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Teaching Jung$

Kelly Bulkeley and Clodagh Weldon

Print publication date: 2011

Print ISBN-13: 9780199735426

Published to Oxford Scholarship Online: September 2011

DOI: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199735426.001.0001

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Teaching Jung in an Analytical Psychology Institute

Teaching Jung in an Analytical Psychology Institute

(p.61) 4 Teaching Jung in an Analytical Psychology Institute
Teaching Jung

Murray Stein

Oxford University Press

Abstract and Keywords

This chapter draws on a wealth of teaching experience at analytical institutes on five continents to describe the educational methods used in preparing students for professional work as Jungian analysts. Offering unique insight into the Jungian training experience, the chapter makes a passionate case for a slow, careful, and deep reading of primary texts over a long period of time as the key to understanding Jung's thought. Furthermore, the chapter argues that Jungian psychology should be read not as the rigid doctrine of the master but as adventurous explorations in psychological thinking—explorations that often lead the students who learn about Jung to gain new perspectives on cross-cultural patterns in religious life and spiritual experience around the world.

Keywords:   analytical institutes, analytical Psychology, Jungian analysts, pedagogy, training

It is not easy to know where to begin the study and teaching of Jung's works in a training institute. A candidate in training once told me that the first course she took in the training program was built around Jung's “Psychological Commentary on The Tibetan Book of the Dead.”1 She was flabbergasted. She wondered: Why would students be asked to start their training with such an esoteric and nonclinical text? Holding a doctorate in clinical psychology, she had come to the institute for further specialization. What did The Tibetan Book of the Dead have to do with analytical practice in the modern world? I told her that the commencement of training is not always quite so oblique. She had been plunged into the deep end of the Jungian pool without preparation and understandably felt completely out of her element. Nevertheless, one can hardly say that Jung's text is unrelated to clinical issues pertaining to psychological transformation.

The programs for training to become a Jungian psychoanalyst are universally postgraduate in nature, and their central focus is necessarily a clinical one. In general, a certain amount of previous preparation on the part of incoming candidates is assumed at the outset. Applicants who are accepted into these programs have often already studied Jungian writings for a considerable period of time beforehand. Quite often, they have read widely for years or even decades in the broad field of analytical psychology and its related disciplines. Sometimes, they arrive having previously published articles or books in the field. Moreover, many, if not all, have completed extensive clinical training before they take up the Jungian approach to practicing analysis. They enter analytic training programs, therefore, with many already formed opinions about clinical (p.62) practice, Jungian psychology, Jung the man and thinker, and contemporary Jungian thought and psychoanalysis. They have undergone some personal analysis as well by this point and so have an impression of what this is all about from their own experiences in analysis. Obviously, they come seeking further exposure to Jungian thought and methods of practice, but their entry into these studies is rarely without surprises, difficulties of a personal and intellectual kind, and complex emotional reactions to their teachers, to the texts, and to their fellow candidates. The training institute is not an uncomplicated educational environment.

In teaching Jung to students who are enrolled in training programs, I have tried above all to get them to read Jung deeply. While many have read widely in the secondary literature or in the various popularizations of Jungian thought, they may have only glanced occasionally at Jung's own writings. Frequently, people find them opaque or too demanding. They have therefore not read him with the kind of care and patience needed to engage his thinking at a deep level. I ask them to make an attempt at “deep reading,” to use Harold Bloom's memorable phrase. Deep reading calls for great patience, repetition, even reading out loud to another or to oneself. Above all, it asks the reader to trust the author's genius and to put aside preconceptions long enough to take in fully what the author is communicating. “What is Jung saying here?” is the question I want candidates in training to ponder, and to ponder a long while before deciding how to evaluate Jung's writings. Too often, contemporary students jump to the conclusion that Jung got it wrong, or only half right, or pretty good for his time but now no longer sufficient. Deep reading goes slowly. It means crawling inside the text and staying there, making it one's home for a time, eating the words and digesting them. There is plenty of time and space to be critical later.

The Context: Training Institutes and Their Cultural Settings

Having trained at the C. G. Jung Institute of Zurich in the late 1960s and early 1970s, when the works of Jung were treated there as Holy Scripture, and then returning to the States steeped in that reverential culture, I nearly choked at a cocktail party when a recent graduate of an American institute told me that in their training they hardly read any Jung at all. To me, this was shocking and absurd, but soon enough, I discovered that the reception of Jung's writings varies drastically from institute to institute, depending on the interests and inclinations of the founders and training analysts there. I told a new analyst friend of mine that it seemed to me that American candidates received only a thin Jungian frosting on their professional cakes; in Zurich, they baked the cake from scratch, and it was Jungian through and through!

