Circumstances have accumulated in my life recently—one thing after another, this and that, here and there, expected and unexpected—circumstances that led me to think about a story, the story of the Rain Maker. Down through he centuries, this story has ridden the currents of time almost as if it longs to be told again, to be kept alive. Or, maybe, to keep us alive.
Stories are like this. They drift through time, events, catastrophes, celebrations, traumas, wars, natural disasters, seasons of harvest, seasons of death, defeats, victories—but always our marvelous attempts to make sense of life.
The classic form of a good story is known to all of us. It begins with an introduction of characters, the places they live, maybe something about their history, always the affairs of life that prompt a mini-drama which leads to a climax, and then a conclusion of victory, defeat, or something in-between that might possibly suggest a sequel.
So here I was reminded again of the story of the Rain Maker. These reminders may come in different guises. Sometimes, the reminder is an image, sometimes the personality of a character, on occasion it may be the circumstances of the fictional lives that remind us of our own circumstances having to do with work, family, health, a crisis in faith, a retirement, a new job, an accident, or a sinking feeling of despair. Then on some occasions, in a really good story there comes an "a-ha!," an insight or inspiration that makes life glimmer again by opening portals to the unexpected.
Thinking again of the Rain Maker, I suppose my mind marched through many of those experiences, holding on to some of them and pushing others away. But like all memorable stories, they are memorable because they vibrate with an archetypal energy that rises from the depths of our unconscious. This is what makes some stories so powerful. They swim in the collective unconscious, the deepest level of our psyche, the neurological substrate of our minds where archetypal themes have been "stored" for centuries.
The story of the Rain Maker resides there in the psyche waiting. Waiting for what? Like all stories, the events in our lives prompt the awakening of the story. And so it is with my recalling the Rain Maker. I will first tell you the story and then suggest the events in our life today that sparked the re-surfacing of this remarkable, archetypal story.
But first, a little background. The Rain Maker was a favorite story of Carl Jung. It was told to Jung by Richard Wilhelm, the son of a missionary couple who took it upon themselves to visit China in the early 20th century, motivated by a strong missionary impulse not, as they readily confessed, not to convert the Chinese but to support the villages in any way they might. They admitted they took great care not to convey any attitude of superiority or a desire to change the religious practices of their hosts.
So it was that their son, Richard Wilhelm, embraced the Chinese culture early on in his life. Apparently, his thoughtful experiences led him to become interested in the psychology of Carl Jung. So he took it upon himself to visit Zurich and meet the emerging prominent psychiatrist whose interests in world mythologies and fairy tales struck a chord of recognition in the young Wilhelm's experience, and interests. Thus it was that Carl Jung first heard the story of the Rain Maker from Wilhelm himself. It made such an impact that he told the story repeatedly to people attending his seminars. The accounts of these experiences shared a somewhat humorous description of how Jung would often say to his audience, "Have I told you the story of the Rain Maker," to which they would respond, "No, never heard it," and Jung would then tell the story again as if for the first time. So here is the story.
There was a great drought where Wilhelm lived; for months there had not been
a drop of rain and the situation became catastrophic. The Catholics made
processions, the Portestants made prayers, and the Chinese burned joss sticks
and shot off guns to frighten away the demons of the drought, but with no
result. Finally, the Chinese said: We will fetch the rain maker. And from
another province, a dried up old man appeared. The only thing he asked for
was a quiet little house somewhere, and there he locked himself in for 3 days.
On the 4th day clouds gathered and there was a great snowstorm at the time
of the year when no snow was expected, an unusual amount, and the town was
so full of rumors about the wonderful rain maker that Wilhelm went to ask the
man how he did it. In true European fashion he said: "They call you the rain
maker, will you tell me how you made the snow?" And the little Chinaman said:
"I did not make the snow, I am not responsible." "But what have you done these
3 days?" "Oh, I can explain that. I come from another country where things are
in order. Here they are out of order, they are not as they should be by the
ordnance of heaven. Therefore the whole country is not in Tao, and I am also
not in the natural order of things because I am in a disordered country. So I
had to wait 3 days until I was back in Tao, and then naturally the rain came."
The story draws us into the trauma faced by the villagers, followed by the resolution of the crisis, a resolution made possible a most unlikely hero in a most surprising manner. Who is this "dried up old man?" What does he mean that he was not responsible for "doing" anything? And, to our western ears, what in the world does he mean when he speaks of the Tao?
Of course, we all understand that this story must be held in the tension activated when a symbol meets literalism. Was it literally a snowstorm, or a symbolic reference to the mediation of conflict and a "happy ending?" But let us not neglect another level of reality, profound but out of sight. That is the reality of the archetypal powers that reside in the deepest levels of our psyche, the "collective unconscious" as Carl Jung would remind us.
And it is only by moving our understanding of this story to the deeper levels of our consciousness that a profound realization comes to us. It is the realization that at this time in our society when we face the great danger of a narcissistic personality assuming control of the levels of power in our government, at this time of great danger when a madman wishes to become a dictator, how are we to grasp the profound seriousness of this moment if we do not look deep within ourselves to understand this precarious moment. Politics, economics, and social psychology do not take us deep enough.
