Another big day today. It is exactly 50 years ago that the Swiss born psychiatrist, philosopher and pseudo-mystic Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961) died, leaving behind a huge collection of writings and quasi-empirical musings on the nature of the psyche, a massive self-built tower of hubris and vanity, and a rag-tag bunch of doe-eyed followers ready to jump at any chance to proclaim their master’s pre-eminence in all matters spiritual, material, quantum mechanical and everything in between, while charging the hapless patients that show up weeping crocodile’s tears on their doorsteps a king’s ransom for the supposed healing of their weak and tender souls. I know a good Urarina-shaman living right across the street from here who will do just that for you in exchange for only a pregnant lama, a case of fresh pomegranates and a stash of 80’s Hustler magazines (centerfolds intact!). Or you know, you can continue on reading the hallowed verses showing up irregularly on this brilliant digital publication and assure yourself of a richly decorated seat next to the effulgent Creator in the coming age of Aquarius, where you (though you are fiercely unworthy!) will receive abundant nectar and ambrosia from golden plates and diamond cups brought to you by fine-looking eunuchs and belligerent Valkyries.
Back to business. Why should you care about some who died half a century ago? Indeed, why should you? It’s not as if you read this sacred page in hopes of catching a glimpse of the ultimate revelation of supreme truth, wetting the bed each night while thinking of the spectacular unveiling of the mystifying theatre of mind that seems to go on with such a stunning consistency and effortless grace on this blessed web-address, and singing pious, supplicating hymns to the magnanimous host that makes it all freely available to you despite your hopelessly incommensurate state. You’re right, it’s not as if. In any case, Carl Jung is still pretty famous nowadays, although oftentimes poorly understood. This is not strange, of course, my blog has only existed for almost two weeks now, and sufficient illumination was thus not at hand previously. I like to compare this situation to the fourth Canto of Dante’s Inferno, where he meets all the virtuous pagan philosophers, poets and other assorted figures of distinction that nevertheless have to settle with a place in Limbo, the first circle of Hell: “Hey, you know, you guys weren’t baptized even though you could have never known about this since Jesus only decided to show up a couple of centuries later, so here’s your own faulty little part of Paradise, forever locked away from God’s eternal mercy, because you did nothing wrong and in fact lived exemplary lives.” (Yes, literary critics! I know there are also people there that were in fact born AFTER Christ, but the power of metaphor moved me in ways beyond the simple categories of precision and verbatim understanding!) Truthfully, the analogy is so striking that it’s making headless donkeys zealously vie for a prominent place at the dinner table of Don Quichot.
Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Jung! I’d almost forgotten! Check back soon for some spectacular revelations and extraordinary conjectures on the life and thought of Carl Jung, put forward with the trademark clarity and astonishing accuracy that you should slowly be getting used to by now!
Aren’t I sly? Utilizing the tried and tested method of the cliffhanger to lure your maniacally anticipant intellects back to this site, all the while playing on your starved appetites for the elucidation of your craving souls. Just like any good prophet should.
Huzzah!
No comments:
Post a Comment