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The following is an excerpt from Digesting Jung: Food For The Journey by Daryl Sharp.Amazon.com: Digesting Jung: Food for the Journey (Studies in Jungian Psychology By Jungian Analysts) (9780919123960): Daryl Sharp: Books
I'm reposting this excerpt because I feel it should be a primer to anyone interested in learning typology or MBTI, etc. The author explains where most people go wrong, or where their motives might be misplaced. This might help shed some light on the true meaning of Jungian type with simplified explanations.
The parts I have highlighted refer to common questions and misconceptions on these type forums and clarify aspects of how Jung intended his theory to be applied that everyone should know from the get-go (most people learn this backwards).
from Jungian Psychologist Daryl Sharp:
In this section the author clarifies that love relationships are not explicitly but rather tangentially related to functions and type. The archetypal energies of the Anima and Animus complex in men and women form the substratum of our interpersonal, contrasexual relations.
The Anima (Man's Inner Woman)
I'm reposting this excerpt because I feel it should be a primer to anyone interested in learning typology or MBTI, etc. The author explains where most people go wrong, or where their motives might be misplaced. This might help shed some light on the true meaning of Jungian type with simplified explanations.
The parts I have highlighted refer to common questions and misconceptions on these type forums and clarify aspects of how Jung intended his theory to be applied that everyone should know from the get-go (most people learn this backwards).
from Jungian Psychologist Daryl Sharp:
From earliest times, attempts have been made to categorize individual attitudes and behavior patterns in order to explain the differences between people. Jung’s model of typology is one of them. It is the basis for modern “tests” such as the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), used by corporations and institutions in order to classify a person’s interests, attitudes and behavior patterns, and hence the type of work or education they might be best suited for.
Jung did not develop his model of psychological types for this purpose. Rather than label people as this or that type, he sought simply to explain the differences between the ways we function and interact with our surroundings in order to promote a better understanding of human psychology in general, and one’s own way of seeing the world in particular.
To my mind, Jung’s model is most helpful when it is used not as a way to classify oneself or others, but rather in the way he originally thought of it, as a psychological compass. So, in any problematic situation, I ask myself four questions:
1) What are the facts? (sensation)
2) Have I thought it through? (thinking)
3) What is it worth to me to pursue this? (feeling)
4) What are the possibilities? (intuition)
The answers aren’t always clear, but the questions keep me on my toes. That is by and large why I don’t favor type tests. Type tests concretize what is inherently variable, and thereby overlook the dynamic nature of the psyche.
Any system of typology is no more than a gross indicator of what people have in common and the differences between them. Jung’s model is no exception. It is distinguished solely by its parameters—the two attitudes and the four functions. What it does not and cannot show, nor does it pretend to, is the uniqueness of the individual. Also, no one is a pure type. It would be foolish to even try to reduce an individual personality to this or that, just one thing or another. Each of us is a conglomeration, an admixture of attitudes and functions that in their combination defy classification. All that is true, and emphatically acknowledged by Jung—One can never give a description of a type, no matter how complete, that would apply to more than one individual, despite the fact that in some ways it aptly characterizes thousands of others. Conformity is one side of a man, uniqueness is the other.13 —but it does not obviate the practical value of his model, particularly when one has run aground on the shoals of his or her own psychology.
Whether Jung’s model is “true” or not—objectively true—is a moot point. Indeed, is anything ever “objectively” true? The real truth is that Jung’s model of psychological types has all the advantages and disadvantages of any scientific model. Although lacking statistical verification, it is equally hard to disprove. But it accords with experiential reality. Moreover, since it is based on a fourfold— mandala like—way of looking at things that is archetypal, it is psychologically satisfying.
As mentioned earlier, one’s behavior can be quite misleading in determining typology. For instance, to enjoy being with other people is characteristic of the extraverted attitude, but this does not automatically mean that a person who enjoys lots of company is an extraverted type. Naturally, one’s activities will to some extent be determined by typology, but the interpretation of those activities in terms of typology depends on the value system behind the action. Where the subject—oneself—and a personal value system are the dominant motivating factors, there is by definition an introverted type, whether at a party or alone. Similarly, when one is predominantly oriented to the object—things and other people—there is an extraverted type, whether in a crowd or on one’s own. This is what makes Jung’s system primarily a model of personality rather than of behavior.
