by Connie Zweig
The mind is dangerous, they say, like a tiger in a cage. Open the door and it will think cruel, inhuman thoughts. The body is wild, they say, like some unruly beast. Let it run loose and it will do terrible, perverted, aggressive things.
These people believe that we need more protection from the lures of the shadow—stricter morals, higher fences. They wish to bring back old fundamentalisms to shield us against forbidden feelings, ambiguous choices. They seek to widen the split between good and evil, between Jesus and his dark brother Satan, between the followers of Allah and the heathens, between the members of their religious cults and the rest of fallen humanity. Longing to remain on god’s side, they refuse to engage the darkness in their own souls.
But this deep-seated denial of shadow, this pervasive resistance to looking in its eye is accompanied by a strange obsession with it. Just as we turn away from the gloomy facts of life, we also turn toward them again in curiosity, compelled in some strange way to try to understand the dark side of our nature. Millions of us read terrifying gothic novels with great appetite, regularly visiting domains of cruelty, lust, perversion, and crime. Or we sit for hours transfixed by films about cold, vengeful, bloody behavior that, in the outside world, would be deemed inhuman. The conventions of gothic horror even shape our daily newspaper reporting and broadcast news programs, which tell frontpage tales of hero-villains who lead double lives. The shadow is both dangerous and familiar, repulsive and attractive, grotesque and alluring.
In truth, we can no longer afford these extreme attitudes toward the shadow: We cannot afford to look away from the beast in denial, pretending that a naïve, trusting stance will protect us from it “out there.” And we cannot afford to look too directly at the beast for too long, for we risk numbing our own souls. Instead, we need to cultivate an attitude of respect toward the shadow, to see it honestly without dismissing it or becoming overwhelmed by it.
In this way an encounter with the shadow might become an initiation, a call to remember the multifaceted complexity of human nature and the fertile depths of the human soul. We need to start by acknowledging the dark side—but we do not end there. Ideally, an encounter with the shadow might open debate about pressing social questions and even bring about change in social policy. For example, a wave of accusations of satanic cult abuse might lead to an inquiry into the growing fascination with demonic forces. Or a series of allegations of pedophilia among the clergy might result in a deeper examination of the role of celibacy in the lives of religious people. Or a rash of hate crimes based on racial prejudice might enhance efforts toward racial reconciliation.
This book suggests that for most people—that is, those without serious psychological problems—greater shadow awareness can lead to greater morality. In fact, Carl Jung, who coined the term “shadow,” posed it as a moral problem. He suggested that we need a reorientation or fundamental change of attitude, a metanoia, to look it squarely in the eyes—that is, our own eyes:
The individual who wishes to have an answer to the problem of evil has need, first and foremost, of self-knowledge, that is, the utmost possible knowledge of his own wholeness. He must know relentlessly how much good he can do, and what crimes he is capable of, and must beware of regarding the one as real and the other as illusion. Both are elements within his nature, and both are bound to come to light in him, should he wish—as he ought—to live without self-deception or self-delusion.
This idea—that to face the best and the worst in our own natures is to live an authentic life—is not new. Theologians and philosophers in many traditions have pointed to the hidden reality of our split nature, and its secret value. The great psychologist William James wrote: “There is no doubt that healthy-mindedness is inadequate as a philosophical doctrine, because the evil facts which it positively refuses to account for are a genuine portion of reality; and they may after all be the best key to life’s significance, and possibly the only opener of our eyes to the deepest levels of truth.” More recently, Russian writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn put it beautifully: “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
Thus, throughout human history, wise women and men, in their own ways, have understood the old Sufi parable of the person who looks for the key under the lamppost because that’s where the light is, but it’s not where the key was dropped, which is in the darkness.
Looking into the darkness or living with shadow awareness is not an easy path, a road on which the debris has been cleared and the direction lies straight ahead. Rather, to live with shadow awareness we follow the detours; we walk into the debris, groping our way through dark corridors and past dead ends. We look for the key where it is difficult to find. Shadow-work asks us to turn in that direction.
It asks us to stop blaming others.
It asks us to take responsibility.
It asks us to move slowly.
It asks us to deepen awareness.
It asks us to hold paradox.
It asks us to open our hearts.
Is asks us to sacrifice our ideals of perfection.
It asks us to live the mystery.
We suggest that you relate to the shadow as a mystery, rather than as a problem to be solved or an illness to be cured. When the Other arrives, honor that part of yourself as a guest. You may discover that it comes bearing gifts. You may discover that shadow-work is, indeed, soul work.
When shadow-work is neglected, the soul feels dry, brittle, like an empty vessel. Then, people suffer depression rather than embark on a fruitful descent. When shadow-work is denied, the soul feels banished, exiled from its habitats in the wilds of nature, in the soft nights of lovemaking, or in the sacred objects of art. Then, people suffer anxiety and loneliness, cut off from a sense of place, the mystery of the Beloved, or the beauty of things.
But when shadow-work is attended to, the soul feels round, full, sated. When shadow-work is invited into a life, the soul feels welcomed, alive in the gardens, aroused in passion, awake in sacred things.
