iii

Theology Library

SCHOOL OF THEOLOGY
AT CLAREMONT
California
log
Jè C. G. JUNG
Bq. x
i96! E. A. BENNET

LONDON
BARRIE AND ROCKLIFF
© 1961 by E. A. BENNET
First published 1961 by
Barrie & Rockliff (Barrie Books Ltd.)
2 Clement’s Inn London WC2
Printed in Great Britain at
The University Press
Aberdeen

PE le j Jdrary

SGHOOL OF THEOLOGY
AT CLAREMONT
Cal fornia
CONTENTS

page
Preface Vii
I Introduction to Jung I
2 Impressions of Jung’s childhood and Youth 9
3 Experience at the Burghdlzli Hospital 21
4 Jung and Freud: Hail and Farewell 33
5 Introverts and Extraverts 63

6 The Mind—Personal and Impersonal 79

7 Mental Life as a Process 104

8 Aion: The Mind in Time 113

9 I. Dreams
II. The Interplay of Opposites: Individuation 126
Appendix
Notable Occasions: an Account of some of
Jung’s Birthdays, with the Transcription
of a Broadcast Interview 143
Acknowledgments 155

Bibliography 156

Index 160
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PREFACE

For many readers of his books, C. G. Jung is but a name and

Jung as a person is hardly discernible. To depict some of the
‘key’ aspects of Jung’s work in the setting of his personality is
the aim of the chapters which follow. Each section of the book
might be looked on as an annotation, a supplementary note,
rather than a summary of Jung’s teaching, which is already
available and is mentioned here in footnotes for the guidance
of the reader. The selected subject-matter—and the reasons
for the choice and for the decision to omit other topics—have
been discussed with Jung from time to time when I have been
his guest at Kiisnacht on the Lake of Ziirich or at his ‘week-
end’ house near Bollingen, a quiet village on the shores of the
same lake. An effort has been made to indicate the medical
background of his work, and Jung, always mindful of his
profession, approved of this and agreed that personal references
to him might well be apposite.
A previous plan was that I should write his biography. We
spent some time on this project, and he gave me a great deal of
information about his childhood, his family, his career, and the
development of his ideas. But on reflection he thought this
would be an almost impossible undertaking because of the
variety of his work and the complexity of his personality. In the
end he decided that he must write an autobiography, and he has
done so (as part of a volume—a Life—since written by Mrs.
Aniela Jaffé). He finished this far from congenial task—as he
described it—in September 1959 and, as it happened, I was
staying with him at the time.
It seemed probable that this book, although in a different
setting, would overlap the autobiography in some ways, but
Jung thought this unlikely and in any case unimportant.
Much of the material has been used in seminars at the Royal
Bethlem and Maudsley; Hospital and in post-graduate lectures
at the Institute of Psychiatry, Maudsley Hospital, London
University. Students often were kind enough to suggest
vii
Vili PREFACE

publication of the lectures, and this has been done here to a

limited extent. But there have been many additions for the
information of those who are interested in Jung as a man—a
subject about which there is considerable curiosity and specula-
tion, if one might judge from the questions asked about his
personality and way of life.
E. A. BENNET
London, 30th May, 1961

Professor Jung died on 6th June 1961, a few days after this
book had gone to press. In January of this year while I was
staying with him at Kiisnacht-Ziirich, he was kind enough to
read the whole of the book, then in typescript. He made many
suggestions and corrections in his own handwriting. It may be
assumed, therefore, that the statements made here are in
accordance with his views.
6th June, 1961 E-A.B.
CHAPTER ONE

Introduction to Jung

PROFESSOR C. G. JUNG, now eighty-five, has taken a leading

part in altering the attitude of the medical man and the layman
towards sickness of the mind. When he was a student at Basel
University, no one had heard of complexes, of introverts and
extraverts, of mental conflict and dynamic psychology. Neither
health nor sickness of mind was a subject of serious medical
concern, and those in charge of lunatic asylums provided
custodial care without thought of psychological treatment,
mental structure, and psychopathology. Barbarities, taken for
granted at one time, had passed: there were no fetters, and no
society visitors gazed at the mentally deranged. By present
standards, the nursing may not have been impressive, but
physical violence was no longer used to drive out the evil spirits
responsible for the disorder; there was a tolerant acceptance of
the often amusing peculiarities of the insane, for whom no
treatment was available beyond attention to bodily sickness.
Here and there the mesmerists and hypnotists treated the
symptoms of the less socially disturbed patients, often with
considerable success, and left it at that. The mind itself remained
a mystery. In the ’seventies and ’eighties Simon in France and
Lombroso in Italy were keen observers of the bizarre pictures
produced by the patients in mental asylums and attempted to
understand them. But their reports had little effect upon treat-
ment. An advance of importance came when the symptoms of
mental illness had been classified and descriptive psychiatry
I
2 C. G. JUNG

encouraged at any rate a few doctors in charge of mental

hospitals to think of insanity as a clinical problem.
Psychiatry was off the main road in medicine and had few
attractions for the medical student. It was little wonder that
Jung’s friends and teachers thought him misguided when on
qualification as a doctor he declined an offer as assistant to
one of his teachers at Basel who had recently been appointed to
a chair at a German university. In preference he took a position
at the Burghölzli Hospital on the staff of Eugen Bleuler,
Professor of Psychiatry in the University of Zürich. There he
remained for eight years, and his work and that of his colleagues
made the hospital famous. Freud and his small group, working
in comparative obscurity in Vienna, were becoming known
about the same time.
In those days no one would have guessed that we were at
the beginning of a new era in psychiatry as well as in every
other department of medicine. The mind itself had become a
centre of interest and research, and this was destined to produce
many unexpected results.
Jung’s contribution to this changing scene has been con-
tinuous. His first publication came in 1902, and since then
volume after volume has appeared. Some critics have hinted
darkly that no one could have produced so much, that Jung got
others to write his books, and that he added the finishing touches!
His productivity is more easily explained: his education gave
scope for his natural endowments and he learnt at an early age
to think as he wrote, to say what he meant to say, to convey the
impression he wished to convey. Sentence follows sentence
rather slowly as he writes; but there are few alterations.
Like the other pioneers in psychiatry, Jung has had his
share of criticism and misunderstanding. Even today observa-
tions about his work are produced with assurance by critics
who know of it at second or even third hand. His books have the
reputation of being difficult to understand, and there is a good
deal of truth in this. We take it for granted that the physician
or surgeon, concerned with the human body, must pursue his
training over many years. Why should we expect that sound
common sense is enough to grasp the mysterious workings of
INTRODUCTION TO JUNG 3

the mind? Of course Jung’s books are difficult: they cannot be

read casually, for psychological understanding is not a natural
endowment. The serious student, with sound training, will
find Jung’s books practical and informative. His breadth of
scholarship may be rather alarming! But that is hardly a
fault.
He describes himself as an empiricist—one who goes by
experience—and this is accurate. Nevertheless, many think of
him as a remote savant, propounding esoteric, and mystical,
ideas. It is safe to say that the undefined mystical implies some-
thing obscure, of dark import, for the word is meant to convey
a polite—or impolite!—rebuke when used by the critics of any
psychological system with which they find themselves in disa-
greement. Dr. Ernest Jones tells us that ‘Jung had revealed
himself to me as a man with deep mystical tendencies’.t But
Jung is not the only ‘mystical’ thinker. Freud’s psycho-analysis
was also considered by Hoche of Freiburg as ‘an evil method
born of mystical tendencies’. And Dr. Edward Glover selects
the same word when he declares that ‘Orthodox Freudians
have already challenged [the Klein theory] as a mystical devia-
tion’. A criticism of the Freudian theory in a well-known
textbook on psychiatry strikes the same note: ‘The criticisms
to which Freudian theory can be subjected are so damaging,
that it could hardly have lasted so long in its present form, were
it not for the sectarian orthodoxy and the mystical halo by
which it attracts its followers and adepts.’*
Mystical is about the last adjective his colleagues and ac-
quaintances would use in describing Jung’s active and stimu-
lating personality; at all events, his ‘deep mystical tendencies’
are by no means obvious. For a visionary, he shows remarkable
capacity for getting to the heart of practical problems in his
work.
‘1Jones, E., Free Associations, London, Hogarth Press
(1959), p. 215. )
2 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, London, Hogarth Press
(1955), Vol. II, p. 131.
3 Glover, Edward, Horizon (1943), Vol. XI, No. 63, p. 211.
4 Mayer-Gross, W., Slater, Eliot, Roth, Martin, Clinical
Psychiatry, London, Cassell (1954), p. 23.
4 C. G. JUNG
Jung writes with assurance, making his contribution
modestly, without dogmatism, without claiming universal
validity, for he knows how transitory, even futile, our hypo-
theses can be. A quality of charm and intimacy in style may lead
the casual reader to conclude that the material is simple,
obvious, and only common sense. Jung is under no such illusion;
he has always been conscious of his own limitations in under-
standing the complexity of the mind. Though notable advances
have been made in psychiatry, it is his opinion that the time
is not ripe for pronouncements about psychology and psychiatry,
for we have still much to learn. As a pioneer—as he himself
has said—he has made all the mistakes pioneers are wont to
make. Nevertheless, he has opened the way to a new under-
standing of the mind, healthy or sick. Nature has endowed him
with an imaginative, original outlook, a balanced appreciation
of facts—such as the facts of natural science—and, above all,
the capacity to think. Systematic thinking is not so common as
might be supposed, and inevitably it is associated with specula-
tion and intuition. But however far his imagination may range,
the facts, as he and others have observed them, are brought into
focus before he advances a hypothesis or reaches a conclusion.
Cautious withholding of judgment is characteristic of the
Swiss people, perhaps because of their geographical situation.
Jung is the typical Swiss thinker—alert, observant, critical,
independent.
An author’s personality is not always reflected in his
writings, and this is true of Jung. Pupils who have talked to him
and heard him lecture have a familiarity with his outlook which
cannot be gained by reading his books. Consequently, those who
know only his published works are at a disadvantage. Some
readers seem to expect a finished system, consistent from be-
ginning to end. They forget that Jung’s thought has grown and
expanded. It is easy to find petty discrepancies, and his critics
will be certain to find what they are looking for. Once I asked
Jung about some early views which appeared to conflict with
later work. ‘Of course there is a difference’, he replied, ‘that
old stuff is cold soup.’ There is nothing shallow in this. On
the contrary, it must be so when there is development,
INTRODUCTION TO JUNG 5
growth, extension of thought. None of his hypotheses is sacro-
sanct to Jung; he is happy to abandon a point of view if another
is shown to be more satisfactory, more in accordance with
confirmed observation. It may happen that verification is diffi-
cult or seems impossible, and that, too, is important; it means
that more work requires to be done. We would be foolish to
give up what we know because there remains something not yet
fully known.
In conversation and in lecturing he has the capacity to put
new ideas very simply. Often his hearers feel the subject is
already familiar. Perhaps they are right, and Jung would not
disagree. On the other hand, he might well point out that
their feeling of familiarity sprang from a subjective readi-
ness to grasp a new concept of which, till then, they were
unaware.
When conducting seminars he was courteous and attentive,
and made his comments with complete naturalness; if anyone
questioned his conclusions, his reply was definite and yet
disarming: if the criticism was valid, he said so at once; if not,
he gave his reasons. Nothing was left in doubt about his point
of view. He was interested in comments following a lecture and
delighted when a new idea was brought forward. On one occasion
in a group discussion a questioner got into a protracted dis-
cussion with Jung, and this was boring to the others. Later
someone remarked that his questioner had talked too much.
‘I don’t agree at all,’ said Jung. ‘I was quite happy to let her
talk, for then I could listen, which always suits me.’ Jung was
always interested to hear what a student had to say, and particu-
larly so when the speaker stuck to his guns and really felt he had
something to contribute. To have his own phrases and ideas
handed back to him bored him. He welcomed those who
challenged him, especially when they were evidently serious and
not talking for the sake of talking. Many who have felt his
power, his skill in making the abstruse seem simple, have
copied his mannerisms, his turn of phrase, his gestures—even
the type of pipe he smokes!
Jung’s appearance is striking—tall, broad-shouldered,
healthy-looking, with a cheerful open face. Even today he could
6 C. G. JUNG
never be overlooked in any gathering. That his personality had
a marked influence on an audience was obvious in his lecturing
—and in his appearances on television. In 1935 he gave a course
of five lectures in English at the Tavistock Clinic in London
before a large and critical group of doctors. Listening to the
lectures proved to be an unexpected experience to many, for
from the start Jung held the audience as in a spell: there was
complete silence and a feeling of anticipation. He was entirely
at ease, totally free from shyness or stiffness in manner, and
spoke for an hour or more out of his own experience, there-
fore with conviction—salted here and there with a nice sense of
humour. Questions followed each lecture and the discussion
had to be restricted to another hour.
During this visit to London, Jung had occasion to look up
some references, and he went to the Reading Room of the
British Museum. He was asked if he had a reader’s ticket. ‘No’,
he replied; ‘I’m afraid I haven’t. I did not know that was re-
quired.’ ‘Who are your’ he was asked. ‘What is your name?’ ‘I
am a Swiss doctor on a visit to London. My name is Jung—Dr.
Jung.’ ‘Not, Freud, Jung, and Adler?’ exclaimed the assistant.
‘Oh, no,’ he replied. ‘Only Jung!’
Another instance of Jung’s ability as a lecturer was evident
in his Terry Lectures 1 at Yale University in 1937. Although he
was accustomed to lecture in English, he asked that he might
use the small hall, as he disliked crowds, and felt he could make
his meaning clear if in close touch with his audience, to whom
the subject-matter would be unfamiliar. His host, a Professor at
the University, said he would arrange for the small hall to be
used for the second and third lecture, but the first would be in
the large hall as many would come to hear him out of curiosity
and the numbers were sure to drop for the subsequent lectures.
This, it seems, ‘always happened to visiting lecturers, however
brilliant’. But in the event it was otherwise. The first lecture
was sparsely attended—about 600 or 700 people—and the
seating capacity, on Jung’s estimate, was about 3,000. For the
second lecture he presumed he would use the small hall, but
1 Psychology and Religion: West and East (1958), C. W. Vol.
TIDS.
INTRODUCTION TO JUNG 7

he was told that this was impossible, as the large one was
already full. At the third lecture the audience had again in-
creased, and there was considerable difficulty in regulating the
admission.
After this lecture he was invited to have tea at the Professor’s
house, and on arrival he was embarrassed to find his hostess
weeping. ‘I’m sorry, said Jung. ‘Perhaps you are in trouble and
I am intruding.’ ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘There is no trouble.’ ‘But
you are crying.’ ‘Yes; it was your lectures.’ ‘But why?’ said he.
‘Did you not understand what I said? Was I very obscure? It
was quite a difficult subject.’ ‘Oh, no. It wasn’t that,’ she
replied. “I didn’t understand a word of it, but I felt it; it was the
way you said it. I felt the truth of what you said, and that is why
I am upset.’ ‘That’s it,’ Jung remarked in recalling the incident.
‘She was “‘in it”.
Jung regards his time as of importance; he never wastes it
over trivial matters and formalities, but goes straight to the
essentials; the direct method marks all his work. His power of
concentration is immense. Noise, if there is reason for it, does
not disturb him. When his house at Bollingen was being altered,
incessant hammering went on daily for weeks, but he adjusted
easily to this and scarcely noticed it.
Visitors who want to meet him merely because he is a noted
person are not welcomed. He is happy with friends, and with
colleagues engaged on special work he is generous of his time
and his ideas. He ‘gives himself’ to those he sees, be they young
or old, and they feel at ease because he is interested in them and
is always natural and frank. His fund of knowledge is profound
and exact, and he is well informed on many subjects outside
his professional work. Thus, on drives in the Swiss countryside
he would point out the geological formations, the architectural
features in different cantons, characteristics of the people
and the countryside—not to mention his acquaintance
with the culinary capacity of the hotels chosen as stopping-
places.
Eight universities have recognized Jung’s original contri-
butions by conferring upon him their honorary degrees, and he
is an Honorary Fellow of the Royal Society of Medicine
8 C. G. JUNG
(London). Because of a passing illness in 1960, to his regret he
was unable to accept two exceptional invitations: to speak of his
work at the Tercentenary Celebration in London of the Royal
Society, and, secondly, to take part in the commemorative
ceremony marking the anniversary of the foundation, in 1460,
of Basel University, his own alma mater.
CHAPTER TWO

Impressions of Jung’s Childhood and Youth

CARL GUSTAV JUNG, born 1875, was six months old when his
father, a parson in the Basel Reformed Church, moved from the
Swiss village of Kesswil to the Rhine Fall near Schaffhausen;
there, within sight and sound of the waterfall, was his home,
adjoining the little church. Before his birth there had been two
children, boys, who died as infants, so Carl Gustav was an only
child till he was nine, when a sister was born. He was left very
much to himself, but he had plenty of interests at home.
Following the Swiss custom, he attended the local school, and
he enjoyed the companionship of the neighbouring boys and
girls, who were mainly the children of peasants from the farms.
Jung maintains that his early contact with country boys gave
him a balanced view of what are usually called the facts of life.
Such matters are to a large extent taken for granted in country
places, and he was quite surprised later on, when he met Freud,
to find sexual matters given so much importance.
His father, an Oriental and classical scholar, taught him
Latin from the age of six, and this produced an appreciation
of the classics for which he has always been grateful. Through-
out his life he has been able to read Latin texts with ease, and
later on medieval Latin had no terrors for him.
Visitors to the famous Rhine Fall passed his father’s church
and the pastor’s house beside it, where, eighty years ago, Jung’s
early years were spent—not very eventfully so far as external
circumstances go. But inwardly they were important, and the
impression of certain experiences never completely faded.
9
10 C. G. JUNG
One of these, a dream he had at the age of four, had a
lasting influence; the memory of it has remained vivid—as vivid
as when he had it—and he often thought of it over the years.
He dreamt he was alone in the field beside their home where he
usually played, when to his surprise he noticed a square hole in
the ground. Filled with curiosity, he looked into the hole and
saw a flight of stone steps; down these he went slowly, with
hesitation. At the bottom was a door covered with a green cur-
tain, which he pulled aside. To his amazement, he saw a large,
rectangular room with stone walls; a strip of red carpet stretched
from the door to the opposite end, where there was a dais with
steps, and upon it a big chair. It was not an ordinary chair, but
a large golden throne with a red cushion, and on it rested what
he took to be a tree trunk about twelve inches high. This had a
red, fleshy top, a sort of head, yet not shaped as a head, with an
opening like the eye of a demonic god. He had never before seen
such a thing and had no idea what it could be, but he felt a
strong wave of panic. Then he heard his mother calling to
him. Her voice was quite clear, as though she were at the
entrance to the steps in the field, yet he realized—in the dream
—that she was in the house about 200 yards away. ‘Just look
at him,’ she said. ‘He is the Man-eater.? Here the dream
ended.
He could not understand the dream at all. Suddenly it
occurred to him that, as this room was below the surface, so
there was in life something mysterious and important in addi-
tion to the more ordinary experiences. Church services, his
father’s talk of an invisible yet powerful God, and all such things
had the same quality as this underground room—that is, they
ahr different from everyday happenings, a veiled background
of life.
Jung described this astonishing experience as a momentous
event. At the time of the dream he felt he must not speak of it;
he never did mention it till he was sixty-five years of age, when
he related it to his wife, and the silence was next broken when
he told it to me.
In this typically introverted attitude towards the dream there
is response to an inner situation, to the powerful influence of
IMPRESSIONS OF JUNG’S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH II
the unconscious, even though the dream itself was incompre-
hensible. Naturally, there was no speculation about the dream
at the time, for the mind of the child is not encumbered with
critical reflection. It would be the height of absurdity to attempt
to explain the dream as due to some current event. Impressive
dreams of this type come spontaneously from the unconscious
and may have no connection with current events; but the effect
is immediate and carries its own conviction, apart altogether
from conscious understanding. Such dreams occur in childhood,
for the child is still close to the world from which it came—the
primordial world of the unconscious.
Years later he got glimpses of what the dream meant. Thus
in adolescence when his own physical development came he
realized that the mysterious object on the cushion, like and
unlike a tree trunk, might be a phallus. When first he saw it,
he knew that it was of flesh; now he knew what it was. But not
fully, for it was only in later years that he recognized it as the
phallic archetype, the principle of creativity which is expressed
in many forms, such as the resurrection of life, the minaret,
the pillar-like grave monuments in Turkey, Assam, and else-
where, the towers on churches and so on. Until the latter part of
the last century, when prudery reached a zenith, there was a
phallus in stone at one of the old gates in Basel. But it was not
thought ‘proper’ and was removed.
Another impressive experience of childhood remained
clearly in Jung’s mind and, like the dream, was often recalled
in the intervening years. It occurred at about the same time
and had some of the mysterious quality of the underground-
room dream, for it, too, was associated in his mind with his
father’s allusions to prayer and similar matters, which always
seemed to belong to a world apart. Looking out of the window
one day, he caught sight of a tall woman walking along the road
towards their house and the waterfall. Because of the long dress,
he took it for granted that the figure was a woman, but as it
came nearer he realized that it was a man wearing a broad hat,
and a cloak reaching down to the ground. Naturally, he assumed
that the man was disguised, and this added to the mystery.
Often he had heard his father talking to friends of Jesuit priests
12 C. G. JUNG
and their sinister doctrines, and he knew the Jesuit Order was
forbidden in Switzerland. It flashed into his mind that this was a
Jesuit priest. Living in a Protestant district he had never seen
such a person and, being terrified lest the priest would come
into their house, he dashed upstairs and hid in the attic. One
reason for his alarm was the association of Christ with funerals,
and of His taking the dead to Himself; in his mind Jesuit was
equivalent to Jesus. After almost two hours had passed, he
descended cautiously to the first floor and peeped from the
window. The figure had gone. Of course, the Jesuit priest—if
indeed he was a Jesuit wearing his soutane—was merely a
visitor to the Rhine Fall. From what he had heard, he believed
that all Jesuits were concerned with deep, mysterious, nefarious
events, and this incident, with the dream of the underground
chamber, remained in his mind as a single, unforgettable event.
When Jung was about eight or nine, an unusual episode
had a marked effect upon him. In Basel, a few miles from his
home, he saw an ancient, horse-drawn coach with the rococo,
gilded body slung between the wheels on broad straps. This
was not an unusual sight in those days, for the coach came from
the Black Forest, where people were still living, as he expressed
it, ‘in the eighteenth century, just as my own parents still
belonged to the Middle Ages’. As he looked at the coach it
was strangely familiar, as if he really knew it; and, in addition,
he was aware of a personal bond with the coach and with the
period to which it belonged as if he, too, belonged to that time.
Thus, as well as being the boy of his own age, he felt as though
he were also a child of the eighteenth century. This completely
novel notion struck him the moment he saw the coach. It
produced no alarm or distress of mind, but rather interest and
quiet pleasure. At the time the experience was not recognized
as a mixture of fact and fancy, for his reflections were to him as
actual as the coach itself. Naturally, he did not understand the
experience, but, as any child of that age would do, he accepted
it just as it came and made no attempt to comprehend it.
In the same context, he mentioned seeing in the house of a
relative two statuettes, one of a man wearing buckled shoes.
These shoes fascinated him; he seemed to recognize that type of
IMPRESSIONS OF JUNG’S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 13
shoe in a particularly personal way. As with the coach, so with
the figure of the man (which belonged to the eighteenth century),
he was conscious of an affinity with the period, as though he and
it had something in common.
These experiences—the coach and the statuettes—rein-
forced the ill-defined notion that, although he was a boy of
four or five years old, living at the end of the nineteenth century,
he felt at the same time that he was a person in the earlier age of,
say, the eighteenth century, or at any rate that he had a close
bond with this earlier age. This in no way diminished the reality
of his present existence, but it enlarged his-outlook, so that life
became more interesting and happier.
There is, of course, nothing remarkable about this type of
experience. But the mixture of intuition and reality—given in
explanation of such experiences of duality—is not entirely
satisfactory, because it leaves out of account the vivid feeling of
being alive in the past, belonging to it. Perhaps in these boy-
hood experiences lie the germs of his theory of the collective
unconscious, for the mind, like the body, has its ancestry.
At about the age of ten, Jung was in the habit of sitting upon
a boulder in the garden, and he recalls that from time to time he
would fall into a sort of meditation and questioning, such as
‘Who am I? I could say I am sitting on the stone, but the stone
, could say I am supporting him’. Then would come the question:
j ‘Am I myself or am I the stone that supports my weight? This
' early reminiscence hints at the experience described by Lévy-
Bruhl as ‘participation mystique’—that is, the unconscious :
personality merges with the environment. Jung regrets that
Lévy-Bruhl gave up the adjective ‘mystique’, for it is just the
right word to characterize the peculiar quality of ‘unconscious’ sm
ee

identity, a well-known psychological and psychopathological ,

phenomenon.
A later experience, having marked differences and at the
same time some similarity in feeling to the two episodes men-
tioned above, occurred at the age of eleven or twelve, during a
holiday by the Lake of Lucerne. He had gone out with the son
1 Psychology and Religion: West and East, C. W., Vol. 11,
pp. 211, 504 n.
14 C. G. JUNG
effort to
of his host in a boat—in itself a great thrill—and in an
he
row in the standing position often used in Switzerland,
owner of the boat had warne d him
stood up on the stern. The
before of such pranks, and when he saw him he called him back
safe and
and ‘gave me hell’. But Jung knew at the time he was
said to himself, ‘What business is it of his? What has he got to
me to be careful ? I am an adult
do with me, how dare he tell
myself !’ He was quite surpri sed at
man, fully able to look after
his own words, for he knew he was only a boy of eleven or
twelve; yet in that moment he felt himself to be a grown-
up man, and so the scolding seemed to him quite out of
lace.
; After the family moved to Basel and when he was about
twelve, he entered the Gymnasium, the school for classical
teaching, and found himself far ahead of his contemporaries:
the early training in Latin was bearing fruit. Often he was idle
as the class laboured over Latin grammar; his teacher, to relieve
this monotony, would send him to get books from the University
library, and he used to linger, absorbed in the old books.
Unhurried permeation suited him, for even in those days he
disliked a settled programme, being accustomed to make his
plans in his own way.
Jung’s mother found life as the wife of a country parson
rather difficult: her education was much wider than was normal
in those days, and, looking back, Jung thought she must have
been terribly bored. His father, a friendly man with a happy
disposition, enjoyed chatting to his parishioners and got on well
with everyone; but he frittered away his time in trivialities,
little events of no importance, and let his considerable ability
go to seed. At the University he had shown promise of a career as
a Hebrew scholar. But all this came to an end on the death of his
father (C. G. J.’s grandfather), for the family found themselves
short of money and it looked as if this gifted student must
take up remunerative work. Then a relative died unexpectedly,
leaving a sum of money for the education of any member of the
family who wished to become a clergyman. Mainly as a way out
of his financial difficulty, Jung’s father accepted the legacy and
turned to the study of theology; in due course he was ordained.
IMPRESSIONS OF JUNG’S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH I§
When it came to marriage, his choice fell on the daughter of
his old teacher of Hebrew.
Jung found his mother an enigma because she was so unpre-
dictable. On one occasion she told him that he was a disgrace to
the family: he was always untidy, with torn, unbrushed clothes
and dirty hands. She wanted to be proud of him, for he was then
the only child, and she thought to stir him up by comparing
him unfavourably with the children of a neighbour, who were
always clean, and ‘wore nice little gloves and beautiful clothes
with bits of lace on the cuffs, altogether admirable!’ He was
irritated with these wonderful children, and when he got the
chance he ‘beat them up’. Their mother then appeared and
complained to his mother! There was quite a row: ‘How could
you be so rough and cruel to those nice, well-behaved children?’
But a little later, as she was knitting, she lapsed into quiet
talking to herself—a habit she had—and he heard her liken these
children to a litter of puppies which ought to be destroyed as
mongrels. At once he challenged her: ‘But you praised them
before, and now you say they are like a litter of puppies which
ought to be drowned.’ She denied it hotly: ‘You’re a dreadful
boy to say such things of your mother.’ ‘But you did say it
yourself. I heard you,’ he retorted. But she would not accept
this, and continued to blame him. Little by little he came to think
she was a rather peculiar, uncertain person. It was all most puzz-
ling for him.
I asked if sports and races were usual when he was at school.
There were no such activities then, he told me, so he did not
develop an interest in games and similar contests; they never
seemed worth while. He had often observed that those who set
store by petty triumphs appear to have an inner knowledge that
life holds nothing for them; they seek trivial prizes so that at
any rate they will have something out of life. Jung was never
interested in such insignificant feats. He mentioned a fellow-
student, a promising scientific worker, who was always taking
unnecessary risks in the mountains in order to distinguish
himself, to make his mark in this way. Years later he met this
man, who by then had retired and was spending his days
pottering about his garden, with no interest in his earlier
16 C. G. JUNG
life
research. Jung always felt (unconscious knowledge) that
that he was, as it were, a trustee of some-
held much for him,
thing which could be done; that was why after the age of fifteen
he refused to take foolish and unnecessary risks.
About the age of twelve, Jung had an impressive dream, and
.
at the time he knew it marked an important change in his outlook
It was perhaps the most signific ant dream in his whole life.
Like that of the underground chamber, it remained clear and
fresh in his mind.
This is the dream: ‘I was in the rather gloomy courtyard of
the Gymnasium at Basel, a beautiful medieval building. From the
courtyard I went through the big entrance where the coaches
used to come in, and there before me was the Cathedral of
Basel, the sun shining on the roof of coloured tiles, recently
renovated, a most impressive sight. Above the Cathedral God
was sitting on His throne. I thought: “How beautiful it all is!
What a wonderful world this is—how perfect, how complete,
how full of harmony.” Then something happened, so unex-
pected and so shattering that I woke up. There the dream ended.
I could not allow myself to think of what I had seen,’ he con-
tinued, ‘for had I done so I would be compelled to accept it,
and this I couldn’t possibly do. So I made every effort to put
the thought from my mind.’ (In an aside he remarked: “So I
knew from experience what leads to repression!’) ‘I lay in bed,
unable to get to sleep again, thinking of the dream and of the
horrifying picture I had seen. The next day I looked worried and
pale, and my mother asked if there was anything wrong; “Has
something gone wrong in school?” “Oh, no,” I replied. “Every-
thing is all right.” ’ On the following night the same unwelcome
line of thought returned. Yet he could not bring himself to
dwell upon what he termed the terrible part of the dream; he -
turned from it with a shudder. At that time he was a firm be-
liever in the Christian teaching given by his father about Christ,
sin, forgiveness, and other doctrines. If he allowed himself,
now fully awake, to think the thought he had in the dream or to
look again at what he had seen in the dream, it would be the
‘unforgivable sin’. But on the third night he reflected: “Perhaps
God wants me to think this thing as a test, to see if I am a true
IMPRESSIONS OF JUNG’S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 17
believer. But,’ he thought, ‘where could such an awful thing
come from? Could it come from the Devil? But then the Devil
would be greater than God.’ Then came the idea: ‘God is
testing me, and if I could accept the awful thought it would
prove my belief in God. Where could it possibly come from?
Perhaps from my father? That is impossible, for he is a true
believer. Nor could it have come from my mother; that, too, is
impossible, for she would never think such things. Then per-
haps from my grandfather? But he was a Professor of Medicine,
and he wouldn’t be likely to have such thoughts. Possibly the
awful thought came from my maternal grandfather? Yet he
held a high position in the Church. Certainly he could never
have thought such a shameful thing.’ It occurred to him that a
possible source of the terrible thought must be in the distant
past; it might have come even from the Fall of Adam. But that
was too far away, too abstract. All his pondering was quite
inconclusive. Then came a great moment: he sat up in bed,
sweating and trembling, for he felt: ‘God must mean me to
accept this awful scene as my own thought,’ and at that moment
he did accept it. It was as follows: From his throne God
‘dropped’ a vast faeces on the Cathedral and smashed it to pieces.
This was a terrific thing, for it could only mean that the Church,
his father’s teaching, and his own beliefs had to be thought of in
an entirely different way, because God had poured scorn on every
one of them.
Acceptance of the dream as a fact had a marked influence on
Jung, resembling in some ways the impression produced by the
incident at Lucerne,t but much more impressive. He was
conscious of a calm assurance that he was now a person in his
own right. Tension and anxiety about the dream faded, and so
did all the disturbing ideas that he was two people,” divided in
some unfamiliar way by opposing thoughts. Probably these
sprang from identification with his father, for this could bring
uncertainty about his personal identity. Now he knew: ‘I am I;
I must be myself; I must think for myself; I must admit only
what J understand.’ Here was an unequivocal experience,
accepted unhesitatingly as his own.
1 See p. 14. 2 See p. I2.
18 C. G. JUNG

This may sound a trifle sententious for a boy of twelve; but

young adolescents can take life very seriously, yet without a trace
of pomposity. It only appears sententious or pompous from the
standpoint of the adult, perhaps the slightly cynical or con-
descending adult. Anyhow, for Jung it was a great event, and
one never to be doubted.
Jung has always acknowledged the influence of these early
and intimate personal events upon his life. What took place
within his own mind—in dreams, for instance—has been more
significant than external circumstances. This is what might be
expected, for he has the psychology of the introverted thinker,
and his reflections are often stimulated in ways that to someone
else would be meaningless. Facts observed by another will be
observed also by Jung, but he may derive entirely different
conclusions from these facts. This does not imply a quality of
uniqueness in Jung, but illustrates how introverted thinking
proceeds. From early life his predominant interest has been the
inner value, and so the importance of an incident lies in his
reaction to it, for this makes an inevitable contribution to his
comprehension of the external happening. Perhaps his thoughts
in childhood, evoking as they did an immediate inner response,
foreshadowed the concept of autonomy in the unconscious.
Naturally, the predominantly extraverted thinker will find this
rather high-flown, esoteric; but for others it will be simple, even
trite common sense. With the best will in the world, the extravert,
whatever his functional type, will find Jung’s books hard going.
From the Gymnasium Jung went on to the University of
Basel, where his grandfather had been Professor of Medicine
and where later on he himself was to become Professor of
Psychiatry. Although he had distinct leanings towards anthro-
pology, he joined the natural science class, but later changed to
medicine. He was keen to learn, but he must have been a rather
trying student, because he was constantly asking questions in
class. When taught about the ether, he questioned its existence,
saying it was merely a guess, a theory with little foundation.
Some teachers thought him stupid and silly to have ideas of his
own. But, nothing daunted, he continued with his problems.
It is to be noted that this confident manner was relatively new,
IMPRESSIONS OF JUNG’S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH 19
for it dated from the dream of Basel Cathedral. That a dream
could have such an effect will surprise only those who have
never had a ‘big dream’. It didn’t surprise Jung at the time; it
was accepted much as a child accepts the fact that he can walk,
as a youth accepts the fact that he can swim. He needed no
proof, for the dream carried its own credentials.
Professor Lewis,' in a comprehensive article, surveys the
work published by Jung between 1902 and 1907, while at the
Burghdlzli Hospital. He adds reflectively: ‘I do not know what
occupied his interest before he went to the Burghélzli in 1900—
passing his medical examinations, I suppose.’ Jung did pass his
examinations without any difficulty. They were taken in his
stride. But in addition his interest was largely directed to
subjects beyond the everyday routine of a medical student. One
experience, at first glance trivial, turned out to be most impor-
tant in the shaping of his career. He and a few young friends,
the children of neighbours, were trying to make something of
table-rapping and similar things. To their amazement, one of
the group, a girl of fifteen, went into a trance and began to talk
in high German in a stilted fashion, altogether different from
her ordinary voice and language, for, like the others, she was
accustomed to speak colloquial Swiss German. Thinking over
this incident, Jung was struck by the complexity of the human
mind, and saw it as one might observe any phenomenon,
whereas till then he had taken the mind for granted. His
companions found the incident quite entertaining, and so did he.
But he went further, and asked himself: ‘What is happening
below the surface in this girl’s mind?’
He was fascinated by this novel problem, and at subsequent
sessions Jung, in his systematic manner, took full notes of what
the girl said. Some years later he used these as a thesis for his
M.D. degree, and an expanded version of this has been pub-
lished, first in 1902 and recently in the Collected Works.? Anyone
reading the finished essay without knowing the history of it
might easily miss the significance of this early incident.
About 1896 or 1897 a fellow student invited him to visit his
1 Lewis, Sir Aubrey, ‘Jung’s Early Work’, Journal of
Analytical Psychology (1957), II, p. 119.
2 Psychiatric Studies (1957), C. W., Vol. 1, p. 17.
20 C. G. JUNG
home in Schaffhausen for a couple of days. While glancing at
the books in the library, he came upon one on spiritualism,
mesmerism, and such topics published years before. At the
time he knew nothing of these subjects, and saw at once that
they might have a bearing on the strange behaviour of the girl
who had fallen into a trance. But while his curiosity was aroused
and he studied the literature of spiritualism and similar subjects,
searching for some light on the girls unusual state of mind,
the answer eluded him. Much later—about 1900—he chanced
to read the Introduction to a book by Krafft-Ebing, and it
was through this that he saw the possibility of uniting medicine
with his philosophical interests. There and then Jung decided
to make psychiatry his career.
He tells us that this girl led a curiously contradictory life,
a real double life, with two personalities existing side by side
or in succession, each continually striving for mastery. One was
that of the girl of fifteen; the other that of a clever and mature
woman. Very soon she took up dressmaking and dress-designing
and she developed unusually quickly. By the age of twenty-two
she had established herself in business and was employing over
twenty assistants. Her work was of a high order; she made the
most beautiful designs for dresses and in every way was a
brilliant success. In addition she won a reputation as a medium
and many people were interested in her. On one occasion—this
was later on—Jung discovered that she was cheating. She had
claimed to be in a trance, but he suspected that she was play-
acting, and told her so, and she admitted that she was not in a
trance at all. He had nothing more to do with her after this.
Her reputation had become too much for her; she could not
keep up with it, so she used pretence.
Apart from this, she did present a remarkable phenomenon,
described in detail by Jung. In the early experiments she was not
cheating, and she spoke and acted as though she had two person-
alities. Jung got an impression that unconsciously she knew that
her life would be short, and consequently she telescoped her
future personality into that of the immature girl. There was no
indication in the early twenties or in her teens that her health was
anything but sound; nevertheless, she contracted consumption
and died after a long illness at the age of twenty-six.
CHAPTER THREE

