Jung the Man:
Part IV—His Shadow and Complexes
“As great as he was he must also have had a great shadow.”
Laurens Van der Post (1975)
Great gifts are the fairest, and often the most dangerous, fruits on the tree of humanity. In most cases… the gift develops in inverse ratio to the maturation of the personality as a whole, and often one has the impression that a creative personality grows at the expense of the human being. Sometimes, indeed, there is such a discrepancy between the genius and his human qualities that one has to ask oneself whether a little less talent might not have been better.
C.G. Jung (1954)
As I noted in Part II of this essay, Jung was a controversial figure. There were differences of opinion even about things as seemingly straightforward as his eye color! Much more controversy swirls around his personality. While, as we noted in Part III, many regarded Jung very highly, many other people did not, and the more objective of his students were able to see both his gifts and his shadow side. As Van der Post and Jung himself said, in the quotes above, greatness comes along with an equally large shadow side. Jung’s shadow and his psychological complexes are the subjects of Part IV, which comes with a warning: If, like the student who instigated this essay, you venerate Jung, this Part may disabuse you of your adulation. As far as I understand Jung, his life and his work, I think he would rather have you regard him honestly, as he really was, than venerate him as some sort of saint. I say this because Jung was a scientist, a questor for truth, and he would ask no less of us—to seek the truth about him. He was a genius, to be sure, but no saint.
Jung’s Shadow Side
A definition is in order before we plunge into considering Jung’s shadow. What does “shadow” mean? The term was defined in an earlier essay as referring to the “hidden or unconscious aspects of oneself,” which the ego has either repressed or simply not recognized. It is “shadow” because we are “in the dark” about these parts of ourselves. One of the central pieces of the process of individuation, as Jung defined it, is a “confrontation with the shadow.” Jung confronted his shadow in the “fallow years” after his break with Freud, when he would work with patients during the day and retire to his library in the evenings to engage in the active imagination that brought up to him those parts of himself he did not like. In the Scrutiniessection of his Red Book, Jung listed the qualities he recognized as elements of his shadow. These included his: sensitivity, self-righteousness, unruliness, mistrustfulness, pessimism, cowardice, dishonesty with himself, venom, vengefulness, childish pride, craving for power, desire for esteem, laughable ambition, thirst for fame, playacting, pomposity, complaining about others, feelings of being misunderstood or not recognized, vanity, lack of patience, ridicule of others, feelings of superiority, inordinate ambition, self-interest, safeguarding of his own advantage, exploiting the good faith of others, playing at modesty, hypocritical composure, rage, lying, gloating, resentment, envy of the well-being of others, feelings of being above humanity, judging others and uncleanness. That Jung noted this last may reflect Emma’s likely criticism of his poor table manners and how he often left the table with food on his moustache.
So Jung was able to see his shadow, or parts of it. He did, in his words, bring “up the personal unconscious.” But one is left wondering just how much he then did with these insights about himself to integrate his shadow side, so as to live more effectively. When the negative shadow is not integrated, it can hamper interpersonal relationships, make us unpopular, hinder our professional or personal fulfillment, and in other ways stir up trouble, for us and for others.
Jung’s Inferior Feeling Function. Nothing stirred up trouble for Jung like his inferior feeling. Inferior feeling can show up in a variety of ways. Poor judgment about people is one way, and Jung was very naïve and inept in assessing others. This might be one reason for the poor choices he made in the early years of World War II that later led to his being accused of collaborating with the Nazis.
Lack of consideration for others’ feelings is another way inferior feeling can manifest. Jung could ride rough-shod over people. He was “inclined to sharp words” and some would-be patients felt he was inconsiderate. Annelise Aumüller claimed Jung failed to appreciate what she was feeling. Eugen Bleuler, Jung’s boss at the Burghölzli mental hospital, described him as “cold,” while the doctors under his supervision complained he was an overbearing bully.
When feeling is in the shadow, a person can be moody and unpredictable in his/her emotional reactions. Even as a child Jung was capable of sudden rages and he never outgrew this emotional variability. He could be vibrant and charming one moment and then vociferous and rude the next. Especially when people failed to understand him Jung could fly into a dangerous rage. According to Jolande Jacobi (with whom he had some spectacular fights) Jung was furious all the time in the years after World War II, when he seemed to live “… in another world.”
