Depth Typology: C. G. Jung, Isabel Myers, John Beebe and The Guide Map to Becoming Who We Are 0997607602, 9780997607604

Citation preview

DEPTH TYPOLOGY _________________________________

C. G. JUNG, ISABEL MYERS, JOHN BEEBE AND

THE GUIDE MAP TO BECOMING WHO WE ARE

Mark Hunziker Forewords by Hanne Urhøj and Katherine W. Hirsh

Depth Typology C. G. Jung, Isabel Meyers, John Beebe and The Guide Map to Becoming Who We Are Copyright © 2016 by Mark Hunziker Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, Myers-Briggs, and MBTI are trademarks or registered trademarks of the MBTI® Trust, Inc., in the United States and other countries. First Edition All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at [email protected] Printed in the United States of America ISBN: 978-0-9976076-0-4 Library of Congress Control Number: 2016942051 Cover layout and graphics by Teague Hunziker. Cover image: “Farbenkreis” (“Color circle”), by August Macke, reproduced from his “sketchbook #60” (1913-1914) Book design by CSinclaire Write-Design

For Violet and Lily Carriers of our history, Focus of our present, Hope for our future.

Table of Contents Figures and Tables Forewords Preface Acknowledgements

Part I • Context Context 1 • “Depth Typology” 2 • Science Old and New: Revising Our Assumptions The Cartesian World View The New Sciences Systems Theory Me and Not-Me As Without, So Within A Higher Power Depth Typology in the New Cosmos 3 • Psychological Type: Evolution of the Model Some Contextual Considerations Jung’s Model Myers’ and Briggs’ Contributions Beebe Brings Depth to the Model 4 • Key Terms and Concepts Personality Consciousness Ego Persona Unconsciousness Projection Shadow Ego-syntonic and Ego-dystonic Self 5 • Individuation, Differentiation, and Type Development Individuation Differentiation Rigidity Individuation and Psychological Type Individuation and “Type Development”

Part II • Beebe's Depth Typology Model Beebe’s Depth Typology Model 6 • The Function-Attitudes The Functions

The Attitudes The Function-Attitudes The Sequence of Eight Function-Attitudes Unconscious Function-Attitudes 7 • The Archetypes Archetypes in Daily Life The Case for Eight Particular Archetypes Beebe’s Eight Archetypes of Typology Summary 8 • Depth Typology Dynamics Myers-Briggs Dynamics The Relationship Between Cognition and Emotion Whole-Type Dynamics The Axes of Personality Interpersonal Friction Between Differently-Oriented Axes Dynamics Within the System Summary

Part III • An Applications Sampler An Applications Sampler 9 • Teaching the Beebe Model Why Teach the Beebe Model to New Learners Teaching Points for Introductory Workshops 10 • Counseling, Coaching, and Psychotherapy 11 • Self-Development and Self-Help 12 • Relationships and Communication 13 • Cultural Personality Type Cultures and Individual Typologies Culture Clashes 14 • Spirituality and Creativity 15 • Health and Wellness Our Mental Model of Health and Healthcare The “Wellness” Model Stress The Psychology of Wellbeing Addictions and Compulsions 16 • Decision-Making and Problem-Solving 17 • Parenting, Teaching, and Learning Styles 18 • Cultivating Effective Leaders, Workers, and Teams 19 • Saving the World Conclusion References About the Author Index

Figures and Tables FIGURES 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Schematic illustration of Jung’s model of psychological type Schematic illustration of the Myers-Briggs™ model of personality type Schematic illustration of the Beebe model of personality type John Beebe’s Axes of Type (using a female ISTP example) Comparing ENTJ with ISFP (its “code opposite” type) and with ISFJ ISTJ’s ego-syntonic function-attitudes compared to the same FAs in its “code opposite” type, ENFP and its “shadow opposite” type, ESTP 7. Carol’s and Mark’s ego-syntonic type axes 8. James’ and Anne’s ego-syntonic type axes

TABLES 1. 2. 3. 4.

Beebe’s Function-Attitude Descriptors The Eight Archetypes of Type and their Areas of Focus and Affect Judgment vs. Perception Personalities The ego-syntonic perceiving and judging function-attitudes that ISTJ has in common with other types

Foreword by Hanne Urhøj Jungian analyst (IAAP)

M

ark Hunziker’s Depth Typology: C. G. Jung, Isabel Myers, John Beebe and the Guide Map to Becoming Who We Are provides a comprehensive introduction to John Beebe’s brilliant eight function model. This book is a gift for Jungians as well as for type-practitioners. Depth Typology is much more than the “guide map” promised in the title. Before presenting the guide, Hunziker anchors the ideas of “me” and “not me”—a fundamental premise of the eight function model— in revised assumptions about the nature of reality itself, including old and new sciences. It is stimulating reading whether you are a Jungian, a type-practitioner, or just anyone who gets inspired by Hunziker’s chosen quote by Shakespeare: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy.” The promised “guide map to becoming who we are”is a guided tour into typology as developed by Jung, Myers and Briggs, and Beebe. Despite the complexities within this field, Hunziker makes it a comfortable tour and it obviously reflects his life-time study and practice, including his work as coeditor of the Type-In-Depth web journal. Mr. Hunziker presents his first examples of using the eight function model in practice in an appropriate context for a broader audience. Such illustrations help us to overcome the principle challenge that we face whenever we attempt to understand any psychic phenomena: the inherent subjectivity of the endeavor. Hunziker’s case-study vignettes may well spark insights into the reader’s own archetypically-influenced experiences with, for example, teamwork processes (as presented in one example), because the examples expose the reader to archetypal dynamics that can cause arousals of personal material. To me this is stimulating; and because the cases are as universal as they are personal, they create a positive experience of being guided through complicated landscapes of experiencing “me” and “not me,” archetypal complexes, ego, self, shadow, projection, individuation, the eight functions of consciousnesses, etc. I am not really surprised, but it is striking that the author and I seem to use the model in almost the same way, even though we are coming from different fields. I am a Jungian analyst being engaged with Myers-Briggs typology because of John Beebe’s model. Mark is a Myers-Briggs type-practitioner being engaged with Jungian psychology through the same model. It is my sincere hope that many more Jungian analysts and type-practitioners, inspired and guided by John Beebe’s eight function model, will develop this common ground of “depth typology.” We can then move forward to consider how to enter the realm of depth together. When reading a book like this, the reader’s introverted thinking function will be very active, engaged by the need to define elusive terms and concepts. Simultaneously, the archetypal complex that carries that function will be activated. Therefore the reader might find it both helpful and illuminating if she takes her own type into consideration when reading the book. I did, and it has been helpful for my tertiary puella way of introverted thinking to envision Mark Hunziker’s sixth “type of consciousness,” introverted thinking, as the wise old man giving all his wisdom to me. This way of synthesizing functions and archetypical dynamics is very much what the eight function model can facilitate. It is complicated stuff; but this comprehensive book is a dedicated and enthusiastic presentation of why and how the eight function model can help us understand and handle our mental processes. Hunziker’s book is to be launched almost simultaneously with John Beebe’s book on his model, and I am sure that these two books will be great inspirations and resources for both Jungian analysts and type-practitioners. Each of these works offers a unique and valuable perspective. Accordingly I am looking forward to hearing about many

more examples from our consulting rooms and workshops in future gatherings and articles. — February 11, 2016, Copenhagen, Denmark

Foreword by Katherine W. Hirsh D.Phil.

I

was lucky enough to be able to follow the development of this work over the last year. The initial draft I read gave me the feeling I was seeing Mark’s Opposing Personality, Extraverted Intuition (Ne), at work. There were many, many beautiful ideas. However, no matter how fascinating each idea felt as my Introverted Thinking Hero (Ti) and Ne Good Parent studied it, it was hard to see the forest for the trees. Each of the trees offered something bright and shiny—a big attraction for Ne—and Mark’s descriptions made me eager to sample them all. At the same time, when faced with this overly bountiful selection, I longed for a structuring theme that would guide me to the choicest morsels, the ones that would offer depth of flavor and food for thought. What I love about this final version is that the trees have been winnowed to become an arboretum in which the value of each specimen is immediately evident. For me, this tells the story of how archetypal energies open up new vistas while at the same time illustrating that when the unconscious takes the lead, it may initially be unclear precisely how one should proceed. I think the best way to demonstrate the rewards of attending to the messages of the unconscious is to draw your attention to some of the big questions grappled with in Depth Typology, questions I believe to be the result of Mark’s willingness to follow the route opened up by Ne. Here is just a sampling: How do self-awareness and selfknowledge differ? How should the new physics influence our answer to the question of what is Me and Not-Me, Self and Other? What possibilities exist for alliances, integration, and balance between the various aspects of our multifaceted selves? How do our notions of consciousness and the tension of opposites shift when we consider both ego-syntonic and ego-dystonic Function-Attitudes? What methods can we use to discern the affective states at play in our use, overuse, or shadowy abuse of the gifts of each of the Function-Attitudes? Seizing the opportunity to engage with these themes has the potential to take our work with typology to new levels and help align it with seismic shifts taking place in how we conceive of the relationship between the individual and the universe. To offer a small example of the fruitfulness of Depth Typology in engendering new insights, consider Mark’s assessment of Jung’s definitions: [H]is definitions (the products of an introverted thinking focus) always seem somewhat tortured and convoluted and a bit tinged with the didactic tone of the Senex archetype.This is one reason why I see Jung as an INTJ with his well-developed introverted thinking retaining vestiges of its shadowy nature. There has been a longstanding interest in Jung’s own typology, and the received wisdom has been that Jung was an Introverted Thinking type (INTP preferences in Myers’ terms). More recently there have been suggestions that Introverted Intuition, or INTJ, provides a better fit. Function-Attitude-Archetype analysis won’t settle the issue; however, it does offer new avenues to explore and new ways to frame our arguments. For example, imagining Jung as someone with INTJ preferences, and therefore an Extraverted Thinking (Te) Good Parent, leads me to wonder if perhaps the descriptions of the eight types in Chapter X of Psychological Types were the work of a father chiding us, his children, for our typological foibles. Or was it more a case of his Introverted Intuiting (Ni) Hero foreseeing the consequences of inflated over-reliance on our Dominant? I also believe that Depth Typology shows signs of some assistance from the Introverted Feeling-Extraverted Feeling (Fi-Fe) dynamic of Eternal Child –Trickster. For as long as I have known Mark, there has been this burning, deeply ethical passion bubbling just below the cooler, crisper Te surface (he may remember the talking stick exercise at the end of our first day together as an example of this). By allowing himself to be vulnerable, Mark made space for the creative spirit of his Fi to shine through. With this book, he has harnessed this personal energy to detail this new

paradigm. Writing for an audience, rather than solely for his own understanding, has allowed him to take his deep convictions and shape them into something that we as type practitioners and budding depth typologists can use to govern our relationships not only with ourselves but also with our clients and significant others. In his own words, with Depth Typology Mark Hunziker has “establishe[d] psychological type as a vital, active, living part of the human psychological experience, [and] not just a useful but artificial construct.” I hope his “challengingly informative” approach energizes and enriches your view of type as much as it has my own. And I fully anticipate that once you have finished this volume, you will be expectantly awaiting the follow-up works—a series of practical applications guides—he has promised. — March 31, 2016, Hamburg, Germany

Preface I say what I have to say. That’s my duty. If I don’t say it, who’s going to say it for me? — MATHEW KING, LAKOTA ELDER

W

hen I was first introduced to psychological type through an MBTI® assessment and interpretation session, I experienced the typical personal revelations. I gained a better understanding of and appreciation for my mental strengths, and I learned that many of my shortcomings are simply natural products of my typology. I became clearer about who I am and less concerned with notions of who I “should” be. Less distracted by self-criticism, I was able to focus on learning to accept, manage, and compensate for my shortcomings and better leverage my gifts. Likewise, even before I developed an understanding of how other types think and operate, I could at least appreciate how different they indeed are. Thus, even my beginner’slevel type knowledge enhanced my understanding of and empathy for others, as it had toward myself. These insights are the low hanging fruit of typology, relatively easy to grasp, yet sufficient in themselves to make a big difference in our lives. The sixteen bundles of characteristics and traits called type “profiles” have always been a cornerstone for learning about the sixteen types. But rote memorization has never been my strong suit. Even Isabel Myers (1980/1995) observed that sixteen lengthy descriptions are “too many to keep in mind by brute memory” (p. 27). By sheer luck, however, I was among the first outside the analytical psychology community to be introduced to John Beebe’s enhanced model of psychological type. This version of the model focuses on the Jungian function-attitudes, the basic “building blocks” of all the types. By looking at the types as products of these eight relatively straightforward mental processes, I was able to grasp the primary gifts, challenges, and characteristics of the sixteen types quickly and without great difficulty. Before long, however, I realized that my learning curve had plateaued. Even though I was learning more and more, the new information was having little further effect on my personal development. As I got more involved with the community of type practitioners, I noticed that, by and large, this seemed to be the case for even the most respected gurus of typology. Our more intransigent issues—the self-limiting mindsets and behaviors that repeatedly undermine our effectiveness and inhibit our psychological growth—seem to lie at a deeper level and remain unaffected by attention to the “gifts and challenges” of our type “preferences.” But the framework of Beebe’s model extends beyond our conscious and developed preferences and into the realm of the Unconscious. This model beckons us to take typology “deeper” and provides a guide map for the journey. I wanted to understand those barriers to personal development that we can never quite “see,” but which always seem to be there, holding us back from becoming the person we know we’re capable of being. So I began to dig deeper. In addition to learning from Beebe, I read many of the writings of Jung, preeminent Jungians, and type experts; and in pursuit of a better understanding of archetypes, I investigated traditional and modern cosmologies. At the same time, I worked at cultivating my personal resources beyond my intuitive/thinking type preferences. My dreams, the advice of friends, and my own insights kept pushing me to learn to be more willing to live my life in the moment (engaging my inferior extraverted sensing function), to embrace emotional ups and downs (through my tertiary introverted feeling) more fully than I was accustomed to doing, and to integrate these ways of being in a very real way into my conscious sense of who I am. But as I attempted to apply what I learned, it quickly became obvious that intellectual understanding alone isn’t sufficient. Intellectual understanding and conscious resolve can help create the necessary conditions for such fundamental personality growth. They can help us negotiate the journey. But, as we’ll note throughout this book, the process itself operates on its own timetable with its own hidden agenda, ignoring the desires and expectations of the conscious “ego.” Any real personal progress I’ve made has come from the kind of understanding and integration that only experiencing can bring. And though patiently allowing and enabling this process to unfold naturally has seemed agonizingly slow at times, it has also been extremely rewarding.

Throughout this journey, John Beebe’s model of type has been my primary guide. Our most seemingly-unmovable psychological barriers are, by definition, unconscious and often created and sustained by the same psychic dynamics that the model describes. With the Beebe model as my touchstone, and by being open to “going there” rather than just settling for “learning about” other ways of being, eventually, I came to feel that I was becoming a slightly, but noticeably, more whole version of myself. And I was beginning to understand how this process of “becoming who we are” works—to get a feel for the dynamics of typology in the life of an evolving human being. It is these glimmers of understanding that I will attempt to share in the following pages. So far, I’ve been describing my journey with typology as if it was a purely personal one, spurred by motivations that could be seen as selfish (and certainly have felt that way at times). But I know the work I do on myself serves the interests of those around me as well. It’s the same principle as the familiar flight attendants’ teaching point: put on your own oxygen mask first so that then you’ll be able to help others. In fact, I have come to believe that there is actually no higher purpose than to develop—to “individuate”—the one person for whom we are ultimately responsible: our self. Some more altruistic threads have always provided ample motivation for me as well. My father and a dear friend and soul sister, Sheila, both died during this period. The deaths seemed distressingly premature to me. Probably because of my psychology background, I began to investigate the relationships between mind and body. My focus on the psychological aspects of physical disease and my research into a broad spectrum of philosophies of wellness and disease shined a spotlight on how the dynamic intertwinements of body and mind work. I witnessed dramatic examples of how imbalances in either the mental or physical realm can cross over to the other arena to manifest as “dis-ease” and ultimately as “disease.” I found that typology consistently provides a useful framework for understanding such psychosomatic imbalance and the pull toward greater wellbeing through individuation. My studies became all the more personal and urgent when I was diagnosed with a potentially terminal condition that cannot be mitigated by Western medicine until and unless it reaches crisis-level. There are no standard medical measures to be taken until the disease progresses to the point where extremely invasive procedures aimed at postponing death at all costs become worth considering. Besides obvious healthy lifestyle choices, my psychological health is the only variable in this situation that I can directly influence. So this life-or-death reality transposed theory into intimate personal experience. In typological terms, I found that I needed to attend to my neglected inner child with its introverted feeling perspective. I needed to notice and learn to respect the ego-challenging wisdom of my extraverted sensing feminine side and to take seriously the perspectives of my shadow functions. In the several years since my diagnosis, the disease has made no further progress. I feel certain that the “inner work” I’ve been doing is at least partially responsible for this promising trend. Although there are too many variables and unknowns to say for certain what impact my psychological changes have had on this specific physical condition, there is no doubt in my mind that I have been slowly, but noticeably, becoming a healthier, happier, and more effective person. Jung (1953/1966) stated: Nobody can really understand these things unless he has experienced them himself. I am therefore much more interested in pointing out the possible ways to such experience than in devising intellectual formulae which, for lack of experience, must necessarily remain an empty web of words. (para. 340) If nothing else, the more intense and deeper explorations spurred by my personal challenges have hopefully saved me from presenting you with “an empty web of words.” Meanwhile, in the bigger picture, humankind’s self-destructive tendencies have been a serious concern for me all my life. Having grown up in the Cold War climate of “mutually assured destruction,” with my dad stocking a corner of our basement as a “bomb shelter,” I realized early on that human beings are capable of a level of collective foolishness sufficient to squander our privileged existence on this lifesustaining planet. In the decades since then, even as we backed away from the brink of nuclear holocaust, it became increasingly apparent that our degradation of our planet’s ecosystem is an even greater threat to humankind than war. As we’ll explore later, entrenched dysfunctional behavior on the part of groups of people can, like that of individuals, often be understood as a natural and predictable result of unbalanced, stunted cultural typology. Such social neurosis carries with it a severely limited world view, a myopic misunderstanding of human self-interests, and a resistance to flexing beyond the typological comfort zone to find real solutions to the pressing life-or-death problems confronting the human collective. However personal my journey of exploration may have been at its roots, the more I learned, the stronger the urge

became to share—to try to help make the difficult pathways of personal growth a little easier for others to navigate. Just as I am convinced that even just a little more self-awareness can significantly improve any individual’s effectiveness and happiness, I also believe that even a little more self-awareness on the part of enough people could change the course of history and the destiny of our species. And I believe, along with C. G. Jung, that a basic, nuanced understanding of the dynamics of personality is an invaluable tool for that self-awareness. As he wrote about another “catastrophic epoch” (World War II): The great problems of humanity were never yet solved by general laws, but only through regeneration of the attitudes of individuals. If ever there was a time when self-reflection was the absolutely necessary and only right thing, it is now, in our present catastrophic epoch. Yet whoever reflects upon himself is bound to strike upon the frontiers of the unconscious, which contains what above all else he needs to know. (1953/1966, p. 4) I believe that the expanded model of personality type that I will describe can provide a helpful and reliable guide for that journey of self-discovery and development—a guide that does not require extensive training to access and apply. Before we get to that, though, I’d like to tell you the story of how I began the writing to illustrate the dynamic interaction between Conscious and Unconscious that I’ll be talking about throughout this book. While my months-long process of reviewing the literature in preparation for writing had been necessary, I also knew it was becoming a stalling tactic. I had my vague-yet-certain intuitive vision of a work that introduces what I’ve come to call “depth typology.” I envisioned a book that would be broad enough in scope to include a multitude of related threads and do justice to the awesome complexity and mystery of the human psyche. What made the project so intimidating for me was my determination to tackle this labyrinth of ideas in a way that is succinct, simple, and clear enough that virtually anyone could understand and learn to use the model. I was convinced that this could be accomplished because Jung’s model of psychological type provides a framework that is, at its core, inherently simple, logical, intuitive, and demonstrable. So I felt certain that if I could tackle this complicated topic in just the right way, I could reveal that inherent clarity without losing the rich nuances. But at first, I was at a loss as to how to even approach this difficult task. As us ual for me in such situations of helpless-feeling confusion, my auxiliary extraverted thinking kicked in with the conviction that the answer was to have a clear organizational plan up front. I thought that first I had to figure out what to emphasize, what to leave out, the most effective o rder in which to present the material, where to start, etc. But no such framework came to me. My only other option seemed to be to just plunge into the writing without an organizational game plan. But I felt that I could only dare this approach if I had some powerful “guiding principle” in mind—a fundamental criterion that would guide me as I went along (another Thinking tactic). I couldn’t find this either. I was stuck. As we’ll discuss in Chapters 6 and 7, each of the Myers-Briggs type codes is shorthand for a particular configuration of innate preferences for certain ways of filtering information and making choices (the “function-attitudes”). Each function-attitude tends to play a specific kind of role in our lives, depending on its place in our particular personality framework. In my INTJ typology, for example, my “dominant,” most favored function-attitude, introverted intuition (Ni), with its attention to hidden patterns and meaning, tends to lead the charge, playing the Heroic role. When it comes to taking care of others and supporting my own heroic vision, the Parent role, I rely most upon the linear, analytical approach of my “auxiliary” function-attitude, extraverted thinking (Te). My “tertiary” introverted feeling (Fi), anchored in my core values, is expressed through the Eternal Child in me and lobbies for an attitude of irresponsible playfulness that seems essential for releasing creativity. And my concrete, in-themoment, sensual, extraverted sensing (Se) “inferior” is the balancing, contrapuntal Yin to my dominant Ni Yang. In retrospect, my writer’s block situation can be seen in terms of the dynamic interplay of these more-or-less conscious primary elements of my personality. Though charging in heroically, following the banner of my introverted intuitive vision, I knew enough about my personal blind spots to pause to confirm the facts, thus engaging my inferior extraverted sensation. But my extraverted thinking parental insistence on creating the safe container of organizational structure stalled the creative process with an impossible demand. I was tempted to dawdle indefinitely in the seductively compensatory process of gathering concrete information. Just as I arrived at the point where I knew I absolutely had to start writing, though I still didn’t know how to begin, I had a dream that felt particularly important. As I chewed on its cryptic messages over the following days, that dream seemed increasingly relevant to my quandary.

I was hiking with two other men up a trail in my Vermont Green Mountains, determined, despite the threat of a dangerous storm approaching, to reach a certain point in the ascent where we hoped to be able to find and rescue someone who was “lost in the woods.” When we were about three-quarters of the way to our goal, with the storm now looming just over our shoulders, the risk/reward calculus of our endeavor had clearly shifted. What had begun as a long-shot had become something closer to a fool’s errand. I posed a question to my companions, intending to initiate a logical reassessment of our mission and tactics. The older man, sinking to the ground, was clearly unable to continue. He responded saying, “But you’ve forgotten the middle part.” Like many dreams, this one speaks on many levels at once, but two interwoven interpretations seemed particularly obvious and relevant to my creative impasse. Obviously, it was I who was “lost in the woods,” but I was also in the rescue party—both problem and solution. By the end of the dream, I had a sense of the older man as a representation of a fatherly C. G. Jung, and in retrospect, I saw my other companion as portraying John Beebe in what felt like an older-brother relationship to me. In reality, I certainly don’t delude myself that I am even close to either of these men in intellect, insight, or importance. But in the dream, we did feel like peers—like three grown men with a commonality of purpose and mutual respect for each other’s authentic self. This aspect of the dream felt like a validation, telling me that what I have to say—my insight, feelings, and experience—is important too. In this sense, the “middle part” of this triad was me. I had been so focused on trying to better understand and interpret Jung’s and Beebe’s concepts that I had forgotten the thing that gives energy and authenticity to any writing: the author’s own passion and unique perspective. This dream can also be understood in terms of the typological quandary described earlier. In this framework, the “middle part” would be my neglected introverted feeling Eternal Child,sandwiched between my relatively conscious dominant/auxiliary ego-team and my relatively unconscious inferior. This insight encouraged me to take a break from obsessing about the book—to make time for play, for activities that attracted me despite not being “productive.” Alerted by the dream, I allowed myself to take a little vacation from my single-mindedness and felt a shift in attitude and awareness almost immediately. My linear, straight-ahead, tunnel vision mindset relaxed, and I began to notice and embrace information, insights, and opportunities that came along unexpectedly and felt important despite having no logical connection with the task at hand. I was able to “feel my way” through the problem, where just “thinking it through” had not been enough. As always happens when we pay attention, the unconscious had provided what my conscious mind could not. Reconnecting with my passion for the subject and fueled by my desire to help others, I had found a guiding light for how to go about writing the book (though it’s more like a spiritual compass than the “guiding organizing principle” that my extraverted thinking had assumed I needed). I also found a way to start writing: by simply relating this story. I hope that this personal anecdote can serve as an example of how learning to respect and pay attention to the often cryptic other truths within us can move us forward and dramatically change things for the better. Depth typology takes Jung’s brilliant framework beyond his caricatures of personalities dominated by the eight different types of consciousness and beyond the most prominent “preferences” and “gifts” emphasized by Isabel Myers. It enables a fuller understanding of and appreciation for the typological elements and dynamics at work throughout the entire psyche. In particular, it brings the emotional energies and undeveloped perspectives of the unconscious side of personality into the picture. Psychological type thus now encompasses the entire territory that Jung called the “Self ”—that holistic psychic potential within us that is more authentically grounded in the realities of the human condition than the tunnel vision of our self-conscious, who-we-think-we-are Ego. And since our current, “postmodern” society has come to disregard the unconscious almost entirely, this addition to the type model is, in my opinion, enormously significant. Jung (1921/1971) observed: It often happens that, when a problem which is at bottom personal, and therefore apparently subjective, coincides with external events that contain the same psychological elements as the personal conflict, it is suddenly transformed into a general question embracing the whole of society. In this way, the personal problem acquires a dignity it lacked hitherto, since the inner discord always has something humiliating and degrading about it. (para. 119) One implication of Jung’s statement is that even our most altruistic endeavors may be spurred on by a desire to

avoid feeling self-indulgent and petty by elevating our personal struggles into something nobler. But, as my dream reminded me, that’s OK. Our personal challenges (our “hike into the mountains”), the dynamics of our individual dramas, and the keys to our own growth are iterations of what all humans face. It is through sharing our private struggles, successes, and failures that we connect with each other. And when we extrapolate them into generalities, we create the theories and models that help us to teach and nurture one another. In the following pages, I will build my points, as much as possible, upon sound and verified scientific research. But I also accept the inherent personal bias of such an endeavor. We’re delving here into the most obviously subjective scientific arena of all, where it is my mind, yours, the minds of the most respected theorists, and even the minds of the most rigorous experimental researchers, that are attempting to understand “mind” itself. There is no outside “Archimedean point” (von Franz, 1975/1998, p. 9) from which to observe the psyche objectively. Therefore, it would clearly be naïve and foolish to assume that only that which can be objectively proven is relevant and true. It’s also important to “trust but verify” one’s subjective experience. Gut feelings, intuitions, emotional reactions, and personal anecdotes are relevant and deserve our serious consideration, particularly when they appear to be validated by the perceptions and experiences of many others. While it is important for both author and reader to consider the ideas in these pages in light of the scientific evidence, it is equally valid to evaluate them by asking ourselves whether they “feel right,” resonate with our unconscious sense of “knowing,” or jibe with our personal experience. For my part, I will admit that my conviction and passion certainly don’t come from my natural penchant for objectivity and logic but rather from a deeper place of subjective experience, empathy, and core values. The picture I will paint also draws on my personal, intuitive sense of how it all fits together. Jung repeatedly emphasized the importance of “active participation” (1953/1966) and Beebe has observed that because we are dealing with a model that is unavoidably “very qualitative,” fully appreciating it and benefiting from it requires a “participant observer” (personal communication, Dec. 23-24, 2010). What follows will be of little use to you unless you are willing to join me and actively participate—to try this stuff out and see how it works for you. All the tools, exercises, and applications in the world can’t, on their own, have a fraction of the impact of simply taking in what we can of this information and using it as a guide to aid us in the natural process of becoming more fully who we can be. That’s where the potential lies for true learning, for making interpersonal connections for mutual support and growth, and possibly even for transforming ourselves and our world. — Mark Hunziker June 2016

Acknowledgements

K

iley Laughlin, Markey Read, Randy Rowland, and Ellie Webber contributed extremely valuable feedback on my manuscript. Teague Hunziker lent his artistic eye and skills to compose the graphics and cover art. Lee Heinrich and Kevin Snyder of Write Way Publishing Company and Charlotte Sinclaire of CSinclaire Write-Design midwifed my creation into the world and treated me like a friend. Adam Frey, Katherine Hirsh, Hanne Urhøj, Bob McAlpine, Carol Shumate, and John Beebe lent their wise counsel and contributions to the work. All of these folks have my heartfelt gratitude. And thanks especially to Judi for putting up with all the challenges of living with an obsessed writer.

DEPTH TYPOLOGY _________________________________

C. G. JUNG, ISABEL MYERS, JOHN BEEBE AND

THE GUIDE MAP TO BECOMING WHO WE ARE

Part I ____________

Context

I

t seems safe to assume that the first hominids operated unconsciously. They would have fully and directly participated in their world. Their awareness of their environment would have been sharper and more immediate than ours; their actions and reactions instinctive. Gradually over the millennia, we developed a larger prefrontal cortex, which supported the development of what we have come to call “consciousness.” We became able to think and reflect and plan—to abstract, process information in new ways, and choose actions beyond those dictated by our automatic “animal” responses. This evolution of consciousness has not only enabled humans to do amazing things but also to appreciate our existence in ways in which no other living organisms on this planet can. But we’ve come to use that capacity for conscious thought in ways that take us well beyond the point of optimum balance and functionality. We’ve constructed ideas of who we are and of the world we live in and become so enamored with consciousness itself that we’ve come to believe that it defines us. Thus, we have become estranged from the greater reality that exists both beyond and within us. Consciousness, on its own, is incomplete and inadequate. Nevertheless, as individuals, groups, and a species, we’ve created a mythology of who we think we are which separates us from our innate authenticity and from the unfiltered participation that is also an essential part of what it is to be human. Rather than leading lives based on our authentic identity, our “self,” we worship the false idol of the executive ego with its narrow cognitive-behavioral agenda. Beyond the distress and dysfunction that this creates in individuals’ lives, this “ego hubris” has become an epidemic that now threatens the very survival of our species. Depth typology could also be called “holistic typology” because it’s about using the framework and concepts of psychological type to help us understand our whole personality—including both our conscious mental activities and those that are not conscious, our uniquely human ways of processing information and our primitive instincts, our intellect, and our emotions.This advanced model encompasses both the “structural”landscape of the mind and its fluid, energy-driven dynamics. Thus, it enables even non-psychologists to grasp the fundamental roots of who we are, how we operate day-to-day, and how we can grow psychologically throughout our lives. A better understanding of these factors can help us become happier and healthier individuals, capable of operating more effectively. It encourages an attitude of humility and flexibility that is essential for bringing our unique potential to fruition and for enabling us to adapt to whatever life brings our way. If it can help enough people to become a little more self-aware, it may even enable us to work together to meet the daunting global challenges before us. Like the King of the Universe in The Little Prince, human consciousness has deluded itself into believing that it reigns supreme. But unlike Saint-Exupéry’s character, human consciousness lacks the wisdom to give only “reasonable orders.” Now we need to find a balance point of more-fully-integrated awareness where “who we are” also embraces, integrates, and leverages our unconscious resources. I believe that depth typology is eminently suited for helping guide us through this process. This book is intended not only to describe what depth typology is and how it works but also to examine why it’s in our best interests to learn to use it. If you’re only interested in the “what” and “how,” some of the points made in the following pages may not interest you. But if you bear with me, I think you’ll gain some new perspectives on the “why” that you’ll find worthwhile. This first section is about some things we need to understand to make the most of our discussion of depth typology. I’ll address two kinds of topics here: definitions and assumptions. The former describes what we see at work in the model, and the latter lays the groundwork for understanding how it works, as well as why it’s worth the effort to stretch to grasp this new level of self-understanding. In our examination of the terms and concepts, please don’t expect succinct “definitions.” I’ll be as precise as I can, but these Jungian concepts are too elusive and multi-layered to describe adequately in a paragraph or two. Some of these terms are used slightly differently by the lay public, by Jungians, and by typologists. Although I’ll build upon Jung’s usage, my primary goal is to explain and clarify how I will be using these terms within the framework of depth typology. Some of what I have to say may not fit with your assumptions about how things work. We should always look at the assumptions we unconsciously bring to such an investigation, so I’m asking you to examine the filters through which you’ll be reading and evaluating. As we go through our daily lives, our understanding of the people,

information, and situations we encounter, and of ourselves, is profoundly skewed and restricted by many different kinds of influences. Typologists are aware of how our various types of consciousnesses affect our habitual modes of operating, and Jungians are aware of the influence of the collective unconscious. Multiple layers of social and cultural programming further influence the perspective of every individual. Such programming is ingrained in us by our family of origin, our regional and national cultures, religion, ethnicity, professional training, the general gestalt of our times, etc. Each of these layers of influence comes with limitations, biases, distortions, blind spots, assumptions, and emotional associations. Like our innate typological biases, these other factors unconsciously shape and define us.The more we’re aware of them, however, the less they hold us in their grip. Seeing past our own unconscious suppositions is never more important than when what we are trying to understand is ourselves. This book rests on a fundamental assumption. Simply put, it’s that conscious self-awareness is a good thing. By “self-awareness” I mean the ability to notice our emotions, thoughts, and motivating energies. I’m also making the related, but slightly different assumption, that self-knowledge is a good thing too. Self-knowledge helps us to understand those feelings, thoughts, and motivations. The ultimate goal of being self-aware is to put some psychic “space” between our subjective experience and our response. Such “mindfulness” enables one, as Jungian analyst Polly Young-Eisendrath (2010, November) puts it, to experience your own subjective experience without judging it, without immediately identifying with it, and without pushing it away. … This gives us that ability to actually check-in with our subjective experience, instead of just reacting out of our subjective experience. In this space, our self-knowledge can help us sort through our subjective biases and distortions.We are thus less compelled to respond based solely on our inherited and learned “autopilot” settings, but neither do we need to resort to the unhealthy self-trickery of denying that we have them. Some might argue that self-awareness is not for everyone—or even that it’s not really needed by anyone. It is, after all, challenging and often uncomfortable work. It calls on us to “own” emotions, thoughts, and desires, some of which are so foreign-seeming and distasteful to us that we don’t want to believe they are ours. Jung (1953/1966) granted that: “If one could only avoid them, then the emphatic advice of the Philistine to ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ would be the only truth worth advocating.” He went on to warn that “the art of conversation with oneself ” is not “necessary or even useful to any person who is not driven to it by necessity” (paras. 323-324). Many people do in fact appear to lead “unexamined lives.” They seem to have opted for an approach to life that requires that they not ask too many questions of themselves lest they lose the confidence they need to act effectively in the service of the ego’s agenda. They tend to look upon self-reflection as a luxury they can’t afford or even as a foolish waste of time, and they confuse self-awareness (with its potential to expand and strengthen the ego) with self-consciousness (which can undermine the ego). But I am convinced that the idea that anyone can live their entire life happily and successfully without selfexamination is an illusion—that it’s not really a question of whether selfawareness is needed but rather of when it becomes needed—that we are all eventually driven to it by necessity. We can go along, some for most of our lives, without doing the work of self-reflection. Just as some people (and some types) are more prone to self-reflection, some people (and types) seem better at coping without it. But sooner or later, everyone’s autopilot settings and unconscious assumptions fail to meet the challenges that life throws at us. At this point, “psychological mindedness”—looking honestly at the totality of our psychological experience, rather than just at what fits with our ego perspective— becomes crucial. A continued unwillingness or inability to notice and understand what’s really going on can only lead to distress and failure. If some level of true self-awareness is not reached, the individual will continue to find it a silly idea, even if their life falls apart as a result. They, and observers who share that mindset, will still not realize where the root of the problem (and solution) lies. Dysfunction is not necessarily dramatic though. It can be as commonplace and chronic as thoughts and behaviors that unnecessarily limit one’s capabilities, or attitudes that undermine our relationships, or poor decisions that are based on a false or incomplete understanding of the situation. Every one of us operates, to some extent, with such handicaps. But as I will demonstrate in various ways throughout this book, this is not a valid rationale for concluding that we should just accept such limitations and plod unconsciously on as best we can. Since you’re reading a book on psychological type, evidently you appreciate this and recognize the benefits of selfawareness and selfknowing. Understanding unconscious influences not only helps us lead more productive and fulfilling lives but it also helps us gain a clearer view of the psyche itself. The psychological type model itself grew

out of Jung’s efforts to understand how his own subjective biases, and those of Freud and Adler, might explain the differences between the three men’s theories. Through his sociological research, he also exposed many of the cultural biases of his own time and place. However, as any Jungian scholar can attest, he retained some of those 19th-century European biases, such as gender stereotypes, which limited and distorted some aspects of his understanding. So before we explore depth typology itself, we’d be wise to try to understand the factors that are influencing our own vision as best we can. We will be taking a critical look at these influences at various points throughout this book. In this first section, we’ll tackle the biggies, the prevailing wisdom of our times and the Collective Unconscious, and we’ll look at how these and other factors shape the context in which our individual personalities and personality types operate.

