“My uncertainty stems from a prophecy that my anima gave me once in a dream: that I would be cut up into bits and sold piecemeal. That would top it all! My ‘negative’ attitude to the autobiography is of course a defense, or a kind of self-preservation. I dare not think positively about it.”^[1]

The first time I read these words, I was shaken. It felt as if Jung himself had foreseen something that belongs not only to his lifetime, but to ours: a prophecy about the fate of his legacy. This image of being cut up into bits and sold piecemeal haunts me, because I see in it the very danger that now surrounds analytical psychology — a fragmentation and commercialization of what was meant to be whole, soulful, and transformative. To me, this dream is not only personal to Jung, but also collective, an anticipation of what would become of his work after his death. It makes me shiver to realize how closely it mirrors our present moment.

In this essay, I will be following the feeling that this dream created in me, a deep unease and responsibility. I feel intimately connected to this dream, as if it were speaking not only about Jung, but also to all of us who carry his work today. And it is from here that I want to begin.

Following the Spirit of Our Time?

Analytical psychology was born not as a profession, a business, or an ideology to be marketed. It emerged as a response to the mystery of the psyche, to the reality of dreams and symbols, and to the living presence of the unconscious that asks for dialogue, not exploitation. Today, however, I find myself increasingly troubled by how often this work is adapted to fit the demands of the marketplace, repackaged into programs, certifications, and branded products that promise depth while bypassing it. I witness colleagues and institutions, sometimes with the best of intentions, leaning into the pressures of visibility, branding, and marketability. What was once considered a sacred and initiatory path is now at risk of becoming another consumable, something polished and displayed for external recognition rather than lived through with inner responsibility.

It leaves me uneasy because the very depth we are meant to guard is being thinned out, sold piecemeal, and in some ways betrayed. At times I even feel complicit, as though by remaining silent or by participating in certain structures I, too, hand over pieces of Jung’s work to forces that diminish it. That ambivalence is difficult to carry, and yet it is precisely in that tension that the unconscious begins to speak. Jung’s work was never meant for quick consumption or easy packaging; it was a call to a long and demanding confrontation with soul, a process that resists shortcuts and refuses to be sold. To forget this is to forget that what we handle is not simply theory or technique but living fire—something that can heal, but also burn, if treated carelessly.

Jung’s words remind us of the seriousness of the path: “The way is not without danger. Everything good is costly, and the development of personality is one of the most costly of all things.” This is not a metaphorical flourish but a sober truth. Individuation demands time, patience, and the willingness to undergo crises of meaning and painful confrontations with the shadow. It cannot be rushed, and it cannot be bought. Jung knew that what is truly transformative in the psyche comes at a price — not in currency but in suffering, perseverance, and ethical honesty.

In The Red Book, he sharpened this point with an aphorism that speaks directly to our current dilemmas: “Cleverness conquers the world, but simplemindedness, the soul. So take on the vow of poverty of spirit in order to partake of the soul.”

The vow of “poverty of spirit” is the exact opposite of the clever marketing strategies now often attached to Jungian discourse. It means humility, simplicity, and refusal to package soul into products. This vow asks us to resist the very “cleverness” that sells images, certificates, and shortcuts.

Jung’s closest collaborators understood this ethos. Marie-Louise von Franz, in her writings on alchemy and active imagination, emphasized that working with inner images is a disciplined apprenticeship, not a casual hobby. She never reduced alchemy to a metaphorical ornament or a spiritual brand; instead, she described it as a map for real psychic processes — dangerous, transformative, and requiring ethical containment. She showed how alchemical images speak to the actual experiences of transformation in the unconscious. To use these terms as marketing slogans is to strip them of meaning. To present alchemy as a shortcut to mystical authority is even worse: it manipulates symbols to legitimize power.

Barbara Hannah, in Jung’s biography, painted a picture of Jung as a man profoundly aware of the gravity of individuation. Her accounts highlight his patience, his respect for symbols, and his refusal to reduce the psyche to quick interpretations. Besides, her portrayal of Jung underscores that he was no spiritual king. He lived the difficulties of individuation with humility. The attempt to enthrone oneself as the “alchemical master” is an inversion of his ethic. 

James Hillman also warned against the commercialization of therapy. He saw how the therapeutic industry could easily become a machine that reproduces dependency, consumption, and slogans rather than tending the soul. Hillman’s call was to return to the imaginal, to allow psyche to speak in images and stories — not to sell it as a lifestyle package.

