"Everything is Queer To-day":

Lewis Carrolls Alice Through the Jungian Looking-Glass

I
Of all Victorian childrens stories that are enjoyed equally by children and
adults, none is more popular than Lewis Carrolls Alices Adventures in
Wonderland (1865) and Through the Looking-Glass(1872).1 More than any other
piece of literature written for children during the Victorian period, Alice in
Wonderland (as the tales together are generally called) has spawned a seemingly
never-ending academic industry; and, although Carroll also wrote other
childrens books (The Hunting of the Snark (1876) and the Sylvie and
Bruno books (1889 and 1893) are the most notable), the interest in the Alice
books far outweighs the interest in the other books. Alice in Wonderland has been
analyzed from virtually all critical points of view.2 The Freudian approach has
been applied many times, starting at least as early as 1933 with a piece by A. M.
E. Goldschmidt (see Phillips, Aspects of Alice 279-82). Carroll himself receives
the Freudian treatment in Phyllis Greenacres Swift and Carroll: A
Psychoanalytic Study of Two Lives (1955). The Jungian approach, too, has been
tried on Alice in an article called Alice as Anima : The Image of Woman in
Carrolls Classic, published in Aspects of Alice . Although much that Judith
Bloomingdale says is on the mark, she is not convincing in making Alice the
anima. Alice may be, for Carroll, an incipient image of the anima, but she is far
more, as Bloomingdale herself demonstrates and as I hope my own analysis will
show.3
One Freudian critic goes so far as to declare: It is impossible to gain
conscious understanding of the life of Lewis Carroll or of the meaning of his
written fantasy unless a psychoanalytic approach is used (Skinner 293).
Although much nonsense has been written using the psychoanalytic approach,
the approach itself is valid. At the same time, it leaves many psychological issues
unexplored. In The Spiritual Problem of Modern Man, Jung writes: If
anything of importance is devalued in our conscious life, and perishes--so runs
the law--there arises a compensation in the unconscious (86). Jungian criticism
attempts to account for the collective appeal of a classic like Alice in
Wonderland. It asks, For what that is lacking in the contemporary collective
psyche does the work compensate? An account for such appeal or compensation
cannot be entirely provided by an examination of the authors life, however
provocative and interesting that life is--and Carrolls life is certainly an
interesting case study. First generation Jungians like Marie-Louise von Franz

(in Puer Aeternus ) and Barbara Hannah (in Striving Towards Wholeness ) do
examine in tandem the lives and works of literary artists, but Jung himself
warned against the reduction of art to personal factors. Such a reduction
deflects our attention from the psychology of the work of art and focuses it on
the psychology of the artist . . . the work of art exists in its own right and cannot
be got rid of by changing it into a personal complex (Psychology and
Literature 93). In other words, the work of art is independent of and greater than
its creator. It may tell us much about the artist, but ultimately, if it is to endure, its
appeal must be collective--visionary, to use Jungs term (ibid. 89).
Having said this, I must add that a brief examination of Carrolls life can
provide clues as to how he was uniquely suited to produce his classic. Like
Edward Lear, Carroll in some respects fits the profile of the puer aeternus as
outlined by von Franz in Puer Aeternus. He seems to have had a mother
complex; further, as one Carroll scholar states, he had a reluctance to commit
himself, to become in any way tied down (Gattgno 215), and this is another
puer trait. As a puer aeternus, Carroll had a certain kind of spirituality which
comes from a relatively close contact with the collective unconscious (von
Franz 4); Carroll was ordained a deacon, albeit he never became a priest.
Stephen Prickett points out some surface similarities between Lear and Carroll:
Both were shy and sensitive bachelors; both were afraid of dogs;
both were of an analytic state of mind--Carroll indexed his
entire correspondence, which, by his death had 98,000 crossreferences. Both were marginal kinds of men, if in very different
senses. (130)
Like many of the authors whose work I have examined, both Lear and Carroll are
social outsiders. Although both shared some of the same friends (among them
some of the Pre-Raphaelites and the Tennysons), no one has found any record of
either man referring to the other, though both pioneered the nonsense
genre.4 Both were visual artists. Carrolls photography and drawing were
avocations, whereas Lears paintings provided his livelihood and he illustrated
his own books, as Carroll did not. Unlike Lear and the typical puer, Carroll
hardly ever traveled abroad (he made one trip to the Continent in his lifetime).
And he was different from the typical puer as described by von Franz in that he
was neither a homosexual, so far as we know, nor a Don Juan.
Lear was a homosexual. Carroll, on the other hand, was a heterosexual
pedophile who collected little girls like so many dolls and who lost his
stammer in their presence. A famous photographer, Carroll abruptly gave up

