What did Jung mean by Daemon?

When I began reading Jung as a young man, the concept of "daemon" piqued my interest in particular. I interpreted it as an inner, autonomous force that drives one's creativity—something I had no difficulty relating to. Since then I have thought of it in that way and have personally—at least in my journals—used the term in this sense.

Daemon came to mind again now, as I am working on a short essay about the personal myth. I thought: But isn’t this essentially the same as daemon? This bothered me so much that I temporarily paused my essay to do some research. What did Jung actually mean by daemon?

Lexicons

The first thing I did was what I usually do when I want a definition of a Jungian concept—consult Daryl Sharp’s Jung Lexicon. I was surprised to find that "daemon" was not an entry. I then turned to my second Jung lexicon, Helmut Hark’s Jungianska grundbegrepp (Lexicon Jungscher Grundbegriffe), but it wasn’t there either. Since I personally value the concept so highly, I was quite surprised. I took out Jung’s Psychological Types and flipped through the “Definitions” section—but no, not there either.

Jung’s Collected Works

I brought out the index of his Collected Works and started browsing. It turned out that Jung typically uses the term daemon—with variations of spelling—rather loosely. He often employs the word in passing, as if everyone already knows what he means. Somewhat frustrating for me, as I was searching for clarity.

However, my subsequent research suggests that Jung most certainly based his use of the term on Socrates’ daemonion—a divine, personal, and guiding force. The concept experienced a renaissance in the 19th century, I found, and was well-known among academics in the early 20th century. Consequently, Jung did not need to explain the term to his contemporaries, given that he was referring either to Socrates’ daemonion or, more commonly, to some kind of demonic, compelling force. (A prime example: “The will to power is surely just as mighty a daemon as Eros, and just as old and original.” [CW 7, par. 42.]) A defining feature of Jung’s use of daemon in the "Socratic" sense is its teleological quality; the daemon "wants" something and drives the individual toward it.

If we take a closer look at how Jung used daemon in his collected works, aside from its strictly Socratic meaning or as a paraphrase for something demonic (such as the power of an archetype), he speaks of daemon as an inner “demon” that drives a person toward unfortunate destinies (CW 4, par. 727); an archetype (in general) that drives a person and with which one risks identifying (CW 4, par. 744); a force that overturns our rigidified life, making it a ”traitor” to the ego (CW 5, 553); a decisive force that comes over a person like fate (CW 9ii, par. 51); the Self as a daemonion (CW 9ii, par. 356, and CW 11, par. 154); a force greater than ourselves that drives us toward individuation, which we cannot shape or force (CW 13, par. 437); the “genius” or creativity of a promising child, likened to “a divine daemon” (CW 17, par. 244).

Finally, in The Development of Personality (CW 17, par. 300-302), Jung states that “the true personality” is always about “a calling,” a “divine law” one must follow “as if it were a daemon whispering in one’s ear.” “That is why the legends say that he possesses a private daemon who counsels him and whose mandates he must obey.” The calling is like “the voice of the daemon.”

From his collected works, one can conclude that daemon for Jung is an often compelling driving force in human life, linked to individuation, calling, and creativity. Depending on the specific nature of the daemon and the individual’s relationship to it, this driving force can lead to the realization of one’s true personality or the destruction of one’s life, according to CW 17.

This underlying drive is an archetype that must be understood as particularly prominent in a person’s life; one might say that it is the principal idea of his or her life. This understanding of daemon is, in other words, closely related to the concept of “the personal myth,” for this revolves around or is driven by a certain archetype—which we may call daemon?

Jung’s Autobiography

In the concluding chapters of his autobiography Memories, Dreams, Reflections, “Late Thoughts” and “Retrospect,” Jung speaks more candidly about daemon. He describes man’s often numinous experience of the other within himself, something he does not understand and cannot escape (p. 368). It is evident that it does not originate from our conscious personality but from something outside of us. Since, by definition, we know nothing about the unconscious, Jung argues that concepts such as God, mana, or daemon are adequate to describe the experience.

He thus mentions God and mana alongside daemon; all three denote an invisible, overpowering force that affects a person positively or negatively, regardless of any objections he or she may have. The words used to express this fundamentally unknown force operating in our lives naturally vary, but I get the impression that Jung here suggests that daemon is the psychological concept, while God is the religious one, and mana the (in our cultural context) philosophical one.

A few pages later, Jung describes how an individual, as a result of his personal, inner experience and secret, is driven by a necessity he himself does not comprehend and which seems predestined (p. 376). He must yield to it in order not to become neurotic (p. 377).

“The man, therefore, who, driven by his daemon, steps beyond the limits of the intermediary stage, truly enters the ‘untrodden, unreadable regions,’ where there are no charted ways and no shelter spreads a protecting roof over his head.”

He then continues, discussing the terrible conflict that arises in a person who is, on the one hand, driven by his daemon into the unknown and, on the other, wishes to fit into the group and obtain its security. Here it becomes clear how Jung envisions daemon as, once again, an unstoppable inner driving force connected to—or even initiating—the individuation process. This force is amoral in relation to the individual; it does not take into account the conscious mind’s attitude, ability, or life situation and leads him or her into a conflict he or she were previously unaware of. Thus, this autonomous driving force is “demonic.”

On pages 381-392, he links the concepts of “life instinct,” daemon, and “archetype” as closely related but not synonymous terms:

“The instinct comes to us from within, as a compulsion or will or command, and if—as has more or less been done from time immemorial—we give it the name of a personal daemon we are at least aptly expressing the psychological situation. And if, by employing the concept of the archetype, we attempt to define a little more closely the point at which the daemon grips us, we have not abolished anything, only approached closer to the source of life.”

