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Professional relationships in dangerous times: by Ann C. Lammers, Keene, New Hampshire, USA

 Abstract: Relying in part on previously unpublished documents of the 1930s, this paper1 describes the origins and mission of the General Medical Society for Psychotherapy, both as it existed before Hitler’s rise to power and as it was transformed afterward. Jung accepted the Society’s presidency in 1933–34, on condition that it be restructured as an international, politically neutral organization, free from the laws of Gleichschaltung (Nazi conformity). The paper also contains a close study of Jung’s collaboration with one interesting German colleague, Walter Cimbal. Cimbal, a neurologist, was briefly a member of the Nazi Party and, judging from his early letters to Jung, a Hitler enthusiast. Yet he also seems to have tried, together with Jung, to alleviate the difficulties of German Jewish colleagues whose lives were disrupted by the Hitler revolution. The paper includes translated passages from Cimbal’s previously unpublished letters from 1933–36 and the post-war years. It also includes a first-person account by Wladimir Rosenbaum, the Zurich lawyer who assisted Jung in 1934, when Jung tried to mitigate the impact of anti-Jewish laws on his German Jewish colleagues. In the primary materials of this period one discovers more evidence of moral shadow—and also less—than is sometimes assumed.

Jung and the Society for Psychotherapy, 1928–30

In 1928 C. G. Jung was 53. It was fifteen years since his break with Freud and in that time he had established his own school of analytical psychology, which was gaining traction in continental Europe. Jungians were

1 This is an amended version of the paper presented at the IAAP Congress in Montreal in 2010.

2 ‘He who stands against a deluge or an earthquake is not a hero but a fool’ (Cimbal to Jung, 27 July 1947, quoting from a letter he received from Jung in 1935).

beginning to plant communities of analytical psychology in England and the United States. Jung was about to become a central figure in a recently founded organization for physician-psychotherapists, centred in Germany: die

Allgemeine a¨ rztliche Gesellschaft fu¨ r Psychotherapie—the General Medical Society for Psychotherapy.

Created by and for medical psychotherapists who did not want to be under any established medical or scientific hierarchy, the organization was open to many schools; this is why ‘general’ was the first word in the Society’s name (Harms 1946/1991, p. 33). Doctors, mainly neurologists and psychiatrists, oriented toward psychotherapy and representing a variety of theories, organized the Society in 1926. Most of these were German. Despite the current impression that the Society for Psychotherapy was ‘Christian’ and ‘conservative’ from its inception, this idea would have surprised the various Jewish psychiatrists, such as Arthur Kronfeld and Wladimir Eliasberg, who helped to found and run the Society until 1933. Kronfeld, a Jewish professor of psychiatry, was widely respected for his even-handed, critical assessment of all the major psychotherapeutic schools. Until 1933, Kronfeld co-edited the Society’s journal with Austrian Jewish psychiatrist, Rudolf Allers, and Eliasberg co-edited the Society’s annual report with Walter Cimbal (of whom more below).

Even before its formal transformation into the International Society, the Society for Psychotherapy was already an international entity, with members from ten middle- and north-European countries. Nevertheless it was always numerically German. For several years its annual conferences were held in alternating German cities: Baden-Baden and Bad Nauheim. In 1928, the first and only time the Society published a complete roster, each of the represented countries except Germany was given a heading. The German membership was so overwhelming that apparently the editors saw no need to name the nation. German members’ names, alphabetized under their states and provinces, filled the first eight pages of the roster. Members from the other nine nations, alphabetized under their countries’ names, filled less than two pages at the end (Cimbal & Eliasberg 1929, pp. 301–10).

Jung attended the annual congress of the Society for Psychotherapy in 1928 and chaired the first session (Cimbal & Eliasberg 1929, p. vi), hearing his theories discussed in several lectures. He became a member of the Society in 1929, by which time he was a leader in the organization. His school of psychology was showcased at the 1929 Congress, and he was elected Vice-President of the Society the following year.

The Hitler Revolution and Walter Cimbal

Originally I wanted to discuss Jung’s role in the Society for Psychotherapy before and during the Hitler years and to consider his relationships with three of his German colleagues, each involved in some way with National Socialism. I hoped to tease out what Jung thought about these colleagues and his options in relating to them as the Hitler years unfolded. That plan was over-ambitious. I will discuss Jung’s role in the Society up to 1935, and his relationship with one German colleague, Walter Cimbal. Cimbal served as General Secretary of the Society for Psychotherapy until 1933, then as Secretary and Business Manager for the German branch of the International Society, and, until 1935, as Managing Editor for the Society’s journal, the Zentralblatt. Surviving documents indicate he was an enthusiast for Hitler, a willing assistant to Jung, and a would-be Nazi who was cast out by the Party.

My information about Walter Cimbal comes mainly from documents at the Jung archive of the ETH Library in Zurich, including unpublished correspondences between Cimbal and both C. G. Jung and C. A. Meier. Among published sources, in addition to the references to Cimbal in C. G. Jung Letters, Vol. I (1973), I have relied especially on Geoffrey Cocks’s Psychotherapy in the Third Reich (1997).

What I will say about the Society for Psychotherapy comes from unpublished correspondences of Jung and Meier and from published reports of the Society and its journal, the Zentralblatt fu¨ r Psychotherapie und ihre Grenzgebiete (1928–1940). Here again I rely on Geoffrey Cocks’s Psychotherapy in the Third Reich (1997), as well as on Ernest Harms’s 1947 essay, ‘Carl Gustav Jung–Defender of Freud and the Jews’, which was republished in Lingering Shadows (1991). The Harms essay is unusual. A Jewish Freudian, living in New York, Harms made a thorough study of documents from the Society for Psychotherapy and used them, along with his own experience in pre-war Germany, to build a documented refutation of Jung’s supposed Nazi sympathies and anti-Semitism. In January 1933 Hitler became Chancellor of Germany. In March the National Socialist Party terrified the Reichstag into suspending the Weimar constitution, and on 31 March the law of Gleichschaltung (‘coordination’, ‘conformity’, or ‘alignment’) was passed (Krausnick 1966, p. 140). The law stated that every state government and organization in Germany must conform to the policies of the Reich. Jews in all positions of prominence—executives, officials, professors—were to be dismissed. Also, no organization could identify itself as ‘international’ (Harms 1947/1991, p. 29). These changes had a dramatic impact on all German institutions, including the Society for Psychotherapy.