photography in 1880 after having practiced the art for some twenty-four years.
He gave no explanation, but one reason may have been gossip about and
resistance to his photographing pre-pubescent girls in the nude. After 1880 he
continued drawing them in the nude (Clark 208). His nephew and first
biographer, Stuart Dodgson Collingwood, records that Carroll always took
about with him a stock of puzzles when he travelled, to amuse any little [female]
companions [he detested little boys] whom chance might send him (407). To
pretend that Carrolls predilections were not in part sexual is extremely nave (see
Gattgno 82 and Greenacre 245-46).
Carrolls sexual orientation provided a powerful motive for his creative work.
His remaining child-like as an adult also gave him entre into the psyche of the
child. Moreover, he had, like Lear, a nature somewhat akin to the Native
American berdache. In his inventions of puzzles, riddles, and games, in his visual
art, in his appeal to children, and indeed in his name-giving function (both for
himself and for such characters as Jabberwocky and the Bandersnatch), Carroll
fulfilled the role of the berdache. The adult Carroll disapproved of transvestite
parts [in the theater], though only when it involved a mans being dressed as a
woman (Gattgno 226), but at about the age of seventeen or eighteen he drew a
curious picture as the frontispiece to a family magazine called The Rectory.
The Rectory Umbrella shows a bearded man with an almost Cheshire-cat grin
lying down on one elbow. He is dressed, as Greenacre points out, as a little girl,
the skirt suggesting the appearance of a closed umbrella (131). Hes holding an
umbrella on which are the words Tales, Poetry, Fun, Riddles, Jokes. Overhead,
six little sexless imps are trying to rain down chunks of Woe, Spite, Ennui,
Gloom, Crossness, and Alloverishness. Rushing through the air and to the safety
under the umbrella are seven female fairies bringing Liveliness, Knowledge,
Good Humour, Taste, Cheerfulness, Content, and Mirth (Greenacre 130-31).
The cross-dressed mans resemblance to the berdache in this drawing is striking,
all the more so because it is no doubt unconscious.

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson's drawing for The Rectory Umbrella (c. 1849-50).

In physical appearance Carroll resembled a berdache far more than did Lear,
who wore glasses and had a great Victorian beard. Not only was Carroll cleanshaven, but also, Greenacre writes, As he grew older, his face became more
feminine in cast, an effect possibly enhanced by his wearing his hair rather long.
His effeminacy was sufficiently obvious that some of his less sympathetic
students once wrote a parody of his parodies and signed it Louisa Caroline
(166) Although Greenacre believes there is no expression of frustrated paternity
in Carroll, as a child there was something of a motherly or older sisterly quality
in his care for and entertainment of the young children in his family.
Furthermore,
there was a slightly feminine cast to his charming thoughtfulness
--his interest in tiny things, his patient arrangements of puppet
theatricals, and his protectiveness toward small animals as well
as small sisters. (222)
It is possible the young Lewis Carroll exhibited so-called feminine traits even
earlier, like the famous Zuni berdache WeWha (Roscoe 33). Greenacre believes
Charles . . . had much in his nature that suggests the Victorian woman (22223). And Camille Paglia declares: Carrolls spiritual identity was thoroughly
feminine (547). Furthermore, Paglia says, Carrolls Alice books introduced an
epicene element into English discourse that . . . flourishes to this day (549). It

seems clear that in his personal appearance, in his personality and psyche, in his
persona as a writer of nonsense books, and in the books themselves, Carroll fits
the archetype of the berdache.
Carroll also fits the archetype of the Trickster, which Ive discussed at length
in my article on Lear. Karl Kernyi writes in his commentary on Paul Radins
study of the Winnebago Trickster cycle that the Trickster could be defined as the
timeless root of all picaresque creations of world literature (176), and what are
the Alice books if not picaresque?
There is another figure in the myths of some Pueblo Indians that resembles
Lewis Carroll--Thinking Woman. In his Pueblo Gods and Myths , Hamilton A.
Tyler quotes nineteenth-century anthropologist John M. Gunn, who wrote a book
about the Acoma and Laguna Pueblos, on Thinking-Woman: Their theory is that
reason (personified) is the supreme power, a master mind that has always existed,
which they call Sitch-tche-na-ko. This is the feminine form for thought or
reason (qtd. by Tyler 90-91). Another anthropologist, L. A. White, reports that at
the Santa Ana Pueblo Thinking Womans function was to scheme or plan, and
that an Acoma Indian said, She must have been quite small, for she sat on
Iatikus [the Corn-Mothers] right shoulder during her contests with her sister and
told her what to do (qtd. by Tyler 91). The form she takes is that of a spider. One
cannot help but be reminded of the Gnat in Through The Looking-Glass, which
William Empson believes gives a touching picture of Dodgson himself (274).
The Gnat tries to help Alice develop a sense of humor: Thats a joke. I
wish you had made it, he tells her (Oxford Alice 155; all references to the Alice
books are to this edition). Here the Gnat exhibits a Trickster trait--an attempt to
bring humor to the serious little girl. Like Thinking Woman, Carroll excelled in
reason, even as he spun out so-called nonsense tales for children. Significantly, in
Western culture thinking has been designated a masculine function, yet here it
is embodied in a rather androgynous storyteller, the protagonist of whose tale is a
little girl.
Then there is the matter of the storytellers name. Many critics and scholars
make the point that there were really two men. 5 One was named Charles
Lutwidge Dodgson. He was the oldest son (and third child) in a family of eleven
(seven girls, four boys), whose father was himself a clergyman. Born in
Daresbury (in Cheshire) on 27 January 1832, Dodgson had a happy childhood
until he was sent to Rugby. There, although he did well in his studies, he was
bullied and miserable. His experience at Rugby probably began his hatred of
little boys, which got worse as he grew into middle age. Shortly after he entered
Christ Church, Oxford, at the age of nineteen, his mother died. One biographer
remarks that Dodgson was profoundly affected by his mothers death, although