Everything psychic is relative. I cannot say, think or do anything that is not colored by my particular way of seeing the world, which in turn is a manifestation of both my typology and my complexes. This psychological rule is analogous to Einstein’s famous theory of relativity in physics, and equally as significant.
Being aware of the way I tend to function makes it possible for me to assess my attitudes and behavior in a given situation and ad- just them accordingly. It enables me both to compensate for my personal disposition and to be tolerant of someone who does not function as I do—someone who has, perhaps, a strength or facility I myself lack.
Typologically speaking, the important question is not whether one is innately introverted or extraverted, or which function is superior or inferior, but, more pragmatically: in this situation, with that person, how did I function and with what effect? Did my actions truly reflect my judgments (thinking and feeling) and perceptions (sensation and intuition)? And if not, why not? What complexes were activated in me? To what end? How and why did I mess things up? What does this say about my psychology? What can I do about it? What do I want to do about it? These are among the questions we must take to heart if we want to be psychologically conscious.
ComplexesPersonality develops by slow stages in life. It is the fruit of activity coupled with introspection, and confidence tempered by a healthy dose of self-doubt. On the one hand it is an act of courage flung in the face of life’s adversities, the affirmation of who one is and what one believes. On the other hand it involves accepting the immediate conditions of our existence, such as where one finds oneself on this earth and having a physical body.
The twin running mates of personality are individuality and individuation. Individuality refers to the qualities or characteristics that distinguish one person from another. Individuation is a process of differentiation and integration, the aim being to become conscious of one’s unique psychological make-up. This is quite different from individualism, which is simply me-first and leads inexorably to alienation from others. The individuating person may be obliged to deviate from collective norms, but all the same retains a healthy respect for them. In Jung’s felicitous phrase,
Individuation does not shut one out from the world, but gathers the world to itself.
What motivates a person to individuate, to develop personality instead of settling for persona? Jung’s answer is that it doesn’t hap-pen by an act of will, or because others (including Jungian analysts) say it would be useful or advisable:
Nature has never yet been taken in by well-meaning advice. The only thing that moves nature is causal necessity, and that goes for human nature too. Without necessity nothing budges, the human personality least of all. It is tremendously conservative, not to say torpid. . . . The developing personality obeys no caprice, no com- mand, no insight, only brute necessity; it needs the motivating force of inner or outer fatalities. Any other development would be no bet- ter than individualism. . . . [which] is a cheap insult when flung at the natural development of personality.55
Simply and naturally, those who know themselves (as opposed to those who say they do) become a magnet for those whose souls long for life. You have to own up to the person you’ve become. Working on yourself has an inductive effect on others. To my mind this is all to the good, for if enough individuals become more conscious psychologically, then the collective will too, and life on this earth will go on.
The guiding principle is this: Be the one through whom you wish to influence others. Mere talk is hollow. There is no trick, however artful, by which this simple truth can be evaded in the long run. The fact of being convinced, and not the things we are convinced of—that is what has always, and at all times, worked a change in others.
On Self-KnowledgeThe activation of a complex is always marked by the presence of some strong emotion, be it love or hate, joy or anger, or any other. We are all complexed by something, which is to say, we all react emotionally when the right buttons are pushed. Or, to put it another way, an emotional reaction means that a complex has been constellated (activated). When a complex is activated we can’t think straight and hardly know how we feel. We speak and act according to the dictates of the complex, and when it has run its course we wonder what took over.
We cannot get rid of our complexes, simply because they are deeply rooted in our personal history. Complexes are part and parcel of who we are. The most we can do is become aware of how we are influenced by them and how they interfere with our conscious intentions. As long as we are unconscious of our complexes, we are prone to being overwhelmed or driven by them. When we under- stand them, they lose their power to affect us. They do not disappear, but over time their grip on us can loosen.
