Showing posts with label C.G. Jung Speaking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label C.G. Jung Speaking. Show all posts

Thursday, June 29, 2017

Carl Jung: "Sex is a Playground for Lonely Scientists.




This diagram shows the medieval understanding of spheres of the cosmos, derived from Aristotle, and as per the standard explanation by Ptolemy. It came to be understood that at least the outermost sphere (marked “Primũ Mobile”) has its own intellect, intelligence or nous – a cosmic equivalent to the human mind.

Sex is a playground for lonely scientists. You might as well study the psychology of nutrition as the psychology of sex.

Primitive man, of course, had the sex instinct, but he was much more deeply concerned with feeding himself.

Besides, why base the psychology of a man on his bad corner? When I deal with one who is mentally unbalanced I am not concerned only with one function of his mind and body.

I look for the ancient man in him.

I try to trace the strata of the human mind from its earliest beginnings, just as a geologist might study the stratification of the earth.

The fear of ancient man crouching at the ford is in all our unconscious minds, as well as all other fears and speculations born of man’s experience through the ages. The mind of mankind is immortal.

For instance, I remember suddenly feeling, during an earthquake in Switzerland, that the earth was alive, that it was an animal.

At once I recognized the ancient Japanese belief that a huge salamander lies inside the earth, and that earthquakes happen when he turns in his sleep.’ A patient of mine once told me that whenever lightning flashed she saw a great black horse. That is another primitive idea—that lightning was a horse’s leg striking downwards, the horse of Odin.’

If a man or a woman ceases to be able to communicate with us, we say that he or she is insane.

But if I can find the ancient man in them, if I can explain the great black horse in the lightning, I may be able to make them communicate with me. I may be able to restore the bridge—more easily if I can discover from their dreams what is in their unconscious minds.

That is why I correspond not only with medical scientists, but with students of religion and mythology in all parts of the world.

That is why I am at present studying medieval texts in the British Museum. The medieval stratum in our unconscious mind is nearest to the surface. The study of medical science is in transition. The relationship between mind and body is being more fully appreciated.

Not that there is anything new in that.

The medieval doctors studied dreams.

Eastern medicine is based on psychotherapy—the treatment of disease by hypnotic influence.

Psychology is not yet, of course, a recognized part of the medical curriculum.

There is much enthusiasm, but there is also much misunderstanding and misinterpretation.

Still, I have four hundred students at Zurich, and the criminal courts call me in as a last resort if they are unable to decide upon the guilt or innocence of a suspect.’

In twenty years you will have your organization of approved medical psychologists, just like your Medical Register.

And your next book?

It is nearly finishd. I shall call it “Dream Symbols of the Individuation Process.”‘ It’s about how man becomes himself.

Man is always an individual, but he’s not always himself. . . . “Be yourself,” as the Americans say. ~Carl Jung; Tavistock Lectures; C.G. Jung Speaks; Pages 85-87.

Carl Jung: In our sleep we consult the 2,000,000-year-old man which each of us represents.





Before I came here I had the impression one might get from Europe that he [Roosevelt] was an opportunist, perhaps even an erratic mind.

Now that I have seen him and heard him when he talked at Harvard, however, I am convinced that here is a strong man, a man who is really great.

Perhaps that’s why many people do not like him.

[Dr. Jung paid his respects to dictators, explaining their rise as due to the effort of peoples to delegate to others the complicated task of managing their collective existence so that individuals might be free to engage in “individuation.” He defined the term as the development by each person of his own inherent pattern of existence.]

People have been bewildered by the war, by what has occurred in Russia, Italy, Germany, Spain.

These things take their breath away.

They wonder if it is worth while living because they have lost their beliefs, their philosophy.

They ask if civilization has made any progress at all. I would call it progress that in the 2,000,000 years we have existed on earth we have developed a chin and a decent sort of brain. Historically what we call progress is, after all, just a mushroom growth of coal and oil.

Otherwise we are not any more intelligent than the old Greeks or Romans.

As to the present troubles, it is important simply to remember that mankind has been through such things more than once and has given evidence of a great adaptive system stored away in our unconscious mind.

[It is to this great adaptive system in every individual that he addresses himself, he explained, when a patient comes to him, broken down by his struggles with the problems of his individual existence.]

Together the patient and I address ourselves to the 2,000,000-year-old man that is in all of us.

In the last analysis, most of our difficulties come from losing contact with our instincts, with the age-old unforgotten wisdom stored up in us.’ And where do we make contact with this old man in us?

In our dreams,they are the clear manifestations of our unconscious mind.

They are the rendezvous of the racial history and of our current external problems.

In our sleep we consult the 2,000,000-year-old man which each of us represents.

We struggle with him in various manifestations of fantasy.

That is why I ask a patient to write up his dreams.

Usually they point the way for him as an individual.

[Dr. Jung said we dream all the time—it is normal to dream.

Those who say they have a dreamless sleep, he insisted, merely forget their dreams immediately on waking.

In all languages, he pointed out, there is a proverb recording the wisdom of sleeping on any difficult problem. . . .

Even when awake, Dr. Jung concluded, we dream; unbidden fantasies flit through the background of our minds and occasionally
come to notice when our attention to immediate external problems is lowered by fatigue or reverie.

There is hope of repairing a breakdown whenever a patient has neurotic symptoms.

They indicate that he is not at one with himself and the neurotic symptoms themselves usually diagnose what is wrong.

Those who have no neurotic symptoms are probably beyond help by any one. ~New York Times interview October 4, 1936 as found in C.G. Jung Speaking [Pages 88-90. Carl

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Carl Jung: "Americans Must Say No"



Americans Must Say “No"
Interview with Carl Jung (1875 - 1961) in 1931 for The Sun (a New York newspaper published from 1833 - 1950)

1 The tempo of America is being taken as a norm to which life should be directed. In the world today America stands on one side, with its often enviable "standard of living" slogan before its eyes, and Russia on the other side, also uniformly conscious of a present "standard of poverty."

2 Both countries are today's great forces. It is, of course, quite impossible to think that these two diverse natures of America and Russia could merge, or would merge: they would fight out their differences to the death. Europe stands between Russia and America as a refuge of that individualism which is necessary to the leading of a happy life, an individualism more or less different in each case, but an individualism opposed to the uniformity of both Russia and America, and an individualism necessary if we are to satisfy our great unconscious and primary mind which warns us of our misdirections and, finally, to save us, fosters neuroses.

3 New York is only one glaring example of what the prevailing notions in America do to the general nature of people. In other States, like California, where not so much attention is paid to people's foolishness, the insane are not so easily separated, and throughout America there are thousands suffering from sick souls who are never quite hospital cases. What America needs in the face of the tremendous urge toward uniformity, desire of things, the desire for complications in life, for being like one's neighbors, for making records (instructor’s note-- by “making records,” here Jung means breaking records, like being the first to do something, setting speed records, etc. and wanting to be famous just for the sake of fame), et cetera, is one great; healthy ability to say "No." To rest a minute and realize that many of the things being sought are unnecessary to a happy life, and that trying to live exactly like one's successful neighbor is not following the essentially different dictates, possibly, of a widely different underlying personality which a person may possess and yet consciously try to rid himself of, the conflict always resulting in some form, sooner or later, of a neurosis, sickness, or insanity.

4 We are awakening a little to the feeling that something is wrong in the world, that our modern prejudice of overestimating the importance of the intellect and the conscious mind might be false. We want simplicity. We are suffering, in our cities, from a need of simple things. We would like to see our great railroad terminals deserted, the streets deserted, a great peace descend upon us.

