What we see in the development of the world-process, the original source of the changes in the Godhead, we see also in the individual. Parental power guides the child like a higher controlling fate. But when he begins to grow up, there begins also the conflict between the infantile constellation and the individuality, the parental influence dating from the prehistoric (infantile) period is repressed, sinks into the unconscious but is not thereby eliminated; by invisible threads it directs the individual creations of the ripening mind as they appear. Like everything that has passed into the unconscious, the infantile constellation sends up into consciousness dim, foreboding feelings, feelings of mysterious guidance and opposing influences. Here are the roots of the first religious sublimations. In the place of the father, with his constellating virtues and faults, there appears, on the one hand, an altogether sublime deity, on the other the devil, in modern times for the most part largely whittled away by the perception of one's own moral responsibility. Elevated love is attributed to the former, a lower sexuality to the latter. As soon as we approach the territory of the neurosis, the antithesis is stretched to the utmost limit. God becomes the symbol of the most complete sexual repression, the Devil the symbol of sexual lust. Thus it is that the conscious expression of the father-constellation, like every expression of an unconscious complex when it appears in consciousness, gets its Janus-face, its positive and its negative components. A curious, beautiful example of this crafty play of the unconscious is seen in the love-episode in the Book of Tobias. Sarah, the daughter of Raguel in Ecbatana, desires to marry; but her evil fate wills it that seven times, one after another, she chooses a husband who dies on the marriage-night. The evil spirit Asmodi, by whom she is persecuted, kills these husbands. She prays to Jehovah to let her die rather than suffer this shame again. She is despised even by her father's maid-servants. The eighth bridegroom, Tobias, is sent to her by God. He too is led into the bridal-chamber. Then the old Raguel, who has only pretended to go to bed, gets up again and goes out and digs his son-in-law's grave beforehand, and in the morning sends a maid to the bridal-chamber to make sure of the expected death. But this time Asmodi's part is played out, Tobias is alive.
Unfortunately medical etiquette forbids me to give a case of hysteria which fits in exactly with the above instance, except that there were not seven husbands, but only three, ominously chosen under all the signs of the infantile constellation. Our first case too comes under this category and in our third we see the old peasant at work preparing to dedicate his daughter to a like fate.
As a pious and obedient daughter (compare her beautiful prayer in chapter iii.) Sarah has brought about the usual sublimation and cleavage of the father-complex and on the one side has elevated her childish love to the adoration of God, on the other has turned the obsessive force of her father's attraction into the persecuting demon Asmodi. The legend is so beautifully worked out that it displays the father in his twofold aspect, on the one hand as the inconsolable father of the bride, on the other as the secret digger of his son-in-law's grave, whose fate he foresees. This beautiful fable has become a cherished paradigm for my analysis, for by no means infrequent are such cases where the father-demon has laid his hand upon his daughter, so that her whole life long, even when she does marry, there is never a true union, because her husband's image never succeeds in obliterating the unconscious and eternally operative infantile father-ideal. This is valid not only for daughters, but equally for sons. A fine instance of such a father-constellation is given in Dr. Brill's recently published: "Psychological factors in dementia præcox. An analysis."[160]
In my experience the father is usually the decisive and dangerous object of the child's phantasy, and if ever it happens to be the mother, I have been able to discover behind her a grandfather to whom she belonged in her heart.
I must leave this question open: my experience does not go far enough to warrant a decision. It is to be hoped that the experience of the coming years will sink deeper shafts into this still dark land which I have been able but momentarily to light up, and will discover to us more of the secret workshop of that fate-deciding demon of whom Horace says:
"Scit Genius natale comes qui temperat astrum,
Naturæ deus humanæ, mortalis in unum,
Quodque caput, vultu mutabilis, albus et ater."