In some ways, training institutes are more like cooking schools or art schools than they are like the standard academic graduate schools. Students come here to learn “how to do it.” The problem is that for Jungian psychoanalysis, there are no specific recipes to memorize or masterpieces to copy. There (p.63) are many books, to be sure, but to be honest, students and instructors are largely on their own in making sense of them, and they must function without the kind of sure guidance one gets in other fields from textbooks, agreed-upon methodologies, a recognized canon, or established doctrines. Together, they must find a way to appropriate, integrate, and prioritize a large number of texts and materials from many interrelated disciplines. Among this wealth of material is the body of writings created by Jung himself.

Jung was notoriously dismissive of recipes and techniques for working with the psyche, and so one will search in vain in his works for step-by-step treatises on the practical application of his ideas to the analytic process. People have long spoken of analysis as an art and not a science. To shift the metaphor, but perhaps only a bit, as training analysts, we are introducing people to the arts of psychological transformation and in a way asking them to become modern-day alchemists. The alchemical metaphor places emphasis on transformation—of the base into the noble, of the raw into the cooked, of the natural into the symbolic and cultural. This is in line with the intention of Jungian analysis.

The goal of training being the practical one of teaching students how to conduct analysis with the greatest possible degree of skill and competence, the key learning center of this educational enterprise lies not in the classroom but in the training analyst's consulting room. To continue with the alchemical metaphor, it is the workroom with its ovens, stoves, flasks, and retorts that is the primary setting for learning the arts of transformation, while the adjoining library with its papers and books is a necessary but secondary resource, offering information, inspiration, and stimulation toward deeper reflection on the opus. Candidates learn to take others through the process of analysis by undergoing analysis for themselves, and they learn as well from their cases, which are conducted under the oversight of senior training analysts. The study of texts, therefore, including Jung's own writings, is secondary to firsthand learning experience from personal analysis and supervision. And yet written texts are considered important because they provide the rationale and the theoretical basis for what one is doing in the consulting room. They also convey important moments in the history of thinking about and practicing this art.

The seminars, lectures, and other didactic aspects of training programs do therefore play an important role in the formation of future analysts’ thinking. Depending on the specific training institute, the outcomes of this intellectual formation can be quite different. In the end, there are many kinds of Jungian psychoanalysts, and their particular styles of thinking and working often link quite importantly to where they were trained.

Training institutes exist within historical and cultural contexts, which can be conceived narrowly and broadly. Narrowly considered, the context is made up of and determined by the specific history of a training institute, its founding figures, its leading personalities, and its ideological position within the wider framework of Jungian communities worldwide. Over time, training institutes develop their own unique analytic cultures and styles, and within those cultures, Jung's contributions and his written works can occupy a major or a minor position of importance.

(p.64) The broader context of each training institute is its surrounding cultural milieu. The Jung that is read, taught, and learned in France is not the Jung that one finds in Chicago, Zurich, or Berlin. This is due partly to the specific emphases of the programs created by the training analysts and their teachers (the narrow context), but it also derives from the intellectual history and debates that pertain to psychoanalysis and therapy in its native land. (There is as well the history of philosophy, literature, and political organization in that country, which forms the general style of thinking characteristic of a culture.) In Paris, it is impossible to speak of Jung without Lacanian inflection, even though Jung's writings antedate Lacan's by decades, while in Chicago, allusions to the psychoanalytic ideas and insights of Heinz Kohut are subtly all pervasive in discussions about, for instance, the phenomenon of transference or the theory of the self, a psychological term that Jung in fact made his trademark. Michael Fordham told me in private conversation that his own views were shaped and heavily influenced by Kleinian and post-Freudian students who came to study with him after he returned from Zurich and set up shop in London as a Jungian analyst. So powerful was their previous training and their influence on him that the Jungian training program in London finally tilted in this direction to the point where it was humorously referred to in the Jungian world as more Kleinian than Klein. The point here is that when Jung is read and studied in a training institute, it is done in dialogue with the surrounding culture. Jung's work is placed in contexts where it is considered in relation to other views and different opinions about the psyche.

Jung is read and taught from a surprising variety of perspectives, therefore, depending on the contexts of a given training institute. For this reason, wherever I am teaching Jung to candidates in training—and I have done this on five continents and in many countries—I ask students to immerse themselves directly in Jung's texts, to put aside their previous estimations of him as a person and of his contributions to psychoanalysis as much as possible, and to try to hear his unique voice before returning to the default position of their usual critiques and evaluations. To my surprise initially, many candidates have said to me that they appreciate this approach and find it novel and refreshing. Many have told me that they came to Jungian training wishing and hoping to learn more about Jung and were disappointed to find his works not emphasized there because their teachers had migrated elsewhere.

We know that Jung himself was highly ambivalent about setting himself up as a figure whose words would carry the weight of a sort of religious authority, and he preferred his students to debate his views rather than accepting them as doctrinal pronouncements. Of course, he well knew that people listened to his words with keen attention, often through heavy transference projections onto him as a sage, a guru, or a wizard. As the recipient of many honors, interviews, invitations, and so forth, he earned enormous stature on the international stage. However, he did not enjoy the burden this authority brought in its wake. As a Swiss, he liked his independence. About setting up training institutes in his name that would promote his views, he also was of two minds. On the one hand, he felt pressured, indeed, forced to a degree, to go along with the wishes and plans of students of his (p.65) who were doggedly determined to establish training institutes in his name in various parts of the world—London, New York, San Francisco, and Zurich among others.2 He felt a need to cooperate with them for the sake of continuing the research and exploration of the human psyche that he had begun. On the other hand, he objected strongly to the idea of creating “Jungians,” as he wrote to J. H. van der Hoop, a colleague in The Netherlands, in 1946:

I can only hope and wish that no one becomes “Jungian.” I stand for no doctrine, but describe facts and put forward certain views which I hold worthy of discussion. I criticize Freudian psychology for a certain narrowness and bias, and the Freudians for a certain rigid, sectarian spirit of intolerance and fanaticism. I proclaim no cut-and-dried doctrine and I abhor “blind adherents.” I leave everyone free to deal with the facts in his own way, since I also claim this freedom for myself.3

Jung's strong aversion to “Jungians” around himself had its roots in large measure in his personal need to remain free to think as he wished and to change his mind or to set out in new directions. Any sort of fixed doctrine cobbled together from his previous writings and teachings would have hindered his own freedom to think and would have threatened to trap him, just as it would have threatened the creativity of his students. One must read Jung as an adventurous, exploratory, experimental thinker and writer who allowed himself the leeway to break away from the tried and true even in his old age. To teach Jung as “doctrine” gets his writings completely wrong and finally creates a hard carapace of slogans, clichés, and formulas that will doom the field to extinction.

When the C. G. Jung Institute in Zurich was founded on April 24, 1948, Jung gave an opening address that today is astonishing in light of what was to follow in the history and development of that particular institution. In the first sentence of his address, he refers to it as “an Institute for Complex Psychology,” a designation for Jungian psychology that is no longer used and that never quite found traction among his students and followers. He goes on to say that he feels honored that people have come to witness the establishment of “this institute of research, which is designed to carry on the work begun by me,”4 and then he spends the remainder of his talk outlining directions for future research. It is clear that he imagined this to be a research institute, not a training institute for future Jungian psychoanalysts. Among the original founding members of the institute, all of whom were personally invited by Jung to join the new enterprise, was the Nobel-winning physicist Wolfgang Pauli, a notable world-class figure who held up the banner for exceedingly high standards of research indeed! Within a short time, however, the emphasis at the Jung Institute fell largely on training the people who came from all over the world and wanted to become certified analysts. Pauli resigned in disgust, and another founding member, the Catholic theologian Victor White, O.P., gave Jung his unhappy view of the “Jungians” at the institute in 1955: “The horrible impression has come upon me in Zurich (I hope it is wrong) that my dear C. G. has around him only sycophants & flatterers: or people requiring audiences or (p.66) transference which no mortal can carry. I hope I am wrong: such a situation is too inhuman.”5 Jung's fond hope of having no Jungians around him was not fulfilled. He had to endure them, but he did not allow them to trap him in his own “doctrines.” To the end of his life, he remained innovative, and to some of his would-be disciples, this spelled disappointment. He appeared to them to be unreliable. He would not play the role of pope.

Had Jung witnessed the further development of the institute created in his name in Zurich, he doubtless would have been disappointed by the direction it took in choosing to spend nearly all of its energy and resources on training candidates to become Jungian psychoanalysts and its ever decreasing emphasis on research and publishing new and innovative work. Quite early on, a kind of Jungian orthodoxy did form in some quarters, or was at least assumed. Victor White, although he complained about the way things were shaping up around Jung in Zurich, also looked to the master for “rules.” He felt strongly that Jung had violated his own basic principles in his late work, Answer to Job. This was, of course, one of Jung's most adventurous texts and stirred dispute and debate in quite a number of quarters, as it continues to do to this day. It particularly bothered White because of its unorthodox interpretations of the Bible and its emotional condemnation of the morals of the biblical Yahweh, whom White as a Roman Catholic priest had of course to defend. In a challenging letter to Jung, White charged that “ ‘Answer to Job’ is presumably to be read (at least primarily), not as an essay in theology, metaphysics or exegesis, but in practical psychology. It may be taken, and is being taken, as containing the ‘correct’ psychological views, standards & attitudes of the ‘Jungians.’ ”6 In the margin beside this paragraph of the letter he had received from White, Jung placed a question mark, indicating his objection to the assumption that there were “correct psychological views” to be found in his writings. He would have considered his writings rather to be experimental essays that were pushing his imaginative thinking ever further and in new directions, rather than expressing truths or declaring correct doctrines. Susan Rowland, in Jung as a Writer, catches the drift precisely. She stresses that Jung is forever writing with and from the unconscious, which lends his works their characteristic imaginative boldness. Inevitably, he transgresses the boundaries of academic disciplines and faculties and puts forward highly novel new interpretations of ancient and modern texts, as well as of clinical material. Jung had hoped, one must suppose from his opening address, that the institute founded in his name would carry on research and writing in this fashion. Instead, the teaching of the master's texts in this and some other training institutes has all too often degenerated into reading them as pronouncements of orthodoxy. This is the opposite extreme from having none of Jung's texts in the curriculum at all.

On Reading Jung: The Unfolding of His Thought

The approach I take to Jung's writings when I teach in training institutes, therefore, is to read them as explorations in psychological thinking. The training (p.67) that comes out of reading them deeply is training in this type of thinking. It is a type of thinking that happens to be very useful for clinical work, where insights and interpretations are much more ventures in imagination than advances in certainty and scientific knowledge. The texts by Jung do not proclaim eternal truths. They probe and ponder the workings of the human psyche, and in the reader, they often engender great enthusiasm and a feeling of discovering unimagined depths of the human soul. Jung's writings open his deep readers to personal explorations of their own lives. They induce a kind of self-analysis that can be both unsettling and terribly exciting. Few people who read Jung seriously come away unmoved, indeed, untransformed by the experience. I encourage the candidates in training to use Jung's writings to deepen their own personal analyses. It is not unusual that the students begin dreaming of Jung as they seriously engage his writings.

I also try to help students grasp the ways in which Jung's thought unfolded over the more than sixty years that he was writing. To this end, I divide Jung's oeuvre into three large periods: the early (1900–1921), the middle (1922–1938), and the late (1939–1961). Each period links importantly to the others, but the emphases are significantly different in each. The first is more emphatically professional, clinical, theoretical, and technical—Jung is building a base. The second broadens out from the base and includes historical, cultural, social, and political issues. In this period, Jung becomes a famous public figure internationally and travels widely. The third can largely be defined as focused on spiritual and religious issues, with an emphasis on the symbolic. Jung is now regarded by the world as the old sage of Küsnacht and so comes to him for wisdom. I am painting with a broad brush, but this helps students get a feel for the development of Jung's life and thought.

The early stage extends from the beginnings of Jung's formal study of psychiatry at the Burghölzli Klinik in Zurich and runs through his years as a leader of the psychoanalytic movement with Freud. It concludes with the early formulations of his own unique version of psychoanalytic thought and practice, as represented in the analytical psychology of the Zurich school. This stage includes his research and psychiatric papers (Collected Works 1, 2, and 3), his Freudian and post-Freudian writings (Collected Works 4 and 5), and his “confrontation with the unconscious” or midlife crisis period (described in Memories, Dreams, Reflections, chapter 6). An important work of this period is The Psychology of the Unconscious (revised in the 1950s and published in the Collected Works as Symbols of Transformation, Collected Works 5), a response to Freud and the chief cause of their separation. The early period closes with the publication of the massive work Psychological Types (Collected Works 6) in 1921, which is a further response to Freud but far more a statement of Jung's own unique understanding of the psyche and psychological process. In teaching Jung, I invariably focus on the chapter “Definitions” in this great work. This is essential Jung and shows the precision and range of his mind.

The middle period, which begins after this major work is finished, includes important and fine-tuned theoretical papers like “On Psychic Energy” (in Collected Works 8) and the final versions of the seminal works, Two Essays in (p.68) Analytical Psychology (Collected Works 7). This period also includes the beginnings of Jung's interest in alchemy and the foundational lectures behind the important later work, Psychology and Alchemy (Collected Works 12), in the Eranos lectures of the 1930s, as well as several important essays on “the archetypes of the collective unconscious” (Collected Works 9i) and the process of individuation. There are also the informal seminars, now published as supplements to the Collected Works (Analytical Psychology, Visions, The Psychology of Kundalini Yoga,Nietzsche's Zarathustra, Children's Dreams, The Seminar on Dream Analysis), and the not yet published lectures given during his professorship at the Federal Institute of Technology in Zurich (the ETH). The middle period was a time of much travel, with trips to the United States, Africa, and India, and of many honors (honorary doctorates from Harvard, Oxford, and universities in Allahabad, Benares, and Calcutta in India).

The late period, which opens with Jung's return from the long journey to India in 1938, is dominated by works on religion and alchemy, including also, of course, the implications of these studies for psychotherapy and clinical practice. This was also a period in Jung's life of poor health and limited opportunities for extroverted activities—very little travel, much reduced clinical work, rare public appearances. Yet, in these late years, Jung was incredibly productive in his psychological writing and exploration. Among much else, he wrote “The Psychology of the Transference” (in Collected Works 16), Aion (Collected Works 9ii), Answer to Job (in Collected Works 11), “On Synchronicity” (in Collected Works 8), and Mysterium Coniunctionis (Collected Works 14). He also maintained contact with many people internationally by letter, and his correspondence during these years is astonishingly voluminous, with many letters running to several pages of dense reflection and thought. Several volumes of published letters to date testify to his seriousness of purpose in corresponding with friends and colleagues during these physically difficult times.

Jung and Analytical Psychology Today

Since the years when Jung founded the school of analytical psychology in Zurich shortly after his break with Freud, there have been countless contributions to it from a wide variety of sources. In the nearly 100 years of analytical psychology's existence, a vast and multifaceted field has grown up, and since Jung's death in 1961, this growth has accelerated. Its literature is by now vast and humanly unmanageable. No one can read all the books and journal articles generated annually nowadays in the many languages in which they appear, even if one's area of interest is a rather narrow one, such as the clinical. The question has become, at least in the training institutes: What is Jung's proper place in this vast collection of materials? Is Jung's writing still to be considered foundational and essential? Or has it been surpassed and by now rendered peripheral? How much emphasis should one give to Jung's writings in the training of analysts today? These are open questions. They have produced a (p.69) vigorous debate among Jungian training analysts, a debate that Jung himself, I believe, would have approved.

In the most general terms, the field of analytical psychology can be divided into two large camps: the camp of the originists and the camp of the finalists. These two camps have received various names over the course of history, beginning with the London school versus the Zurich school. Andrew Samuels stamped them as developmental and classical, the former stemming from Michael Fordham and his followers, who leaned toward modern psychoanalysis as practiced in England, and the latter from the circle of analysts around Jung himself and his close followers in Zurich.7 Others have referred to the difference as clinical versus symbolic or as analytical versus synthetic. Basically, the fault line becomes visible when someone begins to speak about a psychological symptom, a clinical issue like transference, or a dream. The one type asks questions about and seeks to understand causes and origins; the other considers the purpose and goal of the psychological phenomenon. One looks backward into the past; the other looks forward into future possibilities for change and growth. For this reason, I prefer to call them the originists and the finalists. Both are developmental, only they see development differently—the one as determined by previous causes, the other as moving forward toward potentials and possibilities. Is the psyche strictly a product of past events, decisions, experiences? Or is it a goal-directed, seeking-to-fulfill-its-potentials sort of thing? The answer to this puts one in the one camp or the other.