5 These things are being expressed in thousands of dreams. Women's dreams, men's dreams, the dreams of human beings, all having much the same collective primal unconscious mind—the same in the central African Negro I have lived among and the New York stockbroker—and it is in our dreams that the body makes itself aware to our mind. The dream is in large part a warning of something to come. The dream is the body's best expression, in the best possible symbol it can express, that something is going wrong. The dream calls our mind's attention to the body's instinctive feeling.

6 If man doesn't pay attention to these symbolic warnings his body he pays in other ways. A neurosis is merely the body's taking control, regardless of the conscious mind. We have a splitting headache, we say, when a boring society forces us to quit it and we haven't the courage to do so with full freedom. Our head actually aches. We leave.

7 When whole countries avoid these warnings, and fill their asylums, become uniformly neurotic, we are in great danger. The last war, I thought, had taught us something. Seemingly not. Our unconscious wish for deserted places, quiet, inactivity, which now and then is being expressed in the heart of our great cities by a lyrical outbreak of some poet or madman, may project us, against our conscious wills, into another catastrophe from which we may never recover. We may gas our lives out (instructor’s note: meaning die from poisonous gas), and then will we have deserted refuges and none of us left to sit, and dream, in the sun. ~Carl Jung [1931] found in C.G. Jung Speaking; Pages 47-49.


Carl Jung: Everybody has Two Souls



My contention that man is born equipped with a highly differentiated and fully developed brain with innumerable attributes has often met with antagonism. Most people continue to believe that everything they have become, every reaction of their psychic ego to everyday occurrences, is determined by their education and their environment.

Few people know anything about the ancestral soul and even fewer believe in it.

Aren’t we all the carriers of the entire history of mankind? Why is it so difficult to believe that each of us has two souls?

When a man is fifty years old, only one part of his being has existed for half a century.

The other part, which also lives in his psyche, may be millions of years old. Every newborn child has come into this world with a fully equipped brain.

Although in the early stages of life the mind has not gained complete mastery over the body, it is clearly preconditioned for reacting to the outer world—that is, it has the capacity to do so.

Such mental patterns exert their influence throughout life and remain decisive for a person’s thinking.

The newborn does not begin to develop his mental faculties on the first day of his life.

His mind, a finished structure, is the result of innumerable lives before his and is far from being devoid of content.

It is unlikely that we shall ever discover the remote past, into which the impersonal psyche of the individual reaches only during his lifetime, and that environment and education are decisive influences in this process.

These influences become effective from the first days of a child’s life.

On the whole, the receptivity of a small child’s brain tends to be widely underestimated, but the practicing psychologist has frequent evidence to the contrary.

With neurotics, one constantly comes up against psychic defects that date back to very early childhood experiences.

It is not a rare occurrence for a somewhat severe reprimand administered to a child in his playpen or his bed to affect him during his entire life.

The two souls give rise to frequent contradictions in a person’s thinking and feeling.

Quite often the impersonal and the personal psyche are even in direct opposition.

There are hundreds of examples which demonstrate to the psychologist that two souls live in every man.

Exercising their imagination—which I call the mother of human consciousness—many of my patients painted pictures and described dreams which displayed a strange conformity with definite laws and showed peculiar parallels to Indian and Chinese temple, images.

Where were these people supposed to have obtained knowledge about the ancient temple cultures of the Far East?

I have treated patients who had visions about events which happened hundreds of years ago.

All this can come only from the unconscious, the impersonal soul, the finished brain of the new born in Contemporary man is but the latest ripe fruit on the tree of the human race. None of us knows what we know. ~Carl Jung [Interview in 1932 found in C.G. Jung Speaking; Pages 57-58.


Albert Oeri: Some Youthful Memories of Carl "The Barrel" Jung



I suppose I first set eyes on Jung during the time his father was pastor at Dachsen am Rheinf all and we were still quite small. My parents visited his—our fathers were old school friends—and they all wanted their little sons to play together. But nothing could be done. Carl sat in the middle of a room, occupied himself with a little bowling game, and didn’t pay the slightest attention to me. How is it that after some fifty-five years I remember this meeting at all? Probably because I had never come across such an asocial monster before. I was born into a well-populated nursery where we played together or fought, but in any case always had contact with people; he into an empty one—his sister had not yet been born.

In the middle years of my boyhood, we sometimes visited the Jung family on Sunday afternoons at the parsonage at Klein-Hiiningen, a community near Basel. From the outset,because he realized that I was no sissy, and he wanted me to join him in teasing a cousin whom he regarded as one. He asked this boy to sit down on a bench in the entrance way. When the boy complied, Carl burst into whoops of wild Indian laughter, an art he retained all his life. The sole reason for his huge satisfaction was that an old souse had been sitting on the bench a short time before and Carl hoped that his sissy cousin would thus stink a little of schnapps.

Another time he staged a solemn duel between two fellow students in the parsonage garden, probably so that he could have a good laugh over them later. When one of the boys hurt his hand Carl was truly grieved. Father Jung was even more upset, for he remembered that in his own youth the father of the injured boy, seriously hurt during duelling practice, was carried into his own father’s house. We were especially afraid that there would be trouble at school. But when our old headmaster, Fritz Burckhardt, heard of the accident, he merely asked the “duellists” with a mild smile, “Have you been playing at fencing?”

I got somewhat better acquainted with Jung behind his back by secretly reading his school compositions awaiting correction in my father’s study. Since my father generally allowed a free choice of topics, one could cheerfully bring up whatever one liked, provided one had any ideas at all. And Jung had plenty of ideas even then, along with the ability to present them. Nevertheless, he would not have received his diploma if the demand for a definite statement of proficiency in all subjects had been rigorously enforced at that time. He was, frankly, an idiot in mathematics. But in those, days, happily and sensibly, failing marks were ignored when the partially untalented student was known to be otherwise intelligent.

Jung really wasn’t responsible for his defect in mathematics. It was a hereditary failing that went back at least three generations. On October 26, 1859, his grandfather wrote in his diary, after hearing a lecture by Miner about a photometrical instrument: “I understood just about nothing at all. As soon as anything in the world has the slightest connection with mathematics, my mind clouds over. I haven’t blamed my boys for their stupidity in this respect. It’s their inheritance.”

Apropos of this quotation, I will take the opportunity to say a few words about Jung’s family history. His father was, as already mentioned, the pastor Paul Jung, born December 21, 1842, and died January 28, 1896. He was the youngest son of the diary keeper quoted above, Dr. Carl Gustav Jung, Senior, doctor and professor of medicine at Basel, born September 7, 1795, in Mannheim, where his father was medical advisor and court doctor; he died June 12, 1864, in Basel. Carl Gustav senior had a strange fate. As a young doctor and chemistry teacher at the military school, a great career seemed to lie before him in Berlin.

But through his activities as a fraternity member and his participation in the Wartburg Festival, he became involved in the whirl of demagogic persecution, and spent thirteen (according to other versions, nineteen) months in the Hausvogtei prison,finally being set free without ever having been sentenced. He then went to Paris, where Alexander von Humboldt helped him to obtain a position at the University of Basel. He had thirteen children from three marriages. His third wife, mother of the pastor at Klein-Hiiningen, was descended from the Freys, an old Basel family.