Chapter 1 ______________

“Depth Typology” Personality, as the complete realization of our whole being, is an unattainable ideal. But unattainability is no argument against the ideal, for ideals are only signposts, never the goal. — C. G. JUNG

I

coined the term “depth typology”to convey the reality that the realm of type, whether we call it “psychological type” or “personality type,” has now evolved to meld Jung’s depth psychology insights with Myers’ ego-oriented model and expand upon both. In the years since 1921, when Jung first published Psychological Types, generations of Jungians have clarified, tweaked, and augmented his “model of consciousness,” and many millions have benefited from its insights through the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator® assessment. But it wasn’t until Jungian analyst John Beebe began adding his insights in the 1980s, expanding the scope of the model, that it became a framework encompassing the whole psyche. I think of Beebe’s “eight function-attitude eight archetype” model as initiating a new generation of personality type models. Modern typology now relates our mental functions to both consciousness and unconsciousness, to both cognition and emotion, and to the fundamental dynamics of personality. Whatever additions or revisions or altogether new type models the future may bring, if they include the broad landscape that Beebe has incorporated, they too will be part of the new depth typology paradigm. Calling this expansion of the model “depth typology” is intended as an acknowledgment that it now covers essentially the same breadth of territory as Jung’s “depth psychology.” I’ve written this book with three kinds of readers in mind, and tried to make it challengingly informative, yet understandable, for each: type professionals, Jungian analysts, and laypeople who want to understand themselves and others better. I believe that a basic understanding of depth typology will be eminently useful to you, regardless from which of these backgrounds you’re coming from. For the layperson who is committed to developing more of his or her innate potential, personality type has long been an obvious and fertile area to explore. Its insight into our primary psychological strengths and challenges is well known, as is its ability to illuminate interpersonal differences and common ground. From depth typology, however, we also learn about the unconscious barriers we face—what’s behind our most stubborn obstacles and limitations and our most mysterious emotional challenges. Thus, it can now be used as a comprehensive “psychology lite” which, with a little help, anyone can grasp and use as an aid in meeting the practical challenges in their daily lives and as a roadmap to help guide their lifelong journey of personal growth. Many type professionals, including myself, find that presenting personality type in terms of the eight functionattitudes is simply an improved, more accurate way to teach the model, and that the eight archetypes add an important dimension that had been missing. But those who choose to teach using more simplified type models can also gain important advantages from understanding depth typology. Even if it never becomes the primary go-to tool in one’s toolkit, having it available gives type pros a significant advantage when they encounter those inevitable situations which can’t be adequately addressed through a more limited model. In my experience, its insights are particularly useful for resolving difficult type verifications and for helping clients in crisis. Conscientious type “verification” usually includes three elements: (1) The client completes a questionnaire (preferably an instrument of proven validity). (2) The client receives written feedback to consider—a description (“profile”) of their reported type. (3) The type professional discusses with the client which parts of the description resonate with them and which seem off-target, asks probing questions, and provides additional information to help them determine their best-fit type. Often, due to the parameters of the training, consulting, or coaching arrangement,

this session may be their only opportunity to help their client figure out their “true type,” so precise and vivid descriptions that quickly get to the essence of each type are crucial. Type assessments are based on self-reporting. A number of factors, well known to type professionals, can skew how a person responds to the questions. Furthermore, everyone develops in unique ways. We are individuals, not “types.” Even the highly regarded MBTI® instrument can thus only arrive at the correct type for about three of every four people. (This is an admirable success rate for a psychometric instrument. But it obviously cannot be taken as the final word.) And everyone has blind spots and illusions about themselves—aspects of their personality that they don’t see. So even if the assessment succeeds in capturing a person’s correct type, there are almost always parts of the profile that the individual feels don’t fit them well. The type reported via the instrument must, therefore, be treated as just the starting point for the process. An effective follow-up session with a well-trained type professional is essential for determining and confirming true type. In this process, only the client can decide whether or not the descriptions resonate with their experience and which type fits best. The professional’s job is to draw out personal insights and provide useful information. In this process, I find that descriptions of the traits and characteristics associated with the dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes are more helpful than descriptions derived from the two functions and two attitudes of the reported code—that they tend to be a little bit more sharply focused, thus providing greater clarity. For example, when the individual in question is an introvert, their dominant function is of the opposite dichotomy from that indicated by their type code. If they’re an introverted judging type, their innately most comfortable (and usually most developed) function is one of perception. If they’re an “I_ _P,” their go-to function is one of judgment. In many cases, this creates a contradiction between descriptions of Judging or Perceiving tendencies and the tendencies they experience through their dominant function.This common source of confusion can almost always be sorted out quickly when the coach talks in terms of the actual function-attitudes at work in the reported typology. I have witnessed even experienced type professionals finally identifying their true type after years of uncertainty when they read accurate descriptions of their preferred functions in their natural attitudes for the first time. The enhanced model is also particularly helpful when the client is facing some internal or interpersonal crisis which doesn’t match or respond to the insights provided by a more limited model. Some internal conflict or barrier is in play that is beyond the scope of the conscious functions. Unconscious functions and energies are at the root of much internal turmoil and many self-limiting thoughts, behaviors, and projections. Jung has taught us that consciousness is only the tip of the psychic iceberg, so it should come as no surprise that personal problems with roots in the Unconscious are far more common than those involving only our conscious functions. Since the Beebe model includes the unconscious function-attitudes of personality, as well as the archetypal energy patterns that accompany them, it gives us a framework for exploring that influential hidden part of us. The type professional may be able to use these deeper insights to help a client directly, or they may reveal a need to steer him to someone trained in psychotherapy. Either way, the type pro is able to go the critical extra mile for her client. For analytical psychologists too, depth typology offers a valuable addition to the toolkit. Depth psychologists deal mainly with unconscious factors. Until now, the scope of typology was limited to the conscious side of the psyche. It’s understandable that many Jungians have not seen much value in psychological type. Once he had created his model of consciousness in order to understand people’s primary “conscious stances,” Jung himself appears to have felt no need to extend it further. Myers’ writings show that she was quite aware that unconscious function-attitudes play important roles in personality. But her focus was on the conscious side, so she did not speculate about how the framework and dynamics of type might apply to the unconscious. Now, however, for the first time, typology can be fully integrated into the whole of Jung’s psychology—essentially as a framework overlaid upon Jung’s map of the psyche. Active imagination and dream interpretation, for example, can be significantly enhanced by an understanding of the eight basic archetypes of personality and how they relate to one’s unconscious functionattitudes. Jung worked out the basics of psychological type when he felt the need to better understand the various iterations of normal consciousness. Now, the same framework, extended, can help us to understand the normal unconscious as well.

Chapter 2 ______________

Science Old and New: Revising Our Assumptions There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. — WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

A

ny time we consider the nature of the human mind, we bring along our assumptions about the nature of reality itself. Whether or not they’re true, whether they serve us well or poorly, some of these assumptions are so fundamental and universally shared that we don’t even think about them, much less question them. But they influence how we think about everything. Jung developed his theory of psychological type to understand the biases and blind spots of the different types of consciousness of individuals. Likewise, he often noted the biases and blind spots that we absorb from the zeitgeist—the prevailing spirit and world view of a time and place—having found that more than a few of his observations did not fit with this “common sense” of his day. Many of the assumptions he challenged were those inherent in the sciences that developed in Europe roughly between the 15th and 19th centuries. They are anchored in the “classical mechanics” of Sir Isaac Newton and were articulated as a general philosophy by René Descartes. Science philosopher Owen Barfield (1957/1988) has pointed out that Aristotle articulated many elements of this kind of thinking in the fourth century BC, and the Cartesian perspective has gradually gained acceptance ever since. But it wasn’t until after the Middle Ages that it altogether replaced other mindsets to become the predominant world view. By the early 20th century, however, an increasing body of new evidence had accumulated, particularly in the arena of subatomic physics, which compelled scientists to search for a new understanding of the fundamental nature of our universe. This was the period in which Albert Einstein developed his theories of special relativity (1905) and general relativity (1915) and Planck, Bohr, Heisenberg, Pauli, and others hammered out quantum theory (1920s). Jung engaged in a long-term correspondence with Wolfgang Pauli, one of the pioneers of quantum physics. It seems safe to assume that Jung’s awareness of the shortcomings of Newtonian mechanics helped encourage him to challenge the assumptions of Cartesian reality. In fact, I see Jung as very much a part of the new wave of theorists who created what some have come to call the “new sciences” of the late 20th/early 21st century. Since Jung’s time, a steadily increasing number of phenomena that don’t fit with Newtonian explanations have been observed (largely due to modern technologies). New theories that encompass the new information have been formulated and validated. The object-oriented Newtonian model still provides the most serviceable explanations for what we see and experience in our “normal reality,” but for almost a century now, physicists have known that the “quantum” view provides a more accurate understanding of the actual fundamental nature of the universe. This new perspective tells us that “quantum” units of energy, manifesting in waves and fields, are the most elemental components of all things. And it tells us that what we observe is no more than a particular manifestation among multiple possibilities—predictable only in terms of its probability of occurring—not a static, reliable “known” phenomenon. Newtonian mechanics still serve us well for negotiating our daily lives. But as an underlying “theory of everything,” Newtonian thinking has long been relegated to the dustbin of scientific history. The Cartesian thinking that’s based on that model, however, still frames Western culture today. In Europe and most former colonies of European nations, the Cartesian world view is still the world view, determining our basic understanding of the nature of our universe, of human beings, and of our place in that cosmos. Elsewhere, even in cultures which have more cautiously integrated it with indigenous philosophies, it has become so influential that it can legitimately be considered the common philosophical view of modern humanity. But three aspects of Cartesian thinking are quite

problematic when it comes to understanding the psyche: 1) its mechanistic understanding of how things work, 2) its reductionist approach to learning about things, and 3) its objectification of all things. So before we explore Jung’s theories, we need to take a critical look at these assumptions and some of the revisions suggested by the new sciences.

THE CARTESIAN WORLD VIEW The Newtonian universe is one consisting of objects—atoms, people, plants, animals, minerals, planets, stars, etc.— exerting linear influences upon each other via mechanistic, measurable force. Several psychologically significant perspectives are corollaries of this view. The Cartesian perspective is materialistic. “It seeks to comprehend the world by focusing on what can be known through our physical senses. Anything real has visible and tangible physical form” (Wheatley, 1999, p. 10). Sure, we grudgingly accept as “real” some things that we can’t directly detect with our senses but only if their effects are tangible and undeniable. Gravity is considered to be a real thing, but energy auras are still generally viewed with skepticism, despite having been photographed for the past 75 years. We even assume that our deities conform, in super-human fashion, to the “rules” of a mechanistic universe.Modern brain imaging and genome mapping capabilities have neuroscience researchers searching for the physical “control centers” and genetic determinants of behaviors. And many personality type proponents look to the mapping of neural activity patterns associated with engaging the Jungian functions and attitudes as perhaps the only way to truly validate the theory. It is a world of linear cause-andeffect where we assume that if we have all the relevant concrete data, even the most complex processes can be described in flowcharts with arrows representing the forces exerted by tangible objects upon each other. Conventional modern Western science—and, by extension, our general world view—is reductionist in nature. It seeks to understand all things by studying their tangible components, just as we might expect to understand a mechanical device by examining each gear and lever. It assumes that each thing is a straightforward product of the properties of its components. The Cartesian view sets humankind, with its self-awareness, apart from all else. For there to be an object, there must be a conscious perceiver of the object. Mind is viewed as fundamentally different from, and ultimately superior to, matter. Cultural historian Richard Tarnas (2006) describes this aspect of the modern view: The systematic recognition that the exclusive source of meaning and purpose in the world is the human mind, and that it is a fundamental fallacy to project what is human onto the nonhuman, is one of the most basic presuppositions— perhaps the basic presumption—of the modern scientific method. Modern science seeks with obsessive rigor to “de-anthropomorphize” cognition. Facts are out there, meanings come from in here. (p. 19) Thus, “our true religion is a monotheism of consciousness” ( Jung, 1967, para. 51). We see the living world around us as separate from us, a thing that we label “Nature.” Even other human beings are separate from us. The conscious individual is the true center of all that is, and everything and everyone is defined by its relationship to “Me.” The concept of control is a corollary of this independent and superior positioning of individual consciousness. If we think of ourselves as separate, autonomous entities, then our relationship with “nature” becomes a battle to control its effects on us; our relationships with other people become questions of who controls whom; and our relationship with our own psyche becomes a matter of self-control.

THE NEW SCIENCES Paradigm shifts in physics and mathematics spilled over into other sciences until, by the second half of the 20th century, dramatic transformations were taking place in virtually every scientific arena, and new cross-discipline areas of focus had appeared, including “chaos” and “systems” theory. Insights from the new sciences call for reconsidering each of the three Cartesian assumptions outlined above: our materialistic/mechanistic mental model, reductionism, and objectivism.

Although the Newtonian model of a world of solid objects exerting straightforward forces upon one another serves us well for dealing with those solid objects, we now know that our Newtonian world is just a particular manifestation of a more fluid, far more complex, energy-based reality. As cellular biologist Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) puts it: [By the early decades of the 20th century,] physicists abandoned their belief in a Newtonian, material universe because they had come to realize that the concept of matter is an illusion, for they now recognized that everything in the Universe is made out of energy. Quantum physicists discovered that … every material structure in the universe, including you and me, radiates a unique energy signature. (pp. 69-71) Researcher Valerie Hunt (1989/1996) adds: We can say with assurance that a human being cannot be likened to a gigantic clock with everything predetermined by mechanistic wheels. The reality of the world lies in fields which interact with other fields of energy in dynamic chaos patterns that are always evolving to higher levels of complexity. This is an open system in which reality is tremendously complex. (p. 49) Rather than a universe of objects moving like ping pong balls, and forces working like levers and pulleys, the more accurate view starts with coherent fields of energy.Analytical psychologist and homeopathic physician Edward Whitmont (1993) described such fields: Morphic (that is, form-conveying) fields are nonmaterial regions of influence, extending in space and continuing in time, localized within and around the systems they organize. … They express the fact that the ultimate entities of existence are not unchangeable particles of materiality but information, field, shape and pattern. Out of these flow what our sensory experience mistakenly classifies as the only reality, namely substance. (pp. 58-59) For both Jungians and depth typologists, the idea that the fundamental nature of the universe consists of “information, field, shape, and pattern” resonates with our understanding of the nature of archetypes. This correlation suggests that archetypes may be the points of interface between human psyche and the basic energy configurations of the universe—and that, as Jung (1960/1969) put it, “the psychic lies embedded in something that appears to be of a nonpsychic nature” (para. 437). Thus, Jung’s hypothesized Collective Unconscious fits rather neatly with modern physics’ most advanced conceptualizations of the nature of reality itself. A second lesson from the new sciences relates to “reductionism.” The reductionist approach has yielded many important insights, but the new sciences have exposed its limitations. The discipline of “systems thinking” came into being to look at things from the opposite perspective. Systems science views every thing as a whole system—not only a product of its component parts, but also a product of their obscure relationships and interactions and the relationships and interactions of the system itself with its environment. In this view, each identifiable entity is not only a system unto itself, but in turn, also is a participating component of larger systems. And its components are systems as well. Whereas Newtonian science is object oriented, systems science is process oriented. We’ll get deeper into the ramifications of the systems perspective for psychology shortly. Another lesson that we can take from the new physics is its exposure of the fallacy of scientific objectivity. Debunking this notion has noteworthy ramifications for our ideas about the psyche itself. But we also need to examine how it relates to scientific research and theory in general. Despite the best efforts of its researchers (including Jung) to take an objective, “scientific” approach, psychology has always labored under the apparent disadvantage of being patently subjective. The discipline undeniably faces the conundrum of being an attempt by the human mind to study and understand itself. Many scientists from the “hard sciences”—those disciplines that deal with tangible, measurable phenomena where researchers study objects and forces and effects that are seemingly separate from themselves—question the validity of any discipline where the observations, conclusions, and theories are intrinsically personal. Some, therefore, tend to view psychology as not being a “real science” at all. The great reluctance of scientists to deal with subjective phenomena is part of our Cartesian heritage. Descartes’s fundamental division between mind and matter, between the “I” and the world, had us believing that the world could be accurately described without ever taking the human participant/observer into account. Such an objective description of nature became the ideal of all science. However, three centuries after Descartes, various early

twentieth-century experiments in particle physics showed us that this ideal of an objective science cannot be maintained when dealing with subatomic phenomena. It has since been broadly accepted that the notion of conscious objectivity is simply an artificial construct. Erwin Schrödinger’s 1935 thought experiment, known as “Schrödinger’s Cat,” illustrated this principle in a way that helps us layfolk get our heads around it. Imagine a live cat placed in a closed box. In the box, there is also a vial of poison and a mechanism that will eventually, at some unpredictable moment, break open the vial, thus killing the cat. According to quantum theory, at any point in time, the cat in the closed box must be considered to be both alive and dead, since both are real possibilities. But as soon is the box is opened and the cat is observed, either it is alive or it is dead. It is the act of observation that collapses the possibilities into a particular, previously undetermined reality. Schrödinger’s exercise may strike us as a clever bit of foolishness. We think: “Of course at any point in time the cat is either alive or dead; we just don’t know which it is.” But multitudes of experiments, including many variants of the well-known “double-slit” experiment with photons, have convincingly demonstrated that at the atomic and subatomic level, the nature and behavior of things literally are both one thing and another until we observe them. And new experiments and logical extrapolations indicate that this principle applies at the macro level as well—that the cat in the box really is both alive and dead, even though the idea is impossible for us to fathom. Now that we know about the “observer effect,” we accept that even in the most rigorous of scientific experiments, the very act of observing or detecting a phenomenon alters that phenomenon. “Objective observation,” and therefore pure objective science, simply does not exist. The idea of conscious objectivity is still useful but only as a description of a certain type of approach or perspective, not as a factual description of reality. In this light, psychology could be considered to have an advantage over the hard sciences in that its champions have always been aware of the inherent subjectivity of their discipline and done their best to take it into account. Archetypal psychologist James Hillman (1985) described this situation: In psychology we cannot make observations about any phenomena without being aware of the ideas by means of which we are making our observations. Ideas that we do not know we have have us. And then they shape our experiences from behind, unbeknown. Psychology’s job, it seems to me, is to see the subjective, archetypal factor in our sight, before or while looking at facts and events. Other sciences have to pretend to being objective, to be describing things as they are; psychology fortunately is always bound by its psychic limitations and can be spared the pretense of objectivity. In place of the obligation to be objectively factual, it is obliged to be subjectively aware, which becomes possible only if we are willing to have an exhaustive go at the assumptions in our primary notions. (p. 99) Jung tackled this challenge by supplementing his clinical observations with ambitious investigations into the psychological artifacts found in the myths, religions, and philosophies of recorded history and in surviving traditional cultures. By so doing, he could make a legitimate claim to scientific validity based on consistencies across cultures. But Jung went considerably further, essentially turning the Cartesian notion of objectivity on its head. He postulated that there actually is a perspective of true objectivity to be found in the psyche, however, it is the Collective Unconscious that holds that position. This is the part of the mind which was formed by coevolving with the conditions of our environment and continues to have a direct, non-subjective connection to the universal realities of human existence. Jung, of course, also noted that there is indeed a subjective perspective carrying biases from accumulated personal experiences, intellectual assumptions, and so forth—a personal perspective which must be taken into account. But this subjective perspective is the conscious, ego perspective—the very thing that Descartes trusted to be the objective observer and judge. And whereas the notion of conscious objectivity has been blown apart by the new sciences, the idea of an unconscious “objective psyche” (as Jung called it) has held up well, as we will explore at greater length shortly. Cartesian objectivity, in fact, had been psychologically flawed all along. As Tarnas (2006) puts it: Might this not be the final, most global anthropocentric delusion of all? For is it not an extraordinary act of human hubris—literally, a hubris of cosmic proportions—to assume that the exclusive source of all meaning and purpose in the universe is ultimately centered in the human mind, which is therefore absolute and special and in this sense superior to the entire cosmos? To presume that the universe utterly lacks what we human beings, the offspring and expression of that universe, conspicuously possess? To assume that the part

somehow radically differs from and transcends the whole? (p. 35) Such a self-centered delusion is reminiscent of the pre-Copernican assumption that the earth is the center of the celestial universe. But beyond being simply misleading, the Cartesian notion of objectivity carries a high psychic price. It places the individual consciousness on a cold, isolated pedestal, albeit at the center of its universe, with only its delusions of grandeur and control to give it solace. It trades our sense of connectedness, relationship, and belonging for a hollow illusion that is at first reassuring but is ultimately dysfunctional.This myth of objectivity comes into play in psychology in several different and important ways, which we’ll touch on as we go along. Revising this notion is perhaps the most crucial shift needed in our mental paradigm to embrace the insights of the new sciences, including Jungian theory and depth typology. An earnest effort to understand the psyche demands, as Hillman warned above, that we do our best to be “subjectively aware,” lest our “ideas that we do not know we have have us.”

SYSTEMS THEORY Unlike quantum physics, Newtonian physics is simple enough for the layperson to grasp its gist easily, and it is accurate and adequate for describing our normal, everyday physical experience and perception. But this view is not sufficient to encompass our psychological and spiritual experience and perception. It may seem to be; however, this is only because it is so embedded in our conscious perspective that we usually ignore or dismiss whatever doesn’t fit. Most, for example, still scoff at Jung’s claim that coincidences can hold meaning and importance for us. Jung saw our Cartesian bias as a critical blind spot and endeavored to craft a new psychology that meshed with the new information and theories of the emerging new sciences. It would be much easier for us to understand and embrace Jungian psychology if our world view could incorporate some basic lessons from current scientific theory. “Systems theory” provides a bridge to such an understanding. Unlike the counterintuitive physical phenomena of modern physics, such as those described by wave and string theory, the relationships and processes described by systems theory do fit well with our experience. If we expand our perspective to include the systems view, we can come to embrace and incorporate its implications into a revised notion of how the world—and mind—works. Boundaries are the first and most fundamental requirement for a functional system. The cell membrane, for example, is not only what delineates the cell but it’s also what makes it possible for the cell to function as a system. Before cell membranes came into being, there may have been living protoplasm but it was only after the creation of these biological boundaries that there could be living organisms— discrete living systems. The most important thing to appreciate about the cell membrane is its “selective permeability.” The primary function of this structure is to make judgments about what to allow to pass from the environment into the cell and what to exclude, as well as to enable the removal of the toxic waste products of the cell while retaining what’s needed. The cell’s survival depends on getting this tricky two-way interchange right. In fact, the survival of any living system depends on its ability to conduct ongoing self-maintenance (“autopoiesis”)—bringing in energy and raw material and converting it into usable form, repairing and replacing its components, and reorganizing itself to adapt to its changing environment. The process of conducting routine commerce with the environment characterizes “open systems,” whereas a system that is self-contained and isolated from its environment is a “closed system.” Living systems are not self-sufficient closed systems. They cannot survive without actively participating in their environment— collaborating and coevolving with it. In fact, living organisms are so active in this regard that they are considered to be “dissipative structures”—systems whose normal state is far from a static equilibrium, or “stasis.” Their healthy norm is one of active “dynamic balance.” This situation is not what we’d think of as a state at all but more like an ongoing, normally stable process. Physicist Fritjof Capra (2002) describes such a system as “a flexible, ever-fluctuating network. Its flexibility is a consequence of multiple feedback loops that keep the system in a state of dynamic balance. No single variable is maximized; all variables fluctuate around their optimal values” (p. 231). It’s not just energy and material that a cell exchanges with its environment, it’s information too. “Integral Membrane Proteins” (IMPs) are found in the outer membranes of every cell in the body (and elsewhere). Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) explains that a certain type of IMPs called “Receptor Proteins” reads and responds to “vibrational energy fields such as light, sound, and radio frequencies.”They regulate what is allowed to pass through the membrane. This changes in response to the cues the Receptor Proteins receive from the changing conditions in the

cell and its environment. Through this system-wide mechanism, “biological behavior can be controlled by invisible forces, including thought” (p. 53-54). Lipton concludes that IMPs are the “fundamental units of awareness/intelligence” (p. 167), and biophysics researcher Candace Pert (1997/1999) adds: “It’s not a matter of energy acting on matter to create behavior, but of intelligence in the form of information running all the systems and creating behavior” (p. 185). Thus, we can see the biological mechanisms of an omnidirectional communication network, both within cells and between cells in the larger system of the human body. The network reacts to energies, including psychic energy, and demonstrates intelligence in that it makes judgments based on these perceptions to respond in the best interest of the system. Pert (1997/1999) further speculated that the language of these processes may be the biological basis of what we call emotion. Neurotransmitters making their electrically fired leaps across brain synapses are just one part of a much more far-flung network of information carried by neuropeptides and their bodywide receptors. … these biochemicals are the physiological substrates of emotion, the molecular underpinnings of what we experience as feelings, sensations, thoughts, drives, perhaps even spirit and soul. (p. 130) Let’s pause to summarize some of the basic characteristics of living systems—characteristics that apply to how the human psychic system operates as well: • • • • •

“Innate intelligence” is dispersed throughout the system. Communication of information takes place via multiple modalities and in all directions. Information is obtained from both matter and various forms of energy, including thoughts and emotions. The system actively interacts with its environment, each adapting to the other and thus coevolving together. Yet amidst the flurry of interaction, exchange, and adaptation, the system retains a coherent identity.

If we want to understand the psyche, we cannot delude ourselves into thinking of it as a static, self-contained system, nor should we underestimate its active, dynamic, non-linear nature. It is truly a quantum phenomenon and viewing it from a Cartesian mindset simply doesn’t do it justice. Organizational development consultants Margaret Wheatley and Myron Kellner-Rogers base their work on the science of selforganizing systems. In A Simpler Way (1996/1999), they demonstrate how it’s possible to apply the complex dynamics of quantum systems to human psychology via a simplified formula.They see identity, relationship, and information as the key factors for all systems. Life organizes around identity. Every living thing acts to develop and preserve itself. Identity is the filter that every organism or system uses to make sense of the world. New information, new relationships, changing environments— all are interpreted through a sense of self. This tendency toward self-creation is so strong that it creates a paradox. An organism will change to maintain identity. (p. 14) They add: “Identity … is the self of the system that compels it toward particular actions and behaviors” (p. 85). It is through the creation and maintenance of identity, and the resulting consistency of actions and behaviors, that stable relationships are created between the organism and its environment—its neighboring systems and the larger systems of which it is a part. Thus, “environments are best thought of as sets of relationships organized by living things” (Wheatley & Kellner-Rogers, 1996/1999, p. 18). Information is essentially the raw material from which the identity and relationships are formed. Wheatley (1999) goes so far as to call information “the creative energy of the universe” (p. 93). I have found this fundamental triad—identity, relationship, and information—very useful to keep in mind when seeking to understand people and their interactions. The critical issue, of course, is whether or not they are accurate and sufficient. A system with access to accurate and adequate information, that has a true sense of what it is, and that forms relationships according to the real nature of itself and its neighboring systems, will stand a much better chance of thriving than one in which one or more of these factors is distorted or incomplete. But because peoplesystems have the complicating factor of consciousness involved, we routinely create distortions in one or all of these areas. We create egocentric ideas of who we are, rather than automatically operating from the position of our authentic Self. Because of this, we create relationships that are far from the ones that would develop if based on the true natures of all concerned, and we ignore or misinterpret available information. It’s easy to see that depth

psychology and typology relate to this fundamental challenge. We’ll delve further into the issues surrounding identity and identity confusion in Chapter 4, where we’ll consider Jungian concepts such as consciousness, ego, and self. First though, let’s look more closely at that paradoxical situation wherein the organism must integrate new material and information to adapt in an ever-changing environment—but without losing its essential identity—and at how this applies to the psychological system.

ME AND NOT-ME When living protoplasm first formed cell membranes, separating a “Me” from the “Not Me,” discrete living entities came into being. Cells could then operate as systems and begin to specialize, and complex, multicellular organisms became possible. We can see then that among Wheatley’s three keys, the most fundamental characteristic of any entity is its identity. This ability to maintain “Me-ness”—distinct from the organism’s surroundings and consistent in purpose and general characteristics—provides the stable platform from which information is processed and relationships are forged. No living system can exist in isolation from its surroundings. But neither can it survive for long if that environment influences it to become something other than what it is designed to be. Normal cells, like all not-conscious systems, simply are what they are, and therefore, their “brain-boundaries”do what they are designed to do, resulting in an efficient exchange of information, energy, and material with their environment. When consciousness becomes involved in defining the nature of a system’s border—defining and maintaining the “Me” and defining and responding to the “Not Me”—the relationships and interchanges become more flexible. Thus, human beings can override their instinctual reactions. But these essential processes then also become far less reliable. Inaccurate and incomplete perceptions come into play, and decisions are influenced by intellectual concepts and emotional associations. Modern humans have come to view the Not-Me with Cartesian objectivity—as a collection of lesser creatures, things, and forces to be dealt with, used, defended against, and ideally, controlled. When “Nature,” “it,” or “them” doesn’t cooperate with our ego-agenda, our relationship with our environment becomes overtly adversarial. All that does not support our artificial, conscious sense of Me comes to be seen as the threatening “Other.” Although our natural relationship to our environment is one of partnership, we often view it as war. Outside the human realm, such confusion is rare. As a rule, mice, trees, rocks, and stars don’t get confused about what they are. Their behavior, including their interaction with their environment, is consistent with their true identity throughout their existence. They simply are what they are and do what they do. When a not-conscious system is out of alignment with its environment, it moves to adapt itself to fit the reality. On the other hand, a system operating from conscious notions of “who I am” is more likely to try to change its environment—usually a futile and illadvised tactic. Of course, it is our relationship with the internal “not-I”that is the crux of the psychological issue for humans. A Native American creation story, documented in a report from the Canadian Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (1996), speaks to this issue. Here’s my abridged version: In the time before there were human beings on Earth, the Creator called a great meeting of the Animal People. When they had all assembled, the Creator spoke: “I am sending a strange new creature to live among you. He is to be called ‘Man,’ and he is to be your brother. But unlike you, he will have no fur on his body, will walk on two legs, and will not be able to speak with you. Because of this, he will need your help to survive and become who I am creating him to be. You will need to be more than brothers and sisters; you will need to be his teachers. He will not be born knowing who or what he is. He will have to search for that, and it is in the search that he will find himself. He also will have a tremendous gift that you do not have. He will have the ability to dream. With this ability, he will be able to invent great things and because of this, he will move further and further away from you and will need your help even more. But to help him, I am going to send him out into the world with one very special gift. I am going to give him the gift of knowledge of Truth and Right Action. But like his identity, it must be searched for, because if he finds this knowledge too easily, he will take it for granted. So I am going to hide it, and I need your help to find a good hiding place. That is why I have called you here.” The Animal People were all honored by the Creator’s request for their help. But because of the unique

nature of Man, the Creator had to reject each suggestion. Whether buried on the plains, hidden in the ocean depths, or taken to the moon, Man, with his clever devices, would find the great gift too easily and take it for granted. Finally, Mole, a creature who was always in touch with the Earth and had therefore developed true spiritual insight, spoke up: “I know just where to hide it, my Creator. Put it inside them,” said Mole. “Put it inside them because then only the wisest and purest of heart will have the courage to look there.” And that is where the Creator placed the gift of knowledge of Truth and Right Action. (pp. 105-106) Humans, with their mixed blessing of self-consciousness, are not only capable of identity confusion and operating out of sync with the gestalt, but most of us do so, to some extent, much of the time. We have, as Lakota elder Mathew King put it, forgotten our “original Instructions” (Arden & Wall, 1990, p. 29). Modern Western thinking places the Ego at the center of the Universe, fostering the delusion that conscious perceptions provide the only valid information and that right action can only be chosen through conscious, rational judgment. It further assumes that it is through the self-constructed, conscious idea of who we are that individuality is attained and “free will” is realized. But, although consciousness certainly has its important role to play in the human psyche and our individuality, the tyrannical supremacy of the Ego is the problem, not the solution. From the Ego-perspective, which serves as our conscious idea of Me, our “very special gift” feels like an internal Other. It is different, obscure, and often contradicts the conscious position. Because of this, our own Unconscious seems even more threatening than an external Other. We develop psychic tricks to keep it “out”; we over-defend against it; we project it onto other people. We fear this Other because we have not built a healthy interactive relationship with it. If I am defined by my conscious ego, then the ego-challenging part of me must be ignored, rejected, and resisted in every way possible. In reality, our conscious awareness, thoughts, and decisions come from a relatively limited part of a much more diverse and sophisticated psychological system. To attempt to operate solely from ego is to try to create a closed psychic system by building an artificial boundary wall around one corner of the natural system. Without a healthy exchange of energy and information, our perceptions and judgments about reality are greatly diminished. The typical Western ego maintains a stance of Cartesian objectification toward the internal Other, estranged and separated from this greater part of ourselves, and from the aspects of reality to which that unconscious part connects us. James Hillman (1985) observed that “a self-knowledge that rests within a cosmology which declares the mineral, vegetable, and animal world beyond the human person to be impersonal and inanimate is not only inadequate … [i]t is also delusional” (p. 109). And the same can be said when that cosmology views the natural world within as separate. Each not-conscious living system automatically follow sits programming: sorting information about internal and external conditions, responding accordingly, adapting as needed, and even passing on those adaptations to its progeny. Conscious human beings, on the other hand, have the wondrous ability to supersede their unconscious programming. As individuals and groups, we can accomplish things far beyond the scope of the survival and reproduction priorities of our “autopilot” settings. We appreciate our world, change it, relate to each other, learn, and evolve in ways that no unconscious organism can. But our capacity for consciousness did not coevolve with our environment over millennia. It’s a relatively recent development, overlaid upon our more primitive mind. It has only a limited grasp of reality. The information it works with is skewed, filtered, and incomplete; and the actions it chooses to take are not necessarily in our best interests. Consciousness is an essential part of the human condition, but it is by no means the source of the body/mind’s deepest wisdom. The key to any system’s stability and resilience lies in the richness, complexity, and diversity of the networks in which it participates. As conscious beings, we must learn to understand the paradoxical truth that our psychological boundaries “are not boundaries of separation but boundaries of identity” (Capra, 2002, p. 231). “We are not independent agents fighting for ourselves against all others. There is no hostile world out there [or in there] plotting our demise” (Wheatley & Kellner-Rogers, 1996/1999, p. 44). Rather than fearing and denying unconscious awareness, a healthy psyche is one that respects, differentiates, and incorporates (to the extent possible) its unfiltered, unconscious connection to reality. Acting solely upon our unconscious impulses, unfiltered by conscious awareness and rational judgment, would revert us to animal behavior. But acting solely from our conscious perceptions and judgments would—and does—lead us to foolish, self-defeating behavior and psychological turmoil, and to disastrous collective behaviors. It seems to me that the “Me versus Other” conundrum is at the heart of most of the personal and social dysfunction in our ego-centric modern culture. And because this is such a big part of the psychology of modern humans, a typology which encompasses both the ego-Me and the unconscious Other, and

provides insights into the dynamic relationship between them—that embraces all of the components and processes of the system that Jung called “self ”—is sorely needed.

