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A Life of Jung
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What was Carl Gustav Jung really like? Barbara Hannah in "Glimpses" described him this way in the quote and Hayman agreed that this was a general opinion of those who met him in person.
[page 3] 'This man is as natural as any peasant, and yet he has also the most remarkable mind I have ever met.' In descriptions of Jung, the words peasant and natural keep recurring.
Here are some typical first impressions from those who met him in his natural and peasant milieu, except for the first time he met Emma in her family's elegant estate, but even there his peasant nature shown true.
[page 62] He danced with Emma in the turreted courtyard, but did not make a favourable impression. He was wearing a cardboard collar, and his manners, like his clothes, were inelegant. Fortunately for him, this did not alienate her mother, who invited him to visit them again.
[page 295, 296] Arriving on a cold evening, she [Barbara Hannah] found him cooking in the kitchen, wearing a long Oriental robe and looking like 'an old alchemist at work among his retorts . . . I seemed to be back in the Middle Ages, with the lamp and firelight making a small illuminated circle in what struck me that evening as a huge circular circumference of darkness.' In fact the kitchen was quite small. Fanatical about cooking, Jung would sometimes use sixteen ingredients in a sauce. . . . He said nothing when she arrived, and she was too timid to break the silence. It seemed to her that two or three hours passed before she said, 'I am scared stiff, and he replied only with a faint smile. Eventually he gave her a drink, which he called a 'sundowner'. When the three [including Emma] of them finally sat down to eat and drink at the round table, the silence continued, apart from 'a few appreciative gruntlike murmurs'. Jung, who had never discarded his mother's belief that conversation was disrespectful to good food, said: 'Oh, well, you already know how to enjoy your food, that is one thing I shall not have to teach you!'
[page 333] [He gave psychiatrist Charles Rycroft the impression of being:] a direct man, down-to-earth even when scaling the heights or plumbing the depths, a countryman more at home with peasants and aristocrats than with urban middle-class intellectuals, too virile and familiar with the facts of nature to have much time for those sex cases which so interested Freud, but none the less, as befits a pastor's son, heir to the Christian spiritual tradition.
[page 340] She liked Jung and describe him as 'big, fat, old, bespectacled, the kind of man who gives you all his attention . . . Everything that I needed to be told I was told, and with such insight and spirituality that I, at last, understood -- not only understood but accepted. The man is inspired, really.'
[page 346] In the discussion at the end of his lecture, he was asked who his patients really were. Taken by surprise, he answered: "I am Herr Jung and nobody else, and here is Miss So-and-so. It would not be pleasant if one could not treat such sick persons. Besides, I have a certain enthusiasm for work . . . If some kind of idiot arrives at the door, it arouse the explorer in me, the curiosity, my spirit of adventure, my compassion. It touches my heart, which is too soft, as it usually is with people of my size. They try to hide it, but like fools, they fail, and I enjoy seeing what I can achieve with these crazy people."
The organizer, Rudi Daur, afterwards paid tribute to his 'refreshing honesty' and 'wonderful earthy matter-of-factness.'
[page 432] He was eighty, but still behaved like a boy. At Bollingen he dug up a potato to show the Fordhams how big it was, and he could not conceal his pride in having an outside lavatory in a hut.
[page 433] At the age of eighty-three Jung was still vigorous. A summer visitor to Bollingen was shown into the garden, where she heard wood being chopped behind a wall. The sound stopped before she saw a 'strong-bodied, white-haired eighty-three-year-old man in his green workman's apron, seated before the chopping block.' He told her he had found the way to live there 'as part of nature' in his own time. 'When a man begins to know himself, to discover the roots of his past in himself, it is a new way of life.'
Jung always looked behind objects and events to the unknown forces that lay hidden behind them and were only revealed in them. In regard to the events of the world, he liked to watch without disturbing them, if possible.
[page 428, 429] If he could not find his tobacco jar, he would say it had been 'magicked away again.' He was jocularly echoing a phrase used by a patient at the Burghölzi, but he believed objects had a will of their own, and it was better not to look for them when they disappeared. They would turn up when they wanted to. His principle was: 'Don't interfere,' and if a smouldering match flared up in the ashtray, he would be annoyed if Jaffé tried to blow it out. He preferred to watch: it might set light to some of the other rubbish. Like Lévy-Bruhl's primitives, he believed that since nothing happened by accident, any unusual event had religious significance. He was therefore permanently on the lookout for the unexpected.
