A reflection on the symbolic life

The other day I came across a post about Nikola Tesla. It was one of those internet posts filled with diagrams, cosmic claims, and quotes about energy and vibration. Some of these posts exaggerate Tesla’s ideas. Some drift into speculation. Yet something about it caught my attention immediately.

It resonated.

I did not stop scrolling because I believed Tesla had secretly solved the mystery of the universe. What caught me was the language itself. Tesla once said something that has been shared across the internet for years:

“If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency, and vibration.”

Whether Tesla meant that as strict physics or poetic intuition is debated. But the idea itself is powerful. It suggests that beneath the surface of things there are patterns and rhythms moving through the world.

And the more I thought about it, the more it struck me that this idea of vibration and resonance is not only a principle in physics. It is also a way of describing how the symbolic life works.

When something resonates, we follow it.

The Soul Recognizes Patterns
Human beings constantly encounter information. Thousands of images, stories, and ideas pass through our minds every day. Most of them barely register. They pass through like wind through leaves.

But occasionally something stops us.

A line in a book.
A piece of music.
A conversation.
A work of art.
A dream.
A strange diagram about Nikola Tesla.

Something inside us pauses.

The Swiss psychologist Carl Jung spent much of his life trying to understand why this happens. Jung believed the human psyche is not random. It has deep structures that shape how we perceive meaning. He called these structures archetypes.

Archetypes are not learned from culture alone. They appear again and again across civilizations. They shape the images we respond to and the stories we tell. The hero. The wise guide. The divine child. The sacred tree. The journey into darkness and return into light.

When a symbol touches one of these deep patterns, the psyche responds instantly. Jung described this experience in many ways, but one of his most insightful statements appears in Man and His Symbols:

“Symbols are natural attempts to reconcile and reunite opposites within the psyche.”

A symbol carries energy because it connects different levels of our experience. It links thought, emotion, and imagination.

When that connection happens, the soul vibrates.

Resonance in the Physical World
In physics, resonance occurs when a system encounters the frequency that matches its natural structure. When the frequencies align, the response becomes powerful.

A singer can shatter a glass by matching the pitch at which the glass vibrates. A bridge can sway violently when a bunch of footsteps matches its structural rhythm. The energy being applied may not be enormous. What matters is alignment.

Tesla understood this principle deeply. Much of his work involved studying how electrical systems behave when frequencies match.

He believed that resonance was one of the most important principles in nature. Electrical currents, magnetic fields, and radio waves all behave according to rhythmic patterns. Tesla suspected that the entire universe might operate through similar structures.

His life was devoted to studying energy moving through systems of vibration.

Resonance in the Human Psyche
Jung discovered that something remarkably similar happens in the inner world.

When a symbol matches the deep structure of the psyche, it produces a psychological response that can be surprisingly strong. Jung described this as an activation of archetypal energy.

He once wrote in The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious:

“The archetype is a tendency to form such representations of a motif — representations that can vary greatly in detail without losing their basic pattern.”

In other words, the outer symbol changes, but the inner pattern remains the same.

This explains why certain images appear throughout human history. The tree of life appears in ancient myths, biblical literature, and modern dreams. The journey through darkness and into transformation appears in stories from every culture.

These symbols resonate because they correspond to something already present inside the psyche. The outer symbol and the inner pattern meet and when that happens, meaning emerges.

The Strange Power of Jesus’ Teaching
This idea of resonance also helps us understand something remarkable about the teaching of Jesus.

Jesus did not speak primarily in abstract philosophical language. He spoke through images that resonate with the deepest experiences of human life.

Seeds growing in soil.
Hidden treasure buried in a field.
A shepherd searching for a lost sheep.
A father running to embrace a prodigal son.

These stories are simple. Yet they have echoed through two thousand years of human history.

Why?

Because they resonate.

They speak directly to the symbolic structure of the human soul.

Jesus understood that truth often travels most powerfully through symbol. His parables are not merely moral lessons. They are symbolic maps of transformation.

The listener hears a story about agriculture or family life, but something deeper begins to stir beneath the surface.

The soul recognizes the pattern.

The Logos Beneath Reality
The Gospel of John begins with a statement that remains one of the most profound descriptions of reality ever written:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
— John 1:1

The Greek word used here is Logos. It means more than speech. It refers to the ordering principle through which the universe takes shape. The Logos is the pattern that brings form out of chaos.

Later in the passage we read:

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”
— John 1:14

This is a shocking claim. It suggests that the deeper pattern underlying reality itself took human form in the life of Jesus.

If that is true, then the reason Jesus’ words resonate so deeply is not accidental.

