Jung diagnoses Nietzsche's insanity ║ Friedrich Nietzsche ║║ Carl Jung║

Описание к видео Jung diagnoses Nietzsche's insanity ║ Friedrich Nietzsche ║║ Carl Jung║

Nietzsche, upon seeing the patterns of humanity and where society was going, dove into his own inner world. Despite great critiques and eerie foresight, his path eventually lead him to madness, which he reveals and which can be felt in one of his books.
This video essay is part one of Carl Jung's diagnosis of why Nietzsche went insane.

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Nietzsche's infamous Death of God Text

'Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright
morning hours, ran to the market place, and cried incessantly, “I seek
God! I seek God!” As many of those who do not believe in God were
standing around just then, he provoked much laughter.

Why, did he get lost? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said
another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or
emigrated? Thus they yelled and laughed.

The madman jumped into their midst and pierced them with his
glances. “Whither is God,” he cried. “I shall tell you. We have killed
him—you and I. All of us are his murderers. But how have we done this?
How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe
away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained this earth
from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now?
Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continuously? Backward,
sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we
not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of
empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night and more night
coming on all the while? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do we
not hear anything yet of the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying
God? Do we not smell anything yet of God’s decomposition? Gods too
decompose.

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall
we, the murderers of all murderers, comfort ourselves? What was holiest
and most powerful of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death
under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for
us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games
shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us?
Must not we ourselves become gods simply to seem worthy of it?'

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