Jung’s undeveloped feeling showed up in more than just unpredictable moods and rages. He could be vengeful and openly aggressive, especially when criticized. For example, when the lawyer Vladimir Rosenbaum told him that he was being naïve in thinking he could hoodwink the Nazis, Jung turned on him in a rage and later in 1937 betrayed Rosenbaum shamefully. He was disloyal to Barbara Hannah too, and when she discussed the experience with him, he told her that “the unconscious does it through me.”
It would seem that Jung did little to develop his feeling function because all the sources speak of how, as he got older, he gave full vent to his feelings, rather than learning to curb or contain them. When someone would provoke his wrath the result could be a “burst of invective” or “full-blooded anger.” Laurens Van der Post, who knew Jung only in the last 16 years of his life, felt that Jung was aware of his shadow and “never ceased to work on” it, but if he did so, it was not reflected in any lessening of his anger, invective, impatience or rage.
Strong thinking types—those likely to have feeling as the inferior function—often can fall into instrumental thinking, which then shows up in life as using or exploiting others. Many people in Jung’s life, including his wife, noticed that he was more interested in his patients’ ideas than he was in the patients themselves. One example of Jung’s using people is his appropriation of Christiana Morgan’s art in his Vision Seminars in the 1930’s. Doing little to hide the source of the drawings, Jung used her work to illustrate his theories, causing her both embarrassment and suffering. Another example of exploitation is Mary Foote’s distribution of his seminar notes to others. With over 100 subscribers, this was a costly proposition, and she bore the full expense of it, with little recognition from Jung. It was not uncommon for him to become fascinated with someone for a time but once he had seen through the person, the “magic was gone” and he lost interest.
In its most extreme form, lack of well-developed feeling can manifest as cruelty. Some of his critics regard Jung’s treatment of Christiana Morgan and Vladimir Rosenbaum as cruel. Certainly it was callous in its disregard for their feelings. Miguel Serrano, meeting Jung in 1959, heard Jung admit that he could be kind but also cruel. When he refused to see old students who had come back to Zurich, when he teased Barbara Hannah by calling her a “dunce,” when he made sarcastic comments at Psychology Club meetings and made fun of people, when he forced people to criticize others in his “Alleluia game,” feeling types came away with the impression that he was cruel. Some even went so far as to call him “sadistic.” When he demanded that Jolande Jacobi return to Nazi-controlled Vienna to get her doctorate, in the face of grave physical danger, some saw this as both bizarre (since there were lots of women around him, practicing as analysts, who had no college degrees at all) and sadistic.
Jung’s Ego. In his self-scrutiny, Jung noted his pride, vanity, self-righteousness, desire for esteem, pomposity, feelings of superiority and how he “played at modesty.” He was surely not the only one to notice this aspect of his shadow. His co-workers at the Burghölzli felt that he so needed “adulation that he would stoop to various unpleasantries to get it.” Early in his career, when he collaborated with others, he wanted to be the first to make discoveries, leading some, like Johann Honegger, to feel the sting of his competitive nature. Others referred to him as “the self-proclaimed god known to us as Aion,” and the “great guru with a hot line exclusively to God.” Where his admirers saw Jung’s confidence and charisma, others saw “unbridled arrogance” and “a great big bully.” Some, like Oskar Pfister, initially got involved in the Psychology Club but came to see “a cult of personality” form around Jung that so put them off that they withdrew from all contact with him. “Vain,” “self-serving,” “the Bull,” the “Barrel”—these are some of the terms that show up in the literature describing Jung’s egotism. His wife Emma certainly saw his pomposity and when she could, she would deflate it. But it never went away. Even in old age Jung worried about what the world thought of him.
