Usless Science Forum
The Psyche => Depth Psychology => Topic started by: Matt Koeske on March 27, 2007, 09:00:37 PM
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Sealchan brought up the shadow in another thread (The Self). His quote is below.
I am placing this thread here because, even though the shadow is a Jungian concept, I'm wondering if it isn't something with a larger scope. Can we explore the shadow as concept and archetype beyond the Jungian terms? Did Jung capture everything that this concept/archetype embodies?
I (of course) have my own preferred deviations . . . which I'll explore eventually.
In the meantime, please let us know what you think about the shadow, what it means to you, how you've experienced it, what confounds you about it. Also, since this is Jung's "baby", can we try to pull some quotes together that describe the shadow? I'm off to bathe a two-year old in a minute, but I'll try to dig some up tomorrow or asap.
Rather than an old tyrannical king being shadow, I think of the shadow as the compliment to the ego. The Old king is the old ego and the hero, who quite often becomes the new king is simply expressive of a self-conscious process of transition. The shadow is the ego's brother-guide along the path and not the negative aspects of the ego. The shadow, in other words, doesn't = bad ego, just a compliment (whether ego antogonist or argumentative friend) that has a lessor authority in the whole personality.
The Old King/New King introduces the idea of ego development as time based or cyclical. So past ego = Old King, future ego = New King = Self image.
The shadow as adversary evolves into the lower fool or sidekick who, nonetheless, embodies a complimentary excellence to the ego's. This also helps to explain the quarternic personalities that arise in certain dreams and stories which include a "higher" couple and a "lower" couple that represent a mandalic squaring of the circular Self. For example, the characters in Mozart's "The Magic Flute".
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Die_Zauberfl%C3%B6te
I haven't read the works of Jung you have read Matt, but I wonder if my more restricted sense of the shadow might conform to Jung's and that this is why you see an absense of shadow in Jung in certain contexts.
Chris, I should clarify that I don't see an absence of shadow in Jung's writing. Jung wrote extensively about the importance of the shadow. Although, yes, my personal conception of the shadow is more expansive than Jung's, but like your take above, mine is also "less dark" than Jung's. I think Jung saw mostly evil and "negative affect" in the shadow. I'll get around to some of my ideas tomorrow if possible.
But my gripe with the "Jungian shadow" is primarily with the shadow of the Jungian community, what it has a hard time facing, the various mirrors it doesn't like looking into. Not surprisingly, many of these pockets of shadow really started with Jung himself. My "Project for the Jungian Shadow" started (but abandoned for a while now) on my blog is about trying to examine those specific pockets that are where the shadow of Jungianism is coagulating . . . with the notion that bringing some attention and light to these things is precisely what Jungian thinking needs in order to get back to the healthy growing state of a real science and shed its ever-increasing religiosity and guru-ization of Jung.
-Matt
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But my gripe with the "Jungian shadow" is primarily with the shadow of the Jungian community, what it has a hard time facing, the various mirrors it doesn't like looking into. Not surprisingly, many of these pockets of shadow really started with Jung himself. My "Project for the Jungian Shadow" started (but abandoned for a while now) on my blog is about trying to examine those specific pockets that are where the shadow of Jungianism is coagulating . . . with the notion that bringing some attention and light to these things is precisely what Jungian thinking needs in order to get back to the healthy growing state of a real science and shed its ever-increasing religiosity and guru-ization of Jung.
I'm curious about how you would go about identifying the community shadow. This is something that could be applied most any community and it brings up the fascinating topic of extending concepts seen in personal psychology to the collective. I think that this is a worthwhile pursuit because I think that a look at a group psychology is valid. There is, after all, really a group psychology in the psyche is there not?
In an actual group or community I suspect that certain individuals who want to feel a part of a community, nonetheless, find themselves in an adversarial role are in the group's shadow. This is the role you have found yourself in. Well, now you are Master of the Universe ;D so to speak of this forum. Now the Jungian shadow is architect and founder. How does it feel? I ask because I think that part of the psychology of the shadow is to feel like they stand in the shadow. This may be a nearly irrevocable situation in individual psychology, but not obviously in group psychology where people are free to form new groups.
Honestly I think of this forum as being more Jungian in that our previous haunting grounds were the kind of Jungian dogmatists that I'm certain Jung (or any non-self-serving person) would feel queasy about.
I also think that the Jungian community is overrun by intuitives (such as myself). I have tried to build into my own pursuit of knowledge some grounded, non-intuitive aspects to maintain a balance. My wife is a major one since she appreciates my appreciation of Jung but isn't personally interested and comes up with some common sense criticisms on occasion.
One is that when I talk about movies or stories that I think have archetypal themes and that may have been influenced by Jung my wife suggests, "But these things you point out are common in many stories. Why would the story writer have to be thinking of Jung? They might just be writing what they know to be good stories?" To me, this brings up the idea that even if Jung is right, he is largely reiterating knowledge which may be obtained systematically (if not in a scientific context) through other disciplines or art or learning. This arguement probably extends beyond the shadow, however, because it is the sort of thing one would say when one does NOT intend to belong to the Jungian community.
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Pre-apologies for this long post. Much of it is personal or a matter of personal reflections that are only very tangentially related to the topic of this thread. If you are not interested in these personal historical ramblings and would just like to get into the theory of the shadow, you won't lose anything by skipping over this post.
-Matt
I'm curious about how you would go about identifying the community shadow. This is something that could be applied most any community and it brings up the fascinating topic of extending concepts seen in personal psychology to the collective. I think that this is a worthwhile pursuit because I think that a look at a group psychology is valid. There is, after all, really a group psychology in the psyche is there not?
Yes, I agree about the "model for collectivity" existing in the microcosm of the individual psyche. I suspect this has very far-reaching implications that we have only just begun to explore.
As for identifying the community shadow, one merely has to observe what the community doesn't like to look at, or what they over-emphasize, or what they disdain. It's really no different than recognizing shadow in an individual. But the implications of unconscious shadow in a group can be greater by far than in the individual.
