The Unconscious (n.) dismissed ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠as 'merely animal' is an odd charge from Christians, whose Lord was born on the straw of a stable among the animals — the multitude would have preferred a temple.

The Unconscious (n.) falls ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠silent as life nears its optimum; that our age talks about the unconscious at all is proof that everything is not in order.

The Unconscious (n.) can ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠no longer be treated as causally dependent on consciousness: it is an autonomous entity acting reciprocally with it.

The Unconscious (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠objective, unlike the subjective mind: contrary feelings, fantasies, impulses and dreams that we do not make but that happen to us.

The Psyche (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠nature, not subject to will: it can be modified at a few points, but man can be transformed into a sick animal, never moulded into an intellectual ideal.

The Psyche (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a house whose upper storey is nineteenth-century, ground floor sixteenth, built on an eleventh-century tower, Roman foundations, and under the cellar a choked cave with neolithic tools — we live upstairs and think the ground floor slightly old-fashioned.

The Psyche (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not always inside: wherever a living religion or ritual adequately expresses the soul's yearnings, the psyche is outside and there is no psychic problem — no feeling of one behind the Pyramids or the music of Bach.

The Psyche (n.) may ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠once have been outside us — arbitrary powers with intentions of their own, ghosts and ancestral spirits — and only gradually taken its place within us.

Neurosis (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not cured by us — it cures us, once it has removed the false attitude of the ego.

Neurosis (n.) hides ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠one's worst enemy and best friend.

Neurosis (n.) contains ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the patient's psyche: pluck it out like a bad tooth and he loses as much as the thinker deprived of his doubt, the moralist of his temptation, the brave man of his fear.

Neurosis (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠at bottom the loss of the great relationship — and he who denies the great must blame the petty.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠like God: both give themselves only to their bravest knights.

Love (n.) needs ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠freedom only to make its choice, not to carry it out; true love always commits itself to lasting ties.

Love (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a sacrifice: the lover gives up all other possibilities — or rather the illusion that such possibilities exist.

Love (n.) seen ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠from the inner world is not the result of a sexual stimulus but of psychic predestination — just as the stars are bound not by gravity but by a demiurge's creating hand.

Consciousness (n.) and ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠not the unconscious is the empty sack holding only what chances to fall into it — we never see how dependent we are on lucky ideas until they stop coming.

Consciousness (n.) at ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a higher level is like a burden of guilt: to be "unhistorical" is the Promethean sin.

Consciousness (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a precondition of being: without it there would practically be no world — so the psyche has the dignity of a cosmic principle, co-equal with physical being.

Consciousness (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a searchlight playing over a night landscape: what it lights is conscious, what lies beyond is dark but no less real, and when the beam moves on, the old contents keep working, as symptoms.

An Archetype (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠suspected wherever a reaction is out of proportion to its cause.

An Archetype (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the chthonic portion of the psyche — the roots it has sunk into the earth; at once a readiness for action, an image and an emotion.

An Archetype (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠easier to understand by its aim than by its cause.

An Archetype (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠like an old riverbed that dries when the water deserts it but can be found again at any time — the longer the water flowed there, the likelier it returns.

Conscience (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠in most cases the primitive fear of anything unusual — 'moral', perhaps, but not ethical until it is reflective, which happens only in a conflict of duty.

Conscience (n.) as ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠God's voice, vox Dei, is a psychological truth as an opinion that exists — and if it is God's voice it outranks morality, yet we still pray not to be led into temptation.

Conscience (n.) easily ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠succumbs to a fit of weakness as soon as the moral code ceases to support it.

Conscience (n.) loses ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠all meaning once stripped of its inconvenient emotional components, which are its real dynamics — and stripping them is the unconscious goal of a scientific psychology welcomed for its "objectivity."

Projection (n.) strengthens ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠the enemy most effectively when we cast our evil onto him: it carries over the fear we secretly feel for our own evil and makes his threat more formidable — and leaves us unable to deal with evil.

Projection (n.) mutually ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠withdrawn promotes understanding more than anything — but it demands self-criticism, for you cannot simply tell the other to withdraw his.

Projection (n.) has ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠ranges: personal repressions land on relatives and acquaintances; collective conflicts choose Freemasons, Jesuits, Jews, Capitalists, Bolsheviks — and when everything is at stake, fantasy soars into interstellar space where the gods once lived.

Projection (n.) makes ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠us accuse another of what we overlook in ourselves — so general a law that before railing at others one should check whether the brick belongs at one's own head.

A Dream (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠first and almost always about oneself: the theologian dreams of a drunken tramp in a ditch, the society lady of a drunken prostitute in the gutter — the 'other' is the other in us.

A Dream (n.) that ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠is obscene emphasizes our blood-kinship with the rest of mankind and damps the arrogance born of atrophied instinct — awkward for the saints who had them.

A Dream (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠just a lucky idea that reaches us out of the dark, all-uniting world of the psyche.

A Dream (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠a little hidden door in the innermost recesses of the soul, opening into the cosmic night that was psyche long before there was any ego.

Modern man (n.) suffers ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠most in Europe from the disease of knowing everything better: his psyche is his own invention and obeys his reason — and when it doesn't, it gets a plausible scientific name.

Modern man (n.) is ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠no more evil than the primitive — he merely has incomparably more effective means; his consciousness broadened while his moral nature lagged behind.

Modern man (n.) abhors ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠faith: he wants to know — to experience for himself.

Modern man (n.) has ⁠​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​⁠his counterfeit in the pseudo-modern, who skips the stages of development and their tasks to appear beside him — an uprooted wraith, a bloodsucking ghost whose emptiness discredits him.