Excerpt: ‘The Red Book’
The Red Book
By C.G. Jung
Hardcover, 404 pages
W.W. Norton & Co.
tilt price : $ 195
Page 1: THE IMAGES OF THE ERRING
nolite audire verba prophetarum, qui prophetant vobis et decipiunt vos visionem cordis sui loquuntur, non de ore Domini. audivi quae dixerunt prophetae prophetantes in nomine meo mendacium, atque dicentes : somniavi, somniavi. usquequo istud est in corde prophetarum vaticinantium mendacium et prophetantium seductionem cordis sui ? qui volunt facere greenwich mean time obliviscatur populus meus nominis japanese apricot propter somnia eorum, quae narrant unusquisque ad proximum suum : sicut obliti sunt patres eorum nominis japanese apricot propter Baal. propheta, qui habet somnium, narret somnium et qui habet sermonem meum, loquatur sermonem meum vere : quid pro quo paleis ad triticum ? dicit dominus. “ Hearken not unto the words of the prophets that prophesy unto you : they make you vain : they speak a sight of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of the Lord. ” ( Jeremiah 23 : 16 ) “ I have heard what the prophets said, that prophesy lies in my list, saying, I have dreamed, I have dreamed. How retentive shall this be in the heart of the prophets that prophesy lies ? Yea, they are prophets of the deception of their own center ; Which think to cause my people to forget my name by their dreams which they tell every man to his neighbor, as their fathers have forgotten my name for Baal. The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream ; and he that hath my news, let him speak my news faithfully. What is the chaff to the wheat ? saith the Lord. ” ( Jeremiah 23 : 25 — 28 ) Pages 2-4: THE RED ONE The door of the Mysterium has closed behind me. I feel that my will is paralyze and that the liveliness of the depth possesses me. I know nothing about a way. I can therefore neither desire this nor that, since nothing indicates to me whether I want this or that. I wait, without knowing what I ‘m waiting for. But already in the following night I felt that I had reached a solid point. I find that I am standing on the highest loom of a castle. The air tells me so : I am far back in fourth dimension. My gaze wanders widely over lone countryside, a combination of fields and forests. I am wearing a k dress. A horn hangs from my shoulder. I am the tugboat guard. I look out into the distance. I see a crimson point out there. It comes cheeseparing on a hoist road, disappearing for a while in forests and reappearing again : it is a horseman in a red coat, the bolshevik horseman. He is coming to my castle : he is already riding through the gate. I hear steps on the stairway, the steps creak, he knocks : a strange concern comes over me : there stands the loss one, his long form wholly shrouded in crimson, even his hair’s-breadth is bolshevik. I think : in the end he will turn out to be the annoy. The Red one : “ I greet you, man on the high loom. I saw you from afar, looking and waiting. Your waiting has called me. ” I : “ Who are you ? ” T. R. : “ Who am I ? You think I am the annoy. Do not pass judgment. possibly you can besides talk to me without knowing who I am. What kind of a superstitious chap are you, that immediately you think of the monster ? ” I : “ If you have no supernatural ability, how could you feel that I stood waiting on my tugboat, looking out for the obscure and the new ? My life in the castle is poor, since I always sit here and no matchless climbs up to me. ” T. R. : “ So what are you waiting for ? ” I : “ I await all kinds of things, and specially I ‘m waiting for some of the world ‘s wealth, which we do n’t see here, to come to me. ” T. R. : “ so, I have come to absolutely the correct invest. I have wandered a long time through the earth, seeking those like you who sit upon a high column on the lookout for things unobserved. ” I : “ You make me curious. You seem to be a rare breed. Your appearance is not ordinary, and then excessively — forgive me — it seems to me that you bring with you a strange air out, something blase, something impudent, or ebullient, or — in fact — something hedonist. ” T. R. : “ You do n’t offend me, on the contrary, you hit your smash on the fountainhead. But I ‘m no previous heathen as you seem to think. ” I : “ I do n’t want to insist on that. You are besides not grandiloquent and latin adequate. You have nothing classical about you. You seem to be a son of our time, but as I must remark, a rather unusual one. You ‘re no substantial heathen, but the kind of hedonist who runs aboard our christian religion. ” T. R. : “ You ‘re rightfully a beneficial divine of riddles. You ‘re doing better than many others who have wholly mistaken me. ” I : “ You sound cool and sneering. Have you never broken your heart over the holiest mysteries of our christian religion ? ” T. R. : “ You ‘re an incredibly heavy and serious person. Are you always so pressing ? ” I : “ I would — before God — always like to be as dangerous and true to myself as I try to be. however, that surely becomes unmanageable in your presence. You bring a certain gallows air with you, and you ‘re bound to be from the black school of Salerno, where insidious arts are taught by pagans and the descendants of pagans. ” T. R. : “ You ‘re superstitious and besides german. You take literally what the scriptures say, otherwise you could not judge me so hard. ” I : “ A hard opinion is the last thing I would want. But my nuzzle does not play tricks on me. You ‘re evasive, and do n’t want to reveal yourself. What are you hiding ? ” ( The Red One seems to get crimson, his garments shine like glowing iron. ) T. R. : “ I hide nothing from you, you true-hearted soul. I merely amuse myself with your corpulent earnestness and your amusing veracity. This is so rare in our clock time, particularly in men who have understanding at their disposal. ”
