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What we mean by separatio
Separatio means cutting things apart in order to see what they are and how they work in Psyche. Alchemists described it as dividing earth from heaven, or fire from earth. They wrote: “Separate the earth from the fire, the subtle from the gross, suavely with great ingenuity.” That instruction describes a mental activity. We sort what happened from what we felt, the literal from the symbolic, the outer event from the inner reactions. When we do this, opposites reveal themselves and a space opens where we can think more clearly. That space supports the birth of a new viewpoint that holds tension without regressing into old habits. In therapy, this clarification often starts with the separation of subject and object. We stop merging with the person, fantasy, or complex that distorts our understanding. We learn to name our part and their part. We learn to sit between yes and no long enough for a third thing to appear. The ancient image of the Egyptian god Shu separating the sky from the earth captures the same symbolic act: a prior undivided field, we call the Massa Confusa, is sorted so that consciousness can emerge. When the differentiations are sustained, we become more distinct, less possessed, and more able to bear conflict within rather than project it outward.
Why separation stings
Every real cut has a cost. When Psyche presses for separatio, we feel it in the body as pressure, grief, or rage. Engaging the Self wounds our egoic pride and punctures our fantasies of control. The encounter often constellates humiliation, the uncomfortable realization that our usual stance no longer works. Jung wrote that the experience of the Self is always a defeat for the Ego. The defeat does not demand collapse. It requires an internal pivot of attitude. If we can stay with the inner ordeal, the raw force that the initial conflict begins to reveal its meaning. If this is held skillfully, the onslaught of instinct demands can become an experience of divinity, provided we do not flee it. It means we track a surge of feeling, accurately describe it, and contain it so we don’t act it out. We learn to suffer the cut with consciousness.
The sword: image of a true word
All cutting tools belong to the separatio category: sword, knife, scissors, and sickle. Psyche reveals this in dreams of blades that fail to cut or blades that cut too well. Over time, we can learn to use sharp discernment for clarity that may initially feel cruel. The gospel says, “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” That phrase links powerful ideas to the power to cleave. A powerful idea can sever a psychological distortion that keeps us small. Clear, courageous language exposes conflicts already present, which is why truth can set a household at war before it restores order on a higher arc. When slashing is blind, it ruins relationships. When it is thoughtful, it frees the person caught in sticky over-identifications. There are telltale signs: dreams of death that point to a needed parting, surges of hostility that precede a breakup, or scenes of two figures who know they must go their separate ways at dawn. We must accept that conflicts appear in direct proportion to our clarifying perceptions. We can come to trust the Logos‑Cutter to differentiate our inner life without malice. Clarity, then conflict, and finally a clean relationship or an unambiguous parting.
From fusion to relation: subject and object
Before the separatio cut, we may live in a state of participation mystique, a fused state that blurs the distinction between me and not-me. Separatio begins when we tease the strands apart. We learn self-inquiry that helps us differentiate what happened out there from what stirred in here. This alchemical axiom can help us distinguish between the concrete facts and our idiosyncratic meaning. Many practical dilemmas hide behind this confusion. A person determined to file for divorce may need an inner parting, not a legal filing. Once we sort the outer action from the inner psychospiritual task, our next steps become obvious. With each clean distinction, room opens for choice. This happens when we recall our projection and feel our own anger, envy, or longing. We need to place our issues inside ourselves and stop hammering on other people to make us feel better. Like skilled surgery, the perfect psychological cut is in service to the healing process. The Ego stops hiding inside self-service interpretations and meets the object as an autonomous other. That clarification can bring grief, because projections carry love and hope. The mourning that follows marks the withdrawal of fantasy from its host. What remains is smaller and truer, thus enduring. In this way, separatio builds a durable relationship to people and to reality.
