The Spread of Analytical Psychology
Analytical psychology, like psychoanalysis before it, was the creation of a single creative individual living in a sacred center. The spread of analytical psychology from this axis mundi occurred in a series of well-defined stages. The initial, archetypal pathway for the diffusion of analytical psychology was as a sacred pilgrimage to the wise old man living in the holy mountain. Jung became the guru he claimed he did not want to be. Jung’s original devotees resembled Christ’s disciples who personally received the holy spirit through personal contact with the Master. To become a Jungian psychoanalyst one needed direct contact with Jung or someone upon whom he had bestowed the grace of the Holy Spirit. Systematic, or even previous professional training, was not required. Much more important was the understanding of the spirit of the work. These chosen disciples brought this new truth back home; or in the case of German Jewish refugees, like Erich Neumann, to new territories with an inspired passion, while maintaining contact with the sacred center. In the subsequent phase, resembling that of Paul’s Letters to new communities in Asia Minor, the main tension was between center-periphery in which these new semi-autonomous ‘churches’ sought to establish their own identity and independence. Previously, analysts were self-selected and needed to have a ‘calling’ rather than qualifications.
The transition from charismatic solidarity toward institutional solidarity involved a new emphasis on professional training with formal rules for selection, training, qualifying exams and other formal rites of passage. All societies were required to have codes of ethics as a communal guide for appropriate behavior, rather than the prophetic inner voice of the Self
Within this sociological perspective of the routinization of charisma, the phenomenon of Jungian analysts working in new territories may be seen as revitalization of an evangelical spirit to the International Jungian movement. Revitalization movements give renewed passion and vision to traditional, tribal religious groups, as Hasidism did to Judaism, or Ghost Dance did to Native American Plains Indians. A new generation of missionary-analysts and supervisors set off to bring the word to those hungry for the Holy Spirit. Ultimately, the project has not only created new and blossoming centers of analytical psychology, but it has also enriched the center.
Training at a Distance
This chapter will try to provide a personal view of training at a distance., It is based on in-depth interviews with visiting analysts and routers, my experiences doing lectures, seminars, workshops, supervising routers and Developing Groups members in various Eastern European countries, but especially doing ongoing group supervision in Warsaw and Moscow. I also did live supervision based on the topic of my lectures and presentations such as on siblings or ethics. I was also one of the organizers of an intensive winter school in Jerusalem for routers from Kiev, Ukraine and Krasnodar, Russia in 2013. I have done individual Skype supervision and even supervised a router during her extended stay in Israel. My training contact with members of Developing Groups and routers has been unusually intense and diverse.
In some way, I had a distinct advantage. In addition to my psychological and analytic training, I am also an anthropologist. I am familiar with getting to know unfamiliar cultures or in anthropological language, to make the exotic, familiar and to make the familiar, exotic. I understood that I was engaged in intercultural communication and that I needed to learn from them so that they could learn from me. I also understood that if I was not to engage in unconscious imperialism, I had to know something of the ethos of these cultures and so I would read up about the culture, its fairy tales, literature and the post-soviet dynamics. I also was experienced in working with translators and indeed, it is a topic that I teach. I know that translation takes time, slows down the process and simultaneously reveals and conceals. This is particularly true of culture-specific or ‘emic’ concepts. There is a revealing joke about an American businessman who tells a long and complicated joke to a Japanese audience. The translator, however, says only two words and the entire audience bursts into laughter. Later, the American asked the translator how he managed to translate the joke so well. The Translator replied, “It was simple. I said honored American has made joke. Please laugh!” The pragmatics of translation is often more important than the semantics.