Jung’s Behavior. Ego was behind at least some of Jung’s outrageous behavior. He showed “callous disregard” for patients who had set up appointments with him often a full year ahead and had traveled from foreign countries to see him, when he would abruptly change his schedule and go off on a trip. At Psychology Club meetings, if he didn’t like a speaker or what the speaker was saying, he would talk loudly to Toni Wolff, harrumph and guffaw, to the discomfiture of the speaker and the chagrin of the audience. At professional conferences he was known for his coarse humor. When he attended the Tercentenary celebration at Harvard in 1936, where he was awarded an honorary degree, he flaunted social propriety by flirting outrageously with Christiana Morgan, by dominating the dinner conversation with a lengthy disquisition on Hitler, and by taking taxis all around Boston, which he then kept waiting outside while he took tea in friends’ homes. He then sent the huge taxi bill to his hosts. During this same visit to America Jung snubbed his old teacher Pierre Janet, was rude to his host and hostess, G. Stanley and Elizabeth Cobb, and miffed the Tercentenary Committee by abandoning the schedule they had set up for him to go visit friends. Not surprisingly, this was the last trip he made to America. Oxford University also awarded Jung an honorary degree and there too his behavior seemed disrespectful. Michael Fordham felt he was “unable to resist being a gamin” when he showed “humorous disrespect for ceremony.” This left some Oxonians feeling his behavior was an insult to the university.
Jung did not ascribe to accepted social conventions. Not only was he rude, as the above behaviors illustrate, he could be outrageous, e.g. bringing his mistress into his home and having her interact and share meals with his wife and children. He would show up at Psychology Club functions with Emma on one arm, Toni (his mistress) on the other. He called Toni his “other wife”—all this in bourgeois, strait-laced Calvinist Switzerland!
Long after Jung died his children could still remember his rudeness, his bad table manners, and the tension in the house caused by the peculiar triangular relationship he had with Toni and their mother. They also noted how, when they played games with their father, he was not a good loser: he was not above cheating to win. When Jung would get the children involved in dangerous games, his mother-in-law would stand up to him and get him to stop. This then led to his retreating to a bedroom to sulk.
He seemed to enjoy shocking people who were not aware of his trickster side. He found it hard to suffer fools gladly and he hated stupidity. If he found a visitor unpalatable, he was not above throwing the person out. Karl Abraham felt Jung had a “disagreeable character,” and even those on whom he depended, like Ruth Bailey (his caretaker after Emma’s death) and Aniela Jaffé (his last secretary), were not immune to his grumbling and complaining about their errors. His student James Kirsch was accurate in concluding that Jung “had his contradictions.” In Jung’s own words (in a letter he wrote to Freud), there was “something strange about my personality that makes me repellent to many people…”
Jung recognized the reality of his life. All the above and surely many other incidents and events that occurred over the course of his 85+ years revealed Jung’s shadow side. Why such failings and foibles? At least some of Jung’s personality flaws were due to his complexes.
Before considering some of Jung’s complexes let’s define the term. Jungian analyst Daryl Sharp provides a concise definition: Complexes are
‘feeling-toned ideas’ that over the years accumulate around certain archetypes, for instance ‘mother’ and ‘father.’ When complexes are constellated, they are invariably accompanied by affect. They are always relatively autonomous.
As “ideas,” complexes are in the mind—attitudes, beliefs, assumptions and images we have, almost always unconscious (unless we have done lots of inner work to make the unconscious conscious). Complexes are created over time, through years of interacting with people, especially those persons most significant to us early in life, i.e. our parents. Sharp mentions “mother” and “father” as examples of two archetypes and his choice is not haphazard, as our parents, being so significant to our early survival and welfare, tend to be the persons we focus on and from whom we derive a lot of our impressions about life, living and what it means to be an adult. The “constellation” of a complex occurs when some event in outer life activates the complex. In discussions with my students I liken a complex to a bruise on the skin. Just as that spot is very sensitive if/when it is hit, so the complex is a particularly sensitive point on the “surface” of one’s psyche. If we hit a bruise, we say “Ouch!” Similarly, when a complex gets hit by some event or experience, we feel pain (which is what Sharp means when he says the complex is “accompanied by affect”). Complexes are “relatively autonomous” in that our ego loses control in the moment when the complex is hit. When some experience or interaction with another person (especially one who reminds us of the parent) brings up painful memories, we find ourselves drawn back into that moment, and often “disappear.” That is, our ego consciousness vanishes for a time. I can attest to this strange experience, having endured many years when my negative father complex would be hit, and I would disappear into the complex. In these moments I would no longer be dealing with the actual man who reminded me of my father but with the “father imago” who lived within me.