he tended to hide his feelings (Clark 66; another scholar, I should note, disagrees.
Humphrey Carpenter declares: it is very striking how little impression
Dodgsons mothers death seems to have made on him, 47). He lived at Oxford
the remainder of his life (till, that is, 14 January 1898), becoming a Student
(the Christ Church term for Fellow) and a lecturer in mathematics (until 1881).
Under the name of Dodgson he published works on mathematics and logic.
In 1856 Edmund Yates, editor of The Train, a small magazine in which
Dodgson had published some poetry, chose the pseudonym Lewis Carroll from a
list of four submitted by Dodgson. The name is a reversal and variation of
Charles Lutwidge (Gattgno 229). It was, of course, as Lewis Carroll that the shy,
stammering Oxford lecturer became famous as the author of Alices Adventures
in Wonderland and other stories for children. Had Lewis Carroll not possessed
the unique psyche Ive outlined, had he not become friends with the four Liddell
children (Harry, Lorina, Alice, and Edith, children of the Dean of Christ Church),
had he not fallen in love with Alice, and had Alice not urged him to write down
the stories he told the children, the world probably would never have become
acquainted with Alice in Wonderland . All artists who produce visionary work-work stemming from the collective unconscious--have a particular psychological
makeup or complex that allows them to produce such work. Only a person with
the Dodgson/Carroll psyche writing in the Victorian age could have produced the
Alice books. I quite agree with Derek Hudson that Alice in Wonderland owes its
unique place in our literature to the fact that it was the work of a unique genius,
that of a mathematician and logician who was also a humorist and a poet (128).
What accounts for its wide and lasting collective appeal is what I intend to
examine in the following pages.
II
William Empson comments: Wonderland is a dream, but the Looking-Glass is
self-conscious (257). While I agree, nevertheless, both are cast as dreams, and
indeed the question of dreams, whos dreaming what, is Alice only a sort of
thing in the Red Kings dreams (Oxford Alice 168), is important to both books.
At the end of Looking-Glass, Alice shakes the Red Queen into her own kitten.
She questions the kitten:
Now, Kitty, lets consider who it was that dreamed it all.
. . . You see, Kitty, it must have been either me or the Red King.
He was part of my dream, of course--but then I was part of his
dream, too! Was it the Red King, Kitty? (ibid. 244)

And the first-person narrator--far more prominent in Looking-Glass than

in Wonderland --leaves the answer up to the reader: Which do you think it
was? The book ends with the same dream motif in an acrostic poem based on
Alice Liddells name: Alice Pleasance Liddell. I quote the last three stanzas:
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream-Lingering in the golden gleam-Life, what is it but a dream?6 (Ibid. 245)
One is reminded here of Poes poetic question Is all that we see or seem/But a
dream within a dream? (10). Jung himself observes:
A typical infantile motif is the dream of growing infinitely small
or infinitely big, or being transformed from one to the other--as
you find it, for instance, in Lewis Carrolls Alice in Wonderland.
But he emphasizes that the motifs hes been discussing must be considered in
the context of the dream itself, not as self-explanatory ciphers (Man and His
Symbols 53).
As I have noted in my book, The Stuff That Dreams Are Made On,
whenever an imbalance in the psyche is struck . . . [an] individual
may . . .
have archetypal (as opposed to merely personal) dreams and fantasies
that
are trying to compensate for the imbalance. The same applies to
communities
(which always have a collective consciousness). If a large group of people
have
an imbalance in their collective consciousness or their collective
unconscious, then
archetypal images will appear in myths, in folk tales, and in more formal
literature. (3)

The questions to ask about Alice in Wonderland, then, are What are the
archetypal images it contains? and For what collective imbalance do they
compensate?
The story about how Alices Adventures under Ground (as the story was first
called) was first spontaneously composed on a boating excursion with the Liddell
sisters suggests that the initial version of the story arose directly from
unconscious sources (Gardner, Alices Adventures under Ground v). Later, of
course, the story went through several revisions, revisions that added much
conscious material and included conscious shaping. The fact that both Alice
books became so popular and have remained so suggest, further, that the images
in them are indeed archetypal.
As Ive already conceded, Alice may be an image of the anima for Carroll
himself, and perhaps for the Victorian age at a very elemental level--a question I
shall return to. More importantly, Alice represents the archetype of the child.

Photo of Alice Liddell as a beggar

girl, by Lewis Carroll, date unknown.

Jungian analyst James Hillman writes: Puer figures often have a special
relationship with the Great Mother, who is in love with them as carriers of the
spirit (Senex and Puer 24-25). The puer, the archetype of the child, became
extremely popular during mid-nineteenth century England, even as lower-class
children were victims of horrible labor conditions and middle- and upper-class
children victims of repressive and sexist education. Victorian concepts of the