Together, these figures remind us that analytical psychology is a vocation of depth and responsibility, not a commodity. And yet, we see signs of commodification everywhere:

FastTrack certificates. These programs advertise that within months, even weeks, participants can be “certified” in Jungian techniques or approaches. While such programs may add disclaimers that those who complete them are not authorized to work as full practitioners, the very existence of these certificates opens the door for misuse. In the spirit of our age, where symbols are easily commodified, a certificate becomes a license to play with psychic fire — no matter what the fine print says. To ignore this danger is to ignore what might be called the “shadow of the educator”: the hidden responsibility that comes with granting symbolic authority. Jung himself reminded us again and again that psychology, and especially the unconscious, is not a child’s play but a dangerous, transformative encounter. To bestow certifications lightly, without the long and difficult process of analysis and training, is to hand over power to those who may never undergo the proper initiatory depth. A certificate, after all, is not only a piece of paper — it is an archetypal gesture of initiation, a symbolic conferral of power. When given prematurely or superficially, it risks turning the gold of the work into lead, profaning what was meant to be sacred. Education, especially the education of educators, is indeed vital. But the alchemical task is slow, requiring years of suffering, reflection, and transformation. To treat this as a quick transaction, a FastTrack, is to betray both the soul and the work itself.

Spiritualization-as-cover. Today we also witness what might be called spiritualization-as-cover, where the profound language of analytical psychology — alchemy, shadow, anima, archetype — is repurposed as an aesthetic. These words, once alive with transformative tension, are now used to sell retreats, coaching programs, and spiritual products stripped of their soul. Jung’s work, tragically, can be lifted out of its psychological and alchemical context and reduced to a marketable “spiritual system.” In this way, artful and sacred images are misused, not as mediators of the unconscious but as slogans, logos, and commercial attractions. What emerges is not depth but a new kind of spiritual consumerism, a movement that has already taken root. By selling short programs and practical techniques under the Jungian banner, we ourselves risk fueling this distortion, feeding both our pride and our pockets while handing over sacred material to be misappropriated. We must remember: Jung’s insights were quickly co-opted by the New Age movement, where concepts like synchronicity and archetype were retooled into popular spiritual language without the rigorous grounding of knowledge and practice. The danger of such misuse is not trivial. It creates gaps, shortcuts, and bypasses that may ultimately derail the individuation process itself, turning a slow alchemical transformation into a quick-fix fantasy. As Jungian analysts and educators, we carry the responsibility of guardianship. That responsibility requires us to weigh every word and every symbol carefully, to ensure they remain living vessels of transformation rather than commodities for consumption. When archetypal language is handed over without the suffering and transformation that give it weight, it becomes not a vessel of the soul but an empty mask — a performance that conceals the very depth it was meant to reveal.

Celebrity Practitioner and Institutional Capture. Another danger of our time lies in the inflation of authority, both personal and institutional. On one side, we see the rise of the practitioners who cultivate large online followings, where charisma and visibility often become more persuasive than rigor or accountability. On the other side, entire training organizations may drift toward the same temptation, prioritizing revenue, visibility, and growth over integrity and depth. At both levels, the diploma and the institution itself risk becoming instruments of power rather than vessels of responsibility. A diploma is never neutral; it carries symbolic weight, conferring an archetypal authority that can heal or harm, humble or inflate. In the wrong hands, it is like a weapon — a tool that can wound the soul if wielded without care. Jung warned us against precisely this danger: identifying with the figure of the master, the savior, or the prophet. And yet, under the pressure of the spirit of our age, we risk doing just that — selling out the legacy we are meant to protect, confusing service to the soul with the ambition to be seen, followed, or adored. Training organizations, too, are not immune to the temptations of our time. Institutes that once stood as guardians of Jung’s legacy can drift toward prioritizing revenue, visibility, and expansion over integrity and depth. When this happens, they risk producing graduates who are ill-prepared not only to meet clients but also to confront the psychic realities of our time. This danger is not new. Jung reminded us that the alchemists practiced their art in secrecy, behind closed doors, because they knew the work was dangerous and demanded containment. The opus could not be carried out under the glare of public display without losing its essence. Today, however, we see a different impulse: exposure, publicity, institutional branding. Perhaps there is indeed an archetypal push behind this — the collective psyche seeking greater visibility, a wider dissemination of depth psychology. But even if this is so, we must be exceedingly careful about our motivations. Are we motivated by service to the soul, or by the spirit of the marketplace? To confuse the two is perilous. Once institutions themselves become instruments of ambition, competition, and financial gain, they no longer protect the vessel of individuation but fracture it. 