SHADOW-WORK VS. OTHER THERAPIES
We hope that the voice of our book is the voice of the empathic therapist. We hope that you will feel held and that the book will act as a container, like the therapeutic relationship, so that you can move into unexplored territory, which may at times seem embarrassing, anxiety-provoking, or frightening.
That territory is vast. We will explore those topics—romantic love, creative work, family kinship, loyal friendship, midlife freedom, and the urge for power, sex, and money—that carry what we call the projection of soul: They shine with divine energies. We will examine them in personal, cultural, and archetypal contexts. But unlike other books on these same topics, we will view them in the unique context of the shadow and offer hope, via shadow-work, for a more authentic connection to the Self.
This book differs from other books that explore relationships and similar topics in another way: We view them in the context of personal development or the evolution of consciousness. We hope to show that, whatever the topic—dating, romance, marriage, friendship, work, midlife—evolution is at work. And the shadow, in seeking the light of consciousness, is the driver of this growth.
But without shadow awareness and the tools of shadow-work, evolution stalls, and the internal saboteur leads us to repeat old patterns again and again. We may adopt strategies of adaptation that permit us to survive terrible circumstances, but we do not heal; yesterday’s adaptations become today’s enemies. When the shadow erupts once more, we may then realize that our old patterns no longer serve. Like Sleeping Beauty in her glass coffin, we may awaken as if from a deep sleep and begin to gather the tools we need to stay awake for longer periods.
Let us clarify the distinctions, then, between the tools of shadow-work and the many other forms of psychotherap
y now available. We draw here on the great tradition of depth psychology, whose founders, Freud and Jung, used myth to enlarge the frame of individual human life. Jung, especially, developed a psychotherapy that was oriented toward soul. Unlike Freud, who viewed the unconscious as a boiling cauldron of evil impulses, Jung uncovered our lost creative impulses lying there, as well as the lost gods or mythological images that he called archetypes.
For us, healing is not merely the intellectual discovery of shadow content, which is like fool’s gold. It may bring insight, but it will ring hollow if it does not touch the soul. Healing at the level of soul is a natural, regenerative process, like new skin that grows to close a wound. It is not a cure, but a deep sense of acceptance and a reorientation toward life and toward the gods.
For us, healing is not simply about finding a single cause in the past, such as childhood abuse, that leads in a direct, linear way to a single effect in the present, such as low sexual desire, depression, or addiction. This view does not account for the complicated, nonlinear nature of the unconscious. It does not acknowledge the power of a psychological complex to grip a person with multiple consequences. Instead, it reduces problems to personal psychology alone, rather than including cultural and archetypal issues.
For us, healing is not simply about indiscriminately blaming perpetrators and blindly protecting victims. This viewpoint does not acknowledge the multifaceted personal histories of all people involved, including the intractability of family shadow patterns. And it tends to displace the adult victim’s opportunity for personal responsibility while maintaining the split between evil and good, thereby obviating the need for inner work and the realization that each person contains both darkness and light.
We do not intend in any way to minimize the bloody pain of family wounds or dismiss the crippling effects of abuse and trauma. We wish to acknowledge, instead, that the healing model from the recovery movement has helped millions of people to gain access to childhood memories, find explanations for aberrant behaviors, express their anger at perpetrators, and feel a sense of forgiveness. However, its formulaic approach does not account for the power of the unconscious. And at times it becomes so oversimplified that its proponents risk reductionism and the peril of reification—the danger of believing that to name something is to fully understand it (“Oh, you were abused as a child, or you come from an alcoholic family. That explains why you feel like such a victim”).
In addition, the medical model, which is championed by proponents of Alcoholics Anonymous (who eschew drugs) and psychiatrists (who rely on drugs to eliminate symptoms), also does not account for much of our unconscious process. Certainly, the AA method holds an honorable place in treating compulsions, such as addictions to alcohol, drugs, nicotine, caffeine, and sex, and it often leads people to uncover their individual and family shadow patterns. Yet the deeper needs of the shadow may remain camouflaged by this more behavioral approach.
For us, healing is not simply about curing symptoms or eliminating addictions. This view does not honor the gods or archetypal images that underlie our pathologies and inform their expression. For instance, one man may suffer from a Dionysian-style addiction to cocaine: Like the god of ecstasy, he seeks rapture at any cost. Another may suffer from a Hades-like alcoholism, which pulls him down into the stillness of the underworld, the home of Hades, lord of darkness. Or a woman may struggle with a Kali-style depression, striking out destructively at those around her much like the Indian goddess of birth, death, and transformation. But another woman’s depression may feel like a Persephone-style melancholy, which stems from her marriage to an underworld god. When we can uncover the god hidden within our suffering, we can begin to detect its story and what it is seeking there. Finally, although psyche means soul, many of the current trends in psychotherapy today are empty of soul. Focused on short-term treatment and behavioral change, they lack an orientation to depth. Focused on medication, they lack a permeability to the underworld. Focused on personal psychology alone, they fail to honor the gods. Focused on insight alone, they fail to include the body. In addition, most psychotherapy lacks an orientation to Self, the transpersonal voice within that can guide us through the darkness.
