Sue Mehrtens is the author of this and all the other blog essays on this site. The opinions expressed in these essays are her own and do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of other Jungian Center faculty or Board members.
What Makes a Good Analyst?
When, as a psychotherapist, I set myself up as a medical authority over my patient and on that account claim to know something about his individuality, or to be able to make valid statements about it, I am only demonstrating my lack of criticism, for I am in no position to judge the whole of the personality before me…. If I wish to treat another individual psychologically at all, I must for better or worse give up all pretensions to superior knowledge, all authority and desire to influence. Jung (1935)
I even hold it to be an indispensable prerequisite that the psychoanalyst should first submit himself to the analytical process, as his personality is one of the main factors in the cure….
Whether he likes it or not, the doctor and his assumptions are involved just as much as the patient. It is in fact largely immaterial what sort of technique he uses, for the point is not the technique but the person who uses the technique. The object to which the technique is applied is neither an anatomical specimen nor an abscess nor a chemical substance; it is the totality of the suffering individual. The object of therapy is not the neurosis but the man who has the neurosis….
… the personality and attitude of the doctor are of supreme importance in therapy—whether he appreciates this fact or not–… Jung (1934)
One always has to answer people in their main function, otherwise no contact is established. So, in order to be able to show my patients that their reactions have arrived in my system, I have to sit opposite them so that they can read the reactions in my face and can see that I am listening. If I sit behind them, then I can yawn, I can sleep, I can go off on my own thoughts, and I can do what I please. They never know what is happening to me, and then they remain in an auto-erotic and isolated condition which is not good for ordinary people…. Jung (1935)
For he [the analyst] is only a human being; he cannot be the savior or any other archetypal image which is activated in the patient’s unconscious. Jung (1935)
The above are just a few of many statements Jung made about analysts, their personalities, training and professional work. Jung had very definite ideas about the sort of person, and the types of activities that were appropriate in his brand of psychotherapy.
In this essay I am going to handle the question—What makes a good analyst?—on two levels, the general/objective, and the specific/subjective. The first, objective level considers the question without reference to the specific client, while the second, subjective approach reframes the question—What makes a good analyst for you?
On the Objective Level:
The Training of a Jungian Analyst
For someone hoping to be a Jungian analyst, training has many aspects, none of them more central or important than having a personal analysis. Jung was adamant about this: “everything [will] depend on how far the analyst has been analyzed himself….” “I even hold it to be an indispensable prerequisite that the psychoanalyst should first submit himself to the analytical process,…” “I required that the doctor himself should be analyzed…” “… long ago I stipulated that analysts ought to be analyzed themselves;…” “one of the most important therapeutically effective factors is subjecting yourself to the objective judgment of another…” “A training analysis is therefore really a sine qua non for any analyst….”
Why such stress on the would-be analyst’s own analysis? Because an analyst must become aware of his/her “unacknowledged infantile demands,” his/her “isolationist tactics” autoeroticism and “infantile demands,” “one’s own prejudices” and psychological type, one’s “personal assumptions, whether religious or philosophical,…” Jung recognized that “The doctor must know his ‘personal equation’ in order not to do violence to his patient.” In addition to becoming more conscious and self-aware, the analyst-in-training must become familiar with the psyche and how it manifests, and this familiarity cannot be gleaned from reading about it or hearing another describe his/her experience. He or she has to come to know first-hand just what he/she will be asking of the analysand. Only by undergoing one’s own analysis can a person understand the process, the demands it makes, “how it feels to experience it on your own psyche.” A third reason for setting a personal analysis as the “sine qua non” of training is its result: Just as analysis can help the trainee become more “socially mature and independent” as a personality, so this growth makes it possible for the analyst to model the process for his/her analysands. For these reasons all Jungian analysts go through hundreds of hours of personal analysis, in addition to the supervision of their work with a analysand by another analyst.
Analysis is the most important component of the training of an analyst. There are intellectual and experiential parts too. Would-be analysts also spend years learning: about Jung’s particular version of psychology—with its structured psyche, stress on dreams and symbols and the interpretation of both—and its emphasis on experience, rather than theory; about archetypes, the collective unconscious and the myths, legends, fairy tales and other historical materials that illustrate how archetypes manifest universally in the human species; about alchemy and its relevance and importance in the process of psychological growth and healing.