In early April 1933, Ernst Kretschmer, President of the Society, resigned. A professor of psychiatry, Kretschmer had attempted to keep the Society from being ‘conformed’; but as a German citizen he could not successfully oppose the state. His mere resignation led to harassment by his Nazi-conformed colleagues. In late March, in his final act as president, Kretschmer cancelled the Congress which was to have been held in Vienna, April 6–9. Several Jews, including Anna Freud,3 had been among the headlined lecturers (Jung 1933b, p. 1),

  1. The fact that Freud’s daughter was prominently featured in the planned Congress of 1933 ought to be taken into account, along with other factors, when describing the political orientation of the a programme which Hitler’s government would not tolerate. Rather than dismantle the programme, therefore, Kretschmer cancelled it entirely. The last-minute cancellation was rationalized in the Society’s annual report, where the General Secretary, Walter Cimbal, referred only to the German doctors’ anxiety about being absent from their practice in a time of ‘revolution’ (ibid., p. 141).

On 21 April 1933 Cimbal wrote to Jung, imploring him to accept the office of President. To get an idea of Cimbal at this point, and a taste of what was in the air in Germany, we should look closely at this letter. It makes offensive reading, but what I will say later may put his words in another light. At the top of the original is a note in Jung’s handwriting (added decades afterward): ‘Please photocopy this letter in its entirety, as it is very important for the history of the period!’4

The opening of Cimbal’s letter (1933a) can be summarized as follows:

Professor Kretschmer has cancelled the Vienna Congress and resigned suddenly, claiming illness. You alone can keep the Society from disintegrating. As Vice-President, the post naturally falls to you. Do you value the Society enough to want it to survive, considering how important it is for the future of psychotherapy in Germany? If you say yes, then in what form do you want the Society to continue? What form should the Zentralblatt have?

 Cimbal notes that Professor Kretschmer has advised him to remove the names of Professor Kronfeld and Dr. Allers from the title page of the journal. ‘They are not, I believe, of German descent’. In fact, Kretschmer probably never gave this order (Sorge 2010).5 Both Cimbal and Jung would have known that the Zentralblatt could not continue publication in Germany with the names of Jewish editors on its cover.

Cimbal also shares with Jung what he calls his personal psychological analysis of what is happening in Germany. In the left margin of Cimbal’s letter (1933a), two long, handwritten exclamation marks, probably drawn by Jung, accompany the following sentences:

Whoever has not lived through current events in Germany might easily think that we are only following, yielding to political power, without saying yes to it in our hearts. This view, held by many foreigners, even those who know Germany well, is, I believe, incorrect. To understand today’s Germany one must begin from the personality of

Society for Psychotherapy. It would be an oversimplification to call it ‘conservative’, if the word is taken to mean anti-Freudian and anti-Jewish.

4 Unless otherwise noted, translations of previously unpublished German-language documents are by Ann Lammers.

5 Giovanni Sorge’s doctoral dissertation, ‘Psicologia analitica e anni trenta. Il ruolo di C. G. Jung nella, Internationale A¨ rztliche Gesellschaft fu¨ r Psychotherapie ‘(1933–1939/40)’, was accepted by the University of Zurich in 2010.

the Fuhrer and the programme of the current regime. I see Hitler as one of the most brilliant revolutionary thinkers ever produced by Germany (as strong as Luther or Bismarck, stronger than the people of 1813).6

The exclamation marks end there. Cimbal’s explication continues (ibid.):

The current German revolution springs in a way from a psychoanalytic shock, a Blitz-analysis, as von Hattingberg pictures it, whose effect reaches to the verge of mental disorganization, but which was carried out so masterfully that the mental balance of the people, while it is certainly exhausted today, is not fundamentally disturbed.7

Cimbal’s analysis weaves together the pseudo-scientific and the political in a style typical of Nazi writing. He explains that one goal of the national revolution is ‘a violent struggle against all the forms of narcissism expressed in the Jewish spirit, in boss rule (Bonzentum), and in the Amazon-character of the German woman.  The hardest challenge for us in our movement will be to liberate ourselves from the Jewish spirit, since we are all in a certain sense Freud’s pupils’. But, he assures Jung, with his help they will be able to carry it off: ‘Here the truly German (deutschsta¨ mmige) spirit (yours and Bjerre’s) has always stood in opposition to the Jewish spirit’.8 Cimbal goes on, describing Freudian theory as narcissistic, masturbatory, and dangerous to family life, since Freud’s psychology ‘preached outrage against the father as tyrant  whereas your own psychotherapy  mainly addressed the disappointment of the disenfranchised, highly worthwhile man  ’9(Cimbal 1933b).

After several paragraphs of this sort, he returns to his main point: ‘The condition for survival [of the Society] is that you accept leadership and keep it’. Other German colleagues were also urging Jung to take over as president.

A vacuum of power was likely to be filled by a Nazi-leaning doctor, such as H. Schultz, who was jockeying for the post. After a struggle with himself,

6 Wer die Vorga¨ nge in Deutschland nicht miterlebt hat, kann leicht auf den Gedanken kommen, dass wir uns der politischen Gewalt nur fu¨ gten und unterordneten, ohne sie innerseelisch zu bejahen. Diese Auffassung, die im Ausland vielfach auch bei guten Kennern Deutschlands verbreitet ist, ist, glaube ich, irrtu¨ mlich. Man muss von der Perso¨ nlichkeit der Fu¨ hrer und vom Programm der heutigen Regierung ausgehen, wenn man das heutige Deutschland verstehen will. Ich halte Hitler fu¨ r einen der genialsten Revolutionsdenker, die Deutschland je hervorgebracht hat (als gleich stark mit Luther, Bismarck, sta¨ rker als die Leute von 1813).

7 Die heutige deutsche Revolution entspringt ungefa¨ hr dem psychoanalytischen Chok, wie v.

Hattingberg ihn schildert, einer Blitzanalyse, deren Wirkung bis an die Grenzen der seelischen Abnormisierung geht, die aber meisterhaft durchgefu¨ hrt wurde, sodass das seelische Gleichgewicht des Volkes heute zwar erscho¨ pft, aber in seiner Ordnung nicht gesto¨ rt ist.

8 der sehr scharfe Kampf gegen alle Formen des Narzismus, die sich im ju¨ dischen Geist, im onzentum und im Amazonencharakter der deutschen Dame auswirken.………. Am schwersten wird uns in unserer Bewegung die Befreiung vom ju¨ dischen Geist sein, da wir alle im gewissen Sinne Schu¨ ler von Freud sind.………………….. Hier hat der deutschsta¨ mmige Geist (Sie und Bjerre) immer im Gegensatz

zum ju¨ dischen Geist gestanden.

9 .. .indem sie die Empo¨ rung gegen den Vater als Tyrannen predigte……. wa¨ hrend Ihre eigene Psychotherapie hauptsa¨ chlich der Entta¨ uschung des entrechteten, hochwertigen Mannes galt

Jung accepted. But he set conditions, about which more will be said. His official term began on 21 June 1933. He publicly accepted the post while in Berlin to offer a weeklong dream seminar. That week also included Jung’s controversial interview on Radio Berlin with a former pupil, now a Nazi-sympathizer, Adolf von Weizsa¨ cker (McGuire & Hull 1977, pp. 59–66).

