In the early twentieth century, when
Jung was “flooded” with “an enigmatic stream” that threatened to break
him, the field of psychology was just beginning to make a science of the
study of madness. Practitioners still acknowledged the wisdom of
artists, novelists, and poets with regards to the nature of the human
psyche. The soul was still in need of cure, and hearts were broken as
much as brains. There were perhaps five diagnoses in use — neuroses,
hysteria, melancholy, dementia praecox, and mania. Mental illness was
also a more fluid concept, often existing on a continuum with sanity
(Shamdasani, 2009). It was in this Zeitgeist that The Red Book challenged distinctions between reason and insanity on which modern conceptions of mental illness largely continue to rest.
In the winter of 1913, Jung began writing down the fantasies and dreams that would later be the focus of The Red Book (Shamdasani,
2009). This was a very difficult period in Jung’s life. World events,
misalignment between professional expectations and personal desires,
failed relationships (including with Sigmund Freud), and old emotional
wounds all conspired to make madness not just something the
distinguished psychiatrist would treat, but also something he would have
to address in himself. And isn’t that the nature of madness?
Inopportune, a perfect storm, a test of resilience, and sometimes a
trial beyond measure, but also an opportunity to transform oneself, if
not the world?
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