In addition to this intellectual curriculum, the training also has an experiential aspect in the “training analysis.” Here the would-be analyst is supervised by another analyst during work with an analysand, and in this process he/she learns how to adapt hi/her own psychological type (e.g. in the MBTI, Gray-Wheelwright or Singer-Loomis system) to meet the needs of the analysand. He or she learns about personal values, the relativity of values and how to examine critically his/her own philosophical assumptions, so as to avoid laying personal prejudices on analysands. He or she learns to be open in attitude, accepting of human frailty, his/her own needs and “counter transference tendencies” (having discovered these insights in him/herself through the personal analysis). Having experienced what a neurosis feels like (during his/her personal analysis) the trainee knows how neurosis can be outgrown and, in this experience, he/she acquires “a valuable and realistic empathy.”
With its intellectual and experiential components training does much to prepare a person to be an analyst. But it is not the only criterion for what makes a good analyst. Personality is important too, perhaps even more important than the knowledge gleaned in the training courses.
The Personality of a Good Analyst
When considering the personality of the would-be analyst, Jung recalled an old adage from alchemy: “ars totum requirit hominem”—the art requires the total man. That is, the art of healing (the work of analysis) demands the entire person of the healer (the analyst). This being so, the personality of the would-be analyst becomes of prime consideration in determining whether someone is qualified for this type of work. Certain traits of personality are obvious: The good analyst is patient, sensitive, personable, empathic, stable, well-balanced and perspicacious (able to see through superficialities into the depths of another person or situation). He/she is responsible, aware of the seriousness of the soul work that is the stuff of analysis, and of his/her role as soul guide. The good analyst is also humble, recognizing that he/she is working in the service of the Self.
At the same time, the good analyst refuses to play the guru, because he/she has internalized the 3 loci that Jung felt were part of the process of individuation: the locus of control (taking responsibility for one’s life), the locus of authority (being one’s own authority), and the locus of security (rooting feelings of safety in a personal relationship with the Self). Having been introduced to Jung’s concept of individuation in the training program, the good analyst lives this personal work, continuing throughout life to wrestle with his/her unconscious—all the shadow elements, inner partner’s demands, and the relationship with the Self. In this way the analyst models the work of personal growth for his/her analysands.
Being scrupulous and conscientious, the good analyst has, as his/her #1 focus the welfare of the analysand. The analyst is willing and able to bring his/her whole self to the work, to be able to respond in creative ways to the challenges it presents. In this regard Jung noted that
…the practicing analyst will… come up against cases from time to time that challenge him as a man and a personality in a way that may be decisive…. This is the moment when dogmatic tenets and pragmatic rules of thumb must make way for a creative solution issuing from the total man, if his therapeutic endeavors are not to get miserably silted up and stuck… For it is not only a routine performance that is expected of the analyst, but also a readiness and ability to master unusual situations.
Clearly, being an analyst is demanding work. Fortunately, as becomes obvious during the personal analysis, the analyst can rely on the wisdom and support of the Self, and in those demanding moments and “unusual situations,” the analyst knows he/she can turn to the Self for guidance and direction.
Doing so—looking to the support of Spirit while on a shared spiritual journey—requires humility. The analyst does not heal: the healer is the analysand him/herself, as he/she transforms his/her attitudes. A good analyst is not full of ego. He/she has no need for prestige. He/she can treat analysands as “equal partners in the dialogue, with the same rights as himself…” Jung was clear that an analyst who has authority issues, who has to “pull rank” (as we say in English) was not qualified for the job:
An analyst who cannot risk his authority will be sure to lose it. In order to maintain his prestige he will be in danger of wrapping himself in the protective mantle of a doctrine. But life cannot be mastered with theories,…
Jung had little use for theories. He went so far as to call theory “the very devil,” and he urged his students (i.e. the people who became the first generation of Jungian analysts) to focus not on theory but on the individual person of the analysand.
The personality qualifications of the good analyst extend outside of the analytical hour. The analyst has to walk the talk, by living a balanced life that provides personal fulfillment and emotional satisfaction, so he/she does not try to live through his analysands the sides of life that he cannot live, and also so he/she does not use analysands to satisfy his/her own personal needs. Why is it important to walk the talk? Because Jung realized that
Patients read the analyst’s character intuitively, and they should find in him a man with failings, admittedly, but also a man who strives at every point to fulfill his human duties in the fullest sense. Many times I have had the opportunity of seeing that the analyst is successful with his treatment just so far as he has succeeded in his own moral development….
