Showing posts with label Contact with Jung. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Contact with Jung. Show all posts

Monday, December 4, 2017

A Personal Experience by Jane Wheelwright




A Personal Experience by Jane Wheelwright

Jung's attention was always riveted to the long-term development of the soul, many souls, generations of souls.

The great stream of life seemed to be his absorbing interest.

To illustrate: the question of the nationality of a young American woman came up years ago.

Her first appointments were spent putting him straight as to what country she came from.

For some reason she had to be English.

Many years later his persistent mistake made sense.

He was looking straight back into a predominance of English ancestry.

One had that impression over and over again.

He looked right down the long line of one's ancestors, all the while making what could only be described as an exceedingly warm, personal, individual contact.

My first encounter with Jung was because of a very sick relative.

It was necessary to seek him out, since no one in the United States could reach the psychotic as well-or even at all.

At least, that was the verdict in San Francisco in 1930.

So there was nothing to do but make the long trek over to Ziirich.

Soon it was dear that Jung could probably piece together the badly shattered psyche, but he had no time to go on with the therapy, which would have to be for life.

He already had more of this work than he could manage.

But because of the distress of the patient's husband and the long, arduous trip, he spent hours, between lectures, at intermissions, after hours, to help in any way he could. Incidentally, although the husband was a rich man, there was no charge for this extra time.

It was necessary to phone Jung frequently.

It should be remembered, however, that he was then a well-known figure, controversial of course, but prominent.

In all the pressure of the situation and because of his manner it was easy to overlook the fact of his importance and call on him as one would any doctor, and he responded exactly as any doctor would have done.

In 1935 I had an opportunity to be in Zurich again and to be exposed to the great adulation of Jung which I had not noticed on the first visit.

It was not clear then as it is now why there was so much strong feeling.

In those days it was not generally known that a gifted analyst is bound to be surrounded by people with strong transferences and that there-would be a kind of cultism in the air.

Besides, his psychology seemed to favor the irrational.

So, being a very 'modern' person with a 'clear, logical mind' who was politically avant garde, I was inevitably critical and was more than happy to find fault.

Jung's writings also had borne an aura of authoritarianism that was irritating.

All this made it quite certain that I would not fall for his kind of psychology.

But, of course such certainty had its own weakness, and I finally got an appointment to see him.

This private encounter was rather disarming. 'So you are in the soup, too?' was the greeting.

It went on like that, with some very irritated outbursts interspersed, which were well deserved.

But they made me wonder whether such outbursts were appropriate in a doctor with so big a reputation.

Yet his deeper concern and sensitivity, combined with that streak of humor that loved American slang, his extraordinary insight, his deadly seriousness, and the human standard that was so high had their effect.

After these appointments Jung's writings made tremendous sense.

It turned out also that these writings, his sayings, people's reports, all had a curious way of ringing in one's ears for a very, very long time.

There was so much in these thoughts, one simply could not pin down what the fascination was.

It is impossible to draw out all the meaning from Jung's writings. For every bit one grasps, more is revealed.

One reading leaves the reader with certain understanding, and the second reading is so different that it is necessary to check to be sure it is a second reading.

One can never quite possess the content.

Many people explain this phenomenon as a product of his brilliant intuitive mind.

It may go further; it may be due to his relation to the stream of life that is forever changing, developing, restating, renewing, progressing, regressing.

It may be Jung's eternal liveliness that keeps his writings aloof from organization, from imprisonment, from the death that would come if they were entirely understood; or if he had been tempted to have the last word.

Jung's great courage lay in his willingness to remain alone and lonely, and was perhaps understood best by those very close to him.

On the other hand, he never seemed to be unhappy when people ran off with his ideas, which they often did.

He seemed to like to see people function independently, and remained good friends with many who differed.

It would seem, for one who was always rather intellectual by nature, that Jung's biggest contribution was his concern about morality.

His was a view that far exceeds what one usually expects, because it appeals to logical, unemotional thinking.

It was a view that was touched on in the beginning of the twentieth century by Lincoln Steffens, the famous American 'muckraker'. Steffens was preoccupied with the big crooks of that era.

He knew them personally and found many of them good for their word, honest, even reliable, but on the wrong side of the fence in society.

He liked to talk the men with yellow man with a white streak.

Jung, in his great concern over the place of evil in society, expressed that same principle later in the century psychologically.

No one saw better than he how often there is something good in what is bad; at times, the problem of good being good by comparison with what is bad; how also sometimes, in a subtle way, bad is good. ~Jane Wheelwright, Contact with Jung, Pages 226-228

C. G. Jung: A Personal Memoir by Elizabeth Osterman





C. G. Jung: A Personal Memoir by Elizabeth Osterman

The heavy wooden door on which I had just knocked was set in a thick stone wall which seemed solidly part of the earth.

This was the entryway to the medieval-looking, secluded country place which Jung had built by hand through the years at Bollingen on the shore of Lake Zurich.

On my way to the Aegean Islands on this first trip away from the western United States, I had stopped in Switzerland for this visit.

Leaving the highway some distance from the town of Rapperswill, I had traversed a footpath which skirted a dense wood at the rear of a complex of walls and stone towers.

A few feet away to my left the lake water lapped among the reeds.

The July sun warmed the rain-dampened earth, and a soft haze covered the distant mountains.

As I stood waiting before the door I was somewhat nervous, but was reassured by sounds of wood-chopping coming from behind the wall.

I was trying to accustom myself to the fact that I was actually going to meet this man who indirectly had influenced my adult life so profoundly, who, in fact, had changed its entire course and had made possible for me personally and professionally an unbelievable sense of rootedness and potential self-realization.

Ten years previously, when working through a deep analysis with one of his students in San Francisco, I had had a 'big dream'.

Its effect had been numinous, powerful, and lasting.

Before the dream I had been studying to be a specialist in internal medicine; afterwards, there was no question.

The M.D. degree would be used instead as requisite background for becoming a depth psychologist .

Jung had shown the way for a doctor to do this, that is, not only to study psychiatry but to plumb with help the depths of his own inner world, to discover the roots of his being, to live close to his own nature; in other words, to integrate the unconscious to the extent possible.

I had been busy at this for several years now, and the trip was part of the process. I had not thought of trying to see Jung.

Why should I claim some of his precious time?

Perhaps not much more of it was left to him. But a wise friend had insisted and had made arrangements.

Now the door opened, and I was invited into the inner garden by his household companion.

There, beyond a second doorway, was the strong-bodied, white-haired, eighty-three-year-old man in his green workman's apron, seated before the chopping block.

Behind him was a large square stone carved by him in earlier years when he was attempting to give form to his emerging realizations.

I felt as though I had stepped out of time and had entered into an inner world where everything was relevant, unhurried, natural.

At the water's edge we settled into comfortable chairs, and through that afternoon the conversation wandered back into the prehistory of the earth, into the depths of the psyche, into the wonders of nature around us.

Once I looked at my watch and he said, 'Never mind a watch; I'll tell you.'

He returned frequently to the theme of what man is doing to himself by living in a fast and meaningless way, how he has become estranged from himself.

With immediacy and great simplicity he said: 'We must give time to nature so that she may be a mother to us.

I have found the way to live here as part of nature, to live in my own time.

People in the modern world are always living so that something better is to happen tomorrow, always in the future, so they don't think to live their lives.

They are up in the head.

When a man begins to know himself, to discover the roots of his past in himself, it is a new way of life.'

The force that emanated from this man sitting beside me was amazing. He seemed at once powerful and simple; real, the way the sky and rocks and trees and water around him were real.

He seemed to be all there in his own nature, but what made it so exciting was his awareness of it.

A knock on the door broke into the conversation; the taximan had arrived. Jung remarked, 'That says it.'

It was time to leave.