If I am, for instance, overly-rationalistic and automatically dismiss all forms of spiritualism, then my ability to recognize and relate to spiritualistic things and people is diminished and neglected. I relinquish personal responsibility for such thoughts and feelings. At an extreme, I might even disdain the slightest hint of such things. In doing this, I would be hacking off a conscious moral function. It is essentially an immoral act . . . but it probably won't come back to haunt me much, because I could simply gravitate toward non-spiritualist types and never really have to face it. I would insert myself into a sub-culture of uber-rationalists who all agree that such spiritualistic things are nonsense and only fools would entertain them.
In this tribe, I could function very morally, indeed, and with little or no conflict. It is only, after all, some remote piece of myself (which I disown in any case) that I am missing.
So I am happy as a clam in my rationalist tribe . . . but what happens then when either 1) a spiritualistic person wanders into the tribe or 2) I or another tribe member has a spiritualistic "awakening"? Now we have serious trouble, because the relatively insignificant thought or feeling that was excised in the individual psyche is now being represented by an entire human individual (or individuals). Yet, in the tribe these individuals are identified by their heretical or disdainful thought. Tribalism cannot abide otherness, so it will see the other only for what differs from the tribe . . . and not as a complete, or even useful or valid, individual.
At the point of dehumanization, the members of the tribe can commit "ritual murder". It is not an equally valued individual that they are eradicating, but a cancer. It is "for the good of the tribe".
This is usually pretty easy for an outsider to spot, because it seems wicked and irrational . . . like the members of the tribe are possessed by something evil. And this is sort of true, I think. Jung called it "participation mystique" (apologies: I can't remember which anthropologist came up with this term). I think of participation mystique as a kind of Eros unity of a group. It is not specifically moral . . . as it is not rooted in consciousness. It can serve the group very well by generating a lot of libido and casting all group participation in a numinous shroud. But, equally, it can lead to cultism or mobbism or mass lynchings and persecutions (or suicides). It is very difficult, form what I have seen, to manage participation mystique. One cannot be entirely conscious of the thing itself (Eros) . . . so one can only judge the value of the mystique by the effect it creates.
Of course, to judge the participation mystique by its effect is, to some degree, a violation of the mystique. The mystique "wants" everything to be valuated purely within the mystique. These mystiques are powerful and we are all subject to them. I think it is an essential part of our human make-up. We are innately Erotic beings . . . which means we are sympathetic thinkers and feelers. Being near other people who are expressing powerful feelings or thoughts is always a seduction to us. So we form value systems that help us navigate Eros and resist the seductions of Eros that we have come to believe will lead to dangerous or immoral actions.
But when we find other people with compatible value systems, the participation mystique (Eros) is allowed back into the relationship. And so, unconsciousness is allowed back in . . . as Eros seems to only flow through the underground tunnels of the unconscious . . . is, we might assume, a means of purely unconscious communication or connection. It is a transference phenomenon.
The tribal instinct (in my opinion) is very compelling with our species. It seems to be a distinct piece of our evolutionary make-up . . . and as much as we think we can transcend it with an act of will, I have found that we are significantly more tribal than we like to admit. We cannot, healthily, work against tribal Eros. I think the most we can do is channel it ethically and consciously.
In an actual group or community I suspect that certain individuals who want to feel a part of a community, nonetheless, find themselves in an adversarial role are in the group's shadow. This is the role you have found yourself in. Well, now you are Master of the Universe ;D so to speak of this forum. Now the Jungian shadow is architect and founder. How does it feel? I ask because I think that part of the psychology of the shadow is to feel like they stand in the shadow. This may be a nearly irrevocable situation in individual psychology, but not obviously in group psychology where people are free to form new groups.
It's an odd chain of events. Part of tribal "thinking" involves self-regulatory and other survival procedures for the group. I suspect these are largely governed by instinct . . . the ways we commonly interact, the ways we form sub-groups and hierarchies. Even left to unconsciousness, these relational groups will form and will exhibit the same kinds of life instincts as individuals of all species exhibit. A mainstay of tribalism in our species is the scapegoat ritual. The scapegoat is a member of the tribe designated to take on the sins of the tribe and disappear with them so the tribe is no longer burdened by its sins. These sins are like what the corporations today call "externalities", the negative impact on environment and others (non-shareholders) that comes from doing corporate business. This corporate externality system has a lot in common with the scapegoat ritual.
In our country, corporations ask the government (and indirectly the taxpayers) to erase their sins by deregulating.
The thing about the scapegoat ritual is that it doesn't work if one of the desires of the tribe is to retain some amount of consciousness. Scapegoating and consciousness are not compatible. So, in a tribe that desires to retain consciousness (as most of our tribes today do), scapegoating is extremely damaging to the tribe. It basically amounts to giving the scapegoat consciousness to disappear into the woods with. Responsibility is abnegated. It's a very severe act, because it is equivalent to saying, "I can't stand my own consciousness. It pains me so much that I will do anything to get rid of it." Here, it is not the sin, but consciousness of the sin that must go.
That is, the sin stays. It is sometimes deemed easier to get rid of consciousness than to get rid of the sin. It's repression. Or, in other words, the sin itself IS consciousness.
The scapegoat drama is played out soup to nuts in the Christ myth. The Christian myth is a myth that explains what happens when we excise consciousness and goodness with the scapegoat ritual. It seems that Christianity began in an age in which the messiah craving was enormous. The messiah was supposed to be a Jewish warrior who came from God to conquer those who oppressed the Jews (the Romans) and return the Jews to a position of supremacy (for which they were "Chosen").
This fit in nicely with the scapegoat ritual . . . especially when it became obvious that the Jews stood no chance whatsoever of defeating the Romans militarily. The various agitations and terrorist attacks against Rome (and Hellenized Jews) merely led to the near annihilation and radical dispersement of the Jewish people (through the two Jewish Wars in the first and second centuries . . . the era in which the first Christian writings were penned). All of the radical Jewish political-religious leaders were eventually killed . . . many of them crucified by the Romans. Each one was supposed to be a messiah (to those who believed in him). It was only in their failure to defeat Rome that their claim to messiahship was dismissed.
These people lost their power as political revolutionaries, but as scapegoat-martyrs (and literary legends), they could still have power. Especially if they could be associated with the good, with the wrongly-abused. But the myth of the Second Coming as we see it in Revelations and in abbreviated form in the Gospels is a myth of the return of the scapegoat to punish the unjust.