Although he was not a psychiatrist but, in order, professor first of anatomy and then of internal medicine, he founded the “Institute of Hope” for retarded children, and lavished upon the inmates year after year the most personal love and care. His student, the Leipzig anatomist Wilhelm His, wrote: “In Jung, Basel possessed an unusually fine and rich human and heartened his fellow man for decades; his creative powers and the ability to give warmly of himself bore fruit to the benefit of the University, the city, and above all, the sick and needy.”

Now for the other side. Carl Gustav Jung’s mother, the Klein-HUningen pastor’s wife, was born Emilie Preiswerk, the youngest child of Basler churchwarden Samuel Preiswerk (September 19, 1799—January 13, 1871) and his second wife, a pastor’s daughter named Faber from Ober-Ensingen in Wurttemberg. C. G. Jung’s maternal grandfather, like his father’s father, had thirteen children. Jung has himself given some information about the psychic constitution of his mother’s family in his first paper, “On the Psychology and Pathology of So-Called Occult Phenomena.”‘ Churchwarden Preiswerk, administrator of the Basel church, was a visionary who often experienced entire dramatic scenes complete with ghost conversations. He was, however, also a very intelligent and learned gentleman, specifically in the area of Hebrew philology. His grammar book was held in such high esteem by the Jews that in America one of them changed his name to “Preiswerk.”

Otherwise the Preiswerks are a patrician family of Basel, and thoroughly Aryan. Pastor Paul Jung, by the way, had an interest in Semitic philology in common with his father-in-law. In GOttingen he had studied under Ewald, and was not only a theologian but also a Doctor of Philosophy. To sum up:\ scientific abilities and interests are well represented in Jung’s paternal as well as maternal ancestry, but, those who possessed them were quite dry, scholarly types.

As far as I know, Jung never considered studying anything but medicine. And he applied himself vigorously to its study from the summer semester of 1895 on. That very winter his father died. I remember how, shortly before his death, he who had once been so strong and erect complained that Carl had to carry him around like a heap of bones in an anatomy class.

Carl’s mother together with both children moved into a house near the “Bottminger Mill” in the Basel suburban community of Binningen. She was a wise and courageous woman. When her son once happened to sit in the Zofinger pub until dawn, he thought of her on the way home, and picked her a bouquet of wild flowers by way of appeasement.

Carl—or “the Barrel” as he is still known to his old school and drinking companions—was a very merry member of the Zofingia student club, always prepared to revolt against the “League of Virtue,” as he called the organized fraternity brothers. He was rarely drunk, but when so, noisy. He didn’t think much of school dances, romancing the housemaids, and similar gallantries.

He told me once that it was absolutely senseless to hop around a ballroom with some female until one was covered with sweat. But then he discovered that, although he had never taken lessons, he could dance quite well. At a festival in Zofingen, while dancing in the grand Fleitern Platz, he fell seemingly hopelessly in love with a young lady from French Switzerland. One morning boon- after, be entered a shop, asked for and received two wedding rings, put_ twenty centimes on the counter, and galled for the door.

But the owner stammered something about the cast of the rings being a certain number of francs. So Jung gave them back, retrieved the twenty centimes, and left the store cursing the owner, who, just because Carl happened to_ possess absolutely nothing but twenty centimes, dared to interfere with his engagement. Carl was very depressed, but _never. ta_aled the matter again, and so “the Barrel” remained unaffianced for quite a number of years.

From the first, Jung very actively participated in the Zofingia club meetings, where scholarly reports were read and discussed. In the minutes of the Zofingia, of which, by the way, he was president during the winter semester 1897/98, I find mention of the following papers given by him: “On the Limits of Exact Science,” “Some Reflections on the Nature and Value of Speculative Research,” “Thoughts on the Concept of Christianity with Reference to the Teachings of Albert Ritschl.”

Once, when we couldn’t get a speaker, Jung suggested that we might hold a discussion without specifying the topic. The minutes read, “Jung vulgo ‘Barrel,’ the pure spirit having gone to his head, urged that we debate hitherto unresolved philosophical questions.

This was agreeable to all, more agreeable than might have been expected under our usual ‘prevailing circumstances.’ But ‘Barrel’ blithered endlessly, and that was dumb. Oeri, vulgo ‘It,’ likewise spiritually oiled, distorted, in so far as ,such was still possible, these barreling thoughts …” At the next meeting, Jung succeeded in having the word “blithered,” which he held to be too subjective, struck from the minutes and replaced by the word “talked.”

In this single instance, Jung failed in what he was otherwise generally successful in doing, that is, in intellectually dominating an unruly chorus of fifty or sixty students from different branches of learning, and luring them into highly speculative areas of thought, which to the majority of us were an alien wonderland. When he gave his paper “Some Thoughts on Psychology,” as club secretary I could have _recorded some thirty discussion topics.

It must be remembered that we were studying in the second half of the nineteenth century, a time when an attitude of open materialism was firmly entrenched among doctors and natural scientists, and when so-called scholars of the-humanities expressed a kind of total and arrogant critique of the human spirit. Yet despite this, Jung, by choice an outsider, was able to keep everyone under his intellectual thumb.

This was possible—and I would not wish to conceal it because he had courageously schooled himself, intensively studying occult literature, conducting parapsychological experiments, and finally standing by the convictions he derived therefrom, except where corrected by the result of more careful and detailed psychological studies. He was appalled that the official scientific position of the day toward occult phenomena was simply to deny their existence, rather than to investigate and explain them. For this reason, spiritualists such as Miner and Crookes, about whose teachings he could speak for hours, became for him heroic martyrs of science. Among his friends and relatives he found participants for seances. I cannot say anything more detailed about them, for I was at the time so deeply involved in Kantian critique that I could not be drawn in myself. My psychic opposition would have neutralized the atmosphere. But in any case, I was open-minded enough to merit Jung’s honest zeal. It was really wonderful to let oneself be lectured to, as one sat with him in his room. His dear little dachshund would look at me so earnestly, just as though he understood every word, and Jung did not fail to tell me how the sensitive animal would sometimes whimper piteously when occult forces were active in the house.

Sometimes too Jung would sit late into the night with his closer friends at the “Breo,” an old Zofinger pub in the Steinen district. Afterwards, he didn’t like walking home alone through the sinister Nightingale Woods all the way to the Bottminger Mill. As we were leaving the tavern, therefore, he would simply begin talking to one of us about something especially interesting, and so one would accompany him, without noticing it, right to his front door.

Along the way he might interrupt himself by noting, “On this spot Doctor Giitz was murdered,” or something like that. In parting, he would offer his revolver for the trip back. I was not afraid of Dr. Giitz’s ghost, nor of living evil spirits, but I was afraid of Jung’s revolver in my pocket. I have no talent for mechanical things at all, and never knew whether the safety catch was on or whether, due to some careless motion, the gun might not suddenly go off.

At the end of his University years, Jung went into psychiatry. Because I was out of the country for some time, I don’t remember the transition period. He had simply found his destined way. That I could not doubt when I visited him once during his residency at BurghOlzli and he told me of his lively enthusiasm for his work. It was somewhat painful, though, for this old sinner to see that he had begun to follow his master, Bleuler, on the path of total abstinence as well. At that time he would look so sourly at a glass on the table that the wine would turn to vinegar. Jung very kindly showed me around the institution, accompanying the tour with informative comments.

