According to the writer William S. Burroughs, within every human there is a parasitic being that is not working at all to said-human’s advantage. Sigmund Freud believed that one could use psychoanalysis (the Couch, in the simplest terms) to plumb the depths of one’s unconscious and examine this being (or beings.) Once this was done, one could channel these primitive and sometimes destructive forces into useful and productive work.
Depth psychologist Carl Jung, while sometimes regarded as Freud’s antithesis, believed something similar. Only rather than calling this “the repressed,” he referred to this parasitic being as “the shadow.” Like Freud, he didn’t believe that suppression or ignorance was the cure to dealing with this force. Rather, one must recognize it, even name it, and accept that it is as much a part of one as those aspects about oneself one finds flattering or pleasant. It isn’t so much about feeding this force as interrogating it, asking why it is manifesting, and what—in its apparently ugly manner—it is trying to tell us.
“Romancing the Shadow,” by Drs. Connie Zweig and Steve Wolf, PhD’s, takes Jungian depth psychology and turns it into a kind of applied science for daily life. It finds the productive passion in atavistic and frightening lusts, the potential for healing in unresolved traumas that might otherwise fester and become resentments and complexes.
I found portions of the book useful—especially those dealing with child-parent relationships, and bosses-employees, but it’s that very usefulness—the applied quality of the book—that’s somehow off-putting. I’m not big into self-help or the general therapeutic tone adopted by this book or others like it.
I would rather just be given the information, the mythological background—gods and heroes representative of our various facets—and then draw my own conclusions. The promiscuous quoting of Robert Bly—the masculinist author of Iron John—should have been a red flag. A lot of this stuff is well-meaning, but it’s also saccharine and vague, rather than specific. The book’s sometimes quasi-mystical tone also doesn’t help much to counter the idea that psychology is a pseudoscience, closer to witchcraft than medicine. Granted, we’re dealing with human emotions, many of which are buried or inchoate—especially those socially suppressed—but still, the imprecisions are platitudinous, grating.
Others, it goes without saying, may feel differently. If you want a workbook that finds the daily utility in Attic myth and folkways, this may book may be your Huckelberry. I think, though, frankly, it’s time for me to go directly to the source. By which I mean the Swiss psychotherapist, Carl Jung.
First up, his book on the meaning of the UFO sightings proliferating in the second half of the twentieth century: Flying Saucers: A Modern Myth of Things Seen in the Sky. Maybe, like “Rowdy” Roddy Piper in They Live, this will allow me to see things truly as they are.