In the end, what emerges from these tendencies — the rush of fast-track certifications, the branding of spirituality, the rise of celebrity practitioners, and the institutional drift toward visibility and profit — is a painful question: are we truly following the spirit of our time, or are we being consumed by it? Jung warned that the spirit of the age is powerful but partial, always shadowed by what it excludes. If we surrender uncritically to its demands, we risk turning analytical psychology into another commodity among many, losing the very mystery it was born to serve. To follow the spirit of our time responsibly requires not capitulation, but consciousness: an awareness of the fire we hold, and a humility before the soul that entrusted it to us.

Why This Matters

Why should we worry about these trends?

• For clients and students. The depth of analytic work depends on the analyst’s capacity to hold the transference, to endure the chaos of symbols, and to contain projections. Shallow training produces practitioners who cannot hold this. That means harm — failed treatments, damaged psyches, disillusionment.
• For the tradition. When Jung’s ideas are diluted into slogans, the intellectual and symbolic richness of the tradition collapses. “Shadow work” becomes a hashtag, not an encounter with the dark side of the psyche. “Anima” becomes a lifestyle archetype, and thus, a stereotype, not a numinous mediator of transformation.
• For the culture. Analytical psychology once offered a counterpoint to modernity’s fixation on efficiency, profit, and external achievement. When it becomes commodified, it merely mirrors the culture instead of challenging it.

I believe, if we wish to remain faithful to Jung’s legacy, several steps are necessary:

1. Rigorous training. True analytic formation requires years of analysis, supervision, and study. Shortcuts cannot substitute.
2. Mentorship. Analytical training should remain a form of apprenticeship rather than a mass-market program.
3. Accountability. The community must develop peer review structures to prevent abuses of power and to protect students.
4. Humility. Above all, analysts must return to Jung’s vow of “poverty of spirit.” This humility is the safeguard against inflation, commodification, and power abuse.

So… it is precisely here that the task of the analyst becomes clear: To stand in the tension of opposites without collapse; to carry the power of a diploma not as a weapon but as a responsibility; to resist the temptation to convert archetypal language into marketing aesthetics; to remember, as Jung did, that psychology is not child’s play but an encounter with fire — these are the demands of our vocation. The question that presses upon us is not whether to share this knowledge with the world, but how, and with what spirit. If the motive is pride, profit, or the illusion of saving humanity, the work becomes corrupted. But if the motive is service to the soul, approached with humility, patience, and fidelity to the alchemical process, then something of the original flame may yet be preserved. The unconscious does not yield to shortcuts, and individuation cannot be sold in installments. I guess now we are called to discern whether we are turning lead into gold or gold back into lead. 

The danger before us is not abstract. If Jungian psychology becomes another brand in the marketplace of self-help and spirituality, then we betray both the psyche and the founder. Yet the way forward is still open. By choosing fidelity over fashion, apprenticeship over branding, humility over charisma, we can preserve what Jung began.

The call is clear: to resist cleverness and return to simplicity. To refuse to sell what cannot be bought. To honor the alchemical work in its full depth. And to remember always: the soul, in its essence, is not for sale.

Didem Çivici – Copyright ©2025
(Jungian Psychoanalyst- C.G. Jung Institut, Zürich)

References

• Jung, C. G. (1963). Memories, Dreams, Reflections. Recorded and edited by Aniela Jaffé. New York: Vintage Books.
• Jung, C. G. (2009). The Red Book: Liber Novus. Edited by Sonu Shamdasani. New York: W. W. Norton.
• Jaffé, Aniela. (1971). Reflections on the Life and Dreams of C. G. Jung. New York: Harper & Row.

• Hannah, Barbara. (1976). Jung: His Life and Work. A Biographical Memoir. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
• von Franz, Marie-Louise. (1998). C. G. Jung: His Myth in Our Time. Toronto: Inner City Books.
• Hillman, James. (1975). Re-Visioning Psychology. New York: Harper & Row.

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^[1] Reflections on the Life and Dreams of C.G. Jung (edited by Aniela Jaffé), (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), p. 84.