Experience at the Burghdlzli Hospital

EUGEN BLEULER, Professor of Psychiatry in the University of

Zürich, was Director of the Burghdlzli Hospital when Jung
joined his staff in 1900. A progressive atmosphere had been
built up, and Jung found his colleagues very much to his taste:
they were well informed, keen, and enthusiastic. His immediate
senior on the staff suggested that he should do research on
sections of brain tissue in the expectation that some pathological
condition would prove to be the cause of mental illness, par-
ticularly dementia praecox. Jung had taken up psychiatry
determined to discover ‘the intruders of the mind’, as he des-
cribed abnormal ideas—that is, the disturbing delusions and
hallucinations. Microscopic examination of brain tissue was
entirely new to him, and he began it hoping for great results.
Sometimes the professor gave him the responsibility for a course
of lectures in general physiology. But his research work was in
vain; it threw no light on the problems of causation and treat-
ment, which were his main objectives, and so it was abandoned.
At that time hypnotism was passing through one of its
cycles of popularity, and it was quite the vogue at the Burghdlzli.
Bleuler’s predecessor, August Forel, was a noted writer on the
subject. Three stages were described, and this threefold division
was thought to be highly important; but, as is well known,
Forel’s so-called stages of hypnosis were later regarded as
entirely artificial.
Jung did a great deal of hypnotic treatment at the Burghilzli,
but he grew very tired of it as it explained nothing and he felt
2I
22 C. G. JUNG
he was working in the dark. Nevertheless, he was in charge of
the hypnotism clinic for a time; like everyone else, he got plenty
of symptomatic cures, and the value of these was fully recog-
nized. But his aim was to find out the meaning of the illness—to
understand rather than obliterate the symptoms. What had
changed a previously happy person into a depressed, deluded,
anti-social invalid? Hypnotism provided no answer to such a
problem.
Although Forel had retired, hypnotism was still used in the
hospital and there were many stories current about his work.
It was said that he used to collect a group of patients, tell them
in an authoritative way to go to sleep and, when everyone was
sleeping or pretending to do so, he would leave them. But after
he had gone they would chat together—which probably helped
them a lot—till they heard his step in the corridor, and, of
course, all were sleeping correctly when he walked in.
A serious drawback to hypnotic treatment—so Jung felt—was
the withdrawal of initiative from the patient, and this, by the
way, was one of his later criticisms of Freud’s psycho-analysis:
the patient became too passive and left everything to the doctor.
In those early days Jung was impressed by Freud’s writings,
and he was one of the few who recognized his qualities. For the
most part, Freud received little or no attention. He, too, had used
hypnosis and found it lacking. Sometimes it has been suggested
that he gave it up because he was unable to hypnotize obses-
sional patients. Jung told me this was not the case, and that
Freud abandoned hypnosis because he found it superficial
and often disappointing, savouring more of magic than of
medicine.
Over and above his other work, Jung spent a great deal of
time talking to patients in the wards in the hope that he might
discover something about the onset of their illnesses, and find
out, if he could, what the symptoms meant to them. Although
the results varied, he learnt a great deal by direct contact with
the patients. One of several patients with whom he concerned
himself particularly was an elderly woman who had been in the
hospital almost forty years—so long that none of the nurses
remembered her arrival, and they had come to accept her as
EXPERIENCE AT THE BURGHOLZLI HOSPITAL 23
just another senile patient. She had an odd habit of moving her
hands up and down, and she ‘shovelled’ the food into her
mouth with this movement. The students saw her in demon-
strations as an example of dementia praecox, catatonic type,
and that was all, for there was no psychological point of view
in those days. One evening, when going round the ward, Jung
asked an older nurse if she knew any details about the patient’s
early history. Information was scant, but the nurse recalled
that many years ago she had been told that the patient had had
some connection with shoe-making, but, as the patient had never
spoken since she had known her, there was no information
about her early life. It dawned on Jung that the movements of
her hands resembled the action of cobblers in country districts.
Eventually the patient died and her brother came to the hospital.
Jung asked him why his sister had come to the asylum. ‘Ah!’ he
replied. ‘She was going to marry a shoemaker, but he jilted her
and she went mad.’ To Jung it seemed possible that the ideas
and associations of long ago lived on in the hand movements.
This record has a special interest, for his observations and
reflections about this patient gave him the idea of a possible
psychogenic element in dementia praecox.
Doctors from outside Switzerland were attracted to the
Burghölzli in the early days of this century through the publi-
cations of Jung and other members of the staff. One of these by
Jung and a colleague, Dr. W. F. Peterson,! must be among the
first psychiatric contributions to show that the influence of
emotion can be demonstrated physiologically as well as psy-
chologically.
A similar psychophysical relation was shown again and again
in the experiments connected with what was known as the
‘association method’, a procedure used extensively before
Jung’s time by workers in experimental psychology, and chiefly
by Darwin’s kinsman, Sir Francis Galton. Here the procedure
was to read a series of words to the test subject, who had been
instructed to answer as quickly as possible with the word which

1 “Psycho-physical Investigations with the Galvanometer

and Pneumograph in Normal and Insane Individuals’,
Brain, XXX (1907), pp. 118, 153-218.
24 C. G. JUNG
came into his mind. With a stop-watch, the tester recorded the
reaction time—that is, the delay between hearing the test word
and the response. This sounded so simple that it surprised
Jung and his colleagues when patient after patient, many of
them intelligent and fluent, experienced difficulty in carrying
out the simple instruction of giving an immediate response.
How was this to be explained? Originally the test was devised to
distinguish certain intellectual types, and for this it proved of
little value. But, as Jung was the first to demonstrate, the res-
ponses to the test depended on the emotions, not on the intel-
lectual qualities of the person tested. Often the rate of heart-
beat and respiration, and at times the psycho-galvanic reaction,
were recorded, in addition to the verbal response to the stimulus
word. A graph of such a test showed a correspondence between
the verbal response, respiration rate, and the psycho-galvanic
effect. In other words, the mind and body acted as a unit; there
were no separated functions. An account of the association
method appeared in English in 1920, and is referred to else-
where in Jung’s published work.1 Professor A. C. Mace of
London University, speaking at a function in honour of Pro-
fessor Jung’s eightieth birthday, referred to Jung’s work on the
association method, and, with permission, an extract from his
speech is given here:
‘There is a strange, but I think significant, resemblance
between the way in which the spirit of religion tends to become
petrified and imprisoned in ritual and dogma, and the way in
which the spirit of science is apt to be enslaved to methodology
and technique. This is what happened to Galton’s psycho-
metric studies and to his lively explorations of human person-
ality. The investigation of word-association was reduced to a
tedious laboratory procedure. Instruments were designed to
measure association-times to a thousandth of a second, and
refined statistical techniques were developed for revealing
“significant” but uninteresting differences.
1 Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology, Bailliére,
Tindall, and Cox (1920), p. 94. Attention is also drawn to a
chapter entitled ‘A Review of the Complex Theory’ in The
raters and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W., Vol.
» P. 92.
EXPERIENCE AT THE BURGHOLZLI HOSPITAL 25

‘In his Studies in Word Association, Jung showed that he

could play the Laboratory Game as well as any of the rest, and
that he could do so without any sacrifice of the interest in
content to the interest in method. In the results of these remark-
able experiments we can see how near Galton had been to
making great discoveries. Galton had noted the similarity of
associations of men with a common cultural background, and
in his studies of twins he had shown how much alike in the
minutest detail the thoughts of twins can be. But the full signi-
ficance of these facts was first made clear by Jung who rescued
these studies from scientific pedantry and reinvested them with
the vitality and interest of real life.’
Two important results came from these experiments, and
the study of the method and its issues became a feature in the
teaching of the Ziirich School. First was Jung’s theory of the
complex, and, secondly, the striking fact that the responses to
the tests were quite apart from consciousness; in other words,
the response was autonomous, the complex behaved, so to speak,
on its own, independently of the conscious wishes or ideas of the
subject.
Delays and mistakes occurred when the test word touched on
certain ideas, and a constellation of this nature was described
as an ‘emotionally toned complex’, later abbreviated to ‘com-
plex’.
There has been some confusion about the word ‘complex’
because at one time Jung employed it to describe a constellation
of conscious or unconscious ideas. For many years now, however,
the notion of the conscious complex has been superseded, and in
current use complex means a group of ideas repressed from the
control of consciousness—that is to say, autonomous complexes
which can only be brought once more into conscious control by
analysis, or some other method designed to overcome the
resistance of the unconscious. Jung speaks of ‘. . . this dark side
of the soul [that] does not come within the purview of con-
sciousness, and therefore the patient cannot deal with it,
correct it, resign himself to it, or renounce it, for he cannot be
said to possess [i.e. be in control of] the unconscious impulses.
By being repressed from the hierarchy of the conscious soul,
B
26 C. G. JUNG

they have become autonomous complexes which can be brought

again under control by analysis of the unconscious, though not
without great resistance.’ *
How can the effect of the complex be explained? It behaved
like a partial or splinter personality with the result that the
subject acted and thought as though disturbed by someone
else or by external circumstances. But this was impossible, for
there was no second person; so, inevitably, it was assumed that
the interference came from within, from the unconscious, and
came spontaneously, apart from will. Its occurrence surprised
the patient as much as the testers. Jung considered Janet’s
explanation: that dissociation was caused by a rise and fall of
psychical tension. But this was a description rather than an
explanation. There were other objections to Janet’s theory:
the complex appeared to function with considerable strength,
and this was not compatible with a psychasthenic condition,
which is, by definition, a state of weakened psychical tension.
After prolonged discussion and personal reflection, Jung reached
the conclusion that the most satisfactory and the most probable
explanation was Freud’s theory of repression.
Jung, as we have seen, was familiar with Freud’s work. He
had been attracted to it in the first instance because Freud
accorded importance to the mind itself, and did not regard it
merely as a nebulous entity, vaguely associated with the body.
Consequently, he wrote to Freud telling him of the experimental
confirmation of his theory of repression. He also pointed out the
striking feature that the complex behaved autonomously. Freud
was naturally interested to hear from Jung, and appreciated the
importance of his conclusion, for Jung’s reputation was then
established, and his name would certainly have been known to
Freud. Freud expressed his interest in the autonomous nature
of the complex, but, strange to say, he made no use of this
fact.
Although Jung has not employed the association method for
many years, it constituted a significant step in his thinking and
opened the way for future developments. The conclusions it
1 Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology, Bailliére,
Tindall, and Cox (1920), p. 377.
EXPERIENCE AT THE BURGHOLZLI HOSPITAL 27

was possible to draw from the results of many tests—on indi-

viduals and in groups—impressed Jung very much, and they
were the first steps which led eventually to his throwing in his
lot with Freud.
It was as a complex-indicator that the test became well
known, and it came in for a lot of criticism. It was argued, for
instance, that in some cases the test word touched on conscious
material and therefore could have nothing to do with a complex,
which is unconscious. Such a question is based on a misunder-
standing. These tests were used to contact what Jung later
described as the ‘personal unconscious’, which contains material
previously conscious. Consequently, the contents of the personal
unconscious are qualitatively the same as consciousness and
might just as well be conscious; in fact, the individual may be
unconscious of a thing at one time and conscious of it at another.
We may be unconscious of the answer to a question during an
examination, although it had been known to us earlier, and it
may return to consciousness later, probably when we have left
the examination hall! By asking a person, we can decide whether
a particular content is or is not conscious at a certain time. If it
is not conscious, then it is repressed or forgotten—that is,
unconscious. But it has not ceased to exist; although unconscious,
its effect in the test is plain to see.
Jung rightly took it for granted that the results of the test
were facts. Information not previously known to the doctor or
to the patient, in these circumstances became available. Extensive
use was made of the method in practical psychological work, in
medico-iegal work, in analysis, and in investigating interfamily
relationships by giving the test to members of the same family.
This research proved valuable. The reader will find ample
details in Jung’s writings.*
It has been observed that the attitude of the subject towards
the test affected the result. Some subjects assumed that they
were having an intelligence test or that a method was being used
to take an indiscreet look behind the scenes, as Jung puts it.?
1 Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology, p. 119.
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W., Vol.
8, P. 93.
28 C. G. JUNG

The disturbance took place consciously and could invalidate the

accuracy of the results, or of some of them. Such complications
had previously been regarded as failures to react. Nevertheless,
the presence of these side-effects showed that there were no
isolated psychic processes, or at any rate no means had yet been
found of demonstrating them experimentally. The unspoken
background ! was revealed by reaction disturbances, and this is
comparable to the situation that takes place when two people
have a discussion. In the complex, therefore, we find a psychic
factor which, in terms of energy, possesses a value that often
exceeds our conscious intentions.”
It was somewhat cumbersome and rather impersonal to
read lists of words, using a stop-watch and making calculations,
and some workers, including Jung, found it boring. This led to
inaccuracy, for the attitude of the tester reacted on the test sub-
ject. Then, again, some patients took it too seriously and others too
frivolously, so in several ways it had limitations. As a complex-
indicator it had its place. But that was only a first step. Jung
found that it interfered with the doctor-patient relationship,
so he used it less and less, and finally dropped it altogether.
In 1906 Jung published The Psychology of Dementia Praecox.
This was translated into English by the late Dr. A. A. Brill,’
who visited the hospital in 1907. In his Introduction, Brill
refers to the ardent and enthusiastic workers at the Burghdlzli,
and particularly to Jung, who was the leading spirit in the work
on the word association tests. An added interest in the experi-
ments was to discover if Freud’s views on repression were
confirmed, and, as we know, the results supported the soundness
of Freud’s theory. Brill considered that Jung’s book on dem-
entia praecox was the only work of its kind to give a résumé of
the problem of this illness, and adds: ‘there is no question that
next to Freud’s case it forms the cornerstone of modern inter-
pretative psychiatry’. The Psychology of Dementia Praecox
1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C.W.,
Vol. 8, p. 95.
2 Ibid., p. 96.
3 The Psychology of Dementia Praecox, trans. A. A. Brill.
Nervous and Mental Disease Publishing Co. (1936).
4 See p. 26.
EXPERIENCE AT THE BURGHOLZLI HOSPITAL 29
established Jung’s reputation, and even today, more than fifty
years later, the book holds its place.
Jung’s interest in the psychology of schizophrenia has been
maintained throughout his career. In 1939 he read a paper, ‘On
the Psychogenesis of Schizophrenia’ before the Psychiatric
Section of the Royal Society of Medicine.1 At the Second
International Congress of Psychiatry, held at Ziirich in 1957,
Jung contributed a paper on ‘Schizophrenia’,? in which he
traces the growth of his thought from 1901 to 1958 on the still
mysterious disorder, schizophrenia. But the paper is more than
a historical survey, for while reference is made to earlier views,
it gives later ideas, and chiefly his acceptance of the possibility
of development in new measures that might prove valuable in
determining the aetiology and treatment of schizophrenia:
‘Despite, however, the undoubted psychogeneity of most cases,
which would lead one to expect the disease to run a purely
psychological course, schizophrenia exhibits concomitant pheno-
mena that do not seem to me to be explicable psychologi-
cally. . . . It will assuredly be a long time before the physiology
and pathology of the brain and the psychology of the uncon-
scious are able to join hands. Till then they must go their
separate ways. But psychiatry, whose concern is the total man,
is forced by its task of understanding and treating the sick to
consider both sides, regardless of the gulf that yawns between
the two aspects of the psychic phenomenon.’
In a brief Appendix to this paper, Jung, writing of schizo-
phrenia, adds: ‘But it was just my psychological approach that
led me to the hypothesis of a chemical factor, without which I
would not be able to explain certain pathognomonic details in its
symptomatology. I arrived at the chemical hypothesis by a
process of psychological elimination rather than by specifically
chemical research. . . . To make myself clear, I consider the
aetiology of schizophrenia to be a dual one: namely up to a
certain point psychology is indispensable in explaining the

1 The Psychogenesis of Mental Disease (1960), C. W., Vol.

3, P. 233 (previously published in the Journal of Mental
Science (1939), LXXXV, p. 999).
2 Ibid., pp. 256, 268, 271, 272.
30 C. G. JUNG
nature and the causes of the initial emotions which give rise to
metabolic alterations. These emotions seem to be accom-
panied by chemical processes that cause specific temporary or
chronic disturbances or lesions.’
In the Preface Jung expresses his appreciation of Freud:
‘Even a superficial glance at my work will show how much
I am indebted to the brilliant discoveries of Freud. . . . In the
beginning I naturally entertained all the objections that are
customarily made against Freud in the literature. . . . Fairness
to Freud, however, does not imply, as many fear, unqualified
submission to a dogma; one can very well maintain an inde-
pendent judgment. If I, for instance, acknowledge the complex
mechanisms of dreams and hysteria, this does not mean that I
attribute to the infantile sexual trauma the exclusive importance
that Freud apparently does. Still less does it mean that I place
sexuality so predominantly in the foreground or that I grant it
the psychological universality which Freud, it seems, postulates
in view of the admittedly enormous rôle which sexuality plays
in the psyche. . . . Nevertheless, all these things are the merest
trifles compared with the psychological principles whose dis-
covery is Freud’s greatest merit; and to them the critics pay far
too little attention.’ 1
Freud’s emphasis on the significance of the instinctual sexual
libido or energy surprised Jung. It is perhaps worth repeating
that Jung had been brought up in the country, where the
breeding of animals and associated matters made the details of
sexual life common knowledge. But no one then thought of
sexuality as paramount, worthy of being the subject of a dogma.
To Jung it seemed nonsense to insist upon a dogma about some-
thing everyone took for granted. Nor was sexuality by any
means the only form of instinctual energy, let alone the most
important; therefore it seemed unscientific as well as too narrow
to give it such prominence. But, said Jung, dwellers in Vienna,
such as Freud and his pupils, had no notion of primitive con-
ditions where food is the main concern. Anyone with experience
of Japanese prisoner-of-war camps would agree with Jung’s
1 The Psychogenests of Mental Disease (1960), C. W., Vol.
3> P- 4.
EXPERIENCE AT THE BURGHOLZLI HOSPITAL 3I

statement, for hunger, continued day by day, will soon displace

sexual urges.
- Jung’s concept of energy is much wider than Freud’s, as the
following statement shows: ‘If we take our stand on the basis of
scientific common sense and avoid philosophical considerations
which would carry us too far, we would probably do best to
regard the psychic process simply as a life-process. In this way
we enlarge the narrower concept of psychic energy to a broader
one of life-energy which includes “psychic energy” as a specific
part. We thus gain the advantage of being able to follow quan-
titative relations beyond the narrow confines of the psychic
into the sphere of biological functions in general, and so can
do justice, if need be, to the long discussed and ever-present
problem of “mind and body”. t Again: ‘While I do not connect
any specifically sexual definition with the word “libido”, this
is not to deny the existence of a sexual dynamism any more than
any other dynamism, for instance that of the hunger-drive,
etc. ... I therefore expressly declared . . . that the libido with
which we operate is not only not concrete or known, but is a
complete x, a pure hypothesis, a model or counter, and is no
more concretely conceivable than the energy known to the
world of physics.’ ?
Hence there are two ways in which we are aware of energy:
energy on the widest or cosmic plane, and energy as it shows
itself in the psychic life of individuals.
Mental energy is a much-debated concept in psychology
and in philosophy. Bergson’s élan vital, for instance, is a spe-
cific theory of mental energy and is different from Jung’s view.
It is mentioned here because the two have been confused.
Those who seek a complete exposition of Jung’s standpoint
are referred to his paper ‘On Psychic Energy’ from which the
above quotations are taken.
Jung objected to what he regarded as Freud’s attempt to
impose the theory of the sexual libido upon nature. Such an
attempt would be self-limiting and a hindrance rather than a
1 The@Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,
Vol. 8, p. 17.
2 Tbid., p. 30.
32 C. G. JUNG
help in understanding nature. By way of illustration, he told the
story of a Rabbi and his pupils who went for a walk in the
country. Suddenly they came upon a big dog by a farmhouse,
and it barked furiously at them. The Rabbi said to his pupils,
‘Don’t be alarmed. Barking dogs never bite.’ But the dog drew
nearer, barking and snarling, and the Rabbi quickly gathered
up his cloak and ran. Later the pupils said, ‘Master, why did
you run? You told us that barking dogs never bite.’ ‘Ah, yes!
We know that barking dogs never bite, but I’m not sure whether
the dog knows it too.’ There is no point in having a theory
which we know, but which Nature doesn’t know.
CHAPTER FOUR

Jung and Freud: Hail and Farewell

JuNG and his wife visited Freud in Vienna in 1907 and were
warmly received. Freud greeted them at their hotel, presented
Mrs. Jung with flowers and invited them to his house, where
they met his wife and members of the household—the children
and Mrs. Freud’s sister, who lived with them and helped Freud
with secretarial work. There had been correspondence between
Freud and the Ziirich school, and this visit placed the contact on
a personal basis. According to Ernest Jones, Freud saw a risk
of psycho-analysis becoming a Jewish racial affair, and as Jung
was not a Jew he was all the more welcome to Freud. Recogni-
tion from Jung and Bleuler, psychiatrists of established standing,
was naturally gratifying to him. ‘After so many years of being
cold-shouldered, ridiculed and abused, it would have needed
an exceptionally philosophical disposition not to have been
elated when well-known university teachers from a famous
Psychiatric Clinic. abroad appeared on the scene in whole-
hearted support of his work.’ ? This was in 1908.
Jung in his turn was eager to know Freud, and he records
that he was the most remarkable person he had then met. Their
first talk, in Freud’s house, lasted for thirteen hours! For Jung
the meeting was a mixture of expectation and disappointment.
He hoped for much, but seemed unable to get beyond the con-
fines of Freud’s narrow approach, his restricted perspective and
concentration on tiny details, and his theoretical assumptions.
1Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol.
II, p. 53. 2 Ibid., p. 48.
33
34 C. G. JUNG
According to Jung, the talk was protracted because he con-
tinued to question Freud, hoping to get beyond these limitations,
and in particular Freud’s insistence on the importance of the
infantile sexual trauma as a settled, unalterable basis of his work.
During his stay Jung had a dream: He was in a Ghetto, and
the place was narrow and twisted, with low ceilings and stair-
cases hanging down. He thought to himself: “How in hell can
people live in such a place.’ This came as rather a shock. He
could not identify the place with Vienna and, further, so far as
he knew, he was happy to be there.
On many topics their outlook conformed—for example, on
Freud’s valuation of transference. When Freud asked; ‘What do
you think of transference?’ Jung immediately answered, ‘It is
the alpha and omega in treatment.’ ‘You have understood,’
added Freud. Although Jung’s views on transference changed
later, he always recognized the brilliance of Freud’s original
description of transference. Freud’s theory of repression had
impressed Jung before they met and, notwithstanding state-
ments to the contrary,! he has always insisted on the importance
of repression.
Here we may anticipate an incident which occurred two
years later, when Jung again visited Freud in Vienna. Once
more they were in Freud’s study talking about the psycho-
analytical movement. On many previous occasions Jung had
found Freud difficult, but at this meeting he felt, for the first
time, that the association was becoming almost impossible,
mainly because of Freud’s unyielding and—as Jung felt—almost
fanatical determination that the movement must develop only
on certain lines. During the talk, both were startled by a for-
midable crash—this is how Jung described it—as if the entire
bookcase was coming down. ‘What do you make of that?’ ex-
claimed Jung and then, quite spontaneously, added, ‘It will
happen again’—and it did. They examined the bookcase, but
found nothing. Jung knew instantly that this was a parapsy-
chological phenomenon—that is, an expression of a psychic
situation. He had read all the available literature on the subject in
1 See Glover, E., Freud or Jung, George Allen and Unwin
(1950), p. I9I.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 35

his effort to understand the mediumistic girl.1 In his own home

in Basel he had experience of at least two similar occurrences.
One was when a carving knife split into four pieces with a report
like a pistol. Jung was in an adjoining room, and rushed in to
find out what was wrong. Apparently everything was in order,
but eventually the knife was discovered in the cupboard. Jung
showed me the fragments of the knife, and the breaks are quite
‘clean’. A second episode was the splitting of an old walnut
table that had belonged to his grandmother. Here again there
was a loud report. Jung’s mother was in the room at the time,
but not near the table. He was reading in another room and, as
with the knife, hurried in to investigate. Very careful enquiries
were made at the time in order to explain these unusual hap-
penings. The knife was examined by a competent cutler and the
table by a carpenter. But the mystery remained.
Jung told Freud that they should take the crash seriously;
it crossed his mind that there might be a split between them;
but, although Freud was aghast, he sneered at the occurrence
and refused to give it consideration. Prior to this Vienna visit
Jung had spoken to his chief, Bleuler, about these parapsycho-
logical phenomena. Bleuler said it was all nonsense; nevertheless,
twenty years later he became very much interested in these and
similar matters. Such phenomena are often described as exterior-
ized effects; they do occur, and, like complexes, may be pro-
jected. Freud brushed the whole thing aside, but this did not
dispose of the matter. Jung does not claim to give an explanation
of these undetermined psychic processes, but this is far from
saying they do not or couldnot exist. To prove the negative—that
no such events take place—would be a difficult task, and to
dismiss them as rubbish, without giving any explanation, is to
display ignorance.
Looking back on the bookcase crash Jung can only think of
it as a meaningful coincidence—that is, a synchronistic event
not explainable in terms of cause and effect.
Jung was astonished and sorry to hear that Ernest Jones had
described the incident of the bookcase as a demonstration given
to entertain Freud. Jones writes: ‘On one of his first visits to
1See p. 19.
36 C. G. JUNG

Vienna on March 25, 1909, he [Jung] regaled Freud one evening

with astonishing stories of his experiences, and also displayed
his powers as a poltergeist by making various articles in the
room rattle on the furniture.’ 1 Jung did not blame Jones, for he
knew from other sources that Freud had told this story, and he
thought it likely that Jones had repeated what Freud had said.
But the story was not true to the facts. Jung considered it pre-
posterous to describe the episode as a poltergeist phenomenon,
and the suggestion that he had caused the cracking was fantastic.
‘Freud’s memory, like everyone else’s, could be treacherous at
times.’ ? At the time Jung and Freud took it for granted that the
sound was due to inexplicable expansion of the wood of the
bookcase, and both were startled and impressed by it. In any
event, added Jung, why didn’t Ernest Jones ask me about this
and other incidents in the early days? He had my address,* and
as I was the only person still alive who had been there, I could
have told him what had happened.
This so-called poltergeist story faded into the background
and had no visible effects on the collaboration of Freud and Jung.
Its resuscitation appears to date from the era when a section of
Freud’s followers seemed intent on finding what they considered
to be weak points in Jung’s work and personality.
Freud was quite familar with the waywardness of memory
and devoted a chapter in The Psychopathology of Everyday Life to
‘Forgetting of Impressions and Resolutions’. It is unlikely that
he attached significance to the incident, and it is not mentioned
in his Autobiographical Study.
A minor lapse of memory on the part of Jones is the statement
that Leonhard Seif broke away from Freud and joined Jung.*
Jones must have known Seif intimately for he stayed with him
at Partenkirchen in 1912.5 Seif himself told me that he had
joined Adler, and Jung confirmed this.
1 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1957), Vol. III,
p. 411.
* Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1953), Vol. I,
Preface.
5 See p. 39.
‘Jones E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
p. 97.
5 Ibid., p. 106.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 37

A further inaccuracy on the part of Jones, which, in fairness

to Jung should be mentioned, is his statement that Freud and
Ferenczi, when they met Jung at Bremen before the trip to
America, persuaded Jung to give up his principle of abstinence
and to join them in drinking wine. Jones enlarges on this topic,
declaring ? that Bleuler and Jung never got on well and that
Jung thought Bleuler’s unfriendly attitude had arisen because
he had allowed Freud to persuade him to drink alcohol. Jung
told me in 1959 that the source of this story was the rule at the
Burghölzli, as at other Swiss hospitals, that the medical staff
must be teetotal. Jung had taken wine before joining the staff,
but he kept loyally to the rule while at the hospital. When he
resigned, he resumed his custom of having wine with his meals.
That his departure from abstinence had upset Bleuler, Jung
described as ridiculous, for he had given up his appointment at
the Burghölzli six months before Freud, Ferenczi, and Jung
met at Bremen preparatory to their trip to America.
Jones was not on intimate terms with Freud during the
period of the Freud-Jung collaboration. He was introduced to
Freud, by Jung, in 1908,° and in September of the same year he
(Jones) took up an appointment at the University of Toronto.*
His attitude towards Jung in these early years was friendly and
appreciative. Thus in 1910 ë he writes about the psychological
mechanisms involved in uncovering the repressed complex:
‘They have been worked out with great accuracy and detail by
Freud and Jung and an exact study of them is essential to the
use of the psycho-analytic method. .. . Other means of reaching
buried mental complexes may briefly be mentioned. . . . The
word-reaction association method as developed by Jung is of the
highest assistance, particularly in furnishing us with a series of
clues to serve as starting-points for future analyses.’
But after the break with Freud a change occurs, and Jones’s
allusions to Jung become emotionally barbed: ‘Two former
1 Jones E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
p. 61.
2 Ibid., p. 80. 3 Ibid., p. 45.
4 Jones, E., Free Associations, Hogarth Press (1959), p. 175.
5 Jones, E., A Symposium: Psychotherapeutics (1910), pp.
III, II3
38 C. G. JUNG
adherents of Freud—Adler and Jung—after a short period of
co-operation, abjured his methods and conclusions and founded
independent systems of psychology, which largely consist in
denials of Freud’s.’! ‘Abjure’ means to renounce on oath, and the
use of such a word suggests, not considered judgment, but
emotional bias.
In the years following their meeting, Freud and Jung were
closely associated, and very understandably this was a cause of
offence to Freud’s group in Vienna, who felt they were being
passed over. Since his separation from Breuer in 1894, Freud
worked alone until 1902 or 1903 when a small number of
Viennese doctors gathered round him. Being Jews, they were
sensitive about the arrival of a non-Jew and assumed Jung
would be anti-Semitic. ‘It was natural that Freud should make
much of his new Swiss followers . . . his possibly excessive
elation was not pleasing to the Viennese. . . . Their jealousy
inevitably centred on Jung, about whom Freud was specially
enthusiastic. Their attitude was accentuated by their Jewish
suspicion of Gentiles in general, with its rarely failing expecta-
tion of anti-Semitism. Freud himself shared this to some extent,
but for the time being it was dormant in the pleasure of being
at last recognized by the outer world.’ ? i
Jung was quickly on friendly terms with Freud himself, but
he found his medical friends strange, probably because they
were entirely different from the medical men he knew in Switzer-
land. There were few Jews and no anti-Semitism in Switzer-
land, so he was interested in Freud’s pupils, though he did not
find them attractive. Ernest Jones è writes: ‘Jung had told me
in Ziirich what a pity it was that Freud had no followers of any
weight in Vienna, and that he was surrounded there by a “‘de-
generate and Bohemian crowd” who did him little credit, so I
was curious to see them....I was obliged to ask myself
whether his account had proceeded from anything more than
1— E., Psycho-Analysis, London and Bonn (1929), p.
18.
a Jepen E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
pp. 40-9.
3 Jones, E., Free Associations, Hogarth Press (1959), pp.
166, 167.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 39

simple anti-Semitism, for it is true that they were all Jews. .. .

They were all practising physicians, for the most part very
sober ones. . . .” Yet Jones, a few pages further on,! mentions
his earlier visit at the ‘birth of the famous Vienna Psycho-
Analytical Society,’ and continues: ‘The reader may perhaps
gather that I was not highly impressed with the assembly. It
seemed an unworthy accompaniment to Freud’s genius, but in
the Vienna of those days, so full of prejudice against him, it was
hard to secure a pupil with a reputation to lose, so he had to
take what he could get.’ So, after all, Jung’s impressions were
much the same as those of Dr. Jones. Freud himself made no
bones about his opinion of his medical associates: ‘. . . my long-
pent up aversion for the Viennese . . .’. And, a few weeks pre-
viously: ‘I no longer get any pleasure from the Viennese. I have
a heavy cross to bear with the older generation, Stekel, Adler,
Sadger. . . .27 Jung was surprised and shocked at Freud’s
antagonism to his Jewish colleagues—his epithet for them was
Judenbengels—and Jung considered Freud’s distaste for them
was unreasonable, and pointed out that they were intelligent
people. Freud’s animosity was perhaps intensified because he
wanted a wider basis for the new teaching.
More and more Freud came to rely on Jung and wrote to
him constantly, often every week. If Jung did not reply, he
would get a telegram asking what had gone wrong. Jung has
kept these letters, although he never intended to publish them;
they are personal, mainly about current events, and in any case
of no special importance or general interest. Dr. Ernest Jones
records è that when he was writing his biography of Freud,
‘Professor Jung generously made available his extensive cor-
respondence with Freud’. Evidently his opinion of the letters
was much the same as Jung’s for he made little use of them.
During the visit to America in 1909 Freud and Jung did
some mutual analysis on the outward and the return journey.
This was mainly confined to analysing one another’s dreams. It
1 Jones, E., Free Associations. Hogarth Press (1959) pp.
169-70.
2 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
p. 78.
3 Ibid., Preface.
40 C. G. JUNG

was during the course of this analysis that Jung had the dream
of the medieval house which is mentioned later.*
In New York Freud spoke to Jung of personal difficulties—
Jung did not talk of these—and asked his help in clearing them
up. In due course Jung asked Freud about his dreams, and these
were considered with the aid of Freud’s associations, for this
was the established practice at the time. All went well until
a dream of a rather intimate nature came up for discussion.
Jung asked for further associations as parts of the dream were
obscure. Freud was quiet for a time and then said: ‘No. I can’t
give you any further associations, for if I did I might lose my
authority.’ Jung mentioned this event to me more than once, and
clearly it made a lasting impression on him. ‘At that moment’,
he said, ‘Freud did lose his authority.’
Thus came about the first stage in the break with Freud.”
That Freud should wish to retain his authority had not occurred
to Jung, so his refusal to give further associations came as a
shock, a disappointment. Had Freud responded frankly, he
would have retained Jung’s respect—and also the authority
which was accorded to him spontaneously by the younger man.
It was at this point that Jung remarked to Freud: ‘Analysis is
excellent, except for the analyst.’
Jung’s impatience of artificial, doctrinaire restrictions on the
spread of knowledge led him in the first instance to seek col-
laboration with Freud, and, ironically, it was what Jung re-
garded as Freud’s self-imposed restrictions which led to their
separation.
Rightly or wrongly, Jung considered that from then onwards
Freud became somewhat vindictive towards him. The precise
nature of Freud’s opposition was not clear just then, yet there
had been a change of attitude. Jung had the clear impression that
Freud could not accept the fact that he had exposed what he
regarded as his weakness. There had been forerunners of this
chilly atmosphere. For example, when their boat was approach-
ing New York with its famous sky-line, Jung saw Freud gazing
—as he thought—at the view and spoke to him. He was sur-
prised when Freud said, ‘Won’t they get a surprise when they
1 See p. 86. * See p..§2:
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 4I

hear what we have to say to them’—referring to the coming

lectures. “How ambitious you are!’ exclaimed Jung. ‘Me?’ said
Freud. ‘I’m the most humble of men, and the only man who
isn’t ambitious.’ Jung replied: ‘That’s a big thing—to be the
only one.’ Such episodes became important in retrospect, but
even then they showed a difference in outlook, although it was
not clearly formulated.
After the visit to America, Freud and Jung seldom met
socially. Cordiality no longer prevailed. When Dr. and Mrs.
Jung went to Vienna in 1907, they stayed a couple of weeks as
welcome guests. So it was on other visits which Jung paid to
Freud, and when Freud stayed with the Jungs in Kiisnacht—in
the house in which Jung still lives. Now the atmosphere had
changed, a touch of the east wind had become evident and,
although they met at conferences and Jung visited Vienna, these
were formal occasions. There had been differences of opinion
earlier, and too little plain speaking on both sides. But Jung
appreciated Freud, although he might differ from him and
criticize him: this is the ordinary, healthy relationship of
colleagues. There was never any master-pupil relation between
them, such as obtained between some members of the Viennese
group and Freud, and this did not make Jung any more popular
with them.
On one occasion Jung questioned Freud about his eleven
cases of hysteria, all of whom, it was believed, had suffered
sexual trauma as children. At that time Freud thought the
trauma had caused the hysteria. ‘But,’ Jung said, ‘hysterics
make up these things; they want to interest you. They find out
what interests you and then invent the trauma, and you believe
it. But the important thing is whether the incident is true or not.’
Freud thought there might be something in this and told him
he had once treated a girl, the daughter of a friend. He could
find no evidence of sexual trauma in childhood, but he persisted,
and finally the girl invented a sexual trauma of rape by her
father at the age of four. Freud said the incident could not be
true, because he knew the girl’s father: he was his friend, and
such a thing could never have happened. So he concluded that
the girl had made it up. ‘But,’ said Jung, ‘what of the other
42 C. G. JUNG
cases? Did you know the fathers of these patients? If they had
been your friends it might have turned out that these stories
weren’t true either, but had been invented by the patients to
fit your theory.’ Freud, he added, was terribly keen on these
theories; nothing must interfere with them, and if anything did
he would not listen. He must have a dogma, and it must not be
touched. ‘I have no dogma’, said Jung, ‘no fixed theory which
must not be upset. If anyone has a better theory than my concept
of the anima, for instance, then I will accept it, for I am inter-
ested only in facts, not in theories.’
Freud explained religious experience as an illusion because
he seemed unable to understand it. It astonished Jung that
Freud could think in such a simple way of a range of experiences
which had been of value to generations of reasonable people of
every age and race. If this was an illusion, it had a remarkable
capacity for survival. Freud, it seemed, must explain everything
rationally—a process well described in the term Ernest Jones
devised years later, ‘rationalization’. Even at their first meeting,
spirituality was dismissed by Freud as nothing but sexuality in
an altered form. Such an undervaluation was typical of his
approach: everything must be reduced to something else. At
one time Freud’s theories seemed to point to a unitary concept
of mental energy, and Jones tells us that his theory of narcissism,
first mentioned in 1914, after the break with Jung, enabled
him to avoid the danger of having to recognize a monistic view of
life.
Jung himself had not a little experience of this Freudian
undervaluation. After his separation from Freud, Jung had what
he considered clear indications that Freud had put about the
notion that he (Jung) was a bit odd in his outlook. This naturally
came as a shock to Jung, for he trusted Freud implicitly at
one time, opened his mind to him and held nothing back.
Some of his ideas, no doubt, seemed strange to Freud. For
Jung the direct approach, the direct method of expression,
had the main appeal; any beating about the bush irritated him,
and still does. There was nothing cautious, circumspect or
1 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1957), Vol.
III, p. 294.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 43

worldly-wise about his conversation or his letters to friends.

