LIST OF PLATES 
The plates follow p. 404 
I.	A Ufo Vision Painting by a patient 
II. E. Jakoby: The Fire Sower Author's collection 
III. P. Birkhauser: The Fourth Dimension Private collection 
IV. Yves Tanguy: Painting, 1927 Title unknown. Private collection 
v.	Basel Broadsheet, 1566 
Wickiana Collection, Zentralbibliothek, Zurich 
VI. Nuremberg Broadsheet, 1561 
Wickiana Collection, Zentralbibliothek, Zurich 
VII. "The Spiritual Pilgrim Discovering Another World" Woodcut, 19th(?) cent. Van Houten Collection, Bergen, Netherlands 
VIII. "The Quickening of the Child in the Womb" 
From the Scivias, by Hildegard von Bingen, Rupertsberg Codex, 12th cent., as reproduced in M. Bockeler, Hildegard von Bingen: Wissen die Wege: Scivias (Salzburg, 1954) 
Xll 

I 
THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
MIND AND EARTH 
ARCHAIC MAN 
---- 
THE SPIRITUAL PROBLEM OF MODERN MAN 

w.	
:I 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 1 
To the layman's ears, the word "unconscious" has an und tone of something metaphysical and rather mysterious. T peculiarity, attaching to the whole concept of the unconscious primarily due to the fact that the term found its way into or nary speech as a designation for a metaphysical entity. Edua von Hartmann, for instance, called the unconscious the "U versal Ground." Again, the word was taken up by occultism, J cause people with these leanings are extremely fond of borro ing scientific terms in order to dress their speculations in "scientific" guise. In contradiction to this, the experimental p chologists, who for a long time regarded themselves-not L justly-as the representatives--of the only truly scientific psych ogy, adopted a negative attitude towards the concept of t unconscious, on the ground that everything psychic is conscio and that consciousness alone deserves the name "psyche." Th admitted that conscious psychic contents showed varying degr~ of clarity, some being "brighter" or "darker" than others, b the existence of unconscious contents was denied as being contradiction in terms. 
This view stemmed very largely from the circumstance th work in the laboratory was confined exclusively to "norma subjects, and also from the nature of the experiments the] selves. These were concerned so far as possible with the me elementary psychic processes, while the investigation of the mo complex psychic functions, which by their very nature do n lend themselves to experimental procedures based on exa measurement, was almost entirely absent. But a factor far trar cending both these reasons in importance was the segregatic '1 [Originally published as "Ueber das Unbewusste," Schweizerland: Monatshe, fUr Schweizer Art und Arbeit (Zurich), IV (1918), no. 9, 464-72, and no. 11548-S8,-EDlTORS.] 
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of experimental psychology from psychopathology. In France, ever since the time of Ribot, psychologists had kept an alert eye on abnormal psychic phenomena, and one of their most eminent representatives, Binet, even made the pronouncement that the pathological psyche exaggerated certain deviations from the normal which were difficult to understand, and, by throwing them into relief, made them more comprehensible. Another French psychologist, Pierre Janet, working at the Salpetriere, devoted himself almost exclusively and with great success to the study of psychopathological processes. But it is just the abnormal psychic processes which demonstrate most clearly the existence of an unconscious. For this reason it was the medical men, and above all the specialists in the field of psychic illnesses, who supported the hypothesis of the unconscious and defended it most vigorously. But whereas in France psychology was considerably enriched by the findings of psychopathology and was led to accept the notion of "unconscious" processes, in Germany it was psychology that enriched psychopathology, supplying it with a number of valuable experimental methods-without, however, taking over from psychopathology its interest in pathological phenomena. This explains in large part why psychopathological research underwent a different development in German science from that followed in France. It became-except for the interest it aroused in academic circles-a task for the medical practitioner, who by his professional work was compelled to understand the complex psychic phenomena exhibited by his patients. In this way there came into being that complex of theoretical views and practical techniques which is known as "psychoanalysis." The concept of the unconscious underwent a broad development in the psychoanalytic movement, far more so than in the French school, which was more concerned with the various forms in which unconscious processes manifested themselves than with their causation and their specific content. Fifteen years ago, independently of the Freudian school and on the basis of my own experimental researches, I satisfied myself as to the existence and significance of unconscious' processes, indicating at the same time the methods by which these processes might be demonstrated. Later, in collaboration with a number of my pupils, I also demonstrated the significance of unconscious processes in the mentally insane. 
4 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
	3 	As a result of this-at first-purely medical development t 
concept of the unconscious took on a coloration derived fre the natural sciences. It has remained a purely medical conce in the Freudian school. According to the views of this scho, man, as a civilized being, is unable to act out a large number instinctive impulses and wishes, for the simple reason that th are incompatible with law and morality. In so far, therefore, he wants to adapt himself to society, he is obliged to suppn these wishes. The assumption that man has such wishes is al gether plausible, and the truth of it can be seen at any time every individual with a little application of honesty. But tl insight amounts as a rule only to the general statement tr socially incompatible and inadmissible wishes exist. Experien shows, however, that the facts are quite different when we cor down to individual cases. It then proves, remarkably enoue that very often, as a result of the suppression of an inadmissit wish, the thin wall between wishing and being conscious of t wish is broken, so that the wish becomes unconscious. It is f( gotten, and its place is taken by a more or less rational justifi( tion-if, indeed, any motivation is sought at all. This proce whereby an inadmissible wish becomes unconscious, is call repression) as distinct from suppression) which presupposes tb the wish remained conscious. Although repressed and forgottc the incompatible content-whether it consist of wishes or painful memories-nevertheless exists, and its unperceived pr ence influences the conscious processes. This influence expres~ itself in the form of peculiar disturbances of the consciOl normal functions; we call these disturbances nervous or psyd genic disturbances. The remarkable thing is that they do n conre themselves to purely psychological processes but extel also to physiological ones. In the latter case, as Janet empl sizes, it is never the elementary components of the function tb are disturbed, but only the voluntary application of the functil under various complex conditions. For instance, an elementa component of the nutritive function consists in the act swallowing. If choking were regularly to occur whenever food solid or liquid form was taken, then it would be an anatomi( 
. or organic disturbance. But if the choking occurred only in t case of certain foods or at certain meals, or only in the presen of certain persons, or only in certain moods, then it would bf 
5 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
nervous or psychogenic disturbance. The psychogenic disturbance therefore affects merely the act of eating under certain psychological and not physical conditions. 
	4 	Such disturbances of physiological functions are particularly 
frequent in hysteria. In another, equally large group of illnesses which French doctors call psychasthenia, their place is taken by purely psychological disturbances. These can assume a great variety of forms, such as obsessional ideas, anxiety states, depressions, moods, fantasies, pathological affects and impulses, and so on. At the root of all these disturbances we find repressed psychic contents, i.e., contents that have become unconscious. On the basis of these purely empirical findings, the concept of the unconscious as the sum-total of all incompatible and repressed wishes, including all painful and repressed memories, gradually took form. 
	5 	Now it is an easily demonstrated fact that the overwhelming 
majority of these incompatible contents have to do with the phenomenon of sexuality. Sexuality is a fundamental instinct which, as everyone knows, is the most hedged about with secrecy and with feelings of delicacy. In the form of love, it is the cause of the stormiest emotions, the wildest longings, the profoundest despairs, the most secret sorrows, and, altogether, of the most painful experiences. Sexuality is an important physical and widely ramified psychic function on which the whole future of humanity depends. It is thus at least as important as the function of nutrition, even though it is an instinct of another kind. But whereas we can allow the nutritive function, from the devouring of a simple piece of bread to a guild banquet, to be seen by all eyes in all its variations, and at most must hold it in check because of an attack of intestinal catarrh or a general food shortage, sexuality comes under a moral taboo and has to submit to a large number of legal regulations and restrictions. It is not, like the nutritive function, at the free disposal of the individual. It is therefore understandable that a great many pressing interests and powerful emotions congregate round this question, for as a rule affects are found at places where adaptation is least complete. Furthermore, sexuality, as I have said, is a fundamental instinct in every human being, and this is reason enough for the well-known Freudian theory which reduces everything to sexuality, and sketches a picture of the unconscious which makes it 
6 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
appear as a kind of lumber-room where all the repressed a inadmissible infantile wishes and all the later, inadmissi sexual wishes are stored. Distasteful as such a view is, we m give it its due if we want to discover all the things that Freud i smuggled into the concept of sexuality. We shall then see t: he has widened its boundaries far beyond the permitted lim so that a better word for what he actually means would "Eros" in the old, philosophical sense of a Pan-Eros who F meates all nature as a creative and procreative force. "Sexuali is a most unhappy expression for this. But, such as it is, the 0 cept of sexuality has now been coined and appears to have Sl definite limits that one even hesitates to use the word "love" a synonym. And yet Freud, as can easily be shown from num ous passages in his writings, very often means "love" when speaks merely of sexuality. 
	6 	The whole Freudian movement has settled firmly for 
sexual theory. There is certainly no unprejudiced thinker or vestigator who would not instantly acknowledge the extraOJ nary importance of sexual or erotic experiences and confii, But it will never be proved that sexuality is the fundamental stinct and the activating principle of the human psyche . .A unprejudiced scientist will, on the cgntrary, admit that psyche is an extremely complex structure. Though we can proach it from the biological standpoint and seek to explain il terms of biological factors, it presents us with a great many ot] puzzles whose solution makes demands which no isolated scier such as biology, is in a position to satisfy. No matter what stincts, drives or dynamisms biologists may postulate or assu both now and in the future, it will assuredly be quite impossi to set up a sharply defined instinct like sexuality as a fun mental principle of explanation. Biology, indeed science in g eral, has got beyond this stage: we no longer reduce everyth to a single manifest force, as the earlier scientists did w phlogiston and electricity. We have learned to employ a moc abstraction, named energy, as an explanatory principle for quantitative changes. 
	7 	I am convinced that a truly scientific attitude in psych oIl 
must likewise lead to the conclusion that the dynamic proce: of the psyche cannot be reduced to this or that concrete insti -we should merely find ourselves back at the stage of the pl 
7 