In the wards, restless patients stood around or lay on their beds. Jung engaged some of them in conversation from time to time, wherein their delusions became perceptible. One patient spoke eagerly w me, and I was listening just as eagerly, when suddenly a heavy fist whizzed through the air right next to me. Behind my back an irritated patient who had been lying in bed had sat up and tried to punch me. Jung did not contest my fright at all; instead, he told me that the man could hit with great force if one didn’t keep a certain distance from his bed. And at the same time he laughed so hard that I felt like that beleaguered sissy at the Klein Hiiningen parsonage. ~C.G. Jung Speaking; Pages 3-10.


Monday, March 20, 2017

Dr. Jung never does anything by halves.




I had seen him often as a highly civilized modernist driving a red Chrysler through the twisting streets of Zurich; pondering the problems of the psyche in his sober book-lined study with its Oriental paintings and Christian stained glass. . .

before I came upon the primitive Jung, one rainy summer day, outside his favorite dwelling place [Bollingen] – a grey stronghold, of medieval outline, standing alone and apart, surrounded by hills and water - where, when his work as a doctor is over, he re􀢢res to become for a season the detached scholar and writer who turns experience into theory.

Ensconced there in the shelter of the round stone tower which he had built with his own hands, dressed in a — bright blue linen overall, with his powerful arms in a tub of water, I beheld Dr. Jung earnestly engaged in washing his blue jeans. . . .

Dr. Jung never does anything by halves.

When he walks up and down the floor of the Psychological Club, expounding a dream to his advanced students, every cell and fiber of his physical being seems to participate; every resource of his great learning. . . and his native wisdom is turned in a single living stream upon the question in hand.

This massive, peaceful man in blue was putting the same zest and interest into washing.

No part of Jung was left in Kusnacht giving consultations. Elizabeth Shepley Sergeant, C.G. Jung Speaking, Pages 50-51

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Carl Jung: “Called or uncalled, God is present!”




“Called or uncalled, God is present!” It is a Delphic oracle.

The translation is by Erasmus.

You ask whether the oracle is my motto.

In a way, you see, it contains the entire reality of the psyche.

“Oh God!” is what we say, irrespective of whether we say it by way of a curse or by way of love. Carl Jung,
C.G. Jung Speaking, Page 64.

All that I have learned has led me step by step to an unshakeable conviction of the existence of God.

I only believe in what I know. And that eliminates believing.

Therefore I do not take His existence on belief—I know that He exists. Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking, Page 251.
John Freeman: “Do you now believe in God?” Jung: “Now? [Pause] Difficult to answer.

I know.

I don’t need to believe.

I know.” Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking, Page 383.

I did not say in the broadcast, “There is a God.” I said, “I do not need to believe in a God; I know.”

Which does not mean: I do know a certain God (Zeus, Jahweh, Allah, the Trinitarian God, etc.) but rather I do know that I am obviously confronted with a factor unknown in itself, which I call “God” in consensium omnium [by common consensus] (“quod semper, quod ubique, quod omnibus creditor” [what is always believed everywhere and by everyone]).

I remember Him, I evoke Him, whenever I use His name overcome by anger, or by fear, whenever I involuntarily say: “Oh God.”

That happens when I meet somebody or something stronger than myself.

It is an apt name given to all overpowering emotions in my own psychical system subduing my conscious will and usurping control over myself.

This is the name by which I designate all things which cross my willful path violently and recklessly, all things which upset

my subjective views, plans, and intentions and change the course of my life for better or for worse.

In accordance with tradition I call the power of fate in this a positive as well as negative aspect, and inasmuch as its origin
is out of my control, “God,” a “personal god,” since my fate means very much myself, particularly when it approaches me in the form of conscience as vox dei [the voice of God], with which I can even converse and argue.

(We do and, at the same time, we know that we do. One is subject as well as object.) CarlJung, The Listener, 21 Jan. 1960

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Carl Jung: A Talk With Students at the Institute




Introduction: During May 1958, Jung came and talked with students at the C. G. Jung Institute of Zurich. Notes were taken by one of them, Marian Bayes, and published only twelve years later, in Spring, 1970.

Mrs. Bayes’s transcript has been edited to eliminate brackets around some phrases, supplied by the transcriber for tentative readings.

Question: What is man to do with his passionate, primitive, chthonic nature?

Dr. Jung: We tend to identify our chthonic nature with evil and our spiritual nature with good. We must accept the dark forces and stop projecting them.

Question: What is acceptance?

Dr. Jung: Some things cannot be accepted.

If the analysis is honest it will come to an impossible problem—a problem that has no issue.

A lot of instinctive nature is repressed, and it wells up.

And now what? Nobody can deal with it; nobody knows what to do. Go to bed.

Think of your problem.

See what you dream.

Perhaps the Great Man, the 2,000,000-year-old man, will speak. In a cul-de-sac, then only do you hear his voice.
The urge to become what one is is invincibly strong, and you can always count on it, but that does not mean that things will necessarily turn out positively.

If you are not interested in your own fate, the unconscious is. There is a mountain of symbolism.

It is not designed to prove a theory, as people think.

I have amassed symbols in order to give the analyst a chance to know about symbolism so that he can inter- pret dreams.

As if we know nature!

Or about the psyche!

The 2,000,000-year-old man may know something. I have no trouble talking to primitives.

When I talk of the Great Man, or the equivalent, they understand. The Great Man is something that reacts.

The analyst needs knowledge in order to interpret what the unconscious says, and he must give credit to his own interpretation.

He must have courage, he must help; it is as if a man is bleeding to death, and you ponder!

You can only say, "My God, I don’t know, but if it is an error, the unconscious will correct it. It seems to me it is like this."—And stand for it! It must be the best you can do.

No cheating, no flippancy or routine; then the devil is after you. You must be honest about whether it is really the best you can do.
If it is the best before God that you can do, then you can count on things going the right way. But it may be the wrong way.

We go through difficult things; that is fate. Man goes through analysis so that he can die.

I have analyzed to the end with the end in sight—to accompany the individual in order that he may die. The analyst must help life as long as he can.
There is a prejudice that analysis is the art of letting out the unconscious, like opening the cages in a zoo. That is part of analysis, but it must not be done in an irresponsible and foolish way.

This is only the preparatory part.

The main analysis is what to do with the things that have emerged from the unconscious. One must see what the underlying trend is—what the will of God is.

You are damned if you don’t follow it. It will ruin your life, your health.

You have sold part of your soul, or have lost it. To the primitives it is death to lose the soul.

Analysis is a long discussion with the Great Man—an unintelligent attempt to understand him. Nevertheless, it is an attempt, as both patient and analyst understand it.

(The Naskapi’ would have a great advantage, because he would realize that it is a discussion with the Great Man.)

Work until the patient can see this.

It, the Great Man, can at one stroke put an entirely different face on the thing—or anything can happen.

In that way you learn about the peculiar intelligence of the background; you learn the nature of the Great Man.

You learn about yourself against the Great Man—against his postulates.

This is the way through things, things that look desperate and unanswerable. The point is, how are you yourself going to answer this?
There one is alone, as one should be, with the highest ethical distinctions. Ethics is not convention; ethics is between myself and the Great Man.
During this process, you learn about ethics versus morality.’

The unconscious gives you that peculiar twist that makes the way possible.

The way is ineffable.

One cannot, one must not, betray it. It is like the way of Zen—like a sharp knife, and also twisting like a ser- pent.

One needs faith, courage, and no end of honesty and patience.

Question: Does the cycle of this dialogue continue permanently, or has man a special role in it?