Pioneers and Colonialism
Let me reflect on the two terms of the title: pioneers and colonialism. The word pioneers carries a positive emotional orientation that is in sympathy with the ethos of analysis. Pioneers do the work of opening up and exploring undiscovered territory. Colonialism carries a striking negative association today. It implies the deliberate and active imposition of political and economic rule on other peoples for their own good. In one sense, the distinction is one of time. Pioneers come first and colonialists may follow. In terms of spreading the Jungian word, pioneers were those analysts who gave the first lectures, workshops and seminars on analytical psychology to unorganized groups. They helped constitute the energy and vision needed to create what became Developing Groups and ultimately, the IAAP router programme. The term, router, was coined by Murray Stein to guide those on the route to becoming analysts. It crystallized something of the essence of the process. The term provided the archetypal context of a route that was more than a journey, but less than a road map. Where pioneers had pioneered, bureaucracy must follow. Once groups were recognized and routers set on their way, colonialists were needed as formal representatives of the IAAP in the form of liason persons, analysts and supervisors working in a formal way with Developing Groups and especially with routers. In these terms, I was neither a pioneer nor a colonial officer, but something in between. I was certainly involved in training, supervising and teaching, but not in formal exams or assessments, although I often gave supervision against the background of the exam anxiety of my supervisees.
There is another difference between pioneers and colonialists. It is how each defines itself in term of the center-periphery. Pioneers set off to encounter the unknown, on their own, without a pre-established plan. Pioneers who enter and explore may often be in some danger. Subsequently, the identity of pioneers may be transformed. They can settle, move on, or even become a colonial agent. Colonials coming at a later point in time have a clear plan. The plan is to bring organization, values, religion and profit. The colonials represent the Mother Country in the wilderness and must maintain standards of behavior. They are often subject to conflicts of loyalty between the locals and the authority far away; between those symbolically above them and those below. These conflicts can become acute as occurred in colonial America, or not, as in neighboring Canada. Clearly, there was an ongoing tension between how much the visiting analysts identified with the routers they were training.
It is important to consider how IAAP pioneers or colonials are perceived by native Developing Groups and routers. In general, pioneers are seen not as explorers but more as distinguished guests who must be received with honor. I discovered that each Eastern European country had its own style of honoring guests. In each country, there were intimate dinners. In Russia, there were formal ceremonies of farewell. Tourist trips often provided experiential insight into the collective and historical context of routers and their patients. In Moscow, a guided tour of Stalin’s Cold War bunker provided an unforgettable experience into that collective nightmare. In Poland, the German occupation and the Holocaust never seemed far away. Georgia felt like a country moving simultaneously forward and backward in time.
The collective transference to pioneers is positive. The relationships with the colonial officers of the IAAP is necessarily more ambivalent. Developing Group members welcome the immense investment in their training but once formal training begins with structures and exams, a hierarchy is created within the group of those who are accepted on the route to becoming analysts and those who are not. The local cultural tradition of patron-client relation also plays a role. In Russia, for example, clients were expected to be dependent upon their patrons who were expected to look after them in a way very different from expectations between supervisors and supervisees in the West.
How did I become involved in giving ongoing group supervision in both Moscow and Warsaw? It was not something I actually volunteered for, or was asked to do by the liason person. Rather, routers from each of these developing groups heard me speak on the topic ‘Illness in the analyst’ at an IAAP conference in Montreal. In that talk, I tried to address this most difficult issue using a combination of active imagination, theoretical formulations as well as my own personal and clinical experience. Based on that presentation, I was asked to come as a guest supervisor. I felt chosen. In doing supervision, I tried to continue something of the spirit of that presentation by combining what I call the Holy Trinity of theoretical formulation, clinical focus and personal experience into an integrated supervising experience.
The Disciple’s Dilemma
The first issue facing the vising supervisor is what may be called the disciple’s dilemma. Put simply, disciples represent the teachings of the Master but must do so in a way that is authentic and individuated. Finding that balance between loyalty to the tradition and being true to one’s Self is the disciple’s dilemma. In clinical terms, the issue is when to be strict and when to be flexible. Working across culture requires clarity about the limits of flexibility. The key issues is to know when to show flexibility and when not. It forces visiting analysts to question their own tradition and to determine whether what is done is because it has always been done or because it has inherent value.
We all have a Jungian superego, the internalized collective voice of what Jungian analysis should be like. Being a disciple forced me to confront that superego more directly. It forced me to clarify my position on many substantive issues and to understand which were essential and which needed to be adapted to local practice. Catherine Crowther wrote that supervising in Russia ‘has required renewed thinking about my conventional boundaries, to declare what I feel is essential and irreducible about frame and what can be more flexible.’