They resonate because they align with the deepest structure of reality.

His teaching vibrates at the frequency of the Logos.

The Kingdom Within
Jesus often spoke about the kingdom of God in ways that confused his listeners. People expected a political revolution or an external transformation of society. Instead Jesus pointed inward.

In Luke’s Gospel he says:

“The kingdom of God is within you.”
— Luke 17:21

At first glance that statement sounds mysterious. But through the lens of resonance it begins to make sense.

The kingdom is not simply a place. It is a pattern of life aligned with the deeper order of reality. When the soul comes into harmony with that pattern, something changes.

The early Christians described this transformation as new birth. Paul spoke of Christ being formed within the believer.

In Colossians we read:

“Christ in you, the hope of glory.”
— Colossians 1:27

In other words, the resonance of Christ is not only something we hear externally. It becomes something that awakens internally.

Paying Attention to What Moves Us
Living symbolically means paying attention to what resonates.

Most of the noise of modern life is just that...noise. News cycles, endless scrolling, and constant distraction can drown out the quieter movements of meaning.

Yet every once in a while something breaks through.

The symbolic life begins when we stop dismissing these moments and instead ask a simple question.

Why did this speak to me?

Often the answer reveals something about our current stage in life. Sometimes it exposes a question we have been carrying unconsciously. Sometimes it points toward a new direction.

The symbol becomes a compass.

Hearing the Hidden Symphony
Tesla listened for patterns of energy in the physical universe. Jung listened for patterns in the human psyche. Jesus invited people to align their lives with the deeper order of the kingdom of God.

Each of them, in their own way, was listening for the same thing.

A deeper harmony.

Perhaps the universe is not merely a machine. Perhaps it is closer to a symphony. Beneath the surface noise of everyday life there may be rhythms and patterns holding everything together.

And when we encounter truth, beauty, or meaning that resonates with the deepest part of our soul, it feels as if we briefly hear a note from that larger music.

The symbolic life is simply the practice of listening.

Tesla listened for patterns of energy in the physical universe.Jung listened for patterns in the human psyche.
Jesus invited people to align their lives with the deeper order of the kingdom of God.

Each of them, in their own way, was listening for the same thing.
​A deeper harmony.

Perhaps the universe is not merely a machine. Perhaps it is closer to a symphony. Beneath the surface noise of everyday life there may be rhythms and patterns holding everything together.

And when we encounter truth, beauty, or meaning that resonates with the deepest part of our soul, it feels as if we briefly hear a note from that larger music.

The symbolic life is simply the practice of learning to listen. Listening carefully enough to notice when something vibrates with meaning. Listening long enough to let that meaning unfold.
And having the courage to follow the vibration wherever it leads.

For years he served as the editor of Gnosis magazine, a journal devoted to exploring the hidden dimensions of spirituality. He's written books on topics ranging from magic and mysticism to the history of philosophy and the wisdom traditions of the world. In Inner Christianity he turns his attention to the faith that shaped the West, not in order to deconstruct it but to reveal its depths. His goal is not to dismiss traditional Christianity but to uncover what lies at its heart: the inner path of transformation.

At the center of Smoley’s argument is the claim that Christianity has always been a layered tradition. There's the outer layer that everyone sees, the world of creeds, rituals, church life, and dogma. And then there is an inner layer, the “secret of the kingdom” that Jesus himself referred to when he said, “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside, everything comes in parables” (Mark 4:11). Smoley writes, “Christianity, like every great religion, has both exoteric and esoteric teachings. The exoteric teachings are open to all; the esoteric are reserved for those who are prepared to hear them” (Inner Christianity, p. 7). He is careful to say that this is not about secrecy in the sense of exclusion, but about readiness. Certain truths cannot be forced upon the soul; they have to be awakened.

What makes this book especially compelling is Smoley’s ability to speak about the esoteric without slipping into obscurity (woo-woo). He insists that the real aim of Christianity is not primarily about securing a place in heaven but about "awakening" in the here and now. “The goal of the inner tradition,” he writes, “is to awaken a certain state of consciousness, a direct awareness of the presence of God” (p. 13). That statement resonates with me deeply. As a pastor and psychotherapist, I've often seen how faith falters when it is reduced to a set of beliefs to be affirmed or rules to be followed. People long for an encounter with God that feels real, not only on Sunday morning but in the quiet struggles of their daily lives.