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CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
giston theory. 'Ve shall be obliged to take the instincts as constituent parts of the psyche, and then abstract our principle of explanation from their mutual relationship. I have therefore pointed out that we would do well to posit a hypothetical quantity, an "energy," as a psychological explanatory principle, and to call it "libido" in the classical sense of the word, without harbouring any prejudice with regard to its substantiality. With the help of such a quantity, the psychodynamic processes could be explained in an unobjectionable manner, without that unavoidable distortion which a concrete ground of explanation necessarily entails. Thus, when the Freudian school explains that religious feelings or any other sentiments that pertain to the spiritual sphere are "nothing but" inadmissible sexual wishes which have been repressed and subsequently "sublimated," this procedure would be equivalent to a physicist's explanation that electricity is "nothing but" a waterfall which someone had bought up and piped into a turbine. In other words, electricity is nothing but a "culturally deformed" waterfall-an argument which might conceivably be raised by the Society for the Preservation of Wild Nature but is hardly a piece of scientific ratiocination. In psychology such an explanation would be appropriate only if it could be proved that the dynamic ground of our being is nothing but sexuality, which amounts to saying, in physics, that falling water alone can produce electricity. In that case it could rightly be maintained that electricity is nothing but a waterfall conducted along wires. 
So if we reject the exclusively sexual theory of the unconscious and put in its place an energic view of the psyche, we must say that the unconscious contains everything psychic that has not reached the threshold of consciousness, or whose energycharge is not sufficient to maintain it in consciousness, or that will reach consciousness only in the future. We can then picture to ourselves how the unconscious must be constituted. We have already taken cognizance of rfPIessions as contents of the unconscious, and to these we must add everything that we have forgotten. When a thing is forgotten, it does not mean that it is extinguished; it simply means that the memory has become subliminal. Its energy-charge has sunk so low that it can no longer appear in consciousness;] but, though lost to consciousness, it is not lost to the unconscious. It will naturally be objected that 
8 

9 
10 
11 
III 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
this is no more than a far;on de parler. I would like to ma what I mean clear by a hypothetical example. Suppose there a two people, one of whom has never read a book and the otb has read a thousand. From the minds of both of them we t punge all memory of the ten years in which the first was men living and the second was reading his thousand books. Ea now knows as little as the other, and yet anyone will be able find out which of them has read the books and, be it not< understood them. The experience of reading, though long f, gotten, leaves traces behind it, and from these traces the previc experience can be recognized. This long-lasting, indirect inf ence is due to a fixing of impressions, which are still preserv even when they are no longer capable of reaching consciousnt 
Besides things that have been forgotten, subliminal pem tions form part of the contents of the unconscious. These rr be sense perceptions occurring below the stimulus-threshold conscious hearing, or in the peripheral field of vision; or tImay be apperceptions, by which are meant perceptions of enl psychic or external processes. 
All this material constitutes the personal unconscious. 1 call it personal because it consists entirely of acquisitions del ing from personal life. Therefore, when anything falls into 1 unconscious it is taken up in the network of associations forrr by this unconscious material. Associative connectiom of hi intensity may then be produced, which cross over or rise up il consciousness in the form of inspirations, intuitions, "Ill< ideas," and so on. 
The concept of a personal unconscious does not, howe\ enable us fully to grasp the nature of the unconscious. If unconscious were only personal, it would in theory be possi to trace all the fantasies of an insane person back to individ experiences and impressions. No doubt a large proportion of fantasy-material could be reduced to his personal history, 1 there are certain fantasies whose roots in the individual's F vious history one would seek for in vain. What sort of fantai are these? They are, in a word, mythological fantasies. They elements which do not correspond to any events or experien of personal life, but only to myths. 
Where do these mythological fantasies come from, if they not spring from the personal unconscious and hence from 
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CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
experiences of personal life? Indubitably they come from the brain-indeed, precisely from the brain and not from personal memory-traces, but from the inherited brain-structure itself. Such fantasies always have a highly original and "creative" character. They are like new creations; obviously they derive from the creative activity of the brain and not simply from its mnemonic activity. We receive along with our body a highly differentiated brain which brings with it its entire history, and when it becomes creative it creates out of this history-out of the history of mankind. By "history" we usually mean the history which we "make," and we call this "objective history." The truly creative fantasy activity of the brain has nothing to do with this kind of history, but solely with that age-old natural history which has been transmitted in living form since the remotest times, namely, the history of the brain-structure. And this structure tells its own story, which is the story of mankind: the unending myth of death and rebirth, and of the multitudinous figures who weave in and out of this mystery. 
	13 	This unconscious, buried in the structure of the brain and 
disclosing its living presence only through the medium of creative fantasy, is the suprapersonal unconscious. It comes alive in the creative man, it reveals itself in the vision of the artist, in the inspiration of the thinker, in the inner experience of the mystic. The suprapersonal unconscious, being distributed throughout the brain-structure, is like an all-pervading, omnipresent, Ollniscient spirit. It knows man as he always was, and not as he is at this moment; it knows him as myth. For this reason, also, the connection with the suprapersonal or collective unconscious means an extension of man beyond himself; it means death for his personal being and a rebirth in a new dimension, as was literally enacted in certain of the ancient mysteries. It is cer: tainly true that without the sacrifice of man as he is, man as he was-and always will be-cannot be attained. And it is the artist who can tell us most about this sacrifice of the personal man, if we are not satisfied with the message of the Gospels. 
	14 	It should on no account be imagined that there are such 
-..J things as inherited ideas. Of that there can be no question. 
There are, however, innate possibilities of ideas, a priori conditions for fantasy-production, which are somewhat similar to the Kantian categories. Though these innate conditions do not 
10 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
produce any contents of themselves, they give definite form contents that have already been acquired. Being a part the inherited structure of the brain, they ·are the reason for identity of symbols and myth-motifs in all parts of the earth. 1 collective unconscious forms the dark background against wh the adaptive function of consciousness stands out in sharp reI One is almost tempted to say that everything of value in psyche is taken up into the adaptive function, and that eve thing useless goes to form that inchoate background from whi to the terror of primitive man, menacing shadows and noctur spectres detach themselves, demanding sacrifices and ceremor which to our biologically oriented minds seem futile and me ingless. We laugh at primitive superstitions, thinking oursel superior, but we completely forget that we are influenced just as uncanny a fashion as the primitive by this backgrou which we are wont to scoff at as a museum of stupidities. Pri tive man simply has a different theory-the theory of witchCl and spirits. I find this theory very interesting and very sensibl actually more sensible than the academic views of modern ence. Whereas the highly educated modern man tries to fig out what diet best suits his nervous intestinal catarrh and what dietetic mistakes the new attack may be due, the primiti quite correctly, looks for psychological reasons and seeks a I chically effective method of cure. ~The processes in the unc scious influence us just as much as they do primitives; we possessed by the demons of sickness no less than they, our pSYI is just as much in danger of being struck by some hostile in ence, we are just as much the prey of malevolent spirits of dead, or the victims of a magic spell cast by a strange personal Only, we call all these things by different names, and that is only advantage we have over primitive man. It is, as we knO\! little thing, yet it makes all the difference. For mankind it . always like a deliverance from a nightmare when the new na was found. 
	15 	This mysterious background, which from time immemo 
peopled the nocturnal shadows of the primeval forest with same yet ever-changing figures, seems like a distorted reflect of life during the day, repeating itself in the dreams and ten of the night. Shadowily they crowd round, the revenants, spirits of the dead, fleeting memory-images risen from the pri 
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CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
of the past whence no living thing returns, or feelings left behind by some impressive experience and now personified in spectral form. All this seems but the bitter aftertaste from the emptied beaker of the day, the unwelcome lees, the useless sediment of experience. But if we look closer, we discover that this apparently hostile background sends out powerful emissaries which influence the behaviour of primitives in the highest degree. Sometimes these agencies take on a magical, sometimes a religious form, and sometimes the two forms appear inextricably mixed. Both of them are the most important factors in the primitive mentality after the struggle for existence. In them the spiritual element manifests itself autonomously to the primitive psyche-whose reflexes are purely animal-in projected, sensuous form, and we Europeans must sometimes be struck with wonder at the tremendous influence the experience of the spirit can have on primitive man. For him, the sensuous immediacy of the object attaches to spiritual phenomena as well. A thought appears to him) he does not think it; it appears to him in the form of a projected sensuous perception, almost like an hallucination, or at least like an extremely vivid dream. For this reason a thought, for the primitive, can superimpose itself on sensuous reality to such an extent that if a European were to behave in the same way we should say he was mad. 
	16 	These peculiarities of primitive psychology, which I can 
only touch lightly on here, are of great importance for an understanding of the collective unconscious. A simple reflection will bear this out. As civilized human beings, we in Western Europe have a history reaching back perhaps 2,500 years. Before that there is a prehistoric period of considerably greater duration, during which man reached the cultural level of, say, the Sioux Indians. Then come the hundreds of thousands of years of neolithic culture, and before that an unimaginably vast stretch of time during which man evolved from the animal. A mere fifty generations ago many of us in Europe were no better than primitives. The layer of culture, this pleasing patina, must therefore be quite extraordinarily thin in comparison with the powerfully developed layers of the primitive psyche. But it is these layers that form the collective unconscious, together with the vestiges of animality that lose themselves in the nebulous abyss of time. 
	17 	Christianity split the Germanic barbarian into an upper and 
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THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
a lower half, and enabled him, by repressing the dark side, domesticate the brighter half and fit it for civilization. But lower, darker half still awaits redemption and a second SI of domestication. Until then, it will remain associated with vestiges of the prehistoric age, with the collective unconscic which is subject to a peculiar and ever-increasing activation. the Christian view of the world loses its authority, the m menacingly will the "blond beast" be heard prowling about its underground prison, ready at any moment to burst out w devastating consequences. When this happens in the individ it brings about a psychological revolution, but it can also t; a social form. 
	18 	In my opinion this. problem does not exist for the Jews. 1 
Jew already had the culture of the ancient world and on of that has taken over the culture of the nations amongst wh he dwells. He has two cultures, paradoxical as that may sou He is domesticated to a higher degree than we are, but hI badly at a loss for that quality in man which roots him to earth and draws new strength from below. This chtho quality is found in dangerous concentration in the Germa peoples. Naturally the Aryan European has not noticed any si of this for a very long time, but perhaps he is beginning to nol it in the present war; and again, perhaps not. The Jew has little of this quality-where has he his own earth underfoot? 1 mystery of earth is no joke and no paradox. One only need~ see how, in America, the skull and pelvis measurements of the European races begin to indianize themselves in the secc generation of immigrants. That is the mystery of the Ameri, earth. 
	19 	The soil of every country holds some such mystery. We h 
an unconscious reflection of this in the psyche: just as then a relationship of mind to body, so there is a relationship of bl to eartM hope the reader will pardon my figurative way speaking, and will try to grasp what I mean. It is not easy to scribe, definite though it is. There are people-quite anum of them-who live outside and above their bodies, who float 1 bodiless shadows above their earth, their earthy compolll which is their body. Others live wholly in their bodies. As an the Jew lives in amicable relationship with the earth, but w out feeling the power of the chthonic. His receptivity to I 
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CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
seems to have weakened with time. This may explain the specific need of the Jew to reduce everything to its material beginnings; he needs these beginnings in order to counterbalance the dangerous ascendency of his two cultures. A little bit of primitivity does not hurt him; on the contrary, I can understand very well that Freud's and Adler's reduction of everything psychic to primitive sexual wishes and power-drives has something about it that is beneficial and satisfying to the Jew, because it is a form of simplification. For this reason, Freud is perhaps right to close his eyes to my objections. But these specifically Jewish doctrines are thoroughly unsatisfying to the Germanic mentality; we still have a genuine barbarian in us who is not to be trifled with, and whose manifestation is no comfort for us and not a pleasant way of passing the time. Would that people could learn the lesson of this war! The fact is, our unconscious is not to be got at with over-ingenious and grotesque interpretations. The psychotherapist with a Jewish background awakens in the Germanic psyche not those wistful and whimsical residues from the time of David, but the barbarian of yesterday, a being for whom matters suddenly become serious in the most unpleasant way. This annoying peculiarity of the barbarian was apparent also to Nietzsche -no doubt from personal experience-which is why he thought highly of the Jewish mentality and preached about dancing and flying and not taking things seriously. But he overlooked the fact that it is not the barbarian in us who takes things seriously -they become serious for him. He is gripped by the daemon. And who took things more seriously than Nietzsche himself? 
It seems to me that we should take the problem of the unconscious very seriously indeed. The tremendous compulsion towards goodness and the immense moral force of Christianity are not merely an argument in the latter's favour, they are also a proof of the strength of its suppressed and repressed counterpart -the antichristian, barbarian element. The existence within us of something that can turn against us, that can become a serious matter for us, I regard not merely as a dangerous peculiarity, but as a valuable and congenial asset as well. It is a still untouched fortune, an uncorrupted treasure, a sign of youthfulness, an earnest of rebirth. Nevertheless, to value the unconscious exclusively for the sake of its positive qualities and to regard it as a source of revelation would be fundamentally wrong. 
14 