AS WITHOUT, SO WITHIN The basic premise of systems science—that all systems, regardless of type or size, demonstrate certain common characteristics and behaviors because they are subject to certain common rules—has been around since ancient times. Applying what one knows about one system to another is a very old approach for scientist and layperson alike. Hermetic texts convey the principle as a golden rule which we commonly hear expressed as: “As above, so below” (or vice versa) and “As within, so without” (or vice versa). In Symbols of Transformation (1956/1967), Jung quoted the Tabula Smaragdina of Hermes: “Heaven Above, Heaven below, stars above, stars below, all that is above also is below, know this and rejoice” (para. 77). This is the sort of statement that tends to appeal to some personality types and turn off others. Many introverted intuitives, I suspect, find it eminently insightful and useful; while people with a preference for Sensing may find it hopelessly vague and silly. Certainly it would be foolish to assume that every characteristic of one thing also applies to another. But in a new scientific paradigm where everything from solid objects to psychic complexes is now viewed as coherent fields of energy, and these fields are known to exhibit common characteristics—such as the ability to carry and impart information, to attract like energies, to interact with and exert influence upon other fields, and even to operate with some apparent “purpose”—it would be equally foolish to assume that the different fields (systems) have no commonality. Fractal mathematics now enables researchers to investigate “subtle energy fields where Euclidian mathematics had not worked” (Hunt, 1989/1996, p. 53). Fractal algorithms contain iterative loops that repeat similar, but not identical, patterns over and over on an ever-increasing or decreasing scale. Essentially mathematical versions of the “as above, so below” principle, fractals are capable of describing the dynamics of non-linear systems as well as the evolution of systems over time and their relationships to their component subsystems and to the meta-systems of which they are themselves components. Fractal formulas can be graphically illustrated through computer programs thus helping us visualize how the principle works. Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) elaborates: Like quantum physics, fractal (fractional) geometry forces us to consider those irregular patterns, a quirkier world of curvy shapes and objects with more than three dimensions. … Inherent in the geometry of fractals is the creation of everrepeating, “self-similar” patterns nested within one another. … Each smaller structure is a miniature, but not necessarily an exact version of the larger form. Fractal geometry emphasizes the relationship between the patterns in a whole structure and the patterns seen in parts of a structure. For example, the pattern of twigs on a branch resembles the pattern of limbs branching off the trunk. (pp. 166167) Just as some properties of light can be explained only by particle theory while others only by wave theory, viewing our universe as fractal in nature is one paradigm among many that can help shed light on how it all works. To me, systems theory, the ancient golden rule, and fractal math are just different ways of expressing the same basic truth: that all things operate in fundamentally similar ways, apparently reflecting some inescapable “laws” of this universe. For those of us seeking to understand our world, whether our focus is on subatomic particles, the human mind, or the meaning of our existence, this view enables us to extrapolate from what we know about one system to hypothesize about what may be going on with another. But beyond that, the realization that, as Capra (2002) put it, “We share not only life’s molecules but also its basic principles of organization with the rest of the living world” (p. 69), cannot help but make us more aware of our intimate relationship to all things. Indeed, “the human organism no longer can be treated as an entity isolated from its cosmic gestalt” (Whitmont, 1993, p. 30). Whereas a Cartesian objective, personal universe implies that the conscious individual controls his fate, a subjective, transpersonal universe is one in which one can only influence his fate. The former gives the illusion of sovereignty and free will; the latter comes with the potential for authentic participation—as an individual and as part of something bigger—in life: a more subtle, but in the end, real independence. And with such a perspective comes a respect for other entities, for it becomes obvious that: “Life accepts only partners, not bosses. We cannot stand outside a system as an objective, distant director. There is no objective ground to stand on anywhere in the entire universe. … Systems do not accept direction, only provocation” (Wheatley & Kellner-Rogers, 1999, p. 97).

Jung noted that until recent centuries, most cultures were naturally intimately aware of the powerful forces surrounding them, and their world views reflected a corresponding humility and an attitude of collaboration. John Beebe points to “the Buddhist notion of dependent origination—that we are all interdependent with each other and with the Universe as a whole; and that we’re an ecosystem rather than a set of individual egos” (personal communication, December 23-24, 2010). Audrey Shenandoah, an Onondaga Elder, echoes the same view, saying, “There is no word for ‘nature’ in my language. Nature, in English, seems to refer to that which is separate from human beings. It is a distinction we don’t recognize” (Wall & Arden, 1990, p. 26). Most experienced Jungian analysts and type coaches are aware that intellectual understanding, verbal exchanges, and therapeutic or coaching techniques make up only part—sometimes not even the most important part—of the interchange between therapist and patient, coach and client. We delude ourselves if we think of ourselves as separated observers or “providers.”We are, rather, active participants in the process, interacting with our clients at levels of which we are not even aware—interactions perhaps best described in terms of energy exchange between coherent fields of influence. Our psychic energy—whether happy or sad, empathetic or angry, optimistic or depressed—directly affects the people around us, regardless of what we say or do. This argues powerfully for the importance of “doing your own work,” long recognized by depth psychologists, and it points to Jung’s psychology (a system which incorporates the holistic, dynamic, energy-oriented views of modern science and ancient wisdom) as the most suitable guide map for this self-exploration.

A HIGHER POWER If we live in a fractal universe, wherein all “things” are essentially coherent fields of energy interacting with each other, each manifesting its unique variant of a handful of universal patterns, then it would follow that those universal principles are the functional equivalent of a “higher power.” Such a notion is quite consistent with all but the most literal interpretations of all the world’s religions’ basic tenets. In delving into this area, Jung wasn’t attempting to create a new religion or philosophy, as some have accused, but rather, seeking to understand the common psychological foundations of all religions. Initially spurred, in part, by his desire to understand synchronicity (“meaningful coincidence”), Jung labored to grasp the nature of the higher order which that phenomenon implies. In Mysterium Coniunctionis (1963/1970), he concluded that: This much we do know beyond all doubt, that empirical reality has a transcendental background. … The common background of microphysics and depth-psychology is as much physical as psychic and therefore neither, but rather a third thing, a neutral nature which can at most be grasped in hints since in essence it is transcendental. (para. 768) And in Memories, Dreams, Reflections (1961/1963) he wrote: “Our psyche is set up in accord with the structure of the universe, and what happens in the macrocosm likewise happens in the infinitesimal and most subjective reaches of the psyche” (p. 335). Pioneering physicist Werner Heisenberg (1972) echoed the point, saying: “The same organizing forces that have shaped nature in all her forms are also responsible for the structure of our minds” (p. 101). Such observations speak not just to our biological evolution. They suggest a holistic process of physical/psychological/spiritual human evolution taking place concurrently and in partnership with the evolution of our environment and the Universe itself. The idea that a “higher power” is involved in how our minds work is more than just a philosophical sidebar; it has immediate pragmatic implications. If we accept that there are indeed some universal principles that influence all systems, then we can use evidence of such principles at work in one system to strengthen (not prove, but at least incrementally bolster) a hypothesis that the same principles are at work in another system. This is particularly useful, of course, when the system we’re investigating is one that defies direct observation, like the mind. The systole/diastole wave-like ebb and flow that we see in virtually every physical phenomenon, for example, lends additional credibility to Jung’s ideas on the “tension of opposites” and the resulting back-and-forth dynamics of the psyche.

DEPTH TYPOLOGY IN THE NEW COSMOS Half a century ago, theoretical physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer (1956) noted that “the worst of all possible

misunderstandings would be that psychology be influenced to model itself after a physics which is not there anymore, which has been quite outdated.” We need a new “consensus reality” (Angelo Spoto’s term, 1989/1995, p. 84) to live by; and we need a psychological framework that incorporates this new paradigm. The updated scientific view of our reality includes many insights that beg for revising how we view the psyche. In the new cosmology, all things in the universe, whether seen as systems, entities, or energy fields, appear to conform to certain common structural and behavioral patterns. These patterns seem to be governed by a handful of basic principles—“habits the universe got itself into” (Wheatley & Kellner-Rogers, 1996/1999, p. 48)—which are expressed in systems theory, in fractal mathematics, in quantum physics, in an ancient “golden rule,” and in Jungian psychology. These basic parameters include: •

•

• •

• •

•

All things, whether tangible or intangible, living or inert, simple or complex, tiny or gigantic, share a common basic nature—that of coherent fields of energy. The tangible, solid, sensory world that we experience (our “empirical reality”) is a manifestation of an energy-based “transcendental background” of interactive “morphic fields.” Whether we think in terms of tangible “things” or fields of energy, viewing them as systems helps us to understand their “dynamics”—their “processes”: how they behave and evolve and why they behave and evolve as they do. Identity, relationship, and information are the fundamental requirements of any system. Catalysts enable processes to become linked into networks. Networks of networks, systems of systems, become increasingly complex processes with increasingly complex structures. o These “living systems nesting within other living systems—networks within networks… communicate with one another and share resources across their boundaries” (Capra, 2002, p. 231). o Networks enable non-linear dynamics—omni-directional communication, influence, and interaction. o Nexus points (e.g., organelles in cells, the brain in humans) act as the connectors and clearinghouses for the networks. “Ecosystems achieve stability and resilience through the richness and complexity of their ecological webs. The greater their biodiversity, the more resilient they will be” (Capra, 2002, p. 231). “An ecosystem is a flexible, ever-fluctuating network. Its flexibility is a consequence of multiple feedback loops that keep the system in a state of dynamic balance. No single variable is maximized” (Capra, 2002, p. 231). Rather, all variables are optimized. All entities have “basic blueprints” that govern their essential nature but must then adapt that essential nature to reality in order to survive. “The environment serves as a ‘contractor’ who reads and engages those genetic blueprints” (Lipton, 2005/2008, p. 37, xiii).

These observations have profound implications when applied to the system that we call the human mind. Certainly the various disciplines of the new sciences provide evidence that supports many of Jung’s assertions, including those that sounded the most farfetched when he put them forth in the early 20th century. Jung envisioned a psychological system in which the Conscious and Unconscious are as real—and as illusory—as the empirical and transcendental realities they reflect. Consciousness is best adapted to processing and coping with the empirical experience of our day-to-day lives; unconsciousness has a greater capacity for connecting to the intangible background reality. Specifically, it is the Collective Unconscious that maintains an awareness of the energic reality around and within us. This awareness is represented to our conscious awareness through the metaphorical feeling-toned-idea imagery that we call archetypes. We each participate, as unique individuals, in the interchange of information/ energy with the other systems of our environment; thus playing our part in the unfolding of the universe. We are at once sovereign, independent individuals and inexorably entangled in interaction and relationship with all things. Our psychological role in this great dance is to become who we are capable of being—to “individuate.” In this, the selfreferential construct of conscious awareness, the individual Ego, is needed but easily becomes dysfunctional when it deludes itself into believing that the “Me” is separate from the energic processes of which it is a part. The healthy and whole psyche, like life itself, requires full and active participation. As with any other system/entity, the life of an individual human person is founded upon his or her identity. Most of our psychological and spiritual challenges and difficulties (and many physical ones as well) spring from our unique ability to ignore our true nature by ostracizing our unconscious side. Cognitive scientist Douglas Hofstadter (2007) writes: We are powerfully driven to create a term that summarizes the presumed unity, internal coherence, and

temporal stability of all the hopes and beliefs and desires that are found inside our own cranium—and that term, as we all learn very early on, is “I.” And pretty soon this high abstraction behind the scenes comes to feel like the maximally real entity in the universe. (p. 179) Because this self-invented “I” is so shaped by happenstance, intellectualization, social training, and emotional associations, it is a very unreliable foundation upon which to build our lives. On the other hand, whether consciousness itself is just a mirage or something more substantive, it is undeniably an important part of the human psychic system. Any experienced therapist would likely agree that that which remains unconscious exerts undue and unpredictable influence upon our lives, whereas that which becomes conscious can be integrated into our working psychology—into that “Me”—and intentionally put to use. The trick, then, is to lead conscious lives while remaining receptive to the messages from the Unconscious that pop up whenever our ego needs different kinds of input. A realistic understanding of the human individual’s place in the cosmos does not preclude individuality, meaning, or will at all—quite the contrary. The illusion inherent in Western thinking lies in how we’ve defined that individuality. If each of us was a swimmer in a powerful river, the Cartesian view would have us think of ourselves as separate from the river and from other swimmers. We would conceive of our purpose as consciously deciding where we want to go, and then fighting to get there. In such a scenario, most of our time and energy would be spent in battling against the current and fending off other swimmers and objects that impede our own set course. Life would be a struggle, and we’d have little chance of reaching our chosen destination. Even if we did get there, we’d probably be disappointed because the goal had been chosen based on limited information and a skewed approach to decisionmaking. But if instead, we were to pay attention to the eddies surrounding us, and cooperate with that powerful current, it would not constitute giving up our individuality and surrendering our will (though it might feel that way at times). We wouldn’t become mindless pieces of driftwood; we’d still be able to make choices—to swim. Our ways of choosing might change; our array of options would change too. But by collaborating with the flow surrounding us, we’d have greater success, we’d waste less energy, our lives would have genuine meaning and purpose rather than their illusion, and the journey would be far more enjoyable and fulfilling. Similarly, psychology, including typology, is a matter of attention to the subtle energies at work in us, around us, and upon us, rather than about bolstering our defenses against them. It’s about understanding and feeling what we can and facing and embracing what we can’t. It’s about cooperating and collaborating with forces vastly more powerful than ourselves rather than attempting to control them. Ultimately, our psychological mandate is to grow into who we can be rather than defend who we think we are. The part of our psyche that knows “the rest of the story”—that knows of the reality of our environment and our Selves and remembers the time-tested wisdom accrued by our ancestors—is mostly unconscious. Our wellbeing therefore depends upon our ability to consciously notice and integrate the input of the Unconscious—thus expanding the ego without undermining its strength and cohesiveness. In terms of psychological type, this means attending to the data unconsciously filtered through our undifferentiated perceiving function-attitudes, respecting the partially formed views of our undeveloped judging functions, and integrating these perspectives as much as possible into our conscious personality. Typological “balance” is about using our mental processes at their levels of “optimal value” for the overall functionality of the system. Functionattitude differentiation is the psychological manifestation of system thinking’s “emergence of new structures” within our self-organizing psychic system. It is the typological face of our individuation into evermorefully-integrated iterations of our possible selves. Since Beebe’s model encompasses the whole personality system, we now have a typology that speaks to how each personality is formed and how each person’s thinking and behavior is influenced by all eight of the functionattitudes. This enables us to use personality type as a tool for understanding the unconscious, as well as conscious, aspects of our personality. It factors in the powerful influences of the collective unconscious; it even includes an understanding of the relationship of emotion to personality type. In other words, we now have a true “depth typology”—a whole-system framework capable of integrating the breadth of Jung’s “depth psychology” into type and lending the insights of type to analytical psychology. What excites me most about typology’s new ability to tap more directly into Jungian psychology is that Jung put together a comprehensive theoretical framework of human psychology which, to my knowledge, is still the only theoretical system that encompasses, incorporates, and helps us understand virtually everything we know about the

human condition—including the explosion of scientific knowledge in the ninety-plus years since Psychological Types was published. In my view, Jungian depth psychology is the closest thing we have to a workable “new science” understanding of the mind. Many of Jung’s insights were ahead of their time, dismissed by the keepers of the conventional wisdom of his day. Though now undergoing a renaissance, as our cultural world view begins to catch up, many of Jung’s insights are still difficult for us to grasp. For those of us without the years of Jungian education and training of analytical psychologists, depth typology provides the opportunity to gain a working understanding of Jungian psychology, and it gives us a practical tool that we can use both professionally and in our own development.

Chapter 3 ______________

Psychological Type: Evolution of the Model I think the theory of the four functions has a kind of practical value, but it is not a dogma. Jung, in his books, very clearly puts it forward in this way, as a heuristical standpoint—a hypothesis by which you can find out things. — M-L. VON FRANZ

T

heories are attempts to explain what we see and experience. They deal with what’s behind what we observe— with the question: “Why does this work the way it does?” Theories are created to help us understand processes and forces that we can’t observe directly. Since we can never “prove” them, we can only decide whether or not they serve us. In The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962/1996), Thomas Kuhn summarized what makes for a sound and useful theory: •

•

•

• •

Accuracy: A good theory adequately explains related observations and experimental results. The theory doesn’t necessarily need to perfectly and incontrovertibly explain everything. If well-designed and verified experiments directly contradict a theory, the theory may be rejected. But often anomalies that don’t quite seem to fit can be explained by a revised interpretation of the theory. If not, but they don’t disprove the core of the theory, the anomalies simply may be filed away as something to be looked into, but without necessarily discarding the theory, particularly if there is no better theory available. Consistency: The theory isn’t self-contradicting in any way and is consistent with other validated and accepted theories. If there is a conflict between theories, then either one of them has to go or a higherlevel theory is needed which encompasses both and explains the seeming inconsistencies. Breadth of scope: It has consequences beyond the specific phenomena that it was initially designed to explain. For example, I may develop a theory on why my car is running poorly, but its appeal and usefulness is quite limited unless it also helps other people understand other vehicles with similar symptoms. Simplicity: The simplest possible explanation is not only the easiest to understand but it also tends to be the one with the broadest implications. Fruitfulness: The theory leads to new insights.

“Type theory” consists of a bundle of interrelated theories. The very existence of conscious and unconscious realms within the psyche is theoretical, as is the proposition that perception and judgment are the two basic cognitive activities of humans and that we have two fundamental options for how we can approach each of these tasks. Individuation, the tension of opposites, Self, Persona, and the Ego are all theoretical constructs; and the list goes on. Because so many complex and elusive theoretical suppositions are embedded in psychological type, most of us who use type “applications” have an incomplete understanding of the nuances and implications of the theoretical fundamentals. This can lead to misunderstandings and even misuse, so I will note some of the key theoretical cornerstones of type in the next few chapters. But even if we completely understood the theory, we might still be left asking: “So what? How does all this apply to real life?” “Models” tie theory to the pragmatic, connecting it to specific observable phenomena and suggesting practical ways to use that knowledge. Rather than focusing on why things act the way they do, models describe the patterns of behavior. Because models are real-world oriented and honed in on specific situations, they are not expressed in the abstract, broad language of theories; they describe narrow ranges of phenomena using concrete language. “Type

models” thus enable us to better understand, operationalize, visualize, and even quantify type theory. They tell us how type works in the real world. Because they’re more concrete, models seem more “real” than the underlying theories and are therefore easier for us to grasp. But models are still a step removed from reality. They are representations—simulations— of how the theories can logically be expected to play out. As Alfred Korzybski reminded us, “the map is not the territory.” Models are concrete expressions of theories; but theories, by definition, are never as complex as the reality they portray. Type models, for instance, describe typical cognitive habits and enable us to make generalized predictions and even to perform statistical analyses of large groups of people. But to expect them to tell us exactly how any individual thinks and operates, where so many unique and unpredictable variables come into play, would be to misunderstand the nature of models—to underestimate how limited these artificial constructs are—to mistake the map for the territory. Jung emphasized this point in Civilization in Transition (1964/1970): 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 experience is necessarily statistical; it formulates an ideal average 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. … If, for instance, I determine the weight of each stone in a bed of pebbles and get an average weight of five ounces, this tells me very little 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. … Not to put too fine a point on it, one could say that the real picture consists of nothing but exceptions to the rule, and that, in consequence, absolute reality has predominantly the character of irregularity. (paras. 493-494) In writing about the difficulties of taking a scientific approach to the psychology of the unconscious, Jung noted that it is the same for any investigation of “the unknown and invisible,” including many areas of that ultimate concrete science, physics. But the psychologist can venture forward by imitating the approach of physicists: It is not a question of his asserting anything, but of constructing a model which opens up a promising and useful field of inquiry. A model does not assert that something is so, it simply illustrates a particular mode of observation. ( Jung, 1960/1969, para. 381) Which “mode of observation”—which theoretical framework, methodology, and set of guiding theoretical principles —we use for understanding human psychology depends largely on what works best for the specific application or situation. Personality type speaks to many aspects of the personality (and the more sophisticated the type model, the more aspects it encompasses). But type models are only models, and there are considerations that type users must always keep in mind about their scope and limitations: • •

• •

No type model encompasses all there is to personality— and certainly doesn’t include every aspect of the psyche. Jungian typology (including the MBTI framework) theorizes about that innate and coherent “Core Me” of personality. Though it has ramifications for behavior, it is only indirectly and tenuously related to such “observables.” Individuals’ life experiences further influence how the function-attitudes of one’s type show up as behaviors and traits. Even if the theoretical model itself were 100% correct, an individual’s patterns of action and thought would not always be consistent with a description based on their innate typological framework.

SOME CONTEXTUAL CONSIDERATIONS Applying modern scientific methodology and standards to psychology presents unique challenges. Fritjof Capra (2002) quotes psychologist R. D. Laing as describing “a true science of consciousness” as one that would have to be a new type of science dealing with qualities rather than quantities and … based on shared experience rather than verifiable measurements. The data of such a science would be patterns of experience that cannot be quantified or analyzed. On the other hand, the conceptual models interconnecting the data

would have to be logically consistent, like all scientific models, and might even include quantitative elements. (pp. 45-46) What Laing described is just what Jung set out to do: My prime need is to grasp complicated conditions and be able to talk about them. I must be able to differentiate between various groups of psychic facts. … I therefore have to rely on simple schemata which on the one hand satisfactorily reflect the empirical facts, and on the other hand link up with what is generally known and so find acceptance. ( Jung, 1960/1969, para. 386) Jung clearly took extraordinary pains to take into account the subjective biases inherent in this endeavor. Psychological type itself grew out of his efforts to investigate the possibility that the differences between his theories and Freud’s and Adler’s might be explained by the three men’s subjective biases. He concluded that: The assumption that only one psychology exists or only one fundamental psychological principle is an intolerable tyranny, a pseudo-scientific prejudice of the common man. People always speak of man and his “psychology” as though there were “nothing but” that psychology. In the same way one always talks of “reality” as though it were the only one. Reality is simply what works in a human soul and not what is assumed by certain people to work there, and about which prejudiced generalizations are wont to be made. Even when this is done in the scientific spirit, it should not be forgotten that science is not the summa of life, that it is actually only one of the psychological attitudes, only one of the forms of human thought. (1921/1971, para. 60) He also noted the influences of the overarching Cartesian cultural bias. He even lectured his fellow psychologists on the dangers of becoming enamored with any theory (including his), writing, “I for my part prefer the precious gift of doubt, for the reason that it does not violate the virginity of things beyond our ken” (1953/1968, para. 8). Marie-Louise von Franz acknowledged Jung’s open-minded approach when she described him as: a pioneer [who] remained fully aware that an enormous number of further questions remained unanswered and call for further investigation. This is why his concepts and hypotheses are conceived on as wide a basis as possible (without making them too vague and all-embracing) and why his views form a so-called “open system” that does not close the door against possible new discoveries. ( Jung, von Franz, & Freeman, 1964, p. 304) As we use our modern versions of Jung’s psychological type model, we would be wise to be mindful of its inherent “open system” nature and remember to view its “ideal averages” with the same humility and flexibility with which Jung and his successors viewed them. With the development of the “uncertainty principle,” modern physics came to grips with the fact that even physical events cannot be predicted with complete accuracy—that it is more realistic to speak in terms of probabilities. So if even the most concrete and tangible aspects of our world are “fuzzy and always a bit uncertain” (Hunt, 1989/1996, p. 41), then it would clearly be a mistake to expect a model—a simplified representation—of psychological properties and processes to be clearcut and immutable. Jung was a clinical psychologist for his entire career. First at the Zurich psychiatric hospital, Burghölzli, and later in private practice, his primary information source was always the psychic material presented to him by his patients. He often took pains to emphasize the importance of an orientation to such real world experience. In the forward to the seventh Swiss edition of Psychological Types, for example, he wrote: I am first and foremost a doctor and practicing psychologist, and all my psychological formulations are based on the experiences gained in the hard course of my daily professional work. What I have to say in this book, therefore, has, sentence by sentence, been tested a hundredfold in the practical treatment of the sick and originated with them in the first place. (1921/1971, p. xiii) But he also happened along at a time when the application of modern scientific thinking to matters of the mind was in its infancy. It could be argued that there was still no generally agreed upon fundamental “paradigm” (Kuhn’s term, 1962/1996), no standard for what constituted valid research methodology and credible evidence in this emerging new science. So Jung joined Freud, Adler, Janet, and dozens of others, in the task of figuring out the basic

constructs of this new field. Like all the others from the late 19th and early 20th centuries who are noted in modern Psychology 101 texts as “pioneers” in the field and “fathers” of various schools, he was pushed by necessity (and likely also by typological inclination) to be a theorist. In this, Jung was ambitious— relentless in his pursuit of an understanding of what he observed in his clinical practice and determined to extrapolate the basic psychological principles at work. To test and flesh out his empirical observations, Jung investigated whatever he thought might lend additional insight, incorporating disparate ancient religious, mythological, and philosophical texts; traveling to interview the keepers of Native American, African, and Ayurvedic cultural traditions; using the language and concepts of alchemy; and exchanging insights with theoretical physicists. As a result, Jung’s work, perhaps more than any other psychologist to date, incorporated a vast and eclectic sampling of mankind’s historical, cultural, and scientific diversity of experience. The basic theories that underpin psychological type have now stood the test of time. Though augmented and refined by many researchers and theorists, Jung’s original principles remain the best current explanation for much of what we see and experience. In terms of Kuhn’s standards for evaluating theories—accuracy, consistency, breadth of scope, simplicity, and fruitfulness—psychological type seems even more robust and impactful today than it was at its inception.The resilience of Jung’s model is rooted in the extensiveness of his empirical experience with clients, his open-minded consideration of that input, his ability to apply keen critical analysis to those observations, and his ambitions research into recurring historical and cross-cultural psychological patterns. But it is another aspect of Jung’s approach to his work that, to me, argues most strongly for his personal credibility and the veracity of his insights. When it came to exploring the foreboding shadow of unconsciousness and traveling the intimidating path toward individuation, he didn’t just theorize or speculate; he wasn’t satisfied with maintaining his safe egocentric position as teacher and therapist, advising others. He “went there” himself—and could therefore speak from personal experience. Jungian therapist John Giannini (2004) quotes from Sonu Shamdasani’s Cult Fiction: Between 1912 and 1918 … [ Jung] formulated his most wellknown theories—of psychological types, of the archetypes and the collective unconscious, and of the process of individuation. It was precisely at this time that he began to develop what became known as analytical psychology. In so doing, he re-formulated the practice of psychotherapy. No longer simply concerned with the treatment of the sick, psychotherapy became a means of higher personality development of the healthy. (p. 292) During this period, Jung experimented with active imagination and play therapy, techniques for encouraging unconscious content to come forth into consciousness. As his understanding of the nature of dreams expanded, his interest in his own dreams deepened. This inward journey is chronicled in The Red Book. In light of the groundbreaking insights that it fomented, his example serves as powerful evidence of the importance of personal experience for adding depth and empathetic understanding to intellectual insight. It also helps us place psychological type in the larger context of Jungian depth psychology. Psychological Types was his first major work published after this period of intense introspection; and, as pointed out by Shamdasani, the other conceptual cornerstones of his “analytical psychology”—individuation, the collective unconscious, and archetypes—came together for him essentially concurrently with psychological types. Clearly, the type framework was an important element of his evolving picture of the structure and dynamics of the psyche. The trajectory of development of type theory since then has consistently been one of expansion, elaboration, refinement, and the exploration of its nuances and ramifications. But the development of the models through which we understand and apply the theory has not been so linear. It has been more like a proliferation of random branches, hiding the straight and sturdy tree trunk from view. This apparent randomness is to be expected. Since models are all about applying the theory to specific real-world scenarios, the nature of the models we develop or use depends on the situations we want to apply the theory to, on how we want to use the model, and of course, on the personalities of those who develop and use them. Many models that relate to psychological type, such as Keirsey’s “Temperaments” and Berens’ “Interaction Styles,” have been created, each with a particular focus and use. Here, however, I will concentrate on the models that are expressions of the major advancements in the underlying theory itself: the type models of Jung, Briggs and Myers, and Beebe. Any thorough treatment of the evolution of the type model would have to begin many centuries before Jung, with the many “philosophers” who contributed ideas and elements from which he drew. In Psychological Types, Jung himself cited scores of such antecedents, and Jungian historians have pointed to many others. From 1921 to today,

hundreds more have added their insights. In two of his works, John Beebe (2004, 2006) mentions many of these contributors and their contributions. To these lists we can add the researchers whose studies have been reported in the Journal of Psychological Type over almost four decades, the authors of works mentioned in the MBTI® Manual’s references section, as well as others whose past and current contributions are also significant. Any attempt to write a truly comprehensive history of psychological type would be a formidable task and require a book-length report dedicated solely to that purpose. And any attempt that I might make to note just the “major” contributors would simply be too subjective and arbitrary. In noting specific points, I will cite several of these other major contributors, but as we trace the sea-change landmarks in the evolution toward depth typology, the important thing to realize is that it has been a group effort. Todays’ models are the product of many hundreds of smart people and a lot of diligent observation and research, not just the few people I will mention.

JUNG’S MODEL When Jung developed his theory of psychological type, he took a temporary step back from the exploration of the Unconscious, the breeding place of all psychoses and neuroses according to his mentor, Sigmund Freud. The principal editor of Jung’s Collected Works, Richard Hull, quotes Jung explaining years later: This work sprang originally from my need to define the ways in which my outlook differed from Freud’s and Adler’s. In attempting to answer this question, I came across the problem of types; for it is one’s psychological type which from the outset determines and limits a person’s judgment. … It … thus constitutes a psychology of consciousness regarded from what might be called a clinical angle. ( Jung, 1921/1971, p. v) Discovering that differing “conscious attitudes” explained the differences between the psychological theories of Freud and Adler had led Jung to see that such different “types of consciousness” explained much of what he observed in his clients as well: What with [Freud’s] sexual interpretation on the one hand and [Adler’s] power drive of dogma on the other I was led, over the years, to a consideration of the problem of typology. It was necessary to study the polarity and dynamics of the psyche. ( Jung, 1961/1963, p. 155) It is this polarity principle—and the resulting dynamics of tension, inflation, compensation, and individuation—that places typology firmly within Jung’s overall conceptual map of the psyche. Thus, Jung had worked out critical details about the starting point for investigating all things psychological: the normal conscious perspectives that individuals bring to any situation. He had identified several different types of normal psychologies. Each consisted of a preferred “superior” function (either a function of perception—“sensation” or “intuition”— or a function of judgment—“thinking” or “feeling”) and a preferred attitude of “extraversion” or “introversion.” He then went one step further, noting that, “Each of these function-types varies according to the general attitude and thus eight variants are produced” (1921/1971, para. 957). He went on to describe each of these “variants” in detail in Chapter 10 of Psychological Types. His descriptions are based solely upon the “peculiarity of the predominating conscious function” (para. 903), as seen in individuals of “pronounced type” (para. 3). In the language of modern-day type-users, he presented examples of extreme, lopsided type development—of people whose consciousness is virtually synonymous with one dominant “function-attitude” (Henry (Dick) Thompson’s term, 1996). In order to create clear pictures of these eight functions of consciousness, he had drawn caricatures of eight types of people. Jung had accomplished his initial purpose for this line of inquiry, plus a whole lot more. His eight psychological types, based solely on the eight function-attitudes in a “superior” position in individuals, were sufficient to give him a psychology of consciousness that was consistent with his observations and that would enable him to better understand what he saw. From there, he could proceed with developing his other ideas about the content, complexes, and dynamics of the overall psyche. So, although he noted that “in every pronounced type, there is a tendency to compensate the one-sidedness of that type” and that this “gives rise to secondary characteristics, or secondary types,” he apparently did not feel the need to try to further sort out this more complicated “picture that is extremely difficult to interpret” (1921/1971, para. 3). But Jung did realize that there was more to the story than eight superiorfunction personalities. In The Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious (1959/1969a), he noted that: “The manifestations of the unconscious do at least show traces of personalities” (para. 507); and reasoned, “Why, then,

should not the whole have personality too? Personality need not imply consciousness. It can just as easily be dormant or dreaming” (para. 508). But a further fleshing-out of the model itself was left for others. The legacy left by Jung included the four functions and two attitudes and the eight function-attitudes (aka “mental processes,” Haas and Hunziker, 2006, or “cognitive processes,”Berens, 1999). It also included the beginnings of a conceptual framework (the three dichotomies of perception, judgment, and orientation), and a wealth of fundamental theoretical principles from which others have since built more comprehensive typological models. These principles included: • • • • •

•

• •

The healthy psychic system is balanced in every aspect and contains mechanisms of compensation and growth to maintain or regain that dynamic equilibrium. The existence of “opposites” is a fundamental reality in all aspects of the system. It is the tension between these opposites that pulls us both toward balance and toward growth. Extreme and/or prolonged imbalance is the root of most ineffectiveness, dysfunction, and aberrant thoughts and behaviors in normal personalities as well as of many neuroses. The part of us that is conscious, and conscious of being conscious, though important, is a small and comparatively impotent outgrowth (a “secondary phenomenon”) of a vast, archaic, and active Collective Unconscious. It is through the process of differentiation, the bringing of unconscious content into consciousness that our lifelong psychological task of individuation—becoming the individual that we have the potential to be—moves forward. Unconscious material is carried by primitive energic complexes, best recognized and understood as archetypes. Like the Superior function, the seven relatively “inferior” function-attitudes of any given type can, at least in theory, be differentiated from the collective unconscious mishmash and brought forth into consciousness to be integrated around the center point of consciousness, the Ego, and can then be engaged with conscious intention.