Crowther encountered striking differences in how the analytic frame was held. Russian therapists rarely saw patients four times a week; or dealt with cancelations in a casual manner and would break off for the long summer break without any return appointment. In addition to the striking difference in clinical norms, I felt that differences were rooted in cultural complexes that developed out of differences in how Christianity developed in Western and Eastern Europe and specifically,
how Eastern and Western churches enacted the rite of confession. Jung claimed that the initial stage of psychotherapy involved confession. Catholic confession does resemble modern analysis in certain key aspects. Like psychoanalysis, it takes place in a strictly confidential frame at set times, in which the priest is never seen directly but through an idealizing transference of the grille separating priest and parishioner. Except in extreme conditions, the closed confessional is the sole place where confession may take place. In contrast, confession in the orthodox tradition is done face-to-face, anywhere in the church. The believer is free to choose any spiritual mother or father to hear their confession who may not even be a priest. Eastern orthodox civilization assumes that confession (and so perhaps its descendant, analysis) takes place in a much more flexible frame.
I experienced another frame dilemma recently in Georgia. I was expected to hold individual supervision sessions in my rented accommodation which I had not yet even seen. My first impulse was to refuse, but then in a more analytic way, I decided to hold the tension until I could see whether my apartment could be used as a viable temenos. Ultimately, I discovered the apartment had a separate sitting room with a door that could be closed and which gave a sense of a clinical space good enough for supervision. The discussion with the group about my concerns stimulated their ethical awareness no less strongly than during my subsequent workshop on the same subject. I had also been warned about Georgian GMT – Georgian Maybe Time – but in fact, time frames were strictly adhered to.
Since visiting analysts were in some sense acting as charismatic disciples, representing analytical psychology, there was inevitably tension concerning their transference to Jungian theory and their tolerance of diversity or dissent. Training is always a high wire act. On the one hand, there is the need to respect and please one’s supervisors and understand the signs both formal and informal they are sending. On the other hand, a student who adopts their supervisor’s approach too diligently will be seen as failure in the main task of individuating as an analyst. On the one hand, there is the expectation that trainees will develop competence, individuate and become more and more themselves, while on the other hand, not displease those in authority who control the entrance into the promised land of being an analyst. This process is difficult enough in one’s home culture but even more fraught when the foreign analyst carries the projection of Christ’s disciples.
I know from speaking with supervisors and supervisees that power dynamics were a subject difficult to discuss. Visiting analysts or supervisors sometimes felt that ‘colonials’ were merely going through the motions to fulfill the required hours of analysis or supervision as laid down by the IAAP. Once the hours were completed, even though the analyst felt the router was still in the midst of a learning process, the sessions ceased. The analyst felt used. Discussion with routers who had grown up under communist rule felt that analysts misunderstood the dynamics of a post-Soviet society. It was natural for them to give those in formal authority what they expected and dangerous to be too candid. The shadow of being exiled to a symbolic gulag
for those who too openly challenged those in positions of power, remained part of collective memory. Understanding the power dynamics of supervision may be one of the greatest challenges when working in different cultural settings.
Cultural Transferences toward the Visiting Supervisor
Doing transcultural analysis places an extra emotional and conceptual burden upon the analyst who must understand the interaction between the analysand’s personal complexes and their collective, cultural complexes. To work effectively, the analyst needs to develop keen cultural self-awareness and an understanding of cultural transferences and countertransferences i.e. how the analyst’s cultural identity is perceived by their analysands and vice versa. Similar dynamics are played out in group supervision.
Doing group supervision away from home, I experienced intense expectations, in form of a special, performance-persona anxiety. I had high expectations of myself. Supervision at home is an unfolding process which takes place at its own pace. Not every session needs to be dramatic. Coming from far away and carrying group projections, I felt an adrenaline-fed impulse to supervise like one who can transubstantiate the bread and wine of clinical routine into the blood and body of the Self.