21 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
The unconscious is, first and foremost, the world of the pa~ which is activated by the one-sidedness of the conscious attitud Whenever life proceeds one-sidedly in any given direction, tJ self-regulation of the organism produces in the unconscious, accumulation of all those factors which play too small a part the individual's conscious existence. For this reason I have p forward the compensation theory of the unconscious as a COl plement to the repression theory. 
The role of the unconscious is to act compensatorily to t] conscious contents of the moment. By this I do not mean that sets up an opposition, for there are times when the tendency the unconscious coincides with that of consciousness, name: when the conscious attitude is approaching the optimum. T nearer it approaches the optimum, the more the autonomo activity of the unconscious is diminished, and the more its val sinks until, at the moment when the optimum is reached, it fa to zero. We can say, then, that so long as all goes well, so long a person travels the road that is, for him, the individual as WI as the social optimum, there is no talk of the unconscious. T very fact that we in our age come to speak of the unconscious all is proof that everything is not in order. This talk of the 1.: conscious cannot be laid entirely at the door of analytical p chology; its beginnings can be traced back to the time of t French Revolution, and the first signs of it can be found Mesmer. It is true that in those days they did not speak of t unconscious but of "animal magnetism." This is nothing bu rediscovery of the primitive concept of soul-force or soul-stl awakened out of the unconscious. by a reactivation of arch; forms of thought. At the time when animal magnetism v spreading throughout the Western world as a regular epiden of table-turning, amounting in the end to a recrudescence of t belief in fetishes (animation of an inanimate object), Rob< Mayer elevated the primitive dynamic idea of energy, which re up from the unconscious and forced itself on him like an inspi tion-as he himself describes-to the level of a scientific conce Meanwhile, the table-turning epidemic burst its bounds al gether and proliferated into spiritualism, which is a modern . lief in spirits and a rebirth of the shamanistic form of religi practised by our remote forefathers. This development of activated contents from the unconscious is still going on tod 
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CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
and during the last few decades has led to a popularizing of the next higher stage of differentiation-the eclectic or Gnostic systems of Theosophy and Anthroposophy. At the same time, it laid the foundations of French psychopathology, and in particular of the French school of hypnotism. These, in turn, became the main sources of analytical psychology, which now seeks to investigate scientifically the phenomena of the unconsciousthe same phenomena which the theosophical and Gnostic sects made accessible to the simple-minded in the form of portentous mysteries. 
It is evident from this development that analytical psychology does not stand in isolation but finds itself in a definite historical setting. The fact that this whole disturbance or reactivation of the unconscious took place around the year 1800 is, in my view, connected with the French Revolution. This was less a political revolution than a revolution of minds. It was a colossal explosion of all the inflammable matter that had been piling up ever since the Age of Enlightenment. The official deposition of Christianity by the Revolution must have made a tremendous impression on the unconscious pagan in us, for from then on he found no rest. In the greatest German of the age, Goethe, he could really live and breathe, and in Holderlin he could at least cry loudly for the glory that was Greece. After that, the dechristianization of man's view of the world made rapid progress despite occasional reactionaries. Hand in hand with this went the importation of strange gods. Besides the fetishism and shamanism already mentioned, the prime import was Buddhism, retailed by Schopenhauer. M ystery religions spread apace, including that higher form of shamanism, Christian Science. This picture reminds us vividly of the first centuries of our era, when Rome began to find the old gods ridiculous and felt the need to import new ones on a large scale. As today, they imported pretty well everything that existed, from the lowest, most squalid superstition to the noblest flowerings of the human spirit. Our time is fatally reminiscent of that epoch, when again everything was not in order, and again the unconscious burst forth and brought back things immemorially buried. If anything, the chaos of minds was perhaps less pronounced then than it is today. 
As the reader will have remarked, I have omitted to speak 16 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
here of the medical aspect of the unconscious, for instance question of how the unconscious produces nervous sympt( But I have touched on this question in the earlier pages and now leave it alone. At all events, I am not getting away from subject, because psychotherapy is concerned not only 1 family quarrels, unhappy love-affairs, and the like, but with question of psychological adaptation in general, and the tude we are to take towards people and things, and also tow ourselves. A doctor who treats the body must know the b and a doctor who treats the psyche must know the psyche. I knows the psyche only under the aspect of sexuality or of personal lust for power, he knows it only in part. This part to be known, of course, but the other parts are equally im tant, and particularly the question I have touched on here cerning the relation between conscious and unconscious. A logically trained eye is not sufficient to grasp this problem in practice it is more than a matter of eugenics, and the 01 vation of human life in the light of self-preservation and pr gation is too one-sided. Certainly the unconscious present with very different aspects; but so far we have fixed our a tion too much on certain outward peculiarities, for instance archaic language of the unconscious, and have taken it all q literally. The language of the unconscious is particularly ric images, as our dreams prove. But it is a primitive langua! faithful reflection of the colourful, ever-changing world. unconscious is of like nature: it is a compensatory image 01 world. In my view it cannot be maintained either that the conscious has a merely sexual nature or that it is a metaphy reality, nor can it be exalted into a "universal ground." It be understood as a psychic phenomenon, like conscious We no more know what the psyche is than we know what li They are interpenetrating mysteries, giving us every reasOl uncert\l-inty as to how much "I" am the world, and how n '\yorld,\ is "I". The unconscious at any rate is real, becau works. I like to visualize the unconscious as a world seen mirror: our consciousness presents to us a picture of the c world, but also of the world within, this being a compens, mirror-image of the outer world. We could also say thal outer world is a compensatory mirror-image of the inner w At all events we stand between two worlds, or between 
17 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
totally different psychological systems of perception; between perception of external sensory stimuli and perception of the unconscious. The picture we have of the outer world makes us understand everything as the effect of physical and physiological forces; the picture of the inner world shows everything as the effect of spiritual agencies. Then, it is no longer the force of gravity that welds the stars together, but the creative hand of a demiurge; love is no longer the effect of a sexual stimulus, but of psychic predestination, and so forth. 
	=4 	The right way may perhaps be found in the approximation 
of the two worlds. Schiller thought he had found this way in art, in what he called the "symbol" of art. The artist, therefore, should know the secret of the middle path. My own experiences led me to doubt this. I am of the opinion that the union of rational and irrational truth is to be found not so much in art as in the symbol per se; for it is the essence of the symbol to contain both the rational and the irrational. It always expresses the one through the other; it comprises both without being either. 
	25 	How does a symbol originate? This question brings us to the 
most important function of the unconscious: the symbol-creating function. There is something very remarkable about this function, because it has only a relative existence. The compensatory function, on the other hand, is the natural, automatic function of the unconscious and is constantly present. It owes its existence to the simple fact that all the impulses, thoughts, wishes, and tendencies which run counter to the rational orientation of daily life are denied expression, thrust into the background, and finally fall into the unconscious. There all the things which we have repressed and suppressed, which we have deliberately ignored and devalued, gradually accumulate and, in time, acquire such force that they begin to influence consciousness. This influence would be in direct opposition to our conscious orientation if the unconscious consisted only of repressed and suppressed material. But this, as we have seen, is not the case. The unconscious also contains the dark springs of instinct and intuition, it contains all those forces which mere reasonableness, propriety, and the orderly course of bourgeois existence could never call awake, all those creative forces which lead man onwards to new developments, new forms, and new goals. I therefore call the influence of the unconscious not merely complementary but 
18 