As for me personally, I have had past experience with the scapegoat ritual. For whatever reasons I make a very good heretic. I'm not a good joiner. I'm very moralistic and have an accentuated sense of justice (i.e., I'm preachy). Additionally, I am attracted to challenges and dangerous thoughts. The ideas I like most are the ones that challenge my sense of self (but with a sense that this challenge could lead to constructive reform). A lot of this has to do with the way I grew up, my role in the family. I was in certain ways the family scapegoat. I felt that the things my parents couldn't deal with were thrust upon my shoulders . . . and I developed an exaggerated sense of heroism with the notion that I would carry these things and resolve them even if my parents had not or could not.
I am enormously stubborn . . . and for the reasons above and others, I have always known how to draw a lot of strength from the darkness, from other people's hatred, fear, and weakness.
But all of this means that I have been condemned to or have learned how to channel the Eros that is normally given to the scapegoat. And I can resound with this "Bad Eros" at times. In essence, this Bad Eros, this scapegoat/shadow Eros is where I have found I can plug into the tribe, into groups. It is the only way I have been able to relate to groups, to "belong".
But it's obviously a two-edged sword, and I have to cut myself or get cut in order to belong in this way.
This scapegoat complex is generally not an issue in my relationships unless I run into people who are maybe a bit more unconscious than they should be. And groups especially, because groups have more unconsciousness collectively than individuals do. But I do gravitate toward problems. I like to solve problems if I can, not exacerbate them. But it takes a certain amount of foolishness to either think you can or want to solve problems. But this gravity is beyond my control. It isn't subject to will. I've come to think of it as a force I have to reckon with. It may lead me into conflict or it may lead me into something very engaged and satisfying. It's like a hunger for the prima materia. An alchemical, transmutational hunger.
My last scapegoating experience was unique to me because I managed to remain half-conscious throughout. I couldn't stand against the tides or control the Eros of the group (and my ragged attempts to do so only accelerated the ritual) but I could somewhat differentiate the Eros of the participation mystique from my individual, conscious will . . . and see how this Eros was tugging at me to fall into the scapegoat role.
It fascinated me that I perceived the Eros initially as something that made me feel capable of helping the community, of giving it a gift. It was as if the Eros was endowing me with the "wisdom" to understand the needs and conflicts of the community. This was no conscious wisdom, no skill or achievement of my own. It was the tribal Eros from the group shadow pushing the shadow knowledge of the group through my role. Anyone could have done this . . . just as long as they had the right kind of socket for the plug.
I was lucky enough to retain just enough consciousness to learn as much as I could from this Eros surge from the group shadow. But many of my emotive posts at the time where very schizophrenic, because I was speaking with two voices at once: my own and the group shadow's. The group Eros was plowing through me, and it was very hard to sort out the "me" from the draw of the participation mystique.
Of course, none of this would have had to happen if some of the other members of the group would have stepped forward consciously to say, "See what's going on here? We have to stop this." This would have diffused the scapegoat ritual . . . and ideally, the "spoils" of the scapegoat (group shadow) could have been re-integrated into the group.
Instead, I made off like a bandit in the night . . . with a great deal of new experience and understanding of the workings of the psyche and some other very golden things. Which were not rightfully mine to have. I have spent the time since then sort of "unspooling" the residual participation mystique from this experience. Differentiating myself from the effect of this group Eros upon me. And now I am nearly back to a state of "individual integrity".
But that residual Eros gave me the momentum to create this forum with the help and guidance of you and Susanna and Maria. In essence, the three of you remained immune (or immune enough) to the participation mystique in the group where we all met (or perhaps you were able to see that the shadow I was channeling also bore good/transformative/healing fruit and not only evil, destructive things). So my hope is that this is a good energy we have. We are starting in a place of consciousness, I think. The Eros endowment that we have carried over from the original group is filled with rich and wonderful things . . . including a sense of conscious cooperation and balance. It seems to me a wonder and a blessing that we four have so much in common while also being so different. It makes us less inclined, I think, to formulate our own unconscious participation mystique that operates exclusively to consciousness and moral awareness.
But it will still require our determined attention and flexibility, I suspect.
Despite this, I can't help but feel a kind of sadness regarding all of the splintering in the online Jungian community. It seems a true shame to me that this group could not hold and find a central gravity to keep it intact. I have always felt this is a double shame, because Jungian psychology is one of the few systems of knowing that allows for a genuine recognition of and reckoning with the shadow. What a boon this should have been.
It makes our inability to cooperate and tolerate our internal otherness all the more pathetic and, in my opinion, rather embarrassing. It would even seem to negate any real worth of Jungian thinking. All we have proved, collectively, is that Jungian thinking is either paltry and damaged or that we are all posers and phonies who have no idea what Jung was really talking about. It would make us both idiots and hypocrites.
I suspect there is some truth to both.
But I think it would be wise, in this project, in Useless Science, if we stayed sympathetic to out inner idiot and hypocrite . . . and kept in mind that we only exist as we do, because we failed initially to integrate into something more complex.
Yours,
Matt
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Here is the Sharp Lexicon (http://www.cgjungpage.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=675&Itemid=41) entry for the Shadow:
Shadow. Hidden or unconscious aspects of oneself, both good and bad, which the ego has either repressed or never recognized. (See also repression.)
The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. ["The Shadow," CW 9ii, par. 14.]
Before unconscious contents have been differentiated, the shadow is in effect the whole of the unconscious. It is commonly personified in dreams by persons of the same sex as the dreamer.
The shadow is composed for the most part of repressed desires and uncivilized impulses, morally inferior motives, childish fantasies and resentments, etc.--all those things about oneself one is not proud of. These unacknowledged personal characteristics are often experienced in others through the mechanism of projection.
Although, with insight and good will, the shadow can to some extent be assimilated into the conscious personality, experience shows that there are certain features which offer the most obstinate resistance to moral control and prove almost impossible to influence. These resistances are usually bound up with projections, which are not recognized as such, and their recognition is a moral achievement beyond the ordinary. While some traits peculiar to the shadow can be recognized without too much difficulty as one's personal qualities, in this case both insight and good will are unavailing because the cause of the emotion appears to lie, beyond all possibility of doubt, in the other person.[Ibid., par. 16.]