At the same time, I sensed the danger of transference from routers toward me as their supervisor as an infallible wise old man. As one observer of supervision, Levenson, has remarked supervisees often want certainty: “Some supervisees wish for me to be both authoritarian and omniscient so that for everything the patient says and the supervisee does, the supervisor has a theoretical formulation and a corresponding piece of behavior, to wit: the patient is narcissistic and unable to … and therefore one must.…This neat fit between theory and practice is, I believe, the last resort of the unimaginative; but it has considerable appeal and tends to make the supervisor rather popular among psychoanalytic candidates who wish to believe that someone is clear about what they are doing.”. As a supervisor, I had to hold the tension between allowing these group projections but not identifying with them, and between knowing and not knowing.
In addition, there were anticipatory transferences to me as a supervisors and the role I was expected to play. One supervisee had read Jung intensively but in a rather idiosyncratic fashion. He was very interested in topics such as alchemy and astrology, which admittedly were very important to Jung. Although I do have colleagues who value alchemy and even astrology in their clinical work, neither symbolic system is something I use in my clinical work. I sensed the shock of this pioneering reader when he discovered he wanted a Jungian psychology I was unable to provide. It was as if the analytical psychology he believed in was not the one I had come to teach. This disappointment provided a valuable opportunity to discuss with him and others their images of what a ‘real’ Jungian analyst was.
Working Across Culture
Jung stressed clearly the importance of seeing a person in his own context and culture to understand symptoms, dreams and key symbols. As Higuchi, a Japanese analyst has written: “If you receive a person, you also receive his entire society.” The dilemma for the visiting analyst is how to receive supervisees together with their entire society. Treating or supervising someone from one’s own home culture involves a certain cultural coziness; it is assumed that analyst and patient will understand the unspoken cultural codes and references as well as key metaphors. For example, if a patient mentions The Ashes, every British person will pick up the reference. If an Israeli says, ‘I am not your friar’, few non-Israelis would understand the aggressive reference to a cultural complex involving a profound fear of victimization; or if a religious Jew says in response to an intense session, “I felt like Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai” (whom Jung encountered in his post heart attack Visions). The patient was referring to Rabbi Shimon’s experience upon coming out of the cave after years of mystical illumination. How many of the uninitiated would understand the reference to intense, burning rage at the banality of the mundane following an intense transformative experience. Archetypal experiences, such as mothering, befriending, feeling betrayed for example, are always coded within a specific cultural and historical context
British society’s shared cultural values often transfer into analysis, such as affective restraint, self-reliance, the importance of being on time and speaking honestly about one’s feelings about family members and the analytic relationship. In many cultures, these assumptions would not hold. Working with unfamiliar others, analysts often encounter the unheimlich (uncanny, literally un-homelike) sense that normal, expected conditions for analysis are absent or missing.
Words that Can Not be Translated
Analysts face many issues working across cultures, but I will focus only on the cultural use of language, the use of translators and what can become lost in translation. Anthropologists have pioneered a number of techniques for getting at the heart of a culture. One of these is to explore key words that embody central signifiers of the culture as a whole and which require thick description to understand. Sapir-Whorf’s hypothesis even suggested that the nature of language affects the nature of thought. This controversial hypothesis has received little attention from the psychoanalytic community. However Wittgenstein (Tractatus 5.6) remarked, that the limits of my languages are the limits of my world. Differences in semantic and affective fields undoubtedly play a role in how we perceive the world. The difficulty is that speakers, whether analysts or supervisors, do not recognize the limitations of their own language. Often, an emotional gap is created when there is no corresponding word in the other language. Even with the best of translations (e.g. translators trained in Jungian psychology, or bilingual routers who act as translators), visiting analysts have serious difficulty comprehending untranslatable terms and their cultural associations.
It may surprise the reader that Hebrew has no word for ‘mind or ‘solitude’, nor does the language make a distinction between ‘envy’ and ‘jealousy’, or even between ‘like’ and ‘love’. On the other hand, there were many times in supervision when I felt the need to use Israeli terms that have no equivalent in other languages. One example is dugri, which is usually translated as “straight talk”. It refers to an Israeli cultural mode of speech saying what you really think without consideration of the other person’s feelings. It is a characteristic of Israel’s cultural complex and assumes that relationships are robust and can withstand conflict. In many cultures, such straight talk is considered rude. At those times in supervision, I would teach the group the meaning of dugri and then might ask the struggling supervisee, ’please, dugri, what do you mean to say?’ It allowed the supervision specific directness in cultures that favor indirectness.