Jung had a fascination with fire that went back to his earliest youth. While reading this next passage, I realized that Jung had a fire that never went out -- from his earliest youth to his final years. That led me to write a poem, "I Have a Fire", which can be read by clicking the title.
[page 14] He protected himself by devising quasi-magical rituals that involved playing with fire. The old stone walls in the garden were pocked with crevices like miniature caves. In one of these he lit a fire, intending never to let it go out. [RJM: Jung had a fire that never went out. That was my inspiration for the first line.] He allowed other children to help him collect wood, but not to put it on the flames. They could make fires in other crevices, but his 'had an unmistakable flavour of sanctity'. Symbolically it was his inner self. [RJM: this, too] 'For a long time this was my favorite game.' When psychotics have no opportunity to play with fire, they often talk about it. According to R. D. Laing, 'Fire may be the uncertain flickering of the individual's own inner aliveness. It may be the destructive alien power which will devastate him.'
Each of us, rightly understood, have a fire inside of us, a physical fire which keeps us warm and its concomitant spiritual fire known as our "I Am" which carries our individuality from lifetime to lifetime. Jung came to know this fire as the psyche of the human being, and to aver its reality. Others interpreted the word psyche as a purely personal affair, a by-product of the brain. At Yale, he straightened them out on this score.
[page 347] At Yale, discussing the psyche, he said that though its connection with the brain was 'undeniable', it was 'a fatal mistake to regard the human psyche as a purely personal affair'. When symbols such as quaternity crop up in their dreams, people ignorant of the symbol's history 'took it to symbolise themselves or rather something in themselves. They felt it belonged intimately to themselves as a sort of creative background, a life-producing sun in the depths of the unconscious.' The source of this proprietorial error was 'the prejudice that God is outside man'. It was clear to Jung that 'the quaternity is a more or less direct representation of the God who is manifest in his creation. We might therefore conclude that the symbol spontaneously produced in the dreams of modern people means something similar -- the God within.' It also 'points directly . . . To the identity of God and man.'
At the same young Carl was playing with fire in holes in the stone wall, he was having anxiety dreams. This next passage evokes the 1960s TV series The Prisoner which began each episode with the image of a ball floating up from the sea which would approach any prisoner who tried to escape and suffocate them till they were brought back to the Village of imprisonment. This Village represented to faithful TV viewers the straits of their daily life, from which they longed to be freed, but always the monstrous ball was there to surface from the depths to retrieve them. I recognized the Prisoner in myself, and for years kept an eye for some way to escape from the Village in which I had become incarcerated. When the time was ripe, I was ready -- I already knew that it would require some bold move on my part to escape the Village of Cultural Encrustations and achieve an authentic life in freedom. Each generation creates its unique vision of escape from its own Village of Suffocation.
[page 15] Sometimes he saw a tiny ball in the distance; and as it came nearer, it grew into something monstrous and suffocating.
Entering the medical school at Basel University in 1895, Jung came upon one of the great ideas of his life, "the overall evolution of humanity was reiterated in the anatomy of each individual." This can be seen to be a subset of the concept that "ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny."
[page 30] His syllabus would include organic and inorganic chemistry, physics, optics, mechanics and electricity, but most of his time would be given to zoology and biology. The professor, Friedrich Zschokke, had taken over the department two years earlier at the age of thirty-two, and had made the course on 'comparative anatomy' into one on comparative zoology. Zschokke believed the overall evolution of humanity was reiterated in the anatomy of each individual. He spoke about 'the geology of the person', maintaining that everything in the human body can be traced down the evolutionary ladder.
It was popularised a few years later in The Riddles of the Universe by Haeckel, a biologist who argued that 'ontogenesis recapitulates phylogenesis', meaning that the lifelong development of the individual human body goes through the same stages as the evolution of the human race. In 1899 Haeckel had proposed a 'phylogenetic psychology' focused on 'the phylogeny of the soul'. If the development of human thought could be shown to parallel biological evolution, the new science of psychology would illuminate the history of humanity.