With much warmth I wished him health, fulfillment in a personal sense, peace.

I closed the door and stood feeling bereft of the vital connection I had experienced.

As I walked away on the path, I began to recall the dream I had dreamt ten years before.

In part, it was that I was working at a drug counter dispensing pills (I was working in a medical clinic at the time).

Out in the street I saw a procession of a dozen or so men and women in simple dark robes.

They were bearing a coffin which contained the body of a seer, a great wise man.

He was associated in my mind with Jung.

I joined them as they proceeded down the street into a square, ground-floor room.

They opened the coffin lid so that he would be with them.

There was an inward sense of common humanity in those present, a feeling of reverence and profound concern.

My analyst was conducting the rites, partly from a natural memory of how they went, and partly from an outline on the folder which he held in his hands.

This was an illuminated medieval manuscript on which the seer who had died had written a condensation of what he had come to know about man's nature, temperament, needs, longings.

My analyst finished reading the words in the main body of the manuscript, then he handed the folder to me to read the words inscribed on three sides around the border in the illumination.

These, the last he had written, were: 'And all of these things each man must find in his own nature.' ~Elizabeth Osterman, Contact with Jung, Pages 217-220.

Jung’s Influence on My Life and Work by John W. Perry




Jung’s Influence on My Life and Work by John W. Perry

My first encounter with Jung arose out of one of those auspicious blendings of circumstance which seem so often to mark the turning-points in one's psychic life.

On behalf of my intent to embark upon the field of psychology and religion, my father arranged to meet Jung when in Zurich, and persuaded him to return the visit when attending the Harvard Tercentenary.

Since I was seeking a new and revitalized experience of religion, and my parent was a bishop, 1 can imagine this crisis in in father figures might have appealed to Jung.

However, the occasion found me young and innocent of the world, especially of the psychic one, and he did the only thing he could for my benefit-he talked almost steadily for two days, filling my head with a rich flow of psychic nourishment that took me several years to incorporate and digest.

Many of my Boston acquaintances were far better equipped than I to benefit by such a colloquy, and it bore heavily on me; only in retrospect can I look upon those days and feel justification in knowing that not many could have been so touched in the wordless deeps as to find the rest of their lives given shape by them.

I could not assent at the time to what Jung was telling me, though I found it strangely fascinating; the psyche I had been studying in classes and books had quite a different cast, and I felt an obligation to cleave to the scientific view and not wander away into what seemed to me to be bucolic pastures of European scholarship and erudition.

My analytic reading began shortly after with Freud's works, which I devoured with avid enthusiasm and in which I thought I was finding the answer to all things human; I set about applying it all mercilessly to family and friends.

It was so satisfying to have an explanation for hidden things!

Dutifully I moved ahead in my reading program over the years, toward Jung and Adler and the rest.

The Psychology of the Unconscious, which I had already glanced through like a college text as a measure to 'brush up on Jung' before seeing him, and had taken as a sort of code of symbols, I now greeted with different eyes, perhaps because by this time I had been in love and was no longer all closed up inside.

This new encounter with Jung was like emerging out of a tunnel into a broad and noble terrain, a real world, one of heights and depths, of living beings with an historical heritage and a future to strive toward.

The Secret of the Golden Flower lit up little flames in the interior recesses which have been glowing ever since.

The Jung of those earlier days in Providence came to life again and began to speak to my condition, and I began to sense that peculiar gratitude to him which most of us know so well.

During the war I received a second infusion of psychic nourishment which I could not fully digest, a rich inpouring of ways and views of the other side of the world, the Chinese Interior, and
more than ever felt the need to find the way to assimilate it; for I was tempted, as happens with large experiences, to find my life in it rather than the harder alternative of finding it in my life.

Of several foundations I requested to send me to Zurich to prepare for the field of psychology and religion, the Rockefeller wrote back with alacrity to say they had for some while been wanting
such a request and had been holding a special nest egg for the purpose.

At Zurich I had the good fortune to see the first beginnings of the germinating Institute, which was starting to embody the differentiation of one man's vision into its many facets to be developed by many individuals with their special gifts; it was heroic work on the part of that Curatorium to meet the many tribulations and establish a workable order.

I have since realized what a piece of good fortune it is to be able to immerse oneself in that psychic world for a solid block of time, which in the usual course of training in other areas one cannot do.

The heart that pulsed through that organism, of course, was Jung himself; for me his helping hand slipped into the opus from point to point to steer it on its course.

In the many talks we had on religion, while I was still na:ive enough, all that I heard seemed natural and more or less understandable, lighting up those obscure levels bit by bit.

What really hit me amidships and shook my timbers was a thrust in the other direction. I was having that upside-down kind of growth that begins somewhere down in the psychic basement and reaches for the light of day.

I found that what I really wanted to hear, because it threw me into a new dimension of experience, was his comment on how and where religious content connects with everyday life.

Perhaps it was made particularly moving by the circumstance that he, in his late age v.: 1th its inward turning and its appetite for exploring the depths in their historical perspective, was reaching over that long span to my predicament of young years and was striking the keynote to which I could resonate.

When with his penetrating intuition Jung would point out these principles, he flung doors open to right and left for me, and with great intensity I retraced my way through the imagery of my dreams and discovered anew the vital connections between them and the emotional episodes which had been bearing me along as on a mountain torrent.

Here my quite active religious psyche was implanting itself in events and relationships, and, though it required struggling to reclaim it, at least it then came clothed in the warm colors of experience.

It was what I wanted of a religion, one that I had known at first hand in China, that sprang out of depths, but that entered into the life of everyday, into love, work, social issues, and concerns.

My efforts since then have been directed toward exploring the vital point of connection between the religious dynamisms and the outward life, where the archetype slips into the emotional setting, and thus where the supra-personal is one with the personal.

There has been no break in this as a religious quest, but I have felt it to be turned onto its course more than once by the hand of this man who was so well acquainted with the uncharted waters; yet it has come full circle around into psychiatry proper, where I can explore in mental disturbances that vital point of articulation (of joining) and learn how to restore to persons the personalness of their psychic life.

I need hardly enlarge on the point of this impression of Jung.

The vastness of his mind and vision, the dimensions illuminated by him, were for me gentle and serene in quality as :flooding sunlight; but what moved me like the grandeur of a storm was the genius of his hold on life and of his seeing into life, for perceiving the deepest operations of the psyche equally in the slumbering world of the night and the turbulence of the welter of the life of the day. ~John W. Perry, Contact with Jung, Pages 214-217

Sunday, December 3, 2017

The Early Days by M. Esther Harding




The Early Days by M. Esther Harding

That C. G. Jung was a giant among men must be obvious to all who have had even a slight acquaintance with the man or his writings, but for many today the beginnings of his work, reaching back to the turn of the century, must seem to grow out of a dim past.

His work breaks upon them fully developed; for them it is almost impossible to conceive of a world where the concepts he elaborated were still lying dormant in the unconscious waiting for the creative mind of a genius to discover.

Jung's early papers on word association tests will soon be republished in the Collected Works; his writings on dementia praecox and other case studies have already appeared.

These are readily available to the student.

Although his laboratory experiments confirmed the results of earlier observers, Jung's chief interest was caught by reactions that did not conform to the general rule.

These, although they had been discarded by statistically minded observers, aroused his lively curiosity.

For throughout his life he was always interested in exceptions and anomalies and border-line phenomena, and it was in these neglected fields that he found his greatest treasures.

Jung was a younger man than most of the group that gathered round Freud, and he outlived most if not all of them.

Freud's influence, great as it undoubtedly was, affected him less than the others.

And, as he lived in Switzerland, his work was done much more independently than theirs, a fact that is evidenced by the striking originality of his early papers on psychological subjects.