Dr. Jung: That is what you learn: what your role is, where you are in the divine economy, in the order of things you see yourself in a new light because you have added the information of the unconscious.

You have added things you didn’t dream of—a new aspect of yourself and of the world. This you cannot regulate, or it would be misused.

To clarify your mind you draw a mandala, and it is legitimate. Another says, "Oh, that’s how to do it!" and draws a mandala. And that is a mistake; that is cheating, because he is copying. Never say no or yes on principle.

Say it only when you feel it is really yes. If it is really no, it is no. If you say yes for any outer reason, you are sunk.
Question: What is the result of an attitude of free decision?

Dr. Jung: The result is that you are always in the game; you are included, you are taken for real.

If you are dishonest, you are excluded from the individuation process.
If you are dishonest, you are nothing for your unconscious.

The Great Man will spit on you, and you will be left far behind in your muddle—stuck, stupid, and idiotic.

If you follow the unconscious closely, your intelligence will not sink below a certain level, and you will add a good deal of intelligence to what you already possess.

If you take the unconscious intellectually, you are lost. It is not a conviction, not an assumption.

It is a Presence.

It is a fact. It is there.

It happens.

Question: How can we know it?

Dr. Jung: By a certain amount of self-criticism,

When you have an idea, you have not thought about that thing. It came to you.

When you realize this, then you are honest.

A certain amount of modesty is absolutely necessary.

You have got to accept what the unconscious produces, and you have to understand its language.

It is Nature, and it has to be translated into human forms.

That is the reason for the dignity of man, that he has the ability to do this. There is no reflection in creation.

To reflect is man’s task, and he can do it when he is not sterilized. When he puts himself above it, he is sterile.

The attitude is incommensurable with science.

What scientist will observe and say that what he observes does not exist? When you observe, then you are scientific.

People don’t know whether a thought is theirs or whether they unhooked it in another house. The naivete of the white man—that he identifies the ego with the Great Man!

Question: Is not the human bond a central vital link in analysis?

Dr. Jung: The thing you are is so much stronger than your feeble words.

The patient is permeated by what you are—by your real being—and pays little attention to what you say. The analyst has unsolved problems because he is alive—life is a problem daily.

Otherwise he is dead.

In the shortest time each puts his foot into it.

If you take your mistake the right way, it is the way of analysis.

The analyst must know about his complexes, because they will be touched during the work with the patient. When I dream of a patient, it is usually a sign that one of my complexes has been touched.

Each step ahead that the patient makes can be a step for the analyst.

You cannot be with someone without being permeated by that personality, but the chances are you do not notice it; a certain feeling-atmosphere will take hold of you.

If you are not a feeling type you may have to ask a feeling type about your own "weather" because you are unconscious of your own feelings.

Doesn’t stress on the transference obviate . . . ?

One of the greatest hindrances to understanding is the projection of the shaman—the savior. As soon as you are elevated to such a rank, you are powerless, lost in a sea of mist.

When signs of this inflation appear, this is a serious warning, and the inflation must be discouraged as soon as possible.

You are just as unable to perform miracles as a shaman as a rule is.

The father complex is at the bottom of it, and when this is analyzed, it is reduced to human size. But there is still the human being.
The father transference, the Christ transference, etc., each is a mistake, a deviation, produced by the patient’s perplexity.

If the patient were a Naskapi, he would say that the transference is his Great Man. The analytic conversation is between two Great Men.
(The Naskapi would have a great advantage because he would understand this.) Work until the patient can see that.

That is the point of the transference.

It is vital to the patient to find out about this, and the analyst must be able to answer these questions. He can only say, "I am this," when he knows what this is.
The patient may come to the end of his perplexity and still have a transference. Awkward.

Then it is something else—the archetypes are in play; that is the Great Man, or whatever he calls it.

At bottom, the transference is by no means a personal fantasy.

You lose an enormous value when you reduce it to the personal, and you must teach the patient about this double possibility: that there is the personal and there is something more in the personality, namely the Great Man. Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters, Pages 359-364

Carl Jung and The Stephen Black Interviews




Introduction: Stephen Black interviewed Jung in July 1955, in order to record material for broadcast in connection with Jung’s Both birthday, 26 July.

Besides a radio interview (no. 3, below), Black conducted an interview for the BBC television feature "Panorama," of which a segment of about six minutes (no. 2, below) was broadcast.

The conversation took place on the terrace of Jung’s house at Kusnacht; the sounds of a motorboat on the lake and music at the beach resort next door are sometimes audible.

Emma Jung sat beside her husband—one sees her in the film—but did not take part in the interview. Subsequently, Stephen Black left broadcasting, became a physician, and emigrated to New Zealand.

Stephen Black: Professor Jung, could you tell me how it came about that psychological medicine came to be divided so sharply in the first half of this century into Freudian and Adlerian and Jungian philosophies?

Dr. Jung: Well, that is so.

Always in the beginning of a new science, or when a new problem is tackled in science, there are necessarily many different aspects, particularly in a science like psychology, and particularly so when an absolutely new factor has been brought into the discussion.

Stephen Black: Which was that?

Dr. Jung: In this case, it was the unconscious—the concept of the unconscious.

It has been a philosophical concept before—in the philosophy of Carl Gustav Carus and then his follower Eduard von Hartmann.

But it was a mere speculative concept.

The unconscious was a kind of philosophical concept at first, but through the discoveries by Freud it became a practical medical concept, because he discovered these mechanisms

or connections. . . . He made of it a medical science. This is empirical.
An empirical medical science.

That was an entirely new proposition.

And naturally quite a number of opinions are possible in the beginning, where one is insufficiently acquainted with the phenomena.

It needed many experiments and experiences until one could establish a general terminology, for instance, or even a doctrine.

Now, I never got as far as to produce a general doctrine, because I always felt we don’t know enough.

But Freud started the theory very early and so did Adler, because that can be explained by the human need for certainty.

You feel completely lost in such an enormous field as psychology represents.

And there you must have something to cling to, some guidance as it were, and that is probably the reason why this kind of psychology set out with almost ready-made theories.

At least, the theories were conceived in a moment when one didn’t know enough about the role of the psychology of the unconscious.
That is my private view, and so I’ve refrained from forming theories. Stephen Black: When you first met Freud—when was that, 1906?

Dr. Jung: That was 1907.

Stephen Black: Will you describe that meeting to me?

Dr. Jung: Oh, well, I just made a visit to him in Vienna and then we talked for thirteen hours without interruption.

Dr. Black: Thirteen hours without interruption? Dr. Jung: Thirteen hours without interruption!

We didn’t realize that we were almost dead at the end of it, but it was tremendously interesting. Stephen Black: Did you argue?
Carl Jung: Yes, I did, to a certain extent.

Of course, seeing him for the first time I had to get my bearings first. I had naturally also to listen to what he had to say.

And I was then a very young man still, and he was the old man and had great experience and he was of course way ahead of me and so I settled down to learn something first.

Stephen Black: And then in 1912 you published "The Psychology of the Unconscious."

Dr. Jung: Well, by 1912 I had acquired a lot of my own experience and I had learned a great deal from Freud and then I saw certain things in a different light.

Stephen Black: So you dissociated yourself from Freud.

Dr. Jung: Yes, because I couldn’t share his opinions of his convictions anymore with reference to certain things.

I mean in certain points I have no argument against him, but in other respects I disagree with him.
Stephen Black: What was it you disagreed most over at that time?