And in those days he regarded Freud as a friend.
Freud and Jung had many discussions on the psycho-
analytical theory of libido. Freud himself refers to these dis-
cussions, it appears, when he writes: ‘. . . it seemed for a time
inevitable that libido should become synonymous with in-
stinctual energy in general, as C. G. Jung had previously
advocated.”! Jung often tried to convince Freud that libido
could not be only one thing; that it must have some opposite.
But Freud would not agree. Jung mentioned a brilliant woman,
Sabina Spielrein, formerly a pupil of his, though later associated
with the psycho-analytical movement, who got a Chair at the
University in St. Petersburg. She wrote a paper on Jung’s
theory of the split libido for the Jahrbuch. From this paper, so
Jung held, Freud derived the idea of life and death instincts in
opposition, ‘this hypothetical death instinct’ * in antithesis to the
instinct preserving organic substance. Dr. Jones frankly points
out è that these new theories received a very mixed reception
among the followers of Freud, as well as devastating criticism
from biologists.
Jung recalled that on Freud’s fiftieth birthday, in 1906, his
associates in Vienna had a large medal made by the sculptor
Schwerdtner, bearing on the front the face of Freud and on the
reverse Oedipus solving the enigma of the Sphinx. This was
presented to Freud, and at the function he became pale and
agitated, though he did not faint.* Although Jung did not meet
Freud till 1907, he was given one of these finely executed
medals. The so-called riddle of the Sphinx Jung described as a
sort of nursery story. It occurs in various forms: What is
four-footed, two-footed, three-footed? or What walks on four
legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the
evening? This is of course, the crawling baby, the adult
walking upright, and the old man with his stick.
1 Freud, S., Civilization and Its Discontents, Hogarth Press
(1930), p. 96. 2 Ibid., p. 97. ;
8 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1957), Vol. III,
pp. 296-300.
4 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
p. 15.
44 C. G. JUNG
own
The Oedipus complex, so Jung thought, was Freud’s
of him; his tenden cy was to underv alue:
complex—was typical
some-
things were not what they seemed to be but were always
consta ntly lookin g for what lay behind the
thing else. He was
things down. Freudi an psycho logy is
scenes; how to bring
becaus e it is based on patient s, and patien ts
neurotic psychology
are always pleased if someone has a theory which explains
their trouble. In the treatment of somatic disease no one would
think of confining attention to the cause, for the disability
must be dealt with in the present. So, with psychological dis-
orders, it is a limitation always to search for causes—for ex-
ample, to blame matters on the parents: Why not have the
parents as patients?
As an instance of this tendency to depreciate, to look for a
secondary meaning, Jung mentioned an episode at Bremen where
he, Freud and others met on their way to the United States.
Before coming Jung had read of the discovery in the neigh-
bourhood of Bremen of the remains of long-dead Moors. These
remains were centuries old; the bones had been dissolved by
the acids in the humus, but the skin was intact. His curiosity
was aroused, and after considerable enquiry in the hotel and
elsewhere, he learnt that the corpses were in Schleswig-Holstein.
He knew also of completely preserved bodies of Teutons in the
Bleikeller, or lead vault, of the twelfth-century Cathedral of
St. Peter in Bremen. These were matters of historical and even
anthropological importance and he was determined to see them.
To Jung’s surprise Freud got very irritated by this keenness to
see the dead bodies, and jumped to the conclusion that his
concern about them indicated a wish for his (Freud’s) death.?
Jung looked on this as quite fantastic, for he was incapable of
thinking in such a tortuous fashion. ‘I had branded myself”,
he said, ‘in becoming identified with Freud. Why should I want
him to die? I had come to learn. He was not standing in my way:
he was in Vienna, I was in Zürich. Freud identified himself
with his theory—in this case, his theory of the old man of the
tribe whose death every young man must want; the son must
want to displace the father. But Freud wasn’t my father!’
1 See p. 87.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 45

At lunch there was a discussion about the dead bodies, and

Freud became very upset and fainted.
This was the first time Freud fainted during Jung’s acquain-
tance with him; he had a second attack during the Munich
conference in 1912, and there can be no doubt about the emo-
tional atmosphere on that occasion. At lunch there was an
argument concerning the Egyptian King Amenhotep IV. Freud
remarked that this King had defaced the monument erected in
honour of his father, and gave this as an illustration of a son
displacing the father. Such an act could only mean resistance to
the father; but Jung could not accept what he knew to be a
misunderstanding, on Freud’s part, of the son’s act. He pointed
out that there was nothing unusual in those days for a son to
deface his father’s monument; many of the Pharaohs had done
the same thing in order to have a monument for their own use,
just as they emptied tombs to secure a tomb for themselves.
Jung had been particularly interested in Amenhotep IV and
described him as a most original and progressive thinker and as
the ‘father’ of monotheism. There could be no question of
Amenhotep’s action being explained as a father complex. Freud
was very much upset at being corrected, and at once went on to
criticize Jung and Riklin—a colleague of Jung’s—for writing
articles about psycho-analysis without mentioning his name.
Suddenly he fell down in a faint and Jung carried him in his
arms to a couch in an adjoining room. Jung told me that when
Freud recovered ‘he looked up with an almost affectionate and
grateful glance, as if I were his father or mother’. Jones, who
thought Freud was taking the discussion rather personally, tells
us that his first words when coming round were ‘How sweet it
must be to die’-—in the arms of the mother, for instance—
‘another indication that the idea of dying had some esoteric
meaning for him’.! The late Dr. Leonhard Seif was present at
this lunch party and described it to me; his account confirmed
Jung’s version in every detail.
Jones gives a remarkable explanation of Freud’s two fainting
attacks: The conversation, he maintains, concerned ‘the fanatical
1 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1953), Vol. I,
p. 348.
46 C. G. JUNG

anti-alcoholic tradition of Burghölzli 1 [Forel, Bleuler, etc.], and

Freud did his best to laugh him [Jung] out of it’. Jones—he was
not at Bremen—then records that Freud fainted at Bremen in
1909 and again at Munich in 1912, after he ‘had won a little
victory over Jung’.? The ‘little victory’ refers to Freud’s attempts
to laugh Jung out of his adherence to the hospital rule at Bur-
ghölzli that the staff must be total abstainers. That his own
jocularity, at Jung’s expense, caused Freud to faint on two
occasions is indeed an unexpected sequence of events!
Dr. Jones read a paper before the Medical Section of the
British Psychological Society, and I was one of his audience.
At a certain point in his discourse a woman fainted and was
carried out. When the commotion was over, Jones, with a smile,
remarked, ‘Well, we can all guess why she fainted just then!’
One can imagine Jones’s retort had someone disagreed, saying
the woman fainted because she had made a joke at her neigh-
bour’s expense!
Early in 1910 the second Psychoanalytical Congress was
held at Nuremberg, and there the International Psychoanaly-
tical Association was founded. Jung was to be perpetual Presi-
dent, with absolute power to appoint and depose analysts.
Wittels, in his biography of Freud,° gives a glimpse behind the
scenes and records that the Viennese supporters of Freud,
particularly Adler and Stekel, were utterly dismayed by the
proposals, which meant that the scientific writings by members
of the Association must be submitted to Jung for approval
before publication. In addition, responsibility for the further
development of psycho-analysis was to be taken out of the
hands of Freud, the founder, and entrusted to Jung. Such plans
must be resisted. It may be interposed that these were not
Jung’s plans. ‘On the afternoon of this memorable day’,
Wittels continues, ‘the Viennese analysts had a private meeting
in the Grand Hotel at Nuremberg to discuss the outrageous
situation. Of a sudden, Freud, who had not been invited to
HS6 37.
? Tomes) E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
p. 165.
3 Wittels, F., Sigmund Freud, George Allen and Unwin
(1934), p. 140.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 47

attend, put in an appearance. Never before had I seen him so

greatly excited. He said: “Most of you are Jews, and therefore
you are incompetent to win friends for the new teaching. Jews
must be content with the modest réle of preparing the ground.
It is absolutely essential that I should form ties in the world of
general science. I am getting on in years, and am weary of being
perpetually attacked. We are all in danger.” Seizing his coat by
the lapels, he said: “They won’t even leave me a coat on my
back. The Swiss will save us—will save me, and all of you as
well.” ?
Wittels resigned from the Psycho-Analytical Society in 1910
and threw in his lot with Stekel. He sent a copy of the biography
to Freud in 1923 and received his permission to print his letter
of acknowledgment. Freud was quite frank with Wittels: ‘You
know too little of the object of study, and you have not been
able to avoid the danger of straining the facts a little in your
analytical endeavours.’ 1
While Jung’s friendship with Freud started harmoniously, it
never moved altogether smoothly. Freud could be brusque and
impatient if anything was suggested in discussion which he did
not quite understand, and this may well have meant that he
wanted time to think over what had been said. But if so his
intention was not clear, and his colleagues were hurt or irritated.
On one occasion the term ‘introversion’ (coined by Jung)
cropped up in discussion. Freud brushed it aside with the casual
remark, ‘That is only narcissism.’ ‘Excuse me, Professor’, said
Jung, using the formal address he employed with Freud, ‘intro-
version is not narcissism and has nothing to do with it. It is a
term I introduced to describe something entirely different.’
Freud made no reply. Such pin-pricks puzzled Jung who had
no desire to score at Freud’s expense. In spite of these minor
irritations, Jung was still much impressed by Freud, although
he was constantly aware of the constraint due to his need to
have a complete system, an authoritative body of knowledge.
Again and again Freud insisted that a dogma was an essential
safeguard to prevent the black cloud or black flood of occultism
1 Wittels, F., Sigmund Freud, George Allen and Unwin
(1934), p. 12.
48 C. G. JUNG

from swamping his original work, which, quite rightly, he

valued highly. By this Freud sometimes meant religious ideas,
but more usually the phrase referred to the unconscious which,
in itself, apart from the personal circumstances of the individual,
had no meaning for Freud, and so he was disposed to depreciate,
to defeat, or overcome it and take it, so to speak, on his own
terms.
Jung looked on the mind, and particularly the unknown,
unconscious parts of it, as something to be explored, a natural
phenomenon about which there was much to discover. How
could we possibly say that it must be so and so? Was there any
reason to conclude that the hidden background of the mind was
less complicated, of simpler structure, than the conscious aspects
of which we did know something? But Freud held to his
conviction that knowledge must advance only along certain
lines. As time went on his early discoveries—at the time a
surprise to Freud—gradually came to be regarded as established,
settled teaching, foundations on which the edifice was to rise.
At all events, this was how it seemed to Jung. Ernest Jones
(with special reference to Freud) mentions the peculiar diffi-
culties of pioneers in steering a course between open-minded-
ness and degeneration into dogmatic beliefs. Freud was ‘quite
immune to opposition or criticism from other people, but he
remained always open to the pressure of new facts. . . . They
had, however, to be facts he himself observed; he did not easily
take into account facts observed by other people, even by his
co-workers and friends. . . . So long as he was the main dis-
coverer in the new field, and this was in fact so during most of
his life, his attitude was successful, but plainly it could not
permanently stay so when other explorers appeared. In that
event there would be the danger, sooner or later, of the harden-
ing into dogmatism which in fact he just avoided.’ *
Evidently dogmatism was something to beware of, and yet
Jones himself fell a victim to it. As early as 1929 the Oedipus
complex is described as ‘the most characteristic and important
finding in all psycho-analysis. . . . All other conclusions of
psycho-analytical theory are grouped around this complex,
1 Jones ŽE., Free Associations, Hogarth Press (1959), p. 203.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 49

and by the truth of this finding psycho-analysis stands or

falls.’ t
Jones’s dogmatic statement amounts to saying that the
Oedipus complex is absolute truth. Jung’s position in this
matter is unequivocal: he regards the Oedipus complex as
an assumption, justifiable in certain instances; but to uni-
versalize its application would be fantastic. What about women?
It could never apply to them. Jung suggested the term
‘Electra complex’ to Freud, but he was not attracted to this
concept.
It may be questioned whether Jones is correct in stating
that Freud just avoided ‘hardening into dogmatism’. Dalbiez,?
writing on the General Theory of the Neuroses, observes: ‘Freud
. . . takes no care to distinguish his method from his doctrine.
He regards his work as forming a solid whole. He is particularly
devoted to his sexualist interpretation of transference, for it is
bound up with his aetiological theory of the psychoneuroses.’
This is how Jones, the most considerable of Freud’s disciples,
sums up his master’s ideas on the origin of the psycho-
neuroses:
‘Increased knowledge in aetiology means an increased pre-
cision in estimating the relative significance of the various
pathogenic factors. In place of an ill-defined group of banal
causes, we come to distinguish a specific cause for each disease,
and, by the side of this, various predisposing and exciting
factors. For instance, whereas thirty years ago general paralysis
was thought to be due to the combined action of a variety of
agents, such as heredity, mental strain, alcoholism, and so on,
it is now known invariably to result from a specific cause—
namely, syphilis—the other factors playing a relatively subor-
dinate part in its production. In the past fifteen years, thanks to
the researches of Freud, we have learnt to recognize the specific
cause of the neuroses—namely, some disturbance of the sexual
function; in other words, one maintains that no neurosis can
possibly arise with a normal sexual life.’ °
1 Jones, E., Psycho-analysis, Benn (1929), p. 36.
2 Dalbiez, R., Psychoanalytical Method and the Doctrine of
Freud, Longmans Green (1941), Vol. I, pp. 216-17.
8 Jones, E., Papers on Psychoanalysis, p. 384.
50 C. J. JUNG
From such statements it should be clear that Jung was not
emotionally biased or mistaken in judgment in his remarks
about Freud’s proneness to dogmatism.
Jung never thought Freud always dogmatic, always assertive,
about every subject. Had it been so, collaboration would not
have been possible; but it did become more and more difficult
as time went on. Jung criticized Freud’s methods, his unyielding
attitude, and, as he thought, the tendency to close his eyes to
material which conflicted with his own theory. Freud laid un-
usual emphasis upon any subject he had thought deeply about,
as though the mere fact that he had thought it out established its
validity. This surprised Jung very much, and it was only after
long acquaintance that it dawned on him that Freud’s mind
worked in this way and that his dogmatism was inevitable.
It was not that Freud had no feelings—of course he had. Jung
himself told me that Freud had a pleasant, even kindly, manner
with patients, and it is certain that this contributed very much
to his successful treatment. But in his teaching such character-
istics find little place. His feelings were in the background, as
though they were of no importance and had nothing to do with
his scientific contributions. Freud himself states that he took
measures to destroy all traces of his personal life—especially
details of his early life: diaries, letters, scientific notes—‘All
my thoughts and feelings about the world in general, and in
particular how it concerned me’—were done away with. It gave
him pleasure to picture the discomfiture of his biographers.1
One may suppose that the record of the self-analysis, which
Jones ? regards as a unique achievement, disappeared with the
rest. Wittels’s decision to write a biography of Freud came as an
unwelcome surprise: How could that be of interest to anyone?
His contributions to knowledge, so carefully thought-out, surely
these alone mattered. In thanking Dr. Wittels for sending the
book, Freud writes: ‘I need hardly say that I neither expected
nor desired the publication of such a book. It seems to me that

1 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1953), Vol. I,

Preface.
2 Op, cit. D. 351.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 51

the public has no concern with my personality, and can learn

nothing from an account of it... . 1
On the face of it, that is a surprising assertion! Freud’s
personality would surely be of interest to anyone concerned
with his work. But he was not disposed to satisfy curiosity on
the matter; he considered his judgments on the devious working
of the mind, especially in relation to other people and to circum-
stances, were of much greater value; object relationships were
more significant than a recital of personal and private matters.
Freud and Jung worked together for six to seven years, and
their separation has been the subject of interminable speculation.
Feelings have run high amongst their pupils. Many of Freud’s
followers—who were more vocal than Jung’s—seemed unable
to find anything good to say about Jung, a poor compliment,
by the way, to Freud’s capacity as a judge of character. Jung
himself often criticized Freud, but he never underrated his
great qualities. Dalbiez’s opinion on this is relevant: ‘Bleuler and
Jung diverged from Freud, and each proceeded to work out his
personal views in a different way. Yet they deserve a tribute for
their loyalty, in that they never fail to recall, in the works which
they published after their rupture with Freud, all that they owe
to him.’ ?
Making allowance for exaggeration and hasty words, it is
clear that the break between Freud and Jung had been a possi-
bility for years before the final parting. Even at their first
meeting they did not see eye to eye,? and there had been many
sharp differences in the few subsequent years. Jung was always
punctilious in giving credit to Freud, but all along he was aware
of differences: ‘Freud has not penetrated into that deeper layer
of what is common to all humanity. He ought not to have done
it, nor could he do it without being untrue to his cultural
historical task. And this task he has fulfilled—a task enough to
fill a whole life’s work, and fully deserving the fame it has won.’ 4
1 Wittels, F., Sigmund Freud, George Allen and Unwin
(1924), pp. II-12.
= Dalbiez, R., Psychoanalytical Method and the Doctrine of
Freud, Longmans Green (1941), Vol. I, p. 178.
3 See pp. 33.34. -oO 4
1 Sigmund Freud in His Historical Setting, Character and
Personality (1932), I, p. 55.
52 C. G. JUNG
‘The contrast between Freud and myself goes back to essential
differences in our basic assumptions. Assumptions are unavoid-
able, and this being so, it is wrong to pretend that we have
made no assumptions. That is why I have dealt with funda-
mental questions; with these as a starting-point, the manifold
and detailed differences between Freud’s views and my own
can best be understood.’ } Nevertheless, Jung was puzzled—
even shocked—that Freud was unable to appreciate what, to
others, seemed reasonable developments. To Jung the personal
problems and complications were in themselves of no particular
importance, for he was more concerned with his work than with
such details. Consequently the final parting brought unwelcome
disillusionment. Jung had been astonished at Freud’s refusal to
give his associations concerning a dream during the period of
mutual analysis.? But this was accepted with regret; the work
went on. When Jung wrote the second part of his book, The
Psychology of the Unconscious, he thought Freud would be
seriously upset and unable to accept his conclusions. His wife
argued that a highly intelligent person like Freud would be
bound to admit the validity of his arguments. But as it turned
out Freud did not accept Jung’s ideas, and regarded them as an
unjustifiable extension of his psycho-analysis.
Those who could judge only by external appearances
concluded that the publication of The Psychology of the Un-
conscious brought about the cleavage, for Jung had certainly
gone much further than Freud. Freud was definite in saying
that Jung’s views were no longer acceptable. And so the paths
separated. At once this raised a question in Jung’s mind which
was a concern to him then—and to many since—namely, how
was it that two intelligent people, dealing with approximately
the same group of patients, concerned with similar philosophical
and academic problems, were unable to work together?
From the practical point of his career Jung had good reason
to think that the separation from Freud would be disastrous.
But that did not disturb him unduly. After all, he had nothing
1 Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Kegan Paul, Trench,
Tribner (1933), p. 142.
2 See p. 40.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 53

to gain and much to lose when he joined forces with Freud

originally. Freud was not widely known in those days and his
reputation was based largely on misconceptions of his writings,
whereas Jung’s standing as a writer and teacher was high; he
was looked upon as a coming man. Soon after he threw in his
lot with Freud he gave up his University appointment. No
pressure was put upon him by the University authorities to
resign, but he felt his presence was an embarrassment to his
colleagues, and confusing for the students, because his teaching
on some important matters was not generally acceptable. It
should be mentioned also that when he withdrew from the
psycho-analytical movement he parted company from many
colleagues whom he had reason to call his friends. This may be
overlooked, for those who have written most on the Freud-Jung
split write as disciples of Freud and seem determined to make
Jung the villain of the piece. It is obvious from the published
accounts of what took place at Munich in 1913 that many
regretted Jung’s departure.
It was in that year that Jung’s connection with the psycho-
analysts ended, following a meeting of the International Associ-
ation. The second part of Jung’s The Psychology of the Uncon-
scious came under discussion. Freud, as we have seen, declared
that Jung’s work and claims could not be regarded as legitimate
developments of psycho-analysis.1 Nevertheless, three-fifths of
those present voted in favour of Jung’s re-election as President
of the International Association for another two years, and Jung
actually held the post, although the outbreak of war made it
impossible to hold meetings. According to Jones,” seventy-four
votes were cast: fifty-two for Jung’s re-election and twenty-two
against. He also mentions Abraham’s suggestion that those who
disapproved of Jung’s re-election as President should abstain
from voting. Some did so, including Jones himself, but the
number of dissidents is not given.
Jung was deeply concerned about the dispute and so was
Freud. But they never met after this stormy conference. It is
1 Wittels, F., Sigmund Freud, George Allen and Unwin
(1924), p. 178.
2 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
p. II5.
54 C. G. JUNG
e.
profitless to stir up the dust of controversy at this distanc
What occupied Jung’s mind particu larly was the proble m of why
in
a break had to come. He had no desire to set up on his own
opposition to Freud. Althou gh there had been differe nces of
opinion before, this, while unfortunate, could not be taken as
accounting for the whole matter. Obviously Freud, like Jung,
was intent upon the advancement of psychological knowledge,
and with it understanding of the mind in health and in sickness.
Jung at once saw that personal disagreements alone, however
emotionally tinged, would be insufficient to explain the split.
Here surely was an important problem. Many were familiar
with the circumstances; but Jung alone considered the clash as a
psychological phenomenon that must be investigated. It was
easy for protagonists of Freud to pour scorn on Jung, but this
did not enlighten those who found it difficult to comprehend
what looked like the squabbles of men who claimed to know how
adjustment to life might be reached. Often enough remarks
levelled at Jung did little more than proclaim the state of mind
of the critics. Here was a singlarly important situation, and it
was rather paltry to brush aside Jung’s work with a casual
observation about his ‘defection’ or ‘revolt’ from Freud as
though the separation came from pique or ill-will. Even Freud
himself seemed to treat the issue in a disappointingly offhand
manner. -
With a brief allusion to ‘two secessionist movements’ Freud,
writing in 1925, concludes: ‘The criticism with which the two
heretics were met was a mild one; I only insisted that both
Adler and Jung should cease to describe their theories as
“‘psycho-analysis”. After a lapse of ten years it can be asserted
that both of these attempts against psycho-analysis have blown
over without doing any harm”! Jung’s critics might well drop
these negative estimates when they remember that Freud and
Jung parted company nearly fifty years ago and Jung’s work
has developed along lines which owe nothing to Freud’s
influence. Those who still harp on the theme of ‘defection’ and
‘revolt’ have not kept pace with the trend of Jung’s thought.
1 Freud, S., An Autobiographical Study, Hogarth Press,
(1935). PP. 96; 97.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 55

Jung was not interested in attacks and counter-attacks. He

had more pressing matters to think of: his aim was to understand
the elements and principles on which his work rested. He was
surely right in seeing the clash with Freud from this point of
view, for here was an outstanding example of failure in human
relationship.
Jung could not possibly study his own rift with Freud
objectively, so he decided to investigate a similar problem—the
conflict between Freud and one of his earliest followers, Alfred
Adler. This profitable bit of research threw light upon the
Freud-Adler clash, and this in turn proved to be the starting-
point of Jung’s work on typology, which bears directly on the
Freud-Jung problem, a subject dealt with in the next chapter.
Freud himself came in for considerable criticism from
another quarter: it was hinted that whatever is of value in
psycho-analysis is merely borrowed from the ideas of Janet.’
At a meeting of doctors in London it was asserted that Freud
appropriated Janet’s ideas and produced them as his own. I
wrote to him and asked if I was correct in stating that this was
false and that Janet’s teaching had no effect on his work. His
brief reference to Janet in his Autobiographical Study” was
familiar, and I mentioned it in my letter. In a long reply Freud
made the matter perfectly clear. He told me that the observa-
tions of Breuer, upon which he had built further, were quite
independent of those of Janet, and in fact were made years
earlier though they came into the open at a later date. He
continued: ‘Personal relations with Janet I have never had.
I am older than he. When I studied with Charcot in 1885 and
1886 I never heard Janet’s name, nor since then have I ever
seen him or spoken to him. From the beginning Janet set
himself malignantly against my psycho-analysis and has brought
forward some arguments against it which I must designate as
unfair.’
In June 1932 Freud was good enough to receive me at his
house in Vienna, and this was my first meeting with him. I
1 Freud, S., An Autobiographical Study, Ho arth Press,
(1935); P- 54.
2 Ibid.
56 C. G. JUNG
recalled our correspondence, and he knew I was not a psycho-
analyst. Before I left he enquired if there was any special
question I would like to put to him. I asked if he would mind
telling me how he felt about a perplexing subject: Why was it
that he and the other pioneers in psychological medicine were
on such bad terms with one another? I added that I had talked
to Adler and to Stekel a day or two earlier and that I knew Jung.
Freud answered readily: Inevitably some people must separate
themselves and work alone and this cannot be avoided and
need not be objected to. Adler’s departure was not a loss; Freud
had no regrets at his going for he was never an analyst. Stekel
he described as a very clever man, and he was an analyst. But
separation from him was unavoidable because of personal
characteristics in Stekel himself which made co-operation with
him impossible. I then asked about the rupture with Jung.
Freud, after a pause, said very quietly, ‘Jung was a great loss’.
No more was said.
We may perhaps speculate that if Freud and Jung had con-
tinued their collaboration the gain to psychiatry would have been
enormous. Who can tell? Divisions and controversies are not
without their advantages. Be this as it may, it is certainly
regrettable that the differences between Freud and Jung were
not limited to scientific matters but became a focus for acrimony.
Jung took no part in fanning the flames, for he was quite dis-
interested in such matters as anyone who knows him intimately
will confirm.
One subject in particular provoked a remarkable display of
ill-will on the part of some who apparently did not know Jung
and seemed not to have read what he had written. This came to
my knowledge in 1946, when I visited Jung for the first time
after the war and with surprise heard from him, and from his
wife, that he had been blamed for showing anti-Semitic and pro-
Nazi tendencies. Having known him in the pre-war years and
having heard in public and in private his views on Hitler, it was
difficult to take the matter seriously. Jung, however, felt it
necessary to reply, for he thought it possible that his accusers,
who had not raised the matter with him personally, were un-
aware of the numerous references in his writings to political
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 57

events in Europe from 1918 onwards. This reply was published

in Switzerland, in German, in 1946, and any who may have
lingering doubts should read it, and in particular the opening
chapter, ‘Wotan’, one of the five essays in this small volume,* for
it is a reprint of a lecture given and published in 1936. No one
who read it then or who reads it now, with an open mind, could
think of him as pro-Nazi or anti-Semitic. Nevertheless—such is
the influence of emotion—this essay has been quoted as evi-
dence against Jung. Such misunderstanding is hardly believable.
Here are Jung’s words: ‘. . . the abysmal depth and unfathom-
able character of old Wotan explain more of National Socialism
than all the three reasonable factors put together. There is no
doubt that each of these economic, political and psychological
factors explains an important aspect of the things that are
happening in Germany, but Wotan explains yet more. He is
particularly enlightening as to the general phenomenon which is
so strange and incomprehensible to the foreigner that he cannot
really understand it however deeply he may consider it.”
That he could be thought to have leanings towards Nazism
struck Jung as having an element of the ridiculous, for he knew
from a reliable source that his name was on the Nazi black list
and that he would be one of the first people to be imprisoned,
and probably shot, if the Germans invaded Switzerland. In-
vasion was constantly expected, for northern Switzerland was
‘wide open’, and while the Swiss Army was mobilized and occu-
pying defensive positions, it was realized that effective resistance
was impossible. In consequence, a refugium had been constructed
in the Alps so that women, children and men over military age
could be evacuated from the danger zone to a place of safety.
Kiisnacht-Ziirich, near Ziirich, where Jung and his family
lived, was well within the danger area. Mrs. Jung’s home before
her marriage was in Schaffhausen, and Jung heard from rela-
tions how matters were going on that frontier of Switzerland.
On one occasion he received information that a German in-
vasion was imminent and he was strongly advised to take his
wife and some members of his family to the mountain refuge.
1 Essays on Contemporary Events, Kegan Paul (1947).
2 Ibid., p. 7.
58 C. G. JUNG
A small quantity of petrol had been kept in reserve for this
purpose. At the same time he was reminded that his name was
on the black list. He had good reason to take this information
seriously, for in 1940 there was published a German transla-
tion of the Terry Lectures on Psychology and Religion given at
Yale University in 1937. ‘The book was still in time’, writes
Jung, ‘to reach Germany, but was soon suppressed on account
of the passages just quoted, and I myself figured on the Nazi
black list. When France was invaded the Gestapo destroyed all
my French publications which they were able to lay hands on.’
The passages quoted include the following:
‘The change of character brought about by the uprush of
collective forces is amazing. A gentle and reasonable being can
be transformed into a maniac or a savage beast. One is always
inclined to lay the blame on external circumstances, but nothing
could explode in us if it had not been there. As a matter of fact,
we are constantly living on the edge of a volcano, and there is,
so far as we know, no way of protecting ourselves from a possible
outburst that will destroy everybody within reach. It is cer-
tainly a good thing to preach reason and common sense, but
what if you have a lunatic asylum for an audience or a crowd
in a collective frenzy? There is not much difference between
them because the madman and the mob are both moved by
impersonal, overwhelming forces. . . .?
‘Now we behold the amazing spectacle of states taking over
the age-old totalitarian claims of theocracy, which are inevitably
accompanied by suppression of free opinion. Once more we see
people cutting each other’s throats in support of childish theories
of how to create paradise on earth. It is not very difficult to
see that the powers of the underworld—not to say of hell—
which in former times were more or less successfully chained up
in a gigantic spiritual edifice where they could be of some use,
are now creating, or trying to create, a State slavery and a State
prison devoid of any mental or spiritual charm. There are not a
few people nowadays who are convinced that mere human
1 Essays on Contemporary Events, Kegan Paul (1947), p. 78.
2 Psychology and Religion: West and East (1958), C. W.,
Vol. 11, p. 15.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 59

reason is not entirely up to the enormous task of putting a lid

on the volcano.’
Apparently the Gestapo were not impressed by the rumours
of Jung’s alleged Nazi sympathies!
Mr. Gerald Sykes, in reviewing Jung’s Psychology and
Alchemy, made a wide survey of his contributions to psychologi-
cal thought, and this included a reference to Essays on Contempo-
rary Events: ? ‘. . . there is no keener analysis of Nazism than
that in his [Jung’s] Essays on Contemporary Events, which,
written when Hitler’s star was rising, also demonstrates the
absurdity of the charges of reaction irresponsibly brought
against Jung.’
In 1937 Jung lectured in London on ‘Psychology and
National Problems’, and I heard the lecture. Here is an extract
from the lecture transcribed by myself at the time:
‘As Christianity has a cross in order to symbolize its essential
teaching, so has National Socialism a swastika, a symbol as old
and widespread as the cross; and as it was a star over Bethlehem
that announced the incarnation of God, so Russia has a red star,
and instead of the dove and the lamb, a sickle and hammer, and
instead of the Sacred Body a place of pilgrimage with the
mummy of the first witness. . . . It is again Germany that gives
us some notion of the underlying archetypal symbolism brought
up by the eruption of the collective unconscious. Hitler’s
picture has been erected upon Christian altars. There are people
who confess upon their tombstones that they died in peace since
their eyes have beheld not the Lord, but the Führer. . . . The
movement can only be compared with the archetypal material
exhibited by a case of paranoid schizophrenia.’