Of course, most people try to have it both ways, although this is very hard to uphold in practice. Jung himself straddled this tension, although he mostly favored the finalist position. People on both sides can find plenty of textual backing in Jung's writings to support their position. In teaching Jung to candidates in training, I insist they consider both sides in Jung himself and in his successors. However, if one is an originist, Jung's writings will be seen as less central to contemporary thinking and writing than if one is a finalist. Finalists tend to see Jung as bedrock; originists find him sometimes suggestive and interesting but quickly look to other authorities and references for guidance. As a finalist, I draw on Jung deeply and with the years increasingly so, especially with respect to working clinically with people in the second half of life and in old age and with respect to thinking about psychological development in the later years of life. As it happens, candidates in training these days are themselves, by and large, over the age of forty, and many are in their fifties and sixties. For many of them, the finalist in Jung holds great appeal and forms the basis of their studies, their writing, and their practices after they graduate.

The texts of Jung's that are particularly important for the finalist perspective derive from his second and third periods. One of them, which does not have a place in his Collected Works but is seminal for Jungian studies, is the memoir written with the assistance of Aniela Jaffé, Memories, Dreams, Reflections. In teaching Jung, I often use this work as a guide through his writings. It is a book that has inspired many to become devotees of Jung and to venture into training programs. It was my own initial introduction to Jung's life and thought. I cannot recommend a better place to start. Here one sees (p.70) how Jung, in looking back, understood his own life process and its unfolding. Clearly, he views his life from a finalist perspective. In early dreams, he finds anticipations of much later developments in his attitudes and thinking. He does not construe his childhood and rather difficult family situation as a limiting or pathology-engendering factor in his life, but rather as preparatory for what he would become. The psyche would emerge in its own way and time despite the obstacles of heredity and poor nurturing from his parents. All was guided by a resident daimon, the self, whose will would break through and find its way into Carl Jung's life pretty much no matter what the external conditions might be. Sometimes, and mostly in private conversations and correspondence, Jung would speak of this thrusting movement in the psyche from potentiality to actuality as the will of God. For this reason, Jungian psychology has sometimes received the designation of being a religious psychology or even a religion.

While Jung denied vehemently that he was out to found a new religion, I believe it can be argued that Jungian psychology is fundamentally religious in nature. The finalists tend to be religious folk, the originists more nonreligious and secular, if that is the right word, or perhaps just more this-worldly and with a modernist philosophy. The originists see childhood, family relationships, and interpersonal connections as fundamental to psychological outcomes in adulthood and later life. The finalists, while they do not necessarily deny an important role to these factors, see the self as able to overcome deficits and to win through to wholeness despite shortfalls in the nurturing environment. For finalists, the archetypal is stronger than the personal or interpersonal; for the originists, it is the other way around.

One text I enjoy using in teaching candidates in training is Jung's essay on the child archetype.8 It is a mature work, written in 1940, and it shows so clearly how Jung weaves together the personal and interpersonal level with the archetypal and symbolic. For an introduction to Jung's hermeneutical principles and clinical practice, there is hardly a better text in his entire oeuvre. I urge candidates to keep it closely in mind when they are working on dreams with patients, because the careful methodology that Jung proposes here will keep them from doing harm, which is, after all, the first rule of treatment (“Do no harm!”). When venturing an interpretation of dreams and especially of dreams that contain archetypal images, Jung cautions the interpreter:

whatever explanation or interpretation does to it [i.e., the dream or the image], we do to our own souls as well, with corresponding results for our own well-being. The archetype…is a psychic organ present in all of us. A bad explanation means a correspondingly bad attitude to this organ, which may thus be injured…. Hence the “explanation” should always be such that the functional significance of the archetype remains unimpaired, so that an adequate and meaningful connection between the conscious mind and the archetypes is assured. For the archetype is an element of our psychic structure and thus a vital and necessary component in our psychic economy.9

(p.71) This is about as close as Jung comes to being prescriptive. The implications for therapeutic treatment are fundamental and far-reaching.