Dr. Jung: Well, that was chiefly the interpretation of psychological facts.

You know, he was on the standpoint of scientific materialism, which I consider as a prejudice, a sort of meta- physical presupposition, which I exclude.

Stephen Black: What in your view will be the final outcome of this kind of scientific quarrel between the vari- ous schools of medical psychology?

Dr. Jung: For the time being it is certainly a sort of quarrel, but in the course of time it will be as it always has been in the history of science.

You will see that certain points will be taken from Freud’s ideas, others from Adler’s ideas, and something of

my ideas.

There is no question of victory of one idea, of one way of looking at things.

Such victories are only obtained where it is a matter of pretension, of convictions, for instance, philosophical or religious convictions.

In science there is nothing of the kind, there is merely the truth as one can see it.

Stephen Black: Thank you. Professor Jung, there’s a body of opinion in the world today that all is not well with the technique of psychoanalysis, that it takes too long, it uses up too many medical man-hours, it costs too much money.

Have you felt that about your technique of analytical psychology?

Dr. Jung: That is perfectly true. It takes time, it costs money, it takes the right people and there are too few. But that is foreseen.
That is in the nature of the thing.

Man’s soul is a complicated thing and it takes sometimes half a lifetime to get somewhere in one’s psychological development.

You know it is by no means always a matter of psychotherapy or treatment of neuroses. Psychology has also the aspect of a pedagogical method in the widest sense of the word. It is something-A system of education.
It is an education. It is something like antique philosophy. And not what we understand by a technique.

It is something that touches upon the whole of man and which challenges also the whole of man—in the patient or whatever the receiving party is as well as in the doctor.


Stephen Black: But it’s a therapeutic process also.

Dr. Jung: Yes, you know, this procedure has many stages or levels.

If you take an ordinary case of neurosis, it may only go as far as healing the symptoms or giving the patient such an attitude that he can deal with his neurosis.

Sometimes it takes him a week, sometimes a few days, sometimes it is just one consultation in which I clean up a case. It is of course a question of knowing where, or what—it needs a good deal of experience.

But other cases take very long, and you couldn’t send them away because they wouldn’t go.

They want to know more, to make the whole process of development, which goes from stage to stage, a widening out of the mental horizon.

You cannot imagine how one-sided people are nowadays.

And so it needs no end of work to get people rounded out, or mentally more developed, more conscious. And they are so keen on it that for nothing in the world would they quit.

And they are not shy of spending money on it.

Stephen Black: Professor Jung, how does this compare with religion, with religious practice? Dr. Jung: I rather would prefer to say, how does it compare with antique philosophy.

You see, our religions are known as confessions. One confesses a certain creed. Now, of course, this has nothing to do with a creed.

It has only to do with the natural individuation process, namely, the process that sets in with birth, as it were.

As each plant, each tree grows from a seed and becomes in the end, say, an oak tree, so man becomes what he is meant to be.

At least, he ought to get there.

But most get stuck by unfavorable external conditions, by all sorts of hindrances or pathological distortions, wrong education—no end of reasons why one shouldn’t get there where one belongs.

Stephen Black: Do more people get stuck today than fifty years ago when you started? Dr. Jung: There are no statistics, and I wouldn’t have an opinion about it.

But I only know that there is an uncanny amount of people that get stuck unnecessarily.

They could get much further if they had heard the proper things or if they had spent the necessary time on themselves.

But this is not popular, you know, to spend time on oneself, because our point of view is entirely extraverted.

Stephen Black: One last question. You have defined these personality types of extravert and introvert.

Which are you?

Dr. Jung: Oh well. [Laughs.] Everybody would call me an introvert. Stephen Black: You’re an introvert. And what was Freud?

Dr. Jung: Now, that is a very difficult question.

You know, Freud is—and he doesn’t conceal it—he’s a neurotic type. And there it is very difficult to make out what the real type is.
For a long time you have to observe which mental contents are conscious and which are unconscious. And then only you can say this must be the original type.

I will say Freud’s point of view is an extraverted point of view. But as to his personal type I wouldn’t speculate.

Stephen Black: And Adler?

Dr. Jung: He is equally introverted.

Stephen Black: He extended your definition of the complex to the inferiority complex. What are your views on this all important inferiority complex?

Dr. Jung: Well, that is a thing that surely plays a very great role, almost just as great as the sex complex.

You see, the sex complex belongs to a hedonistic type of man who thinks in terms of his pleasure and displea- sure, while there is another class of man, chiefly the man who has not arrived, who thinks in terms of power and defeat, and to him it is far more important to win out somewhere than his whole sex problem.

Stephen Black: What should we think in terms of, in your view?

Dr. Jung: Obviously, life has the two aspects, namely, self-preservation and the preservation of species. There you have the two things.
Nobody in his senses dismisses the one or the other thing.

We always have both aspects, because we are meant to be balanced.

Introduction: During his visit to Kiisnacht, Stephen Black also conducted an interview for BBC radio.

According to the BBC transcript, it was recorded on July 29, 1955, and broadcast as part of a series, "Personal Call," on October
3. The text was printed as an appendix to E. A. Bennet’s book C. G. Jung (London, 1961), and Dr. Bennet dated it July
24. He had been given the
copyright in the transcript by the BBC and kindly permitted its publication here.

Stephen 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 Kusnacht, near Zurich, in Switzerland.

And as I came in through the front door, I read this Latin translation of the Greek, carved in stone over the door.

For this house was built by Professor Jung. How many years ago, Professor Jung?

Dr. Jung: Oh, almost fifty years ago.

Stephen Black: Why did you choose to put this over your front door?

Dr. Jung: Because I wanted to express the fact that I always feel unsafe, as if I’m in the presence of superior possibilities.

Stephen 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 mustache 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?

Dr. Jung: Well, I think you are not just beside the mark. That is what I often have been called.

Stephen 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 considerably in the Far East.

Professor Jung, how did you, as a doctor, become interested in psychological medicine?

Dr. Jung: 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 philosophical 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.

Stephen Black: This was due to Krafft-Ebing’s introduction to his textbook? Carl 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 interests with natural science and medical science; that was my chief interest from then on.

Stephen Black: Would you say that your sudden intuitive interest in something like that, your intuitive under- standing, had to some extent been explained by your work during all the years since?

Dr. Jung: Oh, yes; 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.

Stephen Black: So it was in fact Krafft-Ebing and not Freud that started you oft. Dr. Jung: Oh, yes, I became acquainted with Freud much later on.
Stephen Black: And when did you meet Freud? Dr. 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.’

Stephen Black: That was your first book? Dr. 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 on the association experiment’ paved the way to Freud, because I saw that the behavior of the complex provided the experimental basis for Freud’s ideas on repression.

And that was the reason and the possibility of our relationship. Stephen Black: Would you like to describe to me that meeting?

Dr. Jung: Well, I went to Vienna and paid a visit to him, and our first meeting lasted thirteen hours. Stephen Black: Thirteen hours?
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.

Stephen Black: In what way was Freud a peculiar personality? Dr. Jung: 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 phenomenon—particularly to us Swiss, you know.

We were, of course, very different and it took me quite a while until I got it.

Stephen Black: Would you say, then, that the ideas and the philosophy which you have expressed have in their root something peculiarly Swiss?

Dr. Jung: 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. Stephen Black: You are a man, Professor Jung, who reserves his judgment? Dr. Jung: Always.
Stephen Black: In 1912 you wrote a book called Psychology of the Unconscious,’ and it was at that time that you, as it were, dissociated yourself from Freud?