With such principles, Jung laid out the dynamic basis that has led to all of the subsequent refinements of the type model. His descriptions in Chapter 10 of Psychological Types were insightful and are still informative, but the practical framework—the model— that he created was limited to the eight Superior function-attitude types, as illustrated in Figure 1.

Figure 1. Schematic illustration of Jung’s model of psychological type. Cursive font indicates the typology for an ISFP example, in terms of this model.

MYERS’ AND BRIGGS’ CONTRIBUTIONS Katharine Briggs, who had been researching and developing her own system of type differences before Jung’s work was published in English in 1923, was among the first to interpret and augment Jung’s psychological types model. She quickly embraced Jung’s concepts, recognizing them as congruous with her own. As she and her daughter, Isabel Briggs Myers, adapted these concepts into an assessment tool “to make the theory of psychological types described by C. G. Jung … understandable and useful in people’s lives” (Myers, McCaulley, Quenk, & Hammer, 1998, p. 3), they added a new orientation dichotomy of “perception” (P) and “judgment” ( J), based on Briggs’ work. Their other hugely significant addition to the model was the auxiliary function-attitude. Based on Jung’s many statements about balance and compensation in the psychic system, they reasoned that a second function would likely be relatively conscious and developed as well, and that this “auxiliary” function would be opposite in its J/P orientation and in its habitual extraversion/introversion (E/I) attitude. Thus, this second-most favored function would balance and complement the lead function of the personality, the “dominant.” As Myers (1980/1995) famously put it: “The need for such supplementing is obvious. Perception without judgment is spineless; judgment with no perception is blind. Introversion lacking any extraversion is impractical; extraversion with no introversion is superficial” (p. 174). Following Jung’s hints, they also identified the third and fourth functions and the attitude of the fourth. The fourth function-attitude, they called the “inferior” in keeping with the work of Hillman and von Franz. They were less confident about the attitude of the third, “tertiary,” function. Jung’s guidance on this point was not definitive and Myers’ extensive testing of the MBTI instrument did not provide an answer either. In the MBTI® Manual (1998), Myers’ editors note that “several views regarding the attitude typically used by the tertiary function have been proposed.” They further state that they had chosen to “assume” that the tertiary, like the auxiliary and inferior, takes on the opposite attitude from that the dominant function (p. 30). But they footnote this choice with an acknowledgment of other plausible theories: that the tertiary takes the same attitude as the dominant, or that it may take either attitude, “depending on circumstances or individual habits.” In creating the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator® (MBTI®) assessment tool, they laid the groundwork for a complete typological framework. Their addition of an auxiliary function-attitude expanded Jung’s eight types into sixteen; and Myers’ identification of the tertiary and inferior functions for each type further sketched in the basic structure of the modern-day model. In Gifts Differing, Chapters 1 and 2, and in the MBTI® Manual, Myers explained the theoretical principles from which that framework was created. It is clear that she was mindful of the importance of distinguishing between each function when used in an extraverted versus an introverted mode. In fact, she noted that her descriptions of “the extraverted and introverted forms of the processes” in Chapter 8 of Gifts Differing are based on Katharine Briggs’ early work with Jung’s theory. But the MBTI instrument itself was designed to sort for functions and attitudes, not function-attitudes (though the functionattitudes can be deduced from MBTI results). It makes sense that the instrument would be designed in this way because the differences between the functions and attitudes (between Thinking and Feeling and between Extraversion and Introversion, for example) are more obvious than the differences between the function-attitudes (e.g., between extraverted thinking and introverted thinking, or between extraverted feeling and introverted feeling). Since identifying people’s type preferences was the goal, simplicity and clarity were essential, and obviousness was the primary consideration. Myers (1980/1995) wrote: “Since the more superficial aspects of type are often the easiest to report, many trivial reactions are useful for identification.” But she emphasized that these “trivial reactions” “are merely straws to show which way the wind blows” (p. 23). Briggs and Myers made dramatic contributions to the theory of type. Anyone who carefully reads Gifts Differing and the MBTI® Manual will come away with an appreciation for type theory that is in many ways more sophisticated than what Jung originally put forth. Unfortunately, however, the use of the simplified terminology of functions and attitudes and the focus on easily observable behavior patterns (“traits”) in the MBTI questionnaire led many of those who embraced the Myers-Briggs model to think in these terms as well—and to assume that these are all there is to personality type. The Myers-Briggs model, as perceived by many type users, is considerably less sophisticated than the supporting Myers-Briggs theory. As Giannini (2004) puts it: Since typology is so easily useful as a practical system, we can become “addicted to the external,” to a stereotypical language of traits. … However, typology is also a sacred language that describes “our

vulnerable complexity,” and encompasses a far-reaching theory with its multiplicities of human understanding and complex behaviors. (p. 3) Myers and Briggs brought the model of psychological type to a higher level of refinement, but at the same time, the four-letter form in which they presented it fostered an over-simplified interpretation by many MBTI users. This understanding of psychological type (or “personality type” in Myers-Briggs parlance) focused on the four letters themselves and became known as the “preferences model.” Thus, our ISFP example would be thought of by many as a person with preferences for Introversion, Sensing, Feeling, and Perception and described in terms of the characteristics of those two attitudes and two functions. The more subtle differences between a function when habitually engaged in an extraverted attitude versus engaged in an introverted mode and the importance of the hierarchy of function-attitude preference were not well understood even by many skilled users.

Figure 2. Schematic illustration of the Myers-Briggs™ model of personality type. Cursive font indicates the typology for an ISFP example, in terms of this model.

But even though many users did not fully benefit from some aspects of Briggs’ and Myers’ advancements of the theory, the fact remains that the mother-daughter team virtually revolutionized the model. Figure 2 illustrates the Myers-Briggs model, as applied to an ISFP type.

BEEBE BRINGS DEPTH TO THE MODEL In 1983, Jungian analyst John Beebe began publicly introducing a model that encompasses a more extensive package of Jungian type theory than any previous iteration had. This “eight function-attitude eight archetype”model is built upon the same framework and principles as the Myers-Briggs model, including the “preferences” interpretation, but refocuses typology on the Jungian function-attitudes. We will explore this model in detail in Chapters 6-8; but we’ll note its four most significant innovations here. The Beebe model: • • • •

Reintroduces the function-attitudes as the basic functional units of typology. Extends the preference hierarchy for each type to include all eight function-attitudes, including those that typically remain undeveloped and unconscious. Completes the pantheon of archetypal energies that tend to carry the function-attitudes. Lays out the basic dynamics of type in terms of “axes” of related compensatory pairs.

Beebe used Briggs’and Myers’framework and Jung’s principles to detail the natural sequence of preference for all eight function-attitudes of each type. The preferences view of Briggs’ and Myers’ model portrayed the ISFP type, for example, as having a preference for introversion, sensing, feeling, and perception; Jung would have seen the same person simply as an introverted feeling type. Beebe, in effect combining the two frameworks, revealed a typology of dominant introverted feeling (abbreviated Fi) supported by extraverted sensation (Se) with introverted intuition (Ni), extraverted thinking (Te), extraverted feeling (Fe), introverted sensation (Si), extraverted intuition (Ne), and introverted thinking (Ti) all contributing to the personality in lesser roles.

Beebe thus expanded the framework to include the “Shadow” side of personality. He also added a layer to this framework that had never before been directly connected with any model of Jungian typology: the fields of emotional energies, the “archetypes,” that are as much a part of personality as the function-attitudes. Within this single model, we now have a simplified outline that incorporates virtually all of Jung’s psychological theory, and a guide map for understanding people’s innate differences, commonalities, gifts, and challenges—a map that includes new territory and many previously missing details. Thus, Beebe’s model offers both greater breadth and greater depth of insight than any previous type scheme. The very idea of applying a type framework to the Unconscious is not only the most innovative and impactful aspect of this model, it is also its most unorthodox. After all, Jung’s original intention was to identify the basic “types of consciousness.” And Myers too focused on the side of personality that is normally more conscious and developed. But personality is clearly determined not only by our conscious, habitual modes of operating but by the unconscious functions and energies that influence who we are and how we behave as well. So it seems to me that what Beebe has done is to simply take Myers’ and Briggs’ paradigm of personality type the obvious next step. The Unconscious, as we will note at length in the next chapter, is considerably more powerful than the Conscious, impacting our lives and who we are in a plethora of positive and negative ways that we hardly even notice— much less understand. An expansion of the type model that enables us to better comprehend this shadowy side of us is enormously significant and holds vast potential for fostering greater self-understanding, selfmanagement, and understanding of others. Myers, Briggs, and others had added more flesh to the bones of Jung’s psychology of consciousness; but no one before Beebe had ventured to extend the map of typology beyond the inferior (4th) functionattitude, the “gateway to the unconscious.” Jung (1959/1969b) even expressed skepticism about the possibility of doing so, arguing that: “A total description of the personality is, even in theory, absolutely impossible, because the unconscious portion of it cannot be grasped cognitively.” But in the same paragraph, he acknowledged that “a total picture … of the conscious personality … would have to include these … features which are unknown or unconscious to the subject” (para. 7). In other words, we can’t really understand consciousness unless we understand unconsciousness as well. These two “sides” of us are inexorably linked and constantly interacting, each influencing the other. They are not separate systems; they are parts of a single system. Jung also underscored the importance of understanding the role of our unconscious side, writing that he regarded “the problem of the unconscious as so important and so topical that it would, in my opinion, be a great loss if this question, which touches each one of us so closely, were to disappear from the orbit of the educated lay public” (1953/1966, p. 3). He also made a very specific and revealing observation regarding the idea of unconscious functions: Historically as well as individually, our consciousness has developed out of the darkness and somnolence of primordial unconsciousness. There were psychic processes and functions long before any ego-consciousness existed. “Thinking” existed long before man was able to say: “I am conscious of thinking.” (1959/1969a, para. 500) To this Jung added that “the most decisive qualities in a person are often unconscious and can be perceived only by others, or have to be laboriously discovered with outside help” (1959/1969b, para. 7). Since, as a psychotherapist, John Beebe’s role is to provide “outside help,” it is understandable that he might seek a better understanding of these unconscious “processes and functions.” It appears that Jung’s seeming inconsistency regarding whether or not typology can be applied to the unconscious was due to how he conceptualized the functions and attitudes of type—a definitional constraint that was both justified and, on the other hand, unnecessarily limiting. It was justified in that, of course, one cannot view and treat unconscious function-attitudes as we do conscious ones. They are “relatively independent” “personified complexes,” which “cannot be integrated into consciousness while their contents remain unknown” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para.339); and they,therefore,lack many of the recognizable differentiated characteristics and the intentionality of conscious function-attitudes. Hillman (1971/1979) articulated the Jungian definition of a function as: Something that performs, operates, acts. It is a process going on through a certain period of time. … We develop a characteristic structure through habitual performance … a relatively unified, relatively consistent and habitual pattern of performance which enjoys itself in its activity, a pattern of performance … that likes to be exercised. (p. 75) Shadow function-attitudes do sometimes demonstrably “perform, operate, and act” in ways that can be recognized.

But undifferentiated from the rest of the unconscious gumbo, they are certainly not “unified” or “consistent.” Hillman (1971/1979) explained this distinction in terms of functions versus complexes: Because functions can be conceived in this developmental way, they are appropriately conceived in Jung’s psychology as the functions of consciousness. They belong to the development of the conscious personality, forming part of the ego, its consistency, its habits, unity and memory, its characteristic way of performing. Functions are part of the intentionality of consciousness. … Functions are therefore later phenomena than complexes in the growth of the individual. Complexes also function and have reactions and habits—push the same button, get the same response. Functions, however, are classically conceived in Jungian thought as aspects of the ego-complex, even if thinking or feeling may be associated with anima or animus, shadow or mother-complex, etc. (p. 75) Nevertheless, as precursors and seeds of the developed functionattitudes, the unconscious function-attitude archetypal energy complexes do play important, identifiable roles in our personalities. And, given the importance of the Unconscious in our lives, especially as it relates to our dysfunctions, it would be foolish to miss an opportunity for insight into its dynamics simply on the basis of unnecessarily limiting semantics. As Giannini (2004) points out, “Both in experience and theory, Jung never intended that typology be considered purely a conscious psychology, as he sometimes described it, but one that is present in every dimension of Soul” (p. 33). Perhaps we could get past this technical, definitional difficulty simply by referring to the undeveloped function-attitudes by another term— something like “archetypal function-attitude-precursor complexes.” Of course, such an awkwardly worded and conceptually complicated label would never stick. But we can continue to use the familiar terms and convenient framework of type for looking at the Shadow if we simply stretch the classical Jungian definition while bearing in mind that the unconscious, undifferentiated function-attitudes truly are very different in nature from their conscious, developed forms. Another potential misconception that we need to be careful about relates to predictions about type development. A linear hierarchy may appear to imply that degree of differentiation, sequence of development, and ease of use of the function-attitudes tends to follow this same ordering. But Beebe makes it clear that this is not the case, and he argues that the natural path of individuation does not usually follow the sequence of preference. No one claims that typebased developmental schemes predict which function-attitudes will be developed into conscious use for an individual. What they can do is lend insight into how such development tends to work. So a scheme of type dynamics that includes both the Conscious and Unconscious, as well as emotional energies, does hold implications for the natural progression of function-attitude development. Thus, understanding this scheme can enable us to better understand and deal with developmental roadblocks. We’ll explore the implications of Beebe’s model for type development in Chapter 8. For now, we’ll just note that typological development is not a blackand-white matter of conscious, fully-developed function-attitudes on one side versus unconscious function-attitude archetypal complexes on the other. It’s actually a picture drawn in many shades of gray. It is more accurate and useful to think of each function-attitude as being integrated with ego to the degree that it is conscious, while at the same time, it will have a shadowy and independent nature to the degree that it’s unconscious. If we did not have some ability to develop and leverage even our leastcomfortable function-attitudes, our ability to survive in this world would be severely compromised. Extraverted Sensation, for example, is the mode of consciousness in which we focus on the details of our present environment. Those of us without a natural preference for engaging extraverted sensing, if we were completely unable to access Se, would be far too dangerous to allow behind the wheel of a car. As Beebe (2004) puts it, “All of [the functions] are required because life itself presents problems that are already differentiated in such a way that only a particular function of consciousness can solve them” (pp. 89-90). Figure 3 illustrates the dynamic arrangement of all eight function-attitudes in Beebe’s model for comparison with the earlier models diagrammed in Figures 1 and 2. We’ll explore the details and implications of this configuration in Chapters 6 and 8.

Figure 3. Schematic illustration of the Beebe model of personality type. Cursive font indicates the typology for an ISFP example, in terms of this model.

It took some time for even its most enthusiastic early supporters to shift their mindset to the expanded framework of the Beebe model. But over the following two decades, some aspects of the model (primarily the concept of functionattitudes and the accompanying hierarchical framework) steadily spread through the type community and beyond as the first-generation adopters integrated them into their presentations and publications. (See: Thompson, 1996; Berens, 1999; Hartzler & Hartzler, 2005; and Haas & Hunziker, 2006.) Now, the function-attitudes are found commonly throughout type literature, in presentations, and in conversations among type-users. But the aspect of Beebe’s model that is entirely new to most type-users, the archetypes, is only now beginning to gain mainstream understanding and acceptance. Douglas Hofstadter (2007) observes: “My brain (and yours too …) is constantly seeking to label, to categorize, to find precedents and analogues—in other words, to simplify while not letting essence slip away” (p. 278). “Spin doctors” of every ilk, from politicians to public relations professionals, recognize the power of controlling the conceptual framework. Indeed, as linguist George Lakoff (2004) put it: “Once your frame is accepted into the discourse, everything you say is just common sense. Why? Because that’s what common sense is: reasoning within a commonplace, accepted frame” (pp. 115-116). Scientific models are frames created for the purpose of revealing truth, not distorting it. But each model of personality type inevitably carries distortions. In addition to reflecting the assumptions and perspectives of its creator’s personality and of the cultural zeitgeist from which it springs, every type model must make the compromise suggested by Hofstadter: the greater its simplicity, the more is lost of the essence of the psychic system it represents. So it’s important that we always be aware of the frame through which we’re viewing personality and, whenever possible, use the model that best enables us to understand what we see. Jung reminded us: “My typology is far rather a critical apparatus serving to sort out and organize the welter of empirical material, but not in any sense to stick labels on people at first sight” (1921/1971, p. xiv). And John Giannini (2004) adds: Typology is not a mere measuring instrument useful for naming of personality traits, but rather a practical, dynamic system of vital interactive structures that constitute the complex pattern of outer human relationships and internal depth factors that Jung called the Compass of the Soul. Typology honors both a rich order and a creative disorder that emerges from the Soul’s mysterious depths. (pp. 2-3) The Beebe model has arrived and now faces the predictable challenges that come with popularity: misunderstanding and misuse by proponents and critics alike. We all would like our models to be simple, concrete, and absolute; so we often tend to interpret their basic tenets over-literally, overlook important details, and expect to be able to apply them like cookie-cutters. Though the Myers-Briggs assessment tool opts for simplicity, the 1998 edition of Myers’ Introduction to Type notes that the sixteen types “describe dynamic energy systems with interacting processes” (p. 7). Such a dynamic system would clearly be challenging to capture as a comprehensible model. But with its wholepersonality scope, a growing number of type-professionals and Jungians view Beebe’s model as the framework best suited for understanding these nuances of personality and as simply the latest advance in the evolution of the type model—true to the principles and theories of its predecessors, but more refined, informative, and comprehensive.

The live dynamics of psychological type—dynamics described by Jung, von Franz, Hillman, Myers, Beebe, and many others—embrace and explain a plethora of perceived exceptions and outliers. Now that Beebe’s enhanced whole-type model is available to us, it has become much easier to understand how apparent anomalies actually are consistent with the fluid dynamics of the elegant system of personality type. For my part, I have yet to encounter any individual personality quirk that couldn’t be explained through the deeper understanding provided by Beebe’s model. Beebe’s contribution has been to extend and reframe type in a way that embraces the depth of Jungian psychology, yet remains understandable to non-Jungians and congruent with Briggs and Myers’ simple code. Dr. Beebe has made it possible, for the first time, for personality type professionals to apply the model beyond the traits, gifts, and challenges of the developed, conscious preferences. And for the first time, depth psychologists can fully integrate the dynamics of Jungian psychological type with the entire scope of Jungian psychology. We will explore Beebe’s model in detail a little later in this book, but first, we need to clarify a few of the terms we’ll be using. These are concepts that are only vaguely understood by most personality type users, but they are crucial to understanding how type fits with the overall functioning of the mind. Jungian analysts and scholars will be familiar with these concepts already, but probably not with how they relate to psychological type.

Chapter 4 ______________

Key Terms and Concepts My concepts are … nothing but names for certain areas of experience. — C. G. JUNG

O

ur understanding of psychological type can only be as sophisticated and accurate as our understanding of the terms and concepts we use for describing it. These are terms that will be used throughout this book, representing concepts that are the cornerstones of depth typology. Even though we all use such terms as “unconscious” and “self ” often, most of us have only a hazy understanding of what they mean. “Psyche” itself is a pretty complex and elusive concept, so these aspects of the psyche can never be definitively nailed down; there will always be gray areas. But it’s well worth the effort to explore and try to define them for our purposes as best we can, so we can at least minimize the confusion when we use them. Even trained Jungians, who are probably more familiar with them than I am, need to understand how these terms are used in relation to personality type. You may have already noticed that I am not consistent in my capitalization of these aspects of the psyche. Jung, who coined some of these terms, rarely capitalized them; yet most Jungians do. This is due in part to the Germanic convention of capitalizing all nouns. But it’s also because we tend to want to make our abstractions as concrete as possible—to treat them as if they are something tangible.So Jung’s concepts quickly became viewed by many English speakers, reading translations of Germanspeaking Jungians, as proper nouns: “the Unconscious,” “the Ego,” “the Persona.” But when the principal English translator of Jung’s Collected Works, Richard Hull, discussed this issue with Jung, the decision was made to use the lower case. I interpret Jung’s preference for the lower case as his way of underscoring that he viewed “unconscious,”“ego,”“persona,” etc. as non-substantive notions—functionally “real,” but not things per se (as implied when used as proper nouns). In keeping with this convention, I generally have chosen to use the lower case, to keep us mindful that they are just descriptive ideas. But although they’re not palpable entities, I do capitalize the terms whenever it’s more convenient to speak of them as if they were. Either way, we’re talking about the same thing; and I appreciate readers’ patience with my quirky inconsistency. As we look at these terms, our goal is simply to agree on concepts that are useful—that are consistent with what we observe, support our ability to understand what’s going on, enable us to communicate effectively with each other about it, and foster applications and research. Debates about their correct definition may go on forever. But, while such discussions can be useful and interesting, they should not be allowed to detract from the opportunity to use these concepts to advance our understanding of the human condition.

PERSONALITY Instead of using Jung’s descriptive “psychological type” label, Briggs and Myers talked about “personality type.” Perhaps this was to avoid copyright problems with Jung, or just to emphasize that their framework contains elements (such as the judging/perceiving dichotomy) that are not explicitly included in Jung’s model. Or maybe it was to make it more appealing to the public. In any case, their use of the concept “personality” to delineate the model’s territory necessitates a closer examination of the term. In Jung’s lexicon, “personality” is a fairly general term, basically meaning “individual.” Jung conceived of it as a goal to strive toward, saying: “Personality, as the complete realization of our whole being, is an unattainable ideal” (1954, para. 291). Jungian personality is the potential personality that lies embedded in the territory encompassed by depth typology: conscious and unconscious, ego and shadow, cognition and archetype. This idea of personality

sounds a lot like Jung’s concept of “self.” “Self ” encompasses all of who we are and so does “personality.” But though Jungian personality may never actually be achieved, it is a more concrete, pragmatic idea than self. For Jung, personality is the active, developed, in-the-world ideal manifestation that could be attained if the self were brought to full fruition. In my opinion, Jung’s broad definition of the term justifies using “personality type” interchangeably with “psychological type”—especially now that Beebe has expanded the type model to include all the territory of Jungian personality. In contrast to Jung’s concept, current common usage does not treat personality as an ideal. Instead, it’s a label for who we currently are. It describes “what you see” and “what you get.” It correlates with the current state of development of the personality. It is more useful to typologists, however, to stick with Jung’s definition, for only then can we make the basic assertion that an individual’s personality type remains unchanged throughout his or her lifetime. How that typology manifests does change, as some unconscious function-attitudes are differentiated and integrated with the ego. So by the layperson’s understanding, the “what you see” “personality” does change. But if we are to consider personality type to be synonymous with Jungian psychological type, we must use the term “personality” as Jung did to mean the whole of the individual potential person. By this definition, personality can be said to evolve but not change as we develop—just as any system adapts but retains its core identity. And it is because of this unifying consistency within each individual that we can speak of their innate characteristics. Our mental and behavioral habits (traits) are part of our personality, but they are not the central thing. They are emanations from that hypothetical central constancy that anchors our innate personality.

CONSCIOUSNESS Jung’s Psychological Types was a departure from the Freudian focus of the times: investigating the nature of the unconscious. Jung felt that first he needed to understand the nature of the consciousness that is doing the investigating. As he said years later, “I considered it my scientific duty to examine first the condition of the human consciousness” (1957/1987, p. 69). And because our focus will be on the different types of consciousness, we need to understand the basic concept of consciousness itself. We should note again that although it is often convenient to talk about “the Conscious” and “the Unconscious” as if they are tangible things or psychic “territories,” we need to keep in mind that it’s more accurate to treat them as descriptive terms for different kinds of psychic activities. Thus, these terms are more properly used as adjectives and adverbs. We’re on firmer ground saying, for example, that we’ve taken in certain information unconsciously or that we’ve engaged in a conscious act than if we say that the Unconscious or the Conscious perceived or acted. Throughout this book, I use terms like “awareness,” “attention,” and “noticing” to refer to acts of conscious perception. We can, of course, be unconsciously aware too. We see this in therapy or hypnosis when something “new” comes to light (into the realm of consciousness), but we realize that we actually “knew” it (unconsciously) all along. We’ve all had the experience of being unable to recall a term or name but later remembering it. Though unable to bring it into consciousness initially, we had retained the information unconsciously. Lacking broadlyaccepted different terms for unconscious versus conscious perceptions, however, I’ll use these familiar terms when referring specifically to conscious awareness unless otherwise noted. Consciousness and unconsciousness are the structural keystones of modern psychology. Yet when it comes to defining exactly what they are—or proving that they even exist—psychology theorists and researchers, neurobiologists, and philosophers since time immemorial have come up short. Almost everyone would agree that these conceptual labels do reference psychic realities. Our perceptions and thoughts can pretty easily be separated into these two categories.There is information that we “consciously” notice and we can intentionally perform rational mental manipulations, i.e., we can think about stuff and make decisions to take actions that are different from our automatic reactions. There is also ample evidence that we take in a lot of information that we don’t consciously notice and that unconscious thoughts, emotions, and programming are part of us too. And we know that we can become consciously aware of material that was initially unconscious. As I look down at my desk, I may focus on my pen and notice that it’s running low on ink. I may decide to check to make sure I have a replacement available, and if not, make a note to buy more. These are clearly mental processes that are conscious. But my brain may have also registered the other objects on the desk without me consciously realizing it, so that later, when I need my cell phone, I may recall seeing it on my desk.

Our best definitions of consciousness are always unsatisfyingly circular, as in Descartes’ well-known “cogito ergo sum” (I think, therefore I am). Fortunately, even when we can’t “prove” the existence of something or agree on all the details of its nature, we can still use it as a theoretical construct to aid in our understanding and promote our investigations. There are two things about consciousness on which most everyone can agree. The first is that the prefrontal cortex of the brain plays a crucial role. Brain imaging technologies show that it is so actively involved in conscious human reasoning that without it, it seems unlikely that such rational thought could take place. Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) writes: “Humans and a number of higher mammals have evolved a specialized region of the brain associated with thinking, planning, and decision-making called the prefrontal cortex, … apparently the seat of the ‘self-conscious’ mind processing” (p. 104). The prefrontal cortex is a relatively recent evolutionary development and is comparatively large in primates and very small or entirely absent in other species. So although it might be presumptuous to assume that other animals have no capacity for mental activity that’s at least roughly analogous to consciousness, it’s safe to say that consciousness as we know it is a specialty of higher primates and is most developed in humans. The other thing that we know about human consciousness is that it depends upon and revolves around the ego.The “I”in “I think, therefore I am” is, by definition, the ego. Without ego as its reference point, what we think of as consciousness could not exist. Jung (1921/1971) wrote perhaps his most succinct and clear description of this relationship in Psychological Types, explaining that: “Consciousness is the function or activity which maintains the relation of psychic contents to the ego” (para. 700). We’ll look more closely at “ego” shortly, but for now, we’ll just note that the ego is conceived as the subject of consciousness. It is the thing that is self-aware. So if I say that “I am a conscious organism because I am aware that I exist,” the “I” in this sentence is the ego, defined and limited by its conscious self-awareness. The “psychic contents” alluded to in Jung’s statement include unconscious material too. Consciousness is the perspective from which we deal with it all. Beebe (2004) writes: “Jung had grasped that psychological consciousness was not just a knowing about, or a construction or reconstruction of, but (as the etymology of the word ‘consciousness’ suggests) ‘a knowing with’ unconscious reality” (p. 86). Imagine standing in the middle of a clearing amidst an endless primordial forest. The “Me” in the clearing is a pretty good analogy for the ego; and as “I” look around, the clearing and its contents are like my realm of consciousness. I can see and engage with everything there. I perceive it and am aware of perceiving it; I can think and feel emotions about it and be aware that I’m doing so; and I can decide to take action. If there is water, I’m aware of it and can drink; if there are flowers, I may feel emotions of wonder and appreciation; if there is a pack of wolves, I may fear them and decide to hide. All the information in the field of consciousness is available to me. I may not see the tiny ants; and if I am facing east, I can’t see what’s to the west. But I can kneel down to see the ants or turn around to see the sunset. Or perhaps I’ve already seen these things, so I can bring them back into consciousness from my memory. “Consciousness” is that awareness that is aware that it is aware. Beyond the clearing, in the murkiness of the forest of unconsciousness, the water, flowers, and wolves, though no less real, are mostly hidden from my ego’s-eye view. The resources and threats—what Jung calls “content” or “material”—within this limitless jungle, dwarf the visible content of the clearing in numbers and potency. But our only clues that they even exist are glimpses of their shadows as they occasionally wander through the edges of our field of vision. The sheer volume of the material of the unconscious, plus some of its other characteristics (which we’ll look at below) attract a proportional lion’s share of the attention from most Jungians. But consciousness has unique and indispensable characteristics as well. That tiny “clearing in the woods” serves key functions that distinguish us as sentient beings. “In the final analysis the decisive factor is always consciousness, which can understand the manifestations of the unconscious and take up a position toward them” ( Jung, 1961/1963, p. 187). This unique ability to understand and respond in “rational” ways is what gives us the capacity to operate at a level that is beyond simple animal instinct. As psychology teacher and writer Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (1990/1991) puts it, consciousness is “a clearinghouse for sensations, perceptions, emotions, and ideas, establishing priorities among all the diverse information. Without consciousness … we would have to react … in a reflexive, instinctive way” (p. 24). Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) takes it a step further: “The conscious mind offers us free will, meaning we are not just victims of our programming” (p. 138). But even this almost god-like capability is but a half step removed from its primitive origins—an “emergent property of the unconscious” (Beebe, 2004, p. 87), a “secondary phenomenon” ( Jung, 1961/1963, p. 348), rather than an independent, sovereign, a priori aspect of the human condition.

Whenever we attempt to study the human psyche, we always must be mindful that we are peering at it through a device with a limited field of vision. We are limited not only by our cultural biases and our typological preference for consciously noticing certain kinds of information and processing it in certain kinds of ways, but we also are limited by the nature of consciousness itself. As Jung (1961/1963) put it, In the living psychic structure … everything fits into the economy of the whole, relates to the whole.That is to say, it is all purposeful and has meaning. But because consciousness never has a view of the whole, it usually cannot understand this meaning. (p. 246) We must therefore consciously “digest,” “assimilate,” and “understand” ( Jung’s terms, 1953/1966, para. 253) what we can; but do so with an attitude of humility born from a realistic assessment of the limitations of that consciousness. Obviously, when the framework of type is laid over the map of the psyche, it is those function-attitudes that have “differentiated” that fall in the territory called the Conscious. But which function-attitudes would these typically be? To Jung, this would include the Superior function-attitude only. But Jung never pursued type as a developmental model nor as an internally-dynamic system. For traditional, modern type practitioners, consciousness would typically include both the dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes; and most would consider it possible (perhaps even likely) that by middle age, the tertiary and inferior, in that order, will be developed into consciousness to some degree as well. Most users of the Beebe model would agree that the dominant and auxiliary are likely to be fairly conscious, but they see development beyond this basic toolkit as normally following a rather circuitous route through the less conscious function-attitudes. They also would point out that no function-attitude (FA) ever becomes completely conscious and under ego control, and likewise, no FA remains completely unconscious. They would be more inclined to think in terms of the degree to which the various function-attitudes are conscious or unconscious for an individual at a given point in his or her life rather than assuming that they are either one or the other.

EGO Freud introduced the term “ego” as part of his structural conceptualization of the psyche. In his scheme, it is ego that mitigates between the instincts of the “id” and our internalized social morality championed by the “super-ego.” In adopting the concept of ego to his own structural scheme, Jung shifted the emphasis to its relationship to the phenomenon of consciousness. He spoke of its role in forming, maintaining, and thus also in defining and defending consciousness. The Jungian Ego, like Self, is an “essence of ” concept. It’s the hypothetical “strange attractor” around which the psychic field, consciousness, coalesces. Jung (1959/1969b) wrote that: We understand the ego as the complex factor to which all conscious contents are related. It forms, as it were, the centre of the field of consciousness; and, in so far as this comprises the empirical personality, the ego is the subject of all personal acts of consciousness. (para. 1) To Jung, the ego is a mental construction that we create, not a preexisting component of psychic reality. The potentiality for ego exists in all human psyches, even for newborns; but until conscious content collects around that point and gives it character and form, it can’t be said to exist in a structural sense at all. I think of ego as “Me,” with the quotation marks signifying that rather than “who I am,” ego is really “who I believe myself to be”—“who I think I am.” Ego is closely related to the Conscious, but should not be confused with it. In Aion (1959/1969b), Jung wrote: When I said that the ego “rests” on the total field of consciousness I do not mean that it consists of this. Were that so, it would be indistinguishable from the field of consciousness as a whole. The ego is only the latter’s point of reference, grounded on and limited by the somatic factor. (para. 5) The “ego = Me” illusion is useful and necessary. “The relation of a psychic content to the ego forms the criterion of its consciousness, for no content can be conscious unless it is represented to a subject” ( Jung, 1959/1969b, para. 1). But even though the ego seems to us the center of our experiential universe, analogous to the assumed position of the Earth for pre-Copernican astronomers, this is simply not the reality.