26 
27 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
compensatory, because it adds to consciousness everything t has been excluded by the drying up of the springs of intuit and by the fixed pursuit of a single goal. 
This function, as I say, works automatically, but, owin~ the notorious atrophy of instinct in civilized man, it is often weak to swing his one-sided orientation of consciousness i new direction against the pressures of society. Therefore, ar cial aids have always been needed to bring the healing force the unconscious into play. It was chiefly the religions that! formed this task. By taking the manifestations of the unconsci as divine or daemonic signs, revelations, or warnings, t offered it some idea or view that served as a favourable gradi In this way they directed particular attention to all phenom of unconscious origin, whether they were dreams, visions, j ings, fantasies, or projections of the same in strange or unu: personalities, or in any striking processes of organic and organic nature. This concentration of attention enabled unconscious contents and forces to overflow into conscious thereby influencing it and altering it. From this standpoint ligious ideas are an artificial aid that benefits the unconsc by endowing its compensatory function-which, if disregan would remain ineffective-with a higher value for consci ness. Faith, superstition, or any strongly feeling-toned idea g the unconscious content a value which ordinarily it does possess, but which it might in time attain, though in a very pleasant form. When, therefore, unconscious contents accu late as a result of being consistently ignored, they are boun exert an influence that is pathological. There are just as IT neurotics among primitives as among civilized Europeans. ] terical Africans are by no means rare in Africa. These disag able manifestations of the unconscious account in large mea for the primitive fear of demons and the resultant rite propitiation. 
. Th~ compensatory function of the unconscious natU1 does not contain in itself the conscious valuation, although wholly dependent on the conscious way of thinking. The conscious can supply, at most, the germs of conscious convict or of symbol-formation. We can say, therefore, that the sym creating function of the unconscious exists and does not e depending on the conditions. It shares this paradoxical qu 
19 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
with symbols in general. One is reminded of the story of the young rabbi who was a pupil of Kant's. One day an old rabbi came to guide him back to the faith of his fathers, but all arguments were in vain. At last the old rabbi drew forth the ominous shofar) the horn that is blown at the cursing of heretics (as happened to Spinoza), and asked the young man if he knew what it was. "Of course I know," answered the young man coolly, "it is the horn of a ram." At that the old rabbi reeled back and fell to the ground in horror. 
	lI8 	What is the shofar? It is also only the horn of a ram. Some- 
times a symbol can be no more than that, but only when it is dead. The symbol is killed when we succeed in reducing the shofar to a ram's horn. But again, through symbolization a ram's horn can become the shofar. 
	29 	The compensatory function expresses itself in quite defi- 
nite arrangements of psychic material, for instance in dreams, in which nothing "symbolic" is to be found any more than in a ram's horn. In order to discover their symbolic quality a quite definite conscious attitude is needed, namely, the willingness to understand the dream-content symbolically, first of all as a mere hypothesis, and then leave experience to decide whether it is necessary or desirable to understand the dream in this way. I will give a brief example which may help to elucidate this difficult question. An elderly woman-patient, who, like many others, was upset by the problem of the war, once told me the following dream which she had shortly before she visited me: 
	30 	She was singing hymns that put particular emPhasis on her 
belief in Christ) among others the hymn that goes: 
Christ's blood and righteousness shall be My festal dress and jewellery; 
So shall I stand before the Lord 
When heaven shall grant me my reward. They shall be saved at Judgment Day Who put their trust in Christ alway. 
While she was singing it) she saw a bull tearing around madly in front of the window. Suddenly it gave a jump and broke one of its legs. She saw that the bull was in agony) and thought) turning her eyes away) that somebody ought to kill it. Then she awoke. 
	31 	The bull's agony reminded her of the torturings of animals 
20 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
whose unwilling witness she had been. She abominated sue things and was extraordinarily upset by them because of her Ul conscious identification with the tortured animal. There w; something in her that could be expressed by the image of an an mal being tortured. This image was evidently evoked by the sp cial emphasis on the belief in Christ in the hymns she was sin: ing, for it was while she was singing that the bull got excited an broke its leg. This odd combination of ideas immediately led t an association concerning the profound religious disquiet she ha felt during the war, which shook her belief in the goodness ( God and in the adequacy of the Christian view of the worl( This shock should have been assuaged by the emphasis on Chri tian faith in the hymn, but instead it aroused that animal elemer in the unconscious which was personified by the bull. This is ju: the element that is represented by the Christian symbol as havin been conquered and offered up in sacrifice. In the Christian my tery it is the sacrificed Lamb, or more correctly, the "little ram. In its sister-religion, Mithraism, which was also Christianity most successful rival, the central symbol of the cult was the sacr fice not of a ram but of a bull. The usual altarpiece showed tb overcoming of the bull by the divine saviour Mithras. We hav, therefore, a very close historical connection between Christianit and the bull sacrifice. Christianity suppressed this animal el, ment, but the moment the absolute validity of the Christian fait is shaken, that element is thrust into the foreground again. Tb animal instinct seeks to break out, but in so doing breaks a legin other words, instinct cripples itself. From the purely anim, drives there also come all those factors which limit the sway e instinct. From the same root that produces wild, untamed, blin instinct there grow up the rutturallaws and cultural forms th, tame and break its pristine power. But when the animal in us split off from consciousness by being repressed, it may easily bur~ out in full force, quite unregulated and uncontrolled. An ou burst' of this sort always ends in catastrophe-the animal destro) itself. What was originally something dangerous now becom< something to be pitied, something that really needs our con passion. The tremendous forces unleashed by the war bring abol their own destruction because there is no human hand to preserv and guide them. Our view of the world has proved too narrow t channel these forces into a cultural form. 
21 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
	3~ 	Had I tried to explain to my elderly woman-patient that the 
bull was a sexual symbol, she would have got nothing out of it; on the contrary, she would merely have lost her religious point of view and been none the better off. In such cases it is not a question of an either/or explanation. If we are willing to adopt a symbolical standpoint, even if only as an hypothesis, we shall see that the dream is an attempt on the part of the unconscious to bring the Christian principle into harmony with its apparently irreconcilable opposite-animal instinct-by means of understanding and compassion. It is no accident that official Christianity has no relation to the animal. This omission, particularly striking in comparison with Buddhism, is often felt by sensitive people and has moved one modern poet to sing of a Christ who sacrifices his life for the sufferings of dumb animals. The Christian love of your neighbour can extend to the animal too, the animal in uSo and can surround with love all that a rigidly anthropomorphic view of the world has cruelly repressed. By being repressed into the unconscious, the source from which it originated, the animal in us only becomes more beastlike, and that is no doubt the reason why no religion is so defiled with the spilling of innocent blood as Christianity, and why the world has never seen a bloodier war than the war of the Christian nations. The repressed animal bursts forth in its most savage form when it comes to the surface, and in the process of destroying itself leads to international suicide. If every individual had a better relation to the animal within him, he would also set a higher value on life. Life would be the absolute, the supreme moral principle, and he would react instinctively against any institution or organization that had the power to destroy life on a large scale. 
	33 	This dream, then, simply shows the dreamer the value of 
Christianity and contrasts it with an untamed force of nature, which, left to its raging, hurts itself and demands pity. A purely analytical reduction that traced the religious emotion back to the repression of animal instinct would, in this particular case, be sterile and uselessly destructive. If, on the other hand, we assert that the dream is to be understood symbolically and is trying to give the dreamer an opportunity to become reconciled with herself, we have taken the first step in an interpretation which will bring the contradictory values into harmony and open up a new path of inner development. Subsequent dreams would then, in 
22 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
keeping with this hypothesis, provide the means for understar ing the wider implications of the union of the animal com} nent with the highest moral and intellectual achievements of t human spirit. In my experience this is what actually happens, j the unconscious is continuously compensatory in its action up the conscious situation of the moment. It is therefore not a mat of indifference what our conscious attitude is towards the 1 conscious. The more negative, critical, hostile, or disparaging are, the more it will assume these aspects, and the more the tr value of the unconscious will escape us. 
	34 	Thus the unconscious has a symbol-creating function 01 
when we are willing to recognize in it a symbolic eleme The products of the unconscious are pure nature. Naturam sequemur ducemo nunquam aberrabimuso2 said the ancients. I nature is not, in herself, a guide, for she is not there for ma sake. Ships are not guided by the phenomenon of magnetism. , have to make the compass a guide and, in addition, allow fo specific correction, for the needle does not even point exactly the north. So it is with the guiding function of the unconscio It can be used as a source of symbols, but with the necessary 0 scious correction that has to be applied to every natural p nomenon in order to make it serve our purpose. 
	35 	Many people will find this view extremely unscientific, 
nowhere do they see any reduction to fundamental causes, that they could declare with certainty that such-and-such a thi is "nothing but" this or that. For all those who seek to expl; things in this way, sexuality as a causative factor is very Cl venient. Indeed, in the case I have described a sexual expla tion could be offered without much difficulty. But-what WOl the patient get out of it? What use is it to a woman on threshold of old age if her problem is answered in this way? should psychotherapy be reserved for patients under forty? 
	36 	Naturally we can ask in return: What does the patient 
out, of an answer that takes religious problems seriously? W is a religious problem anyway? And what has a scientific met!: to do with religion? 
	37 	It seems to me that the patient is the proper authority 
deal with questions of this sort. What does he get out of th ! 
	2"If 	I 
we take Nature for our guide, we shall never go astray." 
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CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
38 
however they are answered? '-\Thy should he bother his head about science? If he is a religious person, his relationship to God will mean infinitely more to him than any scientifically satisfactory explanation, just as it is a matter of indifference to a sick man how he gets well so long as he does get well. Our patient, indeed any patient, is treated correctly only when he is treated as an individual. This means entering into his particular problem and not giving him an explanation based on "scientific" principles that goes clean over his head although it may be quite correct biologically. 
In my view the first duty of a scientific psychologist is to keep close to the living facts of the psyche, to observe these facts carefully, and thus open himself to those deeper experiences of which at present he has absolutely no knowledge. When, therefore, this or that individual psyche has a sexual conflict, and another one has a religious problem, the true scientist will first of all acknowledge the patent difference between them. He will devote himself as much to the religious problem as to the sexual problem, regardless of whether the biologist's credo allows room for the gods or not. The really unprejudiced investigator will not let his subjective credo influence or in any way distort the material lying before him, and pathological material is no exception to this. Nowadays it is a piece of unwarranted nai'vete to regard a neurotic conflict as exclusively a sexual or as exclusively a power problem. This procedure is just as arbitrary as the assertion that there is no such thing as the unconscious and no neurotic conflicts. When we see all round us how powerful ideas can be, we must admit that they must be equally powerful in the psyche of the individual, whether or not he is aware of it. No one doubts that sexuality is a psychologically effective factor, and it cannot be doubted that ideas are psychologically effective factors too. Between the world of ideas and the world of instinct there is, however, a polar difference, so that as a rule only one pole is conscious. The other pole then dominates the unconscious. Thus, when anyone in his conscious life is wholly under the sway of instinct, his unconscious will place just as one-sided an emphasis on the value of ideas. And since the influence of the unconscious does in the end reach consciousness indirectly, and secretly determines its attitude, it gives rise to a compromise formation: instinct surreptitiously becomes a fixed idea, it loses 
24 
THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
its reality and is blown up by the unconscious into a one-side universal principle. We see the contrary often happening te when a person consciously takes his stand on the world of ide and is gradually forced to experience how his instinct secre makes his ideas the instrument of unconscious wishes. 
As the contemporary world and its newspapers present t 
spectacle of a gigantic psychiatric clinic, every attentive obsen has ample opportunity to see these formulations being enact before his eyes. A principle of cardinal importance in studyi these phenomena is the one already stressed by analytical p chology: that the unconscious of one person is projected up another person, so that the first accuses the second of what overlooks in himself. This principle is of such alarming gene1 validity that everyone would do well, before railing at others, sit down and consider very carefully whether the brick shou not be thrown at his own head. 
This seemingly irrelevant aside brings us to one of the me remarkable features of the unconscious: it is, as it were, prese before our eyes in all its parts, and is accessible to observati, at any time. 
The reason for this paradoxical quality is that the un cc 
scious, in so far as it is activated in any way by small amounts energy, is projected upon certain more or less suitable objec The reader will ask how anyone can know this. The existence projections was gradually recognized when it was found that t process of psychological adaptation was marked by disturban( and defects whose cause appeared to lie in the object. elm investigation revealed that the "cause" was an unconscious cc tent of the subject, which, because not recognized by him, (I parently transferred itself to the object, and there magnified 0 of its peculiarities to such proportions that it seemed a sufficie 
cause of the disturbance. 
The fact of projection was first recognized from disturbam 
of psychological adaptation. Later, it was recognized also fre what promoted adaptation, that is to say from the apparenl ~ositive qualities of the object. Here it was the valuable qua tles of the subject's own personality which he had overlook 
. that appeared in the object and made it especially desirable. 
	43 	But the full extent of these projections from the unconscio 
became known through analysis of those obscure and inexpl 25 
39 
4° 
41 
42 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
able feelings and emotions which give some intangible, magical quality to certain places, certain moods of nature, certain works of art, and also to certain ideas and certain people. This magic likewise comes from projection, but a projection of the collective unconscious. If it is inanimate objects that have the "magical" quality, often their mere statistical incidence is sufficient to prove that their significance is due to the projection of a mythological content from the collective unconscious. Mostly these contents are motifs already known to us from myths and fairytales. I would mention as an example the mysterious house where a witch or magician dwells, where some monstrous crime is being committed or has been committed, where there is a ghost, where a hidden treasure lies buried, and so on. The projection of this primordial image can be recognized when, one day, a person somehow comes upon this mysterious house-when, in other words, a real but quite ordinary house makes a magical impression upon him. Generally, too, the whole atmosphere of the place seems symbolic and is, therefore, the projection of a coherent unconscious system. 
	44 	We find this phenomenon beautifully developed in primitive 
man. The country he inhabits is at the same time the topography of his unconscious. In that stately tree dwells the thundergod; this spring is haunted by the Old Woman; in that wood the legendary king is buried; near that rock no one may light a fire because it is the abode of a demon; in yonder pile of stones dwell the ancestral spirits, and when any woman passes it she must quickly utter an apotropaic formula lest she become pregnant, for one of the spirits could easily enter her body. All kinds of objects and signs mark these places, and pious awe surrounds the marked spot. Thus does primitive man dwell in his land and at the same time in the land of his unconscious. Everywhere his unconscious jumps out at him, alive and real. How different is our relationship to the land we dwell in! Feelings totally strange to us accompany the primitive at every step. Who knows what the cry of a bird means to him, or the sight of that old tree! A whole world of feeling is closed to us and is replaced by a pale aestheticism. Nevertheless, the world of primitive feeling is not entirely lost to us; it lives on in the unconscious. The further we remove ourselves from it with our enlightenment and our rational superiority, the more it fades into the distance, but is 
26 