Dr. 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. Stephen Black: Yours was the introvert, to use your own terminology?

Dr. Jung: 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. Stephen Black: Would you accuse Freud of having become involved in the mysticism of terms?

Dr. Jung: 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 textbook 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 psychic 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 em- pirical terminology, like the terminology in botany or zoology.

Stephen Black: You’ve travelled a great deal? Dr. Jung: Yes; a lot.

I have been with Navaho Indians in North America, and in North Africa, in East and Central Africa, the Sudan and Egypt, and in India.

Stephen Black: Do you feel that the thought of the East is in any way more advanced than the thought in the West?

Dr. Jung: Well, you see, the thought of the East cannot be compared with the thought in the West; it is in- commensurable.

It is something else.

Stephen Black: In what way does it differ, then?

Dr. Jung: Well, they are far more influenced by the basic facts about psychology than we are. Stephen Black: That sounds more like your philosophy.
Dr. Jung: Oh, yes; quite.

That is my particular understanding 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.

Stephen Black: Does this contribute to the happiness of people one way or the other? Are people happier in themselves in the East?

Dr. 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.

Stephen Black: Is their unhappiness based upon their psychological difficulties, like ours, or it is more based upon their physical environment, their economics?

Dr. Jung: Well, you see, there is no difference between, say, unfavorable social conditions and unfavorable psychological conditions.

We may be, in the West, in very favorable 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.

Stephen Black: And have you any views on the reason for this misery we suffer here? Dr. Jung: 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 neighbor has two, then that is a very sad fact and he is apt to get neurotic about it.

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

Well, all ambitions and all sorts of things—illusions, you know, of any description. It is impossible to name all those things.

Stephen Black: What is your view, Professor Jung, on the place of women in society in the Western world? Dr. Jung: In what way ? The question is a bit vague.

Stephen 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.

Dr. Jung: 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.

Stephen Black: So that the woman who wants two cars because a neighbor has two cars, is only stimulating ...?

Dr. 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, naïve enough to say so. Stephen Black: And what does the man express of the woman’s animus?
Dr. Jung: 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.

Stephen 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?

Dr. Jung: 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.
Stephen Black: Which is the basic behavior? The Eastern? Dr. 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 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 gentleman would deal with his wife in the event of trouble, for instance; and if you compare this with an Italian, you will see all the difference in the world.

You know, Italy cultivates its emotions.

Italians like emotions and they dramatize their emotions. Not so the English.

Stephen Black: And in India or Malaya?

Dr. 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.

Dr. Jung: Would you say, then, as a scientific observation that there is, in fact, less domestic trouble in the East than in the West?

Dr. 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.

Stephen Black: At the end of his life, Freud, one feels, had some dissatisfaction with the nature of psychoanalysis, 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? Dr. 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.

Stephen Black: How did you meet your wife? Is she connected with your work?

Dr. 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 friend of mine—I was twenty-one then—I said, "That girl is my wife."

Stephen Black: Before you’d spoken to her?

Dr. Jung: Yes. "That’s my wife." I knew it. I saw her on top of a staircase, and I knew: "That is my wife." Stephen Black: How many children have you got?

Dr. Jung: Five children, nineteen grandchildren, and two greatgrandchildren.

Stephen Black: Has any of this large family followed in your footsteps?
Dr. 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 doctor.

Stephen Black: Were you interested in architecture at all?

Dr. 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.
Stephen Black: And actually laying bricks, laying the stones? Dr. Jung: Oh, well, in Europe we work with stone.

I did actually lay stones and built part of my house up in Bollingen. Stephen Black: Why did you do that?

Dr. Jung: 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.

Stephen Black: Could you explain what you think are 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.

Dr. Jung: 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.

Stephen 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?

Dr. Jung: 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, of the fact that practically the whole of India believes in reincarnation, 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 only one life to lose 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 anymore and so, once destroyed, forever destroyed.

That explains a great deal of the reaction in the West.

We are more vulnerable because of 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 fundamental 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. Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters, Pages 252-267.

Carl Jung on how he got interested in psychological medicine and first meeting with Freud





Professor Jung, how did you, as a doctor, become interested in psychological medicine?

Dr. Jung: 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 philosophical interests.

And in the last of my medical studies, just before my final exam, I discovered the short introduction that KrafftEbing had written to his textbook of psychiatry, and suddenly I understood the connection between psychology or philosophy and medical science.

Stephen Black: This was due to Krafft-Ebing’s introduction to his textbook? Carl 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 interests with natural science and medical science; that was my chief interest from then on.

Stephen Black: Would you say that your sudden intuitive interest in something like that, your intuitive under- standing, had to some extent been explained by your work during all the years since?

Dr. Jung: Oh, yes; 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.

Stephen Black: So it was in fact Krafft-Ebing and not Freud that started you oft. Dr. Jung: Oh, yes, I became acquainted with Freud much later on.
Stephen Black: And when did you meet Freud? Dr. 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.’

Stephen Black: That was your first book? Dr. 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 on the association experiment’ paved the way to Freud, because I saw that the behavior of the complex provided the experimental basis for Freud’s ideas on repression.

And that was the reason and the possibility of our relationship. Stephen Black: Would you like to describe to me that meeting?

Dr. Jung: Well, I went to Vienna and paid a visit to him, and our first meeting lasted thirteen hours. Stephen Black: Thirteen hours?
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.

Stephen Black: In what way was Freud a peculiar personality? Dr. Jung: 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 phenomenon—particularly to us Swiss, you know.

We were, of course, very different and it took me quite a while until I got it. Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters, Pages 252-267.

Carl Jung on his interest in Architecture




Stephen Black: Were you interested in architecture at all?

Dr. 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.

Stephen Black: And actually laying bricks, laying the stones? Dr. Jung: Oh, well, in Europe we work with stone.

I did actually lay stones and built part of my house up in Bollingen. Stephen Black: Why did you do that?

Dr. Jung: 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.

Stephen Black: Could you explain what you think are 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.

Dr. Jung: 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.

Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters, Pages 252-267.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Dr. Jung and the Christmas Tree




Introduction: Georg Gerster (b. 1928), having earned a Ph.D. in German literature at Zurich University in 1956, embarked on a remarkable career as a freelance writer and photographer specializing in science—he has worked on every continent including Antarctica.

Shortly before Christmas 1957 he interviewed Jung for Die Weltwoche (Zurich), and his article was published on Christmas Day.

Dr. Jung: It is slightly condensed here.

Jung is speaking: An Indian swami knocked on the door of a villa on the Zurichberg. "Forgive me for disturbing you," he said to the householder.

"I come from Madras, and am making a study of local religious customs in Europe. Perhaps you could . . .?"
The householder backed away.

"I’m afraid you have come to the wrong house. We are enlightened people here.

Of course we go to church, at least now and then, but as you probably know we Protestants are not on the best of terms with the world of religious symbols.

If you were thinking of finding any religious customs here like the ones in your own country, I’m afraid you will go home disappointed."

The swami retired crestfallen.

But let us suppose he comes back again, say in December, and catches the householder in the act of decorat- ing the Christmas tree.

"But you told me you had no religious customs," he says reproachfully.

"And yet you cut down a fir tree just to let it dry up in the drawing-room, and cover it with little candles which are no use at all for heating purposes.

Tell me, is this prescribed by your religion or its holy writings?"