A good analyst models the growth, the values, the soul commitment that Jung’s psychology implies. This is important because
… all through the analysis intelligent patients are looking beyond it into the soul of the analyst, in order to find there the confirmation of the healing formulae—or its opposite. It is quite impossible, even by the subtlest analysis, to prevent the patient from taking over instinctively the way in which his analyst deals with the problems of life. Nothing can stop this, for personality teaches more than thick tomes full of wisdom.
The analyst teaches more who he/she has become than what he/she knows or has learned in the training. Personal authenticity in living an individuated life—this is what makes a good analyst, in terms of personality.
The Nature of a Good Analyst-Analysand Relationship
The authenticity of the analyst does much to foster a good relationship between analyst and analysand. This is because, as Jung noted in the quote above, most of the process operates on the intuitive, instinctive level—the level that cannot be “faked” or consciously acted out, as in role-playing. Two people are meeting for the purpose of shared soul work, and in such a feeling-based setting Jung knew that
It is in fact largely immaterial what sort of technique he uses, for the point is not the technique but the person who uses the technique. The object to which the technique is applied is neither an anatomical specimen nor an abscess nor a chemical substance; it is the totality of the suffering individual. The object of therapy is not the neurosis but the man who has the neurosis….
Unlike the usual procedure in the allopathic medical system, the focus is not on the disease or the problem, but on the person, the human being. While trained himself as a medical doctor, Jung took a different approach from the usual medical model, putting his stress not on gimmicks, diagnoses, or theories, but on an intuitive heart connection—what some have called the “I-Thou” relationship.
Such a relationship values the patient as he/she is. There are no judgments, no criticisms, no keeping the analysand in a state of helpless dependency. The goal is the empowerment of the patient—healing the neurosis while teaching the analysand how to continue his/her inner work after the analysis has ended. Jung was quite clear about this: Analysis is not open-ended. While the length of an individual analysis can not be predicted at its beginning (because the psyche is in charge of the process), it does have an end, and the whole process aims at getting the analysand to the point where he/she can cope with life on his/her own, in satisfying and fulfilling ways.
With such an aim a Jungian analysis structures the analyst-analysand interaction in ways that are very different from Freudian or other psychotherapeutic systems.
Interactions in the Analysis
The Jungian analyst and analysand are “in the soup” together. Guided by the wisdom of the psyche, supported by the Self, the two venture into the work together, as equals. Jung reminded analysts of the need to avoid “pulling rank,” of setting themselves up as “a medical authority… and on that account claiming to know something about his [the patient’s] individuality…”. The reason why such claims of authority are bogus is, in Jung’s words, because the analyst is “… in no position to judge the whole of the personality before [him]…” So, when treating “… another individual psychologically at all, I must for better or worse give up all pretensions to superior knowledge, all authority and desire to influence.” As a result there is no coercion in the analyst-analysand interaction:
The goal is to educate the patient in such a way that he will get well for his own sake and by reason of his own determination,…The patient should know what he is doing… It is not for us to prescribe for him the ways by which he should get well. … the principles of analytic treatment… shuns all coercion and tries to let everything grow up from within. …
One might wonder whether the analysand really would know what he is doing. Suppose he makes a mistake. Jung recognized that possibility and was sanguine about it:
… as everywhere in psychoanalysis, we have to let the patient and his impulses take the lead, even if the path seems a wrong one. Error is just as important a condition of life’s progress as truth.
Jung understood that, in analysis, as in life, we tend to learn more through our mistakes than through what goes right.
Because, as I noted above, the relational nature of the analysis was so important, Jung took a dim view of the use of “technical tricks,” “theoretical suppositions,” and other impersonal, collective considerations. Why such an attitude? Because when the analysis veered into “… what is common, collective, and average… the closer it comes to the danger point where the specifically individual features of the analysand are suppressed.” In other words, the individual person gets lost. The “suffering individual” must be the focus, not the neurosis, techniques or theories.
At this point I should note that type can have some influence here. Thinking types are much more likely to enjoy discussion of ideas, theories and abstractions, and, in my experience, the work often goes more slowly because of this. While the analyst does not coerce the process, he/she may nudge the work back to the feelings at a certain point, so the interpersonal connection—the one-to-one heart connection—can work its magic.
To foster this connection Jung rejected the Freudian model, in which the analyst is unseen, removed from view. Jung knew interpersonal work required mutual sharing of feelings:
So, in order to be able to show my patients that their reactions have arrived in my system, I have to sit opposite them so that they can read the reactions in my face and can see that I am listening. If I sit behind them, then I can yawn, I can sleep, I can go off on my own thoughts, and I can do what I please. They never know what is happening to me, and then they remain in an auto-erotic and isolated condition which is not good for ordinary people….