The realization of the shadow is inhibited by the persona. To the degree that we identify with a bright persona, the shadow is correspondingly dark. Thus shadow and persona stand in a compensatory relationship, and the conflict between them is invariably present in an outbreak of neurosis. The characteristic depression at such times indicates the need to realize that one is not all one pretends or wishes to be.
There is no generally effective technique for assimilating the shadow. It is more like diplomacy or statesmanship and it is always an individual matter. First one has to accept and take seriously the existence of the shadow. Second, one has to become aware of its qualities and intentions. This happens through conscientious attention to moods, fantasies and impulses. Third, a long process of negotiation is unavoidable.
It is a therapeutic necessity, indeed, the first requisite of any thorough psychological method, for consciousness to confront its shadow. In the end this must lead to some kind of union, even though the union consists at first in an open conflict, and often remains so for a long time. It is a struggle that cannot be abolished by rational means. When it is wilfully repressed it continues in the unconscious and merely expresses itself indirectly and all the more dangerously, so no advantage is gained. The struggle goes on until the opponents run out of breath. What the outcome will be can never be seen in advance. The only certain thing is that both parties will be changed.["Rex and Regina," CW 14, par. 514.]
This process of coming to terms with the Other in us is well worth while, because in this way we get to know aspects of our nature which we would not allow anybody else to show us and which we ourselves would never have admitted.[The Conjunction," ibid., par. 706.]
Responsibility for the shadow rests with the ego. That is why the shadow is a moral problem. It is one thing to realize what it looks like-what we are capable of. It is quite something else to determine what we can live out, or with.
Confrontation with the shadow produces at first a dead balance, a standstill that hampers moral decisions and makes convictions ineffective or even impossible. Everything becomes doubtful.[Ibid., par. 708.]
The shadow is not, however, only the dark underside of the personality. It also consists of instincts, abilities and positive moral qualities that have long been buried or never been conscious.
The shadow is merely somewhat inferior, primitive, unadapted, and awkward; not wholly bad. It even contains childish or primitive qualities which would in a way vitalize and embellish human existence, but-convention forbids![Psychology and Religion," CW 11, par. 134.]
If it has been believed hitherto that the human shadow was the source of all evil, it can now be ascertained on closer investigation that the unconscious man, that is, his shadow, does not consist only of morally reprehensible tendencies, but also displays a number of good qualities, such as normal instincts, appropriate reactions, realistic insights, creative impulses, etc.[Conclusion," CW 9ii, par. 423.]
An outbreak of neurosis constellates both sides of the shadow: those qualities and activities one is not proud of, and new possibilities one never knew were there.
Jung distinguished between the personal and the collective or archetypal shadow.
With a little self-criticism one can see through the shadow-so far as its nature is personal. But when it appears as an archetype, one encounters the same difficulties as with anima and animus. In other words, it is quite within the bounds of possibility for a man to recognize the relative evil of his nature, but it is a rare and shattering experience for him to gaze into the face of absolute evil.["The Shadow," ibid., par. 19.]
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My deviations from Jung's concept of the shadow aren't really "disagreements" . . . more like different points of focus.
To me, the shadow is primarily a quality of the unconscious. Although shadow figures are common in dreams and fairytales, the archetypal personage of the shadow makes fewer appearances than, say, the anima or animus.
When the archetypal shadow does appear, there is almost always some sense in which the personage could be said to represent the Self . . . and not "the face of absolute evil" that Jung mentions in the last quote from Sharp above. My current belief is that the archetypal shadow is what the Self looks like when it is aligned against one of our ego-positions. The force of this Shadow-Self (as I like to call it) is corrective (of the ego) . . . and ultimately beneficial to the organism. It can thus hardly be described as "evil".
My experience is that extensive work with the shadow eventually leads one to an understanding that there is no fundamental difference between the shadow and the Self . . . other than the ego's perspective on it. Therefore, most archetypal characters that could be seen to represent the shadow or the Self exhibit qualities of both.
This notion actually fits in with the fundamentals of the Golden Rule of morality. I.e., self and Other are actually the same. When trying to derive meaning from our dreams, it can often prove beneficial to look closely at the shadowy figures we encounter and ask ourselves, "How might this character actually represent a corrective or compensatory aspect of the Self?"
Part of my tweak on Jung's shadow concept is that the "seat of evil" in the psyche is shifted from the shadow onto the ego. The ego is ultimately responsible for all evil thoughts and actions . . . and pushing the blame off onto a shadow archetype is not an effective way of working to become conscious of our shadowy qualities.
This is a tricky twist . . . especially in a self-described "moralist" like me, because it relatives evil tremendously. It basically points to the idea that there is no evil, per se. That is, there is no Evil-as-Other. Evil is not its own autonomous entity. Evil, as we think of it, is largely a matter of the individual ego's interpretation of unconscious and instinctual input. I think the vast majority of evil acts and thoughts are umbilically linked to ego frailties. That is, they are the result of flaws in the ego-position that allow the individual to dehumanize the other into an object that "deserves" to be treated "evilly" (because it is excessively base or has committed some "crime" which "demands" punishment).
This failure in ego-position is primarily the result of not being able to see oneself in the other, not being able to empathize or identify with the other. "Evil" people are thus capable of behaving ethically in situations where they are able to identify with the other or see themselves in the other-object. Such "evil" people are also committing aggressive and destructive acts against the otherness in themselves that they cannot identify with . . . and could often even be said to be aggressive of hateful toward external others in an attempt to "destroy the totem" of their own projected internal otherness.
This seems to be the general psychological pattern even in psychopaths (who probably have a biological factor impairing their sense of ethics). The psychopath has a more severe divide between self and Other, an internal dissociation. An alternative way to view the psychopath is that s/he has a "defective Self" that does not compel the ego to identify with the other to the degree that "healthy" human beings would. The characteristic "remorselessness" of the psychopath could be attributed to this inability to instinctively see value in other individuals. I really don't know that much about psychopathy . . . other than what it feels like to be in its presence as an other, so I will have to leave further speculation to people who have studied it more closely.