Cimbal’s letter in April 1933 shows an enthusiastic, inflated Hitler-follower, a convinced anti-Semite and anti-Freudian. But parts of his behaviour in 1933 and 1934 are inconsistent with parts of this letter, so much so that it raises the question whether some of his anti-Jewish, anti-Freudian rhetoric may have been crafted to impress the censor. (Privacy of the mail had been abolished two months earlier [Stern 1966, p. 201].)

A month later, Cimbal wrote to Jung that it was a shame the Vienna Congress never happened, since a broader cross-section of schools (Freud, Adler, Stekel, Po¨ tzel, Stransky) would have been represented there, ‘and we would have had a chance to see if some useful knowledge might have come from that dialogue’. He ends the May letter with a request that Jung send him two replies: one private and one for ‘the gentlemen in Berlin’ (die Berliner Herren). The Berlin group included von Hattingberg, Ku¨ nkel and Schultz, the latter being in favour of enforcing German law immediately by dismissing Jews from the Society’s executive board (Cimbal 1933b).

Cimbal was born in 1877 near Breslau (now Wroclaw, Poland). As a neurologist and psychotherapist, practising near Hamburg, he was among the original founders of the Society for Psychotherapy. A religious Catholic, he apparently projected the archetype of ‘Messiah’ onto Hitler, even after Party leaders threatened to arrest him and his wife. Elisabeth Cimbal had led an anti-fascist women’s group in 1933 (Cimbal 1947), and Cimbal’s motive for joining the Party may have been to gain amnesty for her, as he later claimed (Cocks 1997, p. 91). If so, it was a lost cause. In 1934 he was demoted from being General Secretary for the Society, and in 1935 he was pushed out altogether. He and his wife left Hamburg in 1935, as he wrote after the war, to avoid a concentration camp.10 But through all this he remained—if another of his letters can be taken at face value—a true believer. In March 1936 he thanked Jung for sending an offprint of his essay ‘Wotan’ (1936), which he claimed to read as entirely affirming toward Hitler. He wrote:

Every one of us gives himself, to his very last shred of strength and knowledge, to the service of the Fuhrer………………….. The special reason why we practically deify the Fu¨ hrer is that e has given us—like the early religious figures who created images of the world—the goal of our lives and a direction for our hidden powers.11

10 Ich selbst musste damals [1935] Hamburg verlassen, um nicht mit meiner Frau, die 1933 Listenfu¨ hrerin der antifaschistischen Frauengruppe gewesen war, ins KZ zu kommen (Cimbal 1947).

11 Jeder von uns stellt sich bis zum letzten Rest seiner Kraft und seines Wissens in den Dienstnes Fuhrers. Das Besondere, warum wir den Fu¨ hrer fast vergotten, liegt darin, dass er

After 1937 Cimbal practised as an unlicensed naturopath. Eventually he and his wife went into hiding, eking out an existence from 1943 to 1947 in Silesia and what is now western Poland. In 1947 they were allowed to return to Hamburg, where he reopened his practice as a neurologist and resumed a sporadic, friendly correspondence with Jung.

His first letter to Jung after the war, dated 27 July 1947, includes a recital of his professional life since the 1920s. This is the first letter we have of Cimbal’s that he wrote without fearing censorship. One passage is especially intriguing, because it gives us a glimpse of Jung’s relationship with Cimbal during their brief period of shared work for the Society. When Cimbal was losing his struggle with the Party, he says Jung wrote him a supportive letter:

You yourself wrote to me in 1935, in the letter of thanks you sent me when I was leaving the Society: ‘He who stands against a deluge or an earthquake is not a hero but a fool.’ When I was leaving, you also advised me, in spite of my natural bitterness against the Party, to disturb nothing and to destroy nothing.12

Cimbal thanks Jung for his patience when, as ‘leader of the international research’, he saw the disaster approaching in Germany but did not hold Cimbal personally responsible. ‘You did not charge the guilt of the people against an individual, who after all could not stop the unfolding of fate’13 (Cimbal 1947).

Jung’s epigrammatic saying, which Cimbal quotes back to him—‘He who stands against a deluge or an earthquake is not a hero but a fool’—suggests that in Jung’s view, Cimbal had been trying to stand against the deluge. He says it is morally acceptable to stop these heroics. No one is required to do the impossible. If Jung wrote this line—it sounds like his turn of phrase — does it mean that he and Cimbal had been partners in resistance?14 If so, I suspect that Jung’s admonishment was also addressed, with a dose of irony, to himself.

11. Huns – wie fru¨ her die religio¨ sen Weltbildner–das Ziel und die Lebensrichtung unseren verborgenen Kra¨ fte gegeben hat (Cimbal 1936).

12 Sie selbst schrieben mir 1935 bei meinem Ausscheiden aus der ’Gesellschaft’ auf meinem

Abschiedsdankbrief: ‘Wer sich einer Sintflut oder einem Erdbeben entgegenstellen will, ist kein Held sondern ein Narr’. Sie baten mich dann weiter bei meinem Ausscheiden, trotz meiner naturgema¨ ssen Erbitterung gegen die Partei, nichts zu sto¨ ren und nichts zu zersto¨ ren.

13 Ich darf Ihnen gerade deshalb auch heute wieder meinen herzlichen Dank dafu¨ r aussprechen, nicht nur fu¨ r Ihren Rat, sondern auch fu¨ r die Geduld, mit der Sie als Fu¨ hrer der internationalen Forschung das in Deutschland kommende Unheil sahen und trotzdem dem einzelnen, der ja das Schicksal nicht aufhalten konnte, die Schicksalsschuld des Volkes nicht entgelten liessen.

14 The term ‘resistance’ may be too political. Jung never favoured political activism. But we do have evidence that he saw his relationship to Cimbal as a partnership. Twenty-two years later, in his last substantive letter to Cimbal, Jung recalled their ‘very enjoyable collaboration’, when ‘many things were going well, until the political madness tore up all connections’ (Jung 1975, pp. 356f, alternate trans.).

The International Society

When Jung accepted the presidency of the Society, he did so on condition that the Society be restructured. Gleichschaltung meant that, if the Society continued at all in Germany, it would be nazified. In fact, within less than a year the German Society obeyed the law and conformed itself. Eliasberg and Kronfeld resigned from the Society outright. As the ramifications of Gleichschaltung grew, even ordinary membership in the German Society for Psychotherapy was forbidden to Jews. Geoffrey Cocks states that Jews were permitted membership in the German Society until 1938 (1997, p. 101); but Jung’s actions in Spring 1934, which we’ll discuss below, and his correspondences at the time, suggest an earlier date.