In a Jungian analysis, two people sit together, face-to-face, interacting in a mutually growth-provoking process. Both are involved in the soul work, and both are changed by it.
This soul work is powerful, and because of that power—and the vulnerability the analysand has—it is important to point out some potential dangers that can be encountered in undertaking analysis.
Caveats and Dangers Related to Analysts and How They Practice
Jung knew that one-to-one personal contact has to be made if an analysis is to work and support the patient in his/her healing. This is why he departed from Freud’s practice of sitting behind the analysand, who would be lying on a couch, i.e. unable to see the analyst. It is important, in the nature of the analytic interrelationship, for the analysand to observe the analyst and his/her reactions, body language and responses to what the patient says. If the set-up of the analytic space does not permit such face-to-face interaction, beware: the process is not something Jung would approve.
Other aspects of the Freudian model are also problematic. When I write “Freudian model” I refer to the general attitude commonly found in the medical profession: It is not limited to practitioners of Freudian psychoanalysis. You will find this in nearly all contacts with doctors as well as therapists. What are some of these dangers?
First, most doctors and therapists will focus initially on making a diagnosis. They will want to determine what is wrong with the patient: Why has this person come to me? In the therapeutic context, they will try to pin this down in the first session (in part so they can fill out the forms for the insurance company, to get their reimbursement). If it is not clear from the first session, they will certainly try to pin a label on the problem by the second or third session. Thereafter, it is not unusual that the therapist will keep coming back to this label throughout the work, using it as an excuse to make the patient feel in the wrong, or using it as a weapon to keep the patient in submission. This was not Jung’s approach at all: While he recognized the value in knowing what was going on in his patient, his primary concern was not diagnosis but healing. A focus on diagnosis too often leads to the therapist treating the neurosis, rather than the suffering human being.
A second danger, if an analyst is not practicing in the Jungian way, is operating from ego. The non-Jungian therapist displays arrogance, rejects any form of mutuality, refuses to treat the client as an equal. He will see himself (men fall into this mode more than women do, as men in general have more ego than women) as the “expert,” superior to the client, with more knowledge and therefore in charge. Of course it is true that analysts have a great deal more knowledge than clients, from all those years of learning about myths, legends, archetypes, psychotherapeutic practices etc. etc., but Jung never felt that this rich background was to be used to keep the client subservient. The whole intention in Jungian work is to empower the analysand.
And this raises a third danger: patient disempowerment. In the typical model of medical or therapeutic work in our culture, the patient is made to feel wrong or out of place if he/she questions, suggests other ways of working, or makes criticisms of the process. Since the assumption in the standard model is that the therapist is the expert, the therapist will deny that he/she is “in the soup” with the client, and will be completely uncomprehending if the client suggests that the psyche is in charge. It is a curious fact that, in most schools of psychotherapy, there is little recognition of the psyche, its role, its power, or its wisdom. It is not uncommon, in dealing with this danger, for the client to feel stripped of his/her autonomy and dignity as a person.
A fourth danger is the “head trip.” In the conventional medical model rationality, objectivity and facts are prized. Feelings, intuitions, and subjectivity are denigrated or dismissed. The focus is more on facts than on meaning, more on content than on process. Jung understood that, in soul work, the way it is conducted matters just as much, or even more, than the facts, figures or objective data. The very desire to be objective he would reject, for it depersonalizes the process, making the information more important than the client and what he/she is feeling. The inner reality of the client is the stuff of the work, and this is not to be subordinated to logic, reason or objective treatment.
Closely related to this danger is another: The manipulative therapist. In this situation the analyst will seem very warm and caring, but will use that feeling skill in manipulative ways, to encourage the client to express certain things in order to confirm his diagnosis, or to support his theories about what’s going on. In this way the therapist is reflecting his need to be in control, directing the process. Jung would have no use for this at all, for Jung recognized the reality of the vix mediatrix naturae, the healing force of nature—the analysand’s own inner healing potential, which analysis is to recognize and support. Jung knew that the psyche can be trusted, and that it is in control, directing the process. The analyst, in Jung’s way of thinking, is a conduit for the healing energies that operate in the dynamic interchange in the analytic container.