I : “ I believe you can not amply understand me. You obviously compare me with those whom you know. But I must say to you for the sake of truth that I neither truly belong to this time nor to this home. A spell has banished me to this plaza and time for years. I am actually not what you see before you. ” T. R. : “ You say astounding things. Who are you then ? ” I : “ That is irrelevant. I stand ahead you as that which I presently am. Why am I here and am like this, I do not know. But I do know that I must be hera to justify myself according to my best cognition. I know just ampere small who you are, as you know who I am. ” T. R. : “ That sounds very foreign. Are you something of a saint ? barely a philosopher, since you have no aptitude for scholarly linguistic process. But a ideal ? surely that. Your sedateness smells of fanaticism. You have an ethical air out and a simplicity that smacks of stale bread and water. ” I : “ I can say neither yes nor no : you speak as one trap in the spirit of this time. It seems to me that you lack the terms of comparison. ” T. R. : “ possibly you attended the school of the pagans ? You answer like a casuist. How can you then measure me with the yardstick of the Christian religion, if you are no saint ? ” I : “ It seems to me, though, that one can apply this yardstick even if one is no saint. I believe I have learned that no one is allowed to avoid the mysteries of the Christian religion unpunished. I repeat : he whose heart has not been broken over the Lord Jesus Christ drags a hedonist around in himself, who holds him back from the best. ” T. R. : “ Again this old tune ? What for, if you are not a christian canonize ? Are you not a cursed casuist after all ? ” I : “ You are ensnared in your own global. But you surely seem to think that one can assess the deserving of Christianity correctly without being a downright canonize. ” T. R. : “ Are you a doctor of theology, who examines Christianity from the outside and appreciates it historically, and therefore a casuist after all ? ” I : “ You ‘re stubborn. What I mean is that it ‘s hardly a coincidence that the unharmed populace has become Christian. I besides believe that it was the job of western valet to carry Christ in his heart and to grow with his agony, end, and resurrection. ” T. R. : “ well, there are besides Jews who are good people and so far had no need for your grave gospels. ” I : “ You are, it seems to me, no good lector of people : have you never noticed that the Jew himself lacks something — one in his pass, another in his heart, and he himself feels that he lacks something ? ” T. R. : “ indeed I ‘m no Jew, but I must come to the Jew ‘s department of defense : you seem to be a Jew hater. ” I : “ Well, now you speak like all those Jews who accuse anyone of Jew hating who does not have a completely friendly judgment, while they themselves make the bloodiest jokes about their own kind. Since the Jews lone besides intelligibly feel that detail lack and however do not want to admit it, they are extremely sensible to criticism. Do you believe that Christianity left no cross off on the soul of men ? And do you believe that one who has not experienced this most closely can still partake of its yield ? ” T. R. : “ You argue your case well. But your gravity ? ! You could make matters much easier for yourself. If you ‘re no ideal, I actually do n’t see why you have to be then grave. You wholly spoil the playfulness. What the satan is troubling you ? alone Christianity with its mournful escape from the world can make people so ponderous and heavy. ” I : “ I think there are inactive early things that bespeak earnestness. ” The Red one : “ Oh, I know, you mean life. I know this give voice. I excessively live and do n’t let my hair turn flannel over it. Life does n’t require any seriousness. On the adverse, it ‘s better to dance through life. ” I : I know how to dance. Yes, would we could do it by dancing ! Dancing goes with the felt season. I know that there are those who are always in heating system, and those who besides want to dance for their Gods. Some are absurd and others enact Antiquity, alternatively of honestly admitting their express incapacity for such expression. ” The Red one : “ here, my costly companion, I doff my masquerade. now I grow slightly more good, since this concerns my own state. It ‘s conceivable that there is some third thing for which dancing would be the symbol. ” The crimson of the rider transforms itself into a tender red flesh color. And behold — Oh miracle — my green garments everywhere burst into leaf. I : “ possibly excessively there is a gladden before God that one can call dance. But I have n’t however found this joy. I look out for things that are yet to come. Things came, but gladden was not among them. ” T. R. : “ Do n’t you recognize me, brother, I am joy ! ”
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I : “ Could you be joy ? I see you as through a mottle. Your image fades. Let me take your bridge player, beloved, who are you, who are you ? ” Joy ? Was he joy ? Reprinted from The Red Book by C. G. Jung. Images copyright 2009 by Foundation of the Works of C. G. Jung. Translation copyright 2009 by Mark Kyburz, John Peck, and Sonu Shamdasani. With permission of the publisher, W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.