To see ego from a more objectively accurate perspective, we need to imagine viewing this “Me” construction from the outside, from, as Hillman (1985) suggests, “the soul’s perspective.” In this wide-angle picture that includes all of who we are, “ego becomes an instrument for day-to-day coping, nothing more grandiose than a trusty janitor of the planetary houses, a servant of soul-making” (p. 93). In scope, though it is the “center of consciousness,” the ego is but “a thin wafer floating on an immense ocean” (Hollis, 1994, p. 29). Our notion of Me-ness, our ego, serves us well, day to day, by creating a firm and consistent standpoint from which to go about our business. So why then is it important to realize that “Me” is just a rather arbitrary and limited construction—a raft built of bits and pieces that we’ve tied together amidst a vast psychic sea? It’s because mistaking this personal perspective—our way of perceiving the world, our values, our logic, our ways of doing things—for the only perspective, and therefore viewing our reality as “the truth,” is a recipe for conflict—with others, within ourselves, and with reality itself. Psychological health requires a strong ego, but true strength comes from a flexible ability to bend and grow, not from rigidity. In order to flex psychologically to deal with life’s problems and in order to accept new, often-contradictory parts of ourselves into consciousness—to individuate—we need that core of our conscious identity to anchor us. But a too-strong ego, one that completely lacks any relativistic perspective—that has no sense of its own limitations—does not adapt. We call such an ego “inflated,” and an inflated ego isolates us from reality and leads almost inevitably to ineffectiveness, dysfunction, relationship and communication strife, and even to psychological and physical disease. In the language of systems, a too-weak ego fosters an overly dissipative system, and a toostrong ego promotes a closed system. Both extremes are dysfunctional, so a delicate balance is what is needed. From the perspective of typology, ego development is achieved through the process of bringing unconscious function-attitudes into consciousness. We’ll look closely at this process, called “differentiation,” in the next chapter. For the purpose of this discussion, though, we’ll note that it is the dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes that form the typological core of the ego of most adults. Many mature and welldeveloped people have other functions somewhat integrated into ego, and other highly functional individuals are atypically developed with a low level of differentiation of their natural type preferences and a high differentiation of other function-attitudes.But it is nevertheless useful to view the dominant/auxiliary pair as the basic typological manifestation of the “normal” ego. Type theory holds that every person has an innate typology, that implicit in every typology is a hierarchy of “preference,” and that the two most naturally preferred function-attitudes (one of judgment, one of perception, one extraverted, one introverted) are the ones we are naturally disposed to find the most comfortable, energizing, and enjoyable. So it is believed that the development potential and capability for mutual complementarity of these most naturally attractive function-attitudes is greater than the development possible for other FAs. “Good type development” of this innate core is the usual starting place for building strong egos. And limited development of this pair could be problematic for the establishment of an ego that is sufficiently robust to handle the differentiation of other unconscious functions. As we’ll note in Chapter 8, the dynamics of the typological system seem to imply a path of least resistance for our sequence of development. Although it’s probably not impossible to create a functional ego by developing non-preferred function-attitudes, it seems likely that dominant/auxiliary development is the starting point for the easiest and most common route. It’s tempting to automatically look to the undeveloped, ego-opposing “shadow” side of personality for explanations of personal dysfunction and interpersonal disconnects. This is certainly a legitimate area to investigate. But Jungian analysts know that hubris—ego inflation— is the more common problem (and that it often accompanies any problems with the shadow). In fact: A particular form of ego hubris that might be said to be endemic in our own time is self-hate. This constitutes a refusal of the ego to accept and work with the given facts of one’s personality. … The ego accordingly believes that it “knows” what one “should” be like, rather than what one happens to be. Also, this seemingly morally “superior” stance tends to lead to a repression of natural, instinctive reactions and to defensive armoring, hence to impasses with the Selffield. (Whitmont, 1993, p. 114) Walled-off from our internal Other, we become equally intolerant of the external Other. Jung (1921/1971) observed: “It is a fact, which is constantly and overwhelmingly apparent in my practical work, that people are virtually incapable of understanding and accepting any point of view other than their own” (para. 847). In modern Western society, the individual with an unyielding “make it happen” attitude is usually valued far more than someone with a receptive, flexible, and collaborative approach. The “strong-willed” are often regarded as our “natural leaders.” Of course in such a “heroic” mode of operating, it is the ego that decides what needs to happen. In this, it is often not

just individual inflation at work, but also an overarching hubris of the Western ESTJ cultural typology. In the business world, for example, a rigid extraverted thinking ego-stance is often in play, regardless of the typology of the individuals involved. And cultural ego-inflation affects even the interactions of nations. Jung (1953/1966) observed that “What is called ‘will’ in individuals is called ‘imperialism’ in nations; for all will is a demonstration of power over fate, i.e., the exclusion of chance” (para. 74). Richard Tarnas (2006) hints at the global implications of this epidemic of hubris: A paradox concerning the character and fate of the West confronts every sensitive observer: On the one hand, we recognize a certain dynamism, a luminous, heroic impulse, even a nobility, at work in Western civilization and Western thought. … Yet at the same time, if we attempt to perceive a larger reality beyond the conventional heroic narrative, we cannot fail to recognize the shadow of this great luminosity. The same cultural tradition and historical trajectory that brought forth such noble achievements has also caused immense suffering and loss, for many other cultures and peoples, for many people within Western culture itself, and for many other forms of life on Earth. (p. 11)

PERSONA Jung coined another term that, like “ego,” describes a self-constructed psychological complex of personal identity. But, whereas ego is “who I think I am,” “persona” is “who I present myself (to the world) as being.” Obviously, the two territories overlap. But one’s ego does not include the false façade aspects of the persona, and one’s persona does not include those parts of the ego that we manage to hide from public scrutiny. Of his choice in naming this concept, Jung (1953/1966) wrote that: The term persona is really a very appropriate expression for this, for originally it meant the mask once worn by actors to indicate the role they played. … It is, as its name implies, only a mask of the collective psyche, a mask that feigns individuality. (para. 245) He defined persona as follows: The persona is conscious all round, so to speak, or is at least capable of becoming so. It represents a compromise formation between external reality and the individual. In essence, therefore, it is a function for adapting the individual to the real world. … Fundamentally the persona is nothing real: it is a compromise between individual and society as to what a man should appear to be. (1953/1966, paras. 507, 246) Maintaining a “public face” and role-playing when interacting socially are, to some extent, things we can do quite consciously. But the creation of our persona starts so early in our lives and maintaining it becomes so automatic that we usually put less conscious thought into it than into slipping on our shoes. Jung’s description of the persona as “a kind of mask, designed on the one hand to make a definite impression upon others, and, on the other, to conceal the true nature of the individual” (1953/1966, para. 305) may strike us as describing a character flaw—a formula for disingenuousness. But he pointed out that it is a fundamental necessity for fostering the psychological development of our authentic selves: Under no circumstances can individuation be the sole aim of psychological education. Before it can be taken as a goal, the educational aim of adaptation to the necessary minimum of collective norms [i.e., development of the persona] must first be attained. If a plant is to unfold its specific nature to the full, it must first be able to grow in the soil in which it is planted. (1921/1971, para. 760) The persona is far from being just a “fake Me,” for “individuality reveals itself primarily in the particular selection of those elements of the collective psyche which constitute the persona” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 504). Where we get into trouble with the persona is, as with the ego, when we fail to keep it in proper perspective and mistake it for who we really are. We damage ourselves and undermine our society when we make this mistake. “Far too much of our common humanity has to be sacrificed in the interests of an ideal image into which one tries to mold oneself ” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 244). As Wheatley and Kellner-Rogers (1996/1999) point out, “sameness is not stability. It is individual freedom that creates stable systems. It is differentness that enables us to thrive” (p. 41).

So, once again we have a beneficial psychological phenomenon that can have negative effects when it gets out of hand, and which we ultimately must move beyond if we are to reach our potential. Writing about this process Jung (1953/1966) said “the aim of individuation is nothing less than to divest the self of the false wrappings of the persona on the one hand, and of the suggestive power of primordial images on the other” (para. 269). Typologically, it is our array of developed function-attitudes that we draw from to craft our persona and morph it as needed. Thus, like the ego, we can expect that most people’s personas are anchored in their dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes. But whereas the ego is virtually defined by our most conscious functions, the persona is more malleable. Partially differentiated function-attitudes can often be integrated into the role-playing of persona as well. For someone who has not fully developed her extraverted feeling function into conscious accessibility, for example, promoting a harmonious environment will not actually be a major consideration in her egoteam’s decision-making process. But she still may be able to slip on an Fe mask temporarily, conscientiously attending, for example, to the needs and emotional well-being of her guests when hosting a party. Likewise, someone who has not differentiated his extraverted intuition into routine conscious use won’t normally think about future possibilities though he still can participate in a conversation about the likely consequences of an action that’s being considered. Probably neither person will perform these activities terribly well. The mental skillsets that depend on these unconscious functionattitudes haven’t been honed, so “going there” will be energy draining and won’t hold their interest for long. Perhaps most problematic, there is always the risk that we will come off awkwardly or as “fake” if we attempt to assume roles that are beyond the scope of our current development. But on the other hand, playing such “stretch roles” may well help us in differentiating the associated functionattitudes. In fact, such adaptations of our personas to the situations we encounter are probably essential in promoting our development. So a playful willingness to experiment with uncomfortable roles rather than a rigid “I don’t do that” attitude likely contributes to our ongoing psychological growth and well-being.

UNCONSCIOUSNESS Using a favored analogy, Jung (1956/1967) advised: Individual consciousness is only the flower and the fruit of a season, sprung from the perennial rhizome beneath the earth; and it would find itself in better accord with the truth if it took the existence of the rhizome into its calculations. For the root matter is the mother of all things. (p. xxiv) Since we now have a serviceable understanding of the territory of consciousness, it’s easy enough to come up with a simple definition for the scope of the unconscious: it’s “everything else.” In fact, Jung himself resorted to just such a simplified definition when it suited him, describing it as “the unknown of the inner world” (1959/1969b, para. 2), “a psychological borderline concept, which covers all psychic contents or processes that are not conscious, i.e., not related to the ego in any perceptible way” (1921/1971, para. 837), and adding that “relations [of psychic contents] to the ego that are not perceived as such are unconscious” (para. 700). In our earlier analogy, the Unconscious is represented by the entire forest beyond the clearing of conscious awareness, extending virtually indefinitely to encompass all the rest of our psychic world. But what lives in that forest? What is its hidden terrain like? And what does it matter to the ego-Me, standing in the middle of the clearing, seemingly well-removed from its influence? By far,the most important thing to understand about the unconscious— and the reason it’s so influential in our health and survival—is that it contains truths about ourselves, about the environment around us, and even, perhaps, about the nature of reality itself. This is not to say that unconscious material should be trusted and accepted without question. We certainly carry unconscious prejudices. The archetypal nature of unconscious perceptions is essentially a generalization— a stereotyping of common situations and relationships—and therefore always carries questionable assumptions. And its “language” of symbols and metaphors is easily misinterpreted. But on the other hand, its content is based on the unfiltered raw data of experience and the human condition. So this material also contains valid information that is beyond the scope of our conscious perceptions and reasoning. The perspective of the ego is severely biased and limited. The information it recognizes and incorporates includes only what fits with its manmade constructs: “who I am,” “what is real,” “how things work,” and so forth. This material has been filtered and adulterated based on what is comfortable and acceptable to us. It is limited to the emotions we are willing to admit to ourselves that we feel, the thoughts that we deem okay to think, acceptable behavior, what fits with our belief system, our cultural/social/moral constraints, what “makes sense” to us, and who we conceive ourselves to be.

But the unconscious deals directly with human experience. It is, by definition, incapable of preconceptions that would filter its contents. Its presentations of suprapersonal information, however cryptic they may be, “are markedly superior to the conscious combinations both in refinement and in scope” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 197). When I say that the unconscious “contains truth,” I don’t necessarily mean some ultimate truth. I think that’s possible, but all we can say with certainty is that it contains other, often more reliable, truths. Unconscious content carries its own kinds of distortions which we’ll examine when we look at the nature of archetypes. We need to sift through these influences, just as we do with the Ego’s biases; however, rather than acting as filters, the archetypal influences are more like seasonings, influencing unconscious material but not editing it. C. G. Jung certainly didn’t “discover” the Unconscious. In fact, it was only when the cosmology of modern Western civilization became prevalent—with its idea of a disconnected universe in which human beings’ conscious awareness is the only legitimate arbiter of what’s real—that the unconscious was driven underground, denied for the most part by an entire civilization. But no matter how much we believe that our little clearing in the woods is all there is, the primeval forest still surrounds us. The unconscious part of our psychic reality continues to work behind the scenes to attempt to balance the biases and blind spots of the ego—to provide the “this also is true” input that is needed for our health and survival. Without a framework for consciously embracing such input, however, modern man is rarely prepared to integrate it in healthy ways. “The divine principle in the unconscious which has great knowledge … is misunderstood by the new principle of consciousness” (von Franz, 1974/1995, p. 86). We deny that this part of ourselves even exists, so we project this Not Me onto other people and other peoples. We live lives that are out of touch with an important part of who we actually are; so we make decisions based on incomplete information, develop dysfunctional behaviors, and may even suffer “psychotic breaks” within what should be an integrated psychic system. As Jung (1953/1966) put it, “the unconscious is unfavorable or dangerous only because we are not at one with it and therefore in opposition to it” (para. 195). Depth psychology could be said to have come into being to fill this gap in our modern collective psyche. A modern, scientific approach to the psyche was needed—something reasonably plausible and palatable to the modern mind— to provide a framework for understanding what our world view no longer embraces. And a corresponding therapeutic approach had to be developed to address the damage done by the increasingly widespread psychic imbalance. Dysfunction and neurosis erupt when the unconscious bursts forth with “an inimical or ruthless bearing towards the conscious … when the latter adopts a false or pretentious attitude” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 346). The unconscious became the focal point for the emerging field of psychoanalysis around the turn of the 20th century. Sigmund Freud, its most prominent theorist, saw it as the primary source of psychic dysfunction. Jung agreed as to its importance but saw it also as a positive resource and as including more content and coming from deeper sources than in Freud’s conception. In the process of expanding the territory, he turned the whole view of the psyche upside down— perhaps his greatest contribution, and certainly the main reason for him being disavowed by other leading figures in the science of psychology. The other pioneers adopted ego-perspectives, seeing the unconscious as a reservoir for everything that is rejected as unacceptable by the conscious ego: the products and emotional affects of our primitive instincts. Freud famously saw all of this unacceptable material as arising from the instinctual drive to procreate. Alfred Adler saw its roots as coming from a primal drive for power. Jung, however, came to see the psyche as if from the perspective of the unconscious, viewing the unconscious as the “a priori” given, the starting point, and seeing consciousness as “phylogenetically and ontogenetically a secondary phenomenon,” pointing out that “just as the body has an anatomical prehistory of millions of years so also does the psychic system” (1961/1963, p. 348). He viewed “the unconscious self [as] one’s real individuality … always present and [making] itself felt indirectly if not directly” (1953/1966, para. 247) —“more like an atmosphere in which we live than something that is found in us” (as cited in Giannini, 2004, p. 137). In addition to its innate objectivity, the other big reason that Jung viewed the unconscious as the primary reality of the psyche was simply its vast capacity. Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) illustrates the relative scale in terms of digital images. Imagine a large, informationrich, extremely high-resolution digital picture comprised of 20 million microscopic pixel dots, taking up this entire page. If each of these pixels represents a BIT of information perceived by the nervous system, the unconscious mind can process all 20 million BITs in a second. By contrast, in that second, the conscious mind can process an amount of information ten times smaller than is visually represented by the period at the end of this sentence (p. 137). In addition to the veracity of its source material, the sheer magnitude of our unconscious awareness argues for treating this part of us with a great deal of respect and for proactively attending to its cryptic messages.

Jung believed that in addition to personal contents that have been “repressed” from consciousness or simply never consciously noticed, the unconscious also includes a kind of supra-personal pattern memory. He wrote: “the rationally explicable unconscious, which consists of material that has been made unconscious artificially, as it were, is only a top layer … underneath is an absolute unconscious which has nothing to do with our personal experience” (1960/1969, para. 310). He envisioned the unconscious as consisting of two distinct parts: the Freudian “personal unconscious”and his own addition,the “collective unconscious.”The latter he saw as universally shared by all humans and containing the common psychic accumulations of our ancestors. And although individuals’ uniqueness —their ego, personality, individuality, etc.—grows out of it, the collective unconscious itself is actually the antithesis of individuality. It is the part of us where we are psychologically indistinguishable from one another. As noted earlier, Jung also entertained the possibility that the source material and nature of the collective unconscious may extend beyond humankind, to the basic laws of nature, the repeating patterns of the universe itself, to what quantum physicists often refer to as the “source field” and philosophers call the “universal substrate.” From this perspective, it seems no accident that attempts to explain the nature of reality by modern hard-science theorists resemble Jungians describing the psyche. In one such “new sciences” description, Margaret Wheatley (1999) writes: As we move into this new territory where paradox is a distinguishing feature, we can see that what is happening is a dance—of chaos and order, of change and stability. Just as in the timeless image of yin and yang, we are dealing with complementarities that only look like polarities. Neither one is primary; both are necessary. When we observe growth, we observe the results of the dance. (p. 23) Jung seems to have been describing the same dance when talking about the “tension of opposites” that leads to balance and growth, and when making the point that “the two opposing ‘realities,’ the world of the conscious and the world of the unconscious, do not quarrel for supremacy, but each makes the other relative” (1953/1966, para. 354). Jung (1953/1966) declared that “the unconscious processes that compensate the conscious ego contain all those elements that are necessary for the self-regulation of the psyche as a whole” (para. 275) and that this “objective psyche” gives us all the encouragement and help that a bountiful nature can shower upon man. It holds possibilities which are locked away from the conscious mind, for it has at its disposal all subliminal psychic contents, all those things which have been forgotten or overlooked, as well as the wisdom and experience of uncounted centuries which are laid down in its archetypal organs. (1953/1966, para. 196) The human body-mind evolved to be an innately healthy system capable of successfully adapting to a wide array of problems presented by its ever-changing environment, of maintaining balance and resilience, and of correcting and repairing dysfunction. That’s how evolution works: always moving the system toward higher levels of effectiveness, efficiency, and survival. If there were a serious inherent flaw in the human blueprint, it seems unlikely that our species would have flourished as it has. If we start from this assumption about the psyche—that it contains the mechanisms needed to maintain its vitality and to flourish—then we must pay attention to the unconscious. It’s a crucial part of the overall psychic ecosystem, constantly actively working to compensate for the necessarily myopic perspective of the ego and to promote psychological growth. Without this “spark of opposites,” consciousness is, at best, “doomed to stagnation, congestion, and ossification” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 78). When we talk of psychic “balance,” we’re not talking about a static thing like a pendulum balance scale at rest with equal weight on both sides of the fulcrum. It’s more like walking over the uneven terrain of our lives, continually needing to shift our center of gravity.To allow this constant psychic rebalancing to work well, the lines of communication between conscious and unconscious need to be open. On its own, our conscious mind is too limited and unbalanced to cope well with many of the things that come our way. This is why psychoanalysis, dream interpretation, active imagination, meditation, artistic work, and other practices that can open a communication channel between the two levels can be so effective and psychologically beneficial. When we fail to keep those channels open—to acknowledge and integrate the input of the unconscious—our mental and ultimately our physical health is compromised, and our ability to operate effectively in the world is undermined. The physical manifestation of this truth is the basis of “energy healing” practices and easily can be demonstrated through kinesiology, aka “muscle testing.” As Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) describes his findings in this area, “when your mind has a belief that is in conflict with a formerly learned ‘truth’ stored in the subconscious [unconscious]

mind, the intellectual conflict expresses itself as a weakening of the body’s muscles” (p. 129). Since both the information that we’re not conscious of and the mental processes that we have not developed into conscious “skillsets” are, by definition, at odds with our conscious material and processes, we naturally tend to ignore them and even to deny that they are ours. Most of the time, we get away with living within this convenient fiction, and we operate day-to-day using just the limited toolkit of our developed functions. Such a disconnect between conscious and unconscious, though not ideal, seems to work reasonably well— most of the time. But when the ego’s tools are not adequate for dealing with our reality, the voices of our unconscious become increasingly insistent in their efforts to solve the problem and bring the appropriate new balance to the psyche. We may perceive such situations as “stress.” The greater and longer-lasting they are, the louder the other perspectives become— showing up as “out of character” behavior, “crazy” thoughts and emotions, and disturbing dreams. Most people’s reaction to these messages from the unconscious is to do everything they can to “make them go away” by, for example, self-medicating with alcohol or anti-depressants or distracting themselves with work. But if instead we can pay conscious attention to these messages and embrace and integrate these unconscious perspectives into consciousness, we will have grown to become the more-of-who-we-can-be version of ourselves that is capable of dealing with the problem at hand. Describing the attitude necessary for succeeding in turning this “tension of opposites” from a potentially destructive force into a catalyst for growth, Jung (1953/1966) wrote that: The only person who escapes the grim law of enantiodromia [a “running contrariwise”] is the man who knows how to separate himself from the unconscious. Not by repressing it—for then it simply attacks him from the rear—but by putting it clearly before him as that which he is not. (para. 112) As we work to open communication channels with the unconscious, it’s important to keep its primitive nature in mind. It contains vast amounts of information, is intrinsically truthful, and has the capability of counterbalancing and supplementing the ego. But it also comes at us with “hair-raising irrationalism” and “dismisses our logical concepts and moral values” with “shocking tactlessness and ruthlessness” ( Jung, 1956/1967, para. 576). It is also non-verbal and able to express its “messages” only as cryptic analogies. It would never do to foist our conscious psychology upon the unconscious. Its mentality is an instinctive one; it has no differentiated functions, and it does not “think” as we understand “thinking.” It simply creates an image that answers to the conscious situation. This image contains as much thought as feeling, and is anything rather than a product of rationalistic reflection. ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 289) The repeating patterns within the dance of human existence show up in cryptic forms as “archetypes”—metaphorical representations from the beyond-the-personal unconscious. Learning to take the unconscious seriously—to respect it and attend to it—is the all-important first step toward leveraging this incredibly powerful psychological resource in our conscious daily lives. We also need to learn to translate its messages. John Beebe’s expansion of the type model with its eight basic archetypal characters provides a “beginners’ guide” for understanding the functional elements of the unconscious and for interpreting its messages.

PROJECTION As already noted, much of our psychic reality contradicts our ego’s self-image and narrow way of operating. And since we believe that such “unacceptable” emotions, thoughts, attitudes, urges, desires, and perceptions cannot be part of us, we assume that they must be coming from the outside—from the Not-Me—from Them. By this simple psychological self-trickery of “projecting” our own unconscious content onto other people, we’re able to maintain and reinforce our denial—to defend our ego’s sense of “who I am” against the rest of who we really are. Jung (1953/1966) stated categorically that “everything unconscious is projected” (para. 314). Just as the unconscious itself can be thought of as having two parts,the collective and the personal,the unconscious material that we project comes in two forms. Jung (1959/1969a) distinguished these two varieties of unconscious content, writing: “Whereas the personal unconscious consists for the most part of complexes, the content of the collective unconscious is made up essentially of archetypes” (para. 88). So our projections are shaped both by abstract, inherited archetypal patterns and by the complexes of experiences that we unconsciously connect with each of those patterns. On the archetypal

level, for example, we’re born with a vague sense of a universal pattern of nurturing, sustenance, and support that we can call “Motherness.”As we go through our lives, we collect an array of experiences, both positive and negative, that we associate with nurturing. The unconscious memories, thoughts, and emotions of these experiences give form to that original archetypal notion to form a “Mother complex.” I have extolled the veracity of the contents of the unconscious because of its unadulterated, “raw data” nature. But here we must underscore an important caveat: although this material is important for helping us cope with life, it’s just a collection of possibly relevant information. It might relate to the present moment situation, or it might not. More likely, some of its memories, emotions, and thoughts do relate to and shed light on the situation, while others don’t. Unfortunately this information, including the irrelevant, is too easily confused with the reality. When we’re not conscious of making such associations, they unconsciously attach themselves to the real-life situation and can so distort our perception of it that the complex itself becomes our perceived reality. If we find ourselves in the role of motherhood, or dealing with our spouse’s mothering of our children, or relating to our own mother, or even in some other situation where nurturing and supportive behavior is involved, we are usually only partially relating to the real people and situation. We’re also responding to that instinctive archetypal notion of motherhood and to the unconscious complex that we’ve come to associate with mothering. The less conscious we are of our ideas about “Mother,” the more all of this baggage influences our perception and the less our responses relate to the actual realworld situation. Jung (1959/1969b) warned that: “The effect of projection is to isolate the subject from his environment, since instead of a real relation to it there is now only an illusory one” (para. 17). It’s as if the people and events in our lives are reflected in a series of funhouse mirrors— distorted by our collective psychic inheritance,past events,and personal biases. Each reflection compounds the distortion, and the resulting image that we see may be far removed from the original. Unconscious associations can provide useful insight; that is their purpose—their ideal contribution to the healthy psychic system. But we can properly interpret and benefit from what these images show us only if we can notice these intervening mirrors and have some understanding of their effects, so we can see past them to the real events and people of our lives. Projecting is such a common, everyday habit for most of us that even if we’re somewhat aware that we do it, it’s hard to appreciate how often, or how much damage it causes. Projection distorts relationships, identity, and information, the three fundamentals, as noted earlier, for healthy systems. If a female manager (part of whose job is to support and nurture her team members) is seen by her people through the lenses of projected mother complexes, those relationships, the exchange of information, and their sense of their roles become something different from what is called for by the actual situation. Unfortunate, counterproductive, and unhealthy as such a projection can be, its effects are relatively mild compared to projecting a more repugnant, dramatically “Other” archetype, such as the Demon. “Demonizing” others can motivate and rationalize even the extreme violence of “hate crimes” and wars.

SHADOW Penetrating so many secrets, We cease to believe in the unknowable. But there it sits nevertheless Calmly licking its chops. —H. L. Menken “Shadow” is a slippery Jungian concept, which we find being used by different people to mean quite different things. While making it clear that any neat definition of Shadow cannot fully capture the nuances, Jung’s protégé, Marie-Louise von Franz (1974/1995), succinctly summarized its central idea: In Jungian psychology, we generally define the shadow as the personification of certain aspects of the unconscious personality, which could be added to the ego complex but which, for various reasons, are not. We might therefore say that the shadow is the dark, unlived, and repressed side of the ego complex. (p. 3) Jung (1959/1969b) noted that the shadow is the “most accessible” and “easiest to experience” aspect of the unconscious, “for its nature can in large measure be inferred from the contents of the personal unconscious” (para. 13). Von Franz called it a “personification”—a personal manifestation. That is, it is only when certain unconscious

parts of us show up in our lives, that they are called “shadow.”The term implies the uncomfortable “otherly” feel of such shadow experiences. In this sense, shadow is a living thing, not a conceptual abstraction. Shadow is an active manifestation of certain unconscious contents; not the unconscious itself. Like every other aspect of our psyche, shadow has its positive and negative sides; its benefits (ways it works to maintain our psychological balance and wellbeing) and dangers (ways it can harm us and thwart our interests). On the plus side, it defends us against the world. When the tools available to our ego are not sufficient to defend us from assaults upon our personal integrity, the shadow usually steps in, unconsciously, with its alternative ways of operating, unfettered by moral constraints. In fact, Beebe tells us: “Shadow functions are best understood as defenses” (2002, Oct. 11-13) that operate “usually by managing other people in oppositional and underhanded ways” (personal communication, December 23-24, 2010). It is this characteristic of employing tactics that are not admirable—to “fight dirty to defend the personality” (Beebe, Sept. 2009–April 2010) that is being implied when the term “shadow” is used. If you’ve ever caught yourself acting “out of character” or doing something that’s “not like me,” particularly under extreme stress, then you may have caught a glimpse of your shadow. Normally, however, “the shadow is the part of us that others see, but we don’t” (Beebe, Sept. 2009–April 2010). What we do see is other people’s reactions to us. Unexpectedly negative responses are often our first clue that our shadow has been at work. Within the context of depth typology, it is common to use “the Shadow” to refer to the four “ego-dystonic” functionattitudes and the archetypal energy patterns that carry them. Jung would likely point out that any unconscious function can be considered to be part of the shadow; but in the type framework, this more specific designation is very useful. Any undeveloped function can work in shadowy ways. But it is the predictably oppositional, shadowy nature of the ego-dystonic function-attitude-archetypes that earns them the designation of “the Shadow” in the depth typology lexicon. Throughout this book, I will note “shadowy” characteristics of our four least-preferred functionattitudes, and use “shadow” as a virtual synonym for “ego-dystonic.” Using this as our framework, we will explore how the shadow of our preferred typology influences our lives in myriad ways. For now, it’s enough to note that normal, healthy shadow activity can easily seem bizarre and can cause difficulties if it shows up in our interactions, and chronic patterns of shadow repression can become particularly problematic. Beebe (Sept. 2009–April 2010) points out that “No one escapes the shadow. If we don’t acknowledge it, it will appear in our lives: manifesting as our child, an ‘enemy’ nation, a co-worker, etc.” Of course, like all aspects of the psychic system, ultimately, “Shadow is all about creating Tao (balance)” (Beebe, 2002, Oct. 11-13). And Beebe credits Jung as a “revolutionary thinker” because, “unlike just about everybody else, he saw value in Shadow” (2014, Feb. 24). But trying to deal with our shadow directly simply doesn’t work. Everyone’s notion of such an interaction is formed by their ego—and it is precisely that ego stance to which the shadow is usually reacting. Jung (1953/1966) wrote that: This shadow-side of the psyche, being withdrawn from conscious scrutiny, cannot be dealt with by the patient. He cannot correct it, cannot come to terms with it, nor yet disregard it; for in reality he does not “possess” the unconscious impulses at all. (para. 438) Nevertheless, we must not ignore it; it is only by noticing our shadow, if only through its effects on others, that we can avoid allowing it to become unacceptably and unnecessarily powerful in our lives. As James Hollis (1996) put it: “What I can bear to look at directly may give me an unpleasant time, but it no longer owns me” (p. 110).

EGO-SYNTONIC AND EGO-DYSTONIC As we’ll discuss in more detail in Chapter 6, one of the key elements of Beebe’s model is the preference hierarchy of the eight functionattitudes. It is hierarchical in that the FAs are ranked by how much each type naturally prefers to develop and use them. “Preferred” is typological shorthand for a function-attitude mode that is naturally more energizing, comfortable, and enjoyable than others. The theoretical principles behind this assumption of preference are those laid down by Jung, as interpreted by Briggs and Myers. Beebe takes a different stand regarding the attitude of the tertiary; but otherwise, the first four in his hierarchy are the same as those outlined by Myers. (See, for example, her descriptions in Introduction to Type®, 1998.) Thus, positions 1-4 for the ESTP typology are held by extraverted sensation (Se), introverted thinking (Ti), extraverted feeling (Fe), and introverted intuition (Ni), in that

order of preference. But Beebe extends the hierarchy to include the other four function-attitudes as well, in an order that mirrors the first four, based on theory and logic that we’ll get into in Chapter 6. For ESTP, positions 5-8 are occupied by Si, Te, Fi, and Ne, respectively. Looking at these two sets of four FAs, it’s immediately apparent that the ordering of the functions is the same for both sets, but the attitude for each function in the less-preferred set is opposite from the attitude of its more-preferred sibling in the first set. This characteristic of attitude opposition is, as we will see later, an important factor in the overall dynamics of whole-type. It’s tempting to think of the four preferred function-attitudes of psychological type as conscious and the four nonpreferred (“shadow”) function-attitudes as unconscious—or at least as relatively conscious and relatively unconscious, respectively. This can be misleading and confusing, however, because it’s a gross oversimplification. Any function-attitude can be unconscious for a particular individual, even the dominant; and any FA, even the eighth, can (at least in theory) be conscious. The reality is that all are partially conscious and partially unconscious, and that this mix varies from person to person and changes over the course of a lifetime of development. In typical development, even our most innately preferred function-attitudes, the dominant and auxiliary, are just mostly conscious, most of the time; and the four shadow FAs are mostly unconscious, most of the time. Our often-used shorthand illustration with a line drawn between the four allegedly conscious FAs and the four “unconscious” ones is misleading because consciousness is not a sufficiently reliable characteristic for distinguishing these two sides of the psyche’s typology. It’s related to what distinguishes them, but only as a secondary and fairly unpredictable characteristic. Furthermore, in the typological model, the process of personal growth involves bringing initially unconscious function-attitudes ever more into consciousness and integrating them into the ego—embracing them as part of the “Me.” So it is not really possible to draw a definitive line between consciousness and unconsciousness, and even if we could, that line would keep moving. A generalization that we can make, however—one that is accurate, useful, and illuminating—is to note that the four innately preferred function-attitudes are ego-syntonic and the four opposite-attitude functions are ego-dystonic. When we say that the four functionattitudes that are most likely to be developed into some degree of consciousness over a lifetime, the dominant, auxiliary, tertiary, and inferior, are “ego-syntonic,” we’re saying that they are congruous with each other, and therefore, with one’s sense of “who I am.” They may contradict and battle with each other at times, but they are still on the same team. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, complementing each other in many ways. And although there is a level of dynamic tension between them, it is not a tension that threatens to negate our sense of ego-selfhood—that calls into question the very legitimacy of our notion of “who I am.” A dominant introverted intuitive, for example, may struggle with her inferior extraverted sensing. But it is possible to make peace between them. We can reach a level of cooperation between these parts of ourselves, without undermining our sense of identity. Not so, however, for the ego’s shadow, the four ego-dystonic function-attitudes. The opposite-attitude nature of the four ego-dystonic FAs puts them in direct conflict with the egosyntonic functionattitudes—and therefore, with the ego itself. Because of their incompatibility with the orientation of the ego, the egodystonic function-attitudes can rarely, if ever, be truly integrated with the conscious side of the personality, no matter how well “developed” they may become. In fact, “development” of the ego-dystonic FAs is usually more a matter of accepting their limitations and their primitive, archetypal nature and cultivating our ability to roughly translate their messages while we struggle to use the associated practical skills that would naturally become well-honed if those function-attitudes were truly developed. By contrast, development of ego-syntonic functionattitudes can achieve high functionality. Archetypal energies “carry” each function-attitude to the degree that the FA is unconscious; a function-attitude that we can engage consciously can be used relatively free of the influence of the archetype that carries it when unconscious. So as a general rule, our ego-syntonic function-attitudes are not only more likely to be relatively conscious, they also tend to be freer of the associations and emotional colorings of the archetypes. Granted, even our most developed, most conscious function-attitudes are never entirely free from their inherent archetypal energies. That’s because they’re never entirely conscious. Nevertheless, most people are able to engage a few FAs with a high degree of flexibility and independence from unconscious complexes. It should also be noted that some people, including some we regard as geniuses, do develop ego-dystonic functionattitudes to high levels of conscious use. Jung, for example, seems to have been able to engage both extraverted thinking and introverted thinking with great skill. (Hence the unending debate about whether he was an INTJ or an INTP.) But if you look closely, you always find that such a person engages one of these skilled functions in a slightly clumsier, more forced, and more archetypally negative way. In Jung’s case, his definitions (the products of a

Ti focus) always seem somewhat tortured and convoluted, and a bit tinged with the didactic tone of the Senex archetype. This is one reason why I see Jung as an INTJ with his well-developed introverted thinking retaining vestiges of its shadowy nature. Ego-dystonic function-attitudes tend to remain the suppressed, oppositional Other within us (which is why depth typologists link “ego-dystonic” with “Shadow”). They work, as do all function-attitudes, to support the wellbeing of the entire psyche—trying to compensate for the imbalance of an ego-dominated personality. But because they usually are mostly unconscious, they almost always are heavily laden with the primitive emotional energies of their associated archetypal complexes. So when they appear—generally in times of stress—it is often the emotional tone that’s easier to recognize than the nascent traits of the undeveloped function-attitudes. Another recognizable characteristic of ego-dystonic function-attitudes is their defensive nature, as opposed to the ego-syntonic functionattitudes’ orientation toward “realizing the aims of the personality” (Beebe, personal communication, December 2324, 2010). The internal archetypal structure of the ego-dystonic shadow personality mirrors that of the ego-syntonic side, but in less “civilized,” socially acceptable ways. Thus, according to Beebe’s model (and using archetypal images that will be explained in Chapter 7), the oppositeattitude sibling of the dominant “Hero/Heroine” is the lead functionattitude of the Shadow, and thus an “Opposing Personality” in the overall scheme of the psyche. The opposite-attitude of the auxiliary “Mother/Father” is also parental in nature, but unleashes the dogmatic, hypercritical, limit-setting side of parenting as the “Witch/Senex” (aka, “Critical Parent”). The shadow of the “Puer/Puella” (“Eternal Child”) tertiary shares its childlike irresponsibility, but it manifests with the “Trickster’s” disdain and irreverence for convention and authority. And the shadow of the inferior “Anima/Animus” shares its “yin to my yang” otherness, but is so extremely “Other” in nature, so contrary to the ego-Me, that its energy feels “Demonic” even though, like all the shadow archetypes, it can have positive value as well. Although the terms ego-syntonic and ego-dystonic frequently correlate with “relatively conscious” and “relatively unconscious,” using these more precise terms avoids the confusion that’s created when the issue of what is conscious and what’s unconscious is brought into the picture. While allowing us to make a meaningful distinction between the two sides of any typology, these terms do not carry explicit assumptions about the level of consciousness of any of the function-attitudes for any type—much less for an individual.