And therein lies another danger: isolation. Many therapists will be quite hard-nosed about “maintaining the frame,” i.e. insisting that the client not share anything about the work with other people, keeping the process strictly between him/herself and the analyst. There is value in “sealing the analytic container,” much as a pressure-cooker will cook food faster if the lid is kept in place during the cooking. Jung recognized this. He called it the temenos, referring to the sacred space around ancient temples. The analysis proceeds in a special environment that works better if the energy is contained. But in this, as in most every other aspect of analysis, Jung was flexible; he knew it was not good for analysands to “… remain in an auto-erotic and isolated condition…”
The well-trained analyst—one who has worked through his/her “stuff,” who comes to the work with respect for both patient and psyche, who is personable and able to focus on the person and process—can be a powerful catalyst for personal growth, healing and transformation. So it should be easy to determine the good analysts from the bad, right? Just check the credentials, find out if they are certified Jungian analysts, consider their years of experience—and you’re good to go! Not so fast. As I noted at the beginning of this essay, there is another whole level to consider.
On the Subjective Level:
Who Might Be a Good Analyst for You?
Our society puts great weight on credentials: degrees, certificates, licensure—all sorts of written “proof” of professional competency. But from my personal experience I’ve come to realize that these are very weak considerations when you are trying to determine who might be a good analyst for yourself.
I say “from my personal experience,” and I should describe that a bit, so you know the bases for my discussion of what follows. I have been in analysis for nearly 30 years. I have worked with 4 analysts over that time, 3 men and 1 woman. When it became clear to me in 1984 (when my life was falling apart) that I needed professional help, I knew nothing at all about choosing a therapist. Typical of most people in such situations I checked the Yellow Pages, asked friends for referrals, and showed up at the offices of all the psychologically-related practitioners in my area (eastern Maine, which, in 1984, did not have a lot of such professionals). What an amazing mixed bag of individuals I encountered! Some were creepy (I got out of there fast!), some were warm, but, ultimately, very manipulative. Some were concerned, supportive, but limited in their capacity to handle my very strong negative complexes (years later I learned that even some very experienced, highly trained Jungian analysts find it hard to handle strong negative transference). Just about the time I began to feel despairing I learned that a Jungian analyst was moving to Maine (all the others up to that point were not Jungian). Synchronicity being what it is, I linked up with this analyst in 1985.
Eventually I left Maine and moved to San Francisco, where there is a Jung Institute. There were lots of analysts and I figured I’d find one among that wealth of individuals there to work with. Wrong! I began with one fellow (who came highly recommended by my Maine analyst) but found I could not communicate with him: he seemed to love ambiguity, saw gray where I saw clear black-and-white—it all seemed so muddled. So I left him. Then I tried another, a former college professor, and for a few sessions we had wonderful conversations about our shared love of Baroque harpsichord music and other intellectual interests, but it all seemed just a head trip. I couldn’t sense any feeling connection. So I left him. Then I tried another fellow, and he seemed OK, but his schedule did not permit him to see me when the limited bus schedule would allow me to get to his office. So I couldn’t work with him. So I wrote to my Maine analyst and took up again with her.
Over time, as I moved from California to Maryland, and from there to New York, and from there to Vermont, I linked up with other analysts—all Jungian, all located through the network of Jungian practitioners. I much enjoyed working with two men, both feeling types, both true blue Jungians in their values, process and attitudes. I grew a lot, learned a lot and healed a lot of my negative father stuff.
But I also learned something very surprising. It was in my encounter with the fourth analyst. He was “officially” a Jungian, certified, a product of the training at the New York Jung Institute, but, to my astonishment, he did not practice as a Jungian. All the caveats I mentioned above showed up in my work with this man: the ego, the arrogance, the head stuff, the rigidity, the disempowerment. In the course of time (15 weeks) it became so bad that my psyche stopped sending me dreams! I live by dreams! They are my life! So I had to leave. The surprise was the discovery that, just because someone is a “certified Jungian analyst,” and therefore has had all the years of personal and supervisory analysis, does not mean he/she will practice in the Jungian mode. You can’t trust labels!
So here’s my answer to the question: What makes a good analyst for you? It’s your own subjective feelings. Your own intuitive or gut sense of rapport. The sense that you and this other person are, or can get on the same wavelength, in a feeling sense. The process is not a head trip, and so the fact that you can talk about baseball or Baroque music or the latest pop culture means nothing. You have to feel that you can share your deepest anguish and you will be heard, held, respected, valued and supported. You have to feel empowered and appreciated just as you are, warts and all. Above all, you have to feel safe—the analyst will be there, will offer stability and regularity and a “toehold on reality” when all your own toeholds have disappeared.