In 1909 he attended the Conference on Psycho-analysis at Clark University, Worcester, U.S.A., where both he and Freud read papers.

They spent eight weeks together and discussed many things, including their own dreams.

But Freud insisted on interpreting the collective images in Jung's dreams reductively, which Jung felt to be both inadequate and wrong.

Jung again visited America in 1912, when he gave his well-known lectures on The Theory of Psychoanalysis at Fordham University.

Already his ideas were going beyond the rather rigid framework of Freud's theory, and in his preface to the published lectures he wrote:

'To me it seems that psychoanalysis stands in need of this weighing-up from inside . . . my criticism does not proceed from academic arguments, but from experiences which have forced themselves on me during the ten years of serious work in this field . . . it seems to me that certain of my formulations do express the observed facts more suitably than Freud's version
of them.'

One cannot but be impressed with the restraint and tolerance of these words in contrast to the bitterness of Freud's attacks on Jung after the publication of his book, Symbols of Transformation, with its revolutionary ideas in regard to the unconscious.

But Freud could not accept book, for it that the unconscious, far from being merely the repository of repressed and unacceptable memories and wishes, was actually the creative source of psychic life itself.

He took its publication as a direct affront to his authority and, as Jung maintained his position, a conflict arose that led to a permanent breach between the two men.

Jung continued to work alone for some years, and mostly in silence.

It was not until 1920 that he began, rather tentatively at first, to teach a small group of students.

His lectures were given in English, for the English had shown themselves more receptive to his ideas than had the German-speaking people, who were more closely identified with Freud and his group.

In 1920 he met with a small number of students-about six-for regular discussions, in his home in Kusnacht. H. G. Baynes and Eleanor Bertine were present at these gatherings and, in the
September of that year, Jung was invited to go to England to teach a small group of student analysts and analysands, who gathered at Sennen Cove, in Cornwall, for an unforgettable two
weeks.

Jung took as his theme a book entitled Authentic Dreams of Peter Blobbs, and, using these reputed dreams as his theme, he discussed the method of dream analysis that he was beginning to develop.

In contrast to Freud, Jung was already using controlled, instead of unlimited, free associations.

These he supplemented with relevant material from myth and religious symbolism, to fill out and elucidate the dream content, though the term amplification was not then in use.

For at this time the major concepts of analytical psychology remained unformulated and largely unrecognized.

As Jung once said in speaking of the anima and animus: 'They had not been born yet.'

On his return to London, Jung continued to meet with some of the group.

Psychological Types was nearing completion and parts of the first draft were read in translation.

Jung walked up and down the room, smoking his pipe, and looking anything but pleased.

Finally he was heard to mutter: 'But this is difficult!'

Three years later, in 1923, the experiment of a convention or seminar, as these gatherings came to be called, was held, again in Cornwall, at Polzeath.

This conference was arranged by Baynes and the present writer, and about thirty people gathered at that remote little seaside place.

They all stayed at the only hotel and met daily for lectures in the village. hall.

The group consisted mostly of English people, but a few came from America, while Mrs. Jung, Miss Wolff, and one or two others arrived with Jung from Switzerland.

Of the seven analysts present at that gathering, only Eleanor Bertine and myself are still alive.

In the summer of 1925 a third seminar was held, at Swanage, England. There was a rather larger group this time, about fifty.

Jung lectured for two hours each day.

The weather was atrocious and, since the meetings were held in a tent in the middle of a hayfield, Jung's voice was accompanied by a constant pat-pat of rain on the canvas roof.

Unfortunately, there is no official report of the three early seminars, but I took rather full notes of the last two and I must rely on them for a brief report.

No one could attend a conference by Jung without being deeply impressed, not only by the content of his lectures, but, perhaps even more, by the man himself

In those early days one was particularly impressed by his vigor, his originality, his versatility and erudition, as well as by his command of English.

Although at that time this was not as perfect as in later years, even then it was fluent, vigorous, full of humor, and often spiced with both English and American slang.

When a game involving a wide knowledge of English was played by the entire group, it was Jung who came out as winner even over those whose native language it was.

This incident had occurred at Sennen Cove in 1920.

By 1923, when he began the seminar at Polzeath, not only had his English become more fluent but his ideas, too, had developed enormously, so that now he spoke with authority.

He was no longer under Freud's shadow, but had begun to realize his unique genius.

The subject he chose was 'The Technique of Analysis'.

Although much of the content of these lectures appeared subsequently, scattered through his later writings, the material as a whole has never been published.

He began by differentiating between the 'free association' employed by Freud, that inevitably leads back to one of the basic instincts, sexuality or power, and 'controlled association',
the method he had devised, by which the symbol is enriched, so revealing its particular meaning in the context of the dream.

In this way a compensation for the one-sidedness of the conscious attitude is disclosed.

Jung went on to discuss the transference and its contents personal and collective-with their emotional values, the meaning of projection; the negative aspect of transference 'which brings up all the dirty, perverted, and repressed material' of the unconscious.

He pointed out that the analyst should react to the patient and differentiate him from his material; and went on to discuss the handling of the transference, showing that the analyst must allow himself to become involved to a certain extent in the process and give his own real reactions to the patient's material.

When collective elements begin to enter the transference situation it means that the patient's Weltanschauung is too limited, the old collective ideas under which he has lived are outworn and must be replaced by a new ruling principle.

In this context he discussed the dream of the Black and the White Magicians, to which frequent reference has been made in his various books.

But here he gave a considerably fuller interpretation than any appearing subsequently, showing how the dream foretells the imminent death of the ruling principle, the king, a fact that releases the anima in her black, instinctual aspect.

Only the Black Magician was wise enough to follow her and find the key to the new country-the key to paradise.

But he could not unlock the gates.

The White Magician was needed for this.

Jung implied, very clearly, that he considered that this dream not only pointed to a revolution in the ideas of one young man, but that it also indicated a far-reaching change of
world ideas, immanent in the historical moment when it was dreamed.

And, indeed, the events of subsequent years have substantiated his interpretation of the meaning of the dream.

Jung ended the seminar by a brief account of the method of active imagination, though that term was not then in use.

He spoke of how, by concentrating on the images of fantasy or dream, the contents of the collective unconscious could be activated and made conscious; and if the ego could establish a relation to them, the process of individuation was initiated, though this term had not been coined as yet, either.

In 1925 the third conference was held at Swanage.

The title of this series of lectures was 'Dreams and Symbolism'.

Jung started by giving an account of the history of dream interpretation.

He cited a number of dreams recorded from ancient times and pointed out that they were all deep dreams, full of representations collectives.

These, of course, correspond to archetypal images, but Jung had not at that time begun to use this term.

He quoted Pythagoras as saying that dreams came from the all-pervading divine mind, putting this statement side by side with his own ideas of the collective unconscious.

He then proceeded to compare the interpretation given by the old writers of some of these dreams with his own interpretation of them.

But the art of dream interpretation was lost, he said, after the antique period, until Freud rediscovered it.

In order to demonstrate his own method, Jung proceeded to discuss two long series of dreams, the first those of a middle-aged woman, the second of a young man.

In the wornan's case the dreams were personal in character, whereas the young man's were collective, i.e. archetypal.

The contrast between the two series was brought out in the most striking manner.

In summing up Jung said: 'To have a great dream is a revelation of the new aspect of the world, but it is dangerous.

To have trivial dreams is more norm.al, more ordinary; but where triviality is the disease (as it was with the woman patient) it would be an advantage to have deep dreams.'

It is most instructive to observe how many of the basic concepts of analytical psychology were already in process of formulation at this early conference.

It is true that they underwent considerable further elaboration in subsequent years, and many of them were renamed, while others of equal importance were added, but in these first seminars Jung was able to make a sketch map of the new territory he was destined to explore so fully during subsequent decades.