Years of analysis can “depotentiate” the complex: the complex loses its power to take us over. This occurs in stages. At first we are at the mercy of the complex, but as we describe outer life events to our analyst, he/she can see how the complex manifests, the sorts of things (or people) that tend to constellate it, and how we cope when it is set off. Over time, through dream work and discussions in analysis, we get wise to the reality of the complex and begin to notice when it shows up in outer life. It still takes over, but we can report to the analyst about it. More time passes, with more analytic work, and we get to be more self-aware and can observe, in the midst of the complex being constellated, that it is. We still can’t stop it (it still has autonomy) but some part of us can be the more objective observer. With more work, we get to a place where we can note to ourselves that the complex is being hit, and we can be more conscious in the moment. Eventually, we are able to identify the people and situations that would have constellated the complex and not go down that road: we either avoid such situations or (in my experience) discover that the quality of the people we attract into our life improves to the point that they don’t set off the complex.
Analysis is a major way (long-term Buddhist abhidharmapractice is another) we can work through complexes and depotentiate them. One of Jung’s major intellectual achievements was devising the Word Association Experiment early in his career which showed the “reality and autonomy of unconscious complexes.” In doing this Jung helped the pioneers of the new discipline of psychology confirm their belief that complexes are real. Use of the Word Association Experiment revealed that for many people “mother” and/or “father” are two of the most common complexes.
Jung studied complexes. He also had some himself. In this section we will consider Jung’s mother and father complexes and his complex around power. We will conclude Part IV by examining the diagnoses some of Jung’s contemporaries made of his mental health.
The Relationship of Jung’s Parents. We begin not with Jung himself but with the relationship his parents had, because complexes form in the child’s domestic environment, and the parental interaction is a major component in forming the home atmosphere. Paul Jung and Emilie Preiswerk Jung did not have a good marriage. They quarreled often, creating an atmosphere of rage and irritability. Despite their efforts “to live devout lives,” they had frequent angry scenes and this gave Jung no comfort; he grew up discomfited whenever he heard the word “love,” associating it with his parents’ poor relationship. The fact that his parents slept apart, with Jung sleeping with his father, confirmed the troubled marriage. When Jung was three his parents had a temporary separation when his mother went into a Basel hospital for several months. This induced a severe bout of eczema in Jung, which he attributed to her absence and the strain in his environment. Three years later Jung came down with a “pseudo-croup” which he later felt was due to the “choking atmosphere” at home. It was not surprising that such a tension-riddled early environment left its marks on the adult Jung.
Jung’s Mother Complex. It is important to understand the full dimensions of “mother” before we examine how Jung’s mother complex manifested in his life. Our word “mother” comes from the Indo-European root “ma,” which also gives us the words “matter,” “material” and “money.” “Mother” is the vehicle through which we come into the material plane. Our early interaction with “Mother” (be this our biological mother or some other figure that plays the role of primary caregiver) deeply influences how we later in life regard our bodies (i.e. our most basic form of matter), the material world, and money. Physical and material security is rooted in our initial, formative experience of “Mother.”
This early experience was tenuous for Jung. Later in life he described how he felt his mother had periodically abandoned him throughout his infancy, leading to his difficulties later on in trusting others. This poor connection also resulted in a “certain physical timidity” and also anxiety about money. Because his experience of his mother colored his later relationships with women and “determined his expectations of them,” Jung grew up mistrusting his women friends. He said that they never disappointed him, i.e. he believed he was correct to mistrust women.
Part of his mistrust of women might relate to how his mother could be unpredictable. Like Jung she had two sides to her personality. Her #1 personality was good to him, contributing to his development far more than his father did, but her #2 personality (which usually showed up at night) had a “pagan goddess quality”—uncanny, fearsome, striking the little boy Jung “to the core of my being, so that I was stunned into silence.” This early experience led him later in life to conclude that every child has two mothers—the individual woman, and the “Eternal Feminine,” or Great Mother, that holds a fascination as well as terror.