One of the curiosities of morality in relation to the Jungian idea of shadow is its relationship to instinctuality. I have written elsewhere about the moral instinct (adopting the idea with only minor revisions from the evolutionary psychologists' concept of morality as an evolutionary adaptation based on the social/survival benefits of reciprocal altruism). After acknowledging the likelihood that morality has a biological foundation (i.e., is or is founded on an instinct), we must next ask, "But what of deception, aggression, and similar immoral tendencies? Aren't these also proven instincts?"
It would seem, undeniably, that yes they are. And it is not hard to recognize that they would also make for successful evolutionary adaptations. So we can look at the Jungian concept of shadow as a jumble of undifferentiated instincts, some of which are in potential conflict with others. I look at my two year old son and see this jumble all the time. He can experience empathy and altruism one second and aggression or greed the next. He did not have to be "taught" either. But to differentiate between the two and determine when one instinct is more effective than another or when one instinct is impeding the healthy operation of another (e.g., hitting mommy for the sadistic pleasure of getting a strong reaction is not conducive to also getting milk from mommy) . . . that seems to require a mediator.
In other animals we might observe, such "mediation" seems to be based itself on an instinct . . . or the "appropriateness" of one instinct over another in a given situation is somehow "written in" to that instinct. The environmental situation determines the instinct . . . like the spring season determines the mating time.
Humans seem to operate just a bit differently. We have adapted a separate organ to act as an "instinct determiner". One might assume that this special organ is needed in our species in order to navigate the infinitely more complex realm of human culture . . . with its massive tangles of abstract information. This information-rich environment is unique to our species. And of course, the organ I am referring to is the human ego . . a "non-local" collaboration of various cognitive modules that operates in short-term memory.
The tricky thing for us to understand is how the ego, too, must be a biological adaptation . . and therefore, an expression of the mediating instinct that other animals appear to derive directly from the specific environmental situation. If the human evolutionary environment is the information menagerie of "culture", then our mediating organ (the ego) would have to be an adaptation to this particular informational environment.
And, if this theory has any legitimacy, it isn't all that hard to imagine that the human ego is the logical solution to this evolutionary need. As the information environment contains much more data to factor than the physical environment, there would appear to be an evolutionary need for a "sieve-like" organ that could operate as quickly as possible (approximating the "automatic" instincts) to formulate a "value-complex" or "meaning-complex" out of the vast array of information . . . and then to propose a behavioral strategy for the organism based on this value-complex. The "quickness" I am poking at here is the human short-term memory itself. Short-term memory could be seen as a necessary limitation of condensed information processing.
If anyone is familiar with computer chess programs, they might recall that the computer chess player calculates most of its strategical choices very quickly . . . and derives more complex, long-term strategies with further processing. The programs know how to recognize common situations that have standard strategical procedures. I.e., when situation X arises, Y is always the best strategy. Therefore, there is no need to calculate every permutation step by step. Knowing that X facilitates Y is part of the core program.
But when the computer is faced with a situation that does not have an immediate pre-programmed solution, it must "think" . . . and (depending on the raw power of the hardware running the program), this thinking can sometimes go on indefinitely.
I am proposing that the ego formulates value-complexes to be used as "pre-programmed" strategies that can be "juggled" effectively within the confines of short-term memory.
The best way to condense these value-complex strategies, it seems, is by encoding them as symbolic stories that "remember" situations, things, others, events, moods, etc. as abbreviated approximations or "as-ifs". Think of it this way: take a fairytale. It is a story condensed to, let's say, one written page. Now start thinking about the tale. Think about the psychology of each character in the tale. Think about all of the choices made by each of the characters and all of the reasoning behind these choices. Think about all of the potential outcomes and how each tiny factor could have effected a different outcome (sometimes drastically different).
But what is the story? The story is exactly what it is. Nothing else. All of the choices, all of the circumstances, all of the fates . . . everything has to come together in exactly this way to make the story what it is, to make it an identifiable whole or unity.
Story is the most condensed form of complex information. It is therefore no wonder (a marvel, a numinous marvel . . . but not a wonder) that story is the the format in which the ego "thinks" and perceives. All information perceived by the ego (from both outside and from within) is story-encoded. To "make meaning" is to make disparate information into a story.
There is a tremendous burden on the ego, then, to make stories that compel effective living strategies. In this sense, everyone is a poet. We are all trying to make sense of our worlds in some radically condensed piece of artifice . . . a sonnet, perhaps. Super-efficient stories make for successful living. So there is a natural emphasis placed on efficiency. But this condensed efficiency also means that more and more potentialities will be left out . . . and eventually, too many will be left out. The story will then have to be revised or expanded.
And there are a couple interesting (although perhaps not ultimately meaningful) parallels to this process that come to mind. The first is evolution itself. In evolutionary terms a species is a story that strives for ultimate efficiency (adaptation to its environment), but must be continuously revising itself (in order to survive) as that environment changes. And so you get "additions in the margins". Traits that are added on to other traits . . . all of it accumulating into a being that is a catalog of revisions/adaptations (some of them a bit incongruous). It would be like writing a story in which it was impossible to erase anything and start over.
The second parallel that comes to mind is the formation of synaptic structures. I am woefully ignorant about the actual physical functioning of the brain, but I seem to recall that synaptic structures or webs of connection between neurons have a kind of trial and error connectivity process. This can form complex structures that keep getting reinforced and growing, but at the same time are always relinquishing some connections and reaching out for other ones. Perhaps "synaptic structures" is the wrong technical term . . . but I'm pretty sure that there is some kind of neural cellular/chemical behavior that functions like this. I just need to brush up on my terms.
I guess I'm thinking of something like this:
(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/3/32/Smi32neuron.jpg)
Now you may be thinking, "Lovely digression, Matt, but what does this all have to do with the shadow?" (-)abduct(-)
Well, in the paradigm I proposed above, we might see the shadow in the undeveloped potential that the stories the ego choses eliminate or in the potentially more effective stories the ego could have come up with but didn't (due to various self-imposed and arbitrary limitations). That is, for each story we cling to and try to draw a wealth of meaning from (like trying to draw blood from a stone, perhaps), we are unconsciously necessitating the creation of a counter-story, a negative image of our chosen story . . . in which the hero chooses to go left instead of right. Making choices means shutting certain doors in favor of others.