And it is really amazing to see how little these early formulations have needed revision.

Jung's work was so thorough, so honest, that it has stood the test of the years.

On the foundation he laid, nearly forty years ago, the massive structure of his later work stands secure.

This fact shows the calibre of the man, more, perhaps, than almost anything else.

The flowering of his genius, that began so early, ripened into a harvest that will satisfy the spiritual hunger of mankind in the years to come, but it will take the work of many succeeding generations to garner all the wealth of meaning Jung discovered in his long and fruitful life. ~M. Esther Harding, Contact with Jung, Pages 179-184

The Most Significant Stimulus Derived From C.G. Jung by Barbara Hannah




The Most Significant Stimulus Derived From C.G. Jung by Barbara Hannah

As has been repeatedly pointed out in the press since the death of C. G. Jung, the most striking thing about him was that he was never content to leave any idea as a mere idea, but always tried it out in his own life, so that he himself was his own living psychology.

Therefore every contact with him was a challenge and a stimulus which revealed one-often very painfully-to oneself.

Nevertheless, I welcomed the question: 'What is the most significant stimulus that each contributor has derived from C. G. Jung?' for it forced one to reflect on these stimuli and on where they had had the most far-reaching effect.

Looking back, I see the strongest stimulus for myself in something he said in a lecture in 1938.

Jung was speaking on a Tibetan text, 'Shri-Chakra-Sambhara Tantra', where, after the Yogin' s statement: 'I am Buddha' (meant, as Jung pointed out, in the sense of: 'I as the Eternal
Being am Buddha'), the senses and emotions rise up to contradict the Yogin angrily.

The Yogin must meditate on these as five male Devatas: delusion, anger, greed, miserliness, and jealousy.

Jung showed several pictures where such situations are depicted in the form of small figures coming out of the Yogin' s head.

He then pointed out what a high degree of culture such a picture revealed: the ability to objectify and personify the chaotic emotions in a form where it was then possible to have it out, and even to come to terms, with them.

He added that this culture was entirely unknown in the West.

Back in 1930, Mrs. Jung had drawn my attention to the fact that it was possible to come to terms with negative emotions and to find a value in them.

They should not be repressed but rather related to and given a voice, in order that we should learn what it was they really wanted (cf. Jung, 1916).

I realized the importance of this point of view and tried-without much success-to apply it.

But when Jung spoke of this Eastern culture, I felt that it rang a bell which was heard by all the different parts of my psyche, and that now a conscious effort, to find a Western equivalent to this Eastern culture, might meet with co-operation, instead of as before with opposition, from the unconscious.

Of course, Jung had already found a Western equivalent in the method of active imagination; however, just as he was never content to leave an idea in the head without integrating it in his life, we cannot afford to take over his ideas ready-made, but must experiment with and suffer from them until we find a form to which our own unconscious will respond.

I had already done a lot of active imagination before this far-reaching stimulus occurred, but evidently in too imitative a way, for, though it had made a lot of sense on the upper levels, so to speak, it had left the foundation such basic unruly things as rage, resentment, ambition, and jealousy-untouched.

They had just moved their quarters, as it were, and gone into new hiding-places, but fundamentally they were quite unmoved.

It was the idea that the East had actually built up a culture on the objectivation of those negative inner emotions and senses, which Christianity dismissed as unworthy and sinful, that opened up a new possibility to me.

I knew it was no longer effective in the East-except in a few exceptional individuals-just as the Christian method of resisting sin is no longer effective in the West.

I had long since despaired of the latter being in any sense my way; but what if one tried the former?

Not indeed as the East did-for its dogma is always too far from our Western make-up-but subjectively, encouraged by the fact that the East had found this way of dealing with the negative so effective that it had founded a kind of dogma on it.

This felt much more hopeful than the Western denial of sin, and the fact that I knew I could not imitate the East encouraged me to have it out with my own unconscious and to search for an individual form of active imagination which would appeal to the negative as well as the positive side of my unconscious.

The original stimulus in 1938 was greatly strengthened about ten years later by something which Jung said in a discussion at the Psychological Club in Zurich.

He was asked if he thought that the atom bomb would be used, and replied that he thought it would depend on how many people could stand the tension of the opposites in themselves.

If enough could stand this tension, he thought atomic war might just be avoided ( on the principle of the rainmaker of Kiaochow (cf. Read, 1960)).

But if that were not the case and the atom bomb were to be used on a large scale, he had little doubt that our culture would be entirely destroyed.

It is obvious that, to stand the tension of the opposites, it is necessary to know both of them in ourselves, and, because of nearly 2,000 years of the Christian point of view towards evil
( which is written in our blood, however much or little Christian teaching we may have received in our youth), the negative pole usually seems the most difficult to realize.

Ever and again it projects itself beyond the Iron Curtain and we see ourselves

merely as its helpless victims. But as Jung says in the Psychology of the Transference (1946, C.W.,16, p.302): 'Can we ever really endure ourselves? "Do unto others ... "-this is as true of evil as of good.'

The threat of atomic war is far more acute today than it was in the late 'forties, and outwardly most of us are only able to wait passively to see what happens.

But Jung's suggestion, that if enough of us can stand the tension of the opposites in ourselves the situation might yet be saved, gives us an impetus and a chance to lay 'an infinitesimal grain in the scales of humanity's soul', as Jung himself expressed it in another connection (Jung, 1946, C.W., 16, p. 234). ~Barbara Hannah, Contact with Jung, 129-130

Saturday, December 2, 2017

A Personal Recollection by Ruth Strauss




A Personal Recollection by Ruth Strauss

There is a special memory of a meeting with Jung which I want to recall on this occasion.

While on a holiday in the Swiss mountains I tried to get an interview with Jung; but, to my disappointment, his secretary informed me that Jung could not see me this time, since he was away from Kusnacht.

However, a couple of days later, I received a telegram asking me to come out to Bollingen.

This was the first time that I met Jung in his Turmhaus, of which I had heard so much and which had been his refuge from the formal world.

Those who have been there know what a solitary place it is-it takes a long walk over the fields, coming from the railway station, to get there.

Jung met me outside the cottage to take me up the tower into his study.

He was as alive and somehow mischievous as he could be when in an easy mood.

I hardly noticed that the whole of the morning had gone when I thanked him for having been so good to me as to make this meeting possible.

By this I had unwittingly touched upon a problem that had been Jung's concern throughout his life.

He was looking at me seriously with a twinkle in his eye-'Being good,' he said, 'must happen to you in the same way as it happens to you being bad. If you set out to be good it almost gives me the creeps. It makes me see the devil rising up behind your chair.' ~Ruth Strauss, Contact with Jung, Page 74

Friday, December 1, 2017

Jung's Psychology in Britain by G. Stewart Prince




Jung’s Psychology in Britain by G. Stewart Prince

It will be undisputed that H. G. Baynes, more than any other individual, established the roots of analytical psychology in Britain.

His pioneering work was shared by but a few colleagues.

One was Constance Long, who translated Jung's Collected Papers on Analytical Psychology into English as early as 1916, and made her own contribution with Collected Papers on the Psychology of
Phantasy (1920).

There were Esther Harding, Eleanor Bertine, and Miss Beckingsale. Maurice Nicoll, who was a member of the original English group, later became an exponent of Ouspensky' s thought, and James Young, who started as a Jungian, became a follower of Alfred Adler.

Culver Barker, the doyen of the present Society of Analytical Psychology, completed the group.

For a considerable period Baynes alone had the stature and the powers of exposition needed to express the Jungian point of view effectively in scientific groups (Glover, 1957), and his addresses to
the Medical Section of the British Psychological Society, the Society for Psychical Research, the British Institute of Philosophical Studies, and the Folk-Lore Society make up the bulk of his collected papers published, seven years after his untimely death, as Analytical Psychology and the English Mind (1950).