The remarks Jung made to various interviewers over the years suggest that he had ambivalent feelings about his mother. To John Freeman he said he had a better feeling relation to his father, regarding his mother as “… a very problematical something.” To Laurens Van der Post Jung said that his mother had supported him (and especially his #2, or psychic, personality) and had sustained and confirmed his own inner sense of direction. He told Van der Post that his mother contributed to his development more than his father had.
Jung’s Father Complex. This was due, in part, to Jung’s awareness, as he grew up, that his father was a failure. As Jung became aware of just how Paul Jung was shrinking in his estimation, his development fell more and more under feminine influence. Unlike Jung’s mother, his father was predictable, but powerless in areas—like religion—that mattered to Jung. He felt his father wounded him. He did not resent this but felt compassion for his father. Jung told Van der Post that the failure of his father as a parent forced him to grow up long before it was normal. Van der Post himself felt this later explained Jung’s own underdeveloped sense of “father” (about which we will speak in Part V of this essay).
His father’s religious dogmatism caused “great hurt… to Jung’s spirit at… an early age.” While father and son could enjoy philosophical conversations, the moment the topic turned to theology, the quarrels began. Jung would ask his father to give him a belief in God, and his father would shrug his shoulders and turn away. Later in life, it was not surprising that Jung believed men would disappoint him.
As Jung moved into adolescence he quarreled more openly with his father, creating even more tension in their home. Barbara Hannah felt that some of the clash with his father could have been due to a type difference, Jung being a Thinking type (which needs to know “why”) and his father a Feeling type (which can believe without having to have logical explanations for things). Whatever the reason for their difficulties, Jung and his father became more and more at odds.
When Jung started college at the University of Basel, his father’s personality seemed to change from a gentle attitude to one of combative condescension. He began to berate Emilie and belittle Carl. He grew weaker and weaker, so that by 1895, with his father now an invalid, Jung had to carry his father around, an experience that was humiliating for the young man. As his father withered, Jung blossomed. As his father lay dying at home in 1896, Jung stood by, “classically detached.” His mother recognized that his father was a hindrance to him, and his father’s death did spark a transformation in Jung: he had more confidence, freedom and, in Jung’s own words, a manliness “awoke” in him.
But his years as his father’s child left a residue in the form of a negative father complex that colored Jung’s life, profession and philosophy. He longed “for an influential father figure,” which was one (unconscious) reason he took up with Freud. When he began his career, he did not have a good connection with his first boss, Eugen Bleuler, whom he saw in “everlasting opposition” to himself. Shortly after beginning at the Burghölzli clinic, Jung encountered the work of Freud and his initial “take” was positive: he projected his inner (unconscious) positive father on to Freud “out of his need of a father, out of his need of authority and uncertainty in his capacity to walk alone in this new field of science….” But, as is the case with any powerful projection, eventually the carrier of the projection does something or says something that forces us to take the projection back.
In the situation with Freud, this “something” was Freud’s refusal to risk his authority, along with his failure to recognize the true nature of Jung’s personality. As a strong INTP, Jung was ill suited for the extraverted administrative tasks Freud demanded of him. With his father complex still holding him in its grip, in his 1912 break with Freud Jung entered a years-long struggle in which he “liberated” himself “from the regard for the father.”
But it is clear from the pattern of his decades of interactions with men that Jung never fully overcame the wounds of his negative father complex. For example, he never again spoke of Freud without becoming emotional. Even after Freud lost his authority in Jung’s eyes, he remained a “superior personality.” When dealing with men “… a certain kind of archaic authoritarianism… surged up in him at times…” Jung would not permit any man to question his authority or disagree with him. Any who did were banished or ostracized by his followers. This provoked many broken friendships.
