A complete revision of Psychology of the Unconscious (orig. 1911-12), Jung's first important statement of his independent position. "The work is an intellectual tour de force of a very considerable calibre, as witnessed by the quite extraordinary amount of mythological material put into it, and the extensive research this must have required." ― The Journal of Analytical Psychology Because of his consideration on many literary works, Classical, Oriental, and Western, Symbols of Transformation has a particular interest for students of literature. SYMBOLS OF TRANSFORMATION AN ANALYSIS OF THE PRELUDE TO A CASE OF SCHIZOPHRENIA By C. G. JUNG, GERHARD ADLER, R. F. C. HULL PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS Copyright © 1956 BOLLINGEN FOUNDATION INC. All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-691-01815-7 Contents EDITORIAL NOTE, v, TRANSLATOR'S NOTE, vi, NOTE OF ACKNOWLEDGMENT, vii, LIST OF PLATES, xi, LIST OF TEXT FIGURES, xix, FOREWORD TO THE FOURTH (SWISS) EDITION, xxiii, FOREWORD TO THE THIRD (GERMAN) EDITION, xxvii, FOREWORD TO THE SECOND (GERMAN) EDITION, xxviii, AUTHOR'S NOTE TO THE FIRST AMERICAN/ENGLISH EDITION, xxx, PART ONE, I. Introduction, 3, II. Two Kinds of Thinking, 7, III. The Miller Fantasies: Anamnesis, 34, IV. The Hymn of Creation, 39, V. The Song of the Moth, 79, PART TWO, I. Introduction, 121, II. The Concept of Libido, 132, III. The Transformation of Libido, 142, IV. The Origin of the Hero, 171, V. Symbols of the Mother and of Rebirth, 207, VI. The Battle for Deliverance from the Mother, 274, VII. The Dual Mother, 306, VIII. The Sacrifice, 394, IX. Epilogue, 441, APPENDIX: The Miller Fantasies, 445, BIBLIOGRAPHY, 463, LINGUISTIC ABBREVIATIONS, 495, INDEX, 497, CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION Anyone who can read Freud's Interpretation of Dreams without being outraged by the novelty and seemingly unjustified boldness of his procedure, and without waxing morally indignant over the stark nakedness of his dream-interpretations, but can let this extraordinary book work upon his imagination calmly and without prejudice, will not fail to be deeply impressed at that point where Freud reminds us that an individual conflict, which he calls the incest fantasy, lies at the root of that monumental drama of the ancient world, the Oedipus legend. The impression made by this simple remark may be likened to the uncanny feeling which would steal over us if, amid the noise and bustle of a modern city street, we were suddenly to come upon an ancient relic—say the Corinthian capital of a long-immured column, or a fragment of an inscription. A moment ago, and we were completely absorbed in the hectic, ephemeral life of the present; then, the next moment, something very remote and strange flashes upon us, which directs our gaze to a different order of things. We turn away from the vast confusion of the present to glimpse the higher continuity of history. Suddenly we remember that on this spot where we now hasten to and fro about our business a similar scene of life and activity prevailed two thousand years ago in slightly different forms; similar passions moved mankind, and people were just as convinced as we are of the uniqueness of their lives. This is the impression that may very easily be left behind by a first acquaintance with the monuments of antiquity, and it seems to me that Freud's reference to the Oedipus legend is in every way comparable. While still struggling with the confusing impressions of the infinite variability of the individual psyche, we suddenly catch a glimpse of the simplicity and grandeur of the Oedipus tragedy, that perennial highlight of the Greek theatre. This broadening of our vision has about it something of a revelation. For our psychology, the ancient world has long since been sunk in the shadows of the past; in the schoolroom one could scarcely repress a sceptical smile when one indiscreetly calculated the matronly age of Penelope or pictured to oneself the comfortable middle-aged appearance of Jocasta, and comically compared the result with the tragic tempests of eroticism that agitate the legend and drama. We did not know then—and who knows even today?—that a man can have an unconscious, all-consuming passion for his mother which may undermine and tragically complicate his whole life, so that the monstrous fate of Oedipus seems not one whit overdrawn. Rare and pathological cases like that of Ninon de Lenclos and her son are too remote from most of us to convey a living impression. But when we follow the paths traced out by Freud we gain a living knowledge of the existence of these possibilities, which, although too weak to compel actual incest, are yet sufficiently strong to cause very considerable psychic disturbances. We cannot, to begin with, admit such possibilities in ourselves without a feeling of moral revulsion, and without resistances which are only too likely to blind the intellect and render self-knowledge impossible. But if we can