Observing the Vessel

The vessel is the sealed container where the mysterious process of alchemical transformation takes place. It is what holds the prima materia, protecting raw matter from the influences of the outside. In alchemy, the vessel is not just a laboratory tool, but a fundamental container for transforming matter—a prerequisite for attaining the elusive alchemical gold by transmuting that which is still raw and unprocessed, the base materials.

In traditional alchemy, a proper vessel has a few key characteristics. First, it must be well sealed: vas bene clausum. This is perhaps the most important—if the vessel were not properly sealed, substances could leak out or the entire vessel could become contaminated. In such an instance, no transformation could take place. A proper vessel must also be able to withstand extreme temperatures, in particular intense heat, a necessary component of transforming base materials. Finally, the physical nature of the vessel is very important. Usually made of glass, effective vessels must be at least partially transparent, so the alchemical process can be observed from the outside. This observational component of alchemy is fundamental. The process of transformation must be carefully observed. This was as much a part of alchemy as the active material engagement—the various stages of transformation must be carefully noted. And so we get the famous alchemical terms: the blackening, whitening, yellowing, distillation, calcification—the list goes on.

The vas remains one of the most important concepts in the Jungian alchemical renewal, where Jung came to view alchemy not just as a physical process, but a symbolic methodology of turning the soul’s raw material into gold. Thus the alchemists were not just engaged in work, but in soul-work, a projection of the psyche onto the alchemical laborings. All of this was done within the vessel, which acted as the container for working with the material of the psyche. By observing the happenings of alchemical transformation through the window of the vessel, the alchemists slowly transformed their own souls. The opus was just as much within as it was an actual labor out there in the world.

With this in mind, let us turn to the psychological implications of observing the vessel. Again, observing the process of transformation was incredibly important to the success of alchemy. If the process of alchemy mirrors the process of individuation—as Jung suggested—then it follows that observing the soul’s movement towards wholeness is equally fundamental. Indeed, much of the conscious work of soul-making could be seen as less of an active labor and more of a process of careful observation. Soul is made through work—in the broadest sense—but is realized through observation. Watching the soul means watching this transformation in real time.

Here a reader may object—why should we watch the process of individuation if it happens regardless? True, transformation does happen behind closed doors, even if the doors are never once opened. Wounds are mended naturally, complexes are unwound before they are even realized, traumas heal with the passage of time. And yet all this happens unconsciously. In such instances we are not observers, let alone participants. Instead, psychic life passes us by. The ego is reduced to a shadow of the unconscious psyche—a shadow of a shadow. We do not live life, but life lives us, like Camus’ Stranger. Under the illusion of control, we believe we are the masters of our house, and that the ego is the vessel. The alchemists knew better.

Observing the vessel—in this case the whole psyche—allows for active participation in the soul’s independent journey. Watching the images of the soul allows for the deepening of events into experiences, as Jung so often emphasized. Then the process of transformation is not lived as a distant event but experienced as meaningful and personal. Observing the vessel allows us to watch our soul. In doing so, we may learn to align ourselves with it, like the alchemist aligns himself with the happenings in his small but mighty vessel. Like the soul observing itself through self-reflection, the alchemist too is both the observer and the focus of observation. He watches the vessel, but also is the vessel—like the dreamer observing his dream or quantum physicist observing a particle. Sometimes, as the alchemists knew well, the act of observation is enough to instill changes. For the psyche, awareness is enough.

Witnessing the soul at work evokes psychological faith—faith in the soul and its mystery. We may come to appreciate that the psyche is always laboring, always engaged in transformation behind the curtain. Perhaps this is why it is so often seen as immortal. Alchemy too has its immortality: the elixir of life, the symbol of spiritual perfection, the transformation of the raw material of the psyche into enduring divine form. But to receive the powers of the philosopher’s stone one must be at work in the alchemical process. One must be laboring out there in the world. We do not need the literal practice of alchemy for soul-making; life itself acts as the opus. The soul is polished by the grit of the world. And because the soul is not just in motion, but the source of motion itself, it has psychological immortality—enduring essence. For that which is always in movement is immortal, says Plato in the Phaedrus. The work of the human soul is never done. So long as someone is there to observe the toil—to watch the vessel—the process of individuation is eternal.