The Alchemy of Salomé: The Missing Archetype at the Heart of Jung’s Depth Psychology

Last November, I gave a lecture to the Comox Jung Society that centred around the archetypal figures of Salomé and Sophia.  In the talk, I invited the audience to engage with Salomé not through the lens of Victorian morality or judgment, but as a living archetype, relevant and vital in the 21st century. As our culture grapples anew with questions of gender, sexuality, power, and creativity, Salomé offers a lens through which to re-imagine the necessities of female individuation.

The Mystery Play (The play of opposites)

In the Red Book, Jung referred to his initial visions of Salomé and Elijah as “The Mystery Play”.

In his profound encounter with these two figures in active imagination, Jung entered the deepest visionary space he had ever dropped into. In the past, he’d had visions that took him to depths of about one thousand feet, but “this time it was a cosmic depth. Like going to the moon” (Jung, 2009, p. 177, n. 161)

It is noteworthy that in Jung’s vision, Salomé goes straight for love, asking it of Jung and offering it to him just as she went straight for love with the prophet Jokannahan (John the Baptist) in Oscar Wilde’s play entitled Salomé.

In the end, Jung made a distinct decision not to love Salomé. He decided to stay in the more comfortable realm of intellect and spiritual power epitomized in the figure of Elijah, the prophet. However, the pair remained at the center of his life’s work, which culminated with Mysterium Coniunctionis, a work he was engaged in for nearly a decade and finished in his eightieth year. Jung shows an extreme preference for Elijah in his theory, writing, and own inner work. In Memories, Dreams, Reflections, he states that he turned toward Elijah because he seemed the most “reasonable,” and that he was “distinctly suspicious” of Salomé. Soon after the visions, another figure arose for Jung that “developed out of the Elijah figure” (p.182), whom he named Philemon. It is not unusual for a figure to shape-shift or evolve as one enters deep active imaginal states over time.  Jung describes Philemon as a “guru” to him and states that he was quite real; they took walks up and down the garden. Jung worked with Philemon as a trusted guide throughout his life. There is no record of ongoing active imaginations with Salomé, and in fact, there are no references to her in his collected works, compared with over thirty references to Elijah. 

Salomé as Shadow of the Collective 

How might Jung’s life and theories have been different if he had afforded Salomé the same kind of dignified status that he gave to Elijah? Not working with the anima figure Salomé in his inner world may have forced him to project her and meet her as fate in the external world, thus forcing the women in his life to carry this intense inner anima figure that never had a chance to evolve as Elijah had. The inner figures also individuate as we do through active imagination with them. The Salomé figure did not individuate, as Jung cast her off early on. 

The biases and anxieties of the early 20th century shaped psychological practice and theory. Society repressed archetypal figures that threatened established moral or gender boundaries. Salomé, bearer of forbidden knowledge, rage, and sexual power, was both alluring and dangerous. In her, Jung encountered not just his personal shadow, but the shadow of the collective.

Salomé in Contemporary Context: A Living Symbol 

It is essential to look at Salomé symbolically – not literally – both in the biblical story, Jung’s Red Book, and in the play Salomé by Oscar Wilde. 

Salomé is a living symbol that has depths far beyond surface reactions. She is a portal to energies and possibilities far beyond the contexts in which we initially find her.  When we take Salomé out of the patriarchal context of the male gaze, we find that she is offering a direct line to something ancient, alive, vibrant, and vital.  

Salomé Demands Love 

The latter rage and dissolution of Salomé, in Wilde’s play, is due to her refusal to live by the rules of a kingdom where there is no love, where desire is fused with violence, and where all that is good is turned toxic.  Salomé says no to this world. She says, “In a world without love, I give you back your death. I give you back your violence. I choose freedom. I choose liberation even if it takes me all the way to my own death because the mystery of love continues beyond death.”  

If we can uncover and embrace the Salomé energy in our own psyches, we can walk away when there is no love, no real connection, no desire, no vibrancy, no life force, and no eros. We can still hold those we leave behind in love but no longer give them power over our own lives: our failed institutions, our failed governments, our failed marriages, and our failed families. We walk on past those who are blind to their own violence and unconsciousness—even if they are our fathers, sisters, friends, partners, parts of our own shadow— we walk on with confidence into the unknown. And in the leaving, the sacrifice itself makes the ground sacred again.  It changes the relational field and is the only hope for reconciling opposites. 

Together, Salomé and Elijah represent the most extreme of opposites: female/male, pagan/Christian, soul/spirit, eros/logos, young/old. When we are willing to leave or cut ties, we find within ourselves the love needed to transcend the opposites. Salomé is like the goddess Kali, destroying and creating possibilities simultaneously. Perhaps the greatest tragedy in the play is that Salomé is trying to find love and have her needs met through the external world.  Of course, we all try to do this—until, if granted a moment of grace, we realize that our deepest needs can only be met through the inner world. Wilde’s play reveals the death coniunctio that inevitably occurs when we seek love, saving, or spiritual knowledge through a human “other.” 

Living from the Body

I've come to love Salomé for her rage, her confusion, her “histrionics.” She is the only one in the Kingdom searching for the real, following her impulses and asking for what she wants, whether she understands it or not. She is the only one expressing vulnerability, following, and living from her body and desires. She is the only one dancing for the seen and unseen worlds. She is young, but she sees through the veil to the violence, to the rape of the feminine, and she takes a stand, and that stand is a portal to a new world.