ABSTRACT
NO DAY seems more fitting for assessing the achievement of a life than the seventieth birthday, with its symbolical significance of the completed span of human life. And C. G. Jung, with his appreciation of the symbol, will, I hope, forgive it if one of his pupils—who gladly and gratefully admits that contact with him has enriched his own life beyond recognition—tries to answer this question as far as his teacher’s outward influence is concerned.
