Carl Jung: The real individuality does not show, or it only shows by its absence.

Dr. Jung:

Yes.

To wear particularly individual hats and neckties, for instance, is personal.

The real individuality does not show, or it only shows by its absence.

If it is expressed by curiosities or peculiarities, you are simply not yourself, then you have delegated it, projected it into an external appearance, so the symbol of individuality is left to the animus.

And then you can be sure that the animus will misbehave; that is, theperson herself will play an utterly collective role with fits of individualistic animus, when the animus suddenly jumps out and talks rot.

It might be analytical rot, making himself important with apparent knowledge, or with a missionary attitude, or in brooding on circumstances, knowing everything better of course, having known everything long before.

This kind of animus indicates a most unfortunate condition, yet sadly enough, it is very frequent.

Hardly anybody gets through an analysis without going through a stage when the whole thing is delegated to the animus; then the mouth is full while the heart is empty.

Dr. Barker: What would be the corresponding mechanism in a man? Does his anima have an animus?

Dr. Jung: Oh heavens, even that!

If the anima is exaggerated and luxuriant she even develops a particular animus, and then a man talks fearful rot; if he has a mind he can prevent it, but if it is a very powerful anima, he will be subject to all sorts of anima illusions.

At a certain stage, analysis sometimes has a softening influence, a man is then in danger of being far too much swayed by his feelings, so that his judgment suffers.

And on account of that he may develop a megalomania and a corresponding system of persecution ideas, the idea that he is a great genius who should have been discovered long ago, for instance, and the cruel world does not recognize the fact.

But the effect with a man is not so conspicuous, because through the influence of the anima he becomes peculiarly inconspicuous.

You see a man is meant to be conspicuous, he is meant by nature to have multicolored feathers, to crow and make a great noise, but when the anima gets at him, he becomes personal and is apt to lose himself in mouse holes.

Instead of perching on the dung heap and showing his feathers, he is lost in all sorts of little corners and practically disappears.

He grows effeminate through the influence of the anima and is a bundle of nerves and sensitiveness, all sorts of foolish reactions and moods; he weeps a good deal and such stuff, and he suddenly drops out of things in a funny way, nobody sees him any longer.

You may discover him somewhere with drooping feathers, being offended or misunderstood.

He becomes peculiarly uninteresting, something poor and lamentable, unless he falls into a wild emotion, and then he makes a great noise but in the wrong way so that everybody laughs at him.

He is a little tyrant at home and perfectly ridiculous abroad.

While, quite the contrary, at a certain stage of analysis, a woman becomes conspicuous; a former nice humble woman apparently-for nobody hears what she has been saying to her husband-will suddenly talk a great deal in an assembly of men and become conspicuous for mannishness. ~Carl Jung, Visions Seminar, Pages 1219-11220