Carl G. Jung on The Intuition As Psychic Alertness

The idea, today, is to meditate on our psyche’s intuition. As understood/elucidated by Carl Jung in his collected works, Psychological Types.

“Intuition means to look at or into. I regard intuition as a basic psychological function. It is the function that mediates perceptions in an unconscious way. Everything, whether outer or inner objects or their relationships, can be the focus of this perception. The peculiarity of intuition is that it is neither sense perception, nor feeling, nor intellectual inference, although it may also appear in these forms. In intuition, a content presents itself whole and complete, without our being able to explain or discover how this content came into existence. Intuitive knowledge possesses an intrinsic certainty and conviction…. The certainty of intuition rests equally on a definite state of psychic alertness of whose origin the subject is unconscious.”

The origin of intuition in an individual’s psyche paves the way for creative freedom and the cultivation of one’s character. 

When it comes to determining what shapes personality and drives a person to do the things one does or says, we automatically rely on intelligence and reasoning. Perhaps even on our emotional tendencies. 

Our sense perception, owing to the outside world, relies on these facets of human psychology. The reason for this is that we see it everywhere. Intuition is perceived as a spiritual need. Not a concrete one. It’s a function of the unconscious for which there is no place in society.

But what if I told you that intuition exists beyond what we perceive as real or unreal? 

It is what associates the self with objects, with people, and with ourselves. It’s a portal through which we can view ourselves a bit more transparently and non-judgmentally.

So that we don’t put on false disguises only to exist.

We create our own happiness on our own terms rather than the terms set by the world.

Our intuition claims our individuality and uplifts us from the parade of puppets.

The sooner we understand this fact, the sooner we can begin to unveil our true selves.

Susan Cain’s Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking

After reading a book like Quiet, I wonder, how do you become who you are?

Becoming yourself is a process. It comprises of hours and hours spent in deep silence and contemplation; figuring out YOUR “being-ness” of becoming.

Every realization, every insight into oneself is like a thunderbolt – it evokes the most terrifying and beautiful truths and ties them together at the core. Perhaps this is one of the greatest and invariably the loneliest of journeys for a person.

So when you read a book like Quiet, you’re not only mapping your journey, you’re embracing it. Susan Cain delves into the meaning of introversion and how society has characterized it as an imperfection; a deficiency that needs to be cured.

The scales of the world are always in favor of extroversion. The world demands noise and quantifiable strengths. The louder that noise of the world gets, the more distant you become from your true nature.

Debunking the fairy tale of cliched “self-improvement” models, Susan Cain explores the emotional and creative value of being an introvert.

How solitude is a catalyst for innovation.

And practicing introspective thinking, empathy, and compassion is more conducive to creating an authentic self than illusive gregariousness.

The structure of the book is quite comprehensive and organized. Her ideas are backed by studies, statistics, facts, and most persuasively, famous people.

So it is an eye-opener for someone who regards others as being either introverted or extroverted to an extent that it subconsciously shapes one’s entire life and how they communicate with others.

From my personal reading experience, though the book fully embraces the introvert’s journey, it is strategically written to convince and engage the reader.

While this is in no way the book’s drawback, it is something that I find unpleasant, and oftentimes a bit dragging, in self-help books.

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Natsume Soseki’s Sanshiro

Books like Sanshiro make you reminisce about that one event in your life from when you started to understand yourself a bit more attentively. When you felt the heights of your reality falling right toward the depth of your identity. When you began to observe the beauty in truth rather than search for unrequited truth in beauty.

Soseki draws together the wakefulness of the protagonist’s young innocence with that of the chaotic and eager tide of city life. Perhaps “coming-of-age” novels like Sanshiro depict the loneliness of growing up in a strange place. Soseki also explores the ordinariness of existence. The anguish of bearing a simple life is enough when one is still looking at one’s feet before taking a step rather than looking up at the sky wondering how it came to be. It being the universe.

That’s not to say that Sanshiro is not a complex read. It is. But it’s complex in a way most books aren’t. It’s intelligent in a way certain thoughts are instinctual. There is no structure or tenet that makes Sanshiro an imaginative and masterful story. Soseki beautifully traces the ongoing celebration of living. The places mentioned in the story are the places you want to visit. The conversations of Sanshiro are conversations you want to remember.

Sanshiro discovers the timeless philosophies of Eastern culture – which is the characteristic takeaway of most Japanese literature. It radiates wisdom, freedom, love, friendship, and self-discovery in ways unimaginable in real life.

Clarice Lispector’s The Passion According to G.H.

A person’s self is everything that time fails to be. A self preoccupies space in translation. It moves through itself, through others, and through passions. Time’s ephemerality is unable to hook this net of presences that only run deep into a self’s soul.
Time’s soul is rather quiet, it flows like a river, into the ocean, and with it takes from a self most of its memories. Does time ever conquer a person’s self? Perhaps it does; when time is even more powerful in its own absence than the self is in its.

You’ll never read any book the way you’ll read Lispector’s The Passion According to G.H. Perhaps some stories aren’t stories at all. They’re transient realities of dreams through which desire, imagination, and melancholy summon up the courage to shine forth. Every page is a contemplation of life. Every utterance felt alive and perceptive from the dawn of the writer’s mind.

What is the book about? It’s hard to say because I’m yet to recognize what the reading felt like. Clarice Lispector writes like a magician. In this book, she has weaved together a very conscious way of savoring life’s idiosyncrasies. Her words are meant to be read one after the other as if new words appear anew page after page. As a book that hasn’t been read yet, it sits on your desk or shelf as a bundle of blank pages.

Clarice Lispector urges you to understand her words as an ode to all the passions of the selves you’ve inhabited over the years. And as an ode to the unrequited longings of the selves you’ve had to let go off. She wraps language with the divinity of time and belonging. Only to give birth to a truth that is misunderstood and cast aside. That beauty is not the answer to a human’s miserly and intolerant existence, it’s identity. When for her “reality is the raw material,” language is the way she embraces to search for it.

Moliere’s The Misanthrope

This is, by no measure, a foolish book. It is, as the title so blatantly confesses, a misanthropic read. It’s sincere and grim. And it gets better as the story deepens and reveals its philosophy organically. Even better was its effect after having read Cioran’s The Trouble With Being Born. If there’s one constant in my philosophical endeavors, it’s this yearning for what exists independent of human emotion and thought. Consequently, it is what governs our lives so emphatically.

The Misanthrope is Moliere’s play. It focuses on many key aspects of what possesses human consciousness and habituates the subsconscious. Since it’s all dialogue, the characters and their revealing and burgeoning discomfiture with society feel palpable, which is ironic. Their hate, frustration, hypocrisy, and outcries are general, not fictionalized. You can reach out and stroke their angst and nausea as if they inhabit physical dimensions.

This play should be read as a serious universal comedy; where humanity is mocked and criticized for its coquettish and greedy mannerisms. Seneca wrote that “a man is unhappy as he has convinced himself he is.” Moliere wants this to echo throughout his play. That mankind and his genius, which is not a matter of courage but ideals, can never be reasonable. For in a world of fools, it’s better to be nothing than what the world thinks of as wise.

So the defect is not in human flaws, which society often condemns, and paradoxically implants in our psyche. But it’s in the appeal of the absurd cultural and social conventions of society. The subconscious of the world that makes the world function on self-interest, meaningless embraces, and empty words.