An opposing danger is that the analytic visitor does not comprehend what is missing in the translation. Translations reveals as much as they conceal. To understand what is missing requires a pioneering spirit. For example, a Russian supervisee says that a patient tells her that she feels like a friend towards her. As my mind starts to think about the transference implications, I wonder about the Russian word she used. She does not say friend, but drug. The only possible translation for drug is friend but this is certainly not an adequate translation. Drug and friend occupy very different emotional and interpersonal space. The English word friend covers a vast semantic range from best friend to a recent acquaintance. It is supremely ambiguous concerning the nature of the social and emotional relationship and any mutual obligations involved. The Russian language has a rich vocabulary for the type and depth of friendship that has no equivalent in the English language. In Russian, drug, indicates someone very close and implies an intense, demanding, enduring relationship that is both exhilarating and exhausting. Drug is a deep friend who can ease the pain of life and is more of a soul brother or soulful sister. In Soviet times, your drug was the one person who could be chosen freely. For only children, they took the place of missing brothers and sisters and with whom they had a total commitment. There is another term, podruga, which is less than drug, but still stronger than what is usually intended as friend. Polish, too, has six terms for degrees and genders of friendship with the most important, przyjaciel, indicating a strong loyalty and attachment bordering on love. Understanding that Russians and Poles have specific words for relationship with more depth, devotion and duration than is implied by the English word, friend, cannot be without consequences for analysis. When I listen to those cases involving a positive transference to the therapist, I sense there is a culture-specific drug-like or przyjaciel-like relationship that primes patients to open their souls to their therapists. In this sense, there is a cultural concept or positive cultural complex that connects to the therapeutic situation that does not exist in the English speaking world.
Studying such key words as drug or przjaciel, is one important technique that anthropologists use to understand culture in depth. What is true for concepts like friendship is even truer for words used to describe inner states so important for the word of analysis. The Russian language seems blessed with such words that defy translation and for example expresses human defects and existential emotional states in a single pitiless word. Consider the term, poshlust for which none of the list of English words (cheap, sham, common, smutty, pink-and-blue, high falutin, in bad taste) is adequate. No English word can convey what is implied by poshlust, namely, an attempt at unmasking, exposing, denouncing cheapness of all kinds. The Russian word poshlust is so cleverly covered over with protective tints that its presence often escapes detection. In other words, it reflects and documents an intense awareness of the existence of false values and the need to deflate them. And all that in one simple word. Other untranslatable terms mark out a fascinating if unfamiliar emotional-moral-semantic territory, such as, dusha, usually translated as soul, but actually it is the inner space in which a person’s emotional, spiritual and moral life and presumably, analysis, goes on.
One further word I discovered was toska. No single word in the English language renders all the shades of toska. “At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.” It is a cousin of the Portuguese saudade, a nostalgia for something you have never known that is the basis of the emotive vocal tradition of the Fado. Toska seems to embody something uniquely Russian and yet universal. It gives me insight into the psychic and spiritual suffering which is so common when it is named. When I can say in supervision, ‘does your patient experience toska?’ I get surprised but gratifying looks of how an outsider could understand this insider’s term. The group moves closer. The unusual thing for me was that toska seen an existential state and not something that needs to be explained developmentally.
Another word, I learned was, nedoperee'pel, a drinking-related word meaning "under-over-drunk". This special term referred to someone who drank more than he or she should have, but less than he or she could have (or wanted to). Slavic languages are gifted in describing the breath and depth of alcoholic space, while Hebrew is not. Many of the cases I supervised had alcoholic behavior deeply embedded in them often in the archetypal form of an alcoholic, abusing and abandoning father. It seemed to have a predetermined fate-like aspect. Here I was called upon to supervise such cases whereas in my practice in Israel, I had limited experience. As in any good supervisory process, I was learning from my supervisees as they were learning from me.
Sensitizing oneself to such key words, I believe, is a helpful approach for visiting analysts to avoid linguistic colonialism and to enter into the collective unconscious of the people.