His translations of Jung's works, particularly Psychological Types, Contributions to Analytical Psychology, and (in collaboration with Cary Baynes) Two Essays on Analytical Psychology, were for many years the main sources for the English reader.

His own considerable volume, Mythology of the Soul (1940), with its detailed description

of analytical material and demonstration of amplification, was the culmination of his work. Germany Possessed (1941), his personal reaction to the rise of the Nazis, introduced his name to a wide public.

Had Baynes been granted another twenty years of life, his doubts about the survival of analytical psychology in England, expressed in many ways in Analytical Psychology and the English Mind (1950), might have been allayed.

By then he would have had substantial evidence of the standing of Jung's work in academic, scientific, and artistic circles, and of its penetration to the wider circle of educated Englishmen.

Thus, Jung's eightieth birthday aroused considerable interest in this country.

A celebration held in London, under the chairmanship of Leopold Stein, was attended by a large number of distinguished representatives from the fields of art, philosophy, academic psychology, psychiatry, psycho-analysis, and literature.

C. A. Mace, representing academic psychology, paid tribute to the range of Jung's impact in a telling sentence: 'But I doubt if all the faculties of all the universities in the world are sufficient to comprehend
the total range of studies opened up or enlarged in the works of Jung' (1956, p. 189).

Arnold Toynbee, representing history, gave it as his opinion that 'Dr Jung's work offers a magnificent education for us historians' (1956, p. 194).

J.B. Priestley spoke for the arts; and Frances Wickes, Gerhard Adler, and Michael Fordham talked of the significance which Jung's work continued to hold for them.

As an addendum to the proceedings, a friendly but spirited cricket match was played between members of the Society of Analytical Psychology and representatives of the British Psychoanalytical
Society, a pleasant event indicative of the increasing rapprochement and capacity for communication between the two groups.

Jung's appearance in the BBC television series 'Face to Face' was the next major indicator of public interest.

The high quality of the film and the interviewing resulted in his personality making a powerful impact on viewers, and his exposition of his basic ideas and his views on the world situation impressed alike sophisticated listeners and those to whom his name had previously been unknown.

Jung's death, in June 1961, brought further evidence of his place in the esteem of the British public.

The BBC broadcast a number of informed commentaries on the significance of the event, and detailed evaluations of his life work appeared in all the major newspapers and many serious periodicals.

The Society of Analytical Psychology received a letter of condolence from the President of the British Psycho-Analytical Society, and the chairman of the Medical Section of the British Psychological Society, a distinguished psycho-analyst, suggested a memorial meeting of the Section.

This took place in November 1961, in the form of a symposium on Jung's later work.

These facts suggest that analytical psychology has attained an established place in specialist psychological circles, and an effort will be made to trace this development in detail.

First, a general comment is required on the mode of spread of Jung's work in this country.

Baynes and his co-workers must have established the root-growth soundly.

Subsequent development has depended on two main streams of influence;

(a) The effect of Jung's thought on large numbers of individuals through personal analysis, and on much greater numbers through study of his published work (much facilitated in recent years by the
serial appearance of the Collected Works in R. F. C. Hull's excellent translation) and that of his English followers.

The Guild of Pastoral Psychology, started by Kathleen Kitchen before the second world war, introduced Jungian speakers to wide audiences, and its series of published pamphlets made many important papers easily available.

Analytical psychology had considerable influence on the Oxford Psychology and Religion Society, on P.W. Martin's work (1955), and, of course, on the Withymead Centre, where the pioneering efforts of the Champernownes brought it to many who might otherwise never have heard of Jung.

Michael Fordham's The Life of Childhood (1944), Gerhard Adler's Studies in Analytical Psychology (1948), and Frieda Fordham's systematic exposition for the general reader (1953) reached a wide public, and by the time of their publication there were a number of analysts equipped to present the Jungian viewpoint to interested lay audiences, as well as to specialist societies. It may be maintained that the educated layman, meeting Jung's thought from reading, or from hearing a lecture, is in danger of misunderstanding, and I would endorse Fordham's view that Jung 'cannot be read enough' (1961a).

None the less, the wider dissemination of Jung's concepts in this country, to which his own Modern Man in Search of a Soul (1933) gave great impetus, helped to establish an intellectual climate favourable to the central growth of analytical psychology.

(b) The second stream stems from Jung's visits to Britain, from the efforts of the early analysts in this country, from the impact of Jung's work on British psychiatry and medical psychology, and from attempts to form centres devoted to continued study, research, teaching, and practice in analytical psychology.

JUNG ' S VISITS TO BRITAIN

It is a measure of the early recognition of Jung's work that he was invited to address the Annual General Meeting of the British Medical Association held at Aberdeen in July 1914.

His subject was 'On the Importance of the Unconscious in Psychopathology', and the timing could hardly have been better.

He elaborated in particular upon the compensatory function of the unconscious.

At the end of the first world war he returned to England, and addressed the Section of Psychiatry of the Royal Society of Medicine (with William McDougall in the chair); his topic was 'On Problems of Psychogenesis i.11. Disease' (r9r9).

He delivered a paper to the same body twenty years later 'On the Psychogenesis of Schizophrenia' (1939).

The consistency of his central interests is well illustrated here, and was borne out by the paper he wrote for the

Second International Congress of Psychiatry in 1957 (Jung, 1958).

In contrast with these formal medical occasions were two seminars held by Jung at Polzeathin 1923 and at Swanage in 1925.

These were reported byW. B. Crow, and the records are in the Library of the Analytical Psychology Club.

The Polzeath seminar dealt with the relationship between primitive and modern mentality, transference, occult phenomena, the structure of the psyche, and 'four forms of repression due to historical Christianity'.

At Swanage, Jung dealt with dream symbolism as 'a central problem of analysis and life', and the record gives a clear flavour of his vivid and erudite use of dream material.

In 1935 Jung returned to give five seminars at the Tavistock
Clinic in London.

His audience was a large and critical group of doctors, but Bennet (1961, p. 6) and Fordham (1961a) give us to understand that he held these spellbound, and that the highlight was his spontaneous discussion of transference.

His next visit was again formal, for he spoke to a meeting of the Abernethian Society at St Bartholomew's Hospital, London, in October 1936; his title was 'The Concept of the Collective Unconscious'.

In 1937 he returned to London to lecture on 'Psychology and National Problems'; and in the following year went to Oxford as chairman of a conference of the International General Medical Society for
Psychotherapy, where he outlined fourteen points upon which there was agreement in all schools of psychological thought.

His second visit to the Royal Society of Medicine in London (supra) just preceded the second world war.

It was a high tribute to the esteem felt for his work in scientific circles that Jung was invited to speak of it at the Tercentenary Celebration of the Royal Society in London in 1960.

Unfortunately, illness forced him to decline.

JUNG AND BRITISH PSYCHIATRY

Jung's standing in formal British psychiatry has been evaluated with authority by Aubrey Lewis (1957).

He makes it clear that it is the early Burgholzli work, covering the period 1902-1907, and largely available in Psychiatric Studies (Collected Works, Vols. 1 and 2), which holds the most significance, because of its direct application to pro bl ems of hysteria, schizophrenia, and other psychiatric syndromes.

This early work he considers 'a powerful contribution to psychiatry'.

His view that what Jung produced in the ensuing half-century 'needs to be considered in another framework and judged by other standards' implies a splitting in the development of Jung’s thought, an implication that Fordham (1958) has refuted.

Henderson and Gillespie, in the textbook (1947) which remained standard for British psychiatry for over twenty years, devote a few lines to Jung's view of the purposive nature of neurosis, and mention the Studies in Word Association.

The standard textbook which succeeded theirs (Mayer-Gross et al., 1954) dismisses Jung even more curtly.

Nicole (1946), in his general survey of schools of psychopathology, devotes a chapter to Jung's concepts, although clearly finding them inimical.

Again for him, the early work, and in particular Psychological Types and Studies in Word Association, have the most meaning, and it is probably true that these two works have had the greatest impact in the fields of academic and clinical psychology in Britain, particularly by their influence on Rorschach (1942), Eysenck (1947), and Klopfer (1956).

More recently, clinical psychologists in this country have shown that in the test situation (Strauss, 1961) or research procedure (Tatlow, 1958) a deeper grasp of Jung's views on the structure and dynamic function of the psyche is imperative.

The wider field of medical psychology has been most influenced by those analysts with the experience, and the facility of exposition, necessary to communicate meaningfully with psychotherapists
of other schools.

The Institute of Medical Psychology and seminars at the Tavistock Clinic provided opportunity for this; Kranefeldt of Berlin, whose book Secret Ways of the Mind was published in English in 1934, contributed seminars there in 1935, and English analytical psychologists followed suit.

Later, the Medical Section of the British Psychological Society in London became a major forum congenial to psychotherapists many shades of theoretical persuasion.

Its organ, the British Journal of Medical Psychology, gives a good indication of the range of topics and areas of conflict which prevailed from time to time, and bears witness to the fact that, following Baynes, other analytical psychologists began to make significant contributions.

These are too numerous to catalogue here, but mention may be made of symposia! meetings at which analytical psychologists shared the platform with psycho-analysts to discuss, in April and June 1948,
archetypes and internal objects (Fordham, Heimann, Adler, and Clifford Scott, 1949); and, later, counter-transference (Fordham, 1960a; Heimann, Winnicott, Strauss, and Little, 1960).

Another symposium in 1956 on Jung's contribution to analytical thought and practice (Fordham, Moody, and Plaut, 1956) drew a large audience and excited much interest; and in 1959, 1960, and 1961
analytical psychologists addressed audiences drawn from all sections of the British Psychological Society at its annual general meetings.

Fordham (1960b) and Plaut (1960) contributed to the Jung's Psychology in Britain volume of the British Journal of Medical Psychology which marked World Mental Health Year.

An indication of development is given also by the administrative history of the Section. E. A. Bennet was elected to the chair in 1938, at which time he advocated an 'individualistic method' in psychotherapy (Bennet, 1938).

Fordham held the chair in 1950, and Plaut and Jackson successively held the office in 1958 and 1959.

Over the past few years the committee of the Section has included a sizeable proportion of analytical psychologists.

Jung's seventieth birthday was marked by special contributions (Adler, Fordham, 1945); and when he reached eighty the British Psychological Society celebrated the event, and made him an honorary fellow.

At a special meeting of the Section the symposium mentioned above was presented (Fordham, Moody, Plaut, 1956).

In this forum, communication with psychotherapists of other schools, and especially with psycho-analysts, has certainly been possible, and seems likely to continue.

As Jackson (1960a) has emphasized, psycho-analysts on the whole have felt less need than analytical psychologists to study the concepts of the 'other school' seriously, and attempt assimilation.

There are noteworthy exceptions.

Informed and appreciative references to Jung's writings and those of his followers are beginning to appear in the bibliographies of psycho-analytic texts (e.g. Winnicott, 1958; Laing, 1960; Pincus, 1960).Winnicott's view of the relationship between the concept of archetypes and modern psycho-analytic ideas on 'the earliest theoretical primitive state' is striking; even more so is his feeling that 'we ought to modify our view to embrace both ideas'.

Of course psycho-analysts had, before this, read and written about Jung's work.

Nevertheless, only the assumption that a strong emotional bias, stemming from the break between Freud and Jung, was still operative can account for som~ of their evaluations.

The statement of Rickman (in a debate with Baynes in 1927, at the British Institute of Philosophical Studies) describing 'the Jungian method as depreciative not only of human personality in general, but of the particular personality under treatment' is an example (Rickman, 1957).

Another is provided by Glover's polemic (1950).

The Section of Psychiatry of the Royal Society of Medicine has shown its interest by its invitations to Jung, and the Society itself made him an Honorary Fellow.

In 1954 the Section heard a symposium on 'Theory and Practice in Analytical Psychology' (Bennet, Finigan, Storr, 1954).

This Section, however, has never been seriously concerned with the interchange of psychodynamic theory, although a number of analytical psychologists have in recent years been elected to its Council.

In the Royal Medico-Psychological Association the psychodynamic orientation has in the past not been strongly represented, but Jung was elected an honorary member in 1952.

In recent years analysts of various schools have played an increasingly prominent part in the Psychotherapy and Social Psychiatry Section, and Fordham spoke at its inaugural meeting.

A. Edwards was the £rst analytical psychologist to occupy the chair of that Section (in 1958), and Fordham was chairman for 1961-62. In 1959 Dennis Scott addressed the Section on 'A Conceptual Model of a Hospital as an Aid to the Everyday Handling of Psychotic Patients' (1962), and R. F. Hobson on 'The Analytic Attitude in Psychiatry' (unpublished).

In the same year Fordham (1959), together with a psycho-analyst, delivered a paper on 'Dynamic Psychology and the Care of Patients' and Jackson (I96ob) fol1owed this in November 1959 with a lecture on 'Jung's "Archetypes" and Psychiatry'.

These papers, with their emphasis on the analytic attitude towards the patient as a potential whole person, towards his symptoms as possibly synthetic forces, and towards the full implications of the doctor-patient relationship, are of clear importance for the young psychiatrist in training.

He is also likely to be influenced by those analytical psychologists who work in mental hospitals.

Thus the work of Scott, Edwards, and Gladstone at Napsbury Hospital, near London, has meant not only the application of analytical concepts to the diagnosis and treatment of patients ill enough to need admission to hospital, but also the provision of opportunity for the analytic evaluation of well established 'physical methods' of psychiatric treatment (Scott, D., 1950).

In this field the studies of Fordham (1945-6) and Plaut (1948) also merit mention.

' CENTRES ' OF ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY

History suggests that efforts to form groups of those actively interested in analytical psychology in this country have always met with difficulties, and that this cannot be attributed solely to the edominance of the introverted attitude.

Following Jung's seminars at the Tavistock Clinic in 1935, an abortive effort was made to start a medical group by Baynes, Bennet, and Kirsch.

About the same time a group, short-lived, was formed to study the use of the word association test.

However, the Analytical Psychology Club and the Society of Analytical Psychology alone have proved viable.

THE ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY CLUB

As a relatively new member I would not presume to make a critical analysis of the origins and status of the Analytical Psychology Club.

As Fordham (1961a) has pointed out, the Club was the first coherent body to represent analytical psychology in this country, inspired by Baynes, and with Culver Barker as its first chairman, followed by Fordham himself Its growth, from about twenty members in the 1920s to today's total of 162, is impressive.

Equally so is the standard of papers read to the Club; but even now the new analyst-member cannot fail to be aware of tensions within the group, and I for one am interested in Fordham's (1961a) suggestion that these are, at least in part, owing to the failure of the pioneer Jungian analysts to pay sufficient attention to transference analysis.

Fordham's paper contains convincing evidence that this was the case in the 1930s and, in spite of the generally good relationships that exist today between the Club and the Society of Analytical Psychology, traces of this problem remain.

For example, when a number of practising analysts were invited to take part in a weekend symposium in the autumn of 1959, a successful and enjoyable occasion, there was some
criticism that their contributions were 'too clinical'.

By 1936 the analysts had separated from the Club and, reinforced in numbers by refugee analysts from Europe, formed the Medical Society of Analytical Psychology (Fordham, 1958).