But we are short-term thinkers. We might not be able to see the detriment of the right-going path until we have gone down it some distance. Then we have to face the aggravation of turning around and going down the path we initially discounted. We have to revalue the thing we originally chose to devalue. And since we are made out of these story-strategies and identify ourselves with them, we have to destroy an established part of ourself in order to revalue the thing we originally discarded instead of it.
The ego has failed, then, to effectively mediate the instincts, and its living strategy gradually breaks down. The strategy breaks down because the organism is not able to generate a reciprocating libido. Typically this is a matter of overvaluing external information in the egoic story-making process. The ego starts to behave too autonomously and tries to survive as if it was the entire organism . . . but this approach can lead to a loss of drive. And the Self asserts a corrective force just as the physical body always self-regulates to the best of its ability.
This "force" as perceived by the ego (in story form, of course) is the shadow scratching at consciousness. This shadow will come with a mix of countering instincts that "assault" the ego-position like a particularly malicious editor. It will probably make no sense to the ego why it is facing such resistance. And, since it has rather deeply invested in its story, it will be inclined to resist the shadow's counter-force. This resistance is often composed of the basic stuff of all infantile resistance: aggression, denial, displacement, blame, projection, delusion, etc. All those self-preserving defenses that are actually very functional. These are instinctually-driven strategies that the ego had always used to deal with overwhelming unknowns . . . at least until these unknowns became more known, and different strategies proved more effective in addressing them.
This is where many Jungians see the shadow. They see these infantile strategies welling up to defend against something. Perhaps the individual even has dreams with infantile characters in them that are deemed shadow characters. But I think these are actually ego-defenses against the Otherness of the shadow or the Shadow-Self. When "shadow characters" in dreams are displaced (and the ego does not directly identify with them), the dream could be saying, "Hey dumbass! Look at this behavior of yours from an outside perspective. Pretty revolting, eh?"
It is easy to mistake our ego reactions to Otherness with the actual content of that Otherness. But what we might do better to see in this paradigm is how radically ineffective our infantile strategies are against the Shadow-Self. As the shadow gains power and comes closer to our conscious awareness, our attempts to fight it start to seem increasingly pathetic and ridiculous. Or, as is frequently the case, our dreams (and at times our actions) show that our infantile defense of aggression is a drastic overreaction. We strike out at some other as though we were fighting a great evil . . . only to realize (in wounding it) that we ourselves (our egos) were the aggressor. The Other is humanized, and we are filled with remorse for our "demonic" aggressiveness.
It occurs to me that this needs a great deal more explanation and numerous examples before it will start to make better sense . . . but this post is already too long, and I have to get myself home.
I can see right off the bat that some approach to archetypal villains needs to be formed in relation to the above. A great deal can be said about this, and there are innumerable examples in myths, dreams, and fairytales.
I will think about this more and try to make my approach more efficient.
-Matt
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Archetypal Villains and Shadow Figures in Dreams and Stories
I had to leave off yesterday at a place that had strayed too far from focus for my taste. I knew I had to better address, in a more direct way, the dark figures in our dreams and stories. So I was thinking on the way home from work about these shadow characters and asking myself: "Are these characters representations of ego-positions or are they "Others"?" And also, what is the significance of our answers to that question?
My inclination is to say that these characters are primarily representations of ego-positions (which is a more definitive statement of what I was rambling about above). The "bad guys and gals" of fairytales that imprison the princesses and try to destroy the princes are representations of ego (there are exceptions which I will address below).
I'm thinking of the psychic process as something like this . . . .
The ego develops its various strategies and stories . . . with increasing emphasis on the outer world (culture) and the position of the ego in that world. This eventually leads the individual too far away from a healthy biological/instinctual existence. The abstract realm is given too much emphasis. The stories of the ego are mistaken for sacred truths. Flexibility and the capacity for growth or change set in. Libido can't flow in and out of the world through the ossified ego stories and depression and other psychosomatic symptoms set in. As this ossification progresses, a darkness is cast increasingly over certain options of self-identification, certain beliefs, ideas, feelings, ego stories. The shadow is already being established with what we have rejected, feared, or not figured out how to use.
At this point, the Self (as representation of the intelligence of the whole organism, or body, if you prefer) begins a self-regulatory "correction". On one hand, it must work through the neglected/rejected shadow. The Self empowers this shadow, giving it a numinousness that "chases" or oppresses or haunts the ego-position. But at the same time, a different tactic is employed by the Self. A counter-position (to the prevailing ego-position) is formed. This usually compliments the anima/animus stage.
The anima/animus is the seductiveness of the Self that tries to woo the ego into the counter-position. The animi love what is heroic in us, i.e., what can rise up to resolve the ossified ego-position. To the degree that we are seduced by this envoy of the Self, we begin to increasingly identify with the counter-position . . . the new position or New King of alchemy. This new position is not only a more active opponent of the prevailing ego-position, it is also increasingly devoted to the will of the Self.
But, this development ends up constellating the Opposites, so to speak. As the ego starts to identify with the new position (the hero), the old position becomes agitated and defensive. In the ego, at this point, there are two positions vying against one another for rights to the resource of life. Here is where I see the "bad guys" and "wicked stepmothers" of fairytales. They are the anti-heroes. But we, as egos, we are both the wicked stepmothers and the heroic princesses (and perhaps, also and on another level, neither).
But the process of change is more than just an enantiodromia with the heroic position conquering and disposing of the old, ossified position. In my experience, it seems that the heroic position is not meant to come to absolute victory and live happily ever after. The individual begins to recognize at some point that the heroic position is not purely ego. There is an archetype driving it. It is, ultimately, a gift of heroic energy from the Self. We eventually realize that this inner hero, this hero archetype does not fulfill itself in victory . . . but in submission or self-sacrifice. It stops battling the Satan and sinks back into the unconscious. The ego must differentiate itself from this archetypal force, because this force is Other and not possessible.
This sacrifice corresponds with the coniunctio with the animi figure, the lover of the hero. As these two forces unite and become one essence (one motion from the Self), they also die (i.e., are depotentiated). That is, they were a self-regulating force from the unconscious Other . . . but, having restored a kind of equilibrium, these forces are depotentiated and appear to slip back into the prima materia of the unconscious.