Jung was critical of many of the men around him, feeling they were unreliable (perhaps due, in Van der Post’s opinion, to Jung’s own inability to rely on a part of the man in himself). If not unreliable, they seemed to Jung to be competitive. The result was that any man who tried to become a close friend got driven away. Relationships with men would begin well but end with bitterness, rejection and recrimination. Jung claimed that some of this was due to how other psychologists always became competitive with him. Karl Abraham, Max Eitington, W. Weygand, Philip Wylie, Victor White, Ira Progoff, J.B. Lang, even C.A. Meier (initially one of Jung’s greatest supporters)—all eventually broke with him.
The power of his negative father complex showed up even in minor things, like Jung’s inability to learn Arabic. Having mastered Latin, Greek, English, French, and a wealth of other languages he needed in his research, Jung came hard up against Arabic. He “was certain this failure was linked to his father, who knew it well…”
Jung’s Power Complex. Part of Jung’s difficulties with men derived from his father complex, but another cause might be what some called his “power complex.” Ludwig Binswanger took Jung through his Word Association Test in 1907, and the results led Binswanger to conclude that Jung had both a power complex and a money complex. Power relates to the father, money to the mother; given Jung’s poor experience with both parents neither of these complexes is surprising.
Jung’s problems with power showed up in his first job, in his dealings with both his boss and the other doctors whom he had to supervise. He had unstable self-confidence, leading him to swing to and fro, from acting superior to being fearful of losing control. His assistants felt he was controlling and dominating. He was also intolerant of independent thinking. He allowed new ideas, but only if he thought them up first. He was prickly or dismissive of those who wanted to build on his work or explain it for their own purposes. He listened to critics only if they were world-recognized authorities in fields about which Jung knew he was ignorant, e.g. Wolfgang Pauli, the Nobel laureate in physics (whose correspondence with Jung reveals Pauli’s deference and modesty, which might also explain why his relationship with Jung never ruptured). Other men who served his cause he mistreated, like C.A. Meier, who left resenting how Jung had treated him for years “like a lackey.”
Professionals’ Diagnoses of Jung’s Mental Health. Jung was one of the founders of depth psychology. We must remember that there were no analysts he could go to for an analysis to help him work through his complexes. His biographers point out that the only bit of analysis he mighthave had would have been during the years he worked with Toni Wolff, his muse and confidante. To the extent they talked things over, and he opened himself to her, he could have worked through some of his inner conflicts. But, as their correspondence was destroyed, we will never know just how much their interaction took the form of his analysis. Certainly his behaviors in outer life bespeak some powerful complexes. These behaviors also gave some of his contemporaries—professionals trained in psychology—opportunity to diagnose Jung. What did they conclude?
Michael Fordham, one of Jung’s students, felt Jung had a narcissistic personality and a lot of paranoia that led him to never be satisfied with himself or others. Jung’s numerous displays of ego, hypersensitivity, insecurity and “secret lust for power”—traits Jung criticized in others, but could not see in himself—could be signs of narcissism. Other features of the narcissistic personality include : keeping people at arm’s length (being impenetrable), rejecting the interpretations of others, inability to tolerate criticism, having low empathy, taking pride in having no needs, and a grandiose power drive, along with lots of envy and rage. Since all these were traits Jung displayed, Fordham might be correct in his assessment. Further support for this diagnosis comes from Nathan Schwartz-Salant, a Jungian analyst who has worked extensively with patients manifesting the narcissistic personality disorder. He notes how many narcissists experienced faulty or inadequate “mirroring” as infants, leading to the development of a weak ego structure. Given Jung’s own memories of his mother’s abandonment in his earliest years, it is possible he grew up without the mirroring he needed to create a solid sense of himself.
In addition to narcissism, Jung may have suffered from what Walter Kaufman felt was an unresolved Oedipus complex that led him to take up, and then break, with Freud. This also colored the relationships he had with men. That he was a womanizer and cult figure to women, reflecting his psychological dependency on women, would also fit with Kaufman’s diagnosis. After interviewing many of the women who formed Jung’s “Valkyries,” Maggy Anthony came to conclude that Jung needed these women as much as they needed him. Rejection of the father and emotional involvement with the mother are at the crux of the Oedipal situation, and Jung’s life seems to bear this out.
Besides Jungian interpretations of Jung’s psychology, Freudians have offered their views. Vincent Brome, for example, thought Freud’s anal erotic category fit Jung well, in his obsessive punctuality, tidiness and economical habits.