These were the medical analysts then in London (Barker, Baynes, Fordham, Kirsch, de Laszlo, and Rosenbaum); Adler and Wheelwright (not then medically qualified) made up the group.

This society formulated standards of training for analysts, which received the approval of analysts in Zurich, and were publicly proclaimed in 1939 by Baynes at a meeting of the Medical Section of the British Psychological Society on the subject of lay analysis.

This group, of which Fordham was chairman, was succeeded in 1945 by the foundation of the Society of Analytical Psychology, the articles of which were signed in that year (by Barker, Moody, Adler, Fordham, Metman, Paulsen, and Mrs Fordham).

THE SOCIETY OF ANALYTICAL PSYCHOLOGY

This was so CO)?.Structed that medical analysts had the controlling hand.

Only a medical analyst can· hold the chair of the Council and the executive committee, a position held to date by Fordham, Moody, Stein, Hobson, and Prince.

Not more than half of its members can be lay analysts, and today it consists of sixty-four members, of whom thirty-four are medically qualified.

This construction had in mind the attraction of psychiatrically trained doctors, and has been successful.

The majority of the medical members have had extensive training in psychiatry, and many are of sufficient status in the medical world to hold senior appointments in teaching and other hospitals, clinics, child guidance centres, and university departments.

The success was not due alone to the structure of the Society.

The prestige of Jungian analysis was rising steadily, and the status of a number of individual analysts in the psychiatric world contributed.

Special mention may be made of E. A. Bennet.

His appointment in 1948 as consultant psychotherapist to the Maudsley Hospital, and lecturer to its Institute of Psychiatry, was a landmark.

In the hospital he was a member of a team including distinguished psychotherapists of the psycho-analytic and other schools.

In the lectures Jung's principles were, for the first time, systematically expounded to postgraduate students not only from all over Britain, but from all over the world.

Oddly enough, in his capacity as lecturer to the School of Physic of Trinity College, Dublin, Bennet had been introducing medical undergraduates, and a number of Irish physicians, to Jung's ideas over the preceding decade.

Robert Hobson succeeded to Bennet's position at the Maudsley Hospital.

The resulting influx of psychiatrically trained candidates has had a double effect.

It produced changes within the Society, and led to a much wider dissemination of analytical psychology in a number of professional fields.

Thus, those psychiatrically trained individuals who came for training analysis reflected their views in their posts in hospitals and clinics, mainly around London, and some were able to establish psychotherapy clinics based on Jung's principles.

Further, many were able to impart their views, not only informally to members of their psychiatric team, but in a more systematic way to caseworkers of many sorts, who during this epoch were
turning increasingly to psychiatric units for further training.

Jung's basic concepts were included alongside other theories of personality development in at least one university course for postgraduate social workers (Prince, 1958).

Such dissemination led in turn to many professional social workers seeking personal analysis.

Within the Society the changes were complex.

The psychiatrically trained candidates brought with them in many cases in addition to biological background, medical experience, and their groundwork in clinical psychiatry-considerable knowledge
of psychopathology.

Moreover, many had been taught by, or had treated cases under supervision with, psycho-analysts of standing.

Although attracted by analytical psychology, few had failed to be convinced of the essential values of the psycho-analytic orientation and few had the inclination to abandon it in their thinking or
practice.

Some, misguidedly expecting a comprehensive psychopathological theory in Jung's work, were disappointed, and some were critical of the lack of clinical psychiatric orientation in some of their teachers.

A further complication was introduced by the nature of the cases which the candidates were required to analyse under supervision as an essential part of their training.

These were drawn mainly from the Clinic (the C. G. Jung Clinic), an important extension of the Society.

Through its existence the Clinic makes analysis available to many patients who could never contemplate it under the conditions of private practice.

Under the direction of Fordham (succeeded in 1961 by Hobson) it has attracted patients showing a wide range of clinical problems, few corresponding to the group upon which Jung's own experience was based, and seldom including the classical 'individuation' case.

Cases are referred to the C. G. Jung Clinic by hospitals, psychiatric clinics, general practitioners, psychotherapists, and members of the Society, and it represents a vital function of the Society in
providing a much-needed service to the community, but its clientele posed numerous problems for analytical technique.

The reaction of these factors upon candidates and teachers was productive.

Apart from supervision, formal training has been by two weekly seminars, one clinical, the other theoretical.

The candidates had much to learn, and learned gratefully, but they also demanded of the training analysts a clear formulation of concepts, and help in clarifying their ideas on the basic principles of
analytical practice.

This clarification is still under way, and may eventually compensate for Jung's own reluctance to write on 'analytical techniques'.

The seminar courses gradually became more organized and systematized, and sufficient experience of training and supervision has been accumulated to permit formulation of the problems involved, and the construction of theories in an attempt at their solution (Plaut, Newton, 1961; Fordham, r96rb).

There were changes, too, in the administrative structure of the Society.

Until the mid-195os the administration was in the hands of a small group of founder members, more or less corresponding to the recognized training analysts.

As the candidates became members in sufficient numbers, tension arose between them and the senior group.

Further, the senior group began to show evidence of splitting conflicts.

That transference and countertransference problems had a great deal to do with this seems probable.

Many conflictual issues arose over the topic of accepting or rejecting candidates for associate membership of the Society; lines of cleavage arose within the Society as a whole which suggested a 'transference-distribution' ; and it was not without significance that around this time a large number of members felt the need to form small, regular study groups for the study of transference problems in practice.

The outcome was a restructuring.

The executive and professional committees (the latter concerned with the selection, training, and approval of candidates, and matters of professional practice) were re-formed, and their members elected on a system giving proportional representation to the training analysts, the professional members, and the associate professional members.

Robert Hobson, a comparatively junior member, was elected chairman of the Council and executive committee, and, in spite of many stresses, emotional and practical (the latter including sudden loss of the Society's premises, and its eventual rehousing in its present satisfactory quarters), steered it successfully through the next four years.

Internal conflicts have not been painless, but there is evidence that the viability of the Society has continued.

A great deal has been learnt and applied on effective methods of procedure.

There is a continuing effort to refine criteria for the acceptance of candidates for training and eventual membership, and questions of the ethics of practice have been studied.

The Journal of Analytical Psychology, now in its eighth year, has expanded in range and in circulation.

A survey of contributions from English analysts gives good indication of the way in which their interests over the past decade have turned increasingly to problems of transference and counter-transference, and of ego development, structure, and dynamics ( a development paralleled in the psycho-analytic literature), and the need to link Jung's basic concepts to psychopathological theory.
A similar pattern shows in the contributions of the English group to the First International Congress in Zurich in 1958 (Adler, Ed., 1961a).

Fordham's (1944) early interest in the development of the psyche in childhood led him to develop the analytical method in the analysis of children; from this original work emerged his contributions
to the theory of early ego development which appear among his collected papers (Fordham, 1957, 1958).

These bring the concepts of analytical psychology into close relationship with newer psycho-analytic theory, especially with the work of Melanie Klein, Winnicott, and Fairbairn.

A number of other members of the Society are interested in developmental psychology and the analysis of children and adolescents (Hawkey, 1945, 1947, 1951, 1955; Tate, 1958, 1961; Aldridge, 1959), and an active Children's Section has evolved.

The discussion of child analysis has entailed, inevitably, efforts to relate infantile sexuality to the theory of archetypes.

Further productivity is evidenced by the appearance of books by members in the last few years (Adler, 1961 b; Bennet, 1961 ; Storr, 1960).

Numerically, the Society has increased in size from the original handful of founder members to a total membership of over sixty, of whom thirty-four are medically qualified.

The relationship between medical and lay analysts is good, and the Journal of Analytical Psychology will bear witness to the fact that much original work has been produced by non-medical members.

