Jung's confidence here is quiet but enormous: libido, left to move, arrives. Not steered, not corrected, not educated into a better channel — allowed. The word "natural" is doing something careful. It does not mean easy or pleasant. It means that the current has a direction that precedes the will's agenda, and that most of what we call therapeutic work is less about installing a new direction than about removing what dams the existing one.

The transference is the hinge. When the soul's longing — all of it, including the impossible and the archaic — attaches to the analyst, something that had been frozen in fantasy is now moving in the present, and the present can metabolize it in ways that the fantasy never could. This is not manipulation of the patient toward health. It is closer to what happens when a river finds the slight grade it needed: not dramatic, not a new river, just the one that was always there encountering less resistance.

What the passage leaves unsaid is the cost of that acceptance. For the libido to "run its natural course," someone has to hold the charge without deflecting it toward comfort, toward the pneumatic promise of transformation, toward the reassurance that this will eventually hurt less. The outlet "relatively free from conflict" is not peace — it is passage.