Smoley’s treatment of prayer is a good example of his approach. He doesn't reduce prayer to asking for things, nor does he treat it as a mechanical duty. He sees prayer as a doorway into the presence of God. “The highest forms of prayer,” he notes, “are not petitions but contemplations, not words but silence. They're ways of opening the heart so that God may enter” (p. 145). This echoes the great Christian mystics like Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, but it also lines up with the simple teachings of Jesus: “When you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret” (Matthew 6:6).

Forgiveness, too, becomes central in Smoley’s vision. He writes, “Forgiveness is not merely an ethical demand; it is a spiritual necessity. To hold on to anger is to remain bound to the very thing you hate. Forgiveness is the key that opens the heart to God” (p. 157). In my own work with people, I've seen this again and again. Resentment can bind the soul like chains, while forgiveness can open a space where grace finally flows. Smoley reminds us that forgiveness is not weakness but strength, not forgetting but releasing, so that the soul can move forward.

The book also ventures into territory that may feel unfamiliar to some readers. Smoley makes use of texts like the Gospel of Thomas, which is not part of the New Testament canon. For instance, he cites the saying of Jesus from Thomas: “The kingdom of the Father is spread out upon the earth, and people do not see it” (Gospel of Thomas, Saying 113). Smoley interprets this as a reminder that the kingdom is not somewhere else but here, hidden in plain sight. He is not trying to replace the four Gospels but to widen our vision. As he says, “The esoteric tradition is not another religion. It is the inner dimension of the one we already have” (p. 20).

This is where Smoley’s work connects with depth psychology. Carl Jung argued that symbols like the kingdom of God point to realities in the psyche, to the Self as the organizing center of our wholeness. Smoley, though he does not always use Jung’s terminology, points in the same direction. He describes the inner path as the work of becoming fully alive to God’s presence within. “The inner Christianity,” he writes, “seeks to make us whole, to integrate our being so that the divine image in which we are made can shine through us” (p. 88). That sounds remarkably close to Jung’s description of individuation, the process by which we become whole persons.

Some readers may be cautious about Smoley’s willingness to draw on Gnostic or mystical sources. Yet even here, his approach is not reckless. He treats these sources as windows into the richness of early Christian thought, not as replacements for the Gospel. He makes clear that what matters is not collecting exotic texts but rediscovering the living Christ at the center of it all. “The purpose of esoteric Christianity,” he insists, “is not to give us secret information but to bring us into conscious union with Christ” (p. 115).

For me, Inner Christianity reads less like a set of arguments and more like an invitation. Smoley is inviting us to move beyond a surface Christianity into a faith that truly transforms. He's asking us to examine whether we are content with religion as a system of beliefs or whether we are willing to engage in the hard and beautiful work of awakening. He challenges us to recognize that the kingdom of God is not merely a destination but a reality that is always present, waiting for us to open our eyes.

The experience of meeting Smoley in person confirmed that this isn't just theory for him. He speaks with the same calm authority that he writes with, and he carries himself not as someone who has mastered the mysteries but as someone who's willing to keep exploring them. That humility, combined with his depth of knowledge, makes him a trustworthy guide.

For anyone seeking to deepen their Christian faith, to move from belief into experience, from outer forms into inner transformation, Inner Christianity is a book I highly recommend. It will not give you all the answers. What it will give you is a map, a set of signposts, and an encouragement to listen to the voice of Christ not only in history but in the depths of your own soul. And that, in the end, is what Christianity has always been about.

“Christ exemplifies the archetype of the God-man, the one in whom the opposites are reconciled” (Stein, p. 113).

This insight transforms the way we read Scripture. The Incarnation is not only a past event but a present reality. Christ is also within us, an image of the Self calling us toward wholeness. Paul said the same when he wrote, “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Col. 1:27). Jung simply provided a psychological vocabulary for what the church had long proclaimed.

The Cross as the Axis of Opposites
Jung also lingered over the Cross. For him, the Cross was not only about atonement. It was the ultimate symbol of integration. The vertical line of spirit pierces the horizontal line of time. Eternity meets history. Heaven collides with earth. Death meets life.

“The crucifixion expresses the integration of the most extreme opposites, a symbol of the Self par excellence” (Stein, p. 120).

This is why Paul could call the Cross both foolishness and power. The symbol makes no sense to reason alone. But for the soul it becomes the very pattern of transformation: to hold tension rather than flee it, to bear suffering until it yields new life.

Mary and the Feminine Dimension of Faith
One of the richest sections in Stein’s collection highlights Jung’s reflections on Mary. For centuries, Protestantism largely neglected Mary, while Catholicism elevated her so highly that she risked becoming untouchable. Jung saw in Mary the reemergence of the feminine in Christian imagination.