In my study of the science of doyletics, I use Zschokke's thesis to postulate a doylic memory and cognitive memory which evolved during evolution of humankind. The doylic memory was the only memory available before and during Neanderthal times and cognitive memory (which everyone usually calls just "memory") during and after Cro-Magnon times which marked the onset of a fully developed and functional neocortex in humankind. How this plays out in our individual lifetimes today is described in my essay, "Childhood of Humanity", which is available to read by clicking on the title. This essay represents my attempt to "illuminate the history of humanity" with "a new science of psychology" and physiology, the science of doyletics. I believe earnestly that the results we can demonstrate with doyletics answers this question in the passage above, "Can the development of human thought be shown to parallel biological evolution?" with a resounding, Yes!
What did Jung mean by archetype? One can look up definitions in the dictionary, in the encyclopedia, and get a flattened-out statement of the word means. Or one can seize on Jung's own examples of archetypes and look for their power in one's own life. I encountered a process I call "remember the future" where future events reveal themselves to us in feelings we have. If we lose an cherished object for many years and then find it again, how do we feel? Suddenly good feelings come flooding into us -- all the people, memories, and events associated with the newly found object create feelings in us. Suppose, for the sake of argument, that we can also remember the future? Now suppose that we come upon a person or an object which will be a cherished treasure for the rest of our life? How might we feel? The same way we felt about the cherished object we lost and had returned to us! This the process I call "Remembering the Future." What Jung illustrates the process of remembering the future and posits the found object to be an archetype.
[page 37] He later had this to say about 'falling love at first sight'. 'The archetype is a force. It has an autonomy and it can suddenly seize you . . . You see, you have a certain image in yourself without knowing it, of woman, of the woman. You see that girl, or at least a good imitation of your type and instantly you get a seizure and you are gone.'
Each time we receive a feeling from an archetype or some memory of the future, we have before us a seed of new knowledge that we must embrace with warmth and acceptance if it is to grow in some useful fashion. (Page 45) Jung told his peers in a lecture in 1896, that 'we have a sacred duty to protect the youthful seed of awakening knowledge from the fatal frost of indifference.' (Page 39) Even Kant knew something of remember the future when he wrote that the human mind is prejudiced, that we weigh evidence in scales that are inaccurate: 'the lever inscribed "Future hopes" has the mechanical advantage.'
Hayman is a great champion of consistency and uses it as a swagger stick to poke Jung in the ribs whenever he perceives him deviating from the straight and narrow path of consistency. On page 46, Hayman says, "This is consistent with a statement he made thirty-eight years later." Hayman seemed to insist on Jung's evidence be consistent with what Hayman or some objective third-party (never identified explicitly) would accept and anything less than that was unacceptable. On page 350, he writes, "But Jung provides no evidence for his conclusion that the majority of ordinary Hindus look at the world as if it were a mere show, and that they practice yoga and meditation." Let's face it, Hayman didn't understand that Jung is the evidence! On page 415 Hayman details a series of events in Jung's life involving the synchronistic appearance of a fish in various forms. It illustrates a lack of understanding of synchronicity by Hayman when later he refers to the fish story thus: "Like Jung's story about fish, this is so inconclusive as hardly to be worth telling." He quotes Aniela Jaffé as saying, "He also cheated when playing patience. 'It had to come out right.'" If I may hazard a guess as to how Jung would answer this criticism, he would say, "I was merely bending the rules to see how much of a bend would make it come out right." This is a strategy I often use to increase my pleasure while playing Solitaire — if it doesn't come out right at first, while the layout is yet on the table, I see if it takes one rule bending to do the trick, or two, or how many? How close was I to making it perfect? It is not cheating to ask a legitimate question about life, and someone who follows the rules religiously will never seek or get an answer to that question unless they judiciously learn to bend the rules from now on.
Once in a public speech, Jung said that he saw the unconscious as ‘a vast historical storehouse’ while Freud saw it as ‘chiefly a receptacle for things repressed.’ About this comment of Jung's Hayman makes this blatant statement in the next passage, in which one can only find meaning if one supposes that Hayman required a consistency in Jung in all of his pronouncements. In other words, Hayman claims that having once alienated a colleague, one should, for consistency sake, continue to do so at every opportunity. This approach to exposition by Hayman tells us worlds about his own approach to life and very little about Jung that is useful. A consistency that is admirable to a biographer’s profession may be deadly to a psychiatrist’s profession.
[page 337, 338] He was too diplomatic to repeat his assertion that Freud's psychology was suitable for Jews and his for Aryans. Instead, he said Freud's was useful for those in quest of sex, and Adler's to those in quest of power.