Jung never worked in a nazified organization. In 1933 he thought he saw a way to stay connected with the German community of psychotherapists and protect the future of psychotherapy in Germany, without succumbing to the policies of the Reich. A new international society, based in Switzerland and affiliated with as many national societies as could be created, but independent of each of them, would be a solution. He also intended to mitigate some of the harm that Gleichschaltung was bringing to his German-Jewish colleagues.

Jung’s motives at the time may have been opportunistic, as Rasche and others have argued (e.g., Rasche 2007, p. 12). His school of analytical psychology stood to be promoted in Germany, while Freud’s was systematically suppressed. He cannot have failed to realize that this shift in the balance of power between his school and Freud’s gave him and his followers an advantage. Also, if he took the role of president, he must have realized he would become a poster-Aryan (Pra¨ sentierarier) for the Nazi state. The Ministry of Propaganda already existed, and there was every probability that the Nazi Party would cash in on his personal authority and international reputation (ibid., p. 8). These facts were obvious at the time. It was also obvious that Jung stood to be bitterly criticized for working with, even without belonging to, a Nazi-conforming German organization. He would knowingly take on a moral burden, not to mention the criticism he would invite from Freudians who were already hostile toward him.

Nevertheless, he went forward. As a citizen of Switzerland, with an inter­national reputation as founder of an influential psychotherapeutic movement, Jung was in a unique position to take charge of an international, politically neutral organization. He hoped to mitigate the impact of nazification on Jewish members of the Society and to keep psychotherapy alive as a profession in Germany, where (as Freud had insisted) the future of psychotherapy lay. Jung wrote to Rudolf Allers on 23 November 1933: ‘Psychotherapy must see to it that it maintains its position inside the German Reich and does not settle outside it, regardless of how difficult its living conditions there may be’ (Jung 1973, p. 132). To that end, in urgent consultation with colleagues in Switzerland,

Austria, Holland, Denmark and Sweden, he devised a ‘framework organization’, an ‘umbrella’,15 which should be independent of the policies of any national society, but affiliated with all of them.

Another of Jung’s requirements was that the Zentralblatt, an important professional journal widely read across central Europe, should be edited and published under the auspices of the International Society. National groups, including the German Society, could publish special editions (Sonderhefte). But the journal of the International Society was to be free of editorial interference from ‘the gentlemen in Berlin’.16

While carrying on negotiations with the leaders of the evolving German Society, Jung began to put the International Society into shape. He was in close consultation with anti-Nazi colleagues outside Germany, such as J. H. van der Hoop in Amsterdam, who stressed that the new organization must have a democratic structure. Meanwhile Jung’s most important assistant was his Swiss colleague C. A. Meier, who became General Secretary of the International Society in 1934. Meier was also, de facto, the primary editor of the Zentralblatt and Jung’s political ‘lightning rod’17 for the next several years.

By creating the International Society, Jung partly achieved his purpose. In 1934 it took over publication of the Zentralblatt, with Jung officially as editor. Both the International Society and its journal were (by statute) politically neutral. National sections (Landesgruppen) had their own leaders and policies and could publish their own special editions of the journal (Sonderhefte). The German Society could ‘conform’ to the Nazi state, while the International Society would (in theory, under its charter) retain its neutrality.

The reorganization had to be done quickly to outrun the interference of the German state. One way the regime was kept from interfering too vigorously was through the choice of M. H. Go¨ ring as President of the German Landesgruppe. Matthias Go¨ ring, an elderly and rather obscure psychiatrist, was not the most qualified candidate; he had not been a leader in the Society. But as a distant cousin of Hitler’s Reichsmarschall, his election gave the new organization an improved chance of survival (Cocks 1997, p. 2; Harms 1947/1991, p. 30).

15 Jung’s letter to James Kirsch, 26 May 1934 states: ‘[Meine Pflicht gegenu¨ ber dem internationalen Verein] bestand wesentlich darin, die Rahmenorganisation zu halten und die deutsche in diese Organisation einzugliedern.’ Hull translates ‘die Rahmenorganisation zu halten: ‘preserving the framework of the international organization’ (Jung 1973, p. 161). This phrasing introduces a phrase that Jung did not write. It is not true to say that Jung ‘preserved the framework of the international organization’. Rather, he created a new organization, governed by new statutes. In translating The Jung-Kirsch Letters (2011), Ursula Egli and I chose to render this statement, more literally, ‘preserving the umbrella organization’.

16 That it should be totally free was an unrealistic expectation. The German Society exercised

constant pressure through its managing editors, first Cimbal, then the more difficult Curtius. The journal’s publisher, Hirzel Verlag in Leipzig, was on record as agreeing with Hitler’s regime.

17 On 6 Feb. 1936 Marie-Jeanne Schmid presented C. A. Meier with the volume Eranos-Jahrbuch 1935, inscribed ‘Dem, Blitzableiterzur Erinnerung an alchymistische und andere Phasen

Another person on whom Jung apparently relied at this time was the General Secretary of the existing Society, Walter Cimbal. Cimbal’s star soon fell; but for as long as he could, he worked with Jung to set up the International Society and even offered creative ideas consistent with Jung’s goals. Two of the letters between Cimbal and Jung, dated in early October 1933, suggest that Cimbal partnered with Jung, in whatever way was open to him, when Jung was setting up the International Society. (He also let Jung down dramatically, as we’ll see.)

The Rosenbaum Statutes

In October 1933 Cimbal made a positive proposal for a mechanism to help Jewish colleagues who were leaving Germany and struggling to survive abroad. He wrote to Jung on 1 Oct. 1933:18

At this time a great many German doctors of Jewish family are leaving the country under duress [notgedrungen]. But they are finding only casual work abroad [insufficient] to feed their families. All these doctors lack any kind of certificate, since the German medical licence [Approbation] is not valid now outside the country.   [I]feel especially strongly the fate of those who are leaving, many of whom have said a warm good-bye to me. So I hope you won’t mind if I put before you the following suggestion.

Under your leadership, the international general medical society for psychotherapy will be manifestly independent of every government and every movement. Besides which, your name will give it a special meaning which will enable it to support the unfortunate colleagues, our members, in their further struggle for existence, and I also mean this in the psychotherapeutic sense. I’d very much like to make a certificate available to the members of the International Society, attractively designed and printed in German, French, and English, which would testify to membership in the Society and indicate the psychotherapeutic interests of the member, based on visits to congresses and membership to the Society. The certificate would need to be distributed from Zurich and signed by you in person; otherwise it could be printed. If you wish, I will co-sign it as the Society’s business manager, though of course my name is unimportant beside yours; it would only guarantee accurate documentation of membership.