Jung’s so-called leanings towards the Nazis had as little

foundation as the rumours of his anti-Semitism. An ironic
element in connection with such discreditable gossip is the
indubitable fact that Jung had used every means in his power
1 Psychology and Religion: West and East (1958); C. W.,
Vol. 11, p. 47- .
2 Sykes, Gerald, The New York Times book reviews, 2nd
August 1953.
60 C. G. JUNG

to give help and support to Jewish psychiatrists and psycholo-

gists who had fled from Germany because of persecution. Many
of these refugees came to London and, in common with other
non-Jewish doctors, I received letters from Jung (which I still
have) commending former Jewish pupils and asking that they
should be given friendship and professional support. In addition
to giving professional and social introductions this meant in
some instances acting as surety to the authorities for the political
respectability of the refugees. So far as Jung knew, only one of
his pupils, a German, became a Nazi.
An important paper with a direct bearing on the rumours
about Jung’s alleged anti-Semitism and pro-Nazi leanings was
written by Dr. Ernest Harms in 1946.1 He was familiar with the
situation, and although not an adherent of the Jungian or
Freudian School, he undertook the arduous job of testing the
truth or falsity of the rumours by examining each statement
made by Jung’s detractors. His conclusions are based on pub-
lished material, so it is possible for anyone interested to inspect
the evidence for himself. In addition, the article is a well-
documented historical report, tracing the development of
modern analytical psychiatry and psychology.
Apart from its avowed aims, the paper provides a vivid
commentary on the psychology of rumour, a subject of special
interest and concern during periods of international strain, and,
of course, in wartime. Hart,” in a study of the psychology of
rumour, gave many examples indicating to what extent it is
possible for testimony to be perverted by phantasy, by the
complexes of the individual witness, the influence of others and
by the circumstance that ‘rational’ thinking is a comparatively
rare phenomenon. Harms and others traced the origin of the
rumours about Jung to Freud’s observation in his History of
the Psychoanalytical Movement: ‘He [Jung] also seemed prepared
to enter into friendly relations with me and to give up for my
sake certain race prejudices which he had so far permitted him-
self to entertain.’ No evidence in support of this statement
1 Harms, Ernest, ‘Carl Gustav Jung—Defender of Freud
and the Jews’, Psychiatric Quarterly (1946), Vol. 20, p. 199.
* Hart, Bernard, Psychopathology, Cambridge University
Press (1929), p. 94.
JUNG AND FREUD: HAIL AND FAREWELL 61

exists in Jung’s writings, according to Harms, and he considers

that in making it ‘Freud has revealed the Achilles’ heel of
his character-structure, a vulnerable spot of a dangerous
nature.’ 1 In other words, something other than rational thought
was at work, and this would seem to be true of others, for, from
the evidence Harms produces, ‘most of the attacks upon Jung’s
name have come from fanatic followers of Freud’. He also
claims that dogmatic and fanatical representatives of other
schools have repeatedly attempted to minimize his [Jung’s]
importance.”
In contrast to such insinuations is Jung’s position in relation
to Freud, anti-Semitism and Nazi tyranny. This is made plain
in the report of his address at a meeting of the International
Association of Psychotherapists at Bad Nauheim in 1934 on
‘The Theory of Complexes’, in which he paid homage to Freud,
who was then the target of Nazi hatred.* He recalls that on the
following day, the German press condemned Jung in violent
language and ‘carefully registered the number of times on which
he had pronounced the hated name of Freud’. He continues:
‘There would certainly have been no reason to expose oneself
in this manner during these weeks of the most fanatical out-
burst of anti-Semitism if one had wished to ingratiate himself
with the National Socialist régime and its leaders. . . . At this
time German Nazism raged against the Jews and, among them
particularly Freud. . . . Since many attempts have been made to
use an alleged negative attitude of Jung towards Freud as an
argument, let us quote a few sentences from Jung’s address.
Before a German assembly in a German town, Jung said:
“Without the existence of the complexes the unconscious
would be—as it was for Wundt—nothing but the residue of
obscure representations. Through his investigations of these
dark areas Freud became the discoverer of the psychological
unconscious. . . . As a logical outcome, the first medical theory
of the unconscious was the theory of repression postulated by
Freud, which was based upon purely empirical presuppositions,
without taking into account the philosophical works concerning
1 Op. cit., p. 212. 2 Ibid., p. 199.
3 Ibid., pp. 203, 222.
62 C. G. JUNG

the unconscious by Leibniz, Kant, Schelling and Carus, up to

Eduard von Hartmann.” ’
That there is some reason to answer these foolish attempts to
belittle Jung and his work will be accepted when we note that
they still crop up. In May 1958 The Spectator printed a letter
headed ‘Jung and the Jews’. It was clear that some still give the
old rumours credence. Dr. Gerhard Adler, one of Jung’s oldest
pupils, himself a Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany, rejoined
with a factual repudiation and rightly described the attack as
due to ‘utter ignorance, or worse, slander’. Sir Herbert Read, in
the last letter of this correspondence, while agreeing that Dr.
Adler ‘has rebutted these charges at the documentary level’,
concludes: ‘Jung, in his serene old age, can afford to ignore his
detractors, and surely your readers will dismiss, with the pity
they deserve, the little men who pipe their envy of the great
man’s fame.’
After the war Mr. Winston Churchill, as he then was, paid
an official visit to Ziirich and received a tremendous welcome.
In the evening there was a Government reception and a banquet.
Jung received an invitation and had the honour of being placed
beside Churchill. We should be right in judging from this that
the base rumours circulated about him had made no impression
whatever on those in a position to know what manner of man he
was.
CHAPTER FIVE

Introverts and Extraverts

JuNG’s Psychological Types was published in 1920, and in a

Foreword we read that the book was the fruit of nearly twenty
years’ work in practical psychology. During this long period
several other volumes were written, including The Psychology
of Dementia Praecox (1906) and Symbols of Transformation
(previously named The Psychology of the Unconscious) (1912).
As we know the publication of this volume marked, externally,
the parting of the ways with Freud. This self-imposed separa-
tion from Freud and the psycho-analytical movement—a main
interest for six or seven eventful years—meant a substantial
change in Jung’s activity and outlook. From being, as it were, a
Freudian, he had to establish his own values, to gain a new
orientation, to be himself. This meant inner as well as outer
insecurity, and of these the former was far and away the more
significant. In addition, there was the outbreak of war in the
summer of 1914 and the consequent isolation of Switzerland.
Jung was called upon for military service and was in charge of
camps for interned officers and other ranks of the British and
Indian Armies at Chateau d’Œx and at Murren. After the war
he received an official letter of thanks from the British Govern-
ment.
Military duty was not arduous and he had time to think, and
above all to come to terms with his own unconscious, during
these years of intense and restless mental activity. About this
time he made his first painting of a mandala, and a colour
reproduction of this appears as the frontispiece of The Archetypes
63
64 C. G. JUNG
and the Collective Unconscious, with the title ‘Mandala of a
Modern Man’. It was a highly productive time, and much of his
later work germinated during these few years when he worked
alone.
We can see then that the ‘practical psychology’ mentioned
above covers a good deal more than the research involved in
writing Psychological Types. While this book is, and will remain,
an important contribution to the psychology of consciousness,
it could never have been written without the unhesitating study
of the unconscious which engaged Jung’s feelings and energy
almost to the exclusion of other demands. Beyond doubt this
period was one of special significance for all his later work, and
it played its part, too, in the ‘twenty years’ work in practical
psychology’.
Two papers from these same few years may be mentioned
for they show the inclination of his personal psychology. ‘On
the Importance of the Unconscious in Psychopathology’ was the
title of a paper read at the Annual Meeting of the British Medical
Association held at Aberdeen on the eve of the 1914-18 War.
Its theme is the inseparability of the conscious and the un-
conscious: ‘. . . unconscious virtues compensate for conscious
defects. . . . In normal people the principal function of the
unconscious is to effect a compensation and to produce a
balance. All extreme conscious tendencies are softened and
toned down through a counter-impulse in the unconscious.’ 2
A second paper, “The Transcendent Function’,*? also shows
Jung’s emphasis on the inner world of the unconscious. Al-
though written in 1916, the paper was ‘lost’ until 1957, when it
was privately printed for the Students Association, C. G. Jung-
Institute, Zürich. Since then it has been published and Jung
has added a new Preface. It contains the first description of a
method designed to reach the unconscious contents below the
threshold of consciousness—later named ‘active imagination’.
1 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1959),
C. W., Vol. 9, Part I.
* The Psychogenesis of Mental Disease (1960), C. W., Vol. 3,
pp. 205-6.
* The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,
Vol. 8, p. 67.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS 65

Given suitable opportunity, these contents may break into con-

sciousness. That this can be dangerous is now well known: the
subliminal elements, appearing in consciousness, may prove
to be stronger than the conscious direction and may take control
of the personality and so precipitate a psychotic episode. In
1916 the method itself and its dangers were unknown. We may
be sure that Jung was speaking from his clinical experience in
describing its dangers—and possibilities.
These reflections are a necessary preliminary worth con-
sideration before we can hope to understand Jung’s typology.
There are good reasons for mentioning them at length, for
Jung has been described as a ‘conscious psychologist’—that
is, one who is not much concerned with the unconscious, pre-
sumably because he attaches considerable importance to con-
sciousness and its functions. Nothing could be further from the
truth, and to insist on this odd notion borders on the ridiculous.
It is no surprise to find that Jung has been criticized for the
opposite point of view—namely, that he depreciates conscious-
ness through an over-valuation of the unconscious."
Jung’s typology should be considered in conjunction with
his whole system of thought. In other words, his description of
attitude types is incomprehensible without an understanding of
his views on the phenomena of the unconscious, personal and
collective.
In 1912 the essay ‘New Paths in Psychology’ appeared, and
this formed the basis of the first part of Two Essays on Analytical
Psychology,? a much-revised volume which is now printed in its
latest form in the Collected Works. Those interested in the
historical development of Jung’s thought will find the original
versions of this essay and of the second essay, ‘The Structure of
the Unconscious’, as an Appendix to the recent English Edition
of the Two Essays on Analytical Psychology. It is worth noting
that these essays, in their original form, give the earliest state-
ment on the theory of the collective psyche, the notion of
‘pairs of opposites’ and of psychological types.*)..
1 Philp, H. L., Jung and the Problem of Evil, Barrie and
Rockliff (1958), p. I0.
2 C. W., Vol. 7. 3 Ibid., pp. 269 et seq.
66 C. G. JUNG

Chapters I-IV provide a comparative study of the approaches

of Freud and Adler. A clinical problem is discussed, first from
the standpoint of psychoanalysis (Freud), and next the same
problem is considered from what is called “The other point of
view: The Will to Power’ (Adler). With Freud everything
follows from antecedent circumstances according to a rigorous
causality; with Adler everything is a teleological ‘arrangement’.
‘Which of the two points of view is right? . . . One cannot
lay the two explanations side by side, for they contradict each
other absolutely. In the one, the chief and decisive factor is Eros
and its destiny; in the other, it is the power of the ego. In the
first case, the ego is merely a sort of appendage to Eros; in
the second, love is just a means to the end, which is ascendancy
. . .if we examine the two theories without prejudice, we cannot
deny that both contain significant truths, and, contradictory
as these are, they should not be regarded as mutually exclusive.
The Freudian theory is attractively simple, so much so that it
almost pains one if anybody drives in the wedge of a contrary
assertion. But the same is true of Adler’s theory. It, too, is of
illuminating simplicity and explains just as much as the Freudian
theory. No wonder, then, that the adherents of both schools
obstinately cling to their one-sided truths. For humanly under-
standable reasons they are unwilling to give up a beautiful,
rounded theory in exchange for a paradox, or worse still, lose
themselves in the confusion of contradictory points of view. .. .
But how comes it that each investigator sees only one side, and
why does each maintain that he has the only valid view? .. .
This difference can hardly be anything else but a difference of
temperament, a contrast between two types of human mentality,
one of which finds the determining agency pre-eminently in
the subject, the other in the object. . . . I have long busied
myself with this question and have finally, on the basis of
numerous observations and experiences, come to postulate two
fundamental attitudes, namely introversion (e.g. Adler) and
extraversion (e.g. Freud).’
As a framework, Jung’s psychological theory of types seems
to offer a plain division of personalities in so far as it describes
1 C. W., Vol. 7, pp. 34 et seq.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS 67

two characteristic groups of healthy human beings. But in fact

the classification is by no means uncomplicated—rather the
reverse: ‘Although doubtless there are certain individuals in
whom one can recognize the type at a glance, this is by no
means always the case . . . one can never give a description of a
type which absolutely applies to one individual, despite the
fact that thousands might, in a certain sense, be strikingly
characterized by it... . The individual soul is not explained by
classification, yet at the same time, through the understanding of
the psychological types, a way is opened to a better understand-
ing of human psychology in general."
Jung’s description is covering in broad lines the consti-
tutional attitudes, or ways in which the person is naturally
inclined to act, termed by him ‘extraversion’ and ‘introversion’.
In the former, mental energy and interest tends to flow outwards,
and in the latter the direction is predominantly inwards. Freud,
a representative extravert, considered individuals in terms of
what was happening to them and how circumstances affected
them. Whereas Adler concentrated upon the individual’s
response to circumstances—how, by plans and arrangements
and protests—all designed, unwittingly, to deceive himself—he
would be able to triumph or feel he had triumphed, over
unfavourable conditions.
Jung’s terms, ‘extraversion’ and ‘introversion’, refer to two
easily described ? groups of ordinary, everyday persons. Neither
is better nor worse, more or less desirable, than the other. Few
people have any difficulty in picturing extraversion as healthy;
it appears to be a satisfactory state of mind, provided it is not
carried too far. But a statement that introversion is healthy may
require explanation for many consider it is unhealthy, and also
many find it difficult to believe that anything can come out of
the mind which has not been put into it through education or
experience. This belief is still widely held, even by those
familiar, academically, with the theory of instincts and innate
capacities of the mind. Some would tear the old mosaic theory
1 Contributions to Analytical Psychology, Kegan Paul,
Trench, Triibner (1928), pp. 302-3.
2 Psychological Types, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner (1953),
PP. 542, 567.
68 C. G. JUNG
of the mind to pieces and at the same time question whether
much could be found within the mind itself by introverted
mental functioning.
A further reason why ‘introversion’ continues to be used
inaccurately is due to the prefix ‘intro’ (introversion), for it
suggests that when mental energy flows inward the interest of
the introvert is confined, limited to himself. Consequently the
introverted attitude is thought to be unhealthy and synonymous
with introspection. Confusion about ‘introversion’ arose in the
first instance because the term is given one meaning by Jung
and another by Freud. Originally Jung introduced it cursorily
in 1910 in describing the neurosis of the child Anna, in whom
increased phantasy was a feature. He also used ‘introversion’
in his commentary on some aspects of Nietzsche’s work.” But
when he found that perfectly healthy people were introverts,
he gave up the original connotation. Freud did not follow him
in this, and he restricted the term to pathological conditions: è
‘The return of the libido into phantasy is an intermediate step
on the way to symptom-formation which well deserves a special
designation. C. G. Jung has coined for it the very appropriate
name of “‘introversion’”, but inappropriately he uses it to
describe other things. . . . An introverted person is not yet
neurotic, but he is in an unstable condition; the next disturbance
of the shifting forces will cause symptoms to develop. .. ? And
in this sense ‘introversion’ is still often used in the literature of
psycho-analysis. Freud’s regret that Jung used ‘introversion’ in
any except the pathological sense illustrates very well the im-
portant difference between Freud and Jung which was noted
earlier: Freud sees the weak point: ‘. . . with a certain satis-
faction he invariably points out the flaw in the crystal’.4 But
Jung is concerned first of all with what is healthy.
It is important to bear in mind the simplicity of Jung’s
description of introversion: in the introvert mental activity
1 The ieee of Personality (1954), C. W., Vol. 17,
pp. 13, 16.
* Symbols of Transformation (1956), C. W., Vol. 5, p. 292.
? Freud, S., Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis,
George Allen and Unwin (1923), p. 313.
* Sigmund Freud in His Historical Setting. Character and
Personality (1932), I, p. 49.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS 69

proceeds from the subject to the object, and so the introvert’s

response is governed by subjective factors. He is intensely
interested in the world, but his concern is with the effect the
object has upon him. This is what Jung means when he says
the introvert turns from the object. In the extraverted attitude,
on the other hand, energy goes from object to subject, so that
without an object, an external form of attention, the individual
is ‘lost’, hardly aware of himself. He feels, acts, thinks with the
external object in mind, and wonders what it is. Introversion
and extraversion can be distinguished in terms of motives: the
introvert is concerned with the fact that he is moved; the
extravert does not realize that he is moved and attributes every-
thing to the object.
For Jung classification, the logical grouping of types, is the
least important aspect of his typology. Students may be sur-
prised to find that the ‘General Description of Types’ forms
the last chapter of Psychological Types. Merely to classify would
not be of interest to Jung; but it would be all-important for
the extravert. Whether or not extraverts and introverts exist
in reality is not for Jung the essence of the matter. His typology
is a point of view, a sort of psychological ‘tool-box’—that is, he
applies certain criteria. Another psychiatrist may have a different
criterion, one that suits him better. But Jung finds his typology
helps him to understand people, because it enables him to
make a refined rather than a crude judgment about them. To
say So-and-so is a pyknic type, for instance, conveys a general
idea, and this has its value. But to Jung’s mind the assessment of
functional types does much more: it gives some understanding
of the psychology of the individual.
Jung was well aware of the danger of intensified introversion
(or intensified extraversion). Thus he thinks of neuroses and
psychoses as healthy, so-called normal processes gone astray,
ogy.
and not as entities existing apart with a distinctive psychol
Because schizophrenia is an excessive degree of introve rsion,
upon
and hysteria, in some forms, displays an over-emphasis
and extra-
extraversion, this does not mean that introversion
a
version are in themselves unhealthy. He would not deny
al, the
possibility of weakness: the natural can become unnatur
70 C. G. JUNG
healthy can become ill. But extraversion and introversion in
their everyday manifestation indicate quite simply the direction
of psychic activity as we find it in the average, the so-called
normal person, whether the contents of consciousness refer to
external objects or to the subject.1 When introversion or extra-
version is habitual, natural, one speaks of an introverted type
and an extraverted type.
Jung recounts with amusement an episode which occurred
in a Zürich tram. A passenger asked the conductor to let him
know when he ought to alight to reach such-and-such a des-
tination. ‘You get off two stops further on,’ said the conductor.
The man was still seated when the stop was passed, reading his
book, and the conductor suddenly noticed him and called out,
“You ought to have got off at the last stop. Now you will have to
go on to the next one and walk back.’ But again the passenger,
absorbed in his book, would have passed the next stop had he
not been reminded to get off. After he had gone, the conductor,
with a scornful look, remarked, ‘One of those introverts! His
mind is turned in; he doesn’t know what he has to do.’ Naturally
there was a laugh, for of course all the passengers thought
they knew what was meant by ‘introvert’.
It is not difficult to accept the fact—if we consider it—that
the introvert is concerned with the inner quality of the objects
and people he is thinking about. These are external in the sense
that they are apart from his personality, just as external objects
are to the extravert; but he, in contrast to the extravert, is not
preoccupied with the outer characteristics of the object he
observes; his interest is with the effect the object produces upon
himself, with how it appears to him, how he sees it. To put the
matter in perhaps an extreme way, we could say that in con-
versation or in listening to someone talking, he hears what is
said as if he himself were speaking. This may be obscure to the
thorough-going extravert and obvious to the introvert. Visual
illustrations of this kind of introverted perception are sometimes
found in Chinese pictures where the subject-matter is so
portrayed that a spectator feels himself to be standing in the
1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,
Vol. 8, pp. I19, 120.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS 71

picture. The popular idea that the introvert’s interest is focused

only upon his own mental processes, and that he is in conse-
quence thoroughly selfish, is mistaken. Selfishness can be as
pronounced in the extravert as in the introvert. But its presence
or absence is irrelevant. The introvert is concerned with thoughts
and ideas, the ‘internal’ things in life; but ‘internal’ in such a
context is synonymous with ‘immaterial’. Kant would be typical
of the introverted thinker; yet his thoughts were directed to
ideas outside himself and on how they seemed to him.
Extravert and introvert have become popular conversational
words—evidence of their adequacy to express something that
needs to be expressed. This apparent simplicity has led to mis-
understandings, for everyone assumes he knows the meaning of
the terms. It has been claimed, for instance, that extraverts and
introverts can be recognized by observing the amount and posi-
tion of wear and tear on shoe leather. Journalists, knowing the
popular interest, often supply a list of questions, with a classi-
fication of replies on a later page, thus providing an answer to
the foolish question: Are you an extravert or an introvert? Jung
made one or two caustic remarks on those who compiled such
lists. His typology is not a series of water-tight compartments,
it is never an absolutely fixed matter which can be measured,
for the types represent ‘certain average truths’.+
From time immemorial there has been an urge to put
human beings into groups and thus make the study of compli-
cated material more manageable. Probably the best known—
though least intelligible—division is that of the Greeks with
their classification of personality type in accordance with the
bile,
prominence of bodily humours (fluids), blood, black
But Jung’s typolog y is differen t from this
yellow bile, phlegm.
‘my more limited field of work is not the
and from others:
determination of external characte ristics, but the investi gation
d
and classification of the psychic data which can be inferre
study
from them. The first result of this work is a descriptive
us to formula te- certain theories
of the psyche, which enables
of these
about its structure. From the empirical application
Trench,
1 Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Kegan Paul,
Triibner (1933), p. 96.
72 C. G. JUNG
theories there is finally developed a conception of psychological
types.’!
Professor A. C. Mace has kindly permitted the inclusion of
some paragraphs from a speech he made in London on the
occasion of Jung’s eightieth birthday:
‘Central to Psychology, however Psychology be conceived,
is the theory of individual differences. Jung’s Psychological
Types was acclaimed as his “crowning work”. Perhaps this was
premature since in 1920 he had still much to say, but the work
was undoubtedly of the first importance for the science of
psychology as well as for literature and the arts. . . . It is instruc-
tive to relate his work to that of Francis Galton. True, indeed,
there is nothing to be said for comparing giants by standing
them back to back. In fact, if we learn anything at all from the
theory of types, it is that differences in kind rather than differ-
ences in degree should chiefly attract our interest and attention.
Galton and Jung both belong to the genius class, but each is a
genius in his own distinctive way.
‘Galton, as the father of psycho-metrics, was concerned
with differences that lie along a measurable continuum. Jung
was more interested in the differences between the continua
themselves and the bipolarity of these continua. It would be an
error to regard these two interests as opposed. Even though
introverts and extraverts form a continuum with frequencies
distributed in accordance with the normal curve, the important
fact is that individuals who deviate from the mean deviate in
two contrasted directions. The continuum is bipolar. And the
continua themselves form a multi-dimensional system. This is
recognized by all those psychometrists who like to speak of the
“factors of the mind” or the dimensions of personality.
‘Some of the subtler and more intricate developments of
Jung’s theory of personality do not, it is said, command uni-
versal acceptance in scientific circles. So what? Since when has
universal acceptance been the criterion of truth? Since when has
the test of greatness been the record of a Gallup Poll? If these
be the criteria, where does Aristotle stand, and where Newton?
1 Modern Manin Search of a Soul, Kegan Paul, Trench,
Triibner (1933), p. 89.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS 73

‘The greatness of a man is not a function even of the number

of his disciples. It is rather a function of the number he stimu-
lates or provokes to think. By this test, Jung’s eminence is not
in question. He enjoys the tribute not only of his disciples, but
of those who would refute him.’
However we may classify human beings—politically, ethno-
logically, medically—there are sure to be gaps in the classifica-
tion. Jung’s idea in devising this typology was twofold. To begin
with, he was concerned because he and Freud had separated
and at the same time he knew that the separation was not
exclusively, but only in part, for intellectual reasons. In addition
was the incontrovertible fact that he was not alone in finding
collaboration with Freud difficult. Already there had been
several splits; Adler was not the only pupil to go his own way.
Secondly, Jung had been forced by the nature of his work to
observe individual differences in the constitutional endowment
of patients, and treatment had to be modified with this in mind.
To treat all patients in the same way would be as absurd as to
treat all members of a family on the assumption that they were
identical.
And these significant differences were not limited to patients.
Doctors had their idiosyncracies, their individual, distinctive
ways, and this was evident in everything they did—including
their treatment of patients. Dr. A and Dr. B, faced with the
same sort of patient or problem, approached the task differently.
Clearly Fate had not ordained that one group of patients would
go to Dr. A and another to Dr. B. Apart from purely technical
methods, it is impossible for one doctor to copy the work of
another and at the same time retain his personal touch. And
the personal touch is a sine qua non in the treatment of psychia-
tric patients: there the doctor cannot maintain the impersonal
detachment often adopted by the physician or surgeon who is
concerned only with his patient’s body.
Doctors unaware of the differences between their own
personality and that of others often attribute difficulty in dealing
with their patients to the latter’s obtuseness. But this will not do.
Highly intelligent people are found expressing opposite points
of view, as we observe when conflicting medical evidence is
74 C. G. JUNG
given in Court, where also learned counsel are at variance.
Jung came to the conclusion that the explanation of these differ-
ences lay in the mental make-up of the people—doctors, law-
yers, merchants, men, women, Or children. What was sense for
one was nonsense for another: one described his observations in
a certain way; another spoke of the same thing in other terms. So
also with illnesses, particularly psychiatric disorders. Intelligent
workers often failed to agree about the facts [sic] to be observed,
because each, aware of his own angle, was blind to that of
others. Naturally there was agreement upon certain more or
less fixed matters.
Jung has never held that his is the only true, the only pos-
sible ‘type’ theory. Simple formulations, such as the contrast
between introversion and extraversion, as Jung points out, are
unfortunately most open to doubt:
‘I speak here from my own experience, for scarcely had I
published the first formulation of my criteria, when I discovered
to my dismay that somehow or other I had been taken in
by it. Something was out of gear. I had tried to explain too
much in too simple a way, as often happens in the first joy of
discovery.
‘ What struck me now was the undeniable fact that while
people may be classed as introverts or extraverts, these dis-
tinctions do not cover all the dissimilarities between the indi-
viduals in either class. So great, indeed, are these differences
that I was forced to doubt whether I had observed correctly in
the first place. It took nearly ten years of observation and com-
parison to clear up the doubt.’
Such preliminary ideas led Jung to draw up his well-known
scheme of functional types. Introversion is not always mani-
fest in an identical way, for one introvert acts in one way and
another differently: one will give considerable weight to
thinking as a function, another will be more influenced by
feeling.
The four main functions which eventually emerged were
thinking, feeling, sensation and intuition. ‘I have been asked
almost reproachfully’, says Jung, ‘why I speak of four functions
1 Modern Man in Search of a Soul, pp. 99 et seq.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS 75
and not of more or fewer. That there are exactly four is a matter
of empirical fact. But, as the following consideration will show,
a certain completeness is obtained by these four. Sensation
establishes what is actually given (that is, given by our various
senses), thinking enables us to recognize its meaning, feeling
tells us its value, and finally intuition points to the possibilities,
the whence and whither which lie within the immediate
facts.’ 1
For each of us there is a natural, effortless manner in which
the mind works, and this is known as the superior function. In
contrast is the inferior function, the existence of which is un-
known or inadequately known to its possessor because for the
most part it operates unconsciously. ‘Superior’ and ‘inferior’
are quite satisfactory terms so long as it is understood that one
is no better and no worse than the other. ‘Inferior’ here means
undifferentiated, not clearly marked. And herein lies its im-
portance, for the inferior function or undifferentiated manner
in which the mind works, appears in the symptoms of an illness,
or is closely linked with them. ‘Inferior’ does not indicate
weakness. It is, indeed, often the reverse, for the symptoms of a
neurosis, unexpected, unwelcome and mysterious, can be more
powerful than the conscious ‘superior’ function.
The value of Jung’s typology in medical practice and in
everyday life is considerable. It is interesting and valuable to
be able to classify individuals, but it is more important to know
how to talk to them and approach them in a way which they will
understand. Doctors, like other mortals, are prone to lay down
the law, to give advice. Patients expect this, and the doctor may
be gratified that they turn to him as a man of sound judgment.
But in addition to the wisdom of the doctor there is the wisdom
of the patient. Advice in itself admirable, may be acceptable
to one but declined by another, although the adviser makes the
assumption that sensible people should take sound advice. But
people do not always do so, and this is because one person, with
plenty of common sense, happens to be an extravert, and an-
other, similarly equipped with common sense, is an introvert.
Their constitutional endowment is such that they are affected
1 Modern man in Search of a Soul, p. 107.
76 C. G. JUNG

differently by the same (or at any rate indistinguishable)

circumstances. Consequently, the wise psychotherapist tries
to get some notion of the type of patient he is dealing with.
Should he fail to do so, his efficacy as a therapist will be sadly
diminished.
For a detailed description of the general attitude types of
extraverts and introverts, together with the functional types of
thinking, feeling, sensation and intuition, which appear in both
extraverted and introverted form, Jung’s writings should be
consulted.! A simple exposition of the typology is found in a
book by a former student of the C. G. Jung-Institute, Ziirich.?
Frieda Fordham ? has also made a concise summary of Jung’s
psychological types. In speaking of the functional types, Jung
uses the simile of a compass; ‘The four functions are somewhat
like the four points of a compass; they are just as arbitrary and
just as indispensable. Nothing prevents our shifting the cardinal
points as many degrees as we like in one direction or another,
neither are we precluded from giving them different names; this
is merely a question of convention and comprehensibility. . . .
I value the type theory for the objective reason that it offers a
system of comparison and orientation which makes possible
something which has long been lacking, a critical psychology.’ 4
In other words, the type theory provides a criterion for careful
judgment and observation.
Every person has a quality of both extraversion and intro-
version and the relative preponderance in consciousness of the
characteristics of one or other indicates the type. But—to repeat
—the type is never absolutely fixed. Thus Freud, in Jung’s
opinion, was by nature an extraverted feeling type; later he
developed his thinking, although it was inferior—that is, less
differentiated than his feeling. Another example was Alfred
Adler. As his fame spread it came about that an extraverted
1 Psychological Types, Kegan Paul, Trench, Tribner
(1933), Chapter X.
2 See Progoff, Ira, Jung’s Psychology and Its Social Meaning,
Routledge and Kegan Paul (1953), Chapter IV.
8 Fordham, F., An Introduction to Jung’s Psychology, Pelican
Books (1953), Chapter 2.
4 Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Kegan Paul, Trench,
Triibner (1933), p. 108.
INTROVERTS AND EXTRAVERTS F7

attitude overshadowed and falsified his natural introversion.

He was a genial, warm-hearted man and a gifted speaker, and
he came to welcome the publicity readily accorded to him at
popular lectures.
A superficial change of type is often found in psycho-
neurotic illness when external appearances may be deceptive.
Further, no one is totally, through and through, either an extra-
vert or an introvert, for below the surface, in the unconscious,
the counterpart will be found in the course of analysis as a natural
complement to the conscious attitude. Awareness of this hith-
erto unknown element often comes as a surprise to its possessor.
Probably relatives have been irritated or bored with personality
characteristics of which the patient was unaware. To help the
patient to understand and to accept such hitherto dissociated
fragments is the chief aim in psychological treatment. That
these acquisitions are part and parcel of the individual is be-
yond doubt, for no amount of suggestion on the part of an
analyst will succeed in implanting qualities in a patient if these
are contrary to his natural potentialities.
During Jung’s visit to London in 1935 I asked the late
Francis Aveling (then Professor of Psychology at King’s College,
London) to meet Jung. The conversation turned to the subject
of extraversion and introversion, and Aveling expressed himself
freely upon what he deemed to be the flaws in this typology.
Jung in reply pointed out its practical value, particularly in
clinical work, when the functional types (thinking, feeling,
sensation, intuition) were taken into account in conjunction
with unconscious manifestations, adding that it was foolish
to think of the typology only in terms of consciousness. Aveling,
who was not a medical man, was impressed by this application
in treatment and said he had been thinking of the typology
academically and not in relation to psychological treatment,
of which he had no experience. Afterwards, when I was alone
with Aveling, he burst into laughter and exclaimed that Jung
must think him a complete fool. ‘But why?’ I asked. ‘Well,’
he said, ‘I had quite forgotten, to this moment, that Jung
introduced the terms “extraversion” and “‘introversion”’ to
psychology! How remarkable that he didn’t tell me! He is
78 C. G. JUNG
certainly more modest than I should have been in the cir-
cumstances.’
It would not have occurred to Jung that he was being modest!
He was behaving quite naturally for he is always open to learn,
always ready to revise his ideas. If an alternative is produced,
he will examine it carefully and, if he finds it sound, accept it
without hesitation.
CHAPTER SIX

The Mind—Personal and Impersonal

CONSCIOUSNESS

WE have seen in the previous chapter that consciousness is by no

means a simple concept. Two people perceiving the same ob-
ject may be conscious of it in different ways. In childhood
and in youth consciousness is intermittent and life goes
on happily with only a limited awareness of the ego; the
adult, too, is often regrettably unconscious, as though still a
child.
In Jung’s teaching consciousness is the recognition of a link,
the relation of mental contents with the ego. Without such
awareness there can be no consciousness of the object: “Without
consciousness there would, practically speaking, be no world,
for the world exists as such only in so far as it is consciously
reflected and consciously expressed by a psyche.’ +
Consciousness is related to the outer world through the
psychological functions (thinking, feeling, sensation, intuition),
and in addition there is the simultaneous contact with the inner
world, the world of the unconscious. We are subject to emotions
and affects irrespective of our expectations and wishes; thus we
experience the impact of the unconscious. Further, from mom-
ent to moment we receive messages from the unconscious in the
act of remembering; and the immediate availability of memory
becomes comprehensible if we assume the existence of the
1 The Undiscovered Self, Routledge and Kegan Paul (1958),
p. 46.
79
80 C. G. JUNG

unconscious. Should the co-operation of the unconscious fail,

we ‘can’t remember’. And if this state of affairs becomes severe
we suffer a loss of memory for a part or the whole of our previous
life. Through memory, the relations of psychic contents and the
ego are obvious.
It will be agreed that the psyche as a whole must be en-
visaged if we are to understand the meaning of consciousness
and the meaning, too, of ourselves as individuals in the psychic
totality of conscious and unconscious. An important place must
therefore be accorded to consciousness, for it is the close concern
of psychology and the channel through which our observations
about the unconscious are expressed. Psychological treatment
has the aim of increasing the span of consciousness so that there
may be control over a wider range of motives many of which,
though unconscious, are operative in the symptoms of neurosis.
Textbooks on psychiatry are reserved about consciousness,
although they give an account of such disturbances as deper-
sonalization, dissociation and the loss or clouding of conscious-
ness found in psychiatric and other illnesses. This must mean
that consciousness is taken for granted, something self-evident;
nevertheless there has been protracted controversy upon the
subject, especially regarding its derivation.
John Locke (1632-1704), a medical man and a philosopher,
propounded the idea that we come into life with minds akin to
a plain sheet of wax upon which experience operates through
the senses. In perception the quiescent mind merely records
impressions from the external world through sight, hearing,
touch, etc. This sensationalist explanation, with all its inade-
quacy, held sway for many years and still has an appeal because
it contains a partial truth.
Jung would not agree that the origin of consciousness could
be explained in terms of personal experience, and he maintains a
directly opposite theory—namely, that it arises in the first place
from the unconscious. It is because the child’s mind is still
near the unconscious that it operates intermittently—that is, it
fluctuates between an awareness of his individuality and the
primitive tendency to look on himself as he looks on other
people, without distinguishing himself from the beings and
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 81

objects of the world around. Between the ages of eleven and

fourteen or perhaps even later, perception of personal identity
and personal continuity appears, and the youth knows that he is
having an experience. This awareness is something new. Pre-
viously he had been able to recall the events of earlier years, but
now he sees himself as apart from them; in other words, he is
conscious of himself. An example of this from Jung’s adoles-
cence was given earlier,? when unexpectedly and compellingly
he knew he must be himself. Such an experience, which many
people have had, carries its own conviction.
When it is argued that consciousness emerges from the
unconscious, this does not mean, writes Jung, ‘that the source
originates, that is that the water materializes in the spot where
you see the source of a river; it comes from deep down in the
mountain and runs along its secret ways before it reaches
daylight. When I say, “Here is the source”, I only mean the spot
where the water becomes visible. The water simile expresses
rather aptly the nature and importance of the unconscious.
Where there is no water nothing lives; where there is too much
of it everything drowns.’ *
When we bring in the concept of the unconscious we intro-
duce a theme around which there has been perpetual contro-
versy, and this may well continue. ‘I cannot but think that the
most important step forward that has occurred in psychology
since I have been a student of that science is the discovery first
made in 1886, that, in certain subjects at least, there is not only
the consciousness of the ordinary field with its usual centre and
margin, but an addition thereto in the shape of a set of memor-
ies, thoughts, and feelings which are extra-marginal and outside
of the primary consciousness altogether. . . . I call this the most
important step forward because, unlike the other advances
which psychology has made, this discovery has revealed to us an
entirely unsuspected peculiarity in the constitution of human
nature. No other step forward which psychology has made can
1 Lévy-Bruhl, L., The ‘Soul’ of the Primitive, George Allen
and Unwin (1928), p. 16.
Seep. 17.
® Philp, H. L., Jung and the Problem of Evil, Barrie and
Rockliff (1958), p. 13.
82 C. G. JUNG
proffer any such claim as this.’ * James also mentioned ‘un-
conscious cerebration’, and in another context, ‘the deep well of
unconscious cerebration’.

INDIVIDUATION

When the individual consciousness, with the ego as its focus,

is brought into touch with the unconscious, what follows from
this association?
Jung deals with this question in his Two Essays on Analytical
Psychology, particularly in the section ‘The Relations between
the Ego and the Unconscious’. His original observations have
been revised again and again, for this essay was first published
in 1916 and appeared in English in 1917.*
Jung uses the term ‘individuation’ to denote the process by
which a person becomes a psychological ‘in-dividual’, that is a
separate, indivisible unity or ‘whole’,* and this development
naturally involves the conscious and unconscious elements. It
would be difficult to think of any more important objective in
psychological treatment. Conscious and unconscious influences,
seen or unseen, are active throughout life and when one be-
comes aware of what is going on and takes part in the process of
possible development, it is reasonable to expect that healthier
progress will result than if matters are allowed to drift. Jung’s
concept of individuation provides a practical policy and so it
can be of service in the treatment and prevention of psy-
chiatric illness. It might be asked if people ever become fully
individuated. This finds no answer; we might as well ask if
anyone ever becomes perfectly healthy. But no one doubts the
wisdom of seeking health.
A distinction is drawn between individuation and indi-
vidualism: the latter is self-centred and prominence is given to
1James, William The Varieties of Religious Experience,
Longmans Green (1904), p. 233.
2 Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953), C. W., Vol.
7 PP. I2I et seq.
3 Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology, Bailliére,
Tindall and Cox (1917), Chapter XV.
4 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1959),
C. W., Vol. 9 Part I, p. 275.
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 83

some supposed uniqueness in the individual; whereas ‘indi-

viduation means, precisely, the better and more complete ful-
filment of the collective qualities of the human being . . . it is
a process by which a man becomes the definite, unique being
he in fact is. In so doing he does not become “selfish” but is
merely fulfilling the peculiarity of his nature, and this . . . is
vastly different from egotism or individualism’.*
We have, then, a simultaneous activity, an interpenetration,
of conscious and unconscious; it is only when both aspects of
the psyche work together that the aim, the objective, of the
personality may be attained. So individuation should be thought
of as a process of achievement.
Everyday experience shows plainly ‘the incompatibility of
the demands coming from without and from within with the
ego standing between them, as between hammer and anvil... .
However different, to all intents and purposes, these opposing
forces may be, their fundamental meaning and desire is the life
of the individual: they always fluctuate round this centre of
balance.? This is possible by reason of the compensatory self-
regulation between the conscious and the unconscious. Self-
regulation (homeostasis) is a recognized physiological mechan-
ism, as when the body adapts itself to meet some internal
change, or when inadequacy in one part, such as the eyes, is
met by increased effectiveness in other organs.
That a similar reciprocal mechanism or functioning should
be found in the mind is not surprising, for the body and the
mind are interrelated; together they make a whole. When mental
conflict leads to neurosis, the harmonious relation breaks down
and the neurosis is very often an attempt to adjust the balance,
to bring about a cure.
Individuation is not in itselfa final goal, but the effect of the
process makes it possible to bring about a fresh direction in life
and to attain in some measure a new centre, a ‘mid-point of the
personality’; è this Jung has called the ‘self’.* This is not accom-
plished by subtlety of thought or in solitary reflection, but in
1 Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953), C. W., Vol. 7,
pp. 171-2. j
2 Ibid., p. 194. 3 Ibid., p. 219. 4 Ibid., p. 236.
84 C. G. JUNG
the activities of life, as a member of the community, for it is
there that the possibility of blending the seeming contradictions
of the conscious and unconscious may be achieved.
Coming to terms with the unconscious is the aim in psy-
chological analysis, and this, with its hazards and possibilities,
is for most people a comprehensible way of setting in motion the
individuation process. Analysis is not a simple procedure. It
involves for patient and doctor hard and often frustrating
work in the investigation and understanding of personal prob-
lems, and the bearing thereon of the unconscious, if the way is
to be opened for development of the personality. Other methods
may be used to reach the goal, and other terms may describe
them. Jung is not staking a claim, patenting a discovery, but
giving an account of a process—the process of individuation—
which is activated when self-regulation is efficient.
Individuation is development and growth; it is not an en-
during state of tranquillity, aharbour where the anchor may be
dropped: like everything else in life, it is manifest in ebb and
flow; no goal is permanent and unalterable. Nevertheless, we
can travel hopefully if personal enlightenment should confirm
what may seem to those without such an experience an abstract,
speculative claim.
This sketch of the individuation process needs filling in;
otherwise, almost inevitably, the impression is conveyed that
here, par excellence, is an instanceof Jung’s alleged ‘mystical’ and
esoteric proclivities. But this would be a hasty conclusion. In
setting out the stages in the change which follows when an
individual develops as he is capable of developing, Jung is
recording an experience mentioned over and over again in other
disciplines. It is not suggested that analysis is the only way
to set about the task. But it is one way. ‘I would not blame
my reader at all if he shakes his head dubiously at this
point. . . . But it is exceedingly difficult to give any ex-
amples, because every example has the unfortunate character-
istic of being impressive and significant only to the individual
concerned. .. 1
a a Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953), C. W.,Vol. 7,
p. 218.
THE MIND— PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 85

But that is also the situation in other spheres of science,

literature and art. Advances in understanding—whatever the
subject—come through individuals, and it is worth remembering
that universally accepted advances in knowledge began as an
idea, a hunch, a phantasy in the mind of one man. Everyone
with even a fragmentary knowledge of psychology will agree
that the condition of mind designated by individuation cannot
be set out as a blueprint. Human nature is infinitely variable,
andconcepts suchas ‘individuation’ or the ‘self’ cannot be formu-
lated once and for all. Even with one person the certainty of
today may be the doubt of tomorrow. Such observations as these
will be unnecessary for some ; but there are those who seem to
expect that the ways of the mind should be set out like a map of
the Underground railway.

