Puer Aeternus: An ode to nostalgia

It is early morning, and for a brief moment, the sun has not yet made its way above the mountain tops. I watch as the fog climbs back up into the sky. I breathe the sweet sent of grass and fresh air. I listen to the gentle ringing of cowbells off in the distance. Despite Switzerland’s linearity when it comes to time, to me it has garnered a gluelike consistency. Sticky with reminders of my past. 

The better part of my childhood has been spent in the Swiss alps. Every return brings back the bitter taste of nostalgia, leaving me in an overall state of genuine sadness. Very little has changed, as is characteristic of small, alpine villages. In turn, every alley still holds my little footsteps, each building sounds my childish voice, each playground becomes a reminder of how big the swings, seesaw, slides felt then, and how small it all feels now. It’s a horrible evolutionary predicament, to only be able to remember the good. The bad subdued in a warm blanket, tucked away in a dark, forgotten cupboard. It’s a beautiful, yet infuriatingly stagnant affair.

Where we know it or not, many of us suffer from Peter Pan syndrome, or rather, the state of being a “puer aeternus”, Latin for “eternal child”. Sometime during the mid-20th, Swiss psychologist Marie-Louis von Franz noticed a reoccurring pattern: men and women remained psychologically stunted well into their mature life. They took the forms of adults, yet their psychological development was many years behind. All those characteristics which are expected from a child continue on later in life. Many struggle socially, spiritually, financially, etc., choosing to live at home with their parents well into our late 20s and 30s, without ever testing the boundaries of their comfort. Instead of making something out of their life they became figments of their potential selves, preferring the virtual world of fantasy books, pornography and video games. Without purpose, without genuine contentment, besides the occasional bouts of temporary happiness. 

In order to avoid breeding such adult-children, cultures throughout history have performed rites of passage to aid the transition from childhood to adulthood. The primary goal of such rites was to, in a way, cut the umbilical cord. To sever the young from their mothers. 

In the depths of night the “cultural fathers”, dressed as mythical creatures, would snatch the children from their bed. These youths would not see their mothers for the next month, sometimes longer. Throughout the following weeks they were buried alive, starved, dehydrated, kept isolated in caves and jungles, each activity meant to symbolize the death of childhood and the resurrection of maturity. After their time in, what we would today consider, hell, the young person was relieved of his “mother complex” and able to live a mature, responsible life.

These measures are, of course, extremely violent and somewhat repulsive by today’s standard. Yet I find it difficult to determine what is worse. Living life as a low hum, entirely dependent on others, strapped in the straight-jacket which is our comfort zone? Or thrown into the wilderness of adulthood, where life requires a hardened mind, and a certain toolset in order to survive, by yourself. Given the extremities of these rites of passage, our ancestors may have understood something we do not understand today (or perhaps, do not want to understand): the separation from our “mother” requires extreme measures.*

A simple law of life and physics is that change cannot happen through stagnation. Plants rot when left out in the gentle heat of the sun for too long.

How, then, in the modern, Western world, can one instigate their own rite of passage? Carl Jung theorized that human life can be segmented into four stages. In the first stage, the child does not seem to have any visible problems. This does not mean they are happy all the time, they simply do not experience any internal dilemmas. Unlike the adult, the child is incapable of doubting themself. They live their daily life at the mercy of their impulses. 

The second stage is youth. Not only do biological changes occur, but the ego is also formed, creating a clear division between our conscious and unconscious selves. So, while the child is encompassed by paradise, the young adult is overcome by their conscious mind and thriving ego. The friction between the adolescent’s conscious intentions and his unconscious impulses creates an internal chasm. 

The only way through this inner conflict is to conduct our own rite of passage into psychological adulthood. According to Jung, this can be done through work. Not only does working make you financially independent from our parents, but it grafts a connection to the outside world which can create order within. Work broadens our existence, it helps grow roots outside of those made by our former habits. Any form of work, as long as one commits wholeheartedly to it, can be taken as a rite of passage into adulthood. 

Unfortunately many, myself included, are afraid to pursue a career because it expresses their uniqueness and so makes them vulnerable. Rather, they tend to succumb to what others expect of them and give in to social pressures of conformity. These people often find themselves reminiscing back to their childhoods. Instead of catering to the daily struggles of adult life, they distract themselves and stay within the safety of their prepubescent mind.

Living in the past shields us from the unpredictability of the present and future. It is a soft, warm blanket, safe and comfortable. Overtime we find that the blanket is too heavy to take off, and without realizing, it has become part of your skin. The tragedy of living in the past is that, in the end, no matter the comfort of our mother, our guardian, our well-known places, our childhood pictures, whatever, we are alone. A life in the past cannot be shared with anyone. Each person who stays, stays by themself. 

*the mother can be taken both as a symbol of our actual mothers, or a caretaker, or whatever we depend on in order not to rise above our true potential.