In the next and final chapter of the book, “Retrospect,” Jung explicitly states that these experiences of daemon are also his own and hints at its demonic nature (pp. 389-390):

“I have had much trouble in living with my ideas. There was a daemon in me, and in the end its presence proved decisive. It overpowered me, and if I was at times ruthless it was because I was in the grip of the daemon. … A creative person has little power over his own life. He is not free. He is captive and driven by his daemon.”

“But the daemon manages things so that one comes through, and blessed inconsistency sees to it that in flagrant contrast to my ‘disloyalty’ I can keep faith in unsuspected measure.

Perhaps I might say: I need people to a higher degree than others, and at the same time much less. When the daemon is at work, one is always too close and too far. Only when it is silent can one achieve moderation.  

The daemon of creativity has ruthlessly had its way with me.”

To avoid ending on too dark a note, we may note that Jung, on the very next page, speaks of how rich his life has been—implicitly as a consequence of this inner driving force.

We also see how Jung, at least in his own case, connects his daemon to his creativity—and we know that Jung’s creativity was nearly unparalleled; not only through all his books and essays but also his paintings, seminars, sculpture, and the explosion of creativity that The Red Book alone represents. His daemon, which drove him to all of this, was truly great.

Conclusion

After this compilation, it becomes clear that with daemon, as a psychological concept, Jung refers to an inner force—often overpowering for many—in the form of an archetype that drives a person in a creative direction, which can therefore be regarded as predetermined.  

This archetypal driving force is connected to the individuation process, as the daemon initiates it (possibly through a calling) and appears to function as a kind of life instinct aimed at realizing the true personality.

I would like to add, considering the starting point of this study, that daemon can indeed be seen as the archetype behind the personal myth; after all, the myth that seeks to unfold in our lives also has an underlying driving force that seems to have precisely the goal described above. However, regarding the question of the personal myth, Jung is even vaguer in his writings, so I rely on other Jungians when expressing myself in this way.  

At the same time, there is a point in not calling the driving force behind the personal myth daemon, since we do not want to fill it with an already established concept. The personal myth is something we want to find, identify, and name ourselves—just as Jung, for example, is said to have expressed that Faust was his personal myth.

Personal Reflection

I was thus surprised that neither Sharp nor Hark saw the daemon as sufficiently central to Jung's theories to include it in their respective lexicons. Then I was surprised that Jung did not elaborate on the concept of the daemon in his collected works, particularly not in Two Essays of Analytical Psychology, which was the first of Jung's works I ever read—an experience I will never forget! I could have sworn that my understanding of the concept originated from there and was almost certain that he had an entire chapter devoted to it. It just goes to show how memory can play tricks on us. The daemon is not mentioned, in the understanding we have established here, at all in those two essays.

It must have been Memories, Dreams, Reflections, the second book by Jung I read (over thirty years ago), that caused such a strong internal reaction in me regarding the ”daemon.” Then memory apparently created its own narrative.

So, what was it about the daemon that made such a deep impression? I recognized my own daemon’s driving force as early as my late teens. I knew what I wanted to do, I knew what I had to do, and I was constantly doing it—I wrote. But this caused a conflict with my surroundings. No one understood this drive within me; the expectations of those around me were to conform. My writing was assumed to be a "hobby,” nothing to take seriously. But it wasn’t play; it was a necessity.

This was a conflict I have wrestled with—to a greater or lesser extent—all my life. Writing would periodically consume all my energy. I also produced enormous amounts of text, feverishly writing at night during the same critical period of my life when I should have been establishing myself in the world—with studies, career, housing, and so on.

When you’re young and have a strong daemon that no one understands or, so to speak, respects, you feel alienated; this is often followed by self-doubt, listening to others, and perhaps accepting that there must simply be something wrong with you after all. A daemon’s calling also means that you appear to set yourself apart, expecting special privileges, and so forth—at least in the culture I grew up in. Society tends to want you to fail, pull yourself together, and fall in line. Having a calling can seem enviable, but only if the calling fits the environment you are in. Otherwise, it becomes more of a curse.

I remember one night speaking with a young woman in her small apartment. We were eighteen or nineteen years old, and my life wasn’t going so well. She, on the other hand, was brilliant. She would later become a doctor. But back then, we were at that age when one often asks: What will I become as an adult? She looked at me: ”Do you know what you want to do?” I nodded slowly: ”Yes, I want to write.” She smiled: ”How wonderful it must be to know what you want to do!” I lowered my gaze and said nothing. I had a foreboding feeling.

Shortly thereafter, when I read about the daemon in Jung’s autobiography, a fire ignited in my chest. I understood exactly what he was talking about (at least that’s how I felt) and experienced a sense of recognition and confirmation of some kind, something I had missed so much. According to my experience, Jung had a phenomenal and unique ability, in my private space, to put words to and explain the vital things happening within me.

My daemon and I have wrestled ever since. Sometimes he’s been in the driver’s seat, novels written at a furious pace—which meant I was poor; sometimes I’ve been in the driver’s seat, as I cannot afford to be poor—which resulted in ”neurotic symptoms”; other times I’ve found some form of balance, like when, as a parent of young children, I drowsily wrote a novel for a few months on the commuter train to and from work. But now I’m getting old enough, with both books and children behind me, so to speak, that we may finally find a long-term compromise that works for both of us.