THE ROLE OF THE UNCONSCIOUS 
made all the more potent by everything that falls into it, thru out by our one-sided rationalism. This lost bit of nature see] revenge and returns in faked, distorted form, for instance as tango epidemic, as Futurism, Dadaism, and all the other craz and crudities in which our age abounds. 
	45 	Even the primitive's distrust of the neighbouring trib 
which we thought we had long ago outgrown thanks to Ol global organizations, has come back again in this war, swollt to gigantic proportions. It is no longer a matter of burning doV'; the neighbouring village, or of making a few heads roll: who countries are devastated, millions are slaughtered. The enen nation is stripped of every shred of decency, and our own faul appear in others, fantastically magnified. Where are the superi( minds, capable of reflection, today? If they exist at all, noboc heeds them: instead there is a general running amok, a ur versal fatality against whose compelling sway the individual powerless to defend himself. And yet this collective phenomenc is the fault of the individual as well, for nations are made up 1 individuals. Therefore the individual must consider by wh means he can counteract the evil. Our rationalistic attitude leac us to believe that we can work wonders with international 0 ganizations, legislation, and other well-meant devices. But j reality only a change in the attitude of the individual can brir about a renewal in the spirit of the nations. Everything begiJ with the individual. 
	46 	There are well-meaning theologians and humanitarians wI 
want to break the power principle-in others. We must begin 1 breaking it in ourselves. Then the thing becomes credible. '" should listen to the voice of nature that speaks to us from tl unconscious. Then everyone will be so preoccupied with himse that he will give up trying to put the world to rights. 
	47 	The layman may feel somewhat astonished that I have i 
cluded these general problems in my discussion of a psych logical concept. They are not a digression from my theme, might appear, but are an essential part of it. The question of tl relations between conscious and unconscious is not a speci question, but one which is bound up in the most intimate w; with our history, with the present time, and with our view of tl ~orld. Very many things(are unconscious for us only because Ol VIew of the world allows them no room; because by educatic 
27 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
and training we have never come to grips with them, and, whenever they came to consciousness as occasional fantasies, have instantly suppressed them. The borderline between conscious and unconscious is in large measure determined by our view of the world. That is why we must talk about general problems if we wish to deal adequately with the concept of the unconscious. And if we are to grasp its nature, we must concern ourselves not only with contemporary problems, but also with the history of the human mind. 
	48 	This preoccupation with the unconscious is a problem of 
practical as well as theoretical importance. For just as our view of the world up till now has been a decisive factor in the shaping of the unconscious and its contents, so the remoulding of our views in accordance with the active forces of the unconscious is laid upon us as a practical necessity. It is impossible to cure a neurosis permanently with individual nostrums, for man cannot exist merely as an isolated individual outside the human community. The principle on which he builds his life must be one that is generally acceptable, otherwise it will lack that natural morality which is indispensable to man as a member of the herd. But such a principle, if it is not left in the darkness of the unconscious, becomes a formulated view of the world which is felt as a necessity by all who are in the habit of consciously scrutinizing their thoughts and actions. This may explain why I have touched on questions each one of which would need for its full presentation more than one head and more than one lifetime. 
28 

MIND AND EARTH 1 
	49 	The phrase "mind and earth" has a slightly poetic ring. 
voluntarily we think, by contrast, of the mind 2 as subject to influences of heaven, in much the same way as the Chinese I tinguish between a shen-soul and a kwei-soul, the one relat to heaven, the other to earth. But since we Westerners kn nothing about the substance of the mind, and therefore can venture to say whether it has in it something of a heave nature and something of an earthly nature, we must be cont to speak of two different ways of viewing, or two different aspf of, the complicated phenomenon we call mind. Instead of pm lating a heavenly shen-soul, we could regard mind as a cause: and creative principle; and instead of a kwei-soul, mind COl be conceived as a product of cause and effect. The latter poinl view would be the more appropriate in regard to our theme, mind would then be understood as a system of adaptati determined by the conditions of an earthly environment. I nl hardly emphasize that this causal view must necessarily be 0 sided, because only one aspect of the mind is properly gras} by it. The other side of the problem must be left out of aCCOl as not belonging to my theme. 
1 [Originally published as part of an essay, "Die Erdbedingtheit der Psyche,' Mensch und Erde, edited by Count Hermann Keyserling (Darmstadt, 1927), 83-137. That essay was later divided and largely rewritten as two: "Die Stru1 der Seele," for the bibliographical history of which see its translation, "The Stl tu re of the Psyche," Coli. Works, Vo!. 8, p. 300; and the present paper, "Seele 1 Erde," in Seelenprobleme der Gegenwart (Zurich, 1931). The original (1927) pa was translated by C. F. and H. G. Baynes as "Mind and the Earth," Contributi to Analytical Psychology (London and New York, 1928), and that version has b consulted.-EDIToRS.] 
2 [The word used throughout lhis essay is "Seele," which in this context can translated either as "mind" or as "psyche." Cf. "The Structure of the Psycl p. 300, note.- TRANS.] 
29 

50 
51 
52 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
In approaching the subject of our discussion, it would be as well to define accurately what is to be understood by "mind." Certain views would limit "mental" or "psychic" strictly to consciousness. But such a limitation would no longer satisfy us today. Modern psychopathology has in its possession a wealth of observations regarding psychic activities that are entirely analogous to conscious functions and yet are unconscious. One can perceive, think, feel, remember, decide, and act, unconsciously. Everything that happens in consciousness can under certain conditions also occur unconsciously. How this is possible can best be seen if one pictures the psychic functions and contents as a night landscape over which the beam of a searchlight is playing. Whatever appears in this light of perception is conscious; what lies in the darkness beyond is unconscious, though none the less real and effective. If the beam of light shifts, the contents that till now were conscious sink into the unconscious, and new contents come into the lighted area of consciousness. The contents that have vanished in the darkness continue to be active and make themselves felt indirectly, most commonly as symptoms. Freud has described these symptomatic disturbances in The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. The unconscious aptitudes and inhibitions can also be demonstrated experimentally, by means of association tests. 
If, then, we take the investigations of psychopathology into account, the mind appears as an extended area of psychic phenomena which are partly conscious and partly unconscious. The unconscious portion of the mind is not directly accessible-otherwise it would not be unconscious-but can only be inferred from the effects which unconscious processes have on consciousness. Our inferences can never go beyond an "as if." 
Here I must go rather more closely into the nature and structure of the unconscious if I am to deal adequately with the conditioning of the mind by the earth. It is a question that concerns the very beginnings and foundations of the mind-things that from time immemorial have lain buried in the darkness, and not merely the banal facts of sense-perception and conscious adaptation to the environment. These belong to the psychology of consciousness, and, as I have said, I do not equate consciousness with the psyche. The latter is a much more comprehensive and darker 
30 