child, writes Nina Auerbach, tended to swing back and forth between extremes
of original innocence and original sin; Rousseau and Calvin stood side by side in
the nursery (42). Furthermore, Victorians saw little girls as the purest members
of a species of questionable origin, combining as they did the inherent spirituality
of child and woman (ibid. 32). Tracing the cult of childhood in his book by
that name, George Boas claims by the nineteenth century the identification of
the child with primitive man was complete (102). He finds the cult of childhood
especially strong in the mores of North American societies: If adults are urged
to retain their youth, to think young, to act and dress like youngsters, it is
because the Child has been held up to them as a paradigm of the ideal man (9).
These attitudes outlined by Auerbach and Boas account in part for Alices appeal
in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. (Empsons comment that Dodgson
envied the child because it was sexless (260) seems not only pointless but also
false.)
Harold Bloom comments: It is a truism of criticism to remark that the child
Alice is considerably more mature than any of the inhabitants of Wonderland
(3), but that does not mean the Alice books are not stories of initiation or that
Alice does not learn from the other characters. On the conscious level, Alice in
Wonderland , like the nonsense poetry of Lear, was a refreshing contrast to the
improving childrens literature of the time. 7 Although in general Carroll is far
more conscious, more concerned with cognition than is Lear, both nonsense
writers compensate for Victorian hyperrationalism. As a child, Alice is closer to
the archetypes of the collective unconscious than adults are. The child motif,
Jung writes, represents the preconscious, childhood aspect of the collective
psyche (The Archetypes 161). Furthermore, the child is a symbol which unites
the opposites; a mediator, bringer of healing, that is, one who makes whole
(ibid. 164). There are plenty of opposites in Alice in Wonderland , from the red
and white roses to the black and white kittens to the Red Queen and the White
Queen, whom Queen Alice symbolically unites as they fall asleep on her lap
(Oxford Alice 230-31). The laughter of nonsense itself is healing, as I show in my
Lear article. It is as if Carroll is unconsciously telling his adult readers that they
have much to gain from becoming child-like. 8 The fact that Alice is indeed more
mature than the other characters and that she is able to use the thinking function
(traditionally a male function in Western culture) is another indication she is a
symbol of wholeness, or at least potential wholeness, what Jung calls the Self.
Jean Gattgno observes: There is no mention of God in either of
the Alice books. . . . there is no justification for any, even indirect, Christian
interpretation of Alices adventures . . . [yet] Carroll had an extraordinary
sensitivity about all things religious (232). However, since the Alice books are

visionary in Jungs use of the word, since they are drawn from the collective
unconscious, they are numinous. They are a kind of myth for the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries. Jung writes:
It is a striking paradox in all child myths that the child is
on the one hand delivered helpless into the power of terrible
enemies and in continual danger of extinction, while on the
other he possesses powers far exceeding those of ordinary
humanity. This is closely related to the psychological fact
that though the child may be insignificant, unknown, a mere
child, he is also divine.
Furthermore, Myth . . . emphasizes . . . that the child is endowed with superior
powers and, despite all dangers, will unexpectedly pull through. . . . [The child] is
a personification of vital forces quite outside the limited range of our conscious
mind . . . (The Archetypes 170). Clearly, Jungs comments could have been
made about Alice in Wonderland.9
Alices tasks are to build her ego, to expand her consciousness, to realize her
Self, her personal myth. The child, Jung says, represents the strongest, the most
ineluctable urge in every being, namely the urge to realize itself (ibid.). The
opposite sides of her divided personality (symbolized by her conversations with
herself) need to be united. Her nearly drowning in her own tears is an obvious
symbol of baptism, of death and rebirth; but her crying shows that shes
developed the feeling function, a traditionally feminine function in Western
culture. As Ive suggested, she is also developing the traditionally masculine
thinking function: Maybe its always pepper that makes people hot-tempered,
she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new kind of rule
(Oxford Alice 79). She also exercises the intuition function (traditionally
feminine), as for example when, exasperated, she realizes during the Knaves
trial that the King and Queen of Hearts and their court are nothing but a pack of
cards (ibid. 109). The sensation function she uses as much as any typical girl of
seven or seven and a half. The very ugly Duchesss chin is uncomfortably
sharp on her shoulder (ibid. 79-80); she readily eats and drinks things that
change her size; she plays croquet, dances, and so on. Alices development of
what Jung calls the functions of consciousness (see Snider, Stuff 12-13)
demonstrates the growth of her conscious self and her androgynous wholeness. It
is important that Alice is female because she thus compensates for the
innumerable male child heroes in Western tradition. The child-hero or child-god
is, archetypally, hermaphroditic (see The Archetypes 173-77), but Western myth
and literature have one-sidedly emphasized the masculine at the expense of the
feminine and Alice helps to compensate for this one-sidedness.

However, she is not, except in the broadest (or paradoxically the narrowest)
sense, the anima, for she does not function as the anima for anyone in the stories.
Collectively, she embodies the Eros principle, and in that broad sense a case
could be made for Alice as anima. If she is merely an anima-image for Carroll,
that has no relevance for this study. The important point is that, as Ive indicated,
she helps compensate for patriarchal one-sidedness.
When the Duchess repeats the old saw, Oh, tis love, tis love, that makes the
world go round! Alice replies, Someone said . . . that its done by everybody
minding their own business! Her logical nature further illustrates her
wholeness. She combines what Jung calls the feminine Eros principle with the
masculine Logos principle. Writing about the anima and the animus, Jung
explains:
I use Eros and Logos merely as conceptual aids to describe the fact
that womans consciousness is characterized more by the connective
quality of Eros than by the discrimination and cognition associated
with Logos. In men, Eros, the function of relationship, is usually less
developed than Logos. In women, on the other hand, Eros is an
expression
of their true nature, while their Logos is often only a regrettable accident.
(Aion 14)
If the Logos principle is more highly developed in Alice than in most Victorian
girls, it may be a reflection of Carrolls own identification with his heroine. On a
collective level, however, Alice in Wonderland demonstrates that the same
Victorian girls had greater potential than they were generally given credit for. If
they did not grasp this consciously, no doubt they understood on a subconscious,
spiritual level.
As I show in my article on Lear, the Trickster manifests himself in the form of
several animals, and animals abound in Alice in Wonderland . The White Rabbit
is one of the more important symbols. Although a male, the White Rabbit further
illustrates the androgynous nature of the archetypal symbols in Alice , for, as J. E.
Cirlot notes, the hare has a feminine character as its fundamental
symbolization; hence it is not surprising to find that it was the second of the
twelve emblems of the emperor of China, symbolic of the Yin force in the life of
the monarch (139). Carrolls rabbit, of course, is most famous for its anxiety
about being late, as he frantically consults his watch. (One of my own most vivid
childhood memories of the Alice story is the little jingle about being late for a