THE UNCONSCIOUS

In the early days the unconscious, by definition, was the

mysterious hinterland of the mind to which were relegated, by
repression, thoughts which clashed with the standards accept-
able in consciousness. Consequently the unconscious was of the
same quality as consciousness, and but for the chance of re-
pression would have remained conscious.
Jung makes a general division of the unconscious contents.
There is a personal unconscious, which embraces all the ac-
quisitions of the personal existence—hence the forgotten, the
repressed, the subliminally perceived, thought and felt.t
Glimpses of this alter ego might appear in unguarded moments,
and analysis set itself the task of bringing these repressed, and so
unrecognized thoughts into the open. It might have been
assumed that as repressions were removed the unconscious
would have been emptied and that suitable training of children
would prevent repression taking place. These are reasonable
expectations if we insist upon a personalized psychology. But it
is a mistake to think that the contents of the unconscious are
exclusively personal in nature.
1 Psychological Types, Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner (1933),
pp. 615-16.
86 C. G. JUNG
However unique the individual mind may appear—especi-
ally to its owner—it has much in common with other minds.
Personal differences in mind, as in body, are obvious enough,
but we should hardly trouble to notice them if there were no
similarities, for no one is concerned to distinguish totally dis-
similar objects. But a common substratum, called by Jung the
‘collective unconscious’, is discernible. As a member of a com-
munity the individual is not circumscribed, nor does he lose his
distinctiveness in being at the same time a repository of collec-
tive attributes, such as the instincts. He may look on these
unlearned activities as his private property because he cherishes
and uses them with personal satisfaction, and through them he
can deal competently with certain environmental situations.
Nevertheless, the instincts, so personal in their manifestation,
so essential for life, are part of the constitution of everyone,
and cannot be classed as personal acquisitions. No one thinks
of his body as wholly personal, with unique qualities; the world-
wide conformity of the human body, in spite of climatic and
other differences, is accepted without demur. The same is true
of the mind. Nor is violence done to the particular individual,
for personal is not alternative to the collective, nor collective to
the personal; there is no question of either-or. No two people—
not even identical twins—have the same qualities and attributes;
each shares in his distinctive way the features common to all.
During the mutual analysis which Freud and Jung pursued
on their voyage to and from the United States, Jung had an
arresting dream. It proved to be a turning-point in his thought,
and led him to surmise that behind individual differences in
mental make-up lies a common basic structure. Here is the
dream:
‘I was in my house. It was a big complicated house, vaguely
like my uncle’s very old house built upon the ancient city wall at
Basel. I was on the first floor; it was nicely furnished, “rather
like my present study,” ’ he added. “The room was of the eigh-
teenth-century type and the furniture very attractive. I noticed
a fine staircase and decided that I must see what was down-
stairs, and so I descended to the ground floor. Here the structure
and fittings seemed about the period of the sixteenth century or
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 87

older. It was rather a dark room; the furniture was old and heavy,
and I thought to myself, “This is very nice. I didn’t know it was
here. Perhaps there is a cellar beneath.” And there was. It was
of very ancient structure, perhaps Roman. I went down a dusty
much-worn staircase and found bare walls with the plaster
coming off, and behind were Roman bricks; there was a stone-
flagged floor. I got an uncanny feeling going down the stair-
case with a lantern in my hand. I thought, “Now I am at the
bottom.” But then in a corner I observed a square stone with a
ring in it; this I lifted, and looked down into a lower cellar,
which was very dark, like a cave or possibly a tomb. Some light
came in as I lifted the stone. The cellar was filled with prehis-
toric pottery, bones, and skulls. I was quite amazed, and as the
dust settled I felt I had made a great discovery. There the dream
ended and I woke up.’

Jung could make nothing of this dream—though he had

some ‘hunches’; but he told it to Freud. He recalled how he
watched Freud turning it over in his mind, thinking about it,
and he wondered what he would say. Freud, concentrating on
the bones and the skulls and disregarding the rest of the dream,
considered it showed that there was someone associated with
him who he wanted dead, for the skulls could only mean death.
Freud asked if there was anyone he would like to see dead. ‘No,
not at all!’ he answered. But, to his surprise, Freud pressed the
point, and then Jung questioned him about his insistence on the
dream as a death-wish and asked if he thought the reference to
skulls indicated the death of a particular person—for instance,
his wife. ‘Yes,’ replied Freud. ‘It could be that. And the most
likely meaning is that you want to get rid of your wife and bury
her under two cellars.’ He overlooked the fact that there were
several skulls, not just one.
Death was often in Freud’s mind, and a few weeks earlier
he had jumped to the conclusion that Jung wished him dead so
that he could succeed him; but such an idea had never occurred
to Jung.

1 See p. 44.
88 C. G. JUNG
of
Concern for only one feature in the dream and lack
Jung. ‘Well, what do you
interest in the remainder surprised
duc-
make of the other parts?’ he asked, but the reply was unpro
on such as this seemed not to
tive. An unconvincing interpretati
do justice to the material, and Jung felt Freud’ s handli ng of the
as
dream showed a tendency to make the facts fit his theory,
though the theory itself was serving some purpos e. Why this
emphasis on the skulls and bones? Why an inclination to
depreciate, to find the weak spot? It was as though the dream
must be reduced to something derogatory, so that the analyst
would be in a superior position. Further, the interpretation of
the dream in terms of Jung’s personal life did not explain it.
An impressive feature in the dream—to which Freud did not
refer—was the atmosphere of expectancy. It was like an
exploration: from the start there was the urge to go from stage
to stage; then came the mysterious finale as he looked down the
steps and saw the bones and the pieces of pottery which he knew
to be ancient.
Jung reflected a great deal about the dream, and came to see
the house as representing the external aspect of the personality,
the side appearing to the world. Inside the house—that is,
within the mind or the personality—were many layers going
back to medieval times and to earlier periods. Although he was
quite at a loss to explain the essential features of the dream, he
felt bound to assume that it meant what it said. Certainly he
could get no understanding of it in purely personal terms, and an
explanation in terms of possible repressed experiences seemed
wholly artificial.
It occurred to him that the house might represent, as in a
picture, the stages of culture, one succeeding another, just as in
the excavation of ancient sites the remains of earlier buildings are
revealed beneath the foundations of present-day houses.. With
its varied style at different levels, the house in the dream might
carry some historical allusion. Could the dream have the type of
structure so often revealed in human history? ‘It was then, at
that moment, I got the idea of the collective unconscious,’ said
Jung. It seemed a possible, even significant, hypothesis. The
more he thought about it the clearer it became that this layer or
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 89

stratum formation could be seen in the development of our own

and other cultures: the old gives place to the new; the new de-
rives from the old. Our bodies show such a development. His
reflections on this dream were the origin of ideas later published
in The Psychology of the Unconscious.
In those days his ideas about the collective unconscious were
in his mind as a possibility, not yet sufficiently in focus for clear
formulation, and he still thought of the conscious mind as a
room above, with the unconscious as a cellar underneath. Thus
the unconscious at this stage corresponded to Freud’s view: its
contents were entirely personal and indistinguishable from con-
sciousness, of which it formed a part till repressed. Later, Jung’s
' views developed and he used two self-explanatory terms,
‘personal’ and ‘impersonal’ unconscious—in other words, the
psychological ego and the psychological non-ego.
To denote the impersonal unconscious turned out to be
difficult, and confusion has arisen through the use of three
terms, ‘collective’, ‘autonomous’ and ‘objective’ psyche. There
is something to be said for each, and they were coined to em-
phasize particular aspects of the concept. So long as we know
what we mean by the words we use as synonyms we can take our
choice or we can use them interchangeably. But the multi-
plicity of terms is regrettable. ‘Collective unconscious’ has
become familiar and is likely to survive when the others have
been forgotten. Jung himself in conversation usually refers to
the collective unconscious. No doubt we shall continue to find it
confused with vague terms, such as ‘the group mind’, because of
the difficulty in accepting the possibility that within the psyche
there could be anything unknown, let alone anything impersonal.
Time and again Jung has pointed out that his views on the
collective unconscious are hypothetical and this in itself is
daunting for those who like to think of themselves as practical,
down-to-earth people. Fears of the hypothetical are under-
standable, but not necessarily significant.
Without some assumption, observation will be diffuse and
unproductive, and the stimulating quality of a provisional
supposition can be immense. It is true that we may not be able
to answer all the questions arising from the idea of the collective
D
90 C. G. JUNG
unconscious. On the other hand, the hypothesis itself has been
fruitful; it has become established, and will remain so unless
advances in knowledge carry us past the stage of hypothesis.
When the concept ‘unconscious’? was introduced to psy-
chology, it was received with suspicious reserve, although for
centuries it had been familiar in philosophy. Leibniz, for
instance, in the early days of modern philosophy, tells us that
‘These unconscious [insensible] perceptions also indicate and
constitute the identity of the individual . . . the petites percep-
tions which determine us on many occasions without our think-
ing of it . . .”.1 Consequently, it was not surprising to find that
Jung’s notion of the collective unconscious was—and still is—
received with disfavour and suspicion. Jung himself says: ‘None
of my empirical concepts has met with so much misunder-
standing as the concept of the collective unconscious psyche, a
functional system consisting of pre-existing forms of a universal,
collective and non-personal character, which does not develop
individually but is inherited.’ 2
The ways in which the collective unconscious works are
called ‘archetypes’ (the original pattern, the prototype)—that is,
an inborn manner of comprehension comparable to the instincts
which are an inborn manner of acting. Jung’s teaching and
reflections on the collective unconscious are explained fully in
his writings, and need not be summarized here.
Freud was aware of non-personal components in the mind,
although he never accepted Jung’s developed work on the collec-
tive unconscious. In his last major work he writes: ‘Memory very
often reproduces in dreams impressions from the dreamer’s
early childhood . . . they had become unconscious owing to
repression. . . . Beyond this, dreams bring to light material
which could not originate either from the dreamer’s adult life
or from his forgotten childhood. We are obliged to regard it as
part of the archaic heritage which a child brings with him into
1 Leibniz, G. W., The Monadology and Other Philosophical
Writings, Oxford, Clarendon Press (1898), pp. 373; 375.
**The Concept of the Collective Unconscious’, St.
Bartholomew’s Hospital Journal (1936), pp. 44, 46.
? See Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953), C. W.,
Vol. 7, pp. 63, 124.
THE MIND— PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 9I

the world, before any experience of his own, as a result of the

experience of his ancestors.’ + Again: ‘I believe it not impossible
that we may be able to discriminate between that part of the
latent mental processes which belong to the early days of the
individual and that which has its roots in the infancy of the race.
It seems to me, for instance, that symbolism, a mode of ex-
pression which has never been individually acquired, may claim
to be regarded as a racial heritage.’ ?
In further reference to symbols: ‘We get the impression that
here we have to do with an ancient but obsolete mode of ex-
pression. . . . I am reminded of the phantasy of a very interesting
insane patient, who had imagined a “primordial language” of
which all these symbols were survivals.’ ? Then in one of his
latest books Freud returns to this idea: ‘The archaic heritage
of mankind includes not only dispositions, but also ideational
contents, memory traces of former generations.’ 4 Freud’s in-
terest in anthropology was aroused by Jung: ‘the explicit indi-
cations of Jung as to the far-reaching analogies between the
mental products of neurotics and of primitive peoples which led
me to turn my attention to that subject.’ 5 :
Inan article ê entitled ‘Darwin and Freud’, Dr. Alex. Comfort
says that ‘Freud’s idea of a primal horde in which the strongest
male rules was his only obvious debt to Darwin. In was an
important debt because it started him with a firmly Darwinian
idea that sexual dimorphism was primarily competitive. .. .
Freud did in fact recognize the Oedipal reactions as being
built in. . . . Consequently he was obliged to turn to the concept
of racial memory to account for something which would make
sense in evolutionary terms but in virtually no others.’ Comfort
quotes Ernest Jones to show that Freud had some doubt about
1 Freud, S., An Outline of Psycho-Analysis, Hogarth Press
(1949), p. 28.
2 Freud, S., Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis, George
Allen and Unwin (1923), p. 168.
3 Ibid., p. 140.
4 Freud, S., Moses and Monotheism, Hogarth Press (1939),
p. 159.
5 Freud, S., An Autobiographical Study, Hogarth Press
(1949), p. 121. y
® Comfort, A., ‘Darwin and Freud’, Lancet (1960), II, p. 107.
92 C. G. JUNG
his theory of the primal horde: ‘ “We should greatly like to
know”, writes Freud [in 1912] “whether the Jealous Old Man
of the horde in Darwin’s primordial family really used to cas-
trate the young males before the time when he was content with
simply chasing them away.” ° * Freud’s tentative conclusions
have not been well received even by his own disciples, and
anthropologists consider Totem and Taboo does him little credit.
Dr. Howard Philp,” in a careful study of Freud’s anthropological
deductions in Totem and Taboo and in Moses and Monotheism,
has demonstrated the frailty of Freud’s hypotheses. Freud
knew that his theories were imperfect, and, to quote Philp,
‘. . even admitted it in Moses and Monotheism, but answered
that he preferred to hold his own version. Facts of history,
sound anthropology, convincing psychology in relation to the
racial unconscious, evidence worthy of serious consideration
or even solid argument—none of these is prominent in Moses
and Monotheism.’? We should remember, however, Freud’s ?
statement that his ideas on the activities of the primal horde
came to his mind as a ‘hypothesis, or I would rather say,
vision’.
It is true that Freud’s acceptance of non-personal features in
the psyche had no observable effect on his system of thought,
and we can only infer that he was not interested in such things
and preferred to concentrate upon the unfolding of the indi-
vidual mind. He noted the impersonal facts and passed on. He
uses anthropological material in support of his theory of sexual
disturbances in the individual’s life, although, as we have seen,
his conclusions were disputed. What a contrast with Jung, who
was never particularly concerned with theories, but very much
with facts he had observed; who looked for evidence in support
of his observations, and only accepted them when that evidence
was satisfactory.
In looking back to the parting of Freud and Jung we can
reflect sadly that if Freud had followed up his observations on
1 Jones, E., Sigmund Freud, Hogarth Press (1955), Vol. II,
. 502.
?Philp, H. L., Freud and Religious Belief, Barrie and
Rockliff (1956), p. 123.
3 Freud, S., An Autobiographical Study, p. 124.
THE MIND— PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 93

the archaic heritage of the individual he might have found

himself in agreement with Jung’s conclusion about the collec-
tive unconscious. We should then have been spared the sec-
tarianism of separate schools.
An example of this is Dr. Glover’s fault-finding criticism
of Jung and his adulatory support of Freud. And yet even he is
bound to see that Freud was aware of non-personal elements in
the human psyche, but these are brushed aside: ‘Whether
Freud’s view that symbols represent phylogenetic traces is
accurate or whether, as many Freudian analysts prefer to think,
symbols are created in the course of individual development . . .
the most convincing evidence that no approximation of concepts
occurred to bridge the gulf between Freudian and Jungian
systems lies in the fact that despite Freud’s obvious interest in
the psycho-biological aspects of the constitutional factor, these
were at all times subordinated to his concern with the unconscious
aspects of individual development. The whole structure of Freud-
ian metapsychology is unaffected by his incursion into the
region of phylogenetic speculation.’ Freud’s line of thought is
not happily expressed by ‘incursion’—that is, a hostile inroad
or invasion; but Dr. Glover is insistent that, no matter what
Freud may have said about phylogenetic traces, many Freudians
prefer to think otherwise.
Freud’s theories on racial memory and similar themes are
referred to by other well-known psycho-analysts. Dr. Ernest
Jones 2 disputes Freud’s claim that there is evidence in support
of an archaic inheritance. ‘Now in the psycho-analysis of indi-
viduals we have in a number of cases been able to demonstrate
that ideas closely parallel to totemistic belief had been cherished
during infancy, partly consciously, partly unconsciously. . . .
In other words, we have before us in the individual a whole
evaluation of beliefs and customs, or rituals based on them,
which is parallel to what in the field of folk-lore has run a course
of perhaps thousands of years.’ Thus he advances what appears

1 Glover, E., Freud or Jung, George Allen and Unwin

(1950), P-43- é i
2 Jones, E., Essays in Applied Psychoanalysis, Hogarth Press
(1953), Vol. 2; P. 7-
94 C. G. JUNG
to be the familiar, though not widely accepted, recapitulation
theory.
Dr. Ella Sharpe,! having declared her acceptance of Dr.
Jones’s explanation of symbolism, writes: “The chief method of
distorting the latent content (of dreams) is accomplished by
symbolism, and symbolism has to be created afresh out of
individual material and stereotypy is due to the fact of the
fundamental perennial interests of mankind. . . . Each indi-
vidual creates symbolism afresh, such symbols as he will
originate being inseparable from his environment as, for example,
ships for sailors, the plough for farmers, the aeroplane and
stink bombs for modern town dwellers. The truth about sym-
bolism in this respect was once stated for me very simply years
ago by a girl of fourteen who had written an essay on “Fairy
Tales”. She concluded it thus: “If all the fairy tales in all the
world were destroyed tomorrow it would not matter, for in the
heart of the child they spring eternal.” ’ The concluding sentence
comes as a surprise, for it appears to contradict her own state-
ment that symbols are acquired individually and to support
Jung’s thesis of the collective unconscious. Fairy tales, with
their similarity of subject-matter and their spontaneous appear-
ances in different countries, afford strong evidence in support
of the hypothesis of the collective unconscious.
We have, then, a conflict of opinion, with Freud’s recogni-
tion of both non-personal and personal features in the
psyche, and, on the other hand, the refusal of certain Freudians
to accept the former and to insist upon an exclusively personal
psychology.
Jung, of course, accepts personal and non-personal psychic
elements. His recognition of the non-personal, the collective,
manifest as it is through the archetypes, is the most important
and, as many think, the most fruitful concept in his entire
system of thought. Of course, it is difficult to grasp such an
unexpected idea! It needs some hard thinking, with observation
and an open mind. Yet to understand the psyche as a whole
makes the parts more intelligible. Jung’s remarks on the subject
1 Sharpe, Ella, Dream Analysis, Hogarth Press (1937), pp.
53-5.
THE MIND— PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 95

are very much to the point: In a Foreword to a book ? by one of

his pupils, he writes: ‘. . . The concept of the archetype has
given rise to the greatest misunderstandings and—if one may
judge by the adverse criticisms—must be presumed to be very
difficult to comprehend. . . . My critics, with but few exceptions,
usually do not take the trouble to read over what I have to say
on the subject, but impute to me, among other things, the opinion
that the archetype is an inherited representation. Prejudices
seem to be more convenient than seeking the truth.’ And the
prejudice may spring from conviction that scientific proof is a
final court of appeal.
In May 1960 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious ?
was reviewed (by myself) in the British Medical Journal, and in
the review was this paragraph: ‘Jung’s hypothesis of the collec-
tive (impersonal, objective) unconscious and its mode of
functioning, the archetypes, is a bold theory. Yet it is no more
daring than the theory of pre-existent instincts in animals and
men. The hypothesis, though lacking scientific foundation,
none the less provides a more satisfactory explanation for
certain psychological facts than any other at present available.’
Jung wrote to me upon the question of proof and pointed out
that a scientific hypothesis is never proved absolutely. His letters
have a special interest and extracts from them, and from my
replies, follow:

(1) From Professor Fung

22nd May 1960
. . . There is only one remark I do not quite understand.
Speaking of the hypothesis of archetypes, you say that there is
no scientific proof of them yet. A scientific hypothesis is never
proved absolutely, in so far as the possibility of an improvement
is always possible. The only proof is its applicability. You
1 Jacobi, Jolande, Complex/Archetype/ Symbol, Routledge
and Kegan Paul (1959), pp. X, Zi.
2 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1959),
C. W., Vol. 9, Part I.
® Bennet, E. A., ‘Archetype and “Aion” ’, British Medical
Journal (1960), I, p. 1:484.
96 C. G. JUNG
yourself attest that the idea of the archetype explains more than
any other theory, which proves its applicability. I wonder,
therefore, which better proof you are envisaging. When you
assume the existence of an instinct of migration you can’t do
better than to apply it for instance to birds, and demonstrate
that there are actually birds which migrate. The archetype
points that there are thought formations of a parallel or identical
nature distributed all over the world (for instance, Holy Com-
munion in Europe and teoqualo in ancient Mexico) and, further-
more, that it can be found in individuals, who have never heard
of such parallels. I have given ample evidence of such parallels
and therewith I have given evidence of the applicability of my
viewpoint. Somebody has to prove now that my idea is not
applicable and to show which other viewpoint is more applicable.
I wonder now how you would proceed in providing evidence
for the existence of archetypes, other than their applicability?
What is better proof for a hypothesis than its applicability?
Or can you show that the idea of ‘archetype’ is nonsense in
itself? Please elucidate my darkness.

Reply from E. A. Bennet

27th May 1960
When I say your theory of archetypes lacks scientific founda-
tion—that is, scientific proof—this in no way lowers its value.
A scientific theory can be entirely satisfactory scientifically,
and at the same time untrue absolutely, because a scientific
theory is concerned with possibilities and with working hypo-
theses. But it is not concerned with absolute truth. Of course, I
know very well that you make no claim whatever about such
things as absolute truth. Newton employed the scientific method,
and reached conclusions which were later abandoned. But his
method was quite sound. Perhaps I am wrong, but I feel that
applicability of a theory would not necessarily give scientific
proof. The importance of applicability is not in question. But
scientific proof or scientific foundation would seem to claim for
certain phenomena an invariable order in nature. Freud seemed
to make such a claim, following the scientific outlook of the
nineteenth century. Your flexibility, your empirical outlook, is
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 97

far more attractive when applied, as with the archetypes, to a

theory. I could not imagine that a dogma would have any
attraction for you. When I said, in the review, that your theory
lacked scientific foundation I felt this was one of the virtues of
the theory . . . the strength, as it seems to me, of your method and
hypothesis resides in the fact that you avoid the claim of scienti-
fic foundation or proof in the sense of claiming something
absolute.
You ask what proof I am envisaging. Frankly I wasn’t
envisaging any proof. I agree that applicability gives the widest
support for the theory of archetypes. But I don’t think it gives
scientific proof... .
I cannot myself see any reason to doubt the existence of
archetypes. The fact of their applicability in numerous ways
supports one’s belief. But I would not like to think that we had
got to the point when nothing more could be known of the
archetypes and their manifestation. . . .

(2) From Professor Fung

3rd June 1960
... There seems to be some misunderstanding in terms: by
‘applicability of a theory’ I don’t mean its practical application
in therapy, for instance, but its application as a principle of
understanding and a heuristic means to an end as it is character-
istic of each scientific theory.
There is no such thing as an ‘absolute proof’; not even the
mathematical proof is absolute, inasmuch as it only concerns
the guantum and not the quale, which is just as important, if not
more so. I wondered therefore about your statement that scien-
tific proof for the conception of the archetype is lacking, and I
thought you had something special up your sleeve when you
made it. As there is no such thing as ‘absolute proof’, I won-
dered where you draw a line between the applicability of a
theory and what you call ‘scientific proof”.
As far as I can see the only proof of a theoretical viewpoint
is its applicability in a sense mentioned above—namely, that it
- gives adequate or satisfactory explanation and has a heuristic
value. ...
98 C. G. JUNG
I must expect of you
Tf this is not scientific evidence, then
would be in this case.
that you show me what scientific evidence
, that is lack-
With other words: what proof is it, in your mind is no such
be an ‘absolute proof’, because there
ing? It cannot
proof’, a special kind
thing. It must be what you call ‘scientific
are able to state that it
of proving of which you know, since you
is lacking... .
that something is
I cannot be satisfied with the statement
that there is always
lacking, because it is too vague. I know
indebted if you
something lacking. Therefore I should be most
have some definite
could tell me what is lacking, as you must
wise than by
idea of how such a thing should be proved other
the observation of relevant facts.
do with what I
_. . Itis not hair-splitting, but it has much to
not understood.
call ‘psychical reality’, a concept very often
always eager to
I appreciate your answer highly, since I am
improve on whatever I have thought hitherto. ...

Reply 8th June 1960

misun-
... you are right when you say there has been some
line betwe en
derstanding about terms. You ask where I draw the
fic proof.
(a) the applicability of a theory and (6) its scienti
(a) The applic abilit y of, for exampl e, your theory of the
practical
archetypes as a principle of understanding has immense
you would
value. If applicability had not been possible, I’m sure
theory it
have abandoned the theory long ago. As a scientific
phenom-
gives an acceptable explanation of all known relevant
these in
ena, it continues to predict further phenomena and
theory,
due course are observable. Consequently, as a scientific
esis,
concerned with possibilities and with a working hypoth
it is entirely satisfa ctory.
(b) By scientific proof I mean an explanation of phenomena
to
capable of being checked and observed by others and found
ging and predict able order. This implies a
possess an unchan
the nature of the pheno mena— that is,
general agreement about
the data—under consideration. Scientific proof in these terms
can be found for phenomena in the non-living experimental
THE MIND— PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 99

sciences, like chemistry or physics. But my view is that it is

not possible to produce such scientific proof in psychological
matters. Naturally, this does not invalidate the use of a scientific
theory or hypothesis.
A difficulty so far as scientific proof is concerned is in getting
agreement from different workers about the data which have
been observed as well as agreement on the method of observa-
tion employed. As you know, there have been differences of
opinion about the phenomena you describe as archetypes. The
phenomena have been explained—I think very inadequately—
by the theory of recapitulation and it has been argued that this
is the only sound explanation of these phenomena. Further,
some Freudian analysts have argued that the archetypes are
found as the personal experience of children and that Jungians
are wrong in ascribing collective qualities to them. I think
these analysts have misunderstood what you mean by archetypes;
but that such views are held shows the difficulty in getting
agreement about the data which have been observed.
When I mentioned in my review that your theory of the
archetypes lacked scientific foundation or proof, I put this for-
ward, bearing in mind the opening article in The Times Literary
Supplement of January 29, 1960, where the author stated that
‘no such archetypes as Professor Jung describes can be shown
to exist’! By this I understood the writer to mean that no
scientific proof can be produced in support of the existence of
the archetypes. This author, of course, failed to see that you
were putting forward a hypothesis.
In my opinion, the absence of scientific foundation or proof
is no drawback. In the present state of knowledge, the strict
procedure of the non-living sciences cannot be applied to psy-
chology. I would agree that applicability gives the strongest
support and the only form of proof available in support of the
hypothesis. I should not have thought it gave scientific proof
which could not be disputed by anyone. I am sure you would
agree that applicability alone is not proof or scientific evidence
although it gives—as I said in the review—the most satisfactory
explanation available for the phenomena.
1 See note on p. 103.
100 C. G. JUNG
I would not say . . . that the archetype itself is not evidence.
be
I would say it was evidence, but not of the type that would
of
described as scientific evidence, by which I mean the type
evidence acceptable in the non-living sciences.
I hope this explanation, such as it is, is satisfactory. It does
seem to me to support your statement that there has been some
to
misunderstanding about terms. I was particularly anxious
It is not a
make clear my use of the term ‘scientific proof’.
in the non-
special kind of proving, apart from its general use
living sciences. I remember very well your remarks about science
in your book, Psychology and Religion, and I was anxious to
a
emphasize in this review (as I have done elsewhere) that
theory could be acceptable even though it could not be proved ,
as proof is understood in the non-living sciences. We seem to
be in a position in psychological work where there is disagree-
ment about the data and about the methods used in obtaining
and proving their reality. Consequently we cannot, as yet,
secure results which could be described as laws derived deduc-
tively from the data.

(3) From Professor Fung

11th June 1960
... Thank you very much for your illuminating letter. I
see from it that you understand by ‘scientific evidence’ some-
thing like chemical or physical proof. But what about evidence
in a law court? The concept of scientific proof is hardly applic-
able there, and yet the court knows of evidence which suffices
to cut a man’s head off, which means a good deal more than the
universality of a symbol. I think that there is such a thing as
‘commensurability of evidence’. Obviously the way of proving a
fact is not the same and cannot be the same in the different
branches of knowledge. For instance the mathematical method
is applicable neither in psychology nor.in philosophy, and vice
versa. The question ought to be formulated: what is physical,
biological, psychological, legal and philosophic evidence? By
which principle could one show that physical evidence is
superior to any other evidence? Or how could anybody say that
there is no psychological evidence for the existence of a quantum
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL IOI

or a proton? Obviously no branch of knowledge can be expressed

in the terms of another branch, as one cannot measure weight by
kilometres or length by litres or ohms by volts. There is also
no ‘scientific proof’ for the existence of the migration-instinct,
for instance, yet nobody doubts it. It would be too much to
expect chemical proof in a murder case, yet the case can be
proved by a legal method quite satisfactorily. Why should
psychology be measured against physics—if one is not a mem-
ber of the Leningrad Academy?

Reply:
17th June 1960
_.. Your line of reasoning, to my mind, is absolutely sound,
and I agree entirely when you say that ‘the way of proving a
fact is not the same and cannot be the same in the different
branches of knowledge’. I had attempted to say much the same
letter
thing—though not so clearly as you have done—in my
in the review of your book,
of the 27th May. My statement
es,
that scientific proof is still lacking for your theory of archetyp
the mistake of demandi ng
was directed against those who make
scientific proof where it cannot be applied. You would agree,
ly
I am sure, that this is often done, and those who do so frequent
the demand for scien-
adopt a self-righteous attitude, as though
subject
tific proof should always be acceptable whatever the
how many psychiat rists
under consideration. . . . It is surprising
importa nce to scienti-
and psychologists still attach the greatest
is seen
fic proof in the sense in which I used these words. This
projects for
in published papers and in the selection of research
tury attitude to-
post-graduate students. The nineteenth-cen
to the fore and it
wards scientific proof is still very much
ena—fo r example ,
hinders research into psychological phenom
into such a subject as the phenomenology of dreams.
Academy.
I appreciate your reference to the Leningrad
conti nues to be
Nevertheless, psychology—to its great loss—
le, in exper i-
measured against physics, as is seen, for examp
to have been left
mental psychology, where the psyche seems
measurements, de-
out in the cold and statistics and objective
spite their unsuitability, reign in its stead.
102 C. G. JUNG
(4) From Professor Fung
23rd June 1960
I can entirely subscribe to your statement: ‘Its (the scien-
tific method’s) tool is the objective observation of phenomena.
Then comes the classification of the phenomena and lastly the
deriving of mutual relations and sequences between the ob-
served data, thereby making it possible to predict future
occurrences, which, in turn, must be tested by observation and
experiment’, if, I must add, the experiment is possible. (You
cannot experiment with geological strata, for example!)
What you state is exactly what I do and always have done.
Psychical events are observable facts and can be dealt with in a
‘scientific’ way. Nobody has ever shown to me in how far my
method has not been scientific. One was satisfied with shouting,
‘Unscientific’. Under these circumstances, I do make the claim
of being ‘scientific’, because I do exactly what you describe as
‘scientific method’. I observe, I classify, I establish relations and
sequences between the observed data, and I even show the
possibility of prediction. If I speak of the collective unconscious,
I don’t assume it as a principle; I only give a name to the totality
of observable facts, i.e. archetypes. I derive nothing philo-
sophical from it, as it is merely a nomen.
The crux is the term ‘scientific’, which in the Anglo-Saxon
realm means, as it seems, physical, chemical and mathematical
evidence only. On the Continent, however, any kind of ade-
quate logical and systematic approach is called ‘scientific’; thus
historical and comparative methods are scientific. History,
mythology, anthropology, ethnology are ‘sciences’ as are geology,
zoology, botanics, etc.
It is evident that psychology has the claim of being ‘scien-
tific’, even where it is not only concerned with (mostly inade-
quate) physical or physiological methods. Psyche is the mother of
all our attempts to understand Nature, but in contradistinction
to all others it tries to understand itself by itself, a great dis-
advantage in one way and an equally great prerogative in the other!
* Bennet, E. A., ‘Methodology in Psychological Medicine’,
Journal of Mental Science (1939), LXXXVI, No. 361,
p. 230.
THE MIND—PERSONAL AND IMPERSONAL 103

Reply 7th July 1960

Your letter confirms what I mentioned before—namely,
there had been some confusion of terms . . . that it was only in
the sciences such as chemistry and physics that the question of
proof became important. Proof being taken in these sciences to
mean, in the simplest terms, that which can be demonstrated by
measurement and weighing. I don’t think this would apply to
atomic physics—a subject with which I am not familiar, but
where, I think, there is some departure from what would usually
be regarded as scientific proof. In the everyday use of the term
‘scientific proof’ we deal with considerations wherein a conclu-
sion is inevitable and must be accepted by everyone, provided
the meaning of terms is agreed upon. I don’t, of course, mean
that this is absolute truth in the metaphysical sense and I agree
fully with you that no one knows what ‘absolute truth’ means.
You mention variation in the use of the word ‘scientific’. I
am inclined to think that in the Anglo-Saxon realm the word,
as applied to method, is used very much as it is elsewhere. On
the Continent, and here as well, ‘any adequate and systematic
approach’, to use your own words, is quite scientific. Your
own approach one must certainly call scientific. . . .
NOTE
The article in The Times Literary Supplement mentioned in
the letter of 8th June, 1960 was a review of Jung’s The Arche-
types and the Collective Unconscious and Aion : Researches into
the Phenomenology of the Self. By way of contrast, an extract
from a review! in The Times Literary Supplement of 30th
December, 1960 may be given:
‘Equally invisible is the power which creates not only
behaviour patterns that we observe in human actions but also the
images of the wise old man, the puer aeternus, the animus /anima
and others which appear in dreams and fairy tales, and to which
we give the name of archetypal images. Dr. Jacobi’s lucid presen-
tation of Jungian ideas makes a responsive reader aware of the
wisdom that exists in the archetypal life of the collective
unconscious.’
1 Jacobi, Jolande, The Complex|Archetype/Symbol in the
Psychology of C. G. Jung, translated by Ralph Mannheim,
Vol. 7, Routledge and Kegan Paul.
CHAPTER SEVEN