The cooperation between lay and medical analysts is exemplified by the roles of Robert Moody and Gerhard Adler in the organization of the International Association for Analytical Psychology:
Moody chaired the First International Congress with distinction, and held the post of president until forced to vacate it by ill health; Adler, vice-president of the Association, edited the Congress
papers (Adler, Ed., 1961a).

Although the Society is situated in London, and most of its members practise there, a few have established themselves in other parts of Britain.

Irene Champernowne' s work in Devon has already been mentioned, and Layard worked in Oxford before recently transferring to Cornwall.

Amy Allenby works at Oxford as well as in London, and has had the interesting experience of attending a residential centre for neurotic patients connected with the Anglican Church (Allenby, 1961).

Cutner practises in Worcester, and till his death in 1961 Greenbaum practised in Manchester.

Leopold Stein distributes his time between London and Birmingham.

In Scotland, Abenheimer, although not a member of the Society, has represented the Jungian viewpoint for many years, and has clearly influenced some of the young, dynamically minded psychiatrists of the Glasgow school (Laing, 1960), while the staff of the Davidson Clinic in Edinburgh has always been interested in Jung's approach.

Two of its members, Kraemer and von der Heydt, have in recent years come to London and become members of the Society.

OTHER REACTIONS TO JUNG'S WORK

Besides these two main streams of spread there are others, which cannot be adequately dealt with within the compass of this paper.

However, they need mention if a sense of balance is to be conveyed.

Jung's significance for Toynbee (Toynbee, 1934, 1956, 1959) takes on a greater importance when we think of Jung as the historian of the psyche.

In England, as elsewhere, his original ideas made considerable impact on creative artists and critics of many kinds, some of whom have assimilated these ideas in a way which has shown effect in their own work. Herbert Read, J. B. Priestley, and Kathleen Raine are among the most widely known.

British theologians have reacted to Jung's work in a variety of ways.

In the Oxford Psychology and Religion Society analytical psychology had an influence which has already been mentioned; and opportunity for discussion between analysts and theologians has been frequent at meetings of the Guild of Pastoral Psychology, the Analytical Psychology Club, and elsewhere.

This interchange has not been without friction, and it is clear that conflict is caused not only by conceptual and linguistic differences ( although bedevilment with words is particularly obvious in this sphere).

In January 1960 a joint meeting of the Analytical Psychology Club and the Society of Analytical Psychology took place, on the theme of psychology and religion.

The major contributions (Fordham, 1960c; Lambert, 196o;White, 1960b) give good indication of how the issues stand today.

A survey of reviews of books by theologians is also helpful in this respect.

The English theologians who have attracted most attention are White (1952, 1960a), Philp (1958), and Cox (1959, 1961).

Informal meetings between theologians and analytical psychologists, often in the form of regular group discussions, are another indication of mutual interest.

British educationalists have, on the whole, taken less interest in the work of Jung than in that of Freud and Adler.

A notable exception is Henderson (1956), who has summarized for teachers Jung's educational ideas (Collected Works, Vol. 17).

In addition, he offers some striking comments on the mental health of teachers, based on analytical psychology, and suggests an ingenious curriculum aimed at putting the child in contact with the archetypes appropriate to his stage of development.

This brief review suggests that Jung's work has taken root in Britain, and that Freud's description of it as an attempt against psycho-analysis that had 'blown over without doing any harm' (Freud, 1935) did justice neither to the value of Jung's contribution nor to its relevance to his own.

Much husbandry, however, is needed, before the full growth of analytical psychology in Britain can be expected.

It is apparent that there are two branches.

One, represented by the Analytical Psychology Club, might be called the sociocultural, carrying the fruit of Jung's influence on individuals and groups, and manifest in the spheres of art, history,
religion, and anthropology.

The other is the clinical-scientific, represented by the Society of Analytical Psychology.

That these are branches of the same trunk is shown by the fact that two-thirds of the analysts in the Society are members also of the Club, and frequently contribute to its work as lecturers or in discussion.
Fordham's (1958) aspiration that 'the Analytical Psychology Club and the group of analysts could together form an embracing unity' has not been fulfilled, but they are twin centres in good communication with each other, and it seems likely that their collaboration will be fruitful.

The Club fulfils a function that the Society could not, at present, accommodate.

There the widest implications of analytical psychology can be discussed and debated, without stricture by collective obligations or circumscription by the demands of analytical practice.

Fordham's fear that the Society might come to stand for analytical psychology reduced to a branch of medicine does not appear to have been well founded.

That the majority of practicing analysts belong to the Club, and have found libido to invest in it, while founding, organizing, and building up the Society, with its responsibility to patients and trainees alike, speaks eloquently for the need to relate to Jung's work as much more than a psychopathological theory or a therapeutic technique.

In retrospect, it is difficult to see how a separation, at least temporary, between the Club and the analysts could have been avoided.

In 1944, when Fordham's paper was written, the standing of analytical psychology in the English medical world was in the balance.

The National Health Service had not yet arrived, and attitudes, both popular and official, towards mental illness and its treatment were relatively primitive.

In spite of the far-ranging implications of Jung's work in its later stages, it had to be faced that its origins were in psychiatry, and that it would be judged by its applicability to that field.

The practising analysts, and the Society which developed from them, needed a new temenos within which to work on this aspect of the development of analytical psychology.

Further, work had to be done on the transference, in both its personal and social aspects, and it is hard to see how this could have been accomplished within the Club.

The opus facing the Society is clear.

It is well established, materially and socially.

It is recognized by the British medical profession, and by the public, as a centre of significant and responsible research and therapeutic endeavour.

It has over sixty members, most of them well established in various professional fields, but all with libido to spare for the Society.

It offers, as does the Institute of Psycho-Analysis, the special service of analytical treatment for a small proportion of those who need it at nominal fees.

It does not seem inappropriate to suggest that it must continue to focus on the application of Jung's thought to mental illness and its treatment, to closing the gaps in psychopathological theory, and to refining the precepts of analytical practice.

It represents analytical psychology to other schools of psychotherapeutic practice, and must prove worthy of this position.

In particular, the fact that psycho-analysts of advanced views find that they can talk meaningfully with some of its members should not be undervalued.

The split between Freud and Jung may have been a historical necessity; it has been productive of a great deal that is of value, and at the same time has tragically delayed many advances in human understanding.

It is possible that the rapprochement between the Jungians and Freudians of today may lead to a picking up of threads long dropped.

Study of the Journal of Analytical Psychology will make it clear that many of Jung's concepts are under constant and constructive critical review.

Digestion of his thought is very necessary, and the Society must be the place in Britain where this has to be accomplished in the first instance.

It is also important that the Society contains the largest number of Jungians with a basic scientific and biological training.

Jung's work needs to be related to other branches of science, and the efforts of Storr (1955) to link it up with cybernetics and of Fordham (1957) with contemporary biology must be expanded.

Possibly the biggest obstruction to the flow of Jung's work is the persistent myth of 'Jung the mystic'; as elsewhere, this exercises an influence in Britain today.

The other myth of 'Jung the anti-semite' recently raised its head in the New Statesman, a responsible periodical, where it was scotched by Gerhard Adler, Herbert Read, and others.

The answer would seem to be thorough study of his writings, and the submission of his concepts to the tests of contemporary science.

When it is realized that much of his later work, including that on synchronicity, is assayable by statistical and mathematical methods, it may be that academic psychologists will revive their interest in Jung, and find his concepts verifiable by such methods, as did Eysenck (1947) with Jung's typology.

Thorough study of his work is possible only for those who respond to his vision with the heart as well as the head, but devotion to it seems his fitting memorial.

We need not weep for the man who could say 'If the old were not ripe for death, nothing new would appear'. ~G. Stewart Prince, Jung’s Psychology in Britain, Contact with Jung, Pages 41-58