SELF Without some understanding of the concepts we’ve looked at so far, we would have little chance of grasping the meaning and scope of Jung’s term “Self,” because the self encompasses them all. It is Jung’s conceptualization of the individual—of the Me—which includes the entire continuum of consciousness/unconsciousness (and thus, both the ego-syntonic and ego-dystonic). And although it includes the ego and persona, unlike them, it is not a limited complex—not a collection of some psychic content around a specific, limited purpose— but rather a theoretical, virtually limitless, “True Me.” Jung called it the “supraordinate personality” (1921/1971, para. 790), “one’s real individuality, [which] is always present and makes itself felt indirectly if not directly” (1953/1966, para. 247). He added: “It transcends our powers of imagination to form a clear picture of what we are as a self, for in this operation the part would have to comprehend the whole” (para. 274). Analytical psychologist Edward Edinger (1972/1973) states: Jung’s most basic and far-reaching discovery is the collective unconscious or archetypal psyche. … It was Jung’s further discovery that the archetypal psyche has a structuring or ordering principle which unifies the various archetypal contents. This is the central archetype or archetype of wholeness which Jung has termed the Self. The Self is the ordering and unifying center of the total psyche (conscious and unconscious) just as the ego is the center of the conscious personality. Or, put in other words, the ego is the seat of subjective identity while the Self is the seat of objective identity. (p. 3) Jung (1921/1971) summarized: “The ego is only the subject of my consciousness, while the self is the subject of my total psyche, which also includes the unconscious” (para. 706). And Edinger elaborates upon the relationship between ego and self, quoting Jung as saying that the self is “an a priori existent out of which the ego evolves. It is, so to speak, an unconscious prefiguration of the ego [1958/1969, para. 391]. Thus ego and Self have a close

structural and dynamic affinity” (as cited in Edinger, 1972/1973, p. 38). Jung (1953/1968) described the scope of the self as follows: “The self is not only the centre but also the whole circumference which embraces both conscious and unconscious; it is the centre of this totality, just as the ego is the centre of consciousness” (para. 44). The content of self includes all—the whole of the individual personality. But at the same time, the archetypal principal “self ” is the theme at the center which defines the entire “self-field.” Jung wrote: As an empirical concept [i.e., something we can experience], the self designates the whole range of psychic phenomena in man. It expresses the unity of the personality as a whole. But in so far as the total personality, on account of its unconscious component, can be only in part conscious, the concept of the self is, in part, only potentially empirical and is to that extent a postulate. In other words, it encompasses both the experienceable and the inexperienceable (or the not yet experienced). (1921/1971, para. 789) Intellectually the self is no more than a psychological concept, a construct that serves to express an unknowable essence, which we cannot grasp as such, since by definition it transcends our powers of comprehension. It might equally well be called the “God within us.” The beginnings of our whole psychic life seem to be inextricably rooted in this point, and all our highest and ultimate purposes seem to be striving towards it. This paradox is unavoidable, as always, when we try to define something that lies beyond the bourn of our understanding. I hope it has become sufficiently clear to the attentive reader that the self has as much to do with the ego as the sun with the earth. (1953/1966, paras. 399-400) He also noted: “The idea of a self is itself a transcendental postulate which, although justifiable psychologically, does not allow [for] scientific proof ” (1953/1966, para. 405). Self is essentially the psychological analog to our deities. It is both suprapersonal and personal, at once the “All” and the “I.” It’s what gives meaning and purpose to our psychological lives. Self is “not merely the empirical man, but the totality of his being, which is rooted in his animal nature and reaches out beyond the merely human towards the divine” ( Jung, 1956/1967, para. 460). In fact, Angelo Spoto’s observation that, “psychologically speaking, there is a preponderance of evidence that suggests we are truly born ‘in the image and likeness of God,’ in spite of the ego’s hubris” (1989/1995, p. 151) speaks to the essence of Self. Whereas the ego conceives of God as resembling who we think of ourselves as being, the Self is, by definition, the human manifestation of God—whatever that truly may be. As such, self is the very definition of balance and wholeness. Our inner drive toward wellbeing and the incessant urge to “be all that you can be” are, in the Jungian landscape, our hard-wired pull toward “self-hood.” In Memories, Dreams, Reflections (1961/1963), Jung defines self as “the central archetype; the archetype of order; the totality of the personality” (p. 398). Thus, it is “an autonomous information or awareness as well as meaning and intention system with goal-directedness and desires that meaningfully underlie those goals” (Whitmont, 1993, p. 15). Such necessarily abstract descriptions are almost impossible to wrap our minds around, so we look to examples. The Buddha and Christ, or at least our ideas of them, provide such examples. Christ, as a hero and god-man, signifies psychologically the self; that is, he represents the projection of this most important and most central of archetypes. … The self, as a symbol of wholeness … therefore contains light and darkness simultaneously. ( Jung, 1956/1967, para. 576) Jung also noted that the mandala image found in so many different cultures is a graphic representation of the wholeness of “self.” Estrangement from self and the short-circuiting of the natural urge to “individuate” (to develop the person we potentially are) is the epidemic of our age, manifesting as ego inflation. “Western man lives in a thick cloud of incense which he burns to himself so that his own countenance may be veiled from him in the smoke” ( Jung, 1964/1970, para. 183). It seems to me that many modern humans, lacking cultural philosophies, institutions, and rituals to keep them aware and respectful of the unconscious Other, live their lives in pursuit of the wrong psychological goal. The innate pull they feel toward fulfillment and becoming—toward the Self—is misconstrued from within our limited consciousness-is-everything perspective as a need for Ego fulfillment. And I believe that this alienation from the self lies at the root of virtually all the modern trends of psychological and social dysfunction. Indeed, “Although the pathogenic conflict is a personal matter it is also a broadly human conflict manifesting itself in the individual, for disunity with oneself is the hall-mark of civilized man” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 16).

Twenty-first century depth typology, accessible to the layperson, can help us get ourselves back on the track of our personal journeys to self. Jung (1953/1966) wrote that: The unconscious processes stand in a compensatory relation to the conscious mind. I expressly use the word “compensatory” and not the word “contrary” because conscious and unconscious are not necessarily in opposition to one another, but complement one another to form a totality, which is the self. (para. 274) In Beebe’s eight function-attitude eight archetype model, those “unconscious processes” are encapsulated in the function-attitudes of each type’s shadow, along with the archetypal energies that carry them. Thus, the framework of depth typology can be read as a treasure map to Self.

Chapter 5 ______________

Individuation, Differentiation, and Type Development Whoever you are: some evening take a step Out of your house, which you know so well. Enormous space is near, your house lies where it begins, Whoever you are. — R. M. RILKE

I

n this chapter, I’ll attempt to clarify a few more basic Jungian concepts and how they fit into the type framework. In Chapter 4 we focused on the structural elements of Jung’s map of the psyche—the different “territories,” as it were. Here we’ll focus on the dynamics and processes in which those elements are involved—the relationships and interactions between those territories. This will take us further beyond simply defining concepts and deeper into exploring our psychological lives, and how personality type can serve as a guide for that exploration.

INDIVIDUATION For Jung, “individuation” is the psychological purpose of our lives— with the ultimate goal being an activated, conscious Self. He wrote that: Individuation means becoming an “in-dividual,” and, in so far as “individuality” embraces our innermost, last, and incomparable uniqueness, it also implies becoming one’s own self. We could therefore translate individuation as “coming to selfhood” or “self-realization.” (1953/1966, para. 266) That “self ” that we are “realizing” is nothing less than the whole potential individual within us. “The goal of the individuation process is to achieve a conscious relation to the Self ” (Edinger, 1972/1973, p. 261). The process can be difficult, messy, and even painful at times; but the rewards of continuing to become ever more whole, of growing into our potential, are great. On the other hand, the consequences of prolonged resistance to this natural developmental pull are dysfunction and disease. “A one-sided (‘typical’) attitude leaves a deficiency in the adaptive performance which accumulates during the course of life, and sooner or later this will produce a disturbance of adaption that drives the subject toward some kind of compensation” ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 28). Individuation is the noble quest of humans for the Holy Grail that Maslow called “self-actualization,” and at the same time, it is merely the psychological side of the imperative to adapt and evolve that’s shared by all living creatures. Like all living systems, human beings cannot thrive in a static state, but must “continually create, or recreate, themselves by transforming or replacing their components. In this way, they undergo continual structural changes while preserving their weblike patterns of organization” (Capra, 2002, p. 10). And we are, as Lenore Thomson (1998) points out, “ ‘hardwired’ for the kind of tension that makes change possible” (p. 24). Individuation follows an ebb-and-flow pattern: relative competency, followed by incapacity, and then a growth spurt. We are pushed into growth when we’re unable to adapt to external circumstances without upgrading the Me to a version that can handle the situation. We naturally resist the change, but “the plunge into this process becomes unavoidable whenever the necessity arises of overcoming an apparently insuperable difficulty” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 252). After each success, we may rest in relative stasis for a while, only to struggle forward again when the need arises. If a final destination exists at all, probably no human has ever gotten there, not even those whose

wisdom we venerate because they traveled so much farther than the rest of us. So Rilke may well have been right that “our task is to be continually defeated by ever-larger things” (as cited in Hollis, 2011, May 6-7). This sounds quite discouraging at first; but many find it to be the only truly fulfilling way to live; it certainly seems better than the alternative: to be repeatedly beaten back by different versions of the same old thing. Jung (1921/1971) described individuation as “the process by which individual beings are formed and differentiated; in particular, it is the development of the psychological individual as a being distinct from the general, collective psychology” (para. 757). His description of this process sounds at first like a contradiction: in order to fulfill our unique individuality, we must integrate ever more of that collective unconscious into consciousness. But Jung was saying that since we start out as indistinguishable beings of the unconscious collective, it is in the process of bringing specific parts of the collective into consciousness that our individuality unfolds. How that collective material manifests to form a sovereign individual is influenced by the factors that make us unique: our genetics, our experience, our environment, and so on. “The meaning and purpose of the process is the realization, in all aspects, of the personality originally hidden away in the embryonic germ-plasm; the production and unfolding of the original, potential wholeness” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 186).

DIFFERENTIATION Jung’s terms “individuation” and “differentiation” are so closely interconnected that they are easily conflated.As he put it,“individuation … is a process of differentiation, having for its goal the development of the individual personality” (1921/1971, para. 757). So it’s a matter of a process within a process. Individuation is the big picture, the macro-process which “aims at a living co-operation of all factors”( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 268) while differentiation describes the mechanism by which those “factors” move toward the “living cooperation.” Differentiation grows out of the most fundamental principle of Jung’s psychology: that we are “born unconscious” (1961, para. 728) and spend our lives bringing more and more of our unconscious elements into conscious awareness and use. Differentiation is the essence, the sine qua non of consciousness. Everything unconscious is undifferentiated, and everything that happens unconsciously proceeds on the basis of non-differentiation—that is to say, there is no determining whether it belongs or does not belong to oneself. ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 329) So, “differentiation means the development of differences, the separation of parts from a whole” ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 705). It involves, then, the disentangling and discernment of each of these different parts from the primordial soup of unconsciousness, and in a larger sense, the distinguishing of the different individual from the unconscious collective of all of humanity.

RIGIDITY There is an inevitable conflict of interest between the ego and the individuation imperative. Let’s take Jung’s advice and try to “picture the conscious mind, with the ego as its centre, as being opposed to the unconscious, and … now add to our mental picture the process of assimilating the unconscious” (1953/1966, para. 365). We’ll do so by drawing a simple allegorical picture: Early in the history of each human’s personal world, some parts of the individual have managed to make their way to the new territory of “consciousness” and establish a thriving, seemingly self-sufficient community, called by its inhabitants, “Me.” The handful of characters in this tiny community don’t always see things the same way, but they’ve developed a mutual respect for and a functional relationship with each other and are generally successful as a team. However, when new immigrants arrive— characters who obviously see things differently and operate differently—they are viewed by the community as a threat. And if they eventually claim citizenship and dare to demand a voice in the city’s affairs, it’s seen by those who still believe they should be running things (the municipal government, “Ego”) as outrageous and unacceptable. Never mind that the new arrivals have been drawn to this place precisely because they are needed for the continuing vitality of the community. And forget that, on some deep level, the old-timers realize this. These strangers threaten the status quo and particularly the privileged influence of the old guard, so the Ego reacts

automatically to try to push the newcomers back to wherever they came from. James Hollis (1996) employed similar imagery, writing: While the ego would like to make the universe of the soul monocratic and monotheistic, the psyche is in fact polytheistic and powerfully democratic, with many split-off energies or complexes. This enlarged sense of self requires a dialogue with these energies and an ego both open and humble. (p. 57) In the face of this internal conflict, we have two responses to choose from: We can rigidly defend our narrow notion of who we are, or we can choose to open ourselves to the opportunity to evolve. Both options involve discomfort. But the rigidity of ego inflation is not the natural way for humans to be nor is it an effective way to deal with the world. Thus, it becomes increasingly uncomfortable, problematic, dysfunctional, and unhealthy for as long as we continue to resist. Our other option is to go along with the natural process—uncomfortable, awkward, and unwelcome as it may be. The advantage of this choice is that things do get better: we get to the other side of the growing pains and are rewarded by having become a more effective, more capable, and more satisfied human being. Rigidity is the way of “control” and “will-power.” Whose control and will? The Ego’s of course! But in exchange for the illusion of control and stability, we inflict tremendous psychological damage on ourselves and each other and eventually damage our physical health as well. A fourth century B.C, Chinese Taoist succinctly dismissed such illadvised attempts to rigidly defend the “ruling ideas,” saying: She who wants to have right without wrong, Order without disorder, Does not understand the principles Of Heaven and Earth. She does not know how Things hang together. —Chuang Tzu (as cited in Wheatley, 1999, p. 74) Von Franz (1970/1981) put it this way: “If we take the unconscious and the process of individuation seriously, we cannot arrange our lives any longer” (p. 112). If we can accept this—if we can embrace intermittent chaos in our life and periods of incompetence in ourselves—then we will choose the healthy response to the questions raised by Jung and echoed by Beebe: “Do you want to be perfect? Or do you want to be whole?” (2012, Nov. 12). We can use our human capacity for self-awareness and rational decision-making to override our ego’s instinctive defensiveness. When we allow (or better, encourage) the process of individuation to flow naturally, we enable an elegantly evolved mechanism for maintaining or regaining “dynamic balance” to take over. Psychologically,this manifests as the mechanisms of compensation kicking in with exactly the right response to an inadequate or dysfunctional ego one-sidedness, not only to resolve the immediate problem but also to use the tension of the situation to spur our development. The functional relation of the unconscious processes to consciousness may be described as compensatory, since experience shows that they bring to the surface the subliminal material that is constellated by the conscious situation, i.e., all the content which could not be missing from the picture if everything were conscious. The compensatory function of the unconscious becomes more obvious the more one-sided the conscious attitude is. ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 843) The hard part for us is to learn to trust that the unconscious pilot, the self, is far wiser than the limited ego and that her seemingly bizarre course is, ultimately, the right one. This is made doubly difficult because not only is such a change resisted by our own conscious ego, it is usually opposed by our external support system as well. The “resist at all costs” option is supported by modern Western morality. In fact, Jung (1953/1966) saw Western culture as “so utterly molded” by its conscious moral framework that: the unconscious counter-position can discover no foothold there, for the simple reason that it seems too much the antithesis of our ruling ideas. The more one-sidedly, rigidly, and absolutely the one position is held, the more aggressive, hostile, and incompatible will the other become, so that at first sight there would seem to be little prospect of reconciling the two. (para. 118)

The “individual standpoint” being developed appears “antagonistic” to the collective, even though Jung assures us that it is not; it is merely “differently oriented” (1921/1971, para. 761). Individuation is always to some extent opposed to collective norms, since it means separation and differentiation from the general and a building up of the particular—not a particularity that is sought out, but one that is already ingrained in the psychic constitution. ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 761) But differentiation always strengthens the community (system) no matter what sort of differentiation or what kind of system we examine. •

•

•

•

In biological evolution: “Over time, this pattern of differentiation, i.e., the distribution of the workload among the [specialized] members of the community, became embedded in the genes of every cell in the community, significantly increasing the organism’s efficiency and its ability to survive” (Lipton, 2005/2008, p. 10). In the “community” of the human mind: “There arises a consciousness which is no longer imprisoned in the petty, oversensitive, personal world of the ego, but participates freely in the wider world of objective interests” (Jung, 1953/1966, para. 275). In social systems of inter-human relationships and activities: “Companionship thrives only when each individual remembers his individuality and does not identify himself with others” [i.e., “project” collective content] (Jung, 1961/1963, p. 356). Individuation is, I believe, even the key to cooperative participation in the dance of the universe itself. Individuation, by definition, is the advancement of the cosmos through the fullest possible development of the individual who carries that cosmos in a differentiated way. To regress, to seek togetherness, to abstain from the journey toward one’s fuller self, is not only soulcrime, it is a denial of the universe itself. (Hollis, 1996, p. 60)

And I am convinced that it was this ongoing cosmic obligation to individuate that Jesus of Nazareth spoke of, saying, “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” ( John 3:3, King James Version).

INDIVIDUATION AND PSYCHOLOGICAL TYPE Jung’s subtitle for the first edition of Psychological Types was “The Psychology of Individuation.” He flatly stated that: “There is no consciousness without discrimination of opposites” (1959/1969a, p. 178), and that “the central concept of my psychology [is] the process of individuation” (1961/1963, p. 209). He clearly saw individuation, via the differentiation and development of oppositional elements, as the key dynamic of human development. The modern model of psychological type includes the fundamental framework and dynamic process of this “discrimination of opposites.” In Psychological Types (1921/1971), Jung made it clear that the opposing elements of type are all needed: Every man, as a relatively stable being, possesses all the basic psychological functions … evidently one alone is not enough, since the object seems to be only partially comprehended when, for example, it is something that is merely thought or merely felt. (para. 28) He also explained how the dynamics of differentiation apply to those typological elements: In this work I employ the concept of differentiation chiefly with respect to the psychological functions. So long as a function is still so fused with one or more other functions … that it is unable to operate on its own, it is in an archaic [unconscious] condition, i.e., not differentiated. … As a rule, the undifferentiated function is also characterized by ambivalence and ambitendency, i.e., every position entails its own negation, and this leads to characteristic inhibitions in the use of the undifferentiated function. … it is not only fused together in its parts but also merged with other functions. Differentiation consists in the separation of the function from other functions, and in the separation of its individual parts from each other. Without differentiation direction is impossible, since the direction of a function towards a goal depends on the elimination of anything

irrelevant. Fusion with the irrelevant precludes direction; only a differentiated function is capable of being directed. (para. 705) Differentiation of the function-attitudes enables individuation,moving the individual toward what the MBTI® Manual calls “optimum use” of the functions “through selective development of each function in proportion both to its relative importance to the individual and its useful relationships to the other processes” (Myers et al., 1998, p. 28). But it was not until John Beebe fleshed out the typological framework to encompass all eight of Jung’s function-attitudes, each with a characteristic emotional energy, that the model of psychological type became fully capable of encompassing the over-arching concept of individuation and its system-wide dynamics.

INDIVIDUATION AND “TYPE DEVELOPMENT” Before we leave our examination of individuation, we need to look at the concept of “type development.” To my mind, the term “type development” is nearly synonymous with “individuation,” when individuation is considered in terms of typology. Jung (1954) wrote: “The ultimate aim and strongest desire of all mankind is to develop that fullness of life which is called personality. … [i.e.,] a wellrounded psychic whole that is capable of resistance and abounding in energy” (paras. 284, 286). True type development is individuation, and individuation largely can be described in terms of type development. But many type practitioners use the term quite differently to mean conscious, intentional expansion of our “type toolkit”—with an implied focus on personality traits, practical skills, and competencies. The seminal example of this approach can be seen in Gary and Margaret Hartzler’s Functions of Type (2005),a workbook of activities for developing one’s comfort and skill in engaging non-preferred function-attitudes. This approach is also the keystone of many type-based training programs; and I believe that such type-stretching exercises have great merit. But if they have any lasting impact on the process of individuation, it is indirect at best. Jung (1953/1966) flatly stated that: “It is … impossible to achieve individuation by conscious intention, because conscious intention invariably leads to a typical [typological] attitude that excludes whatever does not fit in with it” (para. 505). He advocated, rather, for “assimilation,” by which he meant: “mutual penetration of conscious and unconscious, and not—as is commonly thought and practiced—a one-sided evaluation, interpretation, and deformation of unconscious contents by the conscious mind” (1954/1966, para. 327). Beebe (2004) elaborates: I believe that only some such direct experience of the types as one’s own, and the permission to consider them in one’s own way, can enable a patient to avail him or herself of the individuation potential of the type theory. Otherwise, type becomes another way to learn from others what one is, and a new set of tasks to be learned in the effort to adapt more effectively to the environment. There can be value in type still in discovering new energy for adaptation, but this is not the same as individuation. (p. 94) Doing our best to experience and practice using our undeveloped function-attitudes has many important benefits: It gives us some sense of each function-attitude, which in turn engenders respect for its contributions and for those who use it well. It gives us a greater appreciation of our own incompetence and ignorance in these areas, which leads to a healthy humility. It encourages us to develop conscious compensation tactics, such as enlisting the aid of someone with different typological gifts. It helps us deal a little better with what life throws at us. And it may ease our differentiation process when we’re ready to truly integrate that function-attitude into our consciousness. But this approach to intentional “development,” on its own, can never be more than an attempt to better understand and pick up some coping tricks and an opportunity to practice some unfamiliar skills—to observe from our conscious ego standpoint and emulate function-attitudes that remain essentially as unconscious as ever. It does not create a fundamental shift in that ego standpoint, which is what individuation is all about. The differentiation of function-attitudes appears to involve two kinds of processes. One is straightforward behavioral psychology: We engage the particular mode of perception or judgment; it’s effective, so we become more inclined to use it again. Through simple reinforcement and repeated experience, we become more and more comfortable and skilled with it. As we continue to use the function with greater and greater success, we not only become more adept with a new and increasingly refined skillset but we also become more and more deliberate (conscious) in its use. I suspect that it also is through this process of repeated practice and refinement that we differentiate the use of the function in one attitude from the other. We simply find the innately preferred, ego-syntonic attitude easier, more enjoyable, and more effective than its ego-dystonic sibling—probably because it fits better with the existing ego-

perspective. This is the aspect of differentiation that type development exercises attempt to facilitate. But this process alone doesn’t explain why we are not able to develop truly skilled and comfortable use of a given FA throughout much of our life; then at some point the shift inexplicably begins, and the new skills gradually become part of the ego’s toolkit and the new perspective integrated into our sense of “who I am.” In order for true differentiation to proceed, there also must be an energic readiness— an openness to engaging, experiencing, and embracing the new way of operating. Without the appropriate energic alignment, we’re not truly open to the new experience; and if we try to force ourselves to “go there” prematurely, it can only be the ego’s shallow imitation of the mental process, similar to an actor attempting to portray a deep emotion that he has never experienced. It seems that this energic aspect of differentiation is what makes possible the experiential part of the process. In order for the functional aspect of differentiation to proceed, the energic factor must first be aligned properly. To borrow a metaphor from Jung (1961/1963), in order for an amorphous liquid to transform into crystalline form (analogous to the differentiation of a function-attitude), there must first be an energic readiness—formless but undeniably present —in the liquid to guide it to constellate into that specific crystalline pattern (p. 393). In liquids, this “energic readiness” is held in the atomic and molecular bonds between positively and negatively charged particles. In psychology, it is that mysterious factor that Jung simply called “psychic energy” or “libido.” We understand little about its nature though we can often observe its effects. It’s ultimately unknowable from our conscious, egoperspective. It proceeds on its own timetable and follows a circuitous path that doesn’t “make sense” to us. Thinking about differentiation in terms of both an energy shift and the behavior-reinforced refinement of a mode of operating may shed light on an otherwise perplexing phenomenon. In order for an unconscious function-attitude (for example, let’s say someone’s tertiary extraverted sensation) to develop into consciousness, it must be differentiated from other mental processes. In particular, Sensation needs to be separated from the other perceiving function, Intuition, and extraverted sensation must be distinguished from introverted sensation. The process of bringing tertiary Se into consciousness, then, has to involve some differentiation of Si too. But in our example, Si in the seventh position in the hierarchy of preferences normally remains relatively unconscious. How does this happen? How can the differentiation of Se in our example lead to conscious use of the FA and possibly even to integration into the ego team, while the differentiation of Si does not? Perhaps the explanation lies in the functional aspect of the differentiation process. Imagine that we have a pile of objects of many different colors, including two slightly different shades of green, and our task is to sort (differentiate) the darker green from all the rest. As we work to build a new pile of only dark green objects, we’ll inevitably pick up many green pieces that, upon closer examination, turn out to be not quite the color we’re seeking. By the time we’ve assembled our dark green pile, we also will have become more familiar with the lighter green objects, and there probably will be a part of the original pile that’s largely light green, where we’ve tossed them back. Similarly, in our example of differentiating tertiary extraverted sensation from the rest of the unconscious mix, introverted sensation would inevitably have become somewhat differentiated too, though not normally so much so that it is developed into skillful, conscious use or cleanly separated from the unconscious. There was an energic readiness to engage Sensation in general, but as the individual increasingly employs her sensation, she comes to hone in and rely more and more upon extraverted sensation, and less upon introverted sensation, because she is more successful with Se. It makes sense then, that simply based on the practice and reinforcement they receive, eventually her extraverted sensing approach is more likely to become sophisticated and conscious, while her use of introverted sensing will probably only reach a very modest level of development, and, therefore, remain mostly unconscious. The energic aspect of differentiation also speaks to why it is that “type development” exercises have a limited impact on individuation. We cannot consciously know how to go about aligning our psychic energies to support the process, nor even consciously know when our psyche is ready for it. So conscious intention, without corresponding energic readiness, cannot initiate or support true differentiation. “The assimilation of unconscious contents leads, on the contrary, to a condition in which conscious intention is excluded and is supplanted by a process of development that seems to us irrational. This process alone signifies individuation” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 505). Conscious attention, on the other hand, does seem to play a crucial role in this process once differentiation is underway. Experience, good coaching, and “tuning-in” practices such as dream work, active imagination, and meditation can smooth the road and facilitate the process. Although individuation is clearly moved and shaped by the unconscious, the destination for the content that’s being differentiated is consciousness. So an attentive and open attitude on the part of the ego can make all the difference. Just as electronic communication requires both a

transmitter and a receiver, individuation requires both the unconscious source and the conscious recipient. If we can notice and embrace the perceptions and capabilities that begin to alter our conscious toolkit, rather than rigidly resisting them, the process can move forward more smoothly and with less trauma. And in that interim period of discomfort, confusion, and incompetence that Jung called “dissolutio”—wherein who we were seems to fall apart, in order to morph into who we are becoming—being consciously aware that what’s going on is healthy and temporary can be very reassuring. I’ll touch more on individuation in Chapters 10 and 11, but it’s a process that is intrinsically unknowable. It contradicts our “common sense,” and defied even Jung’s skill with logical explanations, leaving him to hint cryptically: “There is no linear evolution; there is only a circumambulation of the self ” (1961/1963, p. 196).

Part II ____________________

Beebe’s Depth Typology Model

J

ohn Beebe began publicly presenting his model in 1983. Though he has dubbed it the “Eight Function-Attitude Eight Archetype”model, many people know it simply as “the Beebe model.” Many aspects of its framework and many of its concepts and terms are shared with earlier type models while some are original to this version. Dr. Beebe built upon the theories and models of Jung and Myers to create a new iteration of the framework—one that encompasses the shadow side of personality. He synthesized their observations and insights, along with his own and those of other Jungian and type theorists, to flesh out the details and dynamics of that expanded framework. As valuable as his unique additions are, Beebe’s greatest contribution has been his judicious reconciliation and marriage of the most valuable insights of his predecessors into an elegant, comprehensive, and utilitarian model of whole personality.

Chapter 6 ______________

The Function-Attitudes No individual is simply introverted or extraverted, but that he is so in one of his functions. — C. G. JUNG

T

he basic “building blocks” of Jungian typology are the eight function-attitudes. Each has its own particular mode of operating as well as characteristic traits and skillsets that people who differentiate that function-attitude into consciousness tend to develop. We can learn to recognize and understand each function-attitude by becoming familiar with the associated behaviors or by understanding the underlying psychological mechanism itself. Of course, it’s best to study the FAs from both directions. The traits help us recognize the function-attitudes when we see them in action. The theory helps us understand the actual mental processes behind what we see. The terminology in current use for the function-attitudes can be a little confusing as no single label has yet emerged into universal acceptance. Many people call them the “mental processes” of type, the term suggested by Leona Haas and me in Building Blocks of Personality Type (2006). Others call them “cognitive processes,” as suggested by Linda Berens (1999). I now lean toward using the term introduced by Henry (Dick) Thompson (1996), “functionattitudes” (though I also use the other terms occasionally), simply because it seems to be the term that has caught on most widely. It doesn’t matter what we call them as long as everyone understands what is meant: the four Jungian “functions” in the extraverted or introverted attitude through which they are engaged. People who habitually think and write in terms of the function-attitudes will sometimes call them simply “functions” for short. So whenever we read “function,” we need to be aware of the context. Does the writer mean the function itself, or is it shorthand for “function-attitude?” Ultimately we can come to truly understand the function-attitudes only by observing them in action in ourselves and others. But this “process watching” must begin with some understanding of what we’re watching for. In addition to attending training workshops led by people who understand the function-attitudes, there are three other ways to learn the basics: reading extensive descriptions of the FAs, learning the core characteristics of each function-attitude, and getting a grasp of the logic of how each works. Of course, a combination of all these approaches works best, but how you start out and which approach becomes your touchstone will depend on your personal learning style. Extensive and detailed portraits of the eight function-attitudes are already available in Building Blocks of Personality Type (Haas & Hunziker, 2006), so I won’t attempt to cover that approach here. In that book, a chapter is devoted to each function-attitude. In each of these chapters, scores of brief statements are presented, all based on input from people for whom that function-attitude is either their dominant or auxiliary function. The effect is similar to that of an impressionist painting where the array of dots (the bits of information) adds up to a coherent, vivid image. We’ll cover the other two learning approaches in the following pages— describing the core characteristics of the functions, attitudes, and function-attitudes and exploring the fundamental principles of how they operate.

THE FUNCTIONS Understanding the function-attitudes starts with understanding the nature of the four functions. In examining cognition, Jung came to the conclusion that there are two basic kinds of mental operations that we conduct almost constantly: “perception” (taking in information) and “judgment” (assessing that information and deciding what action to take). Furthermore,he identified the two basic approaches we can take to each of these tasks: We perceive

through either Sensation or Intuition. We make our choices (judge) through either Thinking or Feeling. In a nutshell: • • •

•

Sensation is the mode of perception that focuses on information that we detect with our senses. Seeing the world through Sensation is all about the sensory experience. Intuition is the mode of perception that focuses on the relationships between the data points. Seeing the world through Intuition is all about noticing patterns and possibilities. Thinking is a decision-making mode that employs logical analysis. Judgment via the Thinking approach is based on cause-and-effect analysis, with the objective of choosing actions that will produce the most effective outcomes. Feeling is a decision-making mode that employs evaluation. Judgment via the Feeling approach is based on anticipation of the impact, with the objective of choosing actions that will produce the most desirable, harmonious outcomes.

The four Jungian functions are the starting point for most introductory workshops. Many excellent and detailed descriptions of them have been written, so I won’t reiterate those here. Instead, we’ll review some key principles that speak to the nature of the functions. It’s easy to lose track of these basics, even for type experts. But if we do, we risk losing sight of the essence of what we’re dealing with. I’ve been skiing at an expert level for a long time. But every once in a while, I’ll have a day when I fall a lot. It feels like I’m fighting the mountain, rather than flowing with it. That’s when I know I need to remind myself of the most basic rule: “Keep most of your weight on your downhill ski.” After a few minutes of focusing on this, I’m back in the groove. When we see professional athletes struggling, oftentimes the commentators will advise them to “get back to the fundamentals.” Likewise, even experienced type professionals need to review the fundamentals of type from time to time. Here are a few basics pertaining to the functions that I find myself and others occasionally neglecting to keep in mind: •

•

•

The functions are truly “theoretical” in that they do not exist unto themselves. It is only when they are activated with the directed attention of either the extraverted or introverted attitude that they can be said to become functionally real. It’s similar to the way verbs work. Without directionality, “to look,” for example, is just an idea. You can’t look, without looking at something. Each function describes a kind of thing we do, but it’s only when the functions are activated by an attitude that they describe the doing of that thing. Each dichotomy is an either/or proposition. Sure, we all perceive using both Sensation (S) and Intuition (N) and judge via both Thinking (T) and Feeling (F). But to be used consciously and effectively, Sensing and Intuiting must be engaged separately, never mixed together. Likewise with Thinking and Feeling. In fact, Jung called the process of development “differentiation” precisely because it involves separating the individual personality from the mixedtogether collective. Within the type framework, the same principle applies to the elements of personality. They need to be differentiated from the merged-together gumbo of the unconscious in order for us to be able to engage them with conscious intention, each with its distinct modality and scope. We can’t use Sensation with Intuition or Thinking with Feeling simultaneously any more than we can look North and South at the same time. And if we could kindasorta look both ways (perhaps by spinning around really fast), we wouldn’t see in either direction very clearly. Sensation and Intuition are all about perceiving (P), and Thinking and Feeling are all about judging (J). This may seem a ridiculously elementary point to highlight, but the reality is that this can get confusing at times. Between the acts of taking in information (P) and deciding what action to take (J), there is a gray area of data storage, organization, and retrieval, which can be influenced by both the taking-in (P) and decision-making (J) functions being used. Sensing focuses on the concrete information, and Intuiting focuses on the possible links between that information. One’s perceiving preference seems to influence not just what sort of information is noticed, but also how that information is retained and retrieved (e.g., sequentially or randomly). Thinking requires classification systems to access information according to its relevance in an objective analysis. Feeling places a better/ worse ranking upon information for use in its evaluative approach to making decisions that promote harmony. When we find ourselves in this nether-region of how we handle information between taking it in and putting it to use, we may need to remind ourselves of the essential J or P nature of the processes at work. A judging functionattitude doesn’t influence what we notice, and a perceiving function-attitude doesn’t directly determine what action we take. Even though, for example, a preference for Sensing means that we mostly notice concrete facts, if our judging preference is for Feeling, then our decisions tend to be

•

based on the value or “worth” attached to those facts. The functions of perception are “irrational” and the judging functions are “rational” (Jung’s terms). In other words, each perceiving function is like a setting on a camera: For each setting, you simply get what you get— what that function is programmed to detect. The judging functions, on the other hand, each involve mental manipulation of one sort or another. Similar to when we use photo-editing software to create something new from a collection of raw images, there is active cognitive business involved. And although that business is limited by the software program—the judging function used— the results are not predetermined. The process could take you in many different directions. Beebe (1992) summarizes this, saying that the perceiving functions are “the functions of the given,” whereas the judging functions are “the functions of option” (p. 24).