Summary and Conclusion

The continuing value of Jung's writings for the education and training of contemporary Jungian psychoanalysts is being debated, but I believe they can hardly be overestimated. They contain the fundamental perspectives on which all later contributions of significance to analytical psychology are built. Students who understand the later additions in great detail but do not have a thorough acquaintance with the foundations tend to remain up in the air and ungrounded. It is essential to read Jung deeply and over a long period of time to grasp the essential features of his thought, on which the whole later edifice is erected. I recommend to training institutes, if consulted, that they set up reading courses in Jung's writings that continue throughout the four or five years of training. If someone wants to become a master chef, especially a creative one, they must not only know the great recipes by heart but also understand the rationale behind the construction of the recipes. Similarly, to become a master Jungian psychoanalyst, one must not only know technique but also understand the psychological principles that govern technique and practice. These are to be found most convincingly and forcefully stated in the writings of Jung himself, although many others have elaborated and exposed them in a credible fashion as the field of analytical psychology has grown and increased in complexity. There is no substitute for a thorough and intense immersion in the primary texts.


(1.) C. G. Jung, “Psychological Commentary on The Tibetan Book of the Dead,” in The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, vol. 11, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969), pars 831–858.

(2.) Mario Jacoby, “Some Memories and Reflections Concerning My Time at the C. G. Jung Institute in Zurich (1956 until 2006),” in Who Owns Jung? ed. Ann Casement (London: Karnac, 2007).

(3.) C. G. Jung, Letters I, ed. Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973), 405.

(4.) C. G. Jung, “Address on the Occasion of the Founding of the C. G. Jung Institute, Zurich, April 24, 1948,” in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, vol. 18, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976), 1129, pars. 1129–141.

(5.) Ann Lammers and Adrian Cunningham, eds., The Jung-White Letters (London: Routledge, 2007), 273.

(6.) Lammers and Cunningham, Jung-White Letters, 269.

(7.) Andrew Samuels, Jung and the Post-Jungians (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985).


(8.) C. G. Jung, “The Psychology of the Child Archetype,” in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, vol. 9i, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), pars. 259–305.

(9.) Jung, “Psychology,” par. 271.


Bibliography references:

Jacoby, Mario. “Some Memories and Reflections Concerning My Time at the C. G. Jung Institute in Zurich (1956 until 2006).” In Who Owns Jung? ed. Ann Casement, 135–151. London: Karnac, 2007.

Jung, C. G. Memories, Dreams, Reflections, ed. Aniela Jaffé, trans. Richard Winston and Clara Winston. New York: Vintage, 1965.

Jung, C. G. “The Psychology of the Child Archetype.” In The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, Vol. 9i, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler, pars. 259–305. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968.

Jung, C.G. “Psychological Commentary on The Tibetan Book of the Dead.” In The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, vol. 11, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler, pars 831–858. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969.

Jung, C. G. Letters, ed. Gerhard Adler, 1:1906–1950. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973.

Jung, C. G. “Address on the Occasion of the Founding of the C. G. Jung Institute, Zurich, April 24, 1948.” In The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, Vol. 18, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler, pars. 1129–1141. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976.

Lammers, Ann, and Adrian Cunningham, eds. The Jung-White Letters. London: Routledge, 2007.

Rowland, Susan. Jung as a Writer. London: Routledge, 2005.

Samuels, Andrew. Jung and the Post-Jungians. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985.


(1.) C. G. Jung, “Psychological Commentary on The Tibetan Book of the Dead,” in The Collected Works of C.G. Jung, vol. 11, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1969), pars 831–858.

(2.) Mario Jacoby, “Some Memories and Reflections Concerning My Time at the C. G. Jung Institute in Zurich (1956 until 2006),” in Who Owns Jung? ed. Ann Casement (London: Karnac, 2007).

(3.) C. G. Jung, Letters I, ed. Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1973), 405.

(4.) C. G. Jung, “Address on the Occasion of the Founding of the C. G. Jung Institute, Zurich, April 24, 1948,” in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, vol. 18, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976), 1129, pars. 1129–141.

(5.) Ann Lammers and Adrian Cunningham, eds., The Jung-White Letters (London: Routledge, 2007), 273.

(6.) Lammers and Cunningham, Jung-White Letters, 269.

(7.) Andrew Samuels, Jung and the Post-Jungians (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985).

(8.) C. G. Jung, “The Psychology of the Child Archetype,” in The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, vol. 9i, ed. Michael Fordham and Gerhard Adler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1968), pars. 259–305.

(9.) Jung, “Psychology,” par. 271.