This corresponds to the depiction of the alchemical opus that portrays death after the coniunctio. As the Sol/Luna pair becomes one (the divine hermaphrodite), the energy (attraction) generated by its polarities is stilled. At this point, the long, grueling process of putrefaction and purification occurs for this hermaphroditic body:
(http://www.alchemywebsite.com/images/amcl_rs06.jpg) (http://www.alchemywebsite.com/images/amcl_rs07.jpg) (http://www.alchemywebsite.com/images/amcl_rs08.jpg) (http://www.alchemywebsite.com/images/amcl_rs09.jpg)
This corresponds (psychologically) with a painstaking process of differentiation between the ego (which has come to a new position favorable to the Self) and the archetypes . . . specifically the godman/high priestess archetypes. In the "rotting" and "cleansing" of the new psychic body, the ego is being gradually distinguished from the Self. This will result in a new kind of "re-polarization" (polarization is the essential state of being required for energy/libido to flow) in which the ego recognizes the Self as distinctly Other . . . but as the essential other to which the ego is wholly devoted. Only with this differentiating movement can the ego really interact constructively with the Self in a mode that is "non-parental", i.e., conscious. Before this, we have a parental image of the Self (or God) that is an All-Provider. After this is complete, we see that it is our job to nourish the Self/God, not unconsciously leech from it.
But there is something we passed over (and perhaps hoped would disappear). The original ego-position that was not defeated still exists in some form. The heroic impulse ended up in self-sacrifice, not in conquering. But the original ego-position has been transformed by this Work. What remains of this Old King is a powerful "immortality desire". It clings to these little shreds of hope. It was the hero that embraced death. The Old King fears death beyond all things. When this Old King sees that the hero is going to surrender to death in order to be reborn, it says, "Hmm . . . the hell with this death stuff. I'm going straight to the rebirth!"
We see this in the fairytale of Plavacek that I posted (http://uselessscience.com/forum/index.php?topic=82.0) . . . where the king, hearing of the chance for youth and immortality the hero has uncovered rushes off to seize it for himself (whereas the true hero, Plavacek, has discovered these things for the sake of others, or The Other). We can also see this theme in the Christ myth. For Christ to be sentenced to the cross, Barabbas must be set free. Barabbas is described as a murderer . . . but he is a shadow twin of Jesus. Barabbas means "Son of the Father" and the figure was sometimes even called "Jesus Barabbas". This symbol was by no means lost on the writers of the Gospels and the Gnostics (who may have been one and the same).
These are the Christian representations of the Old King and the New. The Old king gets to live on because he doesn't go willingly to the sacrifice.
In the next stage of the shadow work, this transformed, residual ego-position that clings selfishly to life ("immortality" or never-changing life) becomes increasingly prevalent. He too must be transformed . . . and since he is "un-killable" (refuses to die), this makes for a very different approach. Instead of defeat, the Old King must be met with integration and forgiveness. And this is incredibly hard, because the Old King represents to the New King everything that prevents him from absolute devotion to the Self.
I have called this stage of the Old King shadow the "adept shadow" or "Hercules shadow". He is the part of the ego that wants the benefits of the Work to sustain his unchanging sense of selfhood. He wants the alchemical Gold for himself, the libido. He wants the libido of the Self to imbue his fixed and inflexible ego-position. He is like the greedy alchemist who wants to pursue the Work only to have material wealth.
In my next post, I will talk about two examples of this stage of the shadow.
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The first example of this post-coniunctio dance between the Old King and the New is one from the popular "mythology" of our day. The second is from my own personal experience.
The Harry Potter stories by J.K. Rowling are all about the Old/New King shadow dance. I think this (taken as a whole) is the most sophisticated symbolic portrayal of the shadow work I have ever seen. And what is maybe most curious about it is that, in spite of being "children's literature", the mythos of the Harry Potter series can be seen as "more advanced" than the standard Jungian thinking on the shadow . . . and in this sense, more in line with hermetic alchemy.
By "standard Jungian thinking", I mean the notion that the shadow is a preliminary figure/stage to the anima/animus . . . and the suggestion (although not statement, we should note) that the shadow work is resolved by the time the animi work rolls around. This is, as far as I can perceive, simply wrong. The shadow work is the alpha and omega of individuation. The animi stage is perhaps the peak of the mountain . . . but one must go over and down the mountain. The whole mountain is the shadow.
In Harry Potter, we see the young hero gradually incorporating more and more qualities of and connections with his nemesis, Lord Voldemort. Rowling very decisively illustrates parallel after parallel between them. She makes it clear that Harry very well could be or become Lord Voldemort. Harry himself recognizes this at one point and asks his mentor, Professor Dumbledore, why he hasn't become what Voldemort became. Dumbledore tells him that it is not what we are (or what happens to us) that ultimately determines who we are, but the choices we make. We are our choices (or, as I have termed it above, our stories). Harry is not the same as Voldemort, because he has chosen not to be.
The mythology of Harry Potter is complex, and although you all should (-)pont(-) read the books, I realize that many of you haven't . . . at least not as obsessively as I have. I will, thus, touch on only one more event from the Harry Potter universe that very nicely illustrates the Old/New King dichotomy.
At one point in the stories, Harry and Dumbledore are discussing Voldemort's weakness. It seems to Harry that Voldemort has no vulnerability, is too powerful to defeat. Dumbledore tells Harry that Voldemort's true weakness is that he believes death to be the most horrible thing. Dumbledore explains to Harry that there are far worse things than death . . . but Voldemort fears death so severely, that he does not realize this. It is the acceptance that death is not so terrible that will give Harry an edge over Voldemort. And of course, in the last book (The Half-Blood Prince), Dumbledore illustrates this with his own sacrifice (which Harry, and the readers, have yet to understand fully).
We also see in The Half-Blood Prince a deepening of Harry's more immediate/personal nemesis, Severus Snape. Is he redeemable? Whose side is he on? Is he for or against Voldemort . . and why? What is his agenda? We'll see what Rowling does with this in the final book coming out this July . . . but it seems that Snape is a manifestation of something "in the shadow" that is breaking away from and opposing the Old King shadow . . . but in a different way than Harry (the New King) opposes the shadow. As we are frequently told, "Dumbledore trusts Snape with his life" . . . and it would seem this is entirely true, as he has trusted Snape with the ending of it.
