Nisargadatta is like a man who voluntarily has his penis and testicles lopped off—and then tells (anyone who bothers to ask about why he volunteered for such as ghastly procedure) that unless and until they voluntarily do so, too, they are living a big lie and squandering their limited life force.
Carl Jung, on the other hand, is like a man with a massive member and two big sperm-spouting cojones telling anyone who’ll listen that we should “make (meaningful, individuated) hay” while we can, because before you know it, your generative organs will be shriveled and shrunken to everlasting nothingness.
Nisargadatta has opted for parabrahman, thus disbanding the actors and striking the set of the big play. Carl Jung digs up buried gold to provide an endowment for the theater so that the big play can enjoy an indefinitely extended run—and plenty of out of work actors can get back onstage and play their parts with a refreshed sense of meaningfulness and relevance.
Nisargadatta’s is the hard sell, while Jung has growing numbers lining up to get into the theater, even when they don’t know who Jung is.