A complex is a bundle of associations, sometimes painful, some- times joyful, always accompanied by affect. It has energy and a life of its own. It can upset digestion, breathing and the rate at which the heart beats. It behaves like a partial personality. When we want to say or do something and a complex interferes, we find ourselves saying or doing something quite different from what we intended. Our best intentions are upset, exactly as if we had been interfered with by another person.
Complexes can take over to such an extent that they become visible and audible. They appear as visions and speak in voices that are like those of definite people. This is not necessarily a pathological symptom (e.g., paranoid, narcissism, depressive, schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive, etc.). Complexes are regularly personified in dreams, and one can train oneself so they become visible or audible also in a waking condition, as in the practice of active imagination. It is even psychologically healthy to do so, for when you give them a voice, a face, a personality, they are less likely to take over when you’re not looking.
The existence of complexes goes a long way toward explaining both multiple personality disorders and what the helping profes- sions call lost memory recovery.
An early trauma is often at the root of such cases. What may happen in response to a painful traumatic event is that the ego dissociates. The self-regulating function of the psyche is activated and creates a complex that dis-remembers the event—it gets buried among the detritus of ongoing life. Like any other complex, it lies dogg-o in the unconscious until something happens to trigger it.
Over the past hundred years the word “complex” has become common currency, but what it means, and the effects complexes have on our lives, are not so widely understood. This is unfortunate, for until we realize that, as Jung says, “complexes can have us,” we are doomed to live a life forever hampered by them, forever ruled by inner forces, forever at odds with others.
The Anima & Animus ComplexesPeople generally confuse self-knowledge with knowledge of their ego-personalities. Indeed, those with any awareness at all take it for granted that they know themselves. But the real psychic facts are for the most part hidden, since the ego knows only its own contents. Without some knowledge of the unconscious and its contents one cannot claim to know oneself.
Self-knowledge is a matter of getting to know your own individual facts. Theories, notes Jung, are of little help:
The more a theory lays claim to universal validity, the less capable it is of doing justice to the individual facts. Any theory based on ex- perimentation is necessarily statistical; it formulates an ideal aver- age which abolishes all exceptions at either end of the scale and replaces them by an abstract mean. This mean is quite valid, though it need not necessarily occur in reality. . . . The exceptions at either end, though equally factual, do not appear in the final result at all, since they cancel each other out.80
Jung gives this example:
If, for instance, I determine the weight of each stone in a pile of peb- bles and get an average weight of five ounces, this tells me very lit- tle about the real nature of the pebbles. Anyone who thought, on the basis of these findings, that he could pick up a pebble of five ounces at the first try would be in for a serious disappointment. Indeed, it might well happen that however long he searched he would not find a single pebble weighing exactly five ounces.
. . . The distinctive thing about real facts, however, is their individuality. Not to put too fine a point on it, one could say that the real picture consists of nothing but exceptions to the rule . . . .
These considerations must be borne in mind whenever there is talk of a theory serving as a guide to self-knowledge. There is and can be no self-knowledge based on theoretical assumptions, for the object of this knowledge is . . . a relative exception and an irregular phenomenon.81
Similarly, in the treatment of psychic suffering, Jung stressed that the scientific knowledge of humankind in general must take second place; the important thing is the particular person. On the one hand the analyst is equipped with statistical truths, and on the other is faced with someone who requires individual understanding. One need not deny the validity of statistics, but the more schematic the treatment, the more resistances it calls up in the patient. The analyst therefore needs to have a kind of two-way thinking: doing one thing while not losing sight of the other.
The recognition that there is an unconscious side of ourselves has fundamentally altered the pursuit of self-knowledge. It is apparent now that we are twofold beings: we have a conscious side (ego & persona) we more or less know, and an unconscious side (shadow) of which we know little but which is generally no secret to others. When we lack knowledge of our other side, we can do the most terrible things without calling ourselves to account and without ever suspecting what we’re doing. Thus we may be baffled by how others react to us. The increased self- knowledge that comes about through depth psychology allows us both to remedy our mistakes and to become more understanding and tolerant of others.