Shadow-work, however, can begin to compensate for these deficiencies. By learning how to identify shadow figures when they emerge in self-sabotaging, uncontrollable behaviors; by detecting their appearance with bodily and emotional cues; by tracing their roots in family patterns and in cultural edicts; by exploring their archetypal sources in myth and story; and eventually by uncovering their deeper needs—the gold in the dark side—we can begin to build a more conscious relationship with these unconscious forces. In this way, eventually we can accomplish directly what the shadow tries to accomplish indirectly.
As we begin to acknowledge hidden so-called negative traits—laziness, jealousy, impulsivity, self-centeredness—as well as undeveloped positive traits—creative talents, parenting skills, healing abilities—in our shadow figures, we expand the range of who we are. For example, our client Jordan, thirty-two, felt bored, emotionally wooden, and dependent on his new wife, Phyllis, to fill his emptiness. When she took a high-paying job, he felt adrift, cut off from his moorings. As we explored Jordan’s bored, dependent shadow character, we uncovered a secret desire: to become a screenwriter. When he honored this dream and began to write for a few hours each week, his vitality returned. Soon, he was attending a writing course and working feverishly into the night. Gradually, his neediness of Phyllis decreased as his soul felt fed by his own creative muse.
Our client Jill faced her shadow at midlife: As a child, she was not encouraged to achieve academically or to think creatively, Jill had worked with some satisfaction as a landscape gardener. But when she turned thirty-five, she no longer felt content to be independent; she yearned to build a home with a husband and child. Working with a recurrent dream of a vicious dog, Jill uncovered her buried aggression and used drawing to express the anger, impatience, and intolerance that had been banished into her shadow as a young girl.
At around the same time, her mind awoke: Taking courses in philosophy at a local university, she found enjoyment in thinking about grand ideas and asserting herself in debates with others. Somehow her aggression and her thinking ability had been exiled into the shadow together. As she mined one from the darkness, the other emerged as well, presenting her with a surprising gift: the gold in her dark side. Apparently, Jill had to be willing to accept her aggression, the raw, unrefined aspect of her shadow, in order to uncover the pleasure of her newfound intellectual creativity, the more refined gold.
Beneath or behind these patterns of personal psychology lie the timeless archetypal or mythological patterns. In detecting them in our own lives, we deepen into our own story, as well as into mythological reality. When we come to recognize a particular myth as a connecting thread in our lives, we come to understand how certain moments that seemed accidental actually belong to the whole story. For instance, when Jill discovered that she had unknowingly lived out the myth of Artemis, a virgin goddess who lives alone in the wilderness, she felt stunned; she needed a new story if she were to build a life with a Beloved, which was her dream.
APPROACHING THIS BOOK WITH SOUL
This book combines an archetypal approach, which uses mythic tales to lift you out of the pain of personal stories into the Larger Story, with case vignettes, which bring you back down into the immediacy of daily life with soul. Myths are universal tales that appear within particular cultural contexts. Unlike the singular Judeo-Christian image of God, the many gods and goddesses of Greek mythology cast dark shadows. They commit incest, parricide, theft, murder, and sexual violations. Buried in the foundations of Western civilization, they may hold clues to some of our invisible assumptions, the concealed, unconscious patterns that drive us unknowingly but no longer serve us in this time or place. In fact, the rejected stone, the god or goddess who has been banished into the shadow, may become the cornerstone of a new life.
These gods and goddesses do not represent a mere cluster of traits, a secret formula by which we can become an ideal Hera/wife, Aphrodite/lover, Zeus/king, or Ares/warrior. They are not fixed, archaic images to be acted out like theatrical roles. Rather, they represent dynamic, ever-reappearing aspects of human experience with the capacity to ignite our imaginations and free us from stereotyped prisons. As we uncover the archetypal patterns in our lives—the tales of the gods and goddesses—we discover that we are living a unique version of a universal theme. We are participating in a larger story, which connects us to something greater than ourselves. Used in this way, their psychological effects can be enlivening, their political effects liberating. (To familiarize yourself with the major mythological Greek figures, see the Who’s Who at the back of the book.)
We also use the stories of individual clients to illustrate the personal dimension of these larger stories. Although disguised to protect the identities of clients and friends, these vignettes are not fictionalized accounts; they are based on the lives of people we have known, and we owe them a debt of gratitude. We hope that through their examples you will learn how to uncover shadow content, honor and respect it, and welcome it into your life.
As you read the stories, we ask that you take a self-reflective attitude, contemplate these ideas and images and observe your own internal response. At times, you may feel that you are looking into a mirror, seeing your own reflection and reliving a portion of your life. Stop and pay attention. You may feel provoked or agitated; you may feel grief or loss. In fact, it is our intention to activate shadowy feelings and images in you, to quicken your soul and beckon you to inner work. It is also our hope to open a window onto a larger dimension of your tale, enabling you to glance beyond your individual skin to the archetypal realm.