So... where is the lantern that might cast light on the danger we face? Perhaps it is the Tao introduced to us by the dried-up, little old man from another province. To the Tao we will turn in our next writing.
Stories are like this. They drift through time, events, catastrophes, celebrations, traumas, wars, natural disasters, seasons of harvest, seasons of death, defeats, victories—but always our marvelous attempts to make sense of life.
The classic form of a good story is known to all of us. It begins with an introduction of characters, the places they live, maybe something about their history, always the affairs of life that prompt a mini-drama which leads to a climax, and then a conclusion of victory, defeat, or something in-between that might possibly suggest a sequel.
So here I was reminded again of the story of the Rain Maker. These reminders may come in different guises. Sometimes, the reminder is an image, sometimes the personality of a character, on occasion it may be the circumstances of the fictional lives that remind us of our own circumstances having to do with work, family, health, a crisis in faith, a retirement, a new job, an accident, or a sinking feeling of despair. Then on some occasions, in a really good story there comes an "a-ha!," an insight or inspiration that makes life glimmer again by opening portals to the unexpected.
Thinking again of the Rain Maker, I suppose my mind marched through many of those experiences, holding on to some of them and pushing others away. But like all memorable stories, they are memorable because they vibrate with an archetypal energy that rises from the depths of our unconscious. This is what makes some stories so powerful. They swim in the collective unconscious, the deepest level of our psyche, the neurological substrate of our minds where archetypal themes have been "stored" for centuries.
The story of the Rain Maker resides there in the psyche waiting. Waiting for what? Like all stories, the events in our lives prompt the awakening of the story. And so it is with my recalling the Rain Maker. I will first tell you the story and then suggest the events in our life today that sparked the re-surfacing of this remarkable, archetypal story.
But first, a little background. The Rain Maker was a favorite story of Carl Jung. It was told to Jung by Richard Wilhelm, the son of a missionary couple who took it upon themselves to visit China in the early 20th century, motivated by a strong missionary impulse not, as they readily confessed, not to convert the Chinese but to support the villages in any way they might. They admitted they took great care not to convey any attitude of superiority or a desire to change the religious practices of their hosts.
So it was that their son, Richard Wilhelm, embraced the Chinese culture early on in his life. Apparently, his thoughtful experiences led him to become interested in the psychology of Carl Jung. So he took it upon himself to visit Zurich and meet the emerging prominent psychiatrist whose interests in world mythologies and fairy tales struck a chord of recognition in the young Wilhelm's experience, and interests. Thus it was that Carl Jung first heard the story of the Rain Maker from Wilhelm himself. It made such an impact that he told the story repeatedly to people attending his seminars. The accounts of these experiences shared a somewhat humorous description of how Jung would often say to his audience, "Have I told you the story of the Rain Maker," to which they would respond, "No, never heard it," and Jung would then tell the story again as if for the first time. So here is the story.
There was a great drought where Wilhelm lived; for months there had not been
a drop of rain and the situation became catastrophic. The Catholics made
processions, the Portestants made prayers, and the Chinese burned joss sticks
and shot off guns to frighten away the demons of the drought, but with no
result. Finally, the Chinese said: We will fetch the rain maker. And from
another province, a dried up old man appeared. The only thing he asked for
was a quiet little house somewhere, and there he locked himself in for 3 days.
On the 4th day clouds gathered and there was a great snowstorm at the time
of the year when no snow was expected, an unusual amount, and the town was
so full of rumors about the wonderful rain maker that Wilhelm went to ask the
man how he did it. In true European fashion he said: "They call you the rain
maker, will you tell me how you made the snow?" And the little Chinaman said:
"I did not make the snow, I am not responsible." "But what have you done these
3 days?" "Oh, I can explain that. I come from another country where things are
in order. Here they are out of order, they are not as they should be by the
ordnance of heaven. Therefore the whole country is not in Tao, and I am also
not in the natural order of things because I am in a disordered country. So I
had to wait 3 days until I was back in Tao, and then naturally the rain came."
The story draws us into the trauma faced by the villagers, followed by the resolution of the crisis, a resolution made possible a most unlikely hero in a most surprising manner. Who is this "dried up old man?" What does he mean that he was not responsible for "doing" anything? And, to our western ears, what in the world does he mean when he speaks of the Tao?
Of course, we all understand that this story must be held in the tension activated when a symbol meets literalism. Was it literally a snowstorm, or a symbolic reference to the mediation of conflict and a "happy ending?" But let us not neglect another level of reality, profound but out of sight. That is the reality of the archetypal powers that reside in the deepest levels of our psyche, the "collective unconscious" as Carl Jung would remind us.
And it is only by moving our understanding of this story to the deeper levels of our consciousness that a profound realization comes to us. It is the realization that at this time in our society when we face the great danger of a narcissistic personality assuming control of the levels of power in our government, at this time of great danger when a madman wishes to become a dictator, how are we to grasp the profound seriousness of this moment if we do not look deep within ourselves to understand this precarious moment. Politics, economics, and social psychology do not take us deep enough.
So... where is the lantern that might cast light on the danger we face? Perhaps it is the Tao introduced to us by the dried-up, little old man from another province. To the Tao we will turn in our next writing.
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