A few of those who are emigrating, with whom I discussed this idea, were extraordinarily happy about the possibility of such a certificate. (Cimbal 1933c)

Jung replied four days later. He thought the suggestion was excellent, and he’d be glad to sign the proposed card for any member whom Cimbal validated (Jung 1933a).

A year later Cimbal described the idea to Meier, but added that the certificate was no longer needed. Some Jewish doctors had left Germany and returned, finding they could not earn a living abroad. Others now distrusted both the German and the International Society (Cimbal 1934).19 So Cimbal’s proposal

18 To study this letter and Jung’s reply, I am grateful to Thomas Fischer and the Stiftung der Werke von C. G. Jung.

19 Mit Herrn Dr. Jung hatte ich vor etwa Jahresfrist vereinbart, dass fu¨ r die U¨ berstaatliche

Gesellschaft eine drei-sprachige, ku¨ nstlerische Mitgliedkarte herauskommen werden sollte, die

was never carried out. But Thomas Fischer (2010) suggests that it may have been a step towards Jung’s own plan, which followed a few months later.

In March 1934 Jung received a copy of the newly drafted statutes for the German General Medical Society for Psychotherapy, which was in the process of adjusting its regulations to conform to Nazi laws. The statutes appalled him by their anti-Jewish impact. Hoping to undo some of the harm, he decided to rewrite the legal framework of the International Society. He described his plans in detail to a Danish colleague, Oluf Bru¨ el, on 19 March 1934 (Jung 1973, p. 152) and quickly made an appointment with a young Jewish lawyer in Zurich, Wladimir Rosenbaum.

Rosenbaum had been in analysis and had attended Eranos. He later told a TV interviewer what happened on 22 March 1934, when Jung came to his office:

One morning the secretary announces that a gentleman, a tall, impressive gentleman, wants to speak with me but refuses to give his name. The secretive man was Professor Jung. He came in and said he’d like to consult with me, that he was the president of the ‘General Medical Society for Psychotherapy’, which was in the process of changing its statutes, nazifying them. He had just received a draft of the new statutes and they were completely anti-Semitic. All the Jewish colleagues would be shut out, obliterated. It was terrible. Something must be done about it.

What did he want to do about it? I asked him. Jung thought an attempt should be made at the general meeting, where they would decide about the change in statutes, to push through a different, kinder wording, a wording that would somehow offer Jewish colleagues the possibility to keep practising their medical profession, [and he thought one should] build a sort of back door into the statutes by finding a wording open to several interpretations, that wouldn’t mean an absolute negation of his Jewish colleagues. But this change of formulation would have to be clever, not immediately recognizable. Then he’d try to push through these milder statutes.20 (Kamber 2000, pp. 169f; trans. ACL)

insbesonders den deutschen ju¨ dischen Forscher, die ins Ausland gegangen sind, zum Ausweis dienen sollte. Dr. Jung war damals mit meinem Vorschlag sehr einverstanden, inzwischen hat sich aber manches gea¨ ndert. Ein Teil der betreffenden Herren ist nach Deutschland zuru¨ ckgekehrt, weil er sich im Ausland nicht halten konnte. Ein anderer Teil hat sich beiden Gesellschaften gegenu¨ ber feindlich eingestellt, wie ku¨ rzlich bei dem Plan eines Kopenhagener Kongresses sichtbar geworden ist. Es ko¨ nnte also sein, dass der gute Wille der damals beabsichtigten Ausweiskarte gegenstandslos geworden ist, weil niemand vorhanden wa¨ re, fu¨ r den der Ausweis praktische Bedeutung ha¨ tte (Cimbal 1934).

20 ‘Nun, eines Morgens meldet mir die Sekreta¨ rin, ein Herr, ein grossgewachsener Herr, mo¨ chte mich sprechen, weigere sich jedoch, seinen Namen zu nennen. Der Geheimnisvolle war Professor Jung. Er kam herein und sagte, er mo¨ chte mich konsultieren. Er sei Pra¨ sident der ‘Allgemeinen a¨ rztlichen Gesellschaft fu¨ r Psychotherapie’, die daran sei, die Statuten zu a¨ ndern, zu nazifizieren. Er habe gerade den Entwurf der neuen Statuten bekommen. Die seien ganz antisemitisch. Sa¨ mtliche ju¨ dischen Kollegen sollen ausgeschlossen werden, ausradiert. Das sei doch schlimm. Man mu¨ sse etwas dagegen unternehmen. Was er denn dagegen unternehmen wolle, fragte ich ihn. Jung meinte, man solle versuchen, bei der Generalversammlung, die u¨ ber die Statutena¨ nderung zu beschliessen habe, eine andere, mildere Formulierung durchzudru¨ cken, eine Formulierung, die irgendwie den ju¨ dischen Kollegen die Mo¨ glichkeit bieten solle, ihre medizinische Ta¨ tigkeit doch auszuu¨ ben, so etwas wie eine Hintertu¨ re in die Statuten einzubauen, eine Formulierung zu finden, die verschiedene

Rosenbaum thought Jung was na¨ıve to attempt such a game with the Nazis. But Jung insisted that it must be done, and Rosenbaum finally agreed to try. In the next month he revised the entire draft, using legal ambiguities to disguise the changes. Jung took the results with him to Germany in May. ‘He came back very proud’, Rosenbaum recalls. ‘He’d carried it off, and the rest of them didn’t notice. But then he said to me, “You know, they’re crazy, they’re crazy, they’re absolutely crazy!” I replied, ‘Professor, tell me about it!’ 21(ibid., p. 170; trans. ACL).

In December 1934, Cimbal got permission from Go¨ ring to have his name included in the printed announcement of the International Society, where the option of individual membership was also announced. Cimbal, as secretary of the German Society, was named as the official to whom practitioners could apply to join either Society—the German or the International.

Ernest Harms writes that, as a Jewish doctor in Germany, he recognized the practical purpose of individual membership at the time, and that Cimbal’s published role in this process persuaded him that the German Society was only superficially gleichgeschaltet: ‘If this group was willing to lend its services against the Nazi Order, then the entire psychotherapeutic association, including the German national group, must have been strongly anti-Nazi’ (Harms 1991, p. 43).

This conclusion unfortunately doesn’t survive scrutiny. It’s dubious to regard the ‘Berlin gentlemen’ of the German Society as anti-Nazi; and the membership of the German Society was predominantly conservative. But Harms does point out the political meaning of Cimbal’s personal role. Despite his protestations to Party leaders that he was one of them, and despite all he wrote to Jung about adoring Hitler, Cimbal went on record in December 1934 that he would help Jewish colleagues stay in practice in Germany. One wonders if his departure from the Society, inevitable as it may have been, was speeded up as a result.