"And Jung's to those in quest of the spirit," Del added as she read my review.
In the page 333 quote above, Hayman omits noting whether the psychiatrist Charles Rycroft, who disparages Jung's disdain for "sex cases," was a Jew like Freud. As for any inconsistency, no doubt Jung throughout his life was heeding the advice of Emerson in his essay "Self-Reliance" that "a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines." Emerson continues:
"With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. -- 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' -- Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood."
In this next criticism, Hayman seems to be asking that Jung give up his own theory about archetypal images in dreams. He would have Jung, in effect, remove all his clothes so that Hayman could pronounce him naked. After all, whose theory is it that Jung depends upon? Theories are conceived hypotheses, not pre-conceived opinions. Preconceived opinions are those that Jung was exhorting people to give up in order to understand their dreams from his conceived hypothesis or theory.
[page 332, 333] Though he [Jung] insists it is essential to 'give up all preconceived opinions when it comes to the analysis and interpretation of the objective psyche, in other words the "unconscious" ', his interpretations are nearly all based on his theory that archetypal images find their way from the collective unconscious into dreams.
This next passage describes Freud's manifest content and latent content of memory and postulates that repression of latent content causes childhood amnesia around five years old.
[page 56] Maintaining that memories and fantasies from early childhood surface in the hallucinations that constitute dreams, Freud distinguishes between their manifest content (what the dreamer remembers) and their latent content ( underlying wishes and fears). What Freud calls 'dreamwork' consists of bringing the latent content to the surface. The object is to sidestep dream censorship -- the sleeping equivalent to repressions that protect us from being disturbed by fantasies and wishes which originate in early life. This why we forget both early childhood experiences and dreams.
With the advent of doyletics, we can now understand that there are two kinds of memory: doylic memory and cognitive memory. Doylic memory, according to the basic hypothesis of doyletics, is memory stored before five years old and the contents of doylic memory are the bodily states associated with a child's experiences: heart rate, respiration rate, internal organ homeostasis, and all the components that go into what are generally called feelings, emotional states, or affect. These components in doyletics are called doyles. These doyles are stored during events which occur before one is five-years-old, but never stored thereafter. Why never thereafter? Because after five, one stores cognitive memories, what everyone calls simply 'memories' in the by-then fully functional neocortex. Doylic memories stored before five, cognitive memories stored thereafter. But after five, both types of memory, doylic and cognitive memory are retrieved, the doylic memory unconsciously and the cognitive memory consciously. One can begin to see that doylic memories comprised most if not all of what Freud and his followers called "latent content" and cognitive memories comprised all of what they called manifest content.
During Freudian dreamwork, the doylic memories would be triggered by some word association or free association process and thus "surface". It is not that we forget early childhood experiences and dreams, but rather that those pre-five experiences are only stored in doylic memory. Cognitive memory we do have conscious access to, as we are able to recall our birthday party at, say, nine years old. Doylic memory is always present to be called up but only if some component of that memory presents itself in our life.
An example from my personal experience will help for you to understand this process. Since a child, whenever I laid back on a beach towel with nothing overhead, if I looked up at the sky, I would suddenly feel as though I were going to fly off the face of the Earth! This was doylic memory at work. I could stop the sensation by closing my eyes. When I removed the doyle with the process I call a speed trace, I got a dim image of some adult throwing me up into the air face up as a two-year-old boy. The proprioceptive doyles of moving upward toward the sky were stored in connection with seeing the sky overhead while on my back. If I opened my eyes, the doyle was triggered immediately; if I closed them the doyles ceased. When I did the trace, the doylic memory got replaced by the cognitive memory -- which I did not have at age two, but had during the trace, so in the future my seeing of the sky overhead while on my back has caused the cognitive memory to arise instead of the objectionable doyles of the "being tossing into the air" experience of two-year-old me.
What Freudians were bringing to the surface and calling latent content were simply doyles stored before five years old. Bring a doyle to the surface often enough and an unconscious doyle trace will possibly be effected and the doyle will no longer rise as latent content from then on. A conscious removal of a doyle by a speed trace can be done in about a minute or so, while an unconscious removal of a doyle by psychoanalysis may take years. The doyle can be triggered over and over again, but unless the person is allowed, encouraged, or taught to hold onto the doyle and go back a few years at a time from their current age to below five years old, to an age before the age the doyle of the original event was stored, the doyle will remain stored or latent. It is as though one must walk down the labyrinth of one's memory, staying on the one path over which the doyle is present at all times, and to cross the original event as they go back in time. They cross the original event possessing something they did not have during the original event: cognitive memory capability by virtue of their now fully functional neocortex! The neocortex makes a cognitive memory of the original event they encounter on the path and thereafter the cognitive memory arises in response to the same stimuli that previously triggered the doyle.