​The declaration of the Assumption of Mary in 1950 deeply moved him. For Jung, this dogma was more than a Catholic decree. It was a symbolic event in the collective psyche, acknowledging that the feminine belongs in heaven alongside the masculine. The Mother of God stands beside the Son of God. This, he thought, was a corrective to centuries of imbalance.

For those of us living in a church that still struggles with patriarchy, Jung’s insight is crucial. The psyche demands wholeness. The feminine cannot remain suppressed. In Mary we see that the soul itself longs for the embrace of both masculine and feminine.

Catholicism and Protestantism
Jung never shied away from comparing Catholicism and Protestantism. He saw Catholicism as rich in symbols and rituals that gave the psyche containers for its deepest energies. The Mass, the sacraments, the liturgical year... these were living archetypal forms.
​
Protestantism, by contrast, he found dangerously abstract. By stripping away images and rituals, Protestantism left the soul with little symbolic nourishment. It replaced living mystery with the sermon alone, which often failed to engage the unconscious.

This critique stings for those of us in Protestant traditions. But Jung’s point is not to shame. It is to remind us that the soul needs images, symbols, and rituals. Without them, faith becomes thin. For me as a Congregational minister, this means I cannot rely on words alone. I must also hold space for symbol, for silence, for sacrament, for the imagination to meet God.

The Trinity as a Psychological Symbol
Another striking area is Jung’s meditation on the Trinity. For centuries, theologians have debated its logical coherence. For Jung, the question was not logic but symbol. The Trinity reflects a deep psychic reality: the attempt to unite plurality and unity, to bring together Father, Son, and Spirit as one.
Yet Jung also saw the limitation. A trinitarian formula, he argued, remains incomplete because it excludes the shadow. A true symbol of wholeness, he thought, would be quaternity: four, not three. For this reason he interpreted Mary’s Assumption as the missing fourth, completing the symbol of divine wholeness.

Whether or not we agree, the insight is profound. God is not neat. God is whole. The psyche hungers for symbols that reflect totality, not partial truths. Jung challenges us to see doctrine not as math but as myth alive with meaning.

Revelation and the Shadow of God
Jung read the Book of Revelation with a seriousness many modern readers avoid. He did not treat it as a timetable of end-times events. He read it as a vision of the divine shadow. The raging beasts, the cosmic battles, the terrifying judgments and these, he argued, reflect the psyche struggling to integrate the darker side of God.

For Jung, Revelation was not predicting the end of history but enacting the inner drama of wholeness. The unconscious, he believed, was trying to show the church that even God must reconcile the opposites. Only then could creation be healed

This perspective may unsettle us, yet it resonates with the lived reality of faith. Anyone who has wrestled with suffering, violence, or injustice knows that pious words are not enough. We need a God who can hold wrath and mercy together. Revelation may terrify us, but perhaps it terrifies us into honesty.

Why This Book Matters for the Soul-Led Path
By now it should be clear that Jung on Christianity is not a simple book. It does not give easy answers. It forces us to see faith through new eyes. Christ as the archetype of wholeness. The Cross as the axis of life. Mary as the restoration of the feminine. Catholicism as a symbolic feast. Protestantism as a warning of abstraction. The Trinity as a living symbol of unity. Revelation as the shadow side of God.
​
Each theme stretches us. Each invites us to wrestle. And that is the point.

For me, this book is not just an anthology of Jung’s thoughts. It is a mirror of my own calling. My work as a minister, a therapist in training, and research on this subject has led me to help people wrestle with these questions...as one who has wrestled himself...

​To rediscover Christ not as a flat doctrine but as the living image of the soul’s wholeness. To see ritual not as dead tradition but as a vessel of divine encounter. To face shadow without fear. To let the feminine have her place. To trust that God is larger than our categories.

This is not redundancy. It is the deepening of a conversation. If earlier blogs explored Jung’s life or Christ as Self, this one takes us into the full symbolic treasury of Christian faith as Jung understood it. It is not about repeating themes but about expanding them.

Conclusion: Wrestling and Blessing
At the end of the day, Jung never abandoned Christianity. He wrestled with it. He questioned it. He fought with its dogmas and danced with its symbols. Like Jacob wrestling the angel, he walked away wounded, but he also walked away blessed.

That is what faith looks like. It is not easy answers. It is a struggle with the living God. But if you stay with it long enough, you discover what Jacob discovered: God is not out to destroy you. God is out to bless you.

And perhaps that is why Jung still matters. Not because he solved the riddle of Christianity but because he showed us how to keep wrestling with it until it speaks again.

Bibliography
Stein, Murray (Ed.). Jung on Christianity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999.