Like every other being, I am a splinter of the infinite deity
An autobiography is so difficult to write because we possess no standards, no objective foundation, from which to judge ourselves. There are really no proper bases for comparison. I know that in many things I am not like others, but I do not know what I really am like. Man cannot compare himself with any other creature; he is not a monkey, not a cow, not a tree. I am a man. But what is it to be that? Like every other being, I am a splinter of the infinite deity, but I cannot contrast myself with any animal, any plant or any stone. Only a mythical being has a range greater than man’s. How then can a man form any definite opinions about himself?
To Know, or Not to Know – That is the Question
Who else finds irony in Jung’s going straight from proclaiming himself to be “a splinter of the infinite deity” to inferring that God is only a “mythical being…”?
Scientists! Always trying to pin down an absolute, always fascinated with the mutable.
Show them the amazing bright blue of a butterfly wing, and they’ll go gleefully nuts figuring out how bluer than blue works. I suppose it’s inevitable. Show me a happy scientist and I’ll show you someone who is in love with their own curiosity.
Curiosity itself has two sides – the desire to know, and appreciation for the as-yet unknowable. It’s all good.