Jung’s scheme to help his German-Jewish colleagues survive professionally through membership in the International Society was a short-lived achievement, in any case. Its practical effect ended in 1938 when laws were passed forbidding Jews to practise as doctors in Germany (Cocks 1997, p. 101). A great deal worse was to come. Looking back today, with knowledge of the Holocaust, the creation of bureaucratic loopholes could appear a flimsy gesture. But for a few years the option of direct membership in the International Society meant something for Jewish practitioners in Germany. James Kirsch always gave Jung

Auslegungen ermo¨ glichen solle und nicht eine absolute Negierung fu¨ r die ju¨ dischen Kollegen bedeuten mo¨ ge. Diese Formulierungs-A¨ nderung mo¨ ge aber schlau sein und deren Absicht nicht sofort erkennbar. Dann wolle er versuchen, diese milderen Statuten durchzudru¨ cken’.

21 ‘Mit dieser Neuformulierung ist Jung dann nach Deutschland gefahren und kam sehr stolz zuru¨ ck und berichtete mir, dass er sie durchgebracht ha¨ tte, dass die anderen nichts gemerkt ha¨ tten. Dann aber sagte er: Wu¨ ssed Sie, die sind ja verru¨ ckt, die sind verru¨ ckt, die sind vo¨ llig verru¨ ckt!Ich erwiderte: Herr Professor, wem sagen Sie das.

credit for this achievement for which, he wrote, ‘Jung made it possible for Jewish analysts to continue practicing in Nazi Germany–my first wife amongst them’ (Kirsch 1962).

Mistakes in the Zentralblatt

Jung probably overestimated the strength of the new statutory structure against all the forms of pressure—in numbers, finances, manipulation, and will-to-power—that persistently worked to undermine the neutrality of the International Society, to make it (and him, if possible) conform, or at least appear to conform, with Nazi policies. One example is the public relations disaster that occurred in December 1933, when Jung’s name, as editor of the newly reorganized Zentralblatt, was tarred by association with an official manifesto of Nazi loyalty.

The first issue of the newly reorganized Zentralblatt (Vol. 6.3, December 1933) featured the ‘Mitteilung des Reichsfu¨ hrers der “Deutschen allgemeinen a¨ rztlichen Gesellschaft fu¨ r Psychotherapie”’ [‘Statement of the Reichsfu¨ hrer of the “German General Medical Society for Psychotherapy’’] by Dr. M. H. Go¨ ring, which included the admonition to all psychotherapists in Germany to base their thinking on Mein Kampf.

No explanation was ever given for the ‘mistake’ of publishing a statement of Gleichschaltung in the international journal. The piece was inserted by Walter Cimbal. It is hard to believe he acted by mistake, as he claimed; he had received clear instructions from Jung to put all political statements into the German Sonderheft. Perhaps Go¨ ring told Cimbal to publish the piece in the earliest possible edition because the first issue of the German Sonderheft was delayed. Perhaps it was simply opportunism by Go¨ ring and other ‘Berlin gentlemen’, a chance to show everyone who was boss, and make the policies and power of the Third Reich as widely felt as possible.

It is easy to imagine that Cimbal, already under a cloud with the Party, was unable to refuse a direct order. This was apparently Jung’s hypothesis, too, for he wrote to Cimbal on 2 March 1934: ‘I assume that you were driven to this step by the exigencies of domestic politics’ (Jung 1973, p. 145). However it happened, the placement of a Nazi manifesto immediately after Jung’s editorial not only violated the neutrality of the International Society and the Zentralblatt, it also cast doubt on Jung’s personal position. Cimbal apologized, but the damage was done.

The first two issues of the Zentralblatt under Jung’s editorship also contained passages by Jung himself for which he later found it necessary to apologize (Jaffe´ 1989, pp. 99f; Kirsch 1983; Kirsch 1991, p. 64). The first, in the December 1933 Zentralblatt (Vol. 6.3), elicited an outraged letter to a Zurich newspaper by a Swiss psychiatrist, Gustav Bally. Bally’s letter to the editor, ‘Deutschsta¨ mmige Psychotherapie?’ [‘“Native German” Psychotherapy?’] (Neue Zu¨ rcher Zeitung, 27 Feb. 1934), was prompted by Jung’s contrast between ‘Germanic’ and ‘Jewish’ psychology. The idea of collective psychologies, which differ between cultures, was a well-established strand of Jung’s thought, and he denied, then and later, that he meant anything anti-Semitic. But at this moment in history, his language had a painful resonance.

Jung’s long article in February 1934 ‘Zur gegenwa¨ rtigen Lage der Psychother-apie’ (Jung 1934, pp. 330–70), also drew sharp comment from his friends. His colleague in Amsterdam, J. H. van der Hoop, mentioned it on 24 April 1934. After discussing strategy for the approaching congress in Bad Nauheim, van der Hoop adds: ‘By the way, your attack on Freudian psychoanalysis, coming at this moment, did not make a particularly pleasant impression on us’ (van der Hoop 1934). In his letters of May 1934, James Kirsch took Jung to task for recent passages published in the Zentralblatt (Lammers 2011). So one cannot say that all the damage to Jung’s reputation at the time came from treachery in Nazi circles.

A few words about language and a conclusion

Hitler’s take-over in 1933 was not only a political coup but also a social revolution. Whole networks of relationships underwent realignment. In the totalitarian state, fear distorted communications, whether fear for oneself or on behalf of others. We must therefore read the published writings of the time, and even personal letters, with an eye for protective coloration, irony, coded language, double meaning, insinuation and indirection. In addition, the whole German language became contaminated—Jo¨ rg Rasche’s term—by Nazi jargon (Rasche 2007, p. 19). The writings of the era, even passages written by enemies and victims of Hitler’s regime, are startling in how often they contain words and phrases from the Nazi lexicon.

Pollution of the German language by Nazi jargon sometimes makes it difficult to fix the nature and degree of anti-Semitism in Jung’s writings of the early 1930s. Several of his writings from that time have been placed under a linguistic lens in an attempt to bring out the most precise meanings and connotations. I won’t attempt a detailed account, but I recommend the excellent commentaries in Lingering Shadows (Maidenbaum & Martin 1991) and its sequel, Jung and the Shadow of Anti-Semitism (Maidenbaum 2002).

Language issues arise in translation, as well. An attacker accuses Jung of writing, in 1934, that the rise of National Socialism was seen by the world with ‘admiring’ eyes, when Jung’s word was not ‘admiring’ but ‘astonished’ (e.g., Harms 1947/1991, p. 40). Jung’s chief translator, R. F. C. Hull, makes subtle choices in presenting writings from the 1930s to muffle Jung’s use of National Socialist diction. In Jung’s lead article for the Zentralblatt in February 1934 he uses the word arisch (Aryan) uncritically; but Hull’s translation puts quotations marks around ‘Aryan’ at every opportunity, creating an effect of irony and distance (Jung 1934, p. 9; Jung 1970, paras. 353–54). Distortion in the linguistic record damages our understanding of Jung, whether it is done to hurt or to protect him.

Then there are false accusations and fabrications, based on hostility, suspicion, or simple error. Jung is accused of ‘supplanting a Jew’ when he became president of the Society in 1933. The fact, as pointed out by James Kirsch and others, is that Ernst Kretschmer was not a Jew. He was a German, opposed to Nazism, who resigned when he found the political situation untenable and realized he was helpless to change it (Kirsch 1991, pp. 53f). But the rumour persists, entrained by the tragic patterns of the period.

What originally drew my attention to Cimbal was that, in a sense, he didn’t fit the mythologem. Cimbal seems to have been blindly admiring of Hitler. He writes like a convinced Nazi. He evidently tried to be accepted as one. Being cast out by the Party is not proof of anything; a pack of dogs can turn on its own. The hostility of Party leaders did not persuade me that Cimbal might be a decent person; it was Jung’s kindness to him after the war. But then I also had to ask myself, what did Jung’s acceptance of Cimbal, a Nazi Party member, say about Jung?

Not all of Jung’s relationships with his German colleagues survived the Nazi era. He broke with his friend Gustav Richard Heyer after the latter joined the Party and moved to Berlin to teach at the Go¨ ring Institute (Cocks 1997, pp. 77f; Heyer 1939). In 1938 he ended his connection with Jakob Wilhelm Hauer, the Indologist who had taught a weeklong Yoga seminar at the Psychological Club in 1932. Hauer quickly jumped on to Hitler’s wagon. Promoting a German nationalist religion, the Deutsche Glaubensbewegung, he intentionally served the Party as a poster-intellectual. In 1938 Hauer sent Jung a long letter, supposedly passing along the words of a highly-placed professor in Tu¨ bingen, which said that Jung now had a better reputation in the Party than Matthias Go¨ ring, who was suspected of being too favourable toward Freud. He even hinted that Jung might be considered for a post in Berlin (Hauer 1938). No record exists of Jung’s answer to this letter, or of any further letters from Jung to Hauer.

Against these cases, Jung’s enduring kindness toward Cimbal is, on its face, challenging. Their correspondence continued in a formal but cordial vein until 1957, when Walter Cimbal stopped replying; he had presumably died. When we read the letters of Cimbal closely, a possible reason emerges. Despite his thickly-applied Nazi coloration, Cimbal seems to have been informally allied with Jung in 1933–35, as they collaborated in trying to make the Society for Psychotherapy supportive to Jewish colleagues.

Jung’s continued correspondence with Cimbal may also express therapeutic empathy for a basically conscientious colleague. My current estimation of Cimbal is that he struggled to make a genuine response to the events of the time, about which he was blind at first. He floundered, projecting numinosity onto Hitler and trying (for survival, perhaps) to pass as a Nazi Party member. Meanwhile he was genuinely distressed by the harm that was coming upon Jews and took personal risks to mitigate it. In his ordeals as an internal refugee, his later letters suggest, he repented of his early Nazi affiliation.

Jung did certain things on behalf of Germany’s Jews, but he failed to do other things that friends at the time hoped he would do. According to Erich Neumann’s son, in December 1938, after Kristallnacht (‘night of broken glass’), Neumann hoped and expected that Jung would speak out publicly against Hitler’s regime (Micha Neumann 1991, p. 282). Jung wrote to Neumann that he was very busy at this time writing certificates for emigrating Jewish colleagues. Through these contacts he knew how terrible things were in Germany (Jung 1973, p. 251). But he did not deliver a public condemnation.

In fact, he might not have been able to get such a statement published. Fearing hostilities with Germany, Switzerland had established press censorship. It was well known that Hitler had a record of retaliating against criticism. Roughly 40,000 Swiss citizens then resided in Germany. Jung might have envisioned swift and vicious action against anyone in Germany who was connected with him— members of the Society for Psychotherapy and Jews in particular. Even if he had stepped down immediately as President of the International Society (contrary to what he had recently promised his British colleagues), a frontal attack on Hitler’s regime would likely have done no good but a great deal of harm.

Sympathetic critics have written that Jung had a blind spot which prevented him from seeing at first that the totalitarian racism of Hitler’s movement was, effectively, an incarnation of evil. He appears to have been cautiously hopeful about the awakening energies of the German people and reluctant to reject the movement outright. In June 1933, when they talked in Berlin, James Kirsch tried to make Jung understand how murderous Hitler’s intentions were, but Jung would not believe him (Kirsch 1968, p. 5). Because of this blindness, and some of his writings in the early 1930s, Jung felt the need to apologize to Jewish colleagues after the war. He realized he had injured them through his political na¨ıvete´ and that his writings had contained mistakes (e.g., Jaffe´ 1989, pp. 99f; Kirsch 1983; Kirsch 1991, p. 64).

These apologies were made in private. Writings Jung published on the subject—Aufsa¨ tze zur Zeitgeschichte (1946) is cited by Andrew Samuels; ‘Answer to Job’ (1952/1958) is mentioned by James Kirsch—demonstrate a deep psychological coming-to-terms and thereby perhaps a kind of apology; but if so, the apology is oblique. The absence of an unambiguous public confession continues to trouble some of Jung’s present-day critics (Samuels 1993, pp. 306f). It is worth noting, though, that during and after the Hitler years, none of Jung’s Jewish friends rejected him. James Kirsch accepted his apology and forgave him (Kirsch 1991, p. 83). Aniela Jaffe´ criticized but exonerated him (Jaffe´ 1989, p. 85). Despite sharp disagreements, Erich Neumann still expressed undiluted affection for him (M. Neumann 1991, pp. 286f).

To date, in the Jungian community, we still have no real consensus about a pair of thorny questions: ‘Where exactly did Jung stand in relation to the Hitler phenomenon?’ and ‘What kind and degree of anti-Semitism can be laid to Jung’s account?’ The answers seem to depend, to a large extent, on the perspective of the questioner. They also depend on which part of the timeline, which piece of the written record, is being considered. Careful reading of primary documents from the 1930s shows that Jung’s view of Hitler’s regime evolved rapidly. His respect for and knowledge of Jewish culture and history also deepened greatly over the ensuing decades.

If we are ever to achieve an accurate, nuanced understanding of Jung’s thinking during the turbulent pre-war period, our wisest path may be to suspend debate until all with an interest in the subject can be given equal access to a broader selection of original documents from the 1930s. Providing such access will be a major task, but it is essential that more primary documents be made available. Original letters and writings of the period have a way of revealing both more and less moral shadow than we may assume before beginning to read.