Anal, narcissistic, paranoid, Oedipal—such labels may reflect his complexes and give us hints about how he played the roles of husband and father. The nature of Jung’s private life is the subject of Part V of this essay.
Anthony, Maggy (1990), The Valkyries: The Women Around Jung. London: Element Books.
Bair, Deirdre (2003), Jung: A Biography. New York: Little, Brown & Co.
Baudouin, Charles (1977), “From Charles Baudouin’s Journal,” Jung Speaking, eds. William McGuire & R.F.C. Hull. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Black, Stephen (1977), “The Stephen Black Interviews,” Jung Speaking, eds. William McGuire & R.F.C. Hull. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Boynton, Robert (2004), “In the Jung Archives,” The New York Times Book Review(January 11, 2004), 8.
Brome, Vincent (1978), Jung. New York: Atheneum.
Freeman, John (1977), “The ‘Face-to-Face’ Interview,” Jung Speaking, eds. William McGuire & R.F.C. Hull. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Hannah, Barbara (1976), Jung: His Life and Work, A Biographical Memoir. New York: G.P. Putnam.
Jung, C.G. (1963), “Mysterium Coniunctionis,” CW14. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1954), “The Development of Personality,” CW17. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
________ (1965), Memories, Dreams, Reflections. New York: Vintage Books.
________ (2009), The Red Book Liber Novus, ed. Sonu Shamdasani. New York: W.W. Norton.
________ & Wolfgang Pauli (2001), Atom and Archetype: The Pauli-Jung Letters, ed. C.A. Meier. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Schwartz-Salant, Nathan (1982), Narcissism and Character Transformation: The Psychology of Narcissistic Character Disorders. Toronto: Inner City Press.
Sergeant, Elizabeth Shepley (1977), “Doctor Jung: A Portrait in 1931,” Jung Speaking, eds. William McGuire & R.F.C. Hull. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Serrano, Miguel (1977), “Talks with Miguel Serrano,” Jung Speaking, eds. William McGuire & R.F.C. Hull. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Sharp, Daryl (1991), C.G. Jung Lexicon: A Primer of Terms and Concepts. Toronto: Inner City Books.
Van der Post, Laurens (1975), Jung and the Story of Our Time. New York: Vintage Books.
 Van der Post (1975), 220.
 Collected Works, ¶244. As has been the convention in these essays, Collected Workswill hereafter be abbreviated CW.
 Cf. the opinions of Martin Freud, Charles Baudouin, Elizabeth Shipley Sergeant and Stephen Black, in Brome (1978), 93; Baudouin (1977), 78,146; Sergeant (1977), 51; and Black (1977), 258, respectively.
 “What is America’s Shadow?,” posted to this blog site in May 2009.
 Sharp (1991), 123.
 CW14, ¶514.
Jung (2009), 333-334.
 Bair (2003), 319.
 CW9i, ¶44.
 Bair (2003), 239,440.
 Brome (1978), 251.
 Anthony (1990), 59.
 Brome (1978), 17.
 Bair (2003), 97.
 Ibid., 201.
 E.g. when, during his years at the gymnasium, he was falsely accused by a teacher of plagiarism. He cited this example in discussing with Barbara Hannah his longstanding problems with rage. Hannah (1976), 49.
 Brome (1978), 100.
 Ibid., 243.
A San Francisco analyst recalls the day when he came to his analysis with Jung to find Jacobi bumping down the flight of stairs leading to Jung’s office, hearing Jung yelling after her “Raus, raus, raus!” (“Out, out, out!”); Anthony (1990), 59.
 Bair (2003), 528.
 Brome (1978), 125.
 Ibid., 185.
 Bair (2003), 449.
 Quoted in Brome (1978), 225.
 Cf. ibid., 200,249; and Bair (2003), 528.
 Brome (1978), 126.
 Ibid., 200.
 Van der Post (1975), 220.
 Bair (2003), 262.
 Ibid., 386.
 Anthony (1990), 84.
 Brome (1978), 20.
 E.g. Olga Fröbe; Bair (2003), 450.
 Serrano (1977), 393.