Judgment, scales, and the crisis of value
Separatio always includes judgment. Apples of discord roll through our lives, forcing inappropriate comparisons. When our evaluations of others are distorted by archetypal possession, we can find ourselves starting wars with others. The Book of Revelation presents a frightening version of this: when archetypal values erupt from the depths, everything lines up for or against them. Vengeance rushes in from primordial levels, and our task is to hold the fire without acting it out. If we interpret these images psychologically, we can see a process where value descends into concrete life, liberating us from what no longer fits. If we can stand the pressure, the cut sorts out our loves, work, loyalties, and beliefs. If we evade the inner demand, the split constellates in the world as polarized conflict. The work is to conduct the judgment inside, long enough to reach a just measure that we can carry without violence.
Ego–Self dynamics: why the cut must return
Across a life, union with Self alternates with separation from it. The pattern repeats like a spiral. We move from inflation to alienation and, with luck, toward a conscious axis between Ego and Self. That tether allows closeness without confusion. Instructive images of the Ego–Self axis illustrate this movement as the Ego gradually establishes its own center while remaining connected to a larger center. The separation cut is not a one‑time event. We must return to it wherever fusion reappears, whether with an ideal, a group, a parent complex, or a god‑image. Each clean cut strengthens the link to Self. Each regression into fusion weakens it. When the ego-Self axis holds, we feel guidance that does not swallow us and can stand apart without losing contact. This rhythm keeps our inner work honest. We stop chasing permanent states and accept a practice of recurring distinctions that make dynamic relationships possible.
Clinical ground: what separatio looks like in a Jungian analysis
In analysis, talking is a prelude to encountering the Self. The real event occurs when something larger arrives, an experience that has substance and presence, and the Ego must respond to it. At that point, the energy becomes surgical. We must map our projections, sort our inner images from real people, and confront our romantic or heroic fantasies with facts. We need to discover the part that belongs to us and the part that belongs to the other or to the archetypal world. We treat intense affects as visitors from the transpersonal level. That stance can ease pointless blame and make room for accountability without shame. When rage, fear, or longing rises like an overwhelming weather front, we must learn to face it, name it, and demand its meaning. The cut that follows often happens in small acts: setting a boundary, ending a pseudo‑bond, or reclaiming a disowned capacity. Each act reduces inflation and frees energy for real work. The watchword stays the same: cut clean, avoid cruelty, and stay long enough with the wound for value to rise.
Union requires prior separation.
Despite common rhetoric idealizing union with Self or other, when the opportunity is presented, we often balk. That’s because preliminary work was not completed. Careful and even ruthless separation is necessary to prepare for union. If we get stuck in separation, we are caught in defining things but never moving on to synthesizing new attitudes. If we blend into union prematurely, we find ourselves regressing, which smothers growth. Modern culture presses us to swing from one to the other. A glimpse at social media provides innumerable examples of both. We can be helped by a sequence: identify and sort out the opposites at play in us and suffer the conflict they bring. Then we learn to carry both sides without collapse. Only then can a living third attitude appear that holds the pair together without erasing their difference. In that order, separatio protects union from the intrusion of distorting fantasies and protects the acknowledgement of difference from the poison of hatred. The work is ruthless and humane at once. We must refuse premature peace, even as we refuse permanent war. We keep the cut sharp, then we wait for a joining that does not cancel what the cut revealed.
Reading dreams and daily signs of separatio
Dream symbols of separatio often include blades, splits, twin figures parting, deaths that mark the end of a fusion, or scenes of departures. Sometimes the cutting energy presents as a failure to cut, or a dull knife, which tells us we need better contact with the Logos-Cutter of a clear, uncluttered mind. At other times, Psyche symbolizes the cut as judgment day or with eyes that see through disguises like the child in The Emperor’s New Clothes. In waking life, the same process appears as a sudden need to leave a role, to quit a false sense of belonging, or to tell a hard, medicinal truth. We are challenged to handle these signs with skill. Each morning, we practice this by recording our dreams, gathering associations, and separating concrete facts from symbolic meanings. Over time, this practice gives us a sense of the difference between a necessary severance and a reactive strike that we are likely to regret later on.
