I continue this series of articles on the theme of self-sacrifice by turning to its most radical expression: the sacrifice of our desire for an easy and carefree life. Another way of saying the same thing is to stop resisting pain and to mature.
I will begin with a quotation from Jung, because self-sacrifice is a central element of the process of individuation and a fundamental condition for the union of opposites. Although Jung spoke extensively on this subject, in Daryl Sharp’s lexicon the definition of self-sacrifice is given precisely through the following quotation:
“One must give up the retrospective longing which only wants to resuscitate the torpid bliss and effortlessness of childhood… For him who looks backwards the whole world, even the starry sky, becomes the mother who bends over him and enfolds him on all sides, and from the renunciation of this image, and of the longing for it, arises the picture of the world as we know it today.”
— CW 5, §646
If we do not overcome our resistance to embodiment and pain, we suffer from the negative expressions of the archetype of the Eternal Child (Puer Aeternus). Conversely, coming to terms with this resistance helps us to become whole by integrating the other pole of the duality—the archetype of the Old Man (Senex) with his wisdom.
Although this explanation may sound clear and simple, I personally came to understand it more deeply only after reading Liz Greene’s book The Astrological Neptune and the Quest for Redemption. For it is precisely the longing for Paradise that constitutes the essence of the Neptunian longing for redemption. The irony is that redemption occurs through self-sacrifice, yet true self-sacrifice consists in sacrificing this very longing for redemption itself.
Neptune’s urge toward fusion requires the renunciation of an independent identity. The body is the first great declaration of independent existence, since birth irrevocably ends the time in the Garden of Eden. Our skin defines us and creates a barrier against the mother, and the attempt to live in the body is what ultimately separates us from her.
I have heard many people with Venus–Neptune and Moon–Neptune contacts in the natal chart express this feeling by complaining that during the sexual act the body “gets in the way,” preventing the attainment of a state of complete fusion with the other. For many people, sex is the closest approximation to the experience of primal union. Yet despite penetration, the physical reality of the body still performs its separating function. The only place where two hearts can truly beat as one is the womb.
The desires of the body also separate us, because they define subject and object—the one who desires and the one who is desired. Desire brings with it the unbearable experiences of rejection, disappointment, frustration, and loneliness when it is inadequately met or not met at all. Neptunian redemption lies in a return to unity; unity requires the sacrifice of the separate ego, and the body appears to be the great archetypal culprit that refuses to relinquish its hold on autonomous existence.
Personal desires of every kind likewise become scapegoats, since within our gain lies someone else’s loss, envy, or anger. Thus we pretend that we no longer want. Yet all of this is barter, because there is always an implied “payment” and a visible goal: Paradise at the end of the thorny path. Jung further suggests that ordinary giving, for which there is no return, feels more like a loss than a path to redemption.
Self-sacrifice must also feel like a loss, since the claims of the ego do not operate in the act of giving. Christ’s cry on the cross—“Why hast Thou forsaken me?”—is the moment of true self-sacrifice. If we sacrifice with the hope of salvation, then there is no real cause for anxiety, because we still retain our stake in a possible reward. One might even suggest that only when a person relinquishes all claims to the lost Paradise can any true self-sacrifice begin. Paradoxically, what must be relinquished is the hope of redemption itself.
“True” self-sacrifice therefore involves the offering of oneself without hope of redemption, either through the act or through the recipient. I believe this is the deeper meaning of Neptune: what must be relinquished is not our happiness or the things in life that give us joy, but rather the bargain we secretly make in the hope that someone else will redeem us.
This is why Neptune transits so often reflect a time when we feel able to give as never before, yet are denied any reward for our giving. Usually this barter has been deeply unconscious, and the Neptune transit finally brings this dynamic into conscious awareness. What remains after Neptune’s flood is Neptune itself.
What remains is a naked self—vulnerable and unmasked, yet paradoxically wiser and stronger for having uncovered its own manipulativeness.
— Liz Greene, The Astrological Neptune and the Quest for Redemption
∗Translation from Bulgarian; this passage does not reproduce the original English wording verbatim.