And no amount of training, no pile of papers attesting to this or that degree, no number of publications, books or other head stuff really matters if this personal, intuitive, subjective feeling connection—this sense of safety—is missing. Trust yourself and your reactions. Ultimately you—or your psyche—know what is right for you. While friends and family may give you suggestions, recognize that you are unique: your reaction to a therapist may be different from another person’s. All the above facts about the training, personality, relationship, and interaction in a Jungian analysis are secondary to your own personal reaction to the person of the analyst.
Also you might give the evaluation of the analyst some time. While you might know quickly if one person is not right for you, it might be a few weeks before you can be sure about another analyst. So allow a potential therapist several sessions before you decide whether to leave or stay.
One final word: While it might be a challenge to link up with the right person, if Jungian analysis is part of your destiny you will connect with the analyst you are meant to work with, and the whole endeavor will be well worth it in the end. My best wishes for you!
Jacobi, Jolande (1968), The Psychology of C.G. Jung. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Jacoby, Mario (1984), The Analytic Encounter: Transference and Human Relationship. Toronto: Inner City Books.
Jung, C.G. (1961), “Freud and Psychoanalysis,” Collected Works, 4. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1960), ”The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche,” CW 8. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1959), ”The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious,” CW 9i. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1970), “Civilization in Transition,” CW 10. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1953), “Psychology and Alchemy,” CW 12. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1967), “Alchemical Studies,” CW 13. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1963), “Mysterium Coniunctionis,” CW 14. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1954), “The Practice of Psychotherapy,” CW 16, 2nd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1954), “The Development of Personality,” CW 17. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1976), ”The Symbolic Life,” CW 18. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Robinson, Robin (1992), Beginner’s Guide to Jungian Psychology. York Beach ME: Nicolas-Hays.
Tolle, Eckhart (2005), A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose. New York: Plume Books.
 Collected Works 16, ¶2. Hereafter Collected Works will be abbreviated CW.
 CW 4, ¶586.
 CW 10, ¶337.
 CW 10, ¶340.
 CW 18, ¶321.
 CW 18, ¶374.
 CW 4, ¶447.
 CW 4, ¶586.
 CW 10, ¶339.
 CW 18, ¶323.
 CW 4, ¶449.
 Jacoby (1984), 92.
 CW 4, ¶449.
 CW 10, ¶890.
 CW 10, ¶350.
 CW 4, ¶449.
 The minimum is around 200 hours, i.e. about 4 years of analysis, if the sessions are held once a week. More hours than the minimum is certainly desirable.
 I.e. the layers of consciousness, personal unconscious and collective unconscious. See Jacobi (1968), 5-51, and Robinson (1992), 36-43, for diagrams and discussions of Jung’s structure of the psyche.
 See CW 9i for Jung’s treatment of archetypes and the collective unconscious.
 See CW 12, 13 and 14 for Jung’s alchemical studies.
 CW 10, ¶890.
 CW 10, ¶350.
 Jacoby (1984), 92.
 CW 18, ¶1170.
 Jacoby (1984), 91-92.
 Ibid, 112; cf. CW 4, ¶450.
 Jacoby (1984), 109.
 CW 18, ¶374.
 See the 4-part essay “Components of Individuation” and the essay “How to Internalize a Locus of Control, a Locus of Authority, and a Locus of Security, both archived on this blog site.
 CW 18, ¶323.
 CW 10, ¶339.
 CW 18, ¶s 1170-1171.
 Jacoby (1984), 29.
 CW 18, ¶1172.
 CW 17, p. 7
 Jacoby (1984), 92.
 CW 4, ¶587.
 CW 4, ¶447.
 CW 10, ¶337.
 Jacoby (1984), 91.
 CW 8, ¶697.
 CW 10, ¶339.
 Jacoby (1984), 108.
 CW 8, ¶140.
 CW 16, ¶2.
 CW 4, ¶639.
 CW 4, ¶451.
 CW 10, ¶337.
 CW 10, ¶889.
 CW 10, ¶337.
 CW 18, ¶321.
 CW 10, ¶s 337, 339.
 Tolle (2005), 155.
 CW 10, ¶889.
 Jacoby (1984), 109.
 CW 18, ¶321.
 Personal communication with Lynda W. Schmidt, July 1985.