A field method for lawful cutting
Here’s a simple routine to use. First, name the pair of opposing ideas or feelings. Second, divide the levels. List outer facts in one column and inner meanings in another. Third, bear the heat. Sit for ten minutes with the strongest affect without acting it out. Let the image that matches the affect surface and think about it. Fourth, make one cut. Choose a small act that marks the separation you now see. This might involve setting a boundary, making a confession, accepting a delay, saying no, or saying yes. Fifth, review the result the day after and again after one week. If we adopt this practice, we discover that separatio thrives on rhythm and attention. The same approach works on personal ties, work dilemmas, and group over-identifications. Over time, we can learn to hold judgment without cruelty, grief without collapse, and truth without swagger. Eventually, the inner blade grows keen, the psychological hand grows steady, and the inner space created by the cut fills with relevant living meaning.
Edinger, E. F. (1985). Anatomy of the psyche: Alchemical symbolism in psychotherapy. Open Court Publishing Company
Here’s the Dream We Analyze:
I’d arranged a weekend away with a group of friends, including a close friend who died 15 years ago. The drive was several hours to a historic flood-prone town on the outskirts of the city. Friday’s peak-hour traffic would surely mean a stressful drive, yet it seemed at the same time distant and vague, since no one had bothered to read the fine print of the accommodation. Meanwhile, Friday arrived, and I was asked to make a compulsory yet unexpected presentation at work. I was part of a large staff assembly in a historic, formal courthouse. The judge’s bench was on my level and fitted with shielded, clear plexiglass, as is now common during the pandemic. Our Chief Executive Officer (CEO) sat comfortably in the spot of the judge. In contrast, each staff member (all teacher colleagues) needed to approach the bench and sit on clumsy, temporary folding metal chairs from the 1950s, arranged in diagonal rows in a kind of school debating team arrangement. My team was prepared, and we approached the bench, sat down, and took our positions. Rather than a professional presentation, it was as though we were students and needed to plead our case. The focus was on me since I was the lead spokesperson. The CEO was asking me relatively simple questions, and I answered. I realised, it seemed apparent to me, that the entire event was a polite, twee performance with constructed elements. Even the plexiglass was ineffective, with the sides exposed to me and everyone else from this particular angle. Confusion and drama swirled among the people in the room. In contrast, I had a very clear view of what was happening and could readily interpret the situation through the angled gaps in multiple layers of plexiglass. The room seemed cluttered, confused, and contrived. I was trapped, yet I sat comfortably, calm and composed, with a clear view. I was aware of the passing time and checked some details about our planned trip. I was confronted when I realised the accommodation did not accept any late arrivals. We need to find a way to get there earlier. I felt relieved since the anticipated rush of travelling out of town on Friday afternoon was a source of stress. I communicated with the group of friends, and we rescheduled our plans in order to arrive earlier, which was a huge relief. Meanwhile, the CEO kept asking me questions that were quite simple and patronising, designed for performing to an audience. I answered these questions, but I felt frustrated and bored, aware of the broader context of the audience and the purpose of the event. With this, the CEO unexpectedly climbed out and over the bench and proceeded to sit on my lap. He was a large, elderly man with authority; however, he nestled into me like a child. I took it all in my stride and cradled him. I was not particularly uncomfortable, but still a little taken aback and confused. I felt like “the grown-up in the room” and immediately took charge to steer the event and the day to a swift conclusion so I could get out of there and begin my trip away. The CEO continued with his performance for the entire staff, all the while sitting on my lap like a child. I felt trustworthy, reliable, and in charge, but I had no desire to continue due to the general dysfunctionality of the setup and dynamics. The clumsy folding metal chairs, the ineffective plexiglass shield, and most everything else were either old-fashioned and unsuitably conventional or were poorly conceived, planned, and/or implemented. It was not stressful or frustrating since I was excited in anticipation of my travel plans. The weekend would start earlier than planned. I woke up feeling refreshed and in a good mood.