very important date from the Disney version.) If the rabbit or hare is a feminine
symbol, his watch, a modern product of ordered civilization, must be more
rational, more masculine.
Illustration by Sir John Tenniel.
The White Rabbit is the one who starts Alice on her journey down the rabbit
hole. A psychoanalytic critic describes this as perhaps the best-known symbol of
coitus (Goldschmidt 280), a comment that reduces the symbolism to the absurd.
What actually has happened (the same happens when Alice steps through the
looking-glass) is that Alice has fallen into the realm of the unconscious, the
collective unconscious. The fact she is dreaming is further corroboration that
shes in the symbolic world of the unconscious. As James Hillman writes: The
Underworld is converse to dayworld, and so its behavior will be obverse,
perverse (The Dream and the Underworld 39). What could better describe the
settings and actions of the Alice stories?10 As Alice herself exclaims, everything
is queer to-day (OxfordAlice 21).
As she continues falling down the rabbit hole, Alice says, I wonder how
many miles Ive fallen by this time? . . . I must be getting near the centre of the
earth (Oxford Alice 10). She then tries to figure out how many miles that would
be (a parody of school knowledge-- this was not a very good opportunity for
showing off her knowledge (ibid. 11) but also an illustration of her use of the
thinking function). Again Carrolls stories roughly parallel Native American
mythology. According to Frank Waters, the Pueblo and Navajo Indians believe in
four successive underworlds (177). Will Roscoe notes that in most versions of
the Zuni myth, the original Zunis live four worlds beneath the surface of the
earth, in the womb of the Earth Mother, undeveloped and undifferentiated (218).
They seek the Middle of the World, that place where the natural, social, and
spiritual elements of life are synchronized (ibid. 219). This is the place where
they can become cooked or differentiated as individuals.
Alice in the underworld temporarily has her own identity crisis. Like Jack in
Oscar Wildes The Importance of Being Earnest , she wants to know who she
really is. Because shes changed size so incredibly, she wonders: But if Im not
the same, the next question is Who in the world am I? Ah, thats the great
puzzle! (Oxford Alice 18). She wonders if she could be Mabel, a girl who,
unlike herself, knows very little. Yet Alice cant get her multiplication table or
her geography right. When she tries to recite a poem from memory, the words
come out wrong. Clearly, her ego identity is confused at this point--

undifferentiated, if you will. She fears the loss of her ego identity, a genuine fear
for a child under such circumstances. In the Garden of Live Flowers, the Red
Queen advises Alice to remember who you are! (ibid. 147). Yet when she
reaches the woods with the Looking-Glass insects, Alice temporarily forgets her
own name (ibid. 156), symbolic of who she is.
In Zuni myth, she would be described as uncooked (see Roscoe 219).
Interestingly, Rumi, the Persian mystical poet, uses, in a patriarchal context, the
same trope in one of his mystical poems: There is a spiritual fire for the sake of
cooking you. . . . If you do not flee from the fire, and become wholly cooked like
well-baked bread, you will be a master and lord of the table (Jalal al-Din alRumi 144). Alices journeys through Wonderland and in the Looking-Glass world
are efforts to become cooked, that is to affirm her ego identity, to develop the
functions of consciousness, to become as far as possible an integrated, whole
person. As an archetypal symbol (as opposed to a flesh and blood child), she is
able to become whole, to become what Jung would call individuated, to an extent
impossible to flesh and blood children. Like the clown Newe:kwe in Zuni myth
who aids the people when crises arise by talking backwards, speaking nonsense,
and saying the opposite of what he means (Roscoe 222) and like the Koyemshis
(the mud-heads), trickster figures who parody Zuni prayers--just as Carroll
parodies well-known poems--and otherwise provide levity during sacred
ceremonials (Tyler 194-201),--like these figures from Zuni myth the nonsensical
characters in Alice --the Duchess, the March Hare, the Hatter, the Dormouse, the
Gryphon, the Mock Turtle, the live flowers, Tweedledum and Tweedledee,
Humpty Dumpty, the Lion and the Unicorn, and all the others--contribute to
Alices own individuation process. For society at large, they provide the healing
laughter Native American tricksters provide.
Tyler observes that the emergence of mankind is not a creation, but a bringing
forth of people who already existed, though sometimes in an imperfect state
(103). The people emerge from, in Waters words, the canyon-womb, the
kiva sipapu, the Place of Emergence . . . from the four preceding worlds (209).
In Navajo myth Turquoise Boy and White Shell Girl, the first berdaches, the
changing twins, not only helped the people out of a great flood (reminiscent of
the pool of tears in Alice ) into the fifth world, the present-day world, but also
helped the people learn to make pottery, baskets, and various useful tools
(Williams, The Spirit and the Flesh 19). Carrolls underworld, where patriarchal
values are reversed and the most powerful characters are female, where, like the
berdache, Alice learns to develop both male and female functions, resembles
the world of Pueblo and Navajo myth. Just as the Indian peoples emerged from
the underworld, so does Alice emerge from Wonderland and the Looking-Glass

world a wiser, more integrated personality than she had been. No wonder she
becomes a queen--a supraordinate personality, symbolizing wholeness for her
Victorian readers.