Mental Life as a Process

Over the last hundred years the evolutionary outlook which

accompanied the birth of the Origin of Species has given a fresh
stimulus to psychology. Until the eighteen-fifties psychology
was subordinate to philosophy; since then it has expanded into
a separate branch of study and we have seen its influence in
almost every branch of life: education, industry, journalism,
politics and of course medical science have all benefited from
this expansion. Within the last twenty-five years the training of
medical students—at any rate in these islands—has broadened
to include lecture-demonstrations in the recognition and treat-
ment of mental illness of every type.
Behind these changes lies an altered outlook arising from the
acceptance of two important characteristics of modern psy-
chology: Firstly, the mind itself is a creative entity; from birth
it is capable of action, dynamic, and this has largely replaced the
idea of the mind as a mosaic-like structure formed in response
to experience. Secondly is the claim that the mind operates on
the unconscious as well as on the conscious level. These pro-
positions, so commonplace in our time, were distinctive features
in the youthful psychology of the late nineteenth century. When
Jung began his career at the Burghdlzli Hospital, he and his
colleagues were, of course, familiar with the scientific atmo-
sphere of the time. They were concerned with improving the
treatment of their patients, but were far from accepting the
traditional outlook on custodial care; they wanted to understand
104
MENTAL LIFE AS A PROCESS 105

the patient as well as the illness. Research was in the foreground,

although results were often disappointing. No doubt—as we
can see now—the disappointment in research, such as studying
post-mortem sections of the brain, was brought about by the
all-important place given to causation. A cure for mental illness,
so it was thought, was dependent upon discovering its cause.
Even today the significance of causation is often overrated
in psychiatry as well as in general medicine. When a diagnosis
of neurosis seems certain, it is by no means unusual for the
doctor, almost as a matter of conscience, to exclude organic
disorder, as though nothing else could produce the symptoms.
He has been trained to think of an organic cause as the only
important factor in illness, and it is remarkable how much signi-
ficance can be attributed to any physical illness, small or great,
past or present. Everyone knows the importance of diagnosing
organic trouble, but equal importance should be given to recog-
nizing disturbances within the mind. A patient goes to his doctor
and expects him to find and remove the cause of his illness. In
many instances—for example, in infectious diseases—the search
for a cause may be successful and administration of the correct
remedy may be followed by recovery. Nevertheless, fervent
search for so-called causes can be harmful to the patient by
suggesting additional symptoms. Every experienced doctor will
see, if he is alive to it, that unfortunate effects may follow the
symptomatic or the palliative treatment of symptoms. But he
might not agree, because he has not thought of it, that prolonged
and fruitless investigations can be disastrous. Patients have their
attention focused on the past and become convinced that more
complete examinations by more distinguished authorities must
at long last reveal the cause. A similar line of thought seems to
lie behind the deterministic systems of psychological thought,
with treatment involving protracted examination of past events.
Scrutiny of past experience and the recovery of lost memories
do not in themselves act like magic in producing a cure. Yet
this approach is pursued zealously, as though it were the only
way.
Neurosis may appear at any age, and if it be assumed that its
an
origin lies in the past, the search for the cause may provide
106 C. G. JUNG

escape from a present-day problem. Life may be compared to a

river: in the early stages there are the little tributaries, and as the
river flows on the channel deepens and the side-streams disap-
pear. Should the river be blocked the level rises and water
flows back into the old channels. But these old channels (like
the experiences in childhood) have not caused the river to rise;
the problem is the block in the river. When doctor and patient
alike are blind to the present problem, there are always the
endless things of childhood to talk about; for childhood is a
time of phantasies. The so-called scientific procedure based only
on causality without taking into account the relevance of the
present situation is likely to prove disappointing in discover-
ing a cure for mental illness. But tradition dies hard. Learning
is difficult enough, but how hard it is to unlearn!
With growing experience, Jung came to adopt a wider
approach than his contemporaries; he came to see that causes in
the past, however important, were not the only consideration in
illness. There was also response to the present situation and the
patient’s attitude towards future responsibilities. He felt that
the illness was serving some purpose; that there was a goal,
even though its nature was unknown. Mental illness, like life
itself, had an aim, a meaning. He knew the importance of the
personal history, and he would never attempt to treat a patient
without finding out the setting, the background, in which
illness had developed; but in addition to investigation of the past
he took into account the present and the future. Insight into
experiences and the recovery of repressed memories are highly
important; but this does not mean that specific causes of the
illness must be found. Adjustment and cure are in the present,
not in the long-past days of childhood. It was relevant also to
consider why the person got ill in that particular way and at that
time. If the illness resulted only from past events, why had it not
come earlier?
The often fruitless, almost microscopic, examination of the
past receives a healthy corrective in Jung’s emphasis on the
present and on the future. This gives prominence also to a
feature in the evolutionary outlook which is sometimes over-
looked: that evolution is a process, and each phenomenon, in
MENTAL LIFE AS A PROCESS 107

addition to its past and present, should be expressed or con-

sidered in terms of its future possibilities if these can be inferred.
Important though origins may be, in themselves they can be
meaningless when the present situation and the coming days
and years must be faced. ‘Where do we go from here?” trite as
it is, contains a truth.
It comes as a surprise to find support for Jung’s ideas from
psychiatrists whom one must suppose are not familiar with his
work, otherwise they would certainly have referred to it. Dr.
Franz Alexander + writes as follows: ‘. . . we lay stress on the
value of designing a plan of treatment, based on a dynamic-
diagnostic appraisal of the patient’s personality and the actual
problems he has to solve in his given life conditions . . .’. Dr.
T. M. French says much the same thing: “The more we keep
our attention focused upon the patient’s immediate problem in
life, the more clearly do we come to realize that the patient’s
neurosis is an unsuccessful attempt to solve a problem in the
present by means of behaviour patterns that failed to solve it in
the past. We are interested in the past as a source of these stereo-
typed behaviour patterns, but our primary interest is in helping
the patient to find a solution for his present problem. . . .’
These are extracts from a book by a group of psychoanalysts
who claim that all of their work is a development of Freud’s.
Many other clinical procedures in Alexander and French’s
valuable book have been used by Jungian analysts for many
years.
‘Life’, writes Jung,” ‘is teleology par excellence; it is the
intrinsic striving towards a goal, and the living organism is a
system of directed aims which seek to fulfil themselves. The end
of every process is its goal. Youthful longing for the world and
for life, for the attainment of high hopes and distant goals, is
life’s obvious teleological urge which at once changes into fear
of life, neurotic resistances, depression, and phobias if at some
point it remains caught in the past, or shrinks from risks without
which the unseen goal cannot be attained.’
1 Alexander, F., and French, T. M., Psychoanalytic
Therapy, Ronald Press (1946), pp. 5, 95.
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,
Vol. 8, p. 406.
108 C. G. JUNG

Another principle of explanation, of understanding, in addi-

tion to the importance of the current situation and the goal-
an
seeking characteristics of life, arises from the observation that
event may occur in what is to us a meaningful associa tion with
another event of a like kind. We have been accustomed to
describe as coincidence events existing or happening at the same
time, indicating only that causality linking these events has not
been observed. Every doctor has had experience of diagnosing
an unusual type of illness, one he may not have seen for years;
yet on the same day he comes across one or two other patients
with the identical complaint. We describe such events as odd,
curious, remarking inconclusively (and inaccurately), ‘It never
rains but it pours.’
Jung employs the term ‘synchronicity’ of ‘coincidences’
connected so meaningfully that their ‘chance’ concurrence would
represent a degree of improbability that would have to be ex-
pressed by an astronomical figure.*
Teilhard de Chardin, writing from a very different angle,
using other concepts, expressed ideas which seem to converge
towards Jung’s: ‘. . . the unknown . . . disguised its presence in
the innumerable strands which form the web of chance, the very
stuff of which the universe and my own small individuality are
woven. .. . Our mind is disturbed when we try to plumb the
depth of the world beneath us. But it reels still more when we
try to number the favourable chances which must coincide at
every moment if the least of living things is to survive and to
succeed in its enterprises. After the consciousness of being
something other and something greater than myself—a second
thing made me dizzy: namely, the supreme improbability, the
tremendous unlikelihood of finding myself existing in the heart
of a world that has survived and succeeded in being a world.”
Dissatisfaction with the causal principle was plainly stated
by Jung in the Preface to a volume first published in 1917: “But
causality is only one principle, and psychology cannot be

1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,

Vol. 8, p. 437.
2 Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre, Le Milieu Divin, Collins
(1960), p. 56.
MENTAL LIFE AS A PROCESS 109

exhausted by causal methods only, because the mind lives by

aims as well... .’
‘To interpret Faust objectively, i.e. from the causal stand-
point, is as though a man were to consider a sculpture from the
historical, technical and—last but not least—from the minera-
logical standpoint. But where lurks the real meaning of the
wondrous work?’ 4
We note, then, that Jung’s ‘heresy respecting causality’, as it
was called, was a step in his search for an explanatory principle,
for he was really dissatisfied with the exclusiveness of the
statistical method. Next came the notion of directed aims—‘the
aim of every process is its goal’—and in addition to these is ‘the
problem of synchronicity’ with which Jung was concerned for
many years; but the difficulties of the problem and its presenta-
tion deterred him until 1952 when he published a consistent
account of everything he had to say on the subject. With some
revisions, this work has now been re-published.”
As we might expect after so many years of thought, Jung’s
observations on ‘Synchronicity: an Acausal Connecting Prin-
ciple’ are presented with due circumspection: ‘Although mean-
ingful coincidences are infinitely varied in their phenomenology,
as acausal events they nevertheless form an element that is part
of the scientific picture of the world. Causality is the way we
explain the link between two successive events. Synchronicity
designates the parallelism of time and meaning between psychic
and psychophysical events, which scientific knowledge so far has
been unable to reduce to a common principle.’ è There are
exceptions to the general concept in physics of space, time
and causality and it is here that synchronicity acquires a
meaning.
Jung’s interest in the meaning and explanatory possibilities
for
of the synchronicity concept, long ago led him to investigate
though t contain ed in The I Ching or
himself aspects of Chinese
gy,
1Jung, C. G., Collected Papers on Analytical Psycholo
Bailliére, Tindall, and Cox (1920), pp. XV, 340.
C. W.,
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960),
Vol. 8, p. 419.
3 Ibid., pp. 530, 531.
IIO C. G. JUNG
Book of Changes.1 For thousands of years, he tells us,? the best
minds of China have contributed to this remarkable book; yet
despite its fabulous age, it has never grown old, but lives and
operates still, at least for those who understand its meaning. “The
science of the J Ching is not based on the causality principle, but
on a principle (hitherto unnamed because not met with among
us) which I have tentatively called the synchronistic principle.’
It was in his memorial address for Richard Wilhelm that Jung
first used the term ‘synchronicity’.®
This famous book, J Ching, is sometimes disposed of as a
collection of Chinese magic spells, but only by those who have
never turned its pages or investigated its possibilities. Richard
Wilhelm, the sinologue, describes it as one of the most important
books in the world’s history. In his Foreword 4 to Wilhelm’s
translation, Jung writes: “This odd fact that a reaction that makes
sense arises out of a technique seemingly excluding all sense
from the outset, is the great achievement of the I Ching.’ Al-
though we may not, as yet, be able to prove certain items of
knowledge reached by an unfamiliar method, such as the
wisdom of the J Ching, as Jung has said, this, in itself, should not
lead us to conclude that it is all nonsense; there may be truth of
an unknown kind, and it may be true on a basis unknown to us.
As reasonable people we must admit that its rationale is
mysterious for we do not know how it works, but we observe
that it does so, and often it can give an amazing insight into
character. This is the important thing: certainly not whether the
I Ching is true or false by our particular code of reasoning.
Such a standpoint may baffle the intellectualist demanding
* The I Ching or Book of Changes, the Richard Wilhelm
translation, rendered into English by Cary F. Baynes,
Foreword by C. G. Jung, two volumes, Routledge and
Kegan Paul (1951).
* The Secret of the Golden Flower, translated and explained
by Richard Wilhelm, with a European Commentary by
C. G. Jung. Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner (1931), pp.

e Dhasta and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,

Vol. 8, p. 452.
* The I Ching or Book of Changes, the Richard Wilhelm
translation, rendered into English by Cary F. Baynes,
Foreword by C. G. Jung (1951), Vol. I, p. ix.
MENTAL LIFE AS A PROCESS III

proof of every proposition before accepting it. Yet who would

he
try to prove the truth or falsity of mythology? Surely only
a court of law or in
who is thinking of proof as it is used in
circles where the scientific method is inviolab le. Jung would
was
think it a waste of time to discuss whether or not a myth
is that myths are
true; for him a main feature in mythology
repeated; that this is so will not be disputed.
Likewise with astrology. Again and again I have been asked
tandable
if Jung ‘really believes in astrology’. This is an unders
the subject , and
question, for Jung has written much about
minds of though t-
everyone knows the status of astrology in the
he has writte n?
ful people. But how many have read what
g to show that as-
Strangers sometimes write to Jung arguin
about changes in
trology is nonsense and supplying information
s’—the
the calendar and so forth. ‘Bringing owls to Athen
his comment
ancient form of ‘Bringing coals to Newcastle’—was
me in so many
on these well-meaning correspondents. He told
the truth or falsity
words that he did not concern himself with
sion derive d in a
of astrology. By ‘truth’ is here meant a conclu
the simple propos i-
logical manner from the axioms—that is,
s geometry,
tions on which it rests. Thus the axioms of Euclid’
provide a criterion of truth. Wheth er or not
if accepted, would
He has no illusions
astrology is true is of no interest to Jung.
no doubt that it would
about the imperfections of astrology and
He knows that the
cut a poor figure under scientific inspection.
but of more significance
claims of astrology cannot be ‘proved’;
works, how it could ever
would be an explanation of how it ever
be disputed. Jung at one
give a hint. That it does so cannot
observation might be
time thought the results of astrological
but it is conceivable
regarded as synchronistic phenomena;
gy, and if this is even
that there may be a causal basis for astrolo
becomes an exceedingly
‘remotely thinkable, synchronicity
doubtful proposition’.*
psychiatrist he set no
When Jung began his career as a
ideas were left behind; his
bounds to his work. Preconceived
’—to quote R. L. S.—
mind was never ‘clogged with prudence
g.
and his outlook was constantly expandin
Psyche (1960), C. W.,
1 The Structure and Dynamics of the
Vol. 8, pp. 460, 461.
112 C. G. JUNG
Perplexity concerning the symbolism of dreams and other
unconscious occurrences led Jung to embark on the study of
alchemy. This proved highly fruitful. Somewhat to his surprise,
he discovered that the alchemists were concerned with psy-
chological and religious problems not very different from those
of his patients. Moreover, their understanding of these prob-
lems was often profound. Alchemy flourished for many cen-
turies in the East and in the West, so, naturally, not every
alchemist was a paragon. Jung has built up what is probably the
finest library of alchemical texts in Switzerland and he has read
every one of them. Consequently, his remarks on this obscure
subject are soundly based. It is unnecessary for our present
purpose to do more than refer the reader to Jung’s writings in
Psychology and Alchemy + and in the two volumes, Mysterium
Conjunctionis.? Of special importance is the Introduction to the
former book ‘Introduction to the Religious and Psychological
Problems of Alchemy’.? One extract from the book may be given:
‘The central ideas of Christianity are rooted in gnostic philo-
sophy, which, in accordance with psychological laws, simply had
to grow up at a time when the classical religions had become
obsolete. It was founded on the perception of the symbols thrown
up by the process of individuation which always sets in when the
collective dominants of human life fall into decay. At sucha time
there is bound to be a considerable number of individuals who
are possessed by archetypes of a numinous nature that force
their way up to the surface in order to form new dominants.’ 4
Jung’s researches in the obscure hinterland of the human
mind were possible because he was unhampered by the bonds of
a purely personalistic psychology. It was the striking applica-
bility of the hypothesis of the collective unconscious that opened
up so many unexpected possibilities, and the great help al-
chemical symbolism gives to the understanding and interpre-
tation of dreams as well as of the peripatetic qualities of the
individuation process.
1 Psychology and Alchemy (1953), C. W., Vol. 12.
* Mysterium Conjunctionis will be C. W., Vol. 14 (not yet
translated into English).
? Psychology and Alchemy (1953), C. W., Vol. 12, p. 3.
4 Ibid., p. 35.
CHAPTER EIGHT

Aion: The Mind in Time

WE now turn to a remarkable book which Jung published in

1950.1 In it familiar psychological concepts find little place; but
this does not mean that they have lost their importance. The
therapeutic situation is what it is and nothing in Jung’s later
work displaces his earlier teaching on psychology and psycho-
pathology. He is now, as he has always been, emphatic that
psychiatrists, particularly those engaged in analytical work,
should have a wide experience in general medicine as well as in
psychiatry. Life opens out before Jung in all sorts of unexpected
ways, and in his later books he assumes that his readers are not
beginners. Aion is a profound book; no one could say it was a
book to be read at a sitting.
Not all of Jung’s books have been translated into English,
and it has not been expedient to do more than mention briefly
the individuation process on which he lays particular emphasis.
But those who read Aion carefully should note that Jung sees it
as representing the collective aspect of the individuation process.
To give the reader an impression of the scope of this volume,
and through it a glimpse of Jung’s more recent work, a critical
notice—that is, a review—of the book from the Journal of
Analytical Psychology ® follows.

1 Aion: Researches into the Phenomenology of the Self (1959),

C. W., Vol. 9, Part II.
2 Bennet, E. A., ‘Jung’s Concept of the Time Stream’,
Journal of Analytical Psychology (1960), Vol., 5, p. 159.
113
114 C. G. JUNG
I
Aion, that is an era, a segment, of historical time, bears the mark
of Jung’s fully mature mind. His early books and those of
middle life were written with precision. Often the substance was
complex—nature usually is!—but the exposition, for instance of
dreams, was easily assimilated. Few will find this book easy to
read and some may lay it aside. That is understandable; but
the hesitant may start again if they reflect that Jung, now in his
later years, feels it a duty, an obligation, to record his reflections
and observations upon unusual and generally unnoticed psy-
chological phenomena. He has gone to immense trouble, by
detailed documentation and collation, to support his theme, and
as always, he has been careful to avoid unjustifiable assumptions
—let alone draw conclusions—which might imply a claim to
absolute truth. Those who are interested to know what he has
to say in this profound book must be prepared to read, to re-read
and to ponder.
Some readers will be mystified by the frontispiece, depicting
the Mithraic god Aion, and possibly this has already puzzled
some reviewers; at all events it has come in for little comment.
No explanation is given for the choice of this plate; yet under-
standing the import of this god gives a hint about the intention
of the book as wellas its title. Many Mithraic statues of Aion have
survived, and the illustration used here is of one in the Vatican
Library collection. The god is seen in the likeness of a human
monster with the head of a lion—this probably relates to the
summer season—and the body enveloped by a serpent. Accord-
ing to Cumont,! the statues of Aion are decorated with numerous
symbols in keeping with the kaleidoscopic nature of his char-
acter. Objects carried in the hands vary: some show the sceptre
and the bolts of divine sovereignty or in each hand a key, as
proper for the monarch of the heavens whose portals he opens.
The wings are symbolic of the rapidity. of his flight, and also
suggest the air. He stands on a globe representing the earth,
encircled by the folds of a snake typifying the tortuous course
of the sun on the ecliptic. Celestial and terrestrial phenomena
1 Cumont, Franz, The Mysteries of Mithra, Dover Publica-
tions (1956), pp. 107 et seq.
AION: THE MIND IN TIME II§

signalizing the eternal flight of the years are brought to mind by

the signs of the zodiac engraved on his body and the emblems of
the seasons that accompany them. Sometimes a serpent is
around each of his wings. Aion creates and destroys all things;
he is the lord and master of the four elements that compose the
universe, and he may be identified with Destiny.
Aion has had many names, acquired fortuitously or estab-
lished by convention: thus he is synonymous with the Mithraic
god Kronos (the Greek name for Saturn), sometimes referred
to as saeculum (the spirit of the age, the times) or more expres-
sively, boundless, infinite time.
Dozens of meanings have been given to the word ‘time’:
it may refer to duration set out by measure; to a space of time
apart from divisions into hours or years; to a subjective form of
perceiving phenomena; to the length of a term of imprisonment;
and so on. Jung’s concern is to see time in its historical setting,
that is the emphasis is upon prevailing conditions of mind at
stages within the period, the era, about which he is writing.
People change as the time(s) changes; the one varies with the
other for they are inseparable, and each in its way expresses an
underlying entity. Hence Jung’s choice of the frontispiece, for
Aion is the symbol of the creative qualitative principle of time.
Dr. Marie-Louise von Franz’s Analysis of the Passion of St.
Perpetua + (Die Passion S. Perpetuae) appears in the German
edition, and in some ways this is an integral part of Aion, for it
describes the psychological pheonmena which accompanied the
transformation of the old Pagan world into the early Christian
mentality. Christianity at that time came out of the collective
unconscious by way of dreams and visions; it did not fall from
heaven by direct revelation. Consequently, to obey one’s un-
conscious meant to become a Christian. St. Perpetua’s dreams
show the transformation of unconscious collective representa-
tions from paganism to Christianity. It should not be thought
that the dreams of today—that is, 2,000 years later—would
show a similar tendency. Fraulein von Franz also cited evidence
indicating that Christ at that time was an inner figure appearing
in dreams. Jung’s claim that Christ was a projection of the self
1 St. Perpetua; A.D. 181-206.
116 C. G. JUNG

is thus confirmed. Aion deals with the beginning of this trans-

formation of Christian ideas, and this is followed by the suc-
cession of events from the early days and through the Middle
Ages to modern times. Psychological changes in individuals (and
so in groups), characteristic of the transition from one era or
period of time to another, provide the leitmotiv. If this is kept
in mind, some difficult passages will be made clear.
To outline on a conscious level the changes in the time
stream over the centuries would have its value. But Jung has
chosen another approach, and that is to consider the historical
transformations by means of a critical investigation of distinctive
phenomena due to unconscious processes. These, he points out,
always accompany the fluctuations of consciousness. No one
living in the West can escape the historical Christian background
nor avoid being influenced by the secular changes in Christian
principles. In a striking passage we get a picture of how Chris-
tianity has altered, and Jung reaches the conclusion that state-
ments of Christian principles, such as those by Paul in the
market place at Athens, which had a remarkable effect when
first made, have little meaning for people today. He writes:
‘If Paul were alive today, and should undertake to reach the
ear of intelligent Londoners in Hyde Park, he could no longer
content himself with quotations from Greek literature and a
smattering of Jewish history, but would have to accommodate
his language to the intellectual faculties of the modern English
public. If he failed to do this he would have announced his
message badly, for no one, except perhaps a classical philologist,
would understand half of what he was saying. That, however, is
the situation in which Christian kerygmatics (preaching or
declaration of religious truth) finds itself today. Not that it uses
a dead foreign language in the literal sense, but it speaks in
images that on the one hand are hoary with age and look decep-
tively familiar, while on the other hand they are miles away from
a modern man’s conscious understanding, addressing themselves,
at most to his unconscious, and then only if the speaker’s whole
soul is in the work’ (pp. 177-8).
Some will accept, others dispute this comment. But that there is
truth in it could hardly be denied.
AION: THE MIND IN TIME II7

II
Developments that have taken place over the years are only
possible when the individual—that is, many individuals—are
transforming themselves in their personal psychological life,
and the phenomenology may be individual or it may be collec-
tive. Thus knowledge concerning the manifestation of symbols
may be of a single symbol or of symbols expressing a general
disposition, as in myths. The latter disposition is the collective
unconscious, ‘the existence of which can be inferred only from
individual phenomenology. In both cases (that is, the individual
and the collective) the investigator comes back to the individual,
for what he is all the time concerned with are certain complex
thought-forms, the archetypes, and they must be conjectured as
the unconscious organisers of our ideas. The motive force that
produces these configurations cannot be distinguished from the
trans-conscious factor known as instinct. There is, therefore,
no justification for visualising the archetype as anything other
than the image of the instinct’ (p. 179). It should be remembered
that ‘the word “image” expresses the contents of the unconscious
momentarily constellated. . . . The interpretation of its meaning,
therefore, can proceed exclusively neither from the unconscious
nor from the conscious, but only from their reciprocal relation.’ 1
Aion opens with what seems at first glance to be an admirable
and simple exposition of the ego, the shadow, the syzygy (the
paired opposites anima and animus), and the self. But with closer
reading it will be noted that these terms are being discussed
from the point of view of feeling, and feeling is evidently more
in place than thinking: ‘. . . the intellectual “grasp” of a psy-
chological fact produces no more than a concept of it, and that
concept is no more than a name. . . . It would seem that one
can pursue any science with the intellect alone except psychology
whose subject—the psyche—has more than the two aspects
mediated by sense-perception and thinking. The function of
value—feeling—is an integral part of our conscious orienta-
tion. . . . It is through the “affect” that the subject becomes
involved and comes to feel the whole weight of reality. The
1 Psychological Types, Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner (1933),
p. 555.
118 C. G. JUNG
difference amounts roughly to that between a severe illness
which one reads about in a text-book and the real illness which
one has’ (pp. 32, 33). We also find in these chapters the first
steps in Jung’s elucidation of the numerous aspects of the
archetype of the self. The ‘shadow’ containing the hidden,
repressed and more or less nefarious part of the personality
has usually been presented as the shadow cast by the conscious
mind—that is, a phenomenon relating primarily to the personal
psychology. In this guise it is easily understood. But here it
carries this connotation, and also the wider notion of everything
that is unconscious. So it ‘proves to be a darkness that hides
influential and autonomous factors which can be distinguished
in their own right—namely, animus and anima’ (p. 266). So
the shadow contains more than regrettable tendencies: it has
good qualities—normal instincts, creative impulses, and so on—
and evil is seen as a misapplication of facts in themselves natural.
These personifications now appear as anima and animus, and
these are the real authors of evil. In fact all the archetypes
develop favourable and unfavourable effects. And because there
can be no reality without polarity, the self is seen as a complexio
oppositorum (pp. 266, 267).
Jung’s emphasis on feeling is another way of saying that
certain psychological formulations can only be substantiated in
the mind of the individual by means of his own experience of
them; unless we have a personal experience of so-called realities
they mean nothing to us. Those who have travelled by air know
something which is unknown to those who have never been in an
aeroplane; the personal experience can be described, but it
cannot be felt by another unless he makes a journey by air.
Jung’s emphasis upon feeling may arouse criticism; yet without
feeling comprehension is incomplete, and comprehension for
most people follows training. Trite though this may sound it
offends some who consider that training in Analytical Psychology
(or in Psycho-Analysis for that matter) automatically produces
conditioned devotees incapable of judgment. Such shallow
reasoning would not be levelled at consulting engineers or even
at physicians. But then criticism of these callings does not
involve the emotion of the critic. Again and again Jung has
AION: THE MIND IN TIME IIQ

explained the nature of his experiences and the method of

obtaining them. Those who have used his methods have con-
firmed the facts he has described. ‘One could see the moons of
Jupiter even in Galileo’s day if one took the trouble to use his
telescope’ (pp. 33-4). Outside the field of psychology there is no
difficulty in understanding such concepts as the shadow or the
anima or the self. Thus the anima/animus combination has been
described in literature before Jung’s day, as anyone can confirm
by reading, for example, Hardy’s Well-Beloved, published when
Jung was a schoolboy. As already mentioned, Jung was inter-
ested in alchemy because he found in it experiences parallel
to those he came across in the treatment of patients. Likewise,
‘the self, on account of its empirical peculiarities, proves to be the
eidos behind the supreme ideas of unity and totality that are
inherent in all monotheistic and monistic systems’ (p. 34).
Ill
In the Prefatory Note to Answer to Fob 4 Jung writes: ‘The
most immediate cause of my writing this book is perhaps to be
found in certain problems discussed in my book Azon, especially
the problem of Christ as a symbolic figure and of the antagonism
Christ-Antichrist, represented in the traditional zodiacal sym-
bolism of the two fishes.’ Linked with this statement is Jung’s
theory that the symbol of the self undergoes a transformation
over the centuries, so that in every astrological or platonic year
(2,150 years) another form appears. As signs of the Zodiac are
enumerated anti-clockwise, the bull would (roughly) cover the
era 4000 to 2000 B.C. and likewise the ram 2000 to O B.C., and
next comes the aeon of Pisces, A.D. 0 to 2000. Of this period the
first 1,000 years (A.D. O to 1000) is held to represent the first
fish of Pisces, i.e. Christ, and the second 1,000 years (A.D.
1000 to 2000) the second fish, that is Antichrist. An enormous
number of synchronistic events throughout history reflect this
strange sequence of constellations. Ignorance is often coupled
with distrust and scorn of astrological concepts. But sensible
people—by their standards—paid a lot of attention to the stars
in their courses at the beginning of the Christian era and for
1 Psychology and Religion: West and East (1958), C. W., Vol.
II, P. 357.
120 C. G. JUNG
thousands of years before it. Such material about astrology will
not come up to the standards of the scientist (including the
psychologist) whose methodology is irrevocably imbued with
the notion of causality. All such should know that Jung is not
writing in support of astrology. His concern is with the mental
outlook of thoughtful people who lived nearly 2,000 years ago.
The ways of the mind in the early days of Christianity were not
static; we see movement and alteration in the human psyche
and this movement in the ‘stream of the centuries’ (p. 173) is
active in our own day and generation. About these concepts and
events Jung is not dogmatic. True to his rôle of empirical
psychologist, he correlates the facts and produces a hypothesis
which seems to offer an explanation. ‘Inevitably, we move here
on uncertain ground and must now and then have recourse to a
speculative hypothesis or tentatively reconstruct the context’
(p. 269).
That Jung is not writing for the novice—psychological or
theological—is evident when we consider his commentary on
Christ as a symbol of the self: ‘The images of God and Christ
which man’s religious fantasy projects cannot avoid being an-
thropomorphic and are admitted to be so; hence they are capable
of psychological elucidation like any other symbols’ (p. 67). In
this non-theological setting Christ as the true image of God
exemplifies the archetype of the self (p. 37), and as such is a
proper subject for psychological reflection. A statement such as
that of St. Augustine: ‘Therefore our end must be our perfection,
but our perfection is Christ’, would find its psychological
equivalent in the integration of the collective unconscious which
forms an essential part of the individuation process. Clearly
Jung is not discussing in this context the relative simplicities of
personal psychology, but is touching on the fundamental entities
behind the individual. The image of the Antichrist—that is the
Luciferian development of science and technology and the
frightful material and moral destruction left behind by the
Second World War’ (p. 36)—appears as the dark aspect of the
self. Here are the irreconcilable opposites, the insoluble conflicts
of duty (pp. 44-5) already mentioned (p. 25) or more simply that
‘good and evil represent equivalent halves. of an opposition’
AION: THE MIND IN TIME I2I

(p. 45). Individuation becomes the prominent task, and not at

all as a circumvention of the Christian mystery (p. 70). There is
here no theological discussion; Jung disclaims any missionary
intentions (p. 68), but is concerned to express the fact that as
Christ is taken as a symbol of the self it does not follow that
perfection and completeness are identical. So too the individual
striving after perfection will experience the opposite of his con-
scious intentions, and this in its turn is just how life (rather than
stagnation and death) appears; conflict can never be far away.
In Chapter VI, “The Sign of the Fishes’, and in the following
chapters the argument or exposition of this theme continues.
Jung in dealing with the phenomenology of the self notes the
facts as he sees them. He did not invent the ideas and the turn
of expression found in astrology about the Fishes. There they
are, plain for everyone to see. Some brush them aside; Jung
takes them seriously as facts to be observed in his efforts to
elucidate what has happened, and what is happening today, in
the development of the self—that is, the hypostasized entity
behind the innumerable manifestations and projections of those
far-off years up to our own time. To Jung the unfolding of
history has a meaning; to others it may be merely boring, stupid
or fancy running free. Further, he thinks the meaning is im-
portant, otherwise he would not have attempted the almost
superhuman task of elucidating it. Nor is he the first to do so:
‘What I have described as a gradual process of development
has already been anticipated, and more or less prefigured at the
beginning of our era’ (p. 184). Here the reference is to the
images and ideas in Gnosticism, to which Chapter XIII is
devoted. Modern psychology is not responsible for the notion
of the unconscious: the Gnostics had the idea of an unconscious
and in particular the initial unconsciousness of man (pp. 190-1).
Further, Jung considers that the same concept was found in St.
Paul’s teaching where the transformation from unconsciousness
took on a moral tone: to sin, to repent, alludes to ‘the times of
ignorance’, that is unconsciousness. Much of the work of the
Gnostics has a modern flavour and symbols of the self are
numerous. Jung’s account of Gnostic symbolic thinking is more
easily grasped than the preceding chapters on the historical,
E
122 C. G. JUNG
alchemical and other aspects of the fish. The purpose is ‘to
give the reader a picture of the mentality of the first two cen-
turies of our era’. The partly pagan, partly Christian views of
the Gnostics show how closely the religious teaching of that
age was connected with psychic facts (p. 215).
Chapter XIV, ‘The Structure and Dynamics of the Self’,
gives a summary of the progressive assimilation and amplifica-
tion of the archetype that underlies ego-consciousness. Knowing
(or guessing) the pitfalls due to differences in outlook over the
centuries, Jung is almost bound ‘to venture an occasional hypo-
thesis even at the risk of making a mistake’ (p. 269). Surely a
modestly disarming understatement! A highly condensed chap-
ter follows, packed with facts, theories and frank guesses, and
this will be hard going for some. But they need not regret the
absence of tabulated findings. Jung describes the entire book as
‘a mere sketch’, and there is some truth in this.
Symbolism has undergone development from one age to
another, for, like everything in life, symbols have their day and
cease to be. In this transitional setting we are given in outline
the facts that led psychologists to conjecture an archetype of
wholeness, that is the self (p. 223). In other words, the book
is the archetypal history of the mind in the Christian aeon (p.
227). Alchemy succeeded gnostic philosophy and ‘ “Mater
Alchemia” is one of the mothers of modern science with its
unparalleled knowledge of the “dark” side of matter . . . and in
the twentieth century political and social “realism” has turned
the wheel of history back a full two thousand years’ (pp. 232-3).
‘Man’s picture of the world during the second millenium
includes the beginning of natural science’, and this brings to the
fore the principle of correspondence, widely recognized up to
the time of Leibniz. Elsewhere Jung has expanded on the need to
supplement our time-conditioned thinking ‘by the principle of
correspondence, or as I have called it, synchronicity’ (p. 258).
Nuclear physics and the psychology of the unconscious may
seem to have little in common, but each body of knowledge—
one with the concept of the atom, the other with that of the
archetype—seem to be moving into transcendental territory,
and Jung hints that they may draw closer. At the same time he
AION: THE MIND IN TIME 123

is fully aware of the extremely hypothetical nature of his re-

flections. Yet psyche and matter exist in one and the same world
and each partakes of the other, otherwise any reciprocal action
would be impossible. Speculative ideas, such as this, find a
place in all analogy formation and, as Jung has shown elsewhere
(Psychology and Alchemy), analogy formation can be observed
in its countless forms everywhere in history and its importance
cannot be questioned.

Jung would not claim that in Aion he had done more than
give a hint, a foreshadowing of coming events as a new era
dawns. His modesty should not be allowed to diminish the
importance he assigns to the historical changes which are be-
coming more and more evident. In fact, he returns to this subject
in a later publication. ‘What will the future bring? From time
immemorial this question has occupied men’s minds.’ These
opening words of the book show that, once more, Jung is con-
cerned with issues that go far beyond the boundaries of psy-
chology and psychiatry. What, he asks,” is the significance of
that split, symbolized by the ‘Iron Curtain’ which divides
humanity into two halves? He sees scientific education, based
in the main on statistical truths and abstract knowledge, and the
individual regarded as a merely marginal phenomenon and,
ultimately, the State as the principle of political reality.
The prevailing tendency to seek the source of all ills in the
outside world leads to the demand for political and social
changes which it is supposed would automatically solve the
much deeper problem of split personality è or ‘split conscious-
ness’ characteristic of the mental disorder of our day. Jung is
here thinking of modern society rather than individuals, for he
sees ‘society’ acting as if it were an individual, as when the
individual loses himself, disappears in so far as he allows himself
to be submerged in the mass. He was intrigued to learn from
one of his granddaughters that she and a group of her contempo-
raries had been discussing the essays in his little book. Their
comments were very much to the point. He was particularly
1 The Undiscovered Self, Routledge and Kegan Paul (1958).
2 Ibid, pp. 3; II, I2. 3 Ibid., pp. 74, 80.
124 C. G. JUNG
interested to observe the acute perception of these schoolgirls;
to his mind, the younger generation appeared to have a clearer,
more intelligent view of the world situation than their elders,
if
who are limited by the tendency to see the world today as
to settle down.
nothing had changed and as if matters were bound
Jung does not share this complacency. Humanity, he con-
siders, is passing though a difficult, dark time, and inevitably
there will be psychological accompaniments. Now, in our own
day, we are given ‘a golden opportunity to see how a legend is
formed’ at such a time; how a miraculous tale grows up of an
attempted intervention by extra-terrestrial ‘heavenly bodies’.
This is the theme of a second small volume on the subject of
Flying Saucers, first published in 1959. Bertrand Russell
expressed a similar idea: ‘And a dose of disaster is likely to bring
men’s hopes back to their older super-terrestrial forms: if life
on earth is despaired of, it is only in heaven that peace can be
sought.’ ?
Ufos (unidentified flying objects) have been reported
from all corners of the earth. Although the Ufos were first
publicized only towards the end of the Second World War, the
same phenomenon was known earlier.” In support of this,
illustrations are reproduced of similar objects printed in the
Nuremberg Broadsheet in 1561 and in the Basel Broadsheet in
1566. A ‘very frightful spectacle’ seen by ‘numerous men and
women’ at sunrise on 14th April, 1561 has much in common
with the Ufos of today: ‘Globes of a blood-red, bluish or
black colour’ or ‘plates’ in large number near the sun. . . . More-
over, there were ‘two great tubes’. “They all began to fight one
another. . . .’ Underneath the globes a long object was seen,
‘shaped like a great white spear’. Naturally, this ‘spectacle’ was
interpreted as a divine warning.
Jung is not concerned with investigating the reliability * of
1 Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of things seen in the Skies,
Routledge and Kegan Paul (1959).
2 Russell, Bertrand, History of Western Philosophy;
George Allen and Unwin (1946), p. 64.
8 Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of things seen in the Skies,
Routledge and Kegan Paul (1959), pp. 128 et seq.
4 Ibid., pp. 146 et seq.
AION: THE MIND IN TIME 125

the numerous reports on the Ufo phenomena for his essay

is a study of Ufos as a psychological phenomenon. It is quite
right that the rumours should meet with criticism, scepticism,
and often rejection. . . . Indeed, since conscious and unconscious
fantasy, and even mendacity, obviously play an important rôle
in building up the rumour, we could be satisfied with a psy-
chological explanation and let it rest at that. Unfortunately,
adds Jung, there are good reasons why the Ufos cannot be
disposed of in this simple manner, for they have not only been
seen, but have also been picked up on the radar screen and have
left traces on the photographic plate. . . . No satisfying scientific
explanation of even one authentic Ufo report has yet been
given despite many efforts. . . . ‘It boils down to nothing less
than this: that either psychic projections throw back a radar
echo, or else the appearance of real objects affords an oppor-
tunity for mythological projections.’ The conclusion is: some-
thing is seen but one doesn’t know what. It is difficult, if not
impossible, to form any correct idea of these objects, because
they behave, not like bodies but like weightless thoughts.*
Of particular interest is the fact that not only have Ufos
been seen, but, as might be expected, they have also been
dreamt about. Jung has devoted a chapter to Ufos in dreams,”
for only with the unconscious associative context is it possible
to make a judgment on the psychic situation constellated by the
object.
Bearing in mind the psychological ideas engendered by
causation, synchronicity, astrology, alchemy, and last, ‘the
Modern Myth of Things seen in the Skies’, it is not difficult to
appreciate the widened outlook which followed Jung’s valuation
of the psyche, conscious and unconscious.