So here we have a manifestation of the archetype I call the Shadow-Self. It looks like the shadow, but is aligned with the will of the Self.
The second example of this comes from my own Work, and from a number of dreams I have had that deal with the Shadow-Self and the Old King. I will just concentrate on one part of a very long dream that I have called "Murder Mystery and Fish Soup". It isn't posted here currently, but I will briefly relate the segment that deals with the shadow.
A death occurs. An adolescent boy is fighting in a ritualistic battle with an adolescent girl. She is more powerful than him, but he manages to land a blow to her head that knocks her down. He then grows overconfident and charges at her, but she dodges him and he falls into a lake and drowns.
This is a reflection on an early stage in the anima work. The boy finds his heroism in the heat of battle, but ends up dying "because of" it. This is a portrayal of the coniunctio and death. The "killer" is prefigured as the burst of the boy's triumphal overconfidence (a confusion of himself with the divine hero).
A murder investigation is begun. The girl is questioned by a detective and asked point blank whether she is guilty or not guilty. She answers, "Not guilty." The investigation then has to be directed somewhere else . . . and it is taken up by a new investigator who seeks to clear the girl from all blame. The new investigator is an amalgam of Hermione Granger (from the Harry Potter stories) and Buffy (the heroine from Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer).
She recalls seeing a suspicious man on the campus (this took place at a Kung Fu School).
Here we see that it is not the anima that is "responsible" for the death of the hero. She is absolved. A new character/entity appears to be guilty. He is male and too old to be a student at the school. He is out of place . . . seen hiding in a bathroom stall, perhaps changing his clothes to disguise himself.
In the next scene, the investigation is being handled by another Joss Whedon character, Buffy's first lover, Angel. He is engaged in an elaborate Agatha Christie style "reveal" (in which one of the people in the room will be indicated as the murderer after the crime is explained/solved). Angel eventually implicates a man who is a new roommate or tenant of Angel and his band of fellow heroes. The killer admits to his crimes, and a battle is about to ensue.
But suddenly, there is a new evil, a darker spirit of demon. In an attempt to redeem himself the accused killer turns against this demon and leads the heroes in its defeat. This act partially redeems him in the eyes of Angel and the others, but Angel tells the killer that he must still submit to the punishment for his previous crimes. The killer accepts this.
At this point a Roman centurion from the 1st century CE shows up at the door to take the killer back to the place where his crime occurred. As the killer is led away, he looks like Charles Manson, but also like Verbal Kint (played by Kevin Spacey in the film, The Usual Suspects (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Usual_suspects)).
The identity allusions to the killer are complex. On one hand he is a serial killer (Charles Manson). On the other hand, he belongs in the time of Christ and is a "Son of Man" (pun on Man-son). He is taken by the Roman centurion back to the time of Christ where he should have died in place of Jesus. He is thus, Barabbas. The character, Verbal Kint, was a disguise for the "king of the underworld" in the Usual Suspects, a shadowy figure known as Keyser Söze. Both names mean the same thing, basically "King of Language" . . . or we might also say "King of the Logos".
The turning of this figure against the "greater evil" very much parallels Severus Snape's role in the Harry Potter stories. As Barabbas, he is the imitator of Christ. As King of Language, he is the "genius" of the ego, that essence which is ultimately empowered by its ability to make life (or "play God") out of its stories/language.
I believe this points to a partial redemption of the ego. The ego may have been aligned against the Self, may have acted out of fear and selfishness much of the time . . . but ultimately, the ego is necessary. It must be forgiven. It is not "evil". It should not be destroyed by the heroic, Self-aligned energies of the unconscious. The ego does no become "reabsorbed" into the unconscious. There is no return to Eden.
Instead, the individual must learn how to exist as a self/Other duality. There is no "oneness" with the maternal unconscious, no nirvana, no extinguishment of self . . . even though it originally seems that such a thing is indicated. The Self wants to live, and it needs the ego to function properly in order to do this.
This Barabbas-ego then becomes part of the new ego. It is a balance of light and dark. It is sinful, but redeemable. The resistance of the ego to absolute submission to the Self is accepted as a part of human existence, a part of being conscious. The ego will stray from the Self, but it has learned to listen to the Self, so it can correct its own mistakes. There is no stillness in this (unity with/non-differentiation from the Maternal), there are polarities, self and Other . . . and the flow of libido between them is a process of perpetual motion. Equilibrium, exchange with the goal of reciprocation. Absolute balance is an abstract approximation. The universe is not still (like the mind can be). It's always in a state of exchange and transformation.
In order to submit to the Self, to the Self's will to live, we need to forgive ourselves for our egoism. This doesn't mean that we accept and ignore our egoism, merely that we allow ourselves to ebb and flow with the Self in correction of the accentuation and ossification of ego-positions. But we accept living as the condition of egoism . . . and the ego as the conduit through which we live in the world, in matter.
This is, I believe, very important for those who follow the spiritual path far enough. This path seems to align us against the ego more and more as it progresses. The ego becomes the shadow. But the spiritual path is not an ascent, but a cycle. The spiritualist must eventually face the fact that she or he has demonized the ego . . . and this leads to a state of conflict (and eventually a recognition that the "desire" for a purely spiritual existence is a desire that must be shed) that must be resolved. The resolution does not lie in destruction (there is no destruction in matter . . . destruction is an egoic concept). Nature's model is reciprocal equilibrium. And this implies an acceptance of polarities as essential components in our energic existence.
That is perhaps a bit heavy . . . but that's the way I see the whole process of the shadow work laid out. In the progression of this work, the Self increasingly becomes the Shadow-Self, because it is always Other, always the Opposite polarity of the ego. In my experience, the portrayal of the "all-loving" Self that nurtures us unconditionally and asks for nothing in return is a preliminary/parental manifestation of the Self. We can only exist at the bosom of this Self for so long, before our libido starts to falter . . . before we must find a way to give back. Or perhaps, before our selfishness has caused us to sin so extensively against the Self, that some repentance is required.