III
Of the other talking animals and characters,
some of the most important are the Caterpillar, the
King and Queen of Hearts, Tweedledum and
Tweedledee, Humpty Dumpty, the White Knight,
and the Red and White Queens. The dance is
another important symbol; so is language itself,
the garden, and eating and drinking. But perhaps
the most prominent symbol is the cat in its various
forms. The Caterpillar, like the pool of tears,
requires little explanation. They are both elements
of the archetype of transformation. Alice has a
symbolic baptism in the tears, a symbolic death.
The caterpillar also symbolizes death and rebirth. Judith Bloomingdale is correct
to compare the Duchess and the Queen of Hearts with Kali, the Hindu goddess in
her terrible aspect (Bloomingdale 386). Alice herself has the potential for being
destructive (her shadow side); she must learn to recognize this potential and
accommodate it. While the King of Hearts presides over the trial of the Knave of
Hearts, the Queen has the real power (or, better, surreal power--for in this
nonsense world she never exercises her power). Her continual commands, Off
with his head, Off with her head, Off with their heads, show her lack of
Eros and threaten Alices new consciousness shown in the development of the
Logos principle in her.
In Tweedledum and Tweedledee the twin motif found in most mythologies is
represented (see Cirlot 355-56 and Roscoe 218). In their ritualized, crazy
personal combat, they are a parody of the hostile brothers motif--another attack
on patriarchal mythological tradition. The amusing sub-standard dialect they use
suggests their primal roots:
I know what youre thinking about, said Tweedledum;
but it isnt so, nohow.

Contrariwise, continued Tweedledee, if it was so, it

might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isnt, it aint.
Thats logic. (Oxford Alice 160)
Alice is more interested in finding her way out of the woods and to the garden
than in talking logic with the twin brothers. But she must learn from them before
she can continue. The first lesson is how to begin a visit: by saying How dye
do? (ibid.).
More importantly, she participates in a dance with them, dancing round in a
ring under a tree (ibid. 161). Whereas in Wonderland Alice had merely watched
the Lobster-Quadrille (ibid. 90), in Looking-Glass she participates in the dance-an indication of her psychic growth. Even though Carroll consciously keeps
religion out of the Alice stories, here he includes one of the most ancient of
humankinds sacred rites. The dance symbolizes, among many things, a series of
dissolutions and rebirths . . . the Great Change [of creation] . . . the measure of
mans achievement is his adjustment, without fear, to the universal circumstance
of change (Wosien, Sacred Dance 10). One of Alices tasks in Wonderland and
the Looking-Glass world is to adjust to radical change. The earliest view of
time, writes Maria-Gabriele Wosien, was cyclic, not linear. . . . Life, from the
very first, is bound up with transformation (ibid.). Time in Carrolls world is
hardly linear (the Red Queen teaches Alice that here . . . it takes all the
running you can do, to keep in the same place, Oxford Alice 145); and
transformation is one of the key archetypes. 11 It is no accident that the dance
Alice participates in takes the circular shape of the mandala, a supreme symbol of
wholeness. In the dance there is an order lacking in the anarchy of the mad teaparty, the Queen of Hearts croquet-ground, and her court. 12
Humpty Dumpty, the White Knight, the Red and White Queens,--all are
instructors, helpers, or guides to the heroine--Wise Old Men and Women, as it
were. Except in this nonsense underworld everything is turned around, so that,
for instance, Alice ends up helping the White Knight as he keeps falling down,
head first. (He does teach Alice, albeit by negative example.) Although Cirlot
notes that the alchemists believed the egg was the container for matter and for
thought (94), Humpty Dumpty is a parody of masculine pride in his intellectual
powers. For all his humorous arrogance about knowing the meanings of words,
the Eros principle of relatedness is almost totally lacking in him--he doubts he
would recognize Alice if he saw her again. He illustrates what Jung refers to as
the law of independence inherent in the thinking function and . . . its
emancipation from the concretism of sensuous perceptions (Psychic Conflicts
in a Child 34). Still, he is egg-shaped and has grown from an egg into a real
character, so he also symbolizes the possibility of psychic growth. The Red and

White Queens are like two haughty but harmless

children who talk dreadful nonsense with Alice
(Oxford Alice 227). They show, by contrast, Alices
new self-confidence and maturity. Humpty Dumpty,
the White Knight, the Red and White Queens,--each
is in fact a parody of the Wise Old Man or the Wise
Old Woman.
Language itself is symbolic in Alice in
Wonderland. W. H. Auden goes so far as to maintain
that one of the most important and powerful
characters [in the Alice books] is not a person but the
English language (9). The Word, the Logos, is
prominent in so many ways--among them puns,
riddles, the concern with meaning--that it would take
another essay to discuss them all. Alice, the heroine as opposed to the hero, as
Ive indicated, develops a more complete psyche through her appropriation of the
Logos principle.
The garden is another symbol that seems hardly to require analysis. For
Bloomingdale, The garden is . . . a positive mother symbol, no longer wild
nature, but cultivated, tended, fostered--in short, the Garden of Live Flowers
(387). Instead of the Edenic garden of innocence, Alice seeks the civilized,
ordered garden of the familiar world above ground. Ironically, she must go
through a heros journey (another of the many archetypal motifs in the Alice
books) to get there.13 The garden itself stands for wholeness--the uniting of
untamed nature with the conscious, controlling hand of human beings.
Also symbolic are eating and drinking--from the bottle with the label that says
DRINK ME and the little cake that says EAT ME in Wonderland to Queen
Alices banquet at the end of Looking-Glass. Erich Neumann makes the point
that Hunger and food are the prime movers of mankind. . . . Life=power=food,
the earliest formula for obtaining power over anything, appears in the oldest of
the Pyramid Texts (27). That eating is power for Alice is clear when she eats the
Caterpillars mushroom to control her size. She is whole (her right size) when
shes able to ascertain the right amount to eat.
Illustration by Sir John Tenniel.
The cat is perhaps the most pervasive archetypal symbol apart from Alice
herself in both books. She appears as Dinah, Alices cat, as the black and white

kittens (again with Dinah) in Looking-Glass ; she appears as a lion (with the
unicorn) and as a Gryphon. The gryphon, or griffin, as Gardner notes, is a
fabulous monster with the head and wings of an eagle and the lower body of a
lion (Annotated Alice124, n. 6). Like Lears Owl and Pussy-Cat, the Gryphon
stands for the uniting of opposites--the fowl with the feline.
The most famous cat in Alice in Wonderland, of course, is the Cheshire Cat
with its mysterious grin. Carroll shares with Lear a love of the cat, and others
have pointed out the conscious, personal reasons for the many cats in Alice . Here
I am concerned more with the archetypal meanings of the cat in the context of
Carrolls classic.
Illustration by Sir John Tenniel.
That the cat is traditionally feminine is clearly relevant in these stories which
compensate for patriarchal one-sidedness. Bloomingdale comments on the
Cheshire Cat:
The mad grin of the appearing and disappearing gargoyle,
which literally hangs over the heads of the participants in
the game of life, is an insane version of the enigmatic smile
of the Mona Lisa, the mask of the Sphinx--supreme
embodiment of the riddle of the universe. (385-86)
The smile thus symbolizes superior, hidden, psychic knowledge. Like Merlins
laugh, the grin is the result of . . . more profound knowledge of invisible
connections (E. Jung, The Grail Legend 363). Were all mad here, the Cat
tells Alice (Oxford Alice 58). Everyone seems mad because they are in the realm
of the collective unconscious where everything seems crazy to the rational,
conscious mind. Empson is correct to say the Cat stands for intellectual
detachment . . . it is the amused observer (273). The Cats ability to appear and
disappear at will demonstrates the autonomy of the archetype--one can not
produce an archetypal image at will. The different forms the cat takes
in Alice and the Cheshire Cats different shapes as it appears and disappears are
manifestations of what Nicholas J. Saunders refers to as the magical shapeshifting that has always been associated with cats, both large and small (29).
Hence, like Merlin, the cat is also a trickster.
In her biographical memoir of Jung, Barbara Hannah, who was closely

associated with Jung professionally and personally for over thirty years,
describes four deficiencies in the Church and in Western culture which Jung cited
and for which Alice in Wonderland compensates. The first is the exclusion of
nature from the Church and Western culture. The modern ecology movement is a
reaction against this exclusion. So is Alice in Wonderland in the way plants are
personified and given value equal to human beings. Alices goal to reach the
garden is itself an honoring of nature.
Hannah continues:
The second point Jung made was that the Church increasingly
excluded animals. . . . This attitude of the Church has, more than
anything else, alienated man from his own as well as from the larger
impersonal instincts and has since produced a deplorable state of
affairs all over the world. (Jung: His Life and Work 151)
Alice in Wonderland contains many animals, more than I have mentioned. Those
I have mentioned, however, make clear the fact that Alice honors the animals by
endowing them with consciousness equal to that of humans. Her interaction with
animals and nature are manifestations of what Lvy-Bruhl calls participation
mystique, a quality Alice shares with aboriginal peoples and one which adults
with their ego-consciousness have lost.
The third exclusion, Hannah writes, is perhaps the worst from the
psychological point of view, because it has prevented man from recognizing his
own shadow. It consists in the exclusion of the inferior man. It is Eros,
relationship, that the Church condemned as sinful (ibid. 151). The sadistic
cruelty shown, for example, in the poem, The Walrus and the Carpenter, in
which the title characters befriend, then eat, the Oysters, reveals the shadow
archetype which Western civilization needs to accommodate. The Freudian
interpretations of Alice, in so far as they are valid, compensate for the Churchs
denial of sexuality and the relatedness (the Eros) it needs. I agree with
Bloomingdale that it is Alices capacity for compassion that distinguishes Alice
the Queen. . . . Love is the golden crown that makes Alice the true Queen of
Hearts (390).
The last exclusion or repression Hannah cites is of creative fantasy . . .
[which] if . . . given full freedom . . . will probably lead the individual to find a
divine spark in himself. Although the Church, Hannah notes, has apparently
little influence nowadays, it certainly had more influence in the last century (and
Church here means Christianity in general, not Christ himself or any one

denomination). Its negative influence today can be observed in the efforts by

some to write discrimination against the marriage rights of gays and lesbians into
the Constitution. Writing for children, Carroll was able to abandon his own
prudery and give free reign to what was actually a new genre he and Edward Lear
were creating simultaneously.
Hannah reports that Jung, referring to his own Symbols of Transformation,
described two kinds of thinking: intellectual or directed thinking and fantastic
thinking (100). These are exactly the kinds of thinking that went into the writing
of Alice in Wonderland. The happy balance of the two make it a classic which
continues to appeal to collective needs in Western culture. Hannah further notes
the fact that Jung liked to quote Schopenhauer, who said: A sense of humor is
the only divine quality of man (40), and in that
sense Alice in Wonderland is truly divine.
Notes
1