THE ATTITUDES “Attitude,” according to Jung (1921/1971), “is a readiness of the psyche to act or react in a certain way” (para. 687). The key thing to know about the attitude of extraversion is that it’s “objective.”That is, its focus is upon the external object (thing, person, event). It is the inclusive We-oriented interaction with the object that is energizing to a person using a preferred extraverted function. Much as we feel the radiant warmth of the sun, the extraverted experience is mostly determined by the external thing being experienced. Beebe elaborates, saying that “the extraverted functions … tend to merge with the object as to identify with it” and that when it comes to inter-personal interactions, “extraversion moves to create a shared experience” (personal communication, December 23-24, 2010). The key thing about introversion is that it’s “subjective.” Its focus is upon the personal process, even if it is in response to an external stimulus. It is this private Me-oriented synthesizing process that is energizing to a person using a preferred introverted function, much as we are warmed by the internal metabolization of our food. The introverted experience is mostly determined by the nature of the person who is doing the experiencing. Beebe (2006) explains: An introverted function, therefore, is one that has turned away from the object and toward the archetypal “idea” that the object might be closely matched to. This archetypal idea, or a model of reality residing in the inner world, can be understood as a profound thought (T), a value (F), a metaphorical image (N), or a model of reality (S). When an introverted function is used to orient to something external, it is in the end the comparison to the archetype, not the stimulating object or situation itself, that finally commands the attention of the function. (p. 134) Extraversion is communal; introversion is private. Whereas a person’s engagement of an extraverted function can generally be observed if you know what to look for, an introverted function often must be deduced from its observable effects and affects. In addition, extraversion is generally a real-time, in situ activity; but with introversion, there often appears to be a slight delay, as internal processing takes place. The quicker versus the slower pace of an extraverted function versus its introverted sibling is often the first clue to which one we’re witnessing.

THE FUNCTION-ATTITUDES It is certainly useful to simply hold eight bundles of traits in memory, each bundle typifying a different functionattitude. As we use this model, we do accumulate such mental databases of behavioral reference material. But, for new learners, it’s quite possible to simply “work out” many of the characteristics of each function-attitude, with reasonable accuracy, from a basic understanding of the function and the attitude. Furthermore, this approach becomes indispensable as we delve deeper into the nuances of depth typology. It is relatively easy to observe, describe, and remember the characteristics of the eight function-attitudes as they appear when they are highly differentiated and engaged in conscious use. But below the typological surface, things get more complicated and the function-attitudes less easy to spot or understand. Unconscious function-attitudes don’t behave in the clear, skillsetrelated ways that we have learned to identify. They’re more like the primitive predecessors of what they could become if developed into consciousness. If we were anthropologists trying to identify distant evolutionary ancestors of modern Homo sapiens, simply having an image of modern humans in mind and looking for some creatures that

look like us would not work very well. Instead, we’d need to know the defining characteristics of human-kind and look for those. Likewise in typology, if we have an understanding of the essence of each functionattitude, we can not only correctly identify what we can easily see, but we are also able to speculate intelligently about what is more obscure. Table 1, on the next page, was created by John Beebe and gets to the essence of each function-attitude. If we think of the extensive descriptions in each “mental process” chapter of Building Blocks of Personality Type as describing the overall target for identifying and understanding each function-attitude; then Beebe’s three descriptors, below, form the triangulated bull’s eye with the word in bold font at the center of that bull’s eye. As Beebe (2016) puts it, that central word in each triad is the one that “best gets at the heart of what that process is engaged in accomplishing.” I recommend that anyone interested in this work either memorize this table or keep it handy for quick reference. These descriptors, along with a sound understanding of the functions and the extraversion and introversion attitudes, provide a solid foundation from which we can deduce a whole range of associated characteristics.

Table 1. Beebe’s Function-Attitude Descriptors. Copyright by John Beebe 2014. Used with permission from the author.

Each set of descriptors presents much more than a static picture of the function-attitude; it portrays a dynamic narrative of how the FA tends to operate—a sequence of shifting focus that applies to both how we develop a given function-attitude into consciousness and how we engage it in the moment. Reading any of the lines of descriptors from left to right, we see what Beebe (2016) describes as a “progressive maturation” of the functionattitude. The first word describes the gist of a function-attitude as it is initially adopted into the persona of an individual. As such, this initial shift can often be detected by sensitive observers if only as a “something different.” As the FA becomes more differentiated and developed, it is gradually accepted by the ego. So we consider this second level to be of special importance because it’s the stage at which the person’s sense of “who I am” expands to embrace the skills, traits, and ways of operating of the “new” function-attitude— with this activity (the one in bold in the table) as its primary focus. If the maturation of the FA continues toward its highest possible level, it evolves into its optimal relationship with the entirety of the self. Thus, development of extraverted sensation, for example, begins with an urge to engage with the objects and people around us. It then progresses into a mature desire for and appreciation of the in-themoment experience of being engaged. And ultimately, Se can come to encompass pure enjoyment, thus bringing the greatest possible depth to the engaging and experiencing. Another way to think of this developmental sequence is that what starts out as an upgrade in the role we play leads to a reconfiguration of our identity, and finally becomes a matter of stepping into a more-nearly complete version of our unique potential wholeness. This insight into how function-attitudes develop also sheds light on how we tend to slip into a particular developed mode of operating in the moment. My dominant introverted intuition often initially engages in what others might describe as “daydreaming” and feels to me like imagining just for the fun of it. This usually turns into a more purposeful, ego-driven quest for knowing what’s going on behind the scenes—how what I witness and what I imagine fits with other information, whether people are being forthright or pursuing hidden agendas, etc. The process often then shifts to divining the meaning or significance embedded deep within. Although imagining is fun in its own right and having a sense of knowing is very important to me, it has always felt like divining obscure “truths” is the ultimate purpose and responsibility of my intuitive gift.

The following brief exercises in “figuring it out” demonstrate how many characteristics of the function-attitudes can be deduced from a basic understanding of the functions and attitudes and show that we can even speculate with reasonable confidence about the behavioral traits that we are likely to see. For simplicity’s sake, we will stick with describing the function-attitudes when they are relatively conscious. We know that Sensation is an information-gathering function with a focus on concrete sensory information. We know that extraversion orients a function toward the external, objective environment and is energized by connecting with the object. We can reason then, that someone engaged in extraverted sensing (Se) is acutely aware of the people, things, and events in his immediate surroundings; is enjoying their colors, sounds, etc. directly; and is striving to engage with them. We might guess that since the energizing aspect of extraverted sensing is the sensory experience itself, people with this preference would tend to be particularly present in the moment, inclined to trust only what they can detect with their five senses, and would actively seek out new experiences. We can reasonably expect that people with highly-developed extraverted sensing would tend to be engaged in “smelling the roses” in the moment, rather than spending much time reminiscing, fantasizing, or planning; and they likely have a very accurate and reliable awareness of their current environment. For introverted sensing (Si), on the other hand, the sensory awareness would be directed “inward”—personal and subjective. People with a preference for introverted sensing, then, would be less acutely aware of the details of their current environment than their Se counterparts, and their sensory experience would likely be tempered by personal associations that the outer experience brings up. In fact, since it’s the personal experience of sensing that is energizing for them, it would focus them on their subjective reaction to the stimulus. Personal associations would come into play, so it’s not much of a leap to guess that it is the memories of similar experiences that are the focus of the Si experience. A person who sees the world through introverted sensing would probably, therefore, have a reliable sense of the historical background of any familiar situation. And this would likely make them very stable and reliable, most comfortable in activities they’ve encountered before, perhaps a bit slow to embrace new things, lending a continuity of tradition to all they do. They might well be very competent at implementing new procedures (based on old ones) and verifying that things are as they “should” be. The Feeling function is an evaluative decision-making process with a goal of choosing actions with desirable impact and that will promote harmony. People with developed extraverted feeling (Fe) would naturally tend to be concerned with harmonious interactions that build interpersonal relationships; they might, therefore, be conflict-averse, and probably would cultivate physical environments where everything fits together well to create an enjoyable ambiance. They would likely promote the social niceties that foster smooth interactions.They would probably make for gracious and conscientious hosts, exuding warmth as they actively seek to connect with other people. Their concerns for others’ needs would probably be obvious, and they would make those around them feel accepted and validated. Those with developed introverted feeling (Fi) would naturally be more concerned with personal harmony. Whereas Fe generally reflects the social values of the environment, people engaging introverted feeling would appraise actions based on their own private core values, to ensure that they don’t create internal discord. They would be far less dependent upon agreement and harmony around them as long as the external situation doesn’t impact their personal, internal balance. We could expect, then, that they would not tend to try to win others over to their point of view. They’d often go along with what they assume to be others’ deeply held convictions—as long as their own are not violated. And when they do lead, it would tend to be quietly and subtly by example or through body language. Since they are sustained by their inner harmony, they might strike us as serene, and it would not be surprising to find that they connect with others mostly in one-on-one situations and based on high levels of personal trust and authenticity. These exercises are intended to demonstrate that the function-attituderelated traits that we see or infer “make sense” when we think about how a certain mode of perception or judgment would be implemented through the extraverted versus the introverted orientation. This kind of reasoning becomes useful, for example, when we observe a trait, say during the process of verifying a client’s reported type, and need to decide whether that trait bolsters the case for a certain type or is evidence of development that may point to a different typology. For example, intuition is about seeing how bits of information relate to each other to understand the patterns, implications, and possibilities. Extraverted use of intuition is oriented toward the outer world. So when we observe someone whose interest is in generating practical, real-world, tangible, “doable,” demonstrable, and explainable

options—envisioning all scenarios, entertaining any possibility, and enabling others to see and experiment with an array of endeavors— we can deduce that their extraverted intuition is well-developed and active. On the other hand, if their focus is more abstract, vague, distant, and “impractical,” generating metaphysical insights that are hard for them to explain except through metaphors; if they seem to consider everything as being relevant, even unconscious material and the distant past and future—all in the interest of imagining distant, vague possibilities, gaining a personal sense of knowing, and divining meaning and purpose —this evinces use of well-developed introverted intuition. Thinking is about reaching conclusions according to reasoned criteria through logical analysis of the data within an organized framework of categories. When we observe someone who tends to organize the world around them, creating systems that support people and processes, based on shared rules, standards, structures, and procedures— someone for whom an orderly environment seems paramount and who seeks to create that order through regulation, planning, and enforcement— we should suspect that their extraverted use of thinking is highlydeveloped. By contrast, if their criteria, categories, and logic are hidden from view and seem to serve the goal of creating a personal understanding through subjective, internally-consistent, and precise logic—in the interest of discovering truth by naming, defining, and understanding all the pieces of the puzzle—then it’s pretty clear that it is well-developed introverted thinking that we’re witnessing. Being able to apply what we know to make educated guesses about what we don’t will be particularly useful as we explore the deeper regions of type where so much is unknown—where “figuring it out as you go along” is often our only option. When trying to recognize and understand how an unconscious shadow function-attitude may be influencing a situation, we often need to be able to logically extrapolate from what we know about—i.e., how they manifest when conscious—to speculate about how they may “look”and “behave”when they’re not conscious.We can’t assume that such reasoning will always lead to reliable insights, but if we use it to generate hypotheses about what might be going on typologically, with ourselves or a client, then we can explore further to test the hypothesis. And we will hit the mark surprisingly often.

THE SEQUENCE OF EIGHT FUNCTION-ATTITUDES Each type, in theory, has access to all eight of the function-attitudes; and there is an innate hierarchy of those FAs that is unique to that type. This arrangement is hierarchical in that it describes, for each type, a spectrum of functionattitude “preferences.”The most naturally preferred, comfortable, and energizing function-attitude is usually the one that becomes the most conscious, skilled, and frequently engaged, and it is represented at the top end of the hierarchy. The sequence of preference then steps down from there through the other FAs until it reaches the other pole, where the function-attitude that tends to be least accessible resides. Jung put the first stake in the ground for formulating this framework when he identified the eight possible “Superior” (“dominant”) function-attitudes at the most-preferred end of the spectrum. Briggs and Myers identified the second FA in the sequence, the “auxiliary,” as well as the “tertiary” function, and the “inferior” fourth function-attitude. In terms of function-attitudes, the Myers-Briggs theoretical model of the hierarchy was (using an ENTP example): #1 / Dominant: extraverted intuition #2 / Auxiliary: introverted thinking #3 / Tertiary: feeling (attitude uncertain) #4 / Inferior: introverted sensation No one, at that point, had attempted to explain how the other four function-attitudes might fit into the framework. But because the focus of MBTI users was on the issues of the ego-syntonic side of personality, the incompleteness of this picture was not considered problematic, indeed it was hardly even noticed. It makes sense that it would be a Jungian analyst who would complete the model by adding the ego-dystonic function-attitudes. Analytical psychologists’ training thoroughly educates them in Jungian theory and their profession requires that they seek to understand the workings of the unconscious. And John Beebe’s personal experience had led him to an unusually deep appreciation for the value and potential of psychological type. Beebe has described how his early attempts to

understand his own dreamscape revealed the first new features of what was to become his eight function-attitude eight archetype model (2016, Chapters 3 & 7). In the process of describing the dynamic arrangement of all of the function-attitudes in each type, Beebe needed to take a stand on the attitude of the tertiary. He sees it as “opposite in attitude to the auxiliary just as the inferior is opposite in attitude to the superior” (2004, p. 104). Both those who agree with this position and those who disagree cite Jung’s principle of balance as the theoretical basis for their reasoning. People who believe that the tertiary function is used in the same attitude as the auxiliary (and therefore that the auxiliary, tertiary, and inferior are all opposite in attitude from the dominant) hold that balancing the orientation of the supremelypowerful dominant function-attitude would require the collective weight of all three of the other ego-syntonic function-attitudes. I find that Beebe’s view, however, forms a more elegant, and therefore far more plausible, balance within the system. Both the auxiliary and tertiary are always either functions of perception (one, Sensation, the other, Intuition) or judgment (Thinking and Feeling). So together, the auxiliary and tertiary constitute our entire ego-compatible (egosyntonic) toolkit for either perception or judgment. With both functions of perception or judgment represented, there is, then, an elegant and efficient functional balance within this pair. So it seems implausible to me that there wouldn’t be an attitudinal (extraversion/ introversion) balance as well. In addition, if the logic for assuming that the tertiary would be opposite in attitude from the dominant is that it “takes a village” of opposite-attitude functions to balance the dominant, then what of the ego-dystonic FAs? An important part of the role that these shadow function-attitudes play in the overall system is to oppose and counterbalance the dominant-led Ego. But in a scheme where the second, third, and fourth function-attitudes are opposite in attitude from the dominant, #6, #7, and #8 would have to be of the same attitude as the dominant. How could the ego-dystonic FAs effectively balance the dominant-led ego if most of them share its energy orientation? Of course, the answer to the question of the tertiary’s attitude ultimately lies not in theory, but in empirical evidence; and therein lies the real difficulty. Everyone’s most relied-upon source of such evidence is themselves—particularly in areas where it’s hard to discern what’s going on in others. Although our inferior generally feels the most foreign of our ego-syntonic FAs, it is often the tertiary that remains the least conscious and the hardest for our ego to observe and understand. When we combine this with the fact that at this time not many type users have a solid and nuanced understanding of the differences between the extraverted and introverted manifestations of the functions, or of the archetypal characteristics they display, it’s very difficult for most people to reliably evaluate their own third function. It may never be possible to definitively resolve this debate. But meanwhile, John Beebe and many others, including myself, have simply found that the proposition that the tertiary function is engaged in the opposite attitude from the auxiliary consistently holds up under scrutiny and furthers our understanding of ourselves and others. Beebe’s sequence of preference for our ENTP example is: #1 / Dominant: extraverted intuition #2 / Auxiliary: introverted thinking #3 / Tertiary: extraverted feeling #4 / Inferior: introverted sensation #5: introverted intuition #6: extraverted thinking #7: introverted feeling #8: extraverted sensation As discussed earlier, Beebe’s preference hierarchy does not describe a developmental pattern. It’s not uncommon, for example, for children to develop some skill and comfort in using their seventh (Trickster) function-attitude in response to the overwhelming power of their parents. But although the hierarchy doesn’t predict development directly, its structure nevertheless provides a viable basis for working with the psyche and thus leads to insights that can facilitate development.

The sequential numbering inherent in the hierarchy can be helpful, but also can be misleading. Sometimes an ordered hierarchy simply isn’t the best way to understand what’s going on. In the next chapter, I’ll talk about the roles that each function-attitude tends to play in our personality by virtue of its position in the sequence, but for now, a quick example will do. Beebe sees our dominant function as usually playing a “heroic” role in our lives as the ego’s natural leader. Its opposite-attitude sibling, the fifth function-attitude in the sequence, tends to operate in opposition to the ego. The hierarchy is fixed and predictive, then, in that it tells me that if I want to understand how ego-opposition tends to play out in my life, I should certainly not neglect to look at the fifth function-attitude. However, to then think that the opposition to my heroic tendencies necessarily comes solely through my fifth functionattitude would be to misunderstand the nature of the model. The shadow functions are simply too indistinct and unseparated to operate consistently like coherent, differentiated entities. For me, my dominant introverted intuition tends to run the show, generating abstract visions of past and future and connecting bits of information to enable me to understand what’s going on behind the scenes. But when it comes to accurately envisioning my future life options, based on current reality (the specialty of extraverted intuition, fifth in my hierarchy), entertaining such possibilities always comes with a negative, oppositional energy and corresponding thoughts like “you can’t pull it off,” “it’s unrealistic,” etc. But I often also encounter opposition from other shadowy directions as well: scolding, limitsetting constraints from my introverted thinking sixth FA, along the lines of: “You can’t do that because it would be logically inconsistent with your principles”; self-deceiving double binds from my extraverted feeling seventh like “That’s not an option because others might be hurt”; and undermining messages from my introverted sensing eighth, reminding me that “You’ll fail because you’ve never done that before.” And moreover, the shadow functions rarely operate as discrete units. More often, they’re confusingly mixed together or form ad hoc alliances. It’s a bit paradoxical. I and the many other users of the model have found the hierarchy to regularly guide us to valuable insights. But it isn’t 100% predictive, and if taken too literally—e.g., to assume that only the fifth FA can oppose the dominant—it can even be a counterproductive concept. A stranger in Manhattan, to even attempt to find her way in the city, needs to understand the basic grid of “avenues” that run more-or-less North/South and are numbered sequentially from East to West, and “streets” that generally run East/West and are numbered from South to North. She can do a fair amount of successful navigating from just understanding this conceptual framework. But if she depends solely on it, assuming it to be completely sufficient, and not noticing the real-world wrinkles—the streets and avenues that are named, not numbered, or those that run, at times, in directions that contradict the overall scheme—not gathering additional insights as she goes along, she will eventually become confused and lost. She might even decide that her whole understanding of the basic layout must have been wrong. But she would be better off trusting the general model while staying alert for the inevitable quirks and exceptions.

UNCONSCIOUS FUNCTION-ATTITUDES Even though the notion that function-attitudes can exist in an unconscious state is theoretically justified, and even though depth typology professionals have for decades found it useful to assume so, Jung had good reasons for being leery of this approach, as noted in Chapter 3. In seeking to understand unconscious functionattitudes, we need to keep these considerations in mind. So let’s review: Consciousness and unconsciousness are matters of degree. The function-attitudes that MBTI professionals have been working with in the past, the ego-syntonic FAs, are the ones that are likely to be at least somewhat conscious. In fact, the two functionattitudes that have traditionally received most of the attention, the dominant and auxiliary, are usually mostly conscious. So our familiar descriptions are of differentiated function-attitudes and such traits and characteristics are not as easily observed when the FAs are not conscious. Beebe’s ego-dystonic function-attitudes are the ones that tend to be mostly unconscious, and often for all intents and purposes, entirely unconscious. To the degree that a function-attitude is unconscious, it demonstrates certain significant characteristics common to all contents of the Unconscious. In terms of the extreme of whollyunconscious function-attitudes: • • •

They are mixed with other unconscious material, sometimes confusingly exhibiting characteristics of other unconscious contents, the FA sometimes even virtually indistinguishable as a function-attitude. Unconscious function-attitudes are carried by emotional energies that tend to form into archaic minipersonalities known as “archetypal complexes.” (We’ll get into these in the next chapter.) Unconscious function-attitudes usually operate as defenders of the Self. When our conscious resources

• • •

are not able to take care of our necessary business, or if an inflated ego is itself the source of dysfunction, our unconscious resources rise to combat the problem. Defending the Self often conflicts with the ego-syntonic function-attitudes’ orientation toward supporting and strengthening the Ego. Lacking the civilizing influence of consciousness, such defenses often operate outside the constraints of what we and our society consider morally acceptable. Unconscious function-attitudes, by virtue of their connection to the collective human experience, can draw upon a deeper and broader wisdom than the relatively limited experience and perspective of our conscious side. What they have to say may not “make sense” to us, but we are well advised to pay attention.

These fundamental characteristics of how unconsciousness influences function-attitudes are the basis of many of the new insights that depth typology brings to light. These principles will inform our interpretations of many of the examples cited throughout this book. Jung (1921/1971) summarized the overall affect—what I’ve come to think of as the “energy signature”—of unconscious, relatively “inferior” functions, as follows: Whether a function is differentiated or not can easily be recognized from its strength, stability, consistency, reliability, and adaptedness. But inferiority in a function is often not so easy to recognize or to describe. An essential criterion is its lack of self-sufficiency and consequent dependence on people and circumstances, its disposing us to moods and crotchetiness, its unreliable use, its suggestible and labile character. (p. 540) The inclination of unconscious function-attitudes to defend us from outside threats and from internal imbalance is crucial to our wellbeing; but at the same time this automatic psychological response can be perplexing, inconvenient, embarrassing, and even dangerous. These characteristics give us ample reason to do our best to understand this “Other” side of type.

Chapter 7 ______________

The Archetypes The archetype does not proceed from physical facts, but describes how the psyche experiences physical facts. — C. G. JUNG

F

or all its capacity to explain many aspects of personality and much of the complexity of human development, relationships, and behavior, the Beebe Model, as I’ve described it thus far, remains, like its predecessors, a rather Newtonian scheme, capable of describing only those aspects of the psyche that lend themselves to a mechanical, functionalitybased view. But what about the vitality and energy of the psyche? Jung, after all, held an “energic viewpoint,” stating that: “All psychological phenomenon can be considered as manifestations of energy, in the same way that all physical phenomena have been understood as energic manifestations” (1961, paras. 566-567). So if the function-attitudes are truly psychological phenomena rather than just some inert theoretical abstractions, then what is the energy factor that gives them life—that establishes psychological type as a vital, active, living part of the human psychological experience, not just a useful but artificial construct? The answer, according to John Beebe, lies in the innately archetypal nature of unconsciousness—and therefore of all unconscious content, including any function-attitudes that are not fully conscious. Beebe has observed that each function-attitude, depending upon its position in the type hierarchy, tends to be carried by a certain characteristic constellation of energy best described as an “archetype.” Jung (1921/1971) explained this energic property of archetypes, in contrast with cognition: The primordial image has one great advantage over the clarity of the idea, and that is its vitality. It is a selfactivating organism, “endowed with generative power.” The primordial image is an inherited organization of psychic energy, an ingrained system, which not only gives expression to the energic process but facilitates its operation. (para. 754) Jung described the archetype as “the image of a certain psychic situation,” having “a powerful inner coherence”; and as “a feelingtoned complex” (1960/1969, para. 201), a “primordial image,” “an intended organization of psychic energy” (1921/1971, para. 754), and “a factor determining the mode of apprehension (1960/1969, para. 277). He further described archetypes as “primal forms” (1953/1966, para. 326), “the qualitatively … definable units with which the psyche works” (1960/1969, para. 439), and as “motifs” (1963/1970, para. 660). Giannini (2004) calls them “unlearned experiences” (p. 9) and Hollis (2011, May 6-7) says that each is “an organizing, patternizing factor.” Richard Tarnas (2006) opted for an encyclopedic approach, writing: We can define an archetype as a universal principle or force that affects—impels, structures, permeates—the human psyche and the world of human experience on many levels. One can think of them in mythic terms as gods and goddesses (or what Blake called “the Immortals”), in Platonic terms as transcendent first principles and numinous Ideas, or in Aristotelian terms as immanent universals and dynamic indwelling forms. One can approach them in a Kantian mode as a priori categories of perception and cognition, in Schopenhauerian terms as the universal essences of life embodied in great works of art, or in the Nietzschean manner as primordial principles symbolizing basic cultural tendencies and modes of being. In the twentieth century context … as essential structures of human experience … eternal objects and pure potentialities … underlying paradigmatic structures. … Finally, with depth psychology, one can approach them in the Freudian mode as primordial instincts impelling and structuring biological and psychological processes, or in the Jungian manner as fundamental formal principles of the human psyche, universal expressions of a

collective unconscious and, ultimately, of the unus mundus. … We can thus conceive of archetypes as possessing a transcendent and numinous quality, yet simultaneously manifesting in specific down-to-earth physical, emotional, and cognitive embodiments. They are enduring a priori structures and essences yet are also dynamically indeterminate, open to inflection by many contingent factors, cultural and biographical, circumstantial and participatory. They are in one sense timeless and above the changing flux of phenomena … yet in another sense deeply malleable, evolving, and open to the widest diversity of creative human enaction. They seem to move from within and without … interpretive structures in the interior psyche yet also … concrete forms, events, and contexts in the external world, including synchronistic phenomena. Finally, they can be discussed and thought of in a scientific or philosophical manner as first principles and formal causes, yet understood at another level in terms of mythic personae dramatis that are most adequately approached or apprehended through the powers of the poetic imagination or spiritual intuition. (pp. 84-85) All of the descriptions above are mutually compatible,each augmenting the next with additional nuances. But three brief descriptions by Jung seem to summarize the idea as succinctly as possible: “The archetype is a kind of readiness to produce over and over again the same or similar mythical ideas” (1953/1966, para. 109) “universally present in the preconscious makeup of the human psyche” (1959/1969a, para. 396). And: Archetypes are not determined as regards their content, but only as regards their form and then only to a very limited degree. A primordial image is determined as to its content only when it has become conscious and is therefore filled out with the material of conscious experience. Its form, however, … might perhaps be compared to the axial system of a crystal, which, as it were, preforms the crystalline structure in the mother liquid, although it has no material existence of its own. (1961/1963, pp. 392-393) After extensive research into the myths, religions, and esoteric wisdom from cultures around the world and through the ages, Jung (1963/1970) concluded that: “As the history of the human mind shows, these archetypes are of great stability and so distinct that they allow themselves to be personified and named, even though their boundaries are blurred” (para. 660). Archetypes are familiar and omnipresent in our lives though we are rarely aware of their influence. They are the invisible “axial systems” of the common-themed occurrences in every human life. Related real-life experience then accumulates around that “primal form” to take shape as “archetypal complexes.” All that’s needed is a real-time trigger to summon the “feeling-toned complex” forth to influence our emotions, thoughts, perceptions, and behaviors. Common labels for well-known archetypes include Mother, Eternal Child, Hero, King, Fool, and Demon. The distinction between the archetype itself and such archetypal images is important, however. We need to remember that the archetype itself is a facet of reality that we can never completely comprehend. Its image, on the other hand, is a version of that reality that is within our grasp. It is a representation of the archetypal truth—a rough translation. The phenomenon of archetypes starts to make sense, to become logically plausible, when we flesh out some of Jung’s formulations (discussed in Chapter 4) with the information and concepts of the new sciences. The following recap will help us connect the dots. Even Jung, who popularized the term after borrowing it from St. Augustine (1960/1969, para. 275), didn’t claim to have a comprehensive understanding of the nature of archetypes. He often explained them in terms of the collective experience of our ancestors, saying, for example: “It seems to me that their origin can only be explained by assuming them to be the deposits of the constantly repeated experiences of humanity” (1953/1966, para 109). Explaining this view further, he wrote: There are as many archetypes as there are typical situations in life. Endless repetition has engraved these experiences into our psychic constitution, not in the form of images filled with content, but at first only as forms without content, representing merely the possibility of a certain type of perception and action. (1959/1969a, para. 99) Other scientific disciplines have made discoveries since Jung’s time that demonstrate that such inherited learning is indeed possible. Researcher David Wilcox (2011) cites an example: In the 1920s Harvard University psychologist William McDougall did experiments for 15 years in which rats learned to escape from a tank. The first generation of rats averaged 200 mistakes before they learned the right way out; the last generation 20 mistakes. … In later efforts to duplicate McDougall’s experiment in

Australia, similar rats made fewer mistakes right from the start. Later generations of rats did better even when they were not descendants of the earlier rats. (p. 72) Some of the physiological mechanisms that enable us to benefit from the experiences of our ancestors are beginning to be revealed. For example, the science of epigenetics studies how “environmental signals select, modify, and regulate gene activities” and has established that “the activity of our genes is constantly being modified in response to life experiences” (Lipton, 2005/2008, p. xv). But, as noted in Chapter 2, Jung also saw archetypes as expressions of universal principles—of a higher power. Richard Tarnas (2006) described Jung’s bilateral view of archetypes as follows: For most of his career, Jung worked and wrote within the modern Cartesian-Kantian philosophical framework of a basic division between the human subject and the objective world, and thus tended to restrict archetypes to the interior world of the human psyche. … They were inherited psychological structures or dispositions that preceded and shaped the character of human experience but could not be said to transcend the human psyche. In his later work, however, and most explicitly in the context of his analysis of synchronicities, Jung moved towards a conception of archetypes as autonomous patterns of meaning that inform both psyche and matter, providing a bridge between inner and outer: “Synchronicity postulates a meaning which is a priori in relation to human consciousness and apparently exists outside man.” Jung’s later work thus intimated the ancient understanding of an ensouled world, of an anima mundi in which the human psyche participates and with which it shares the same ordering principles of meaning. (p. 57) Modern systems theory avoids the explanation aspect of this issue by simply talking in terms of “strange attractors”: unseen forces that influence what we can detect. These are the functional equivalents of the electromagnetic “morphic fields” of theoretical physics and of Jung’s archetypes. But the science of systems doesn’t concern itself with what they are; it just deduces that some such hidden influences exist and focuses on how they influence systems. This is easily illustrated by placing metal filings (the components of the system) on a piece of paper (the “known universe” of that system), with magnets hidden behind the paper. The metal filings then organize into orderly patterns, based primarily upon the influence of the hidden magnets. If the magnets move, or their strength increases or decreases, or they interact with each other, the patterns of the metal filings shift accordingly. Now imagine that we are the metal filings, selfaware, but not able to see the magnets that so influence our reality. If we notice the patterns at all, we might posit the existence of “strange attractor” forces responsible for the patterns manifesting in our reality. We’d never be capable of fully comprehending the true nature of the magnets, but accepting the possibility of their existence and understanding them as best we can likely would improve our little metal-filing lives. Likewise, we humans would do well to try to understand the strange attractor energies that shape our psychic lives. Cognitive linguist George Lakoff (2004) talks about these powerful hidden influences in terms of “frames”: One of the fundamental findings of cognitive science is that people think in terms of frames and metaphors— conceptual structures. … Frames are mental structures that shape the way we see the world. As a result, they shape the goals we seek, the plans we make, the way we act, and what counts as a good or bad outcome of our actions. In politics our frames shape our social policies and the institutions we form to carry out policies. To change our frames is to change all of this. Reframing is social change. (pp. 73, xv) Many of the “frames” of cognitive theory are the Jungian complexes—the archetypes given concrete form by realworld experience. John Giannini clarifies the meaning of the Jungian “complex”: “The complex is a historical experience and a particularized manifestation of an archetype. A complex is a concrete incarnation of each archetype” (2004, p. 143). Archetypes are universal and beyond consciousness; but they influence us as they constellate frames/complexes around specific kinds of situations. “Hero” (or Heroine), for example, is the term we use for someone who steps forward in times of great difficulty and draws upon his greatest inner strengths to become a more powerful version of himself to meet “impossible” challenges and save the day. “Hero” is clearly an archetypal idea in that we all have within us that “readiness to respond” heroically. But it is bits and pieces of our unique life experience that give our personal “Hero complex” its specific shape. Stories, biographies, movie heroes, our parents, our own successes, etc. may all give form to that “mythical idea” of ourselves as Hero. It’s as if our unconscious awareness of the nascent heroism within us demands that we give it concrete form—to answer the questions: “What must this part of me be like? How does it behave? When does it swing into action?” Thus, the Hero complex becomes one of the many patterns of information, relationship, and identity that lend energy and

emotional tone to our responses to life’s challenges. Jung’s belief in the reality of a Collective Unconscious—substantiated at first by patterns of common psychic symbols from disparate cultures, by his exploration of synchronicity, and by his own dreams and the dreams of his patients in analysis—is now moving into the mainstream of the sciences. And the identifiable strange attractors within the collective unconscious, the so-called archetypes, are proving increasingly plausible as the active agents of the collective unconscious in our daily lives. Jung’s suggestion that the collective unconscious and its archetypes can be explained as the residue of the experiences of our ancestors is probably sufficient unto itself to give us a reasonable understanding of its nature and an appreciation for its importance. But his suggestion that archetypes may also imply something much bigger—something that could be thought of as a “higher power”—is certainly worth pondering. Since some readers will not for a minute buy into this more metaphysical view, I have made an effort to demonstrate that the more concrete and verifiable explanation provides ample reason to accept the existence and tremendous influence of the archetypes. But for readers with whom this other view does resonate, it elevates Jung’s psychology, including psychological type, into something which informs our entire world view, our spirituality, our sense of place in the universe, and even our notions about the nature of God. As Jungian analyst Albert Kreinheder (1991) put it, “These words—god, archetype, symbol, the sacred—are for all practical purposes synonymous. … Now what we ought to do is go about developing a relationship with these powers. That is the only solution” (p. 59). Archetypes have been described throughout history by very different people using the languages, art forms, and concepts of diverse cultures. If we sift past the cultural frameworks, though, we see a picture that is quite consistent. Archetypes may indeed be pieces of “cosmic truth.” In the terms of our modern scientific understanding of the universe, archetypes appear to be constellations of energetically charged, interrelated information that is at once relevant to the human condition and, at the same time, largely beyond human comprehension. The nature of the psyche reaches into obscurities far beyond the scope of our understanding. It contains as many riddles as the universe with its galactic systems, before whose majestic configurations only a mind lacking in imagination can fail to admit its own insufficiency. ( Jung, 1960/1969, para. 815) Hillman (1975/1992) adds: “[Archetypes] are the axiomatic, self-evident images to which psychic life and our theories about it ever return … cosmic perspectives in which our soul participates” (pp. xix-xx).

ARCHETYPES IN DAILY LIFE “Building on insights from Freud, and drawing from the classical Platonic philosophical vocabulary and from esoteric traditions, Jung … regarded and defined archetypes as the fundamental governing principles of the human psyche” (Tarnas, 2006, p. 57). But how could a bunch of invisible, abstract “images” of which we are only occasionally and vaguely aware, possibly be “the fundamental governing principles” of our psychological lives? After all, we get up every day and consciously process information and make decisions all day long. We consciously control everything we do—or at least almost everything. Right? Well no, not so much. We accept that hormones, for example, clearly influence our perceptions and behavior; and diet, exercise, rest, and stress are well-documented somatic factors with profound psychological impact as well. Similarly, we are profoundly influenced by the psychological frames that make our lives manageable, as well as the energies that give our experiences their impetus and emotional flavors. And these energies/frames are largely predetermined by the archetypal forms and the related experiences that crystalize them into complexes. If we are a mother, our mothering likely is strongly influenced by an unconscious Mother template; if a soldier, a Warrior template; if a C.E.O., a Mother, Father, or King/Queen template, and so on. Call it what you will—collective experience, higher wisdom, or cosmic principle—the Father archetype, for example, carries certain information and implications of relationship and identity, and a “fatherly” sort of energy. When we are engaged in a situation where we, or someone around us, is perceived to be in a nurturing/protecting/teaching paternal role, to the extent that we’re not conscious of the archetype’s influences at work in the situation, we are at the mercy of the unconscious form. To the extent that we are conscious of this psychological factor, on the other hand, we loosen its grip upon us and can instead collaborate with the archetype and benefit from its wisdom, and we also can choose to operate outside its limitations. Typically, however, we are at least initially unaware of archetypal associations. Such obliviousness, when it goes on for long, tends to create two kinds of problems—dysfunctions which Jung called “possession” and “projection.”

