PSYCHOLOGY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS PDF
PSYCHOLOGY OP. THE UNCONSCIOUS. A Study of the Transformations and Symbolisms of the Libido. A Contribution to the History of the Evolution of. CG Jung, Psychology of the Unconscious: a study of the transformations and symbolisms of the libido, a contribution to the history of the. Author: Carl Jung. An early work of Carl Jung, first published in This English translation by Beatrice M. Hinkle appeared in under the full title of Psychology of the Unconscious: a study of the transformations and symbolisms of the libido, a contribution to the history.
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Dynamic versus Cognitive Unconscious
Minghua Guo. Astolfo Araujo. We saw lots of sights, we shared some meals, and, in the face of all the cranes dotting the landscape, we talked a good deal about the challenges the city faced as it sought to rebuild itself, literally and figuratively.
It was all fascinating to me, but in a somewhat distanced way. But then something strange, and utterly unexpected, happened. I was traveling on a bus through the city when everything that had been at a distance suddenly came near: the cranes, the buildings, the gardens, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag. Everything that had been a fascinating or disturbing spectacle, an object to be beheld, taken in—as when one takes in the sights of any city—had become a kind of living, breathing presence.
When I initially tried to explain this to someone, I said that I had never had such an intense experience of history as I had had then, during those moments. As for my response to this sudden transformation from spectacle to presence, it was something like a deep grief, a mixture of sorrow and horror, rolled into one.
I was either weeping or on the verge of it for a good amount of time afterward. It was very strange and very powerful. Lest this episode be construed as an index of my emotional stability, I am not given to this sort of thing. There was, in other words, something truly extra-ordinary about the entire set of experiences. It was extremely disturbing. Would someone who stumbled upon a piece of land where a concentration camp once stood, without knowing where he or she was, feel anything different?
Would there be traces or echoes, even ghosts of a sort? Could there be weird energy fields in the world, deposited by the awful crimes of the past?
Could there be a collective unconscious, waiting, as it were, for an encounter like this one to kick it into gear?
Psychology of the Unconscious
Who knows? These possibilities were enticing then and remain so now.
But how? What exactly was it that I had brought there? Here, of course, my interpretive stance is no less speculative than the ones just considered; they simply square better with how we have come to think about the world.
I am not trying to suggest that all of the different interpretive stances one might adopt are equally valid. Nor am I suggesting that the one I landed upon is arbitrary. On the contrary: everything I know about the world, at this particular point in time, at this particular place, points me in the very direction I am about to outline.
And so I ask again: What exactly was it I had brought there? First and perhaps foremost, I had brought a world to that trip to Berlin, a cultural horizon—or what Gadamer and others e. Finally, for now, it seemed clear that my Jewish background needed to be figured into the equation too. As I indicated at the time, it was difficult to say exactly how. But I would guess not. I therefore went on to question how this might have factored in.
Was it despite all these things? Was it because of them? Was it due to there being an admixture of identification and nonidentification, approach and avoidance, connection and dis-connection?
What I did know was that there existed dimensions of my history and my identity about which I had been largely unaware. My history comprises more than what I can consciously know and tell. Moreover, it is not to be restricted to that stretch of time between my birth and the moment of reflection.
In a distinct sense, I am born into a history and carry it with me throughout the course of my life, often in ways unbeknownst to me. And when I come upon experiences that serve to jar this history loose and bring it into view, it can be quite startling and revelatory. The person in question is Eva Hoffman, whose remarkable book After Such Knowledge: Memory, History, and the Legacy of the Holocaust does well to flesh out some of the ideas just introduced.
As Hoffman notes early on in the book, I had grown up with a consciousness of the Shoah from the beginning. My parents had emerged from its crucible shortly before my birth.
Psychology of the Unconscious
They had survived, in what was then the Polish part of the Ukraine, with the help of Polish and Ukrainian neighbors; but their entire families perished. Those were the inescapable facts—the inescapable knowledge—I had come into. But the knowledge had not always been equally active, nor did I always want to make the inheritance defining.
Indeed, it was not until I started writing. I had carried this part of my psychic past within me all my life; but it was only now, as I began pondering it from a longer distance and through the clarifying process of writing, that what had been an inchoate, obscure knowledge appeared to me as a powerful theme and influence in my life.
Until then, it had not occurred to me that I was in effect a receptacle of a historical legacy, or that its burden had a significance and weight that needed to be acknowledged.
Now, personal memory appeared to me clearly linked to larger history, and the heavy dimensions of this inheritance started becoming fully apparent.
So it was that Hoffman had felt more and more palpably that the legacy of the Shoah was being passed on to us, its symbolic descendants and next of kin. We were the closest to its memories; we had touched upon its horror and its human scars. In their mediated but immediate relation to the Holocaust, children of survivors have had to live out and struggle with some of the defining issues that follow from atrocity: the internal impact of gratuitous violence and the transmission of traumatic memories across generations; the emotional intricacies of dealing with victims of persecution and the moral quandaries implicit in dialogues with perpetrators; the difficulties of witnessing the pain of others and of thinking about tragic pasts; and the relationship of private memory to a broader understanding of history.
Hoffman also speaks of larger events, such as the Warsaw uprising, that reverberated in her as well. But we did not see them, suffer through them, experience their impact directly. Other threads of causality, influence, development seemed more important; or at least I gave them other names.
This is also true for those who did live through the Shoah; now that years have passed, they too view it—or at least some of it—through much the same mediations. I am referring here to the case of my colleague and friend Roger Frie, who several years ago shared with me his discovery that his beloved grandfather had in fact been a member of the Nazi party. As Frie asks in a recent article, What does it mean to be caught in a web of history, to be part of a traumatic past over which we have no control?
We are born into history and culture and it is through our family that we are connected to these larger dimensions of experience. Our families provide us with narratives, stories that enable us to make sense of what we see and that implicitly shape what we know and remember at any moment in time.
These narratives are an integral part of who we are, yet are not consciously organized.
They remain largely unconscious, a compass by which our lives are pre-reflectively organized. At some stage, or at some point in life, we may be able to reflect on certain aspects of the narratives we inherit, and begin to question them, thus revealing new ways of seeing the world around us.These experiences were dominated by a clear though unwelcome calling to leave what I took to be an absurd, unreal world by killing myself.
Subliminal stimuli do not occur naturally—they are by definition too weak or brief to enter conscious awareness. Notes Preface 1. A part of us was missing from humanity. The analysis is of the Miller Fantasies.