1 Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of things seen in the Skies,

Routledge and Kegan Paul (1959), p. xiii, xiv.
2 Ibid., p. 25.
CHAPTER NINE

I. Dreams II. The Interplay of Opposites: Individuation

I. DREAMS

UNLIKE many people who say they never dream, Jung has
been a ‘good’ dreamer from infancy, and his subsequent attitude
towards dreams was influenced by the impression made upon
him at the time by early dreams. No question of interpretation
arose in those days, for the dream was accepted simply as a
personal experience. A few of these dreams were discussed
earlier; 1 they were arresting then, and when he recalled them,
as he often did, their significance had not diminished. Mature
reflections and critical scrutiny never upset the belief, derived
from his own experience, that dreams had some meaning.
This is typical of the introverted thinker for whom the inner
world is sharp and clear, as is the outer to the extraverted
thinker.
At first glance, the dream is not a promising subject and
patients are usually surprised when asked about their dreams.
Many say they never dream or that their dreams are ridiculous,
meaningless. Dreams have every appearance of being nonsense
and the common attitude towards them is understandable.
Dean Inge, a highly intelligent person, in writing about a psy-
chological subject, gave an opinion of dream psychology:
< . . studying the dreams of patients? From my experience I
should say that is bosh.? ? What must the outlook have
1 Pp. 10 et seq. * Personal letter.
126
I. DREAMS I27

been in 1900, when Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams appeared!

Jung read this book appreciatively long before he met Freud,
and although at the time, and later, he was unable to accept
Freud’s dicta on dreams, he always acknowledged his ‘great
achievement in having put dream interpretation on the right
track’.1 Before Freud’s time, as Jung knew, the deciphering of
dreams had fallen into disrepute and was classed with fortune-
telling and reading tea cups. Yet in the past dreams were
treated with respect, as we can see from the records of dreams in
the Bible and the importance accorded to them by physicians
for many centuries.
Jung was more reserved than Freud in his statements about
dreams. He has no fixed formula, and consequently tries to
understand each dream de novo, with the co-operation of the
dreamer; without this, although he might have an impression
about the meaning of a dream, he would feel uncertain whether
he was correct.
Freud was more downright. Indeed, his rediscovery of the
dream came from his thoroughgoing deterministic approach; he
examined dreams as a nineteenth-century scientist would in-
vestigate any obscure phenomenon: it was a challenge, a mystery
to be unravelled, and, if possible, an explanation should be
found. Freud gave a biological explanation of the dream: its
purpose was to preserve sleep. Sleep may be interrupted by
external disturbances, such as noise, or by repressed thoughts
evading the censorship—which he postulated—for ifthe dreamer
became aware of these his sleep would be at an end. But he
remains asleep because the latent content of the dream is
transformed by specific mechanisms into the innocuous form
which appears to him. When the dream was analysed it was
always possible to see that it expressed a repressed wish. Freud’s
confidence in his theory was such that he considered the meaning
of many dreams obvious, and, without reference to his patient,
he felt he knew what the dream meant: ‘Symbols make it
possible for us in certain circumstances to interpret a dream
- without questioning the dreamer . . . we are often in a position
1 Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1958), C. W., Vol.
8, p. 284.
128 C. G. JUNG
to interpret it straight away; to translate it at sight, as it were.’ +
He did not advocate this procedure, preferring to follow his
method of ‘free association’. Nevertheless, the direct method of
understanding a dream without analysis by free association
would seem to follow from Freud’s further statement that the
relation between the symbol and the thing symbolized is an
invariable one.?
It seemed to Jung improbable that dreams could always be
interpreted in a particular way and from only one point of view,
such as Freud’s wish-fulfilment theory, however broad the
meaning of this term. What evidence was there that dreams
should always have the same significance? Consciousness was
quite intricate, as everyone would agree, and Jung thought it
likely that the unconscious was equally, if not more complicated.
Hence he could not accept the theory that the dream must
always be understood as expressing a repressed wish; in other
words, that the unconscious is limited in its mode of functioning.
Jung’s exposition of dreams has remained consistent all
along. He has produced no dogma of their interpretation, nor
does he claim that he can find the meaning of every dream on the
spot, for dreaming is an involuntary process over which the
conscious attitude can have no control. That is why Jung has
put dreams—a psychological fact—on a plane with physiological
fact.3 For him the dream is a natural event: he assumes that the
dream is what it is and not something else. So he takes the
dream exactly as he finds it and tries to understand it and to
avoid presuppositions: ‘. . . we must give up all preconceived
opinions when it comes to the analysis and interpretation of the
objective psyche, or in other words, the “unconscious”. We do
not yet possess a general theory of dreams that would enable
us to use a deductive method with impunity, any more than we
possess a general theory of consciousness from which we can
draw inferences. . . . It should therefore be an absolute rule to
assume that every dream and every part of a dream is unknown
1 Freud, S., Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis,
George Allen and Unwin (1923), p. 127.
abd D. T20,
3 The Practice of Psychotherapy (1954), C. W., Vol. 16, p.
142.
I. DREAMS I29

at the outset, and to attempt an interpretation only after care-

fully taking up the context.’ 1 Such an attitude leaves the field of
exploration open, whereas the statement of settled principles can
be restricting, and implies that we know a great deal about the
unconscious and how it is bound to act.
In psychological matters, the question ‘Why does it happen?’
is not necessarily more productive of results than the other
question, ‘To what purpose does it happen?’ In a paper * on the
‘Nature of Dreams’, Jung put the matter in this form, and at the
same time placed the dream ‘among the puzzles of medical
psychology’. His answer to the second question gives a very
general idea of the function of dreams, and that is the formula of
‘compensation’, which provides a momentary adjustment of
one-sidedness, an equalization of disturbed balance. Compensa-
tion should be thought of as a process, observable sometimes in a
single dream, but clearer in a long series, when the separate acts
of compensation arrange themselves into a kind of plan sub-
ordinated to a common goal. Jung makes no claim that the
notion of the compensatory function of the unconscious is and
always will be valid. He puts the idea forward as his subjective
point of view, not as a dogma, and gives his reasons for con-
sidering the psyche as a self-regulating system comparable to
the well-known homoeostatic mechanisms in the body.
In analysing the dream, the co-operation of the patient is
essential; so from the onset the patient is involved in the treat-
ment, and so is the analyst. The joint endeavour of patient
and analyst in the investigation of dreams, and in other ways,
entails more than the conscious attitude of each: there is also
the inevitable participation of the unconscious. Freud was the
first to recognize that the relation bore close resemblances to
the child-parent situation; he observed that the patient came to
look on the analyst as a parent-figure. The direction of feelings
and desires towards a new object (the analyst) were described by
Freud as ‘transference’—that is, a carrying over from one place
or metaphorically from one form, into another. This is an
1 Psychology and Alchemy. (1953), C. W., Vol. 12, pp. 43344.
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), Vol.
8, pp. 281, 287, 289, 290.
130 C. G. JUNG
whereby we
example of projection, an unconscious process
objects) sub-
attribute to other people (or even to inanimate
es. This is
jective contents of any kind, such as hidden motiv
pears when it is
never an intentional act and the projection disap
is really sub-
discovered that the seemingly objective situation
jective.
opinions
Volumes have been written about transference;
ns, and
have varied considerably between Freudians and Jungia
en Jungia ns and Jungia ns. This is not
strangely enough, betwe
appear , for transf erence is by no means a
so serious as it might
its manife statio ns confin ed to doctor s
simple matter. Nor are
en those
and patients. Transference situations may appear betwe
matte rs—fo r instan ce, lawyer s and their
involved in confidential
clients, parsons and parish ioners , teache rs and pupils .
Further, the transference situation can, so to speak, work
both ways: the analyst may also project unrecognized mental
ce.
contents upon his patient—the so-called counter-transferen
Jung does not conside r that transfe rence is always concern ed
with infantile erotic phantas ies, for the patient is now an adult
‘|. understanding of the transference is to be sought not in
its historical antecedents but in its purpose’.’ But its purpose
will not be obvious; it must be sought. Transference is spon-
taneous, unprovoked, and so it cannot be demanded. Neurosis
produces a feeling of isolation and a transference may spring up
as an attempt to bridge the gap, especially if the patient feels the
doctor is remote or lacks understanding.
There has been discussion in psychological circles over the
meaning of the terms ‘rapport’ and ‘transference’, and it has
been argued that the former should be given up as being already
contained in transference. On this topic Jung writes: ‘By careful
examination of his conscious mind you get to know your patient;
you establish what the old hypnotists used to call “rapport”.
This personal contact is of prime importance, because it forms
the only safe basis from which to tackle the unconscious.’ ?

1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.

Vol. 8, p. 74.
2 The Development of Personality (1954), C. W., Vol. 17, P.
97-
I. DREAMS I3I

Transference often shows compulsive qualities which are

absent in rapport. Further, the transference may be intense, and
this indicates the importance to the patient of the projected
material. This is his property, so to speak, and should be re-
turned to him. The projected contents may be personal or
impersonal, and it is essential that the therapist should dis-
criminate between these.
Jung in 1946 published a book on the Psychology of the
Transference; this appeared in English in 1954 in a volume,
alluded to above, containing essays on kindred subjects.! To it
the reader is now referred for an authoritative statement upon
the important subject of transference.
For Jung the unconscious is always unknown, and, far
from being a part of the mind that can be relied upon to behave
in a uniform manner, its activity is unpredictable and usually
irrational by conscious standards. It is little wonder that the
dream is brushed aside. Let us turn, for example, to a type of
dream that raises a still unsolved problem—that is, the dream
which appears to deal with the future. Such dreams, by no
means rare, may possibly complete a pattern when seen in retro-
spect. But, when they occur, they are usually obscure. Jung had
a recurrent dream of a large attractive room in his house. In the
dream the existence of this room surprised him. It contained a
collection of old manuscripts and books. He did not know its
meaning at the time, but when he took up the study of alchemy
and acquired books similar to those of the dream, the recurrent
dream made sense. Dreams of this kind, his own and those of
patients, indicated the presence of an anticipatory quality.
Jung would not use the word ‘prophetic’ of such dreams: “They
are no more prophetic than a medical diagnosis or a weather
forecast. They are merely an anticipatory combination of
probabilities which may coincide with the actual behaviour of
things but need not necessarily agree in every detail. Only in the
latter case can we speak of “prophecy”. Another example of this

1 The Practice of Psychotherapy (1954), C. W., Vol. 16, p.

164.
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,
Vol. 8. p. 255.
132 C. G. JUNG
al
anticipatory quality occurred in the dream of the mediev
on the
house mentioned earlier, and it adumbrated future work
subject of the collective unconscious.
m
Dreams of this type are often recorded. That Willia
such ex-
Temple, formerly Archbishop of Canterbury, had
d
periences is evident from a remark in the Preface to his Giffor
Lectures: ‘All my decisive thinking goes on behind the scenes;
ly on
I seldom know when it takes place—much of it certain
walks or during sleep—and I never know the proces ses which
it has followed. Often when teaching I have found myself
expressing rooted convictions which until that moment I had
no notion that I held. Yet they are genuinely rooted convictions
—the response, not of my ratiocinative intellect, but of my whole
being, to certain theoretical and practical propositions.’ ?
One of the best-known accounts of anticipatory dreams is
that of J. W. Dunne, who held “That dreams—dreams in
general, all dreams, everybody’s dreams—were composed of
images of past experience and images of future experiences
blended together in approximately equal proportions.’ *
Anticipatory dreams give a hint of the difficulty in formu-
lating a precise theory about dreams. Students are sometimes
puzzled that Jung should place dreams centrally in treatment
and yet he avoids being dogmatic on the psychology of dreams.
It should be remembered that the dream gives only a glimpse of
the unconscious, and as the unconscious is by definition the
unknown, the dream is not likely to have a meaning which can
be read at a glance. Dreams provide one means of coming to
terms with the unconscious; and. as no two people are identical,
the meaning of a dream must be sought in terms of the dreamer.
Knowledge of the dreamer is thus of first importance, for the
dream is his product—the dream is the dreamer. However
unexpected the dream, it is a subjective experience and points a
contrast between the inner world of the mind and the outer
1 See p. 86.
2 Matthews, W. R. (and others), William Temple: an
Estimate and an Appreciation, James Clarke (1946), pp. 10,
Il.
’ Dunne, J. W., An Experiment with Time. A. & C. Black
(1929), P. 54.
I. DREAMS 133
world of objects, animate and inanimate. No question of evi-
dence that the dream was his experience troubles the dreamer.
Yet this is important, for unless we know what the dream means
for him we can make nothing of it; the significance lies not
in the dream gua dream, but in who had the dream and
what circumstances. Consequently, the personal history of the
patient must be understood, and for this reductive analysis will
be necessary. Provided this goes beyond the superficialities of
good advice, it is valuable in giving the setting of the individual.
But the main value of the treatment is in getting below the sur-
face, in reaching the unconscious, and here dreams will play
an important part.
Associations are asked for, so that the context of items in the
dream will be understood. However complicated or however
simple the dream may appear, it must be approached by way of
the dreamer’s associations, for these give the pertinent informa-
tion about the dream. For example, I was told a long dream by a
he
friend—he was not a patient—and in the course of the dream
posted a letter in a pillar-b ox. He wondere d if this had any
particular significance, for, although he knew very little about
dream interpretation, he had heard that hollow objects into
which something can be inserted had a sexual meaning. Before
the
attempting an answer, I inquired about the pillar-box,
letter, and other details. It transpired that the pillar-box in the
oldest
dream had a special interest for him because it was the
Isles, and he had written an article
pillar-box in the British
infor-
about it and other ancient pillar-boxes. On this and other
ions, and the general ‘atmosp here’ of
mation from his associat
the dream, it was possible to see some purpose in it.
te parts
This method of obtaining a description of the separa
‘ampli ficati on’. By studyi ng the com-
of the dream is named
would study the compo sitio n of any un-
ponent parts—as one
consid ering the dream as a whole, we
known object—and then
and at the same time an answer to
hope to find its meaning,
the question: What is the purpose of the dream?
that the
Participation in the analysis of the dream means
he and his
patient is directly involved in the treatment, and that
trying to solve the enigm a of his
doctor, on equal terms, are
134 C. G. JUNG
h they
neurosis. Common sense and good advice, useful thoug
are disapp ointin g in cleari ng
may be in other circumstances,
can make life a misery . It
up the fears and obsessions which
neuros is when they find they
is a great help to patients with a
with
can do something to help themselves. Before an interview
, and often they come to
the doctor, they can study their dreams
see their significance for themselves. Dream s are not patho-
the
logical phenomena to be noted only during illness. When
illness cured, patien ts are
treatment is over and, we hope, the
encouraged to pay attention to their dream s and their inner life.
There is no danger that this will make them introspective. We
should avoid thinking of a psychological disability as we think
of a physical injury—that is, as something that can be ‘cured’
and forgotten. Mental life is a process, and the new attitude
gained today may grow dim a little later, for the ebb and flow of
life means that nothing remains fixed and settled. Consequently,
the individual must be prepared to make new adaptations.
‘There is no change that is unconditionally valid over a long
period of time. Life has always to be tackled anew.’ +
Co-operation in treatment prepares the way for self-
treatment, and this is not merely a preventive measure; it is
the adoption of an attitude in which the unconscious as well as
the conscious is valued. When this new outlook is achieved life
opens up in unexpected ways. This implies an alteration in our
customary ideas about the unconscious, and we need a method
of reaching the unconscious in addition to dreams. Jung has
described such a method—Active Imagination—which means
an activation of the imagination. To form images in the mind
apart from those derived from external objects is to use our
imagination. By spontaneous drawing and painting, modelling,
playing a musical instrument, and in other ways, experience
shows that the creative activity of the unconscious can be reached.
It is a waking method, as dreams are a sleeping method, of
getting in touch with the unconscious. That this procedure can
be extremely useful has been proved by the results of art
therapy, now widely used in psychiatric hospitals.
1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. Ws
Vol. 8, p. 72.
I. DREAMS 135
One danger in using active imagination, as Jung has pointed
out, is that ‘. . . after a certain point of psychic development has
been reached, the products of the unconscious are greatly over-
valued precisely because they were boundlessly undervalued
before’.
Amplification has some similarity to the philological tech-
nique of collation, the critical comparison of documents or texts,
carried out to establish the meaning of some obscure passage.
Supposing we were puzzled by Ophelia’s words, “They say,
the owl was a baker’s daughter’, we should employ collation and,
as in amplification, we should find out if statements of a like
s
kind appear in legends. Our endeavours, so far as Ophelia’
remark goes, would be successf ul.
con-
Amplification is different from free-association, where
as far as possib le and the associa tions
scious control is eliminated
freely
are influenced by the unconscious. Eventually these
to the comple xes, but this may not
associated ideas may lead
the dream. Reflec tion on any object
give enlightenment about
a dream
or any thought may similarly lead to the complexes and
e. A compar ison of the two method s
is not required for this purpos
amplif icatio n—reve als a differe nt valua-
_free-association and
dream has a
tion of dreams. Jung would contend that the
apply whether
bearing on the present problem, and this would
current situation
or not the dream was clearly linked with the
compensatory
or was of an anticipatory type. In either case the
function of the dream should be discov ered.
of the com-
It is, of course, important to know something
the unconscious
plexes, but it is more valuable to discover what
the dream. Because
is doing about them—that is, the message of
ation by Jung in
of the central place accorded to dream-interpret
as a method.
analytical treatment, he values amplification
of work on the Word Assoc iatio n Test, Jung
As a result
complex as an indicator
attached considerable importance to the
found this confusing,
of unconscious mental activity. Some have
for Jung the complex is
and have gone so far as to say that
Jacobi quotes him as
more significant than the dream. Thus Dr.
e (1960), C. W.»
1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psych
Vol, 8, p. 85.
136 C. G. JUNG
saying: ‘. . . it is not dreams (as Freud believed) but complexes
that provide the royal road to the unconscious’. These words,
Dr. Jacobi writes, indicate the dominant, the central rôle that he
(Jung) assigns to the complex in depth psychology.”
Dr. Jacobi’s quotation suggests that the complex is more
important than the dream, and if so, how can we justify the
remark just made that the analysis of dreams occupies the central
place in Jung’s work? To this the answer is clear: T he quotation
from Jung’s book is accurate as far as it goes, but, unfortunately,
some important words are omitted. The full quotation is: “The
via regia to the unconscious, however, is not the dream, as he
[Freud] thought, but the complex which is the architect of
dreams and symptoms.’ ‘Architect? means the designer of a
structure, and so the complex is the architect in the sense that it
determines the structure of the dream; it is the hidden emotional
content of the dream and so cannot be separated from the dream.
In fact, the complexes become personified in the dream and
appear as splinter psyches. In another context Jung describes
the dream as the emissary of the unconscious.? In the 1953
edition of the same work he writes: ‘. . . the most important
method of getting at the pathogenic conflicts is, as Freud was the
first to show, through the analysis of dreams.”
Dreams often contain images possessing a symbolic quality.
But unfortunately the word ‘symbol’ has been used in a differ-
ent sense by Freud and by Jung. It was mentioned in an earlier
chapter * that Freud considered symbolism as a mode of ex-
pression not individually acquired. Nevertheless, for him
‘symbol’ was synonymous with ‘sign’ (derived from the Latin
signum, a sign, token, mark)—that is, an abbreviated expression
for something known. Symbolism used in this way implies a
conscious choice.

1 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.,

Vol. 8, p. IOI.
2 Jacobi, J., Complex] Archetype/Symbol in the Psychology of
C. G. Jung, Routledge and Kegan Paul (1959), p. 6.
3 Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953), C.W., Vol. 7,
Di 21.
* Op. cit., p. 259.
5 See pp. 9I, 93.
I. DREAMS 137

Jung’s concept of symbolism is entirely different from this:

is
‘... the symbol always presupposes that the chosen expression
relativ ely unkno wn fact; a
the best possible description of a
ated as
fact, however, which is none the less recognised or postul
’.*
existing’. This is an extract from Jung’s definition of ‘symbol
in so far as it is pregna nt
He considers that a symbol is alive only
imposs ible to make a living
with meaning. It is therefore quite
known
symbol, i.e. one that is pregnant with meaning, from
never contain s more than
associations. For what is manufactured
is a symbol or not depend s
is put into it... . Whether a thing
it, as
chiefly upon the attitude of the consciousness considering
not merely as
for instance, a mind that regards the given fact
the yet unknow n. In these
such, but also as an expression of
partici pation. It advances
circumstances it provokes unconscious
and creates life.
Freud and by
From a comparison of the meanings given by
rence betwe en them will be
Jung to the concept ‘symbol’ the diffe
sion in termi nolog y—it indi-
evident. This is more than a confu
des. It would be true to say
cates diametrically opposed attitu ed,
and all that this impli
that Jung’s concept of symbolism,
his collaboration
was an important element in the breakdown of the exact
constitutes
with Freud. ‘Psycho-analytical symbolism
. . . where as the ordinary
antithesis of ordinary symbolism
on with what it symbolizes,
symbol implies no direct causal relati
and by defini tion an effect of
the Freudian symbol is essentially
y aware of Freud ’s mistake in
what it symbolizes. Jung is clearl symp-
dream s and to neuro tic
applying the term ‘symbols’ to quota tion
gives the follo wing
toms.’ So writes Dalbiez,” who
from Jung:
us a clue, as it were, to
‘Those conscious contents which give
by Freu d incorrectly termed
the unconscious backgrounds are
symb ols, however, since,
“symbols”. These are not true
have mere ly the rôle of signs or
according to his teaching, they
The true symbol differs
symptoms of the background processes.
ch, Triibner (1933),
1 Psychological Types, Kegan Paul, Tren
pp. 601 et seq.
Method and the Doc-
2 Dalbiez, Ronald, Psychoanalytical II, pp. 102; 103.
), Vol.
trine of Freud, Longmans Green (1941
138 C. G. JUNG
essentially from this, and should be understood as the ex-
pression of an intuitive perception which can as yet neither be
apprehended better nor expressed differently.’ +
Dalbiez continues: ‘This critique of Jung’s reaches the heart of
the question. The fact that the psycho-analytical interpretation
of dreams has aroused so much opposition is largely due to the
confusion created by the use of the word “symbol” in the sense
of “index” or “‘effect-sign’”’.’
Jung’s valuation of the symbol is in striking contrast: ‘The
psychological mechanism that transforms energy is the symbol.
. . . So we have every reason to value symbol-formation and to
render homage to the symbol as an inestimable means of util-
izing the mere instinctual flow of energy for effective work.’ 2

II. THE INTERPLAY OF OPPOSITES: INDIVIDUATION

Jung makes no claim—like the philosophers of old—to have

built up a system explaining human thought and human action
or that he has gained insight into the meaning of life. His
concern is with psychology rather than philosophy, with the
mind itself and how it appears to function. Consequently, his
aim has been to describe his observations in the hope that the
mind in health and ‘the intruders of the mind’ in sickness, may
be understood—at least in part.
From time immemorial the interplay of opposites, the
reciprocal movement, both of mental and of physical states, has
been thought to contain the key to life’s enigmas. Polarity,
action and reaction, is seen in every part of nature—including
the mind. Whether or not the outer universe operates in this
fashion may be disputed, but beyond doubt the interplay of
opposites occurs within the mind. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s
essay on ‘Compensation’ gives a graphic picture of the dualism
that underlies nature, including that part of nature we call mind:
‘Life invests itself with inevitable conditions which the unwise

1 Contributions to Analytical Psychology, Kegan Paul,

Trench, Triibner (1928), pp. 231-2.
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.
Vol. 8, pp. 45; 47.
II. THE INTERPLAY OF OPPOSITES 139

seek to dodge. The ancient doctrine of Nemesis, as well as the

proverbs of all nations, give point to the same theme. All things
are double, one against the other; dualism bisects nature so that
each thing is a half, and suggests another to make it whole.’
As belief in the principle of opposites has been widespread
for centuries, Jung had good reason to conclude that this is one
of the main ways in which psychic energy manifests itself. He
often mentions Heraclitus, who attached special importance to
the mingling of opposites, the perpetual flux, the incessant
movement, of which fire is the symbol. Life for Heraclitus was
movement, becoming, a ceaseless struggle between contrary
forces. Plato and others hotly disputed his philosophic pre-
tensions, but psychology has much to learn from him.
Energy, in Jung’s teaching, accompanies or results from this
movement of opposites, and this is shown in the self-regulating
tendency mentioned in relation to the compensatory function in
dreams.! In the tension of opposites we build a wider and higher
consciousness. ‘The meaning and purpose of a problem seems to
be not in its solution, but in our working at it incessantly. This
alone preserves us from stultification and petrifaction.’* We
observe, too, the progression and regression of libido in the
opening out of life in childhood and youth and its opposite in
old age. Similarly, the energy can be thought of as a to-and-fro
movement between the levels of consciousness and the personal
or the collective unconscious. Likewise, the contrast between
conscious and unconscious attitudes can be seen in the dis-
similar picture given by the aspect of our personality we present
to the world and its counterpart in the unconscious. Jung
coined the term ‘persona’ (literally a mask) for the adopted
attitude through which connection is maintained with the outer
world, and this may be very different from the ‘shadow’ side,
a term applied to personal and also to collective elements in the
unconscious.
Dreams give an indication of the opposites, and the union of
the opposites is an important consideration in the treatment of
1 See p. 129.
2 The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960), C. W.
Vol. 8, p. 394.
140 C. G. JUNG
neurosis. Within each of us this other part, the shadow, may be
personified in dreams as a stranger; then—if we have eyes to
see it—we get a glimpse from the unconscious of what we are
pleased to call ‘ourselves’. Projection of the shadow occurs
almost as a routine and regrettable qualities in ourselves are
criticized in others.
Jung’s teaching on the psychology of man and of women
gives a further contrast: “They [the sexes] represent a supreme
pair of opposites, not hopelessly divided by logical contradiction,
but, because of the mutual attraction between them, giving
promise of union and actually making it possible.’ *
The inner figure in the man is known as the ‘anima’ and that
in the woman as the ‘animus’. Both these figures appear in
dreams in personified form, and if the man, for instance, fails
to recognize the woman in himself, this may be projected upon
an actual woman and he falls in love with her, or rather with
his picture of her. It is by no means unusual for a woman to be
irritated by the devoted attention of a man who insists on seeing
in her the embodiment of his unfulfilled expectations.
Jung did not invent the concepts ‘anima’ and ‘animus’.
Novelists—for example, Rider Haggard (She Who must be
Obeyed) and Thomas Hardy—were quite familiar with these
ideas. Hardy published a tale on what today we might call the
anima theme in 1892—when Jung was in his teens—and this has
been reprinted.? As a portrait of the psychology of man and his
anima it can be recommended.
One of the most significant studies of the opposites, and in
particular the union of the opposites, is found in alchemy: “The
problem of opposites called up by the shadow plays a great—
indeed, the decisive—réle in alchemy, since it leads in the
ultimate phase of the work to the union of opposites in the
archetypal form of the hieros gamos or “chymical marriage”.
Here the supreme opposites, male and female (as in the Chinese
Yang and Yin), are melted into a unity purified of all opposition’
—a strange admixture—‘and therefore uncorruptible’.*
1 Aion (1960), C. W., Vol. 9, Part II, p. 268.
2 Hardy, Thomas, The Well-Beloved: a Sketch of a Tempera-
ment, Macmillan (1952).
8 Psychology and Alchemy (1953), C. W., Vol. 12, pp. 36, 37-
II. THE INTERPLAY OF OPPOSITES I4I

In man the anima image, although experienced personally,

is an archetypal phenomenon. Three main sources of this
feminine quality in man and the masculine quality in women
have been described: firstly, experience of individual women and
men, and particularly of the mother or father; secondly, the
inherited image of woman and of man; and, thirdly, the latent
principle of the opposite sex, physiological and psychological.
Each sex carries the homologues of the other and each has a
latent capacity to respond to the other, and to find completeness,
fulfilment, in the other.
These all too brief references to the opposites and their
functioning should be supplemented by reading.1 Yet they give
an indication, a hint, of Jung’s immense contribution to psy-
chology, to psychopathology and to psychological treatment.
In an earlier chapter it was shown that co-operation between
individuals possessing unrecognized differences in type can
become impossible. Yet some rashly assume that they know all
about psychology by the light of nature, and that plenty of
common sense is the only reliable guide to personal and social
adjustments. Women with abundant common sense, sound
judgment, and goodwill may still find their day-by-day relations
with colleagues difficult. Often in the background, unconscious
and so projected, is the animus figure present in every woman.
Experience shows that such a projection is likely to constellate
the anima in the man, with disastrous results. A corresponding
blindness in the man can also lead to disaster and recriminations
in his attempted co-operation with the opposite sex. Good
intentions must be supplemented by information, and Jung’s
research on the psychology of men and of women is an impor-
tant chapter in his work.
In the course of analytical treatment, the paired opposites
anima-animus emerge autonomously in dreams and in spon-
taneous paintings or drawings, and this should be taken as a
sign that the activation of the unconscious has begun. These are
not simple matters, understood in a moment. To reading must
1(a) Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953), C. Ws
Vol. 7, pp. 186 et seg.; (b) The Archetypes and the Collective
Unconscious (1959), C. W., Vol. 9, Part I, p. 54.
142 C. G. JUNG
be added reflection and perception of the opposites as they
appear in personal and collective experience.
Jung considers the individuation process as the most
important goal in life; but the goal is not a fixed one, for the
action continues throughout life. ‘Life, being an energic process,
needs the opposites, for without opposition there is, as we
know, no energy.’ + Individuation—its meaning and significance
as a process of achievement—has been discussed earlier.? Its
self-regulative movement is evident in the unceasing interplay
of the opposites, essential to maintain balance; for the opposites
are part of a movement and by no means isolated phenomena.
Consciousness brought face to face, confronted with the
unconscious ‘. . . means open conflict and open collaboration at
once. That, evidently, is the way human life should be. It is
the old game of hammer and anvil: between them the patient
iron is forged into an indestructible whole, an individual.’ 3

1 Psychology and Religion: West and East (1958), C. W.

Vol. 11, p. 197.
2 See pp. 82, 83 et seq.
3 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1959),
C. W., Vol. 9 Part I, p. 288.
APPENDIX

Notable Occasions: an Account of some of Jung’s Birthdays,

with the Transcription of a Broadcast Interview

ALL beginnings are important and so it is that birth and the

anniversaries of the day of birth have, by custom, acquired a
distinctive place in social life. In the later years birthdays
provide an opportunity to do honour to those whose life and
work are held in high esteem.
On two of Jung’s birthdays colleagues and friends have
composed and presented him with a birthday book, a Festschrift.
Few have had the distinction of two such gifts.
The volume + given to Jung on his sixtieth birthday con-
tained twenty-five essays and five plates. Some of the essays,
such as the first by the late Toni Wolff, ‘Introduction to the
Main Principles of Complex Psychology’, were books in them-
selves. A portrait-study of Jung by Barbara Hannah was chosen
as the frontispiece. An unusual feature was a commentary, with
two plates, on Jung’s handwriting, by Gertrude Gilli.
Jung’s house at Bollingen has many examples of his skill as
a stone-carver, and one of these has a special significance in
relation to his seventy-fifth birthday. On the terrace facing the
lake is a stone seat, and at one end is placed a large square stone
with three sides exposed. In June 1951 Jung told me the history
of this stone. About the time of his seventy-fifth birthday he
decided to enclose part of the ground adjoining the house with a
wall. For this purpose stones were brought by boat from the
quarry on the opposite side of the lake. The stones had been
carefully measured and the large square stone was to form part
of the new wall. As the boat approached, Jung realized that the
stone was not the correct shape for the wall; but to his delight
1 Die Kulturelle Bedeutung der Komplexen Psychologie (1935),
Verlag von Julius Springer.
143
144 C. G. JUNG
he saw that it was a perfect cube. ‘My heart leapt! he exclaimed.
‘That is the very thing I want!’ It seemed almost miraculous.
For Jung the quaternity, squareness, has immense significance:
it is associated with completeness—for example, in the four
functions or the four seasons. In alchemy the square represents
symbolically the attainment of a higher unity.* In popular
speech we have the familiar ‘on the square’ and to ‘stand four-
square’.
Jung had the stone placed in its present position, and carved
the three exposed surfaces. The carving on the front panel is in
the form of a circle, a mandala—that is, ‘the psychological
expression of the totality of the self’. In the centre of the man-
dala is the homunculus, the strange ‘dwarf motif’, representing
the unconscious formative powers.® In using this motif, Jung
had in mind the power of the unconscious: ‘Long experience
has taught me not to know anything in advance and not to
Know better, but to let the unconscious take precedence.’ * On
the figure’s right is the sun, and on the left the moon. Many
other symbols appear, with the significant phrasing in Greek
characters.
Of the two remaining panels, that on the right celebrates
Jung’s seventy-fifth birthday, and in Latin, deeply carved in the
stone, he expresses gratitude for all life has given. Abbreviated
medieval Latin is used on the remaining panel. Jung was quite
at home in reading this difficult Latin script, which he originally
learnt in order to read certain texts.
An eightieth birthday carries peculiar significance, and for
Jung, as tor his colleagues and friends, the celebration of this
birthday was an occasion to be remembered.
Zürich was naturally the centre of interest, but there were
gatherings in honour of Jung in many other places—London,
New York, San Francisco, Calcutta and elsewhere.
Prior to the formal recognition of the birthday there was a
private function confined tojmembers of his family. There were
only two absentees from this remarkable gathering of about
1a and Alchemy (1953), C. W., Vol. 12, pp. 119
et seq.
2 The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1 P
C. W., Vol. 9, Part I, p. 304. =
? Psychology and Alchemy (1953), C. W., Vol. 12, p. 180.
t The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious (1959),
C. W., Vol. 9. Part I, p. 293.
APPENDIX 145
forty relatives which included Professor and Mrs. Jung, their
five children, seventeen of the nineteen grandchildren and two
great-grandchildren. Two ‘non-Jungs’, staying at the time at
Jung’s house in Kiisnacht-Ziirich, were present—Miss Ruth
Bailey, a family friend over many years, and myself (“You will
have to be a member of the Jung family for the day,’ remarked
Jung to me on my arrival).
It was at the formal recognition of the birthday that Jung
was presented with the second birthday book. The two volumes
of the Festschrift! had articles from thirty-two contributors.
For some years the term ‘complex psychology’ was in current
use, but there has been a change in terminology; the term
‘analytical psychology’ is now commonly used to indicate Jung’s
work, and this appears in the title of the volumes produced in
his honour on this occasion.
Another presentation, from the C. G. Jung-Institute in
Ziirich, was an original papyrus, now known as the Jung Codex,
and with it a volume containing photographic reproductions
of each page of the papyrus, with a commentary. There are four
books in this Codex, including the Gospel of Truth, by Valen-
tinus himself. These are considered to be writings of the Gnostic
School founded by Valentinus in the second century A.D. The
manuscript has special importance for students of early Christian
doctrine, particularly regarding the relations between Gnosti-
cism, Judaism, and Christianity. Jung’s writings contain many
references to Gnosticism and its relevance in the development of
human thought.? The Jung Codex is the latest of a group of
thirteen volumes found at Chenobskion in Upper Egypt. This
papyrus had a chequered history, and for a time its whereabouts
was uncertain. Eventually it was ‘re-discovered’, and purchased
so that it might be given to Jung. He was keenly interested in
the Codex, and the gift was one he valued highly. Nevertheless,
he felt the papyrus should be restored to the Egyptian Govern-
ment and placed in the Coptic Museum in Cairo, so that the
collection of thirteen volumes could be translated and made
generally available. His fine gesture was much appreciated by the
Egyptian Government, and the Codex has been returned
to Egypt.
1 Studien zur Analytischen Psychologie C. G. Jungs (1955)s
Rascher Verlag.
2 See p. 112.
146 C. G. JUNG

Those interested in the contents of these remarkable manu-

to
scripts, of which the Jung Codex is the latest, are referred
Jean Doresse’s work.*