If we are not able to consciously notice, accept, and depotentiate (de-energize) the Hero archetype, for example, we may be swept up by it. Thus possessed by the archetype, we may become the Hero and think and act accordingly. Jung observed that when we fail to consciously acknowledge archetypes, we are doomed to live them out in this way: “Possession by an archetype turns a man into a flat collective figure, a mask behind which he can no longer develop as a human being, but becomes increasingly stunted” (1953/1966, para. 390). Projection of archetypes onto others is extremely common and certainly problematic. If we project our “Father” associations onto our mentor, boss, or spouse, for example, we can never clearly see who that person actually is, nor can we develop an authentic relationship with them. And if we unconsciously relate to someone as if to an archetypal Parent, they’ll likely respond by unconsciously relating to us as if to a Child. An example of such archetypally-reciprocated relationships is well-known to leadership coaches. If a boss micro-manages her team, treating her people like irresponsible children, they will tend to act like children. If she sees them for who they are, free from such archetypal assumptions, and treats them with respect, they will respond in kind. Because the archetypal image “has a powerful inner coherence, it has its own wholeness and, in addition, a relatively high degree of autonomy”; so it “behaves like an animated foreign body in the sphere of consciousness” ( Jung, 1960/1969, para. 201). Thus, projections tend to “appear on persons in the immediate environment, mostly in the form of abnormal over- or under-valuations which provoke misunderstandings, quarrels, fanaticisms, and follies of every description” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 152). Archetypal possessions and projections are the bread and butter of psychotherapy, and of counseling and coaching too (even if the professional doesn’t think in these terms).Type professionals,regardless of the arena in which they work, routinely run into roadblocks that don’t respond to approaches that focus on the conscious use of functionattitudes. We would do well to learn to appreciate the power of the archetypes and recognize when their dynamics are likely involved. (We’ll get into these dynamics in the next chapter.) The remedy for archetypal dysfunction is both intimidatingly challenging and ridiculously easy—reminiscent of the “gateless gate” of Buddhist teachings, in which the forbidding barrier, once passed through, is seen to have never really existed at all. The key is simply attention. But it’s attention of a kind that is new to many of us; it’s attention to the “messages” from the unconscious that we typically ignore. This kind of attention may involve working with our dreams; noticing when our interactions and relationships carry emotional baggage that isn’t really about the real person; taking synchronicities, gut feelings, and intuitions seriously; and paying attention to and amplifying the analogies, metaphors, and symbols that keep popping up in our lives. It is of vital importance that we should experience them [the “figures of the unconscious”] to the full and, in so far as intellectual understanding belongs to the totality of experience, also understand them. Yet I do not give priority to understanding. … For the important thing is not to interpret and understand the fantasies, but primarily to experience them. ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 342)

THE CASE FOR EIGHT PARTICULAR ARCHETYPES The “eight archetypes” aspect of the Beebe model is no less important than the eight function-attitudes, and in fact, the two dimensions are inexorably linked. Some type users may employ the functionattitudes aspect of the model without ever going further. This part in itself has advantages over other approaches. But the archetypal associations bring the affective dimension of personality squarely into the type model. Beebe’s eight archetypes provide a link that can help us understand our unconscious emotional issues in light of our type, and understand the gifts and challenges of our type in terms of the dynamics of emotion. They enable us to detect and work with patterns of strengths and challenges that are at once both emotional and cognitive in nature. Beebe (2007, Oct.) explains that an archetype is “the role the individual enters when expressing a particular consciousness.” After the barrage of descriptions in the preceding pages, readers likely realize that thinking of the archetypes as “roles” is a bit of a simplification. But Beebe is pointing out that for most practical purposes, looking at archetypes as roles is an apt and useful way to think of them. We’re all aware that we slip from role to role in our lives. We go to work and slip into the role that fits our job description; we come home and move into a parental role with our kids and another role with our partner; and into other roles in our various civic functions, social activities, and relationships. So we can relate to the idea of playing multiple roles. And to the extent that we carry unconscious

associations into them, they are all archetypal. That is to say that if we were completely conscious at any given moment, we would not be playing a role at all. We would be supremely present, acting from our core true selves, seeing others with unadulterated clarity and empathy, and relating to them with complete authenticity. But the reality is that everything we do is tinged and clouded by our sense of the archetypal roles in play. The function-attitudes describe eight different “types of consciousness” that are available to us, with varying levels of control, competence, and comfort. The archetypes describe the energy patterns that tend to carry those types of consciousness, depending largely on our innate typology. It’s as if the function-attitudes are the actors in our personal drama, each possessing certain traits and skillsets, and each assigned a certain archetypal role through which they can apply those talents. But of the scores of archetypes representing archaic human roles, why would eight particular ones be the ones that tend to carry our function-attitudes? John Beebe arrived at this configuration from personal reflection, dream interpretation, and observation and has validated it by decades of insights and feedback from clients and workshop participants. In Understanding Consciousness through the Theory of Psychological Types (2004), he also credits his Jungian predecessors as having worked out many of the pieces of this puzzle and, in the process, establishing the principles that led him to the rest. He points out, for example, that: “Hillman’s description of the complex that feeling can display when it is an inferior function helps us to recognize that the behavior of a function of consciousness is affected by its position within the total hierarchy of functions” (p. 91). Beebe acknowledges von Franz as helping to develop this principle of relationship between typological position and the Anima/Animus complex as well. The archetypal dimension of typology is also implied in the Myers-Briggs framework. The characteristic leadership role of the dominant, the supportive nature of the auxiliary, and the compensatory characteristics of the inferior have been taught in MBTI Certification trainings for decades although without Beebe’s labels. So one answer to “Why these archetypes?” is that it’s just the way it is—what Beebe and many others have observed. But there is a Jungian logic to it as well, and Jung himself (1959/1969b) offered a clue, saying that: “The archetypes most clearly characterized from the empirical point of view are those which have the most frequent and the most disturbing influence on the ego” (para. 13). It seems to me that, from the perspective of the Ego, the four archetypes that Beebe first linked to the ego-syntonic function-attitudes at the Chiron Conference for Jungian psychotherapists in 1983, and wrote about in 1984, are indeed those with the “most frequent influence” in our lives. If we pay attention, I think that most would agree that the roles that most routinely color our conscious business do indeed fit with the heroic, parental, childlike, or idealized opposite-gender patterns. And those archetypes that he subsequently linked to the ego-dystonic functionattitudes, seem to fit the description of “most disturbing” to the Ego. The Opposing Personality, Witch/Senex, Trickster, and Demon/ Daimon, once we come to understand them, seem to encapsulate most of our disturbing eruptions from the unconscious. Another way to respond to the question “Why these eight?” is to think in terms of a basic array of essential roles. Playwrights often create casts of characters, each with a narrow personality range— a typological caricature—in order to set up exaggerated relationships, dramatic tension, and stark interpersonal drama. One character may overanalyze everything while another is run by his emotions. One is the epitome of gregariousness while another is a mysterious introvert. Just as the eight function-attitudes of type are the eight narrow primary “personalities”available within us for playing out our life’s drama, Beebe’s eight archetypal images describe the key roles that these eight actors inevitably need to fulfill. Every whole human being needs to be part heroic leader, part nurturing parent, part carefree child, part idealized mate, part oppositional anti-hero, part fearsome old crone, part untrustworthy trickster, and part dark “Other.” There are many other archetypal images beyond Beebe’s eight, but this particular collection appears to cover the basics. If it “takes a village,” we seem to have the eight critical characters here for a functional “village”—a balanced and effective basic team for inner collaboration. Of course, ultimately, validation of the archetypal dimension of Beebe’s model doesn’t hang on theoretical explanations, but rather on empirical evidence. But even if we accept these eight archetypes as the primary energic patterns of typology, why would they be tied to specific functionattitudes by virtue of their positions in the type hierarchy—the Hero/Heroine to the dominant, on down the line to an eighth function-attitude that tends to come with Demonic/Daimonic characteristics and energies? First, they aren’t inexorably linked to the hierarchy positions. Like most elements of Jungian psychology, and indeed in modern sciences in general, it’s a matter of probability. Beebe’s function-attitude-archetype scheme tells us which archetypal energies are likely to be carrying which function-attitudes in a given typology.These associations seem to be most reliable and obvious for the most preferred function-attitudes, and they become harder to identify the further down in the hierarchy the FA resides. This fits with Jung’s point that a defining characteristic

of the unconscious is the lack of differentiation of its contents. But for even the most unconscious egodystonic function-attitudes, these predicted associations still seem to hold true more often than not. Our understanding of the functionattitudes and archetypes is still useful in dealing with our unconscious side. “The system never behaves the same way twice. But as chaos theory shows, if we look at such a system over time, it demonstrates an inherent orderliness” (Wheatley, 1999, p. 22). Beebe’s functionattitude-archetype hierarchy does not describe a rigid framework but rather an “inherent orderliness.” Beebe’s framework contains bilateral pairings of function-attitudearchetypes, each of which holds the tension of opposites needed for development and for compensation. Each pairing demonstrates the dynamic principle that Jung (1954/1966) outlined: The psyche is a self-regulating system that maintains its equilibrium just as the body does. Every process that goes too far immediately and inevitably calls forth compensations, and without these there would be neither a normal metabolism nor a normal psyche. (para. 330) I call them “bilateral”pairings because each function-attitude-archetype is teamed with two others which are its “opposites” in different ways— as if counter-balancing in two different directions to create greater stability. First, we have the same-dichotomy pairs with which type professionals have long been familiar. These are the opposite functions of each dichotomy in the opposite attitudes: Se-Ni, Si-Ne, Te-Fi, and Ti-Fe. The dominant and inferior form one such counterbalanced pair, and the auxiliary and tertiary form another. On the ego-dystonic side, we have the same pattern: the fifth and eighth form one pair and the sixth and seventh form the other. These couplings are a cornerstone of depth typology’s understanding of the dynamics of type, which we will explore in the next chapter. When we do, we’ll see that the associated archetypes of these function-attitude pairs have a balancing and supplementing relationship with each other as well. But there is a second dimension of augmentation and balance: the tension between each ego-syntonic archetype and its ego-dystonic shadow archetype—and between the function-attitudes they carry, the same function in opposite attitudes: Se-Si, Ne-Ni, Te-Ti, and Fe-Fi. Each shadow archetype is a less-civilized variant of its egosyntonic opposite: The “Opposing Personality” is the would-be leader of the shadow, as the “Hero” is of the ego. The “Witch/Senex” is the harsh and hypercritical counterpoint to the nurturing and supportive “Father/Mother.” The childishly irresponsible “Trickster” is a more ruthless iteration of the innocent and vulnerable “Eternal Child.” And the “Demon/Daimon” is the dark and completely “otherly” pole of the unconscious personality, analogous to the “Anima/Animus” “otherlyness” on the ego-syntonic side. Regarding the function-attitude aspect of these pairings, Beebe cites von Franz (1971/1979): Jung has said that the hardest thing to understand is not your opposite type—if you have introverted feeling it is very difficult to understand an extraverted thinking type—but it is even worse to understand the same functional type with the other attitude! (p. 52) Beebe explains that the opposite-attitude iterations of the same function are “close enough to fight,” “they don’t connect,” and therefore “can really get angry with each other” (2009, Sept.–2010, April). Several stories in Chapter 8 include examples of this “close enough to fight” dynamic in action. The natural tensions between the poles of both types of functionattitude-archetype pairs lead to the dynamics of whole type (which we will explore in the next chapter). They also suggest perhaps the most complete and plausible theoretical explanation for why these particular archetypes would be associated with the function-attitudes of type as well as why each would be associated with a specific FA by virtue of its position in the hierarchy. It seems likely that it is the dynamics of these internal relationships that elicit or attract the particular archetypal patterns. The auxiliary function-attitude, for example, is tied as if by a stretched rubber band to its two “opposites”: (1) the samedichotomy, opposite-function and attitude tertiary and (2) the same-function opposite-attitude sixth. It has long been accepted that the auxiliary naturally plays a role primarily of supporting the dominant—a role that Beebe encapsulates as that of an archetypal Mother or Father, a powerful nurturing adult authority figure. It seems quite plausible to me, then, that its ego-syntonic opposite, the tertiary, might naturally be carried by Eternal Child archetypal energy, and that its ego-dystonic shadow opposite, by the darker, less socialized “withering authority” (Adam Frey, personal communication, November 11, 2015) “parental” energy of the Witch or Senex. Both counterbalance and supplement the auxiliary’s parental energy, each in a different way. Likewise, the Heroine (1st in the hierarchy) is counterbalanced, both as a function-attitude and archetypally, by the Animus (4th) and Opposing

Personality (5th); and the Trickster (7th), by the Senex (6th) and Puer (3rd). The same logical relationships can be seen in the bilateral pairings of all the functionattitude-archetypes (FA-As). (The configurations of these pairings will be easier to understand when seen in terms of Beebe’s “axes of type” diagram in the next chapter.) Perhaps the functional dynamics somehow give rise to related archetypal dynamics. Perhaps it’s the other way around. Maybe the positional dynamics of the function-attitude hierarchy cause the FA in a given position to be drawn to that archetype in the same way that experiential content is attracted to form an archetypal complex. Or perhaps they are a package deal—a concurrent manifestation of some a priori template. In any case, the functional and energic dynamics, deduced initially from observation, not theory, seem to fit together too neatly to be accidental.

BEEBE’S EIGHT ARCHETYPES OF TYPOLOGY From early on in his training as a Jungian analyst, John Beebe, like anyone who takes psychological type seriously, sought to understand the model in terms of his own psychological experiences and to understand himself in terms of type. Much of his original insight into “archetypology” (Carol Shumate’s term) came as he unpacked the allegorical messages of his own unconscious function-attitudes, as expressed in his dreams. From my dream about the father and son I added the innovation that the auxiliary behaves like a parent, whether helpful or critical, the tertiary like a child, either divine or wounded, and thus in the language of Jungian psychology a puer aeternus or puella aeterna. … In my own work on myself and with patients, I most often found the inferior function, with its uncanny emotionality, to have the character of the anima or animus. … My shift into Latin in naming the archetypes associated with the tertiary and inferior functions was deliberate. These functions, though still part of one’s complement of ego-syntonic consciousnesses, are more archaic than the superior and auxiliary and present themselves in more classically “archetypal” ways, having a god-like entitled quality to them, whereas the superior and auxiliary functions are more adapted to this time and place and more considerate of the perspectives of one’s contemporaries. (Beebe, 2004, pp. 101103) He further clarifies the derivations of his terms, saying: There is much in the Jungian literature already about senex and witch and trickster, just as there is much about father and mother and puer aeternus. I introduced the archetypal roles I describe here as “opposing personality” and “demonic personality,” and this introduction can be found in the second revised edition of Murray Stein’s Jungian Analysis (1995). (Beebe, 2004, pp. 106-107) Before we look at descriptions of the eight archetypes, let’s quickly review what we’re talking about: Archetypes are archaic patterns of psychic energy, each a “readiness to respond” in certain ways, each without actual form or content until we accumulate related life experiences and thus “concretize” the abstraction into an archetypal complex. Each of Beebe’s eight archetypes tends to carry a specific function-attitude, depending upon its position in our type hierarchy, and to the degree that the function-attitude remains unconscious. Each archetype encapsulates a fundamental role—a “personality fragment”—within our internal psychic “community.” The roles tend to be played out in our external, real-world relationships, especially when they become inflated. A key aspect of the ego-dystonic functionattitude-archetypes’ roles is defensive: “All the shadow archetypes fight dirty to defend the personality” (Beebe, 2010, Aug. 4-7). As he did for the function-attitudes in Table 1, Beebe has distilled bullet-point descriptions of the fundamental characteristics of the eight type-related archetypes. Such succinct descriptions can’t, of course, encompass the whole scope of the archetypes. They delineate the center-points, and as such, can serve as foundations upon which we can build our understanding. To demonstrate how useful these descriptors are, I will use them repeatedly throughout this book in identifying and explaining the influences of the archetypes. (Likewise, I’ll repeatedly use the descriptors from Table 1 when describing engagement of the function-attitudes.)

Table 2. The Eight Archetypes of Type and their Areas of Focus and Affect. Copyright by John Beebe 2010. Used with permission from the author.

If we keep these key descriptors in mind as hypotheses to be tested as we learn about type through observing ourselves and others, we can begin to build a vastly expanded understanding of personality. They are particularly helpful in the type verification process. If, for example, “engaging, experiencing, and enjoying” (the focus of extraverted sensing, as noted in Table 1) seems to be an area of “strength and pride” (Table 2) for an individual, this points to the possibility that his or her dominant (Heroic) function-attitude is Se, implying an MBTI code of either ESTP or ESFP. By contrast, if these extraverted sensing areas of activity come with a “belittling, controlling, and limit-setting” energy, then Se may be carried by the Witch/Senex (6th) archetype. This would mean that the auxiliary is introverted sensing (Si), and if this can be confirmed, the true type code would be either ESTJ or ESFJ. Note that all but one of the dual-named archetypes (indicated with a slash) are simply the masculine and feminine versions of the same idea. “Anima” is the feminine and “Animus,” the masculine—a reversed reflection of the male/female of the Hero/Heroine. Likewise, “Father” and “Mother,” “Puer” and “Puella,” and “Witch” and “Senex” are just opposite-gender versions of the three archetypal patterns. The terms “Demon” and “Daimon,” however, don’t speak to gender. Rather, “Demon” is intended to imply the dark side of the archetype— “demonic” in the sense that we commonly use the term. “Daimon” (sometimes spelled “Daemon”) represents the positive potential for transformation inherent in journeying through this darkest part of ourselves. It should be noted that Beebe uses the Latin names for many of the archetypes because, as he explained above, these terms carry rich connotations from their history of use in mythology and literature. At times, I use the term “Eternal Child,” the gender-neutral English translation of Puer/Puella Aeternus, as well as “Good Parent” for Mother/Father and “Critical Parent” for Witch/Senex (both terms introduced by Bob McAlpine). The Hero/Heroine: “The absolute sovereignty always belongs, empirically, to one function alone, and can belong only to one function, because the equally independent intervention of another function would necessarily produce a different orientation which, partially at least, would contradict the first” ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 667). This function, of course, is normally the dominant or superior (#1 in the hierarchy) function-attitude, and its “absolute sovereignty” is encapsulated well in the Hero/Heroine archetype. It might be argued that “King” or “Queen” would be more apt for the “sovereign.” But as we’ll see in the next chapter, the archetypal complexes arise when they are triggered by circumstances. In such a situation-dependent framework, “Hero” fits better. Whereas “King” is a position that exists no matter what, “Hero” is a role that is activated only when one becomes heroic. If you notice that you or someone else has shifted into a leading the charge mode—as if carrying a dramatic banner ahead of the troops, with complete confidence in the rightness of the action or position, and certain that therefore others will be compelled to follow— you’ve probably detected the “energy signature” of the Hero/Heroine archetype. Supremely confident in its ability to handle the world’s challenges, the greatest danger for the Hero/Heroine is inflation, an exaggerated sense of the heroic function-attitude’s ability to take care of anything, without help from other people or from other functionattitudes. Heroic inflation is most easily recognized as a demonstration of Einstein’s definition of insanity: trying in vain to solve a problem by attacking it with ever-increasing determination, using the same “kind of thinking” that hasn’t been working. The Father/Mother: This archetype reflects the positive side of parenting: supportive, nurturing, and protective. It tends to carry the auxiliary function-attitude (#2 in the hierarchy). Along with actual parents, our best leaders

manifest this role toward those in their charge: shielding them from nonproductive criticism and pressures, keeping them from taking unnecessary risks, and providing the information and tools that enable them to succeed. Much of the advice given in First, Break All the Rules, based on a massive Gallup poll of effective corporate managers, reflects the fundamentals of such “good parenting” (Buckingham and Coffman, 1999). Like the Hero, the Father and Mother roles are common and familiar to us. Recognizing this archetype’s energy signature is usually a simple matter of noticing supportive, nurturing, positive-enabling, and protective behavior. When the Parent becomes inflated—when we become possessed by the archetype—it’s a matter of being over-protective or too permissive, patronizing, or teaching or “parenting” when it’s not appropriate to take on that role. The Mother/Father archetype can be confusing for type users who associate nurturing and support with extraverted feeling. After all, a preference for Fe usually brings with it an awareness of the needs of others and a tendency to proactively address those needs. But a function-attitude is a mode of thinking and operating. It doesn’t relate to a particular role or to the drive to fulfill that role.That comes from the feeling-toned archetypal energy complex. People for whom extraverted feeling is ego-dystonic and undeveloped are no less capable of being great parents. They simply tend to nurture, support, and protect in ways that are not the stereotypical demonstrative “warm and fuzzy” style that someone with extraverted feeling in that role would likely engage. And conversely, someone with developed extraverted feeling is quite capable of employing it in decidedly non-supportive ways—to ostracize people they perceive as threats, for example. The role is a quite different matter from the talents and skillset of the functionattitude “actor” who plays the role. But extraverted feeling and the Parent archetype illustrate how difficult it can sometimes be at first to distinguish between these two typological dimensions. The Puer Aeternus/Puella Aeterna (aka, Eternal Child): Though many adults succeed in developing and integrating this playful archetype into ego awareness, it is not uncommon for this part of us to remain relatively primitive and separate. It is, after all, the antithesis of the “responsible adult” that our culture expects us to be. The Eternal Child is fun-loving, carefree, irresponsible, creative, extremely vulnerable, and tends to carry the tertiary functionattitude (#3). Beebe (2004) uses the term “to refer to the eternal youth in all of us, the brilliant but volatile side of ourselves that is by turns the seemingly immortal Prince or Princess and the helplessly vulnerable wounded boy or girl” (p. 102). The Eternal Child tends to manifest in manic cycles: one minute, the “king of the world,” and the next, a withdrawn and timid “wounded child.” Good integration of the Child into the ego means allowing ourselves to be playful, silly, irresponsible, and vulnerable when appropriate and healthy. Beebe believes that development of a strong Trickster, the opposite-attitude shadow sibling of the Child, is essential to development of the Eternal Child to bolster its otherwise virtually nonexistent defenses. The energy signature of the Child is one of childlike exploration, playfulness, youthful vitality, and an inability to come to terms with “sadness, human restriction, disease, ugliness, and death” (von Franz, 1974/1995, p. 44). Possession by the Child usually involves refusing to take responsibility for the results of our actions. Likewise, projecting the Child (usually done by people who are stuck in overly-responsible, too-serious mode) means regarding the target of our projection as refusing to “grow up” and “act like an adult.” The Anima/Animus: We’ll pay extra attention to this archetype since it serves as a lynchpin for much of our psychological development and plays a role in many difficulties too. As noted earlier, Jung spoke of the inferior function (and of “inferior functions”) in rather general and relativistic terms, focusing more on the quality of inferiority rather than using the term as a fixed landmark within his map of the psyche. His treatment of what he called “Anima” or “Animus” identified it as the archetypal constellation of contrasexual opposition and counterbalance to the Ego. This implied that within his “psychology of consciousness,” the psychological type framework, it would be located at the opposite end of the ego-syntonic spectrum from the Superior function-attitude. In most of his writings, Jung was not clear on this point; but occasionally he was. In Psychology and Alchemy (1953/1968), for example, he described a female dream figure of a male Thinking-dominant individual as representing the dreamer’s inferior function, “which in the case of our dreamer is feeling” (para. 150). Jung’s students, most notably von Franz and Hillman, quickly began connecting “inferior” with Anima/Animus and consistently treated it as if it occupied a rather well-defined place in the psyche. Briggs and Myers referred to the fourth function as “the Inferior” from the beginning. And when Beebe expanded the type model into a hierarchy of function-attitude-archetypes, his observation that it is the Anima/ Animus archetype, which tends to carry the inferior (4th) functionattitude, was a crystallization of Jungian thinking applied within the Myers-Briggs framework. This works well for typology, even though it differs somewhat from the non-typological, traditional Jungian use of the term to indicate the opposite-gender factor within the psyche in a more general sense.

It should also be noted that Jung was likely reflecting the cultural bias of his day in associating “Eros” with the Feeling function and primarily with women (who would therefore be presumed to have a “Logos”/Thinking-oriented Animus) and vice versa for men. Contemporary Jungian analysts have made efforts to address this issue by distinguishing eros from Feeling and logos from Thinking. Adam Frey relates that in the 1980s and ‘90s, there appeared to be a movement to redefine Jungian eros as the drive to connect or merge and logos as the drive to separate, discriminate, or distinguish. Examples of this reconsideration of concepts relating to “the feminine” and “the masculine” can be found in articles in Jungian journals from those years, such as Claire Douglas’ “Christiana Morgan’s Visions Reconsidered” (1989, June) and Gareth Hill’s “Men, the Anima, and the Feminine” (1998, September). When considering how Jung’s own statements about the Anima and Animus may apply to the Anima and Animus of Beebe’s typology, however, it is often necessary to interpret his generalizations about men as referring rather to Thinking types (anyone, regardless of gender, whose preferred judging function-attitude is extraverted or introverted thinking). Likewise, his generalities regarding women can often be understood as applying rather to Feeling types in general. Thus we can benefit from Jung’s insights, while removing any cultural gender bias and non-typological gender-associations from the equation. The Anima/Animus archetype manifests most often in contrasexual form: as a female “Anima” dream figure for men, and a male “Animus” figure for women. This is far from an immutable rule, however. Jung held that this depends most upon ego strength. He articulated the flipside of this principle when he wrote: “In every case where the individuality is unconscious, and therefore associated with the soul, the soul-image has the character of the same sex” (1921/1971, para. 808). His apparent assumption was that a “strong” ego means a gender-identified ego. Whether this notion will hold up in light of modern, less-rigid views about gender identity remains to be seen. Based on his own observations, Beebe estimates that for most people, the inferior function tends to be expressed as a samegender archetypal image roughly once for every three times it’s portrayed by an opposite-gender image. This becomes an important consideration in detecting projection of the Anima/Animus and in dream interpretation. In unraveling dreams, for example, although it’s often the case that opposite-gender figures represent this oppositegender principle within us, at times they can represent other archetypal complexes. Likewise, the contrasexual Anima or Animus perspective can sometimes be represented by same-gender dream figures. Because the linear, logic-driven Thinking function is so associated with masculinity in modern Western culture,and the omnidirectional, relationship-oriented Feeling function with femininity, it’s virtually impossible to generalize about what characterizes the masculine Animus or feminine Anima. The fundamental characteristics that define “masculinity” and “femininity” seem inexorably entangled with cultural assumptions. It seems safer, and more accurate, to look at this question in terms of the individual. Rather than saying “the Anima in men is feminine in that …,” the better approach is to look at the opposite-gender-related characteristics that are weak or missing from the ego of a particular man. Thus, we would say, “his Anima tends to manifest these certain feminine characteristics.” Such feminine characteristics might include: emotional self-awareness and sensitivity to the emotional state of others, a concern for building and maintaining positive relationships, nonlinear awareness, receptiveness, action through influencing, and collaborativeness. Possible masculine Animus characteristics that individual women might experience could include: linear attention with a narrow, taskoriented focus, emotional reservedness, aggressiveness, assertiveness, and competitiveness. The Anima/Animus occupies a unique position. Its function-attitude is one of the ego-syntonic four and therefore feels like part of us as opposed to the shadow function-attitudes’ inherent “Otherness.” But it is at the far pole of that “Me” team; and as Beebe points out, is the exact “inverse” of the Hero function-attitude (2012, May 18-19)— the opposite judging or perceiving function in the opposite attitude. There’s a similarly inverse relationship between the archetypes as well. A man’s Anima is not the dragon that the Hero seeks to slay, but it is the dangerous and seductive sorceress that he meets on his journey who preys on his areas of vulnerability and with whom he must find a way to come to terms if he is to fulfill his quest. As the counterweight to the dominant, the fourth function-attitude feels like something we “should” be able to engage consciously and skillfully. Its perspective, its way of operating and associated skillsets and traits all feel within reach. But we usually fail in our attempts to engage them effectively. We repeatedly try to employ our inferior function-attitude even though it usually ends in embarrassment and a sense of incompetency, incapacity, and shame. Typologically, it is the epicenter of Alfred Adler’s “inferiority complex.” In a webinar entitled “Shame and the inferior function,” Beebe (2012, Nov. 12) summarized these ramifications, observing that the inferior functionattitude:

• • • • •

Is a part of us of which we expect a lot but which can deliver a lot less (leading to shame). Seems to have a life of its own and seems to wander away when we most need it. It doesn’t “deliver.” Is not capable of listening to the ego or to social pressure (whereas FAs #1-3 can). Operates in relationship to the dominant function and lets it down. Maintains a balance between capacity (Hero/Heroine) and incapacity (Anima/Animus).

Von Franz (1971/1979) observed: “In most normal societies, people cover up their inferior function with a persona. One of the main reasons why one develops a persona is so as not to expose inferiorities, especially the inferiorities of the fourth function” (p. 57). She shed light on how inferiority can appear while also introducing us to another important consideration, writing that: The inferior function tends to behave after the manner of … a “fool” hero, the divine fool or idiot hero. He represents the despised part of the personality, the ridiculous and unadapted part, but also that part which builds up the connections with the unconscious and therefore holds the secret key to the unconscious totality of the person. (1971/1979, p. 7) This second unique aspect of the Anima/Animus function-attitudearchetype, which also results from its position in the psyche, is that it provides the primary point of access between the unconscious and conscious. Healthy, conscious acceptance of one’s Anima or Animus and engaging in activities which call upon the inferior functionattitude seem to open the “door” (aka “gateway”) for the compensatory healthy movement of unconscious material into our conscious awareness. Repression of our contrasexual nature and failing to exercise our fourth functionattitude, on the other hand, can block this communication pipeline and create an unhealthy backup of unconscious material that needs our conscious attention. This “clearly demarcated functional complex that can best be described as a ‘personality’” ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 797) stands at the crossroad of our psyche. Relatively unconscious, it is attached to all the other undifferentiated material and perspectives of the unconscious. But its ego-syntonic nature means that it is also consciously accessible; we can connect to the Anima/Animus. Jung (1953/1966) wrote that by making them conscious we convert these “guardians of the threshold” into “bridges” to the unconscious; he went on to explain: It is because we are not using them purposefully as functions that they remain personified complexes. So long as they are in this state they must be accepted as relatively independent personalities. They cannot be integrated into consciousness while their contents remain unknown. The purpose of the dialectical process is to bring these contents into the light. (para. 339) A third unique, pivotal, and position-related characteristic of this function-attitude-archetype complex is emphasized by Beebe: It forms one end of the core of “who I am,” with the Hero-dominant at the other pole. Beebe has observed that it is the first and fourth function-attitudes and the Hero and Anima (or Heroine and Animus) archetypes that form the core of our authenticity—the “spine,” as he puts it, around which our personality is configured. A corollary of this proposition is that, since this pairing consists of either both judging or both perceiving functions (in both attitudes), the question of whether we have a judging (and “rational”) or a perceiving (and “irrational”) spine is fundamental to our nature. (Note that this is directly indicated only by the type codes of extraverts. Introvert’s spines are the opposite from the “energy attitude” of the MBTI code. I_ _J types have perceiving dominant and inferior function-attitudes, and I_ _P types have judging dominants and inferiors.) Beebe’s concept of a dominant–inferior “spine of integrity” meshes with Jung’s, von Franz’s, and Hillman’s frequent references to the Anima as the “Soul” of a man and Animus as the “Soul” or “Spirit” of a woman. Acceptance and development of this part of ourselves bring a deep sense of completeness. The symbolic representation of Tao, the fundamental nature of all things, by the combination of the yin and yang provides a graphic representation that works nicely for this bipolar typological integrity. Each half is the exact inverse of the other; yet joined they fit perfectly to form a complete circle, the universal symbol of wholeness. It follows, then, that rejection of this part of ourselves can bring a desperate isolation—a longing for some unknown missing piece of who we sense that we are meant to be. Projection of the Anima or Animus is quite common. We tend to be attracted to people who exhibit these inverse qualities and to form archetypally idealized ideas of them (and to then be disappointed and upset when they fail to live up to that ideal). Virtually every adult has experienced this “attraction of opposites.” Jung (1953/1966) used a male example:

The repression of feminine traits and inclinations naturally causes these contrasexual demands to accumulate in the unconscious … which is why a man, in his love-choice, is strongly tempted to win the woman who best corresponds to his own unconscious femininity—a woman, in short, who can unhesitatingly receive the projection of his soul. (para. 297) Of course, this is a recipe for disaster for long-term relationships. If we can’t learn to accept these “traits and inclinations” in ourselves, we probably won’t be very tolerant of them in a partner for long either. With the anima and animus, however, things are by no means so simple. Firstly, there is no moral education in this respect, and secondly, most people are content to be selfrighteous and prefer mutual vilification (if nothing worse!) to the recognition of their projections. ( Jung, 1959/1969b, para. 35) As I indicated earlier, I have reservations about the power of intentional “type development” through engaging in practices designed to “exercise” undeveloped function-attitudes. Everything I have observed in myself and others insists that differentiation is driven by circumstances and energic alignments within the unconscious, which we cannot consciously know and which follow a mysterious timetable of their own. We can, however, use such conscious approaches to prepare for and perhaps sometimes even encourage future growth and increase our chances of success—like exercising to prepare for a race. I find this to be particularly effective for the Anima/Animus function-attitude, and speculate that this may be due to its “gateway” position—that it may be at once more able to be consciously engaged than the ego-dystonic function-attitudes and more in need of strengthening its connection to the ego than the other ego-syntonic function-attitudes. To really experience the inferior, we have to engage it in play. Such nonproductive, disorganized activity is usually viewed as “irresponsible” and costly in our time-is-money world. But to develop the inferior, we must create a safe space where we can go to play and experiment despite the judgmental views of both external and internal adults. My inferior function-attitude, for example, is extraverted sensing, so one could safely predict that engaging my Anima involves being present in the moment, doing hands-on activities, and immersing myself in the sensuality of life. Indeed, long before I knew anything about type, I knew that walking in the woods, athletic activities, working in my woodshop, playing my trumpet, listening to music, or just pausing a moment to “smell the roses” are all effective ways to reenergize and refocus myself—practices that leave me feeling more grounded, balanced, and whole. But we often have an ambivalent attitude toward Anima/Animus activities. They’re attractive to us, seductively calling us, and we instinctively feel that they’re good for us, but they’re the opposite of what’s important to the Hero, and our ego insists that they’re a waste of our energy and time. Furthermore: One of the great troubles of the inferior function is its slowness, which is one reason why people hate to start work on it; the reaction of the superior function comes out quickly and well adapted, while many people have no idea where the inferior function really is. (von Franz, 1971/1979, p. 8) It may well be that the activity of the inferior is really just as quick as that of the dominant; and that it is the ego’s difficulty in recognizing and reluctance in accepting the Anima/Animus perspective that makes the function-attitude appear slow. Be that as it may, its perceived slowness and poor adaptation to the ