The archetype of fate is personified in the Greek mythological pantheon by three primordial goddesses—known as the Fates, or Moirai—said to be either the daughters of Ananke, the goddess of Necessity, or daughters of Night and Erebus. Sometimes they are even the daughters of Zeus. In fact, the question of their parentage, like that of many other gods and goddesses, remains inconclusive. This is because the psyche is inconclusive. It does not follow the same linear dualistic logic that human life follows. The psyche is infinite. It moves in all directions and is paradoxical—through its imaginal products it shows multiple faces and dimensions at one and the same time. As instinctual matter composed of psyche, the archetypes and their images are likewise intertwined with one another, often tightly conjoined, which results in an almost incestuous family line where everyone is related to everyone else. My area of focus will be on the Fates as they are portrayed in Plato’s myth of Er because, in my opinion, it gives us the most direct information possible about the mythical and religious expressions of the archetype of fate.
In the myth of Er, we are given the image of a huge shaft of light in the middle of the heavens. Inside this light, a massive woman, the goddess of Necessity sitting upon her throne, is holding a giant spindle from which is dangling eight nested whorls all rotating at different speeds and in different directions. The nested whorls create a flat surface upon which are found eight sirens, and, at equal distances along this same surface, the three Fates, each sitting upon a throne of her own. The sirens are all emitting a single note at perfect pitch and are furthermore moving in the direction and at the speed of their respective whorl. Together, they make one full octave, the famous music of the spheres. Using the thread from their mother’s spindle, the three goddesses weave the fate and destinies of reincarnating souls returning to life on earth. They are called Lachesis (lot or portion), Klotho (to twist and spin), and Atropos (un-turned, inflexible). The goddesses also sing as they work, Lachesis about the past, Klotho about the present, and Atropos about the future. The returning souls are given a lot by Lachesis, they then choose an image of a life (human or animal) and, under her supervision, also choose a daimon, or guardian angel, to accompany them for the duration. Next, they go to Klotho where the lot/image is twisted, knotted, ratified. Last, they meet Atropos who makes this choice irreversible by cutting the thread. The souls are then required to pass under the throne of Necessity and through the river of Lethe (forgetting) at which point their memories are wiped, whereas the daimon remembers (and carries) the soul image and so pushes the individual toward living out that pattern. This daimonic urging is what the Romantics named “the call of the heart.”
The thrones on which the goddesses sit suggest the idea of sovereignty. All four goddesses are considered to be Kore figures, unmarried, contained unto/within themselves, untouched, unassailable, located in a liminal sphere outside the space of mundane affairs. The etymology of the word Ananke connects her to ideas of angst, anxiety, and servitude to a higher power as in a yoke, a noose, or a neckband/collar of a slave. In all images, she is portrayed as stern, and immovable. The Fates, too, stand apart and, as triple moon goddesses, they suggest the passage of time through cycles of the moon and the three stages of a woman’s life—maiden, mother, crone. This may also symbolize the way the psyche itself lives life in stages of growth and decay. There is ultimately no doubt about the connection between time as an autonomous force and the fate encountered in life—it is wrapped on all sides by the temporal reality of death. The sirens are interesting. To my knowledge, nowhere else are sirens and the Fates shown working together so explicitly. Sirens are liminal threshold creatures whose song can either bewitch and destroy or elevate and exalt the soul, depending upon the character of the hearer. This adds a wonderful twist to the story, for James Hillman also explains that the way in which we imagine the events of our lives, those of childhood, for example, has a determining effect upon what we get. If we imagine a history of abuse we unwittingly enact and give rise to a victimized consciousness that is hampered by its own (limiting) imaginal thrust. I believe the sirens point to this subtlety of fate: how we see our fate directly influences the end result which can be psychological growth or rancid destruction. This is why the stoic philosophers encouraged the adoption of a practice called amor fati—the love of one’s fate. It would seem that fate is somewhat in our own hands, too, because, crucially, we are allowed to choose our daimon, which means we are allowed to choose how we imagine the life we are living. Our character, which is to say, our level of consciousness, is the deciding factor while our imagination is the key to freedom.