53 
54 
55 

MIND AND EARTH 
field of experience than the narrow, brightly lit area of co sciousness, for the psyche also includes the unconscious. 
In another essay 3 I tried to give a general view of the stru ture of the unconscious. Its contents, the archetypes, are as were the hidden foundations of the conscious mind, or, to u: another comparison, the roots which the psyche has sunk not on in the earth in the narrower sense but in the world in genera Archetypes are systems of readiness for action, and at the san time images and emotions. They are inherited with the brail structure-indeed, they are its psychic aspect. They represent, 0 the one hand, a very strong instinctive conservatism, while 0 the other hand they are the most effective means conceivable ( instinctive adaptation. They are thus, essentially, the chthon portion of the psyche, if we may use such an expression-that po tion through which the psyche is attached to nature, or in whic its link with the earth and the world appears at its most tangibl, The psychic influence of the earth and its laws is seen mo: clearly in these primordial images. 
This problem is not only very complicated but also a vel subtle one. We shall have to reckon with quite unusual difl culties in dealing with it, and the first of these is that the archc type and its function must be understood far more as a part e man's prehistoric, irrational psychology than as a rationally cOl ceivable system. Perhaps I may be allowed a comparison: it is ~ though we had to describe and explain a building whose Uppf storey was erected in the nineteenth century, the ground floc dates back to the sixteenth century, and careful examination e the masonry reveals that it was reconstructed from a tower bui] in the eleventh century. In the cellar we come upon Roma foundations, and under the cellar a choked-up cave with nee lithic tools in the upper layer and remnants of fauna from th same period in the lower layers. That would be the picture c our psychic structure. We live on the upper storey and are onl aware that the lower storey is slightly old-fashioned. As to wha lies beneath the earth's surface, of that we remain totally ur conscious. 
This is a lame analogy, like all analogies, for in the psych there is nothing that is just a dead relic. Everything is alive, anc 3 ["The Structure of the Psyche"( (cf. supra, n. 1), which immediately preceded th present essay in Seelenprobleme der Gegenwart.-EDlTORS.] 
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59 
60 
CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
our upper storey, consciousness, is continually influenced by its living and active foundations. Like the building, it is sustained and supported by them. And just as the building rises freely above the earth, so our consciousness stands as if above the earth in space, with a wide prospect before it. But the deeper we descend into the house the narrower the horizon becomes, and the more we find ourselves in the darkness, till finally we reach the naked bed-rock, and with it that prehistoric time when reindeer hunters fought for a bare and wretched existence against the elemental forces of wild nature. The men of that age were still in full possession of their animal instincts, without which life would have been impossible. The free sway of instinct is not compatible with a strongly developed consciousness. The consciousness of primitive man, like that of the child, is sporadic, and his world, like the child's, is very limited. Indeed,· in accordance with phylogenetic law, we still recapitulate in childhood reminiscences of the prehistory of the race and of mankind in general. Phylogenetically as well as ontogenetically we have grown up out of the dark confines of the earth; hence the factors that affected us most closely became archetypes, and it is these primordial images which influence us most directly, and therefore seem to be the most powerful. I say "seem" because what seems to us the most important thing psychically is not necessarily the most important, or at least need not remain so. 
	56 	What, then, are the most immediate archetypes? This ques- 
tion leads us straight to the problem of archetypal functioning, and so to the heart of the difficulty. From what standpoint should we answer the question? From that of the child, or of the primitive, or of our adult modern consciousness? How can we recognize an archetype? And when is it necessary to have recourse to this hypothesis at all? 
	57 	I would like to suggest that every psychic reaction which is 
out of proportion to its preciPitating cause should be investigated as to whether it may be conditioned at the same time by an archetype.4 
	58 	What I mean by this can best be illustrated by an example. 
Suppose a child is afraid of its mother. We have first to assure ourselves that there is no rational cause for this, a bad con4 [Cf. "Instinct and the Unconscious," in The Structure and Dynamics of the Psyche.-EDlToRs.] 
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MIND AND EARTH 
science, for instance, on the child's part, or violence on mother's, or something else that may have happened to 1 child. If there is nothing of this kind to explain the fear, th I would suggest that the situation be regarded as an archety] one. Usually such fears occur at night, and are wont to sh, themselves in dreams. The child now dreams of the mother a witch who pursues children. The conscious material behi these dreams is in some cases the story of Hansel and Gretel. is then said that the child should not have been told such fairytale, because the tale is thought to be the cause of the fe; That is an erroneous rationalization, but it nevertheless contai a core of truth in so far as the witch-motif is the most suitat expression for childish fears, and always has been. That is w such fairytales exist. Children's night-terrors are a typical eve that is constantly repeating itself and has always been express, 
in typical fairytale motifs. 
But fairytales are only infantile forms of legends, myths, at 
superstitions taken from the "night religion" of primitive What I call "night religion" is the magical form of religion, t] meaning and purpose of which is intercourse with the daJ powers, devils, witches, magicians, and spirits. Just as the chil ish fairytale is a phylogenetic repetition of the ancient nig] religion, so the childish fear is a re-enactment of primitive ps 
chology, a phylogenetic relic. 
The fact that this relic displays a certain vitality is in r sense abnormal, for nocturnal fears, even in adults living unde civilized conditions, are not necessarily an abnormal phenom non. Only an intensified degree of night-fear can be regarded; abnormal. The question then is, under what circumstances this night-fear increased? Can the increase be explained sole] by the archetype of the witch expressed in the fairytale, or mu: some other explanatory cause be adduced? 
	ch 	We should make the archetype responsible only for a def 
nite, minimal, normal degree of fear; any pronounced increase felt to be abnormal, must have special causes. Freud, as w know, explains this fear as due to the collision of the child' incestuous tendency with the incest prohibition. He thus e:l\ plains it from the standpoint of the child. I have no doubt tha children can have "incestuous" tendencies in the extended sens, used by Freud, but I doubt very much whether these tendencie 
33 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
can be attributed without more ado to the child's psychology sui generis. There are very good reasons for the view that the childpsyche is still under the spell of the parents' psyche, especially the mother's, and to such a degree that the psyche of the child must be regarded as a functional appendage of that of the parents. The psychic individuality of the child develops only later, after a reliable continuity of consciousness has been established. The fact that the child begins by speaking of himself in the third person is in my view a clear proof of the impersonality of his psychology. 
	62 	I am therefore inclined to explain the possible incestuous 
tendencies of the child rather from the standpoint of the psychology of the parents, just as every childish neurosis should be considered first and foremost in the light of the parental psychology. Thus, a frequent cause of increased infantile terrors is an especial "complex-proneness" on the part of the parents, that is, their repression and disregard of certain vital problems. Anything that falls into the unconscious takes on a more or less archaic form. If, for example, the mother represses a painful and terrifying complex, she will feel it as an evil spirit pursuing her -a "skeleton in the cupboard," as the English say. This formulation shows that the complex has already acquired archetypal force. It sits on her like an incubus, she is tormented by nightmares. Whether she tells "nightmare-stories" to the child or not, she none the less infects the child and awakens in its mind archetypal terror images from her own psychology. Perhaps she has erotic fantasies about a man other than her husband. The child is the visible sign of their marriage tie, and her resistance to the tie is unconsciously directed against the child, who has to be repudiated. On the archaic level this corresponds to childmurder. In this way the mother becomes a wicked witch who devours children. 
	63 	As in the mother, so in the child the possibilities of archaic 
representation lie dormant, and the same cause which first produced and laid down the archetype during the course of human history reactivates it again and again today. 
	64 	This example of the manifestation of an archetype in a child 
has not been chosen at random. We began with the question of what are the most immediate archetypes. The most immediate is the primordial image of the mother; she is in every way the 
34 

MIND AND EARTH 
nearest and most powerful experience, and the one which OCC1 during the most impressionable period of man's life. Since cc sciousness is as yet only poorly developed in childhood, one ca not speak of an "individual" experience at all. On the contral the mother is an archetypal experience; she is experienced by t more or less unconscious child not as a definite, individu feminine personality but as the mother, an archetype chargl with an immensity of possible meanings. As life proceeds tJ primordial image fades and is replaced by a conscious, relative individual image, which is assumed to be the only mother-ima: we have. But in the unconscious the mother always remains powerful primordial image, colouring and even determinil throughout life our relations to woman, to society, to the wor of feeling and fact, yet in so subtle a way that, as a rule, there no conscious perception of the process. We think all this is on a metaphor. But it becomes a very concrete fact when a ma marries a wife only because in some way she resembles h mother, or else because she very definitely does not. Mothl Germania is for the Germans, like la douce France for d French, a figure of the utmost importance behind the politic scene, who could be overlooked only by blinkered intellectual The all-embracing womb of Mother Church is anything but metaphor, and the same is true of Mother Earth, Mother Natur and "matter" in general. 
	65 	The archetype of the mother is the most immediate one f( 
the child. But with the development of consciousness the fath( also enters his field of vision, and activates an archetype whm nature is in many respects opposed to that of the mother. Just;: the mother archetype corresponds to the Chinese yin) so th father archetype corresponds to the yang. I t determines our reI; tions to man, to the law and the state, to reason and the spir: and the dynamism of nature. "Fatherland" implies boundarie. a definite localization in space, whereas the land itself is Mothe Earth, quiescent and fruitful. The Rhine is a father, as is th Nile, the wind and storm, thunder and lightning. The father i the "auctor" and represents authority, hence also law and th state. He is that which moves in the world, like the wind; th guide and creator of invisible thoughts and airy images. He i the creative wind-breath1the spirit, pneuma, atman. 
	66 	Thus the father, too, is a powerful archetype dwelling in th 
35 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
psyche of the child. At first he is the father, an all-encompassing God-image, a dynamic principle. In the course of life this authoritarian imago recedes into the background: the father turns into a limited and often all-too-human personality. The father-imago, on the other hand, develops to the full its potential significance. Just as man was late in discovering nature, so he only gradually discovered law, duty, responsibility, the state, the spirit. As the nascent consciousness becomes more capable of understanding, the importance of the parental personality dwindles. The place of the father is taken by the society of men, and the place of the mother by the family. 
	67 	It would be wrong, in my view, to say that all those things 
which take the place of the parents are nothing but a substitute for the unavoidable loss of the primordial parental imagos. What appears in their stead is not just a substitute, but a reality that is interwoven with the parents and has impressed itself on the mind of the child through the parental imago. The mother who gives warmth, protection, and nourishment is also the hearth, the sheltering cave or hut, and the surrounding vegetation. She is the provident field, and her son is the godlike grain, the brother and friend of man. She is the milk-giving cow and the herd. The father goes about, talks with other men, hunts, travels, makes war, lets his bad moods loose like thunderstorms, and at the behest of invisible thoughts he suddenly changes the whole situation like a tempest. He is the war and the weapon, the cause of all changes; he is the bull provoked to violence or prone to apathetic laziness. He is the image of all the helpful or harmful elemental powers. 
	68 	All these things are the early immediacies of the child's life, 
impinging on him, directly or indirectly, through the parents. And as the parental imago shrinks and becomes humanized, all those things, which at first seemed only like a background or like marginal effects, begin to stand out more clearly. The earth he plays with, the fire he warms himself at, the rain and wind that chill him, were always realities, but because of his twilight consciousness they were seen and understood only as qualities of the parents. Then, as out of a mist, there emerge the material and dynamic aspects of the earth, revealing themselves as powers in their own right, and no longer wearing the masks of the 
36 