II

In the year 1894—he was then nineteen years of age—Jung

acquired a first edition of a famous book by Erasmus (Adagiorum
D. Erasmi, Epitome, 1563), and in it he came across the phrase
Vocatus atque non vocatus deus aderit (Invoked or not invoked
the god will be present). He was much attracted by the words
and they may be seen cut in the stone lintel of his house in
Kiisnacht-Ziirich and inscribed on his book-plate. Considerable
speculation has been aroused. by the phrase, and it has an inter-
esting history. During the Peloponnesian Wars, the Lacedae-
monians, before attacking Athens, consulted the Delphic
Oracle, and the message they received, as translated by Erasmus
from Greek into Latin was: Vocatus atque non vocatus deus
aderit. This saying became a proverb, and was applied when one
wanted to hint at something that may happen in future whether
desired or not, such as old age, death, etc.—in other words, an
inevitable fate.
Jung had his first experience of a broadcast and television
interview two days before his eightieth birthday. He had already
declined an invitation from one broadcasting company, but, a
little reluctantly, he agreed to have a recorded talk with Mr.
(now Dr.) Stephen Black, representing the B.B.C. With the
agreement of Stephen Black, the B.B.C. kindly handed over to
me the copyright of the recording made in Jung’s house, and so
it is possible to print a verbatim account of the interview:

Black: Vocatus atque non vocatus deus aderit is a Latin

translation of the Greek oracle, and, translated into English,
it might read, ‘Invoked or not invoked the God will be present’,
and in many ways this expresses the philosophy of Carl Jung.
I am sitting now in a room in his house at Küsnacht, near
Ziirich, in Switzerland. And as I came in through the front
door, I read this Latin translation of the Greek, carved in stone

* Doresse, Jean, The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics,

Hollis and Carter (1960), pp. 137 et seq., 238 239.
APPENDIX 147

over the door. For this house was built by Professor Jung.
How may years ago, Professor Jung?
Jung: Oh, almost fifty years ago.
Black: Why did you choose this to put over your front door?
Jung: Because I wanted to express the fact that I always
feel unsafe, as if I’m in the presence of superior possibilities.
Black: Professor Jung is sitting opposite to me now. He is a
large man, a tall man, and this summer reached his eightieth
birthday. He has white hair, a very powerful face, with a small
white moustache and deep brown eyes. He reminds me, with
all respect, Professor Jung, of a typical peasant of Switzerland.
What do you feel about that, Professor Jung?
Fung: Well, I think you are not just beside the mark. That is
what I often have been called.
Black: And yet Professor Jung is a man whose reputation far
transcends the frontiers of this little country. It’s a reputation
which isn’t only European; it is world-wide and has made itself
felt very considerably in the Far East. Professor Jung, how did
you, as a doctor, become interested in psychological medicine?
Fung: Well, when I was a student of medicine I already
then became interested in the psychological aspect—chiefly of
mental diseases. I studied, besides my medical work, also
philosophy—chiefly Kant, Schopenhauer and others. I found
it very difficult in those days of scientific materialism to find a
middle line between natural science or medicine and my philo-
sophical interests. And in the last of my medical studies, just
before my final exam., I discovered the short Introduction that
Krafft-Ebing had written to his textbook of psychiatry, and
suddenly I understood the connection between psychology or
philosophy and medical science.
Black: This was due to Krafft-Ebing’s Introduction to his
textbook?
Jung: Yes; and it caused me tremendous emotion then. I was
quite overwhelmed by a sudden sort of intuitive understanding.
I wouldn’t have been able to formulate it clearly then, but I felt
I had touched a focus. And then on the spot I made up my mind
to become a psychiatrist, because there was a chance to unite my
philosophical interest with natural science and medical science;
that was my chief interest from then on.
Black: Would you say that your sudden intuitive interest in
something like that, your intuitive understanding, had to some
148 C. G. JUNG
extent been explained by your work during all the years
since?
Jung: Oh, yes; absolutely, absolutely. But, as you know, such
an intuitive moment contains the whole thing in nucleo. It is not
clearly formulated; it’s an indescribable totality; but this moment
had been the real origin of my career as a medical psychological
scientist.
Black: So it was in fact Krafft-Ebing and not Freud that
started you off.
Jung: Oh yes, I became acquainted with Freud much later on.
Black: And when did you meet Freud?
Jung: That was only in 1907. I had some correspondence
with him before that date, but I met him only in 1907 after I had
written my book on The Psychology of Dementia Praecox.
Black: That was your first book?
Jung: That wasn’t really my first book. The book on
dementia praecox came after my doctor’s thesis in 1904. And
then my subsequent studies in the Association Experiment
paved the way to Freud, because I saw that the behaviour of the
complex provided the experimental basis for Freud’s ideas on
repression. And that was the reason and the possibility of our
relationship.
Black: Would you like to describe to me that meeting?
Fung: Well, I went to Vienna and paid a visit to him, and our
first meeting lasted thirteen hours.
Black: Thirteen hours?
Jung: For thirteen uninterrupted hours we talked and
talked and talked. It was a tour d’horizon, in which I tried to
make out Freud’s peculiar mentality. He was a pretty strange
phenomenon to me then, as he was to everybody in those days,
and then I saw very clearly what his point of view was, and I
also caught some glimpses already where I wouldn’t join in.
Black: In what way was Freud a peculiar personality?
Fung: Well, that’s difficult to say, you know. He was a very
impressive man and obviously a genius. Yet you must know the
peculiar atmosphere of Vienna in those days: it was the last days
of the old Empire and Vienna was always spiritually and in
every way a place of a very specific character. And particularly
the Jewish intelligentsia was an impressive and peculiar phen-
omenon—particularly to us Swiss, you know. We were, of course,
very different and it took me quite a while until I got it.
APPENDIX 149

Black: Would you say, then, that the ideas and the philo-
sophy which you have expressed have in their root something
peculiarly Swiss?
Fung: Presumably. You know, our political neutrality has
much to do with it. We were always surrounded by the great
powers—those four powers, Germany, Austria, Italy and
France—and we had to defend our independence, so the Swiss
is characterized by that peculiar spirit of independence, and he
always reserves his judgment. He doesn’t easily imitate, and so
he doesn’t take things for granted.
Black: You are a man, Professor Jung, who reserves his
judgment?
Fung: Always.
Black: In 1912 you wrote a book called The Psychology of the
Unconscious, and it was at that time that you, as it were, dis-
sociated yourself from Freud?
Jung: Well, that came about quite automatically because I
developed certain ideas in that book which I knew Freud
couldn’t approve. Knowing his scientific materialism I knew
that this was the sort of philosophy I couldn’t subscribe to.
Black: Yours was the introvert, to use your own terminology?
Fung: No; mine was merely the empirical point of view. I
didn’t pretend to know anything, I wanted just to make the
experience of the world to see what things are.
Black: Would you accuse Freud of having become involved
in the mysticism of terms?
Fung: No; I wouldn’t accuse him; it was just a style of the
time. Thought, in a way, about psychological things was just,
as it seems to me, impossible—too simple. In those days one
talked of psychiatric illness as a sort of by-product of the brain.
Joking with my pupils, I told them of an old text-book for the
Medical Corps in the Swiss Army which gave a description of
the brain, saying it looked like a dish of macaroni, and the steam
from the macaroni was the psyche. That is the old view, and it is
far too simple. So I said: ‘Psychology is the science of the psy-
chic phenomena.’ We can observe whether these phenomena
are produced by the brain, or whether they are there in their
own right—they are just what they are. I have no theory about
the origin of the psyche. I take phenomena as they are and I try
to describe them and to classify them, and my terminology is an
empirical terminology, like the terminology in botany or zoology.
150 C. G. JUNG
Black: Yowve travelled a great deal?
Jung: Yes; a lot. I have been with Navajo Indians in North
America, and in North Africa, in East and Central Africa, the
Sudan and Egypt, and in India.
Black: Do you feel that the thought of the East is in any way
more advanced than the thought in the West?
Jung: Well, you see, the thought of the East cannot be
compared with the thought in the West; it is incommensurable.
It is something else.
Black: In what way does it differ, then?
Fung: Well, they are far more influenced by the basic facts
about psychology than we are.
Black: That sounds more like your philosophy. :
Fung: Oh, yes; quite. That is my particular understand ing
of the East, and the East can appreciate my ideas better, because
they are better prepared to see the truth of the psyche. Some
think there is nothing in the mind when the child is born, but I
say everything is in the mind when the child is born, only it
isn’t conscious yet. It is there as a potentiality. Now, the East is
chiefly based upon that potentiality.
Black: Does this contribute to the happiness of people one
way or the other? Are people happier in themselves in the East?
Jung: I don’t think that they are happier than we are. You
see, they have no end of problems, of diseases and conflicts;
that is the human lot.
Black: Is their unhappiness based upon their psychological
difficulties, like ours, or is it more based upon their physical
environment, their economics?
Fung: Well, you see, there is no difference between, say,
unfavourable social conditions and unfavourable psychological
conditions. We may be, in the West, in very favourable social
conditions, and we are as miserable as possible—inside. We have
the trouble from the inside. They have it perhaps more from the
outside.
Black: And have you any views on the reason for this misery
we suffer here?
Fung: Oh, yes; there are plenty of reasons. Wrong values—
we believe in things which are not really worthwhile. For
instance, when a man has only one automobile and his neighbour
Pattwo, then that is a very sad fact and he is apt to get neurotic
about it.
APPENDIX ISI

Black: In what other ways are our values at fault?

Jung: Well, all ambitions and all sorts of things—illusions,
ha know, of any description. It is impossible to name all those
gs.
Black: What is your view, Professor Jung, on the place of
women in society in the Western world?
Fung: In what way? The question is a bit vague.
Black: You said just now, Professor Jung, that some of our
difficulties arose out of wrong values, and I’m trying to find out
whether you feel those wrong values arise in men as a result of
the demands of women.
Fung: Sometimes, of course, they do, but very often it is the
female in a man that is misleading him. The anima in man, his
feminine side, of which he is truly unaware, is causing his
moods, his resentments, his prejudices.
Black: So that the woman who wants two cars because a
neighbour has two cars, is only stimulating . . .?
Jung: No, perhaps she simply voices what he has felt for a
long time. He wouldn’t dare to express it, but she voices it—
she is, perhaps, naive enough to say so.
Black: And what does the man express of the woman’s
animus?
Fung: Well, he is definitely against it, because the animus
always gets his ‘goat’, it calls forth his anima affects and anima
moods; they get on each other’s nerves. Listen to a conversation
between a man and wife when there is a certain amount of
emotion about them. You hear all the wonderful arguments of an
anima in the man; he talks then like a woman, and she talks like
a man, with very definite opinions and knows all about it.
Black: Do you feel that there’s any hope of adjusting this
between a man and a woman, if they understand it in your terms?
Fung: Well, you see, that is one of the main reasons why I
have developed a certain psychology of relationship—for
instance, the relationship in marriage, and how a man and his
wife should understand each other or how they misunderstand
each other practically. That’s a whole chapter of psychology
and not an unimportant one.
Black: Which is the basic behaviour? The Eastern?
Jung: Neither. The East is just as one-sided in its way as the
West is in its way. I wouldn’t say that the position of the woman
in the East is more natural or better than with us. Civilizations
152 C. G. JUNG
have developed styles. For instance, a Frenchman or an Italian
or an Englishman show very different and very characteristic
ways in dealing with their respective wives. I suppose you have
seen English marriages, and you know how an English gentle-
in-
man would deal with his wife in the event of trouble, for
all
stance; and if you compare this with an Italian, you will see
the difference in the world. You know, Italy cultivates its
emotions. Italians like emotions and they dramatize their
emotions. Not so the English.
Black: And in India or Malaya?
Jung: In India, presumably the same; I had no chance to
assist in a domestic problem in India, happily enough. It was a
holiday from Europe, where I had had almost too much to do
with domestic problems of my patients—that sort of thing was
my daily bread.
Black: Would you say, then, as a scientific observation that
there is, in fact, less domestic trouble in the East than in the
West?
Jung: I couldn’t say that. There is another kind of domestic
problem, you know. They live in crowds together in one house,
twenty-five people in one little house, and the grandmother on
top of the show, which is a terrific problem. Happily enough, we
have no such things over here.
Black: At the end of his life, Freud, one feels, had some
dissatisfaction with the nature of psycho-analysis, the length
of time involved in the treatment of mental illness and so on.
Have you, now you're eighty years old, felt any dissatisfaction
with your work?
Jung: No; I couldn’t say so. I know I’m not dissatisfied at all,
but I have no illusions about the difficulty of human nature.
You see, Freud was always a bit impatient; he always hoped to
find some short-cut. And I knew that is just the thing we would
not find, because anything that is good is expensive. It takes
time, it requires your patience and no end of it. I can’t say I am
dissatisfied. And so I always thought anything, if it is something
good, will take time, will demand all your patience, it will be
expensive. You can’t get around it.
Black: How did you meet your wife? Is she connected with
you work?
Jung: Well, I met her when she was quite a young girl, about
fifteen or sixteen, and I just happened to see her, and I said to a
APPENDIX 153

friend of mine—I was twenty-one then—I said, ‘That girl is

my wife.’ ;
Black: Before you’d spoken to her?
Fung: Yes. “That’s my wife’. I knew it. I saw her on top of a
staircase and I knew: “That is my wife.’
Black: How many children have you got?
Jung: Five children, nineteen grandchildren, and two great-
grandchildren.
iea Has any of this large family followed in your foot-
steps:
~ Jung: Well, my son is an architect and an uncle of mine was
an architect. None has studied medicine—all my daughters
married—but they are very interested and they ‘got it’ at home,
you see, through the atmosphere. One nephew is a medical
doctor. .
Black: Were you interested in architecture at all?
Jung: Oh, yes; very much so. I have built with my own hands;
I learned the work of a mason. I went to a quarry to learn how
to split stones—big rocks.
Black: And actually laying bricks, laying the stones?
Fung: Oh, well, in Europe we work with stone. I did actually
lay stones and built part of my house up in Bollingen.
Black: Why did you do that?
Fung: I wanted to handle and get the feeling of the stone and
to touch the earth—I worked a lot in the garden, I have chopped
wood, felled trees and all that. I liked sailing and rowing and
mountain climbing when I was young.
Black: Could you explain what you think the origins of this
desire to touch the earth? We in England have it very much;
every Englishman has his little garden. We all love the earth.
Fung: Of course. Well, you know, that is—how can we
explain it?—you love the earth and the earth loves you. And
therefore the earth brings forth. That is so even with the peasant
who wants to make his field fertile, and in the night of the full
moon he sleeps with his wife in the furrow.
Black: Professor Jung, what do you think will be the effect
upon the world of living, as we have been living, and may still
have to live, under the threat of the hydrogen bomb?
Fung: Well, that’s a very great problem. I think the West is
more affected by it than the East, because the East has a very
different attitude to death and destruction. Think, for instance,
F
154 C. G. JUNG
of the fact that practically the whole of India believes in rein-
carnation, so when you lose this life you have plenty of others.
It doesn’t matter so much. Moreover, this world is illusion
anyhow, and if you can get rid of it, it isn’t so bad. And if you
hope for a further life, well, you have untold possibilities ahead
of you. Since in the West there is one life only, therefore I can
imagine that the West is more disturbed by the possibility of
utter destruction than the East. We have to lose only one life
and we are by no means assured of a number of other lives to
follow. The greater part of the European population doesn’t
even believe in immortality any more and so, once destroyed,
forever destroyed. That explains a great deal of the reaction in
the West. We are more vulnerable by our lack of knowledge and
contact with the deepest strata of the psyche; but the East is
better defended in that way, because it is based upon the funda-
mental facts of the human soul and believes more in it and in its
possibilities than the West. And that is a point of uncertainty in
the West. It is a very critical point.

III

Jung’s eighty-fifth birthday in July 1960 was marked by

several social functions, and these were spread over some weeks
in order to minimize fatigue for the chief participant. On the
actual birthday Jung entertained his children, grandchildren and
great-grandchildren—now numbering ten—at the family house.
A rare honour was conferred on Jung the following day. A
banquet was given for him by the local authority of Küsnacht-
Zürich (the equivalent of the Town Council) and he was elected
Ehrenburgher, which corresponds to being made a Freeman of
the township. During the last one hundred and fifty years only
two others have had this distinction, and they were natives of
Kiisnacht. As a rule, only one who is born locally can become
Ehrenburgher. But an exception was made for Jung, who,
although of Swiss nationality, had been born in another Canton.
The significance of this honour may escape foreigners; but it is
evidence—if such were needed—of the attitude towards their
distinguished fellow-townsman of those who have been his
neighbours for more than sixty years.
Acknowledgments

For permission to make use of material, the author is grateful

to:
Miss Ruth Bailey for the photograph of Professor Jung
which is reproduced as the frontispiece.
Professor A. C. Mace for extracts from his address at a
celebration in honour of Professor Jung’s eightieth birthday.
Dr. Stephen Black and the British Broadcasting Corporation
for the transcription of an interview with Professor Jung.

The author also expresses thanks to the publishers and

authors listed in the bibliography for extracts and quotations
from their works.
Abbreviation :
C. W. indicates the Collected Works of C. G. Jung.

155
Bibliography

George Allen and Unwin:

Freud, S., Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis (1923).
Glover, E., Freud or Fung (1950).
Lévy-Bruhl, L., The ‘Soul’ of the Primitive (1928).
Russell, Bertrand, History of Western Philosophy (1946).
Wittles, F., Sigmund Freud (1934).

Bailliére, Tindall, and Cox:

Jung, C. G., Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology (1920).
Benn:
Jones, E., Psycho-Analysis (1929).
The Editor of Brain:
Jung, C. G., and Peterson, W. F., ‘Psycho-physical Investi-
gations with the Galvanometer and Pneumograph in
Normal and Insane Individuals’, (1907) XXX, pp. 118,
153-218.
The Editor of the British Medical Journal:
Bennet, E. A., ‘Archetype and Aion’ (review) (1960), I,
p. 1,484.
Cambridge University Press:
Hart, Bernard, Psychopathology (1929).

Cassell:
Mayer-Gross, W., Slater, Eliot, Roth, Martin Clinical
Psychiatry (1951).

Character and Personality:

Jung, C. G., ‘Sigmund Freud in His Historical Setting’, I
(1932).
James Clarke:
Matthews, W. R. (and others), William Temple: an Estimate
and an Appreciation (1946).

Clarendon Press:
Leibniz, G. W., The Monadology and Other Philosophical
Writings (1898).
156
BIBLIOGRAPHY 157
Collins:
Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre, Le Milieu Divin (1960).

Dover Publications:
Cumont, Franz, The Mysteries of Mithra (1956).

Hogarth Press:
Freud, S., Civilization and Its Discontents (1930). An Auto-
biographical Study (1935). Moses and Monotheism (1939).
An Outline of Psycho-Analysis (1949).
Sharpe, Ella, Dream Analysis (1937).
Jones, E., A Symposium: Psychotherapeutics (1910). Sigmund
Freud, Vol. I (1953). Sigmund Freud, Vol. II (1955).
Sigmund Freud, Vol. III (1957). Free Associations (1959).
Essays in Applied Psychoanalysis (1953).

Hollis and Carter:

Doresse, Jean, The Secret Books of the Egyptian Gnostics
(1960).

Horizon:
Glover, E., XI, No. 63 (1943).

The Editor of the Journal of Analytical Psychology:

Bennet, E. A., ‘Jung’s Concept of the Time Stream’ (1960).
Lewis, Sir Aubrey, ‘Jung’s Early Work’ (1957).

Kegan Paul:
Jung, C. G., Essays on Contemporary Events (1947).

Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner:

The Secret of the Golden Flower, translated and explained by
Richard Wilhelm, with a European Commentary by
C. G. Jung (1931).
Jung, C. G., Contributions to Analytical Psychology (1928).
Psychological Types (1933). Modern Man in Search of a
Soul (1933). The Integration of the Personality (1940).

The Editor of the Lancet:

Comfort, A., ‘Darwin and Freud’ (1960), II, p. 107.
158 C. G. JUNG
Longmans Green & Co.:
Dalbiez, R., Psychoanalytical Method and the Doctrine of
Freud (1945).
James, William, The Varieties of Religious Experience (1904).

Mace, Professor A. C.

Macmillan:
Hardy, Thomas, The Well-Beloved: a Sketch of a Temperament
(1952).
Nervous and Mental Disease Publishing Co.:
Jung, C. G., Psychology of Dementia Praecox (1936).

New York Times:

Sykes, Gerald, book review (2nd August 1953).

Pelican Books:
Fordham, F., An Introduction to Fung’s Psychology (1953).

The Editor of the Psychiatric Quarterly:

Harms, Ernest, ‘Carl Gustav Jung—Defender of Freud and
the Jews’ (1946), 20, p. 199.

Barrie and Rockliff:

Philp, H. L., Freud and Religious Belief (1956). Fung and the
Problem of Evil (1958).

Ronald Press:
Alexander, F., and French, T. M., Psychoanalytic Therapy
(1946).
Routledge and Kegan Paul:
Jung, C. G., The Collected Works:
Vol. 1, Psychiatric Studies (1957).
Vol. 3, The Psychogenesis of Mental Disease (1960).
Vol. 5, Symbols of Transformation (1956).
Vol. 7, Two Essays on Analytical Psychology (1953).
Vol. 8, The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche (1960).
Vol. 9, Part I: The Archetypes and the Collective Un-
conscious (1959). Part II: Aion: Researches into the
Phenomenology of the Self (1959).
BIBLIOGRAPHY 159

Vol. 11, Psychology and Religion: West and East (1958).

Vol. 12, Psychology and Alchemy (1953).
Vol. 16, The Practice of Psychotherapy (1954).
Vol. 17, The Development of Personality (1954).

Jung, C. G., The Undiscovered Self (1958). Flying Saucers:

a Modern Myth of Things seen in the Skies (1959).
The I Ching or Book of Changes, the Richard Wilhelm trans-
lation, rendered into English by Cary F. Baynes, Foreword
by C. G. Jung (1951). ;
Jacobi, Jolande, Complex/Archetype| Symbol in the Psychology
of C. G. Fung (1959). i
Progoff, Ira, Jung’s Psychology and Its Social Meaning (1953).

St. Bartholomew’s Hospital Journal:

Jung, C. G., ‘The Concept of the Collective Unconscious’,
44 (1936).
Springer, Julius:
Die Kulturelle Bedeutung der Komplexen Psychologie (1935).
Index

Aberdeen, 64 Basel, 2, 9, II, 12, 14, 16, I7, 195

Abraham, Karl, 53 35, 86
Active Imagination, 64, 134-5 Basel Broadsheet, 124
Adler, Alfred, 6, 36, 38-9, 46, Basel Cathedral, 16, 19
54-6, 66-7, 735 76-7
Basel Reformed Church, 9
Adler, Gerhard, 62 Basel University, 1, 8, 18
Africa, north, east, central, 150 Bergson, Henri Louis, 31
Aion: Researches into the Pheno- Birthdays, 143
menology of the Self, 103, Black Forest, 12
I13(n.)-25 Black, Stephen, interview with
Alchemy, 112, I19, 122, 125, Jung, 146-54
131, 140, 144 Bleuler, Eugen, 2, 21, 33; 353 37s
Alexander, Franz, 107 46, 51
Amenhotep IV, King, 45 Bollingen, vii, 7, 143
America, 37, 39» 41, 44, 86 Brain, 23
Amplification, 133, 135 Bremen, 37, 44, 46
Analysis of the Passion of St. Breuer, Josef, 38, 55
Perpetua, 115 Brill, A. A., 28
Analytical Psychology, 118 British Broadcasting Corporation,
Analytical Studies, 19 146, 155
Anima, I19, 140-2, 151 British Medical Association, 64
Animus, 119, 140, 141 British Medical Journal, 95
Answer to Job, 119 British Museum, 6
Anthropology, 91 British Psychological Society, 46
Antichrist, 119-20 Burghdlzli Hospital, 2, 19, 21-32,
Anti-Semitism, 38, 39, 57, 60, 61 37> 46, 104
Archetypes, theory of, 94-7, 1173
applicability of, 95-1033 sci-
entific proof of, 95-103 Calcutta, 144
Archetypes and the Collective Carus, K. G., 62
Unconscious, The, 63-4, 82, 955 Causality, 108-10, 120, 125
103, I41 Causation, 21, 105
Aristotle, 72 C. G. Jung-Institute (Zürich),
Association Method, 23-8, 148 64, 76, 145
Astrology, III, 119-21, 125 Character and Personality, 51
Autobiographical Study, An, 36, Charcot, Jean Martin, 55
55 Chateau d’Oex, 63
Aveling, Francis, 77 Chenoboskion, 145
China, 110
Christ, as symbol of the self,
Bad Nauheim, 61 115-16, L19-21
Bailey, Ruth, 145 Christianity, 112, 115, 145
160
INDEX 161
Churchill, Winston, 62 Erasmus, 146
Collected Papers on Analytical Eros, 66
Psychology, 25, 26, 27, 82 Essays on Contemporary Events,
Collected Works (Jung), 19, 65 57> 59
Comfort, Alex, 91 Extraversion, I, 66-78
Complex, autonomous, 25, 26; Extraverts, 63-77
Electra, 49; Oedipus, 43-4,
48-9, 91; -psychology, 145;
theory of, 25-6, 61 Ferenczi, Sandor, 37
Complex/Archetype/ Symbol, Festschrift, 143, 145
95(n.), 103 Flying Saucers, 124
Complexio oppositorum, 118 Fordham, Frieda, 76
Congress of Psychiatry, Second Forel, August, 21-2, 46
International, 1957, 29 Franz, Marie-Louise von, I15
Consciousness, 65, 79, 128, 142; Freiburg, 3
origins of, 80-1; split, 123 French, T. M., 107
Contributions to Analytical Psy- Freud, Sigmund, 2, 6; and death,
chology, 675 138 44-5, 87; and dreams, 127, 136;
Coptic Museum (Cairo), 145 and racial memory, 93; and
Cumont, Franz, 114 religion, 42; and sexual be-
haviour, 41, 48-9, 92; and
symbolism, 136; character of,
Dalbiez, R., 49, 51, 137-8 40-I, 44-5, 50; dogmatism of,
Darwin, Charles, 23, 91-2 41-2, 47-51; Nazi hatred of, 61;
Delphic Oracle, 146 his fainting, 45-6; interest in
Dementia Praecox, 21, 23 anthropology, 91-2; psycho-
Development of the Personality, analysis of, 3, 22, 33, 54-6,
The, 68, 130 66, 107, 152; research on neur-
Doresse, Jean, 146 oses, 49; meeting with Jung,
Dreams, 90, 94, IOI, II2, II§, 27; wish-fulfilment theory,
125, 141; and associations, 133, 128
135; anticipatory, I31-2; in- Functions, four, Jung’s descrip-
terpretation of, 126-7, 133-53 tion of, 74-7, 79; superior,
Jung’s view of, 126-38; psy- inferior, 75
chology of, 126-137. See also
Jung, C. G.
Dunne, J. W., 132 Galileo, 119
Galton, Sir Francis, 23-5, 72
Gestapo, 58
Ego, 66, 82 Gilli, Gertrude, 143
Ehrenburgher, 154 Glover, Edward, 3, 34; 93
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 138 Gnosticism, I12, I21-2, 145
Energy, Jung’s concept of, 30-1, God, man’s image of, 120
139; psychic, 31, 139; sexual, Gospel of Truth, The, 145
30-1 Gymnasium, 14, 16, 18
162 INDEX

Haggard, H. Rider, 140 Journal of Analytical Psychology,

Hannah, Barbara, 143 19, 113
Hardy, Thomas, 119, 140 Journal of Mental Science, 29
Harms, Ernest, 60-1 Judaism, 145
Hart, Bernard, 60 Jung, C. G., appearance, 5-6,
Hartmann, Eduard von, 62 147; early life, 9-20, 81; per-
Heraclitus, 139 sonality of, 3-5, 42-3; at Bur-
Hieros gamos, 140 ghölzli Hospital, 2, 19, 21-32,
History of the Psychoanalytical 104-5; meeting with Freud,
Movement, 61 9, 33-4, 148; divergences and
Hitler, Adolf, 56, 59 break with Freud, 30-1, 37-8,
Hoche, A. E., 3 40-1, 51-6, 73, 87, 92-33
Homeostasis, 83 indebtedness to Freud, 30;
Homunculus, 144 dreams of, IO-II, 16-17, 19,
Hypnotism, 21-2 34, 39-40, 86-9, 126, 131; and
Hysteria, 41-2, 69 empiricism, 3-5, I19-20, 1493
and hypnotism, 21-2; as lec-
turer, 5-7, 58-9; and medium-
I Ching or Book of Changes, The, istic phenomena, 19, 20; para-
I09-I0 psychological experiences, 34-
India, 150, 152 6; and Nazi tyranny, 61;
Individualism, 82-3, 120-1 and anti-Semitism, 38-9, 56-62;
Individuation, Jung’s concept of, on marriage, 151-3; view of the
82-5, 120, 142 East, 150-4; typology of, 55,
Inge, Dean, 126 65, 69, 71, 73, 75, 77; and
Insanity, 1-2 opposites, 138; and symbols,
Institute of Psychiatry, vii 138; and teleological aspect of
International Association of Psy- mental illness, 106-7; corres-
chotherapists, 61 pondence with E. A. Bennet,
International Psychoanalytical 95-103; and time, 113-25; and
Association, 46, 53 Ufos, 124-5; visit to London, 77
Interpretation of Dreams, 127 Jung Codex, 145-6
Introversion, 1, 47, 66-78, 126 Jung, Mrs. 33, 41, 145
Introverts, 63-77

Kant, Immanuel, 62, 71, 147

Kesswil, 9
Jacobi, Jolande, 95(n.), 103, 135-6 Klein theory, 3
Jaffé, Aniela, vii Krafft-Ebing, Richard von, 20,
James, William, 82 147-8
Janet, Pierre, 26, 55 Küsnacht-Zürich, vii, 41, 57>
Jesuit Order, 12
145-6, 154
Jesuit priest, 11
Jews, 38, 39, 47
Jones, Ernest, 3, 33, 35-9, 42-3, Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 62,
45-6, 48-50, 53, 9I, 93, 94 90, 122
INDEX 163
Leningrad Academy, 101 Occultism, 47-8
Lévy-Bruhl, L., 13, 81 Oedipus Complex, see under
Lewis, Sir Aubrey, 19 Complex
Libido, 30-1, 43, 68, 139 Opposites, interplay of, 138-42
Locke, John, 80 Origin of Species, The, 104
Lombroso, Cesare, 1
London, 6, 55, 59, 144; King’s
College, 77; London University, Paralysis, general, causes of, 49
vii, 24 Partenkirchen, 36
Lucerne, 13-14, 17 Participation mystique, 13
Peterson, W. F., 23
Philp, Howard L., 65, 81, 92
Mace, A. C., 24, 72 Plato, 139
Malaya, 152 Practice of Psychotherapy, The,
Mandala, 63, 64 128, 131
Matthews, Dean W. R., 132 Psyche, collective, 65, 80, 893
Mayer-Gross, W., 3 Freud’s view of, 30, 93; role
Memory, 79, 90; traces, 9I of sexuality in, 30-1; study of, 71
Mental energy, 31 Psychiatric Studies, 19
Mental illness, 21, 23, 106-7 Psychiatry, pioneered by Jung,
Middle Ages, 12 2, 20-1, III
Mithraism, 114 Psychic Energy, On, 31
Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Psychical reality, 98
525 71, 72» 74» 75» 76 Psychoanalytical Society, 47
Monotheism, 45 Psychogalvanic reflex, 24
Moses and Monotheism, 92 Psychogenesis of Mental Disease,
Munich, 45-6, 53, 57 29, 30, 64
Murren, 63 Psychological types, 63-4
Mysterium Conjunctionis, 112 Psychological Types, 63, 64, 67,
Mystical, 3 69, 725 76, 85, 117, 137
Mythology, III Psychology, 145; dynamic, I;
complex, 145; development of,
104-5; of consciousness, 64;
Narcissism, 47 of unconscious, see under Un-
National Socialism, 57, 61 conscious
Navaho Indians, 150 Psychology and Alchemy, 59>
Nazis, 57, 59, 60 II2, 123, 129
Nemesis, 139 Psychology and National Problems,
Neurosis, 49, 105-6, 140 59
New Paths in Psychology, 65 Psychology and Religion, 100
Newton, Sir Isaac, 72, 96 Psychology and Religion: West and
New York, 40, 144 East, 6, 13, 59; 119, 142
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 68 Psychology of Dementia Praecox,
Nuremberg Broadsheet, 124 The, 28-9, 63, 148
Nuremberg, Second Psycho- Psychology of the Transference,
analytical Congress, 46 131
164 INDEX

Psychology of the Unconscious, The, Self, concept of, 83, 144; pheno-
52-3, 63, 89, 149 menology of, I21
Psychometrics, 72 Shadow, the, 118
Psychopathology of Everyday Life, Sharpe, Ella, 94
The, 36 She, 140
Puer Aeternus, 103 Simon, P. Max, I
Pyknic types, 69 Slater, Eliot, 3
Spectator, The, 62
Sphinx, riddle of, 43
Rapport, 130 Spielrein, Sabina, 43
Rationalization, 42 Stekel, William, 39, 46, 56
Read, Sir Herbert, 62 Structure and Dynamics of the
Recapitulation theory, 94 Psyche; The, 24 27 28:35
Reincarnation, 154 64, I07, IIO, I27, 129, 130,
Repression, theory of, 26-8, 34, 131, 134, 135
61, 148 Students Association C. G. Jung-
Rhine Fall, 9, 12 Institute, Zürich, 64
Riklin, Franz, 45 Studies in Word Association, 25
Roth, Martin, 3 Sudan, 150
Royal Bethlem and Maudsley Swiss people, 4; hospitals, 37
Hospital, vii Switzerland, 14
Royal Society, 8 Sykes, Gerald, 59
Royal Society of Medicine (Lon- Symbolism, 94, 122, 136-8
Symbols of Transformation, 63, 68
don), 7-8, 29
Russell, Bertrand, 124, 125 Synchronicity, 108-10, III
Russia, 59 Synchronicity: An Acausal Con-
necting Principle, 109

Sadger, Isidor, 39
St. Augustine, 120 Tavistock Clinic, 6
St. Bartholomew’s Hospital Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre, 108
Journal, 90 Temple, Archbishop William,
St. Paul, 116, 121 132
St. Petersburg University, 43 Terry Lectures, 6, 58
San Francisco, 144 Time, I15
Schaffhausen, 9, 20, 57 Times Literary Supplement, The,
Schelling, Friedrich von, 62 99, 103
Schizophrenia, 69; aetiology of, Toronto University, 37
29-30; psychogenesis of, 29 Transcendent Function, The, 64
Schleswig-Holstein, 44 Transference, 34, 129-313 coun-
Schopenhauer, Arthur, 147 ter-transference, 131
Schwerdtner, K. M., 43 Two Essays on Analytical Psy-
Secret of the Golden Flower, The, chology, 65-6, 82, 83, 84, 90,
IIO 141
Seif, Leonhard, 36, 45 Typology, 55, 69, 73, 76
INDEX 165
Unconscious, and dreams, 132; Well Beloved, The, 119
knowledge, 16; collective, 86, Wilhelm, Richard, 110
89-93, 117, 139; concept of, 81, Wittels, F., 46-7, 50
90, I2I, 128; impersonal, 89; Wolff, Toni, 143
personal, 27, 85, 139, 142; Word Association Test, 135
power of, 144; psychology of, Wotan, 57
29, 61, 64-5, 77, 79-80, 122 Wundt, Wilhelm, 61
Undiscovered Self, The, 79, 123
Unidentified Flying Objects
(Ufos), 124-5
United States, 86
Yale University, 6, 58
Vin and Vang, 140

Valentinus, 145
Vienna, 2, 33, 36, 38, 41, 44, 148 Zürich, 62, 64, 70, 144
Vienna Psycho-analytical Soc- Zürich School, 25, 33
iety, 39 Zürich University, 2, 21, 33, 44

THEOLOGY LIBRARY
CLAREMONT, CALIF.
2594
E. A. Bennet, M.C., M.D., SC.D., D.P.M. (shown here with C. G.
Jung), is a professional member of the Society of Analytical Psy-
chology in London, a Fellow of the British Psychological Society
(past-Chairman of its Medical Section) and he has given courses of
lectures at the C. G. Jung-Institute Ziirich of which he is a Patron.
Articles by him have appeared in the professional medical papers
such as The British Medical Journal, The Proceedings of the Royal —
Society of Medicine, The Journal of Mental Science, The British
-= Journal of Medical Psychology. During the second world War he was |
in the R.A.M.C. and from 1942 till the end of the war Consultant |
in Psychiatry, India Command, with the rank of Brigadier. His
appointment carried responsibility for the organization and direction
of the psychiatric services of the Army in India and Burma.
|=

D CH a) Hi

pr Bennet, Edward Armstrong.

109 C. G. Jung. London, Barrie and Rockliff ;1961;
J8 165 p. illus. 23 cm.
B4 ` Includes bibliography.
1961

1. Jung, Carl Gustav, 1875-1961.

BF109.J8B4 1961 131.3464 62-30431 {Í

5 CCSC/js
—” d 3
So” a | Library of Congress