The householder shakes his head in astonishment. "Not that I know of. It’s something that’s always been done...."

On one of my expeditions to Africa, I lived for a while with a tribe on the slopes of Mount Elgon, in Kenya.

Every morning, at sunrise, they stepped out of their huts, spat into their hands, and held them palm outwards to the sun.

Asked why they did this, they were at a loss for an answer.

They could only say: "It’s something that’s always been done. . . ."’

Such ignorance has earned them the name of primitives in the judgment of the whites.

Now if our Indian friend were to publish in Madras his researches among the inhabitants on the slopes of the Ziirichberg, he would have some remarkable things to report.

"Although they deny it, they worship rabbit idols which lay colored eggs, and on the day they call Easter they look for these eggs in the garden, with much shouting.

They also worship, on another day they call Christmas, an illuminated tree which they hang all over with span- gles, shiny balls, and sweetmeats.

Yet they do not know why they do this.

They are very small-minded and primitive people."

The very existence of such things as the May-pole, the May-tree, and the greasy pole tell us a great deal about the Christian claim to the Christmas tree.

At best it was a matter of reinterpreting old customs, in much the same way as the feast of Christ’s nativity was grafted on to the already existing mid-winter vegetation festivals.

The tree-symbol has a very venerable history; the Finnish scholar Uno Holmberg, who investigated the symbol- ism of the tree of life, called it "mankind’s most magnificent legend."’

The countless changes of meaning the tree-symbol has undergone in the course of its history are proof of its richness and vitality.

The tree has a cosmic significance—it is the worldtree, the world-pillar, the world-axis.

Only think of Yggdrasill, the world-ash of Nordic mythology, a majestic, evergreen tree growing at the center of the world.

The tree, particularly its crown, is the abode of the gods.

Hence the village tree in India and the German village linden tree round which the villagers gather in the evenings: they are sitting in the shadow of the gods.

The tree also has a maternal aspect. In Germanic mythology the first human beings, Ask and Embla, come from the ash and the alder, as their names show.

Among the Yakuts of Siberia, a tree with eight branches was the birthplace of the first man. He was suckled by a woman the upper part of whose body grew from its trunk.

These and many similar ideas are not invented, they simply came into men’s heads in bygone times. It is a sort of natural revelation.
To give an example.

One evening an English District Commissioner in Nigeria heard a tremendous racket going on in the barracks of the native troops.

Six soldiers had to put a raving comrade in chains.

When the D.C. arrived, the black man lay quiet and was released at his order.

In explanation of his strange behavior, he said that he had wanted to go home because his tree was calling him, but now it was too late.

The D.C. learnt further that when he was a little child the man’s mother had once put him to rest under a tree while she went to work.

The tree then talked to him and made him promise that he would hasten to it without delay whenever he heard it calling and would bring it food.

Several times the tree had called him, said the soldier, and each time he had brought it the best he had in his miserable hut.

On this evening, far from his village, he had heard the tree calling for food, yet could not obey the voice be- cause of his military duties.

Often, as here, the tree symbolizes the numen, the psychic fate of the person, his inner personality.’

In the dream of Nebuchadnezzar the king himself is symbolized by the tree.

There is also an old Rabbinic idea that the ageing Adam was granted one look into paradise.

In the branches of the withered tree there lay a child.

We might further mention the old patristic ideas of Christ as the tree of life.

Georg Gerster: Doesn’t the custom, still practiced today in many places, of planting a tree at the birth of a child also belong in this context?

Dr. Jung: Certainly. The reason for this unthinking ritual act is the participation mystique between man and the tree: both share the same fate.

Georg Gerster: To come back to the Christmas tree.

Haven’t several quite different sets of symbols fused into one?

The tree, the lights, the evergreen branches, the decorations, the distribution of Christmas presents—all these have their own symbolic value, and in numerous folk customs some of the cornponents are differently combined.

Dr. Jung: Agreed.

But let us not forget that the total combination, the lighted and decorated tree, is also found outside Christ’s nativity and in non-Christian contexts.

For instance in alchemy, that well-known reservoir for the symbols of antiquity.

(Here Jung produced an alchemical picture of the tree with the sun, the moon, and the seven planets in its branches, surrounded by allegories of the alchemical process of transformation.)

Now you know what the shining globes on the Christmas tree mean: they are nothing less than the heavenly bodies, the sun, moon, and stars.

The Christmas tree is the world-tree.

But, as the alchemical symbolism clearly shows, it is also a transformation symbol, a symbol of the process of self-realization.

According to certain alchemical sources, the adept climbs the tree—a very ancient shamanistic motif.

The shaman, in an ecstasy, climbs the magical tree in order to reach the upper world where he will find his true self.

By climbing the magical tree, which is at the same time a tree of knowledge, he gains possession of his spiritual personality.

To the eye of the psychologist, the shamanistic and alchemical symbolism is a projected representation of the process of individuation.

That it rests on an archetypal foundation is evidenced by the fact that patients who have not the slightest knowledge of mythology and folklore spontaneously produce the most amazing parallels to the historical tree-symbolism.’

Experience has taught me that the authors of these pictures were trying to express a process of inner development independent of their conscious volition.

Georg Gerster: Your conception of the Christmas tree is in no way disturbed by the fact that the custom dates only from the seventeenth century?

Dr. Jung: Why should that be any objection to my view that the Christmas tree, which in the longest and darkest night of the year symbolizes the return of the light, is archetypal?

On the contrary!

The way the Christmas tree has caught on in various countries and rapidly took root, so that most people actually believe it is an age-old custom, is only further proof that its appeal is grounded in the depths of the psyche, in the collective unconscious, and far exceeds that of the crib, the ox, and the ass.

Georg Gerster: In one of your books you remark that people decorate the Christmas tree without knowing what is at the back of this custom.

Dr. Jung: It is an old pagan one.

It is not I who use this expression but the Church. "Omnis haec observatio est paganorum," it says in an old papal declaration with reference to decorating the houses with green branches.

This and similar customs are pagan.

And J. C. Dannhauer, an Evangelical theologian in Strasbourg, preached in the middle of the seventeenth cen- tury against the fir trees people set up in their houses at Christmas and bedecked with dolls and candles.

These old divines were not so wrong according to their lights.

Georg Gerster: Now that you have elucidated its background as an empirical investigator, the increasing popularity of the Christmas tree must rejoice your heart as a psychotherapist.

I conjecture you would agree that Christmas trees are healthy —as a measure of psychic hygiene? Dr. Jung: Your conjecture is correct.
The archetypes are, so to speak, like many little appetites in us, and if, with the passing of time, they get nothing to eat, they start rumbling and upset everything.

The Catholic Church takes this very seriously.

Just now it is setting about reviving the old Easter customs.

The abstract greeting "Christ is risen!" no longer satisfies the craving of the archetypes for images. So in order to set it at rest, they have had recourse to the hare-goddess, a fertility symbol.

And lately the Church has reintroduced an ancient fire ceremony: the Easter fire, the primordial fire, is lit not with matches but with flint and steel!

A tremendously nourishing procedure for man’s feelings.

The inner man has to be fed—a fact that moderns, with their frivolous trust in reason, often overlook to their own harm.

The Christmas tree is one of those customs which are food for the soul, nourishment for the inner man.

And the more primordial the material they use, the more promising these customs are for the future. Carl Jung, C.G. Jung Speaking: Interviews and Encounters, Pages 353-358.