The Hardest Experiences
What were the hardest experiences? Normally, though not always, supervision was done with a translator. This required a somewhat structured and unnatural progression where only one person would speak at a time. Occasionally though, in the middle of a case, everyone in the group would begin speaking rapidly together in their native tongues leaving me linguistically ostracized. Ultimately some order would return and the translator, often with help of group members, would try to translate what had been said and why people had become so excited. Sometimes, the reversion to native tongue reflected tensions within the group, or within the Developing Group, or broader political tensions, and those were much more difficult to translate or understand. In some groups, internal conflicts and splits would interrupt the training process. Normally, as a group supervisor working on home ground, I could use my inner space to sense what was going on in the group and then decide to intervene appropriately or not to intervene at all. In this case, I felt off balance, not sure of whether what I was feeling was connected to the unconscious life of the group.
Finally, there are delicate dilemmas concerning the transition of routers to the status of analyst, and collectively for Developing Groups to the status of Society and then Training Society. Here, the situation resembles the struggles for autonomy between a parent and adolescent. Analyst-parents may be concerned when is the right time for the adolescent-router to go solo; while routers, in turn, may experience the analyst as an overbearing (or in other cases, abandoning) parent. Here, the collective transference seems much more mixed with feelings of liberation intermingling with a sense of abandonment.
During my visits, I would try to stay at the same hotel. In retrospect, I realize I was seeking an island of continuity and sense of home as a stranger in a strange land.
There were cultural differences in farewell. My visits to Moscow typically concluded with a farewell ceremony involving speeches, gifts and many hugs.
Endings in different places were also unique that it made me reflect about how deeply culturally embedded the nature of endings can be. I think of the Russian tradition of sitting in silence before a journey. It made me contemplate my own endings, not only when I left the foreign lands, but later when I returned home.
Throughout the process of training at a distance, the role of the explicit and implicit image of the analyst plays a crucial role within the training process, as implied in the question, how do you know a Jungian analyst when you see one, when the very image of the analyst is itself changing?
Pioneers or Colonialism? Or Both?
To return to the question of whether visiting analysts were pioneers or colonialists, the answer, of course, is that we were both. We opened up new territory and then gave it structure as Developing Groups, router programmes, institutes, and training institutes. We spread the word and created disciples and these churches flourish. Bringing the Gospel to the periphery at the same time has revived the Center with new creative energy. The heartland of analytical psychology may no longer be in the sacred mountains of the West, but increasingly flourishing in China and many countries of the former Soviet Block. One reason why analytical psychology is so strongly received in these societies is because Jungian psychology uniquely provides a conceptualization of the dynamic tension between the collective and the individual that is both conscious and unconscious. It is a tension that reflects the daily life of members of these societies where collective pressures are so great, on patients and routers alike. Under Soviet rule, analysis was not only banned, but there was no private space in which to conduct it.
New analysts from the former Soviet countries have much to teach us about the dialectic of collective and the personal. Some of the most innovative, recent papers are contributions from post-router analysts. These essays include Elena Pourtova’s writing on clinical importance of nostalgia (Pourtova 2012), the article by Malgorzata Kalinowska (2013) on cultural complexes and collective memory in Poland and Elena Bortuleva’s article, “Rivers of milk and honey: an exploration of nurturing the Self in a Russian context”. (2014). Bortuleva discusses the words for nutrition (pitanije) and education (vos-pitanije) that are identical except for the prefix ‘vos-’. The prefix adds to the word the idea of a gradual addition to the core of all that makes a person into a person, transcending from actual into symbolic and helping a person ‘grow spoon by spoon’ giving ‘nurturance at the wider human, or cultural level’. The caregiver who remain sensitive to the ever changing needs of a child, starting with the baby's feeding preferences can give the baby the fullness it requires, drop by drop to transform pitanije (nurturing with food) into vospitanije (nurturing with truly human experiences). Using these culture and language specific ideas, Bortuleva is able to give, via a clinical illustration, new insights into how the primary self grows and develops into a mature self. The contributions of Pourtova, Kalinowska and Bortuleva are only a few examples of how new teachings from what was once the periphery are flowing back to enrich that Center.