A fairly recent example of the popularity I refer

to is an article in National Geographic: The
Wonderland of Lewis Carroll (June 1991). More
recently, yet another film version of the Alice
stories (Alice in Wonderland) appeared on the
28th of February 1999 on NBC. Brian Lowry, in
the Los Angeles Times, reports: the three-hour
production sank the premiere of Disneys The
Little Mermaid, coming through the looking glass
with this seasons highest rating for a single-part
TV movie . . . (F11). An exhibit running through 24 May 2006 at the Doheny
Memorial Library of the University of Southern California, "The Curious World
of Lewis Carroll," coincides with a symposium, "Lewis Carroll and the Idea of
Childhood," at the Doheny and at the Huntington Library, San Marino,
California, on 31 March and 1 April respectively. Morton N. Cohen deftly
summarizes the popularity of the Alice books. He makes the following startling
statement: Along with the Bible and Shakespeares works, they [the Alice
books] are the most widely quoted books in the Western world (xxii).
2

Three anthologies published within the last thirty or so years illustrate the
variety of studies: Robert Phillips Aspects of Alice: Lewis Carrolls Dreamchild
as seen through the Critics Looking-Glasses, 1865-1971 (1971), Edward
Guilianos Lewis Carroll: A Celebration, Essays on the Occasion of the 150th

Anniversary of the Birth of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (1982), and Harold

Blooms Lewis Carroll(1987), published as part of the Modern Critical Views
series. In the Introduction to his 1995 biography, Cohen summarizes the
eccentric readings of the Alice books, which, according to Cohen, include
seeing Alice as a transvestite Christ, regarding Carroll himself as the first
acidhead. . . . [and] explaining that the story is about toilet training and bowel
movements (xxiii).
3

Jeffrey Stern also views Alice as the anima for Carroll, but he confines his
comments to a few paragraphs in the context of his essay, "Lewis Carroll the PreRaphaelite" (165-166).
4

Although Carrolls Alice stories are usually described as nonsense, unlike

Lears verse, the issue of genre is more complex for Carroll. Carroll more than
once referred to Alices Adventures in Wonderlandas a fairy-tale (see Selected
Letters 29 and Diaries 185). The complexity of the issue Nina Demurova deftly
illustrates in her article: Toward a Definition of Alice 's Genre: The Folktale and
Fairy-tale Connections. She concludes:
The scientific, the nonsensical, the linguistic--one thing is perfectly clear
about
these two books [Wonderland and Looking-Glass], with their unexpected
twists and depths: Carrolls fairy tales realize in most original and
unexpected
forms both literary and scientific types of perception. And that is why
philosophers,
logicians, mathematicians, physicists, psychologists, folklorists,
politicians, as well as
literary critics and armchair readers, all find material for thought and
interpretation in
the Alices. (86)
Without discounting the other possibilities, I would here classify the Alice books
as visionary nonsense--a modern myth.
5

Virginia Woolf, in her review of the Nonesuch Press complete Lewis

Carroll, declares that after reading Alice in Wonderland we wake to find--is it
the Rev. C. L. Dodgson? Is it Lewis Carroll? Or is it both combined? (83).
Greenacre quotes a letter, dated 15 December 1875, the only letter signed with
both names [Lewis Carroll and C. L. Dodgson]. More frequently, Greenacre
adds, Mr. Dodgson preferred to keep his identity separate from that of Lewis

Carroll (120-21). It was only in the last two months of his life, however, that
Dodgson refused to accept mail addressed to Lewis Carroll (Gattgno 231).
6

Martin Gardner, in The Annotated Alice, notes: In this terminal poem, one of
Carrolls best, he recalls that July 4 [1862] boating expedition up the Thames on
which he first told the story of Alices Adventures in Wonderland to the three
Liddell girls (345, n. 1).
7

Ironically, Carroll seems to have been as prudish as the stereotypical

Victorian--despite or perhaps because of his forbidden sexual proclivities (to be
sure no one can prove precisely what he did with those proclivities on the genital
level). While he found nothing wrong with photographs and drawings of nude
children, he would, in Woolfs words, produce an extra-Bowdlerised edition of
Shakespeare for the use of British maidens (83).
8

Bloomingdale finds the fact that Alice is a girl significant because it affirms
the androgynous nature of the presexual self (383); however, the same is true
for any child who is an archetypal symbol. The fact that Alice is
female is important but for other reasons, as we shall see.
9

In Secret Gardens, Humphrey Carpenter makes a strong argument that Alice

in Wonderland is actually a parody of religion (65). The parody here and
Carrolls later anguished piety, Carpenter believes, spring from the same
thing, the fact that Dodgsons religious beliefs were utterly insecure (64). I
submit that in the Alice books Carroll has in fact compensated for that insecure
belief by creating a new myth, one which, as I show below, compensates in a
variety of ways for conventional Christianity.
10

Hillman cautions against the type of criticism psychoanalysts are prone to:
. . . to consider the dream as an emotional wish costs soul; to mistake the
chthonic as the natural loses psyche. We cannot claim to be psychological when
we read dream images in terms of drives or desires (43).
11

Apart from the basic transformation in Alice herself, other examples of the
archetype are the baby that turns into a pig and the White Queen who turns into a
sheep.
12

W. H. Auden sees games, too, as an organizing principle against anarchy

and incompetence (9). The Looking-Glass world, of course, is actually a huge
chess board.

13

Alices train ride and the chess board moves give a modern context to Alices
journey.

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--Copyright Clifton Snider, 2006. All rights reserved.