MIND AND EARTH 
--- 
parents. They are thus not a substitute but a reality that cc responds to a higher level of consciousness. 
	69 	Nevertheless something is lost in this development, and th 
is the irreplaceable feeling of immediate oneness with the pa ents. This feeling is not just a sentiment, but an important ps chological fact which Levy-Bruhl, in an altogether differel context, has called particiPation mystique. The fact denoted 1 this not immediately understandable expression plays a gre; role in the psychology of primitives as well as in analytical ps chology. To put it briefly, it means a state ot identity in mutul unconsciousness. Perhaps I should explain this further. If tf same unconscious complex is constellated in two people at tf same time, it produces a remarkable emotional effect, a proje tion, which causes either a mutual attraction or a mutual repu sion. When I and another person have an unconscious relatio to the same important fact, I become in part identical with hin and because of this I orient myself to him as I would to the con plex in question were I conscious of it. 
	7° 	This state of particiPation mystique obtains between paren 
and children. A well-known example is the stepmother wh identifies herself with the daughter and, through her, marries th son-in-law; or the father who thinks he is considering his son welfare when he naIvely forces him to fulfil his-the father'swishes, for instance in marriage or in the choice of a professiOl The SOn who identifies himself with the father is an equally wel known figure. But there is an especially close bond betwee mother and daughter, which in certain cases can actually b demonstrated by the association method.5 Although the partic pation mystique is an unconscious fact to the person concerne< he nevertheless feels the change when it no longer exists. Ther is always a certain difference between the psychology of a ma whose father is still living and one whose father is dead. So Ion ~s a particiPation mystique with the parents persists, a relativel mfantile style of life can be maintained. Through the particiPt tion mystique life is pumped into us from outside in the form c unconscious motivations, for which, since they are unconsciou: no responsibility is felt. Because of this infantile unconsciousne1 1; ["Statistical Investigations on Word-Associations and on Familial Agreement i Reaction Type among Uneduca~ed Persons," by Emma Fiirst, in Studies in Wor Association (trans. by Eder).-EDIToRS.] 
37 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
the burden of life is lightened, or at least seems so. One is not alone, but exists unconsciously in twos or threes. In imagination the son is in his mother's lap, protected by the father. The father is reborn in the son-at least as a link in the chain of eternal life. The mother has rejuvenated her father in her youthful husband and so has not lost her youth. I need not cite examples from primitive psychology. A reference to them must suffice. 
	71 	All this drops away with the broadening and intensification 
of consciousness. The resultant extension of the parental imagos over the face of the world, or rather, the world's breaking through the mists of childhood, severs the unconscious union with the parents. This process is even performed consciously in the primitive rites of initiation into manhood. The archetype of the parents is thereby driven into the background; it is, as we say, no longer "constellated." Instead, a new kind of participation mystique begins with the tribe, society, Church, or nation. This participation is general and impersonal, and above all it gives unconsciousness very little scope. If anyone should incline to be too unconscious and too guilelessly trusting, law and society will quickly shake him into consciousness. But sexual maturity also brings with it the possibility of a new personal particiPation mystique) and hence of replacing that part of the personality which was lost in identification with the parents. A new archetype is constellated: in a man it is the archetype of woman, and in a woman the archetype of man. These two figures were likewise hidden behind the mask of the parental imagos, but now they step forth undisguised, even though strongly influenced by the parental imagos, often overwhelmingly so. I have given the feminine archetype in man the name "anima," and the masculine archetype in woman the name "animus," for specific reasons which I shall discuss later. 6 
	72 	The more a man or woman is unconsciously influenced by 
the parental imago, the more surely will the figure of the loved one be chosen as either a positive or a negative substitute for the parents. The far-reaching influence of the parental imago should not be considered abnormal; on the contrary, it is a very normal and therefore very common phenomenon. I t is, indeed, very important that this should be so, for otherwise the parents are not 
6 Cf. Two Essays on Analytical Psychology, pp. 186ff. 
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MIND AND EARTH 
- 
reborn in the children, and the parental imago becomes so com- 
pletely lost that all continuity in the life of the individual ceases. He cannot connect his childhood with his adult life, and therefore remains unconsciously a child-a situation that is the best possible foundation for a neurosis. He will then suffer from all those ills that beset parvenus without a history, be they individuals or social groups. 
	73 	It is normal that children should in a certain sense marry 
their parents. This is just as important, psychologically, as the biological necessity to infuse new blood if the ancestral tree is to produce a good breed. It guarantees continuity, a reasonable prolongation of the past into the present. Only too much or too little in this direction is harmfuL 
	74 	So long as a positive or negative resemblance to the parents 
is the deciding factor in a love choice, the release from the parental imago, and hence from childhood, is not complete. Although childhood has to be brought along for the sake of historical continuity, this should not be at the expense of further development. When, towards middle life, the last gleam of childhood illusion fades-this it must be owned is true only of an almost ideal life, for many go as children to their graves-then the archetype of the mature man or woman emerges from the parental imago: an image of man as woman has known him from the beginning of time, and an image of woman that man carries within him eternally. 
	75 	There are indeed many men who can describe exactly, even 
to individual details, the image of woman that they carry in their minds. (I have met few women who could give as exact a picture of the masculine archetype.) Just as the primordial image of the mother is a composite image of all previous mothers, so the image of the anima is a supra-individual image. So true is this that the image reveals closely corresponding features in men who are individually very different, and one can almost reconstruct from it a definite type of woman. The most striking feature about the anima-type is that the maternal element is entirely lacking. She is the companion and friend in her favourable aspect, in her unfavourable aspect she is the courtesan. Often these types are described very accurately, with all their h~man and daemonic qU'llities, in fantastic romances, such as RIder Haggard's She and Wisdom's Daughter) Benoit's L'Atlan- 
39 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
tide) and, fragmentarily, in the second part of Faust) in the figure of Helen. But the anima-type is presented in the most succinct and pregnant form in the Gnostic legend of Simon Magus, a caricature of whom appears in the Acts of the Apostles.7 Simon Magus was always accompanied on his travels by a girl, whose name was Helen. He had found her in a brothel in Tyre; she was a reincarnation of Helen of Troy. I do not know whether Goethe's Faust-Helen motif was consciously derived from the Simon legend. A similar relationship occurs in Rider Haggard's Wisdom's Daughter) where we can be certain that there was no conscious continuity. 
	76 	The absence of the maternal element demonstrates, on the 
one hand, the complete release from the mother-imago, and, on the other, the idea of a purely human relationship lacking the natural incentive of procreation. The overwhelming majority of men on the present cultural level never advance beyond the maternal significance of woman, and this is the reason why the anima seldom develops beyond the infantile, primitive level of the prostitute. Consequently, prostitution is one of the main by-products of civilized marriage. In the legend of Simon, however, and in the second part of Faust anima symbols of complete maturity are found. This growth of adulthood is synonymous with growth away from nature. Christian and Buddhist monastic ideals grappled with the same problem, but always the flesh was sacrificed. Goddesses and demigoddesses took the place of the personal, human woman who should carry the projection of the anima. 
	77 	Here we touch on highly controversial territory into which 
I do not wish to venture further at this point. W"e shall do better to return to the simpler problem of how we can recognize the existence of such a feminine archetype. 
	78 	As long as an archetype is not projected and not loved or 
hated in an object, it is still wholly identical with the individual, who is thus compelled to act it out himself. A man will then act out his own anima. We have a word that aptly characterizes this attitude: it is "animosity." This expression can best be interpreted as "anima possession," denoting a condition of uncontrolled emotion. The word "animosity" is used only for un- 
78:9-24. For the Helen legend see Irenaeus, Adv. haer. 9, xxiii. 4° 

MIND AND EARTH 
---- 
pleasant emotions, but actually the anima can induce pleasant 
ones as well. 8 
	79 	Self-control is a typically masculine ideal, to be achieved by 
the repression of feeling. Feeling is a specifically feminine virtue, and because a man in trying to attain his ideal of manhood represses all feminine traits-which are really part of him, just as masculine traits are part of a woman's psychology-he also represses certain emotions as womanish weakness. In so doing he piles up effeminacy or sentimentality in the unconscious, and this, when it breaks out, betrays in him the existence of a feminine being. As we know, it is just the "he-men" who are most at the mercy of their feminine feelings. This might explain the very much greater number of suicides among men, and, conversely, the extraordinary strength and toughness often developed by very feminine women. If we carefully examine the uncontrolled emotions of a man and try to reconstruct the probable personality underlying them, we soon arrive at a feminine figure which I call, as I said, the anima. On the same ground the ancients conceived of a feminine soul, a "psyche" or "anima," and not without good psychological reasons did the ecclesiastics of the Middle Ages propound the question, Habet mulier animam? 
	80 	vVith women the case is reversed. When the animus breaks 
out in a woman, it is not feelings that appear, as in a man, but she begins to argue and to rationalize. And just as his animafeelings are arbitrary and capricious, so these feminine arguments are illogical and irrational. One can speak of an animusthinking that is always right and must have the last word, and always end up with "That's just the reason!" If the anima is irrational feeling, the animus is irrational thinking. 
	81 	So far as my experience goes, a man always understands 
fairly easily what is meant by the anima; indeed, as I said, he frequently has a quite definite picture of her, so that from a varied collection of women of all periods he can single out the one who comes closest to the anima-type. But I have, as a rule, found it very difficult to make a woman understand what the animus is, and I have never met any woman who could tell me anything definite about his personality. From this I conclude 
I I 
8 Two Essays on Analytical Psychology) pp. 207£. 
41 

82 
83 
84 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
that the animus does not have a definite personality at all; in other words, he is not so much a unity as a plurality. This fact must somehow be connected with the specific psychology of men and women. On the biological level a woman's chief interest is to hold a man, while a man's chief interest is to conquer a woman, and because of his nature he seldom stops at one conquest. Thus one masculine personality plays a decisive role for a woman, but a man's relation to a woman is much less definite, as he can look on his wife as one among many women. This makes him lay stress on the legal and social character of marriage, whereas a woman sees it as an exclusively personal relationship. Hence, as a rule, a woman's consciousness is restricted to one man, whereas a man's consciousness has a tendency to go beyond the one personal relationship-a tendency that is sometimes opposed to any personal limitations. In the unconscious, therefore, we may expect a compensation by contraries. The man's sharply defined anima figure fulfils this expectation perfectly, as also does the indefinite polymorphism of the woman's anlmus. 
The description of anima and animus that I have given here is necessarily a brief one. But I should be carrying brevity too far if I described the anima merely as a primordial image of woman consisting of irrational feelings, and the animus merely as a primordial image of man consisting of irrational views. Both figures present far-reaching problems, since they are elementary forms of that psychic phenomenon which from primitive times has been called the "soul." They are also the cause of that deep human need to speak of souls or daemons at all. 
Nothing that is autonomous in the psyche is impersonal or neutral. Impersonality is a category pertaining to consciousness. All autonomous psychic factors have the character of personality, from the "voices" of the insane to the control-spirits of mediums and the visions of the mystics. Anima and animus, likewise, have a personality character, and this cannot be better expressed than by the word "soul." 
Here I would like to guard against a misunderstanding. The concept of "soul" which I am now using can be compared more with the primitive idea of the soul, for instance the ba-soul and ka-soul of the Egyptians, than with the Christian idea of it, which is an attempt to make a philosophical construct out of a 
42 

..-- 
8S 
86 
87 
88 

MIND AND EARTH 
metaphysical individual substance. My conception of the soul has absolutely nothing to do with this, since it is purely phenomenological. I am not indulging in any psychological mysticism, but am simply trying to grasp scientifically the elementary psychic phenomena which underlie the belief in souls. 
Since the complex of facts represented by anima and animus best corresponds to what has been described as soul at all times and by all peoples, it is hardly surprising that they bring an uncommonly mystical atmosphere along with them as soon as one tries to examine their contents more closely. Whenever the anima is projected, she immediately surrounds herself with a peculiar historical feeling which Goethe expressed in the words: 
"In times gone by you were my wife or sister." 9 Rider Haggard and Benoit had to go back to Greece and Egypt in order to give expression to this insistent historical feeling. 
Curiously enough, the animus seems to be lacking in this mystical sense of history. I would almost say that he is more concerned with the present and the future. He has nomothetical proclivities, preferring to speak grandiosely of things as they should be, or to give an apodictic judgment on the most obscure and controversial matters, and in such positive terms that the woman is relieved of all further (and possibly all too painful) reflection. 
Once again, I can only explain this difference as a compensation by contraries. A man, in his conscious activity, plans ahead and seeks to create the future, while it is a specifically feminine trait to rack one's brains over such questions as who was somebody's great-great-aunt. But it is just this feminine passion for genealogies that comes out very clearly in Rider Haggard, garnished with Anglo-Saxon sentiment, and in Benoit the same thing is served up with the spicy admixture of a chronique scandaleuse. Intimations of reincarnation in the form of irrational feelings hang very strongly about a man's anima, :vhile a woman will sometimes consciously admit such feelings If she is not too much under the domination of the man's rationalism. 
This historical feeling always has the quality of momentousness and fatefulness, and therefore leads directly to the problems 
11 Un titled poem ("Warum gabst du uns die tiefen Blicke?") in Werke, n. p. 43. 
43 

89 
9° 
91 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
of immortality and divinity. Even the rationalistic, sceptical Benoit describes those who have died of love as being preserved for all eternity by a peculiarly effective method of mummification, not to mention the full-blown mysticism of Rider Haggard in Ayesha: The Return of She-altogether a psychological document of the first rank. 
The animus, not having these emotional qualities, seems to lack entirely the aspect I have been describing, yet in his deepest essence he is just as historically-minded as the anima. Unfortunately there are no good literary examples of the animus. Women writers seem to be deficient in a certain naive introspection, or at least they prefer to keep the results of their introspection in another compartment, possibly because no feeling is connected with it. I know of only one unprejudiced document of this sort, a novel by Marie Hay, The Evil Vineyard. In this very unpretentious story the historical element in the animus comes out in a clever disguise that was surely not intended by the author. 
The animus consists of a priori assumptions based on unconsidered judgments. The existence of such judgments can only be inferred from the woman's conscious attitude to certain things. I must give you an example. A woman I knew surrounded her son with the most solemn care and lent him an importance he in no way deserved, with the result that soon after puberty he became neurotic. The reason for her senseless attitude was not at first discernible. Closer investigation, however, revealed the existence of an unconscious dogma that said: 
My son is the coming Messiah. This is a very ordinary instance of the widespread hero-archetype in women, which is projected on the father or the husband or the son, in the form of an opinion which then unconsciously regulates the woman's behaviour. A well-known example is Annie Besant, who also discovered a saviour. 
In Marie Hay's novel the heroine drives her husband insane by her attitude which is based on the unconscious and unspoken assumption that he is a horrible tyrant who holds her captive in much the same way as ... The uncompleted simile she left to the interpretation of her husband, who finally discovered the appropriate figure for it in a cinquecento tyrant with whom he identified himself, and lost his reason in consequence. The his- 
44 

92 
93 
94 

MIND AND EARTH 
torical factor, therefore, is by no means lacking to the animt; But it expresses itself in a way fundamentally different from th of the anima. Similarly, in the religious problems connect( with the animus the judging faculties predominate, just as tl feeling faculties do in the case of a man. 
Finally, I would like to remark that the anima and aniffil are not the only autonomous figures or "souls" in the unco scious, though in practice they are the most immediate and me important. But, since I would like to touch on still another, pect of the problem of mind and earth, perhaps I may leave tb difficult field of extremely subtle inward experience and tU1 to that other side where we shall no longer grope laboriously the dark background of the mind, but pass into the wide wor of everyday things. 
Just as, in the process of evolution, the mind has bel moulded by earthly conditions, so the same process repeats self under our eyes today. Imagine a large section of some Em pean nation transplanted to a strange soil and another climal We can confidently expect this human gToup to undergo c( tain psychic and perhaps also physical changes in the course of few generations, even without the admixture of foreign bloo We can observe in the Jews of the various European countri marked differences which can only be explained by the peculiaties of the people they live amongst. It is not difficult to tell Spanish Jew from a North African Jew, a German Jew from Russian Jew. One can even distinguish the various types of Rl sian Jew, the Polish from the North Russian and Cossack tYF In spite of the similarity of race, there are pronounced diff( ences whose cause is obscure. It is extremely hard to define the differences exactly, though a student of human nature feels the at once. 
The greatest experiment in the transplantation of a race modern times was the colonization of the North American cc tinent by a predominantly Germanic population. As the climal conditions vary very widely, we would expect all sorts of var tions of the original racial type. The admixture of Indian blol is increasingly small, so it plays no role. Boas has shown tb 
- anatomical changes begin already in the second generation immigrants, chiefly in fhe measurements of the skull. At ; events the "Yankee" type is formed, and this is so similar to t 
45 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
Indian type that on my first visit to the Middle West,1° while watching a stream of workers coming out of a factory, I remarked to my companion that I should never have thought there was such a high percentage of Indian blood. He answered, laughing, that he was willing to bet that in all these hundreds of men there would not be found a drop of Indian blood. That was many years ago when I had no notion of the mysterious Indianization of the American people. I got to know of this mystery only when I had to treat many American patients analytically. Remarkable differences were revealed in comparison with Europeans. 
	95 	Another thing that struck me was the great influence of the 
Negro, a psychological influence naturally, not due to the mixing of blood. The emotional way an American expresses himself, especially the way he laughs, can best be studied in the illustrated supplements of the American papers; the inimitable Teddy Roosevelt laugh is found in its primordial form in the American Negro. The peculiar walk with loose joints, or the swinging of the hips so frequently observed in Americans, also comes from the Negro. American music draws its main inspiration from the Negro, and so does the dance. The expression of religious feeling, the revival meetings, the Holy Rollers and other abnormalities are strongly influenced by the Negro, and the famous American naIvete, in its charming as well as its more unpleasant form, invites comparison with the childlikeness of the Negro. The vivacity of the average American, which shows itself not only at baseball games but quite particularly in his extraordinary love of talking-the ceaseless gabble of American papers is an eloquent example of this-is scarcely to be derived from his Germanic forefathers, but is far more like the chattering of a Negro village. The almost total lack of privacy and the all-devouring mass sociability remind one of primitive life in open huts, where there is complete identity with all members of the tribe. It seemed to me that American houses had their doors open all the time, just as there are no hedges round the gardens in American towns and villages. Everything seems to be street. 
	96 	It is naturally very difficult to decide how much of all this 
is due to symbiosis with the Negro, and how much to the fact 
10 [Sic, but Buffalo, New York, is meant. Cf. infra, par. 948.-EDlTORS.] 
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MIND AND EARTH 
that America is still a pioneering nation on virgin soil. But taken all in all, the wide influence of the Negro on the general character of the people is unmistakable. 
	97 	This infection by the primitive can, of course, be observed 
just as well in other countries, though not to the same degree and in this form. In Africa, for example, the white man is a diminishing minority and must therefore protect himself from the Negro by observing the most rigorous social forms, otherwise he risks "going black." If he succumbs to the primitive influence he is lost. But in America the Negro, just because he is in a minority, is not a degenerative influence, but rather one which, peculiar though it is, cannot be termed unfavourable-unless one happens to have a jazz phobia. 
	98 	The remarkable thing is that one notices little or nothing of 
the Indian influence. The above-mentioned physiognomical similarities do not point to Africa but are specifically American. Does the body react to America, and the psyche to Africa? I must answer this question by saying that only the outward behaviour is influenced by the Negro, but what goes on in the psyche must be the subject of further investigation. 
	99 	It is natural that in the dreams of my American patients the 
Negro should play no small role as an expression of the inferior side of their personality. A European might similarly dream of tramps or other representatives of the lower classes. But as the great majority of dreams, especially those in the early stages of analysis, are superficial, it was only in the course of very thorough and deep analyses that I came upon symbols relating to the Indian. The progressive tendency of the unconscious, as expressed for instance in the hero-motif, chooses the Indian as its symbol, just as certain coins of the Union bear an Indian head. This is a tribute to the once-hated Indian, but it also testifies to the fact that the American hero-motif chooses the Indian as an ideal figure. It would certainly never occur to any American administration to place the head of Cetewayo or any other Negro hero on their coins. Monarchies prefer the head of the sovereign, democratic states honour other symbols of their ideals. I have given a detailed example of a similar American herofantasy in my book Symbols of Transformation) and I could 
		add dozens of others. 	( 
	100 	The hero is always the embodiment of man's highest and 
47 

CIVILIZATION IN TRANSITION 
most powerful aspiration, or of what this aspiration ought ideally to be and what he would most gladly realize. It is therefore of importance what kind of fantasy constitutes the hero-motif. In the American hero-fantasy the Indian's character plays a leading role. The American conception of sport goes far beyond the notions of the easy-going European; only the Indian rites of initiation can compare with the ruthlessness and savagery of a rigorous American training. The performance of American athletes is therefore admirable. In everything on which the American has really set his heart we catch a glimpse of the Indian. His extraordinary concentration on a particular goal, his tenacity of purpose, his unflinching endurance of the greatest hardships-in all this the legendary virtues of the Indian find full expression.11 
	101 	The hero-motif affects not only the general attitude to life 
but also the problems of religion. Any absolutist attitude is always a religious attitude, and in whatever respect a man becomes absolute, there you see his religion. I have found in my American patients that their hero-figure possesses traits derived from the religion of the Indians. The most important figure in their religion is the shaman, the medicine-man or conjurer of spirits. The first American discovery in this field-since taken up in Europe-was spiritualism, and the second was Christian Science and other forms of mental healing. Christian Science is an exorcistic ritual. The demons of sickness are denied, suitable incantations are sung over the refractory body, and Christianity, the product of a high level of culture, is used as healing-magic. Though the poverty of its spiritual content is appalling, Christian Science is a living force; it possesses a strength derived from the soil, and can therefore work those miracles that are sought for in vain in the official churches. 
	102 	There is no country on earth where the "power-word," the 
magic formula, the slogan or advertisement is more effective than in America. We Europeans laugh about this, but we forget that faith in the magical power of the word can move more than mountains. Christ himself was a word, the Word. We have become estranged from this psychology, but in the American it is still alive. It has yet to be seen what America will do with it. 
11 See "The Complications of American Psychology," infra, pp. 502ft 
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MIND AND EARTH 
	103 	Thus the American presents a strange picture: a European 
with Negro behaviour and an Indian soul. He shares the fate of all usurpers of foreign soil. Certain Australian primitives assert that one cannot conquer foreign soil, because in it there dwell strange ancestor-spirits who reincarnate themselves in the newborn. There is a great psychological truth in this. The foreign land assimilates its conqueror. But unlike the Latin conquerors of Central and South America, the North Americans preserved their European standards with the most rigid puritanism, though they could not prevent the souls of their Indian foes from becoming theirs. Everywhere the virgin earth causes at least the unconscious of the conqueror to sink to the level of its indigenous inhabitants. Thus, in the American, there is a discrepancy between conscious and unconscious that is not found in the European, a tension between an extremely high conscious level of culture and an unconscious primitivity. This tension forms a psychic potential which endows the American with an indomitable spirit of enterprise and an enviable enthusiasm which we in Europe do not know. The very fact that we still have our ancestral spirits, and that for us everything is steeped in history, keeps us in contact with our unconscious, but we are so caught in this contact and held so fast in the historical vice that the greatest catastrophes are needed in order to wrench us loose and to change our political behaviour from what it was five hundred years ago. Our contact with the unconscious chains us to the earth and makes it hard for us to move, and this is certainly no advantage when it comes to progTessiveness and all the other desirable motions of the mind. Nevertheless I would not speak ill of our relation to good Mother Earth. Plurimi pertransibuntbut he who is rooted in the soil endures. Alienation from the unconscious and from its historical conditions spells rootlessness. That is the danger that lies in wait for the conqueror of foreign lands, and for every individual who, through one-sided allegiance to a,ny kind of -ism, loses touch with the dark, maternal, earthy ground of his being. 
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