[Note: Unpublished letters referred to in the above paper are designated in this list according to source, using the following abbreviations: ETH (ETH Library archive, Zurich); K (Kirsch archive, Palo Alto); SWJ (Stiftung der Werke von C. G. Jung, Zurich).]


Bally, G. (1934). ‘Deutschsta¨ mmige Psychotherapie?’ Neue Zu¨ rcher Zeitung, 343, 27

Feb. 1934, Zurich, 2.

Cimbal, W. (1933a). Walter Cimbal to C. G. Jung, 21 April 1933. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

——— (1933b). Walter Cimbal to C. G. Jung, 21 May 1933. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

——— (1933c). Walter Cimbal to C. G. Jung, 1 Oct. 1933. Unpublished Correspondence, SWJ.

——— (1934). Walter Cimbal to C. A. Meier, 18 Oct. 1934. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

——— (1936). Walter Cimbal to C. G. Jung, 17 March 1936. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

——— (1947). Walter Cimbal to C. G. Jung, 27 July 1947. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

Cimbal, W. & Eliasberg, W. (Eds.) (1929). Bericht u¨ ber den III. Allgemeinen a¨ rztlichen Kongress fu¨ r Psychotherapie in Baden-Baden, 20. bis 22. April 1928. Leipzig: Hirzel Verlag.

Cocks, G. (1997). Psychotherapy in the Third Reich, The Go¨ ring Institute. New Brunswick & London: Transaction Publishers, 2nd edn.

Fischer, T. (2010). Personal correspondence, 24 June 2010.

Harms, E. (1946/1991). ‘Carl Gustav Jung–Defender of Freud and the Jews: A chapter of European psychiatric history under the Nazi yoke’. Psychiatric Quarterly, XX, April 1946, 199–230. (1991). ‘Carl Gustav Jung: Defender of Freud and the Jews’. In Lingering Shadows: Jungians, Freudians, and Anti-Semitism. Boston & London: Shambhala, 17–49.

Hauer, J. W. (1938). Jakob Wilhelm Hauer to C. G. Jung, 26 March 1938. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

Heyer, G. R. (1939). Gustav Richard Heyer to C. A. Meier, 14 July 1939. Unpublished Correspondence, ETH.

Jaffe´, A. (1989). From the Life and Work of C. G. Jung. Trans. R. F. C. Hull & Stein. Einsiedeln: Daimon Verlag.

Jung, C. G. (1933a). C. G. Jung to Walter Cimbal, 5 Oct. 1933. Unpublished Correspondence, SWJ.

——— (Ed.)(1933b). Zentralblatt fu¨ r Psychotherapie und ihre Grenzgebiete, ein-schliesslich der medizinischen Psychologie und psychischen Hygiene: Organ der allgemeinen a¨ rztlichen Gesellschaft fu¨ r Psychotherapie, Band 6. Leipzig: Hirzel Verlag.

——— (1934). ‘Zur gegenwa¨ rtigen Lage der Psychotherapie’. Zentralblatt fu¨ r Psy­chotherapie und ihre Grenzgebiete, Band 7.1, Feb. 1934. Leipzig: Hirzel Verlag, 1–16.

——— (1970). ‘The state of psychotherapy today’. CW 10.

——— (1936). ‘Wotan’. Neue Schweizer Rundschau, 3.11, March 1936, 657–69; 1970: ‘Wotan’. CW 10.

——— (1946). Aufsa¨ tze zur Zeitgeschichte. Zurich: Rascher-Verlag.

——— (1952/1958). ‘Answer to Job’. Psychology and Religion: West and East. CW 11.

——— (1973). C. G. Jung Letters, Vol. I: 1906–1950. Ed. G. Adler; trans. R. F. C. Hull. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

——— (1975). C. G. Jung Letters, Vol. II: 1951–1961. Ed. G. Adler; trans. R.F.C. Hull. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Kamber, P. (2000). Geschichte zweier Leben – Wladimir Rosenbaum & Aline Valangin. Zu¨ rich: Limmat Verlag Genossenschaft, 169–70.

Kirsch, J. (1962). James Kirsch to Ernst Simon, 19 June 1962. Unpublished Correspon­dence, K.

——— (1968). Interview with Gene F. Nameche, 15 December 1968, Los Angeles, California. Typescript, C. G. Jung Biographical Archive, Countway Library of Medicine, Boston Medical Library and Harvard Medical School, Boston, Massachusetts,1–36.

——— (1983). James Kirsch to Heinrich Fierz, 3 Jan. 1983. Unpublished Correspon­dence, K.

——— (1984). ‘Reconsidering Jung’s So-Called Anti-Semitism’. In The Arms of the Windmill: Essays in Analytical Psychology in Honor of Werner H. Engel. New York: The Jung Foundation, 5–27.

——— (1991). ‘Carl Gustav Jung and the Jews: The Real Story’. In Lingering Shadows: Jungians, Freudians, and Anti-Semitism, eds. A. Maidenbaum & S. Martin. Boston & London: Shambhala, 51–87.

Krausnick, H. (1966). ‘Stages of ‘Co-ordination’’. The Path to Dictatorship, 1918–1933: Ten Essays by German Scholars, ed. F. Stern, trans. J. Conway. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 133–52.

Lammers, A. (Ed.) (2011). The Jung-Kirsch Letters. Trans. U. Egli & A. Lammers. London & New York: Routledge.

McGuire, W. & Hull, R.F.C. (Eds.) (1977). C. G. Jung Speaking: Interview and Encounters. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Maidenbaum, A. & Martin, S. (Eds.) (1991). Lingering Shadows: Jungians, Freudians, and Anti-Semitism. Boston & London: Shambhala.

——— (Ed.) (2002). Jung and the Shadow of Anti-Semitism: Collected Essays. Berwick, ME: Nicolas-Hays.

Neumann, M. (1991). ‘On the relationship between Erich Neumann and C. G. Jung and the question of anti-Semitism’. In Lingering Shadows: Jungians, Freudians, and Anti-Semitism, eds. A. Maidenbaum & S. Martin. Boston & London: Shambhala, 273–89.

Rasche, J. (2007). ‘Trying to Understand and Excusing is Not the Same’. Lecture for IPA/IAAP panel ‘Freud and the Freudians, Jung and the Jungians, during the Thirties and the Nazi Regime’ at the 45th International IPA Congress in Berlin, 25–28 July 2007.

Samuels, A. (1993). The Political Psyche. London & New York: Routledge.

Stern, F. (1966). ‘Brief Chronology of the Weimar Republic, 1928–1933’. The Path to Dictatorship 1918–1933: Ten Essays by German Scholars, ed. F. Stern, trans. Conway. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 189–202.

van der Hoop, J. H. (1934). J. H. van der Hoop to C. G. Jung, 24 April 1934. Unpublished Correspondence, SWJ.