On the Usefulness of Depression One question that, in recent years, has repeatedly confronted researchers in mental health regarding what is called depressive illness is the difficult-to-understand prevalence of depression in human societies. Compared with other conditions called mental illnesses, whose prevalence rarely exceeds five per cent of a population, depression in some societies has been estimated at thirty to forty per cent. In Iranian society, one sometimes has the impression that, if reliable prevalence figures existed, the proportion might be even higher. In a society such as Australia, regarded as wealthy and successful and as having relatively low levels of stress, nearly twenty per cent of people attending general practitioners either present for assessment because of anxiety and depressive problems or are currently taking antidepressants because of previous consultations. The use of psychological services is so widespread that, in my personal experience and from referring my own patients to psychology services, the waiting list to see a psychologist in the small city where I live—with a population of around seventy thousand and dozens of practising psychologists—is on average two to three months. This unusual prevalence of depression compared with other mental illnesses has led researchers to ask whether depression might not, in principle, be a mental illness at all, but whether its fundamental function could be related to an evolutionary process in human beings. Some symptoms of depression—such as the desire for solitude, reduced energy for general activities, reduced sexual desire and insomnia—might potentially, in some people with stronger analytical capacities, contribute to increased powers of analysis, creativity, and even greater concentration on the problems before them. From an evolutionary perspective, it is well known that the brain’s 5-HT1A serotonin-receptor structure, a major target of antidepressant medication, has been conserved through evolution. Its similarity between simpler mammalian species such as rodents and human beings is over ninety-nine per cent. This fact, alongside the striking finding that the number of these hormone-related receptors associated with depressive processes has not decreased in human beings with the evolution of the human brain and the increasing complexity of consciousness relative to less complex animal species, but has instead increased, suggests not only a purposeful evolutionary insistence on preserving this receptor structure over millions of years but an increase in it alongside the growing complexity of consciousness. Comparing the sleep structure of people with depression with those who do not have depressive symptoms shows an increase in REM sleep. This is the phase that contributes to the consolidation of memory, which appears related to an effort by the brain to increase analytical capacities during waking life. REM sleep is also the stage in which most dreams occur. This, too, may indicate an attempt by the unconscious mind to communicate more with the conscious mind and to send images that, from a Jungian psychological perspective, may have meaningful functions in helping us better understand the unconscious mind’s attempts at dialogue and communication. Charles Darwin can be regarded as one of the scientists of the past three centuries who most profoundly influenced the scientific understanding of modern human beings. Through the theory of evolution, Darwin fundamentally transformed the modern view of the formation and development of life. Yet throughout his own life he was not spared severe depression. In surviving letters, Darwin refers to the depth of his depression, which on many days brought him to tears and intense sorrow. He imagined this to be evidence of his weakness because, in his view, the winners in the struggle of life were always the strong, and perhaps his own fate was merely to remain forever an admirer of the greatness of the giants of science without ever having an effect on the world. Today we know how mistaken Darwin was in judging his impact on science—and perhaps also in judging the effect of his depression on the formation and persistence of his research. In other letters, he himself described how his work and studies had become the only pleasure remaining in his life. Continued (2) — On the Usefulness of Depression Depression may operate as a force that intensifies concentration on a particular activity, creativity and analytical thought, leading to scientific, artistic and philosophical discoveries and creations and, through this route, advancing human consciousness. But the question is whether the suffering of the individual in order to turn the wheel of evolution should be stopped. Is there another way to become free of the suffering of depression and anxiety in life instead of using antidepressants, which in a historicist estimation might not only have an anti-evolutionary function but may also carry long-term psychological and physical side effects for the individual? James Hillman, one of Jung’s intellectual descendants and the founder of archetypal psychology, writes in his brilliant and profoundly insightful work on psychological alchemy that ancient alchemy contains a saying to the effect that “the alchemical process begins with lead and is stopped from continuing by lead.” In his perspective, lead is the metal of depression. The feeling we receive from lead is one of limitation, heaviness and darkness, and this is the feeling we find within ourselves in depression. In the form of depth psychology that Hillman introduces, the first metal with which the alchemist begins the process of reaching gold—the Self—is lead: depression. In his alchemy, there is a stage before lead in which no metal has yet emerged. He calls this the inarticulate and confused prima materia, massa confusa: a substance in which the seeds of all metals are present, yet which is itself of the nature of chaos. In this view, there is something below depression that must first be overcome: a raw, inarticulate and chaotic mind—a mind that is not even depressed, but confused. In depth psychology, depression—lead—is itself the alchemist’s first achievement. Reaching the black and heavy matter signifies the end of chaos and the beginning of the alchemical process. Yet there is also a danger to which ancient alchemists referred. The alchemical process not only begins with lead—with black, dark and heavy matter—it can also end there, because liberation from lead and its transcendence are the alchemist’s greatest difficulty and most perilous task. This requires much, for the more lead is heated and hammered, the softer it becomes; but finding this heat, and finding the kind of heat through which lead can be transformed, is never easy. There is another alchemical expression to the effect that lead is the only substance that causes the diamond to suffer and takes away its brilliance. No light or ray passes through lead, which is why lead is used today in radiology to stop radiation. As you can see, this use of figurative and metaphorical language employs archetypes in order to transform the image held by the mind: using the alchemist archetype and lead to invite the mind, at its deepest level, to transform the darkness and heaviness of depression through transcendence into light and the liberation of the Self. In my view, the human tendency towards transcendence is our most important existential characteristic. The human being is not merely a speaking animal, nor even simply a thinking or tool-making animal. More than any of these characteristics, our orientation towards transcendence expresses our psychological structure and our ontological truth. The human being is the only creature we have so far known that looks at the world and sees it not merely as what it is, but as what it can become. We look at ourselves, other people and the world and continually see in the image before us a capacity that can be realised. Through this most fundamental characteristic, we created civilisation and culture and did not stop advancing. What has propelled us forward throughout history is our unique capacity for transcendence. For no obvious evolutionary reason, we are saddened when a flower withers and delighted when it blossoms, because in it we perceive a capacity either unrealised or realised.