Considered psychologically, the goddesses point to the nature of the objective psyche, which is autonomous, ambivalent, mysterious, unknowable, a force unto itself. It has its own agenda, which is to keep the (cosmic) psychological action moving along. These forces are unmoved by outsiders just as complexes and archetypal forces are unmoved by egoic willpower. This is, in effect, C. G. Jung’s definition of god and points to why he believed that the unconscious together with its contents, the primordial archetypes, are essentially religious factors. Jung wrote that words such as “god” or “daimon” are synonyms for the unconscious (1989, p. 337) explaining further that “we cannot tell whether God and the unconscious are two different entities. Both are borderline concepts for transcendental contents” (Jung, 1952/1969, p. 330, [CW 11] para. 757). Indeed, it is precisely their evocative and overpowering compulsion that designates archetypal images as emissaries of a religious purpose that keeps life in motion, just as the goddesses of fate periodically reach down and rotate the whorls of the spindle of Necessity, keeping the cosmos (here, an imaginal expression of the objective psyche) in motion. In my view, this is the most significant aspect of fate—that, like the psyche, like god, it is an inescapable sovereign power. The etymology of the word, from the Latin, fata, suggests the idea of a word spoken—in the sense of a decree—by the gods. Thus, a decree of fate, the spoken word of the gods, cannot be avoided, re-turned, or undone. We are tied up in our fate, and this is often felt like a heavy burden since it brings with it inescapable limits and boundaries to which the heroic human ego is loath to submit.
Perhaps the most famous portrayal of the Fates in the arts comes to us through the immortal genius of Shakespeare (2014). The Weird Sisters in Macbeth are taken directly from mythical images of the Fates contained in Raphael Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Scotland, and Ireland published in 1577. Here, the Fates are portrayed as primeval liminal figures with the ability to prophesy. Holinshed likens them to fairies from a nonhuman netherworld which, in Scottish lore, are considered to be decidedly unwelcome harbingers of doom. Just as nonhuman archetypal forces (the gods) can act upon consciousness and compel it (through overpowering and numinous imaginal compulsions) to do its bidding, the Weird Sisters assail Macbeth with a series of images of personal power that set him upon a bloody path of murder leading to his ultimate demise. This is how the objective psyche works—through fantasy images—and Shakespeare’s portrayal of this psychological process is uncanny. First, he shows the immediate experience of anxiety Macbeth viscerally registers upon encountering the Weird Sisters and their prophecy. Banquo notices: “Good sir, why do you start, and seem to fear/Things that do sound so fair?” (1.3.51-52). These archetypal figures appearing in a storm are clearly up to no good—Macbeth rightly responds with anxiety. Yet he cannot withstand their power and quickly goes from resistance to the idea of regicide planted in his mind: “that suggestion/whose horrid image doth unfix my hair” (1.3.134-135), to resignation and planning: “if it were done, when ’tis done, then t’were well/it were done quickly” (1.7.1). Here we see fate as an archetypal power depicted and experienced as an inexorable outer force working upon the human mind in unavoidable ways. The Weird Sisters thus symbolize the constraints imposed by an archetypal image when it is constellated in the psyche, i.e., the archetypal definition of fate.
It is noteworthy that Macbeth is Shakespeare’s most consistently performed play. It is obviously very much alive and relevant to contemporary culture. But in 1606 when it was first written, as now, the play’s enduring fascination lies squarely within the province of the Weird Sisters. They are the source of all fascination since they convey the inescapable archetypal reality every person secretly and intuitively grapples with: that my fate and I are intertwined in an irrevocable web of events and outcomes and that there is nothing for it but to embrace this truth and manifest destiny, whatever that may be. There is a sense of intensity and severity about the Weird Sisters and about fate in general which gives us pause. These images show the way the unconscious as “god” is an outside force that is not necessarily well-disposed toward us. We are put on notice that only through a combination of awareness about our own character (conscious versus unconscious status) and a humble sort of subservience to powers beyond our control can we come away somewhat unscathed. For the gods crucially grant us the power of imagination—our daimon, the carrier of our soul-image—and with those penetrating soul-eyes, we can imagine our way into a locus of humility where love and generosity become the highest ideals for a realized character.
References
Jung, C. G. (1969). Answer to Job (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.). In H. Read et al. (Eds.), The collected works of C. G. Jung (Vol. 11, 2nd ed.). Retrieved from http://www.proquest.com (Original work published 1952).
Jung, C. G. (1989). Memories, dreams, reflections. New York, NY: Vintage Books.
Shakespeare, W. (2014). Proudfoot, R & Thompson, A, & Kastan, D. S. (Eds.). The Arden Shakespeare complete works. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Publishing.