 As he did with Dr. Lucile Elliott; Anthony (1990), 88.
 Hannah claimed she grew to not be bothered by it; Hannah (1976), 200.
 Bair (2003), 252.
 Ibid., 312.
 Anthony (1990), 58.
 E.g. Jane Wheelwright; ibid.
 Jung (2009), 333-334.
 Bair (2003), 97.
 Ibid., 179.
 Ibid., 289.
 Brome (1978), 203.
 Bair (2003), 289.
 Ibid., 309.
 Ibid., 97.
 Ibid., 122.
 Ibid., 452.
 Anthony (1990), 17.
 Brome (1978), 266.
 Bair (2003), 299.
 Brome (1978), 134.
 Bair (2003), 392.
 Ibid., 420.
 Ibid., 420-421.
 Ibid., 421.
 Brome (1978), 15.
 Ibid., 170.
 We will discuss Jung’s marriage, mistress and peculiar triangular relationship in Part V.
 Bair (2003), 319.
 Brome (1978), 249.
 Bair (2003), 253.
 Brome (1978), 249.
 Hannah (1976), 91.
 Brome (1978), 19.
 Ibid., 151.
 Quoted in Bair (2003), 431.
 Quoted in Brome (1978), 98.
 Sharp (1991), 38.
 Ibid., 149.
 For more specifics about parents’ influence on the psychology of their children, see the essay “Jung on the Problem Child,” posted to this blog site in December 2010.
 Brome (1978), 25.
 Hannah (1976), 27.
 Van der Post (1975), 77.
 Brome (1978), 37.
 Ibid., 30.
 Hannah (1976), 28.
 Bair (2003), 30.
 Anthony (1990), 12.
 Bair (2003), 657.
 Van der Post (1975), 78.
 Ibid., 77.
 Hannah (1976), 28.
 Anthony (1990), 9.
 Jung (1965), 49.
 Anthony (1990), 9.
 Freeman (1977), 426.
 Van der Post (1975), 82.
 Ibid., 79.
 Ibid., 82.
 Ibid., 78-79.
 Ibid., 79.
 Ibid., 80.
 Brome (1978), 53.
 Ibid., 60.
 Hannah (1976), 55.
 Bair (2003), 38.
 Brome (1978), 60.
 Ibid., 61.
 After Jung’s father died, his mother told him “He died in time for you.” Jung (1965), 96.
 Brome (1978), 60-61.
 Boynton (2004), R8.
 Brome (1978), 143.
 Van der Post (1975), 147-148.
 Brome (1978), 116.
 For more details on Jung’s type and its impact on his relationship with Freud, see Part III of this essay, archived on this blog site.
 Quoted in Bair (2003), 233.
 Ibid., 101.
 Brome (1978), 141, quoting Jung.
 Van der Post (1975), 79.
 Bair (2003), 537.
 Brome (1978), 98.
 Van der Post (1975), 79.
 Brome (1978), 104; Hannah (1976), 90.
 Bair (2003), 71.
 Ibid., 365.
 Brome (1978), 98; Bair (2003), 551-552,748,798.
 Bair (2003), 340.
 Ibid., 182; Brome (1978), 42.
 Brome (1978), 42.
 Bair (2003), 552.
 Ibid., 553.
 Ibid., 555.
 Ibid., 554.
 For the Jung-Pauli correspondence, see Jung & Pauli (2001).
 Bair (2003), 798.
 Anthony (1990), 29-30. Barbara Hannah noted that Emma Jung may have sensed the therapeutic effect Toni had when, after Toni died in 1953, she said, “I shall always be grateful to her for doing for my husband what I or anyone else could not have done at a most critical time.” Anthony accepts this quote from Hannah at face value, while Bair questions it, noting the lack of intimacy between Emma Jung and Hannah; see Bair (2003), 827, note 11.
 Bair (2003), 818.
 Brome (1978), 267.
 Schwartz-Salant (1982), 37-43.
 Ibid., 45-48.
 Bair (2003), 824.
 Anthony (1990), 96. We will consider Jung’s relationships with women in Part VI of this essay.
 Brome (1978), 267.