When Brill arrived at the Burghölzi as a new psychiatrist, he reported a phenomenon I experienced back in the 1970s when I studied the nascent field of Neuro-Linguist Programming with Richard Bandler and John Grinder. During lunch, we participants in NLP seminars would meet and try out all the latest techniques on each other. I called it "neophyte fever" as I began to distance myself from the process.
[page 97] Our conversation at meals was frequently punctuated with the word 'complex' . . . No one could make a slip of any kind without immediately being called on to evoke free associations to explain it.
In the next passage Hayman follows the path of the typical materialistic scientist when he attributes a reason for early humankind's worship of the Sun as a God. These early humans had the ability to perceive directly the presence of God in the Sun; it is only in modern times that we have devolved into labeling early humans "primitive" and attributing to them a "perception of their dependence" upon the Sun. The concept of "dependence upon the Sun" for our energy is a modern concept that arose only since the 15th Century; certainly no early humans had the concept. They saw directly the spiritual reality of God in the Sun. Since we modern humans lack the ability to see spiritual realities, an ability that faded in humankind especially since the 15th Century, we mistakenly project unto early humans a conceptual ability that it was impossible for them to have.
[page 133] Another influence on Jung is that of the Sanskrit scholar Friedrich Max Müller, who contended that among the Aryans -- a term he popularized -- all mythological systems were based on the orbiting of the Earth around the sun, and on the sun worship that developed from primitive man's perception of his dependence upon it. . . . 'To honor God, the sun or the fire is to honour one's own vital force, the libido.'
In his novel Demian Hermann Hesse creates a hero, Emil Sinclair, whose "name suggests a combination of sin and enlightenment," and write the firs Jungian novel.
[page 210] The main theme is stated in the prologue: 'Each man's life is a way towards himself. . . . Till the end everyone goes on carrying residue from his birth -- slime an eggshell from a primeval world.' But, as Sinclair discovers, 'Nothing in the world is more disturbing to a man than following the path that leads him to himself.' Jung's ideas of individuation and the collective unconscious are being crystallised into fiction. In November 1917, while having the last of his sessions with Lang, Hesse was working at the novel which he completed by the end of the year.
Did Jung get upset that some novelist had coopted his entire theory of psychology and wrote a novel using it? One would miscalculate egregiously if one were to think so. He was delighted. Just as if it were a personal patient of his creating an artwork that allowed him to achieve individuation. Only someone who did not understand Jung would call what Hesse did "shameless plagiarism" -- the way Hayman does below:
[page 211] Instead of being troubled, as most people would have been, by the shameless plagiarism, Jung was delighted to find so many of his formulations fitting snugly into a system devised by another mind. He called the book 'masterly as well as veracious', praising the ending "where everything that has gone before runs truly to its end, and everything with which the book began begins over again -- with the birth and awakening of the new man. The Great Mother is impregnated by the loneliness of him that seeks her. In the shellburst she bears the 'old' man into death and implants in the new the everlasting monad, the mystery of individuality."
When I wrote my essay "Art is the Process of Destruction" I had not read Demian or I might have included the following quotation from the novel in my essay. Demian is talking and says, "Dreams can be prophetic." He senses that the "old world is about to collapse" and says, "I can smell death. Nothing new happens without death." In the process of destruction, even in the horrors of war, a newness of life can be seeded. In my essay, I write that "art is the process of the destruction of sameness." One of the ways sameness appears in society is in the values that people hold dear. This resonates with the thoughts of Nietzsche, Jung, and Sabina Spielrein:
[page 137] Nietzsche had written: 'Whoever wants to be creative in good and evil must first be an annihilator and destroy values,' but Jung excitedly thought he and Sabina had discovered that what looks like destruction may be creation: something must die for something else to be born. She titled her essay 'Destruction as a Cause of Coming into Being.'
Another example of how Nietzsche's way of thinking found its way into Jung's life is given in this quote of Jolande Jacobi. In this quote, read chaos as referring to a "destruction of sameness" which releases exciting possibilities, i. e., 'gives birth to a dancing star'.
