In a hospital in Switzerland in 1944, the world-renowned psychiatrist Carl G. Jung, M.D., had a heart attack, then a near-death experience. His vivid encounter with the Light, plus the intensely meaningful insights led Jung to conclude that his experience came from something real and eternal. Subsequently, as he reflected on life after death, Jung recalled the meditating Hindu from his near-death experience and read it as a parable of the archetypal Higher Self, the God-image within. Carl Jung, who founded analytical psychology, centered on the archetypes of the collective unconscious. What follows is excerpts from his autobiography entitled ""Memories, Dreams, Reflections"" describing his near-death experience.
As I approached the temple I had the certainty that I was about to enter an illuminated room and would meet there all those people to whom I belong in reality.
"It seemed to me that I was high up in space. Far below I saw the globe
of the earth, bathed in a gloriously blue light. I saw the deep blue sea and
the continents. Far below my feet lay Ceylon, and in the distance ahead of
me the subcontinent of India. My field of vision did not include the whole
earth, but its global shape was plainly distinguishable and its outlines
shone with a silvery gleam through that wonderful blue light. In many places
the globe seemed colored, or spotted dark green like oxidized silver. Far
away to the left lay a broad expanse - the reddish-yellow desert of Arabia;
it was as though the silver of the earth had there assumed a reddish-gold
hue. Then came the Red Sea, and far, far back - as if in the upper left of a
map - I could just make out a bit of the Mediterranean. My gaze was directed
chiefly toward that. Everything else appeared indistinct. I could also see
the snow-covered Himalayas, but in that direction it was foggy or cloudy. I
did not look to the right at all. I knew that I was on the point of
departing from the earth.
Later I discovered how high in space one would have to be to have so
extensive a view - approximately a thousand miles! The sight of the earth
from this height was the most glorious thing I had ever seen.
After contemplating it for a while, I turned around. I had been standing
with my back to the Indian Ocean, as it were, and my face to the north. Then
it seemed to me that I made a turn to the south. Something new entered my
field of vision. A short distance away I saw in space a tremendous dark
block of stone, like a meteorite. It was about the size of my house, or even
bigger. It was floating in space, and I myself was floating in space.
I had seen similar stones on the coast of the Gulf of Bengal. They were
blocks of tawny granite, and some of them had been hollowed out into
temples. My stone was one such gigantic dark block. An entrance led into a
small antechamber. To the right of the entrance, a black Hindu sat silently
in lotus posture upon a stone bench. He wore a white gown, and I knew that
he expected me. Two steps led up to this antechamber, and inside, on the
left, was the gate to the temple. Innumerable tiny niches, each with a
saucer-like concavity filled with coconut oil and small burning wicks,
surrounded the door with a wreath of bright flames. I had once actually seen
this when I visited the Temple of the Holy Toot at Kandy in Ceylon; the gate
had been framed by several rows of burning oil lamps of this sort.
As I approached the steps leading up to the entrance into the rock, a
strange thing happened: I had the feeling that everything was being sloughed
away; everything I aimed at or wished for or thought, the whole
phantasmagoria of earthly existence, fell away or was stripped from me - an
extremely painful process. Nevertheless something remained; it was as if I
now carried along with me everything I had ever experience or done,
everything that had happened around me. I might also say: it was with me,
and I was it. I consisted of all that, so to speak. I consisted of my own
history and I felt with great certainty: this is what I am. I am this bundle
of what has been and what has been accomplished.
This experience gave me a feeling of extreme poverty, but at the same time
of great fullness. There was no longer anything I wanted or desired. I
existed in an objective form; I was what I had been and lived. At first the
sense of annihilation predominated, of having been stripped or pillaged; but
suddenly that became of no consequence.
Everything seemed to be past; what remained was a 'fait accompli', without
any reference back to what had been. There was no longer any regret that
something had dropped away or been taken away. On the contrary: I had
everything that I was, and that was everything.
Something else engaged my attention: as I approached the temple I had the
certainty that I was about to enter an illuminated room and would meet there
all those people to whom I belong in reality. There I would at last
understand - this too was a certainty - what historical nexus I or my life
fitted into. I would know what had been before me, why I had come into
being, and where my life was flowing. My life as I lived it had often seemed
to me like a story that has no beginning and end. I had the feeling that I
was a historical fragment, an excerpt for which the preceding and succeeding
text was missing. My life seemed to have been snipped out of a long chain of
events, and many questions had remained unanswered. Why had it taken this
course? Why had I brought these particular assumptions with me? What had I
made of them? What will follow? I felt sure that I would receive an answer
to all the questions as soon as I entered the rock temple. There I would
meet the people who knew the answer to my question about what had been
before and what would come after.
While I was thinking over these matters, something happened that caught my
attention. From below, from the direction of Europe, an image floated up. It
was my doctor, or rather, his likeness - framed by a golden chain or a
golden laurel wreath. I knew at once: 'Aha, this is my doctor, of course,
the one who has been treating me. But now he is coming in his primal form.
In life he was an avatar of the temporal embodiment of the primal form,
which has existed from the beginning. Now he is appearing in that primal
form.
Presumably I too was in my primal form, though this was something I did not
observe but simply took for granted. As he stood before me, a mute exchange
of thought took place between us. The doctor had been delegated by the earth
to deliver a message to me, to tell me that there was a protest against my
going away. I had no right to leave the earth and must return. The moment I
heard that, the vision ceased.
I was profoundly disappointed, for now it all seemed to have been for
nothing. The painful process of defoliation had been in vain, and I was not
to be allowed to enter the temple, to join the people in whose company I
belonged.
In reality, a good three weeks were still to pass before I could truly make
up my mind to live again. I could not eat because all food repelled me. The
view of city and mountains from my sickbed seemed to me like a painted
curtain with black holes in it, or a tattered sheet of newspaper full of
photographs that meant nothing. Disappointed, I thought, 'Now I must return
to the 'box system' again.' For it seemed to me as if behind the horizon of
the cosmos a three-dimensional world had been artificially built up, in
which each person sat by himself in a little box. And now I should have to
convince myself all over again that this was important! Life and the whole
world struck me as a prison, and it bothered me beyond measure that I should
again be finding all that quite in order. I had be en so glad to shed it
all, and now it had come about that I - along with everyone else - would
again be hung up in a box by a thread.
I felt violent resistance to my doctor because he had brought me back to
life. At the same time, I was worried about him. 'His life is in danger, for
heaven's sake! He has appeared to me in his primal form! When anybody
attains this form it means he is going to die, for already he belongs to the
'greater company.'
Suddenly the terrifying thought came to me that the doctor would have to die
in my stead. I tried my best to talk to him about it, but he did not
understand me. Then I became angry with him.
In actual fact I was his last patient. On April 4, 1944 - I still remember
the exact date I was allowed to sit up on the edge of my bed for the first
time since the beginning of my illness, and on this same day the doctor took
to his bed and did not leave it again. I heard that he was having
intermittent attacks of fever. Soon afterward he died of septicernia. He was
a good doctor; there was something of the genius about him. Otherwise he
would not have appeared to me as an avatar of the temporal embodiment of the
primal form.