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Michael Rosenthall died suddenly. Nobody expected it, though he himself seems to have had a premonition of it some hours beforehand.
It was not only his personal charm which made a circle of good friends gather round him, but also the loyalty and generosity that he contributed both to his personal relationships and to all the enterprises he undertook. The members of the London Society of Analytical Psychology will remember hearing the papers he read to them, and his spirited sallies, directed at fallacious, weak, or unsubstantiated argument. If he gave offence it was always in the right quarter.
He was remarkably versatile, and for many years this was a snare to the realization of his abilities. Coming from a cultured Jewish family, he was given ample opportunities and he became a good painter and writer. As a result it was never his primary aim to become a member of the medical profession though he successfully qualified, and it was in analytical psychology that he found a combination of art and science which gave scope for his personal gifts. He was evidently fitted to become a prominent analyst, but it was not to be. Just as he was on the verge of realizing himself and