[page 340] Summing up Jung's attitude to what was going on in Germany, Jolande Jacobi said: 'His idea was that chaos gives birth to good or to something valuable. So in the German movement he saw a chaotic (we could say) precondition for the birth of a new world.' He may have been remembering Nietzsche's dictum that chaos gives birth to a dancing star.
Suppose the sameness is a long dry spell in a village. How might one destroy that sameness? Destruction of sameness does not require an explosion or a flurry of activity. Sometime the simplest actions can achieve the desired result. Take this old story that Richard Wilhelm, the translator of the I-Ching, brought to the West from China:
[page 246] Jung was impressed by Wilhelm's story about a drought which lasted so long that the suffering villagers sent for a rainmaker. After demanding a cottage on the outskirts of the village, the old man stayed indoors for three days. On the fourth day a heavy downpour of rain was followed by snow, which was unusual at that time of the year. Asked what he had done, he said nothing. Coming from a place where everything happened as it should, he could see the villagers were 'out of providence and out of themselves'. He therefore wanted to stay as far as possible from the center of the village, and once he was in Tao again, the rain came. The word Tao means approximately way or path. Wilhelm usually translated it as Sinn (meaning). Tao can be seen as 'the ongoing, self-renewing and purposive energy of life, continually creating as it moves.'
Jung was impressed by this story. Were you impressed by the story? What does impressed by a story mean? To me, it means that the process described into the story moved deeply into Jung and he began to operate like the old man in the story, maybe he already was operating this way and that's what impressed him so. In his practice typically, a woman who was experiencing a drought in her life would come to him for help. Jung would approach her drought-stricken village and spend time on its outskirts. He would feel her village's drought within himself and change himself so that rain began to fall within himself. At that point rain would fall into the woman's village. When this kind of thing happens, it seems to be a miracle because to the conscious mind, just as to the villagers, nothing was done.
Recently I was introduced to a field of healing called Ortho-Bionomy which is characterized by "nothing being done". A person comes in with a hurting muscle. The healer moves the person's body to a position of comfort, hangs out there for a while, and the muscle no longer hurts. Think of the person as the village, the healer as the old man in the story. The hurting muscle as the drought. The healer takes a position is the outskirts of the village, experiences the hurting muscle, releases the hurting within the healer's own body, and the muscle ceases to hurt in the person's body. With the villagers, the rain that comes indicates that something proceeded out of the nothing the old man did. With Ortho-Bionomy, the relief that comes to the muscle indicates that something proceeded from the nothing the healer did.
In making salads over the years I evolved into creating what I call "mandala salads" -- these are salads in which instead of tossing all the ingredients together, I layer the ingredients, usually ending with the three topmost layers being sliced mushrooms, sliced tomato, and sliced avocado. Using a round bowl, the arrangement of the green avocado slices on top of the red tomato suggests a mandala and begs for a unique artistic presentation each time I make one. This one shows the quaternity or division into four parts.
[page 212] Making sketches in a small circular patterns and believing they represented the restoration of inner peace to the self. He called them by the Sanskrit word mandala (circle). The circular form had always appealed to him, and he found it soothing to go on drawing these figures. 'The archetype that is constellated represents a pattern of order which is superimposed on the psychic chaos like a psychological viewfinder marked with a cross or a circle divided into four. Each element then falls into place, and the seething confusion is protectively encircled.' This idea was important to him: 'I knew that in finding the mandala as the symbol of the self I had achieved the most that was possible for me.' Involving concentric circles, many of the mandalas Jung painted imply a unity that embraces the whole of created life. In thinking of them as symbols of the self, Jung was assuming that individuality should be complete in itself and independent of relationships with other people.
Jung is famous for his lectures at the Eranos conferences. I was amazed to discover that the
word eranos is a Greek word which means a banquet to which each guest is expected to contribute
something such as a speech, a poem, a song, or a lecture. Our world today is better off because Jung
came its banquet and contributed something out of himself. We are each warmed by his fire that would
not go out, whether we studied his work directly or only partook of the warmth reflected by those
whose lives he warmed with it. Some night when it's dark and a thunderstorm is booming outside, we
may be reminded of the thunderstorm on the evening Jung died or the one during his funeral service,
when we can hear his daughter Agathe saying to her sister Ruth, "That's Father grumbling."
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