Jung was a pioneer of the unconscious but he was a reluctant colonialist. He was deeply suspicious of the de-individualizing dangers of organizations and the imposition of values from without. He originally opposed the formation of an institute in Zurich that would carry his name, and only reluctantly consented to the formation of the IAAP on the occasion of his eightieth birthday. Yet, Jung worked hard to spread his teachings. He travelled. He lectured. He gave seminars and workshops. He was a charismatic leader who had a truth he wanted to spread.
?How would he feel about the Developing Groups and Router Programs
It is likely that he would see them as a natural continuation of the psychology Clubs that also began in Zurich in 1916 and spread to many places. He would likely approve that Developing Groups come up from the bottom, in sense that they must spring from an inner need and only subsequently come under the auspices of IAAP. The necessary bureaucratization of training, most likely, would encounter his disapproval. In this he may resemble Moses who wished that the entire people be prophets, but this was impossible. Jung was a great pioneer of the Way. We, who follow after him, strive to be colonialists who are also still pioneers, each in our own way, and of that, Jung surely would have approved.
 Anthony Wallace, "Revitalization Movements," American Anthropologist 58 (1956): 264-281.
 Henry Abramovitch, Brothers and Sisters: Myth and Reality (College Station, Texas: Texas A & M University Press, 2014), especially, Chapter 7: Brothers and Sisters: Clinical Implications, pp. 87-107.
 Henry Abramovitch, “Stimulating Ethical Awareness during Training”
Journal of Analytical Psychology, 52 (2007): 449-46.
 Henry Abramovitch, “Illness in the Analyst,” In Pramila Bennett, ed. Facing Multuplicity: Psyche Nature Culture. Proceedings of the XVIIIth Congres of IAAP. (Einsiedeln, Switzerland: Daimon Verlag, 2010).
 Henry Abramovitch, “Into the Marginal Zone.” in Patricia Damery and Naomi Lowinsky, eds., Marked by Fire: Personal Stories of the Jungian Way. Carmel, CA: Fisher King Press, 2012), pp. 94-109.
 Catherine Crowther, “Supervision of the Apprentice” in Murray Stein ed. Jungian Psychoanalysis: Working in the Spirit of C. G. Jung. Chicago & Lasalle, Illinois: Open Court, 2009), p. 395.
 Edgar Levenson, “Follow the Fox—An Inquiry Into the Vicissitudes of Psychoanalytic Supervision,” Contemporary. Psychoanalysis.18 (1982): 6.
 Kazuhiko Higuchi, (2009). “Jungian Psychoanalysis in the Context of Japanese Culture.” in Murray Stein, ed. Jungian Psychoanalysis: Working in the Spirit of C. G. Jung. Chicago & Lasalle, Illinois: Open Court, 2009), p. 246.
 C. G. Jung, Memories Dreams, Reflections (New York: Random House, 1961), pp. 325-8.
 Paul Kay and Willett Kempton, “What is the Sapir-Whorf- hypothesis?” American Anthropologist 86 (1984), 65-79.
 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. Translated by D.F. Pears & B.F. McGuiness. With an Introduction by Betrand Russell. (London: RKP, 1961), Proposition 5.6.
 Tamar Katriel, Talking Straight: Dugri Speech in Israeli Sabra Culture (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1986).
 Natalia Gogolitsyna,. 93 Untranslatable Russian Words. (Montpelier, VT: Russian Life Books 2008).
 Vladimir Nobokov, “Commentary” in Eugene Onegin: A Novel in Verse by A.S. Pushkin. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991). p. 141. n. 8.
 Elena Pourtova, “Nostalgia and Lost Identity.” Journal of Analytical Psychology 58 (1, 2013): 34–51.
 Malgorzata Kalinowska, “Monuments of Memory: defensive mechanisms of the collective psyche and their manifestation in the memorialization process.” Journal of Analytical Psychology, 57 (4, 2014): 425–444.
 Elena Bortuleva. ( “Rivers of milk and honey – an exploration of nurturing the self in a Russian context.” Journal of Analytical Psychology, 59 (4, 2014): 531-4.
 Thomas B. Kirsch, The Jungian: A Comparative and Historical Perspective.(London & Philadelphia, 2000).