Self-knowledge can have a healing effect on ourselves and our environment, but this seldom happens without a prolonged period of professional analysis. Self-analysis works to the extent that we are alert to the effects of our behavior and willing to learn from them; however, it is limited by our blind-spots—our complexes—and by the silence of others who for one reason or another indulge us. To really get a handle on ourselves we need an honest, objective mirror, which our intimates rarely are. The unconscious, in its many manifestations through dreams, visions, fantasies, accidents, active imagination and synchronicity, is a rather more unsparing mirror, and analysts are trained to interpret the reflections.
Self-knowledge can be the antidote to acute depression or a pervasive malaise of unknown origin, both particularly common in middle age. And it can be a spur to an adventurous inner life—the heroic journey, as it may be called. Understanding oneself is a matter of asking the right questions, again and again, and experiment- ing with answers. Do that long enough and the capital-S Self, one’s regulating center, is activated.
Marie-Louise von Franz says that having a relationship with the Self is like being in touch with an “instinct of truth”—an immediate awareness of what is right and true, a truth without reflection:
One reacts rightly without knowing why, it flows through one and one does the right thing. . . . With the help of the instinct of truth, life goes on as a meaningful flow, as a manifestation of the Self.82
In terms of relationships and the vicissitudes of everyday life, this comes down to simply knowing what is right for oneself. One has a strong instinctive feeling of what should be and what could be. To depart from this leads to error, aberration and illness.
In this section the author clarifies that love relationships are not explicitly but rather tangentially related to functions and type. The archetypal energies of the Anima and Animus complex in men and women form the substratum of our interpersonal, contrasexual relations.
The Anima (Man's Inner Woman)
The Animus (Woman's Inner Man)Psychologically a man’s inner woman, his anima, functions as his soul. When a man is full of life we say he is “animated.” The man with no connection to his feminine side feels dull and listless. Nowadays we call this depression, but the experience is not new. For thousands of years, among so-called primitive peoples, it has been known as loss of soul.
A man’s inner image of woman is initially determined by his experience of his personal mother or closest female caregiver. It is later modified through contact with other women—friends, relatives, teachers—but the experience of the personal mother is so powerful and long-lasting that a man is naturally attracted to those women who are much like her—or, as often happens, women quite unlike her. That is to say, he may yearn for what he’s known, or seek to escape it at all costs.
A man who is unconscious of his feminine side is apt to see that aspect of himself, whatever its characteristics may be, in an actual woman. This happens via projection and is commonly experienced as falling in love or, conversely, as intense dislike. A man may also project his anima onto another man, in love or hate, though in practice this is often difficult to distinguish from the projection of the man’s shadow.
A man unrelated to his inner woman tends to be moody, some- times gentle and sentimental but prone to sudden rage and violence. Analysts call this being anima-possessed. By paying attention to his moods and emotional reactions—objectifying and personifying them—a man can come into possession of his soul rather than be possessed by it. As with any complex, the negative influence of the anima is reduced by establishing a conscious relationship with it.
Jung distinguished four broad stages of the anima in the course of a man’s psychological development. He personified these, in accord with classical stages of eroticism, as Eve, Helen, Mary and Sophia.24
In the first stage, Eve, the man’s anima is completely tied up with the mother—not necessarily his personal mother, but the archetypal image of woman as faithful provider of nourishment, security and love—or, indeed, the opposite. The man with an anima of this type cannot function well without a vital connection to a woman and is easy prey to being controlled by her. He frequently suffers impotence or has no sexual desire at all.
In the second stage, personified in the historical figure of Helen of Troy, the anima is a collective sexual image. She is Marlene Dietrich, Marilyn Monroe, Tina Turner, Madonna, all rolled up into one. The man under her spell is often a Don Juan who engages in repeated sexual adventures. These will invariably be short-lived, for two reasons: 1) he has a fickle heart—his feelings are whimsical and often gone in the morning—and 2) no real woman can live up to the expectations that go with this unconscious, ideal image.
The third stage of anima development Jung calls Mary. It manifests in religious feelings and a capacity for genuine friendship with women. The man with an anima of this kind is able to see a woman as she is, independent of his own needs. His sexuality is integrated into his life, not an autonomous function that drives him. He can differentiate between love and lust. He is capable of lasting relationships because he can tell the difference between the object of his desire and his inner image of woman.
In the fourth stage, as Sophia (called Wisdom in the Bible), a man’s anima functions as a guide to the inner life, mediating to consciousness the contents of the unconscious. Sophia is behind the need to grapple with the grand philosophical issues, the search for meaning. She is Beatrice in Dante’s Inferno, and the creative muse in any artist’s life. She is a natural mate for the archetypal “wise old man” in the male psyche. The sexuality of a man at this stage incorporates a spiritual dimension.
Theoretically, a man’s anima development proceeds through these stages as he grows older. When the possibilities of one have been exhausted—which is to say, when adaptation to oneself and outer circumstances requires it—the psyche stimulates the move to the next stage.
In fact, the transition from one stage to another seldom happens without a struggle, for the psyche not only promotes and supports growth, it is also, paradoxically, conservative and loath to give up what it knows. Hence a psychological crisis is commonly precipitated when there is a pressing need for a man to move from one stage to the next.
For that matter, a man may have periodic contact with any number of anima images, at any time of life, depending on what is required to compensate the current dominant conscious attitude. The reality is that psychologically men live in a harem.
Any man may observe this for himself by paying close attention to his dreams and fantasies. His soul-image appears in many different forms, as myriad as the expressions of an actual woman’s femininity.
In subhuman guise, the anima may manifest as snake, toad, cat or bird; on a slightly higher level, as nixie, pixie, mermaid. In hu- man form—to mention only a few personifications modeled on goddesses in Greek mythology—the anima may appear as Hera, consort and queen; Demeter/Persephone, the mother-daughter team; Aphrodite, the lover; Pallas Athene, carrier of culture and protectress of heroes; Artemis, the stand-offish huntress; and Hecate, ruler in the netherworld of magic.
The assimilation of a particular anima-image results in its death, so to speak. That is to say, as one personification of the anima is consciously understood, it is supplanted by another. Anima development in a man is thus a continuous process of death and rebirth. An understanding of this process is very important in surviving the transition stage between one anima-image and the next. Just as no real woman relishes being discarded for another, so no anima-figure willingly takes second place to her upstart rival. In this regard, as in so much else involved in a person’s psychological development, the good is the enemy of the better. To have made contact with your inner woman at all is a blessing; to be tied to one that holds you back can be fatal.
While the old soul-mate clamors for the attention that now, in order for the man to move on, is demanded by and due to the new one, the man is often assailed by conflicting desires. The struggle is not just an inner, metaphorical one; it also involves his lived relationships with real women. The resultant suffering and inner turmoil, the tension and sleepless nights, are comparable to what occurs in any conflict situation.
As the mediating function between the ego and the unconscious, the anima is complementary to the persona and in a compensatory relationship to it. That is to say, all those qualities absent from the outer attitude will be found in the inner. Jung gives the example of a tyrant tormented by bad dreams and gloomy forebodings:
Outwardly ruthless, harsh, and unapproachable, he jumps inwardly at every shadow, is at the mercy of every mood, as though he were the feeblest and most impressionable of men. Thus his anima con- tains all those fallible human qualities his persona lacks.26
Similarly, when a man identifies with his persona, he is in effect possessed by the anima, with all the attendant symptoms.
Identity . . . with the persona automatically leads to an unconscious identity with the anima because, when the ego is not differentiated from the persona, it can have no conscious relation to the unconscious processes. Consequently it is these processes, it is identical with them. Anyone who is himself his outward role will infallibly succumb to the inner processes; he will either frustrate his outward role by absolute inner necessity or else reduce it to absurdity, by a process of enantiodromia. He can no longer keep to his individual way, and his life runs into one deadlock after another. Moreover, the anima is inevitably projected upon a real object, with which he gets into a relation of almost total dependence.28
Thus it is essential for a man to distinguish between who he is and who he appears to be. Symptomatically, in fact, there is no significant difference between persona identification and anima possession; both are indications of unconsciousness.
On Jung and RelationshipsA woman’s inner man, her animus, is strongly colored by her experience of her personal father. Just as a man is apt to marry his mother, so to speak, so a woman is inclined to favor a man psychologically like her father, or, again, his opposite.
Whereas the anima in a man functions as his soul, a woman’s animus is more like an unconscious mind. It manifests negatively in fixed ideas, unconscious assumptions and conventional opinions that may be generally right but just beside the point in a particular situation. A woman unconscious of her masculine side tends to be highly opinionated—animus-possessed. This kind of woman proverbially wears the pants; she rules the roost, or tries to. The men attracted to her will be driven to distraction by her whims, coldly emasculated, while she herself wears a mask of indifference to cover her insecurity. Jung:
No matter how friendly and obliging a woman’s Eros may be, no logic on earth can shake her if she is ridden by the animus. . . . [A man] is unaware that this highly dramatic situation would instantly come to a banal and unexciting end if he were to quit the field and let a second woman carry on the battle (his wife, for instance, if she herself is not the fiery war horse). This sound idea seldom or never occurs to him, because no man can converse with an animus for five minutes without becoming the victim of his own anima.30
A woman’s animus becomes a helpful psychological factor only when she can tell the difference between her inner man and herself. While a man’s task in assimilating the anima involves discovering his true feelings, a woman must constantly question her ideas and opinions, measuring these against what she really thinks. If she does so, in time the animus can become a valuable inner companion who endows her with qualities of enterprise, courage, objectivity and spiritual wisdom.
Jung describes four stages of animus development in a woman, paralleling those of the anima in a man. He first appears in dreams and fantasy as the embodiment of physical power, for instance an athlete or muscle man, a James Bond or Sylvester Stallone. This corresponds to the anima as Eve. For a woman with such an animus a man is simply a stud; he exists to give her physical satisfaction, protection and healthy babies.
In the second stage, analogous to the anima as Helen, the animus possesses initiative and the capacity for planned action. He is behind a woman’s desire for independence and a career of her own. However, a woman with an animus of this type still relates to a man on a collective level: he is the generic husband-father, the man around the house whose primary role is to provide shelter and sup- port for his family—Mr. Do-All, Mr. Fix-It, with no life of his own.
In the next stage, corresponding to the anima as Mary, the ani- mus is the Word personified, appearing in dreams as a professor, clergyman, scholar or some other authoritarian figure. A woman with such an animus has a great respect for traditional learning; she is capable of sustained creative work and welcomes the opportunity to exercise her mind. She is able to relate to a man on an individual level, as lover rather than husband or father, and she seriously ponders her own elusive identity.
In the fourth stage, the animus is the incarnation of spiritual meaning—a Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King or Dalai Lama. On this highest level, like the anima as Sophia, the animus mediates between a woman’s conscious mind and the unconscious. In mythology he appears as Hermes, messenger of the gods; in dreams he is a helpful guide. Sexuality for such a woman is imbued with spiritual significance.
Any of these aspects of the animus can be projected onto a man, who will be expected to live up to the projected image. As mentioned earlier, the same is true of the anima. So in any relationship between a man and a woman there are at least four personalities involved.
Theoretically, there is no difference between an unconscious man and an unconscious woman’s animus. One implication of this is that an unconscious man can be coerced into being or doing whatever a woman wants. But it’s just as true the other way around: unconscious women are easily seduced by a man’s anima. In relationships there are no innocent victims.
The more differentiated a woman is in her own femininity, the more able she is to reject whatever unsuitable role is projected onto her by a man. This forces the man back on himself. If he has the capacity for self-examination and insight, he may discover in him- self the basis for false expectations. Failing inner resources on either side, there is only rancor and animosity.
We all want someone to love and someone to be loved by. But intimate relationships are fraught with difficulty. There are any number of landmines to be negotiated before two people feel comfort- able with each other; more when they become sexually involved, and more again if and when they live together. On top of the twin devils of projection and identification, there are each other’s per- sonal complexes and typological differences. In truth, the very things that brought them together in the first place are just as likely to drive them apart.
Most relationships begin with mutual good will. Why, then, do so many end in acrimony? There are probably as many answers to this as there are couples who split up, but in terms of a common pattern, typology certainly plays a major role.
Following the logistics implicit in Jung’s model of psychological types, an extraverted man has an introverted anima, while an introverted woman has an extraverted animus, and vice versa. This can change through psychological work on oneself, but these inner images are commonly projected onto persons of the opposite sex, with the result that either attitude type is prone to being fascinated by its opposite. This happens because each type is complementary to the other.
The introvert is inclined to be reflective, to think things out and consider carefully before acting. Shyness and a degree of distrust result in hesitation and some difficulty in adapting to the external world. The extravert, on the other hand, fascinated by new and unknown situations, tends to act first and think after.
As Jung notes,
The two types therefore seem created for a symbiosis. The one takes care of reflection and the other sees to the initiative and practical ac- tion. When the two types marry they may effect an ideal union.
Discussing such a typical situation, Jung points out that it is ideal only so long as the partners are occupied with their adaptation to “the manifold external needs of life”:
But when . . . external necessity no longer presses, then they have time to occupy themselves with one another. Hitherto they stood back to back and defended themselves against necessity. But now they turn face to face and look for understanding—only to discover that they have never understood one another. Each speaks a different language. Then the conflict between the two types begins. This struggle is envenomed, brutal, full of mutual depreciation, even when conducted quietly and in the greatest intimacy. For the value of the one is the negation of value for the other.
Clearly such a couple has some work to do on their relationship. But that doesn’t mean they ought to discuss the psychological meaning or implications of what goes on between them. Far from it. When there is a quarrel or ill feeling in the air, it is quite enough to acknowledge that one is in a bad mood or feels hurt, as opposed to psychologizing the situation with talk of anima/animus, complexes and so on. These are after all only theoretical constructs, and head talk is sure to drive one or the other into a frenzy. Relationships thrive on feeling values, not on what is written in books.
There are those who think that “letting it all hang out” is therapeutic. But that is merely allowing a complex to take over. The trick is to get some distance from the complex, objectify it, take a stand toward it. You can’t do this if you identify with it, if you can’t tell the difference between yourself and the emotion that grabs you by the throat when a complex is active. And you can’t do it without a container.
Those who think that talking about a relationship will help it get better put the cart before the horse. Work on yourself and a good relationship will follow. You can either accept who you are and find a relationship that fits, or twist yourself out of shape and get what you deserve. The endless blather that takes place between two complexed
people solves nothing. It is a waste of time and energy and as often as not actually makes the situation worse.
Of course, as Jung points out in the passage that heads this chap- ter, the meeting between anima and animus is not always negative. In the beginning the two are just as likely to be starry-eyed lovers. Later, when the bloom is off the rose, they may even become fast friends. But the major battles in close relationships occur because the man has not withdrawn his anima projection on the woman, and/or the woman still projects her animus onto the man.
We may understand this intellectually, but when our loved one does not behave according to the image we have of him or her, we are instantly complexed. Our emotions override what is in our minds. Our reactions run the gamut from violence to anger to grieved silence, and it is bound to happen again, with this one or the next, unless we reflect on what is behind it: our own psychology.
Finally, the reality must be faced that no one relationship can fulfill all our needs, as individuals, all of the time. One partner or other may in time, for reasons of their own, feel drawn to intimacy with another.
Such situations are of course fraught with conflict, both inner and outer, but need not split the two asunder. The feeling function must rule the day: What is my long-standing relationship worth to me? If it is important enough to both, and where love is not want- ing, it will survive the turmoil, becoming all the richer for the struggle, and the partners more conscious of who they are.