ushers one into the process of redemption. This is the fall from the Garden of Eden, the graduation from naive consciousness into self consciousness.
It is painful to watch a young man realize that the world is not just joy and happiness, to watch the disintegration of his childlike beauty, faith, and optimism. It is regrettable but necessary—if we are not cast out of the Garden of Eden, there can be no Heavenly Jerusalem. In the Catholic liturgy for Holy Saturday evening there is a beautiful line, “Oh happy fall that was the occasion for so sublime a redemption.”
The Fisher King Wound may coincide with a specific event, an injustice, such as being accused of something we didn’t do. In Dr. Jung’s autobiography he tells that once his professor read all of Jung’s classmate’s papers in the order of their merit, but didn’t read Jung’s paper at all. His professor then said, “There is one paper here that is by far the best, but it is obviously a forgery. If I could find the book I would have him expelled.” Jung had worked hard on the paper and it was his own creation. He never trusted that man, or the whole schooling process, after that. This was a Fisher King wound for Dr. Jung.
STAGES OF EVOLUTION
According to tradition, there are potentially three stages of psychological development for a man. The archetypal pattern is that one goes from the unconscious perfection of childhood, to the conscious imperfection of middle life, to conscious perfection of old age. One moves from an innocent wholeness, in which the inner world and the outer world are united, to a separation and differentiation between the inner and outer worlds with an accompanying sense of life’s duality, and then, at last, to enlightenment— conscious reconciliation of the inner and outer in harmonious wholeness.
We are witnessing the Fisher King’s development from stage one to stage two. One has no right to talk about the last stage until he has accomplished the second one. One has no right to talk about the oneness of the universe until he is aware of its separateness and duality. We can do all manner of mental acrobatics and talk of the unity of the world; but we have no chance of functioning truly in this manner until we have succeeded in differentiating the inner and outer worlds. We have to leave the Garden of Eden before we can start the journey to the Heavenly Jerusalem. It is ironic that the two are the same place but the journey must be made.
A man’s first step out of the Garden of Eden into the world of duality is his Fisher King wound : the experience of alienation and suffering that ushers him into the beginning of consciousness. The myth tells us that the Fisher King wound is in the thigh. You may remember the biblical story about Jacob wrestling with the angel, he was wounded in the thigh. A touch of anything transpersonal, an angel or Christ in the guise of a fish leaves the terrible wound that cries incessantly for redemption.
The wound in the thigh means that the man is wounded in his generative ability, in his capacity for relationship. One version of the story has it that the Fisher King was wounded by an arrow that transfixed both testicles. The arrow could not be pushed through nor could it be withdrawn. Again, the Fisher King is described as being too ill to live but unable to die.
Much of modern literature revolves around the lostness and alienation of the hero. Moreover, we can see this alienation in the countenance of almost everyone we pass on the street—the Fisher King wound is the hallmark of modern man.
I doubt if there is a woman in the world who has not had to mutely stand by as she watched a man agonize over his Fisher King aspect. She may be the one who notices, even before the man himself is aware of it, that there is suffering and a haunting sense of injury and incompleteness in him. A man suffering in this way is often driven to do idiotic things to cure the wound and ease the desperation he feels. Usually he seeks an unconscious solution outside of himself, complaining about his work, his marriage, or his place in the world.
The Fisher King is carried about in his litter, groaning, crying in his suffering. There is no respite for him—except when he is fishing. This is to say that the wound, which represents consciousness, is bearable only when the wounded is doing his inner work, proceeding with the task of consciousness which was inadvertently started with the wound in his youth. This close association with fishing will soon play a large part in our story.
The Fisher King presides over his court in the Grail castle where the Holy Grail, the chalice from the Last Supper, is kept. Mythology teaches us that the king who rules over our innermost court sets the tone and character for that court and thus our whole life. If the king is well, we are well; if things are right inside, they will go well outside. With the wounded Fisher King presiding at the inner court of modern western man we can expect much outward suffering and alienation. And so it is: the kingdom is not flourishing; the crops are poor; maidens are bereaved; children are orphaned. This eloquent language expresses how a wounded archetypal underpinning manifests itself in problems in our external lives.
THE INNER FOOL
Every night there is a solemn ceremony in the Grail castle. The Fisher King is lying on his litter enduring his suffering while a procession of profound beauty takes place. A fair maiden brings in the lance which pierced the side of Christ at the crucifixion, another maiden brings the paten which held the bread at the Last Supper, another maiden brings the Grail itself which glows with light from its own depth. Each person is given wine from the Grail and realizes their deepest wish even before they voice that wish. Each person, that is, except the wounded Fisher King who may not drink from the Grail. This surely is the worst deprivation of all: to be barred from the essence of beauty and holiness when just those qualities are right in front of you is the cruelest of all suffering. All are served except the Grail king. All are conscious that their very center is deprived because their king can not partake of the grail.
I remember a time when beauty was denied me in just this manner. Many years ago I was particularly lonely and at odds with the world during a trip to visit my parents for Christmas. My journey took me through San Francisco and I stopped at my beloved Grace Cathedral. A performance of Handel’s Messiah was scheduled for that evening so I stayed to hear this inspiring work. Nowhere is it better done than in that great building with its fine organ and master choristers. A few minutes into the performance I was so unhappy that I had to leave. It was then that I knew that the pursuit of beauty or happiness was in vain since I could not partake of the beauty even though it was immediately at hand. No worse or frightening pain is possible for us than to realize that our capacity for love or beauty or happiness is limited. No further outward effort is possible if our inward capacity is wounded. This is the Fisher King wound.
How many times have women said to their men: “Look at all the good things you have; you have the best job you have ever had in your life. Our income is better than ever. We have two cars. We have two and sometimes three day weekends. Why aren’t you happy? The Grail is at hand; why aren’t you happy?”
The man is too inarticulate to reply, “Because I am a Fisher King and am wounded and cannot touch any of this happiness.”
A true myth teaches us the cure for the dilemma which it portrays. The Grail myth makes a profound statement of the nature of our present day ailment and then prescribes its cure in very strange terms.
The court fool (and every good court has its resident fool) had prophesied long ago that the Fisher King would be healed when a wholly innocent fool arrived in the court and asked a specific question. It is a shock to us that a fool should have to answer to our most painful wound but this solution is well known to tradition. Many legends put our cure in the hands of a fool or someone most unlikely to carry healing power.
The myth is telling us that it is the naive part of a man that will heal him and cure his Fisher King wound. It suggests that if a man is to be cured he must find something in himself about the same age and about the same mentality as he was when he was wounded. It also tells us why the Fisher King cannot heal himself, and why, when he goes fishing, his pain is eased though not cured. For a man to be truly healed he must allow something entirely different from himself to enter into his consciousness and change him. He cannot be healed if he remains in the old Fisher King mentality. That is why the young fool part of himself must enter his life if he is to be cured.
In my consulting room a man barks at me when I prescribe something strange or difficult for him: “What do you think I am? A Fool?” And I say, “Well, it would help.” This is humbling medicine to accept.
A man must consent to look to a foolish, innocent, adolescent part of himself for his cure. The inner fool is the only one who can touch his Fisher King wound.
Excerpt from: "He: Understanding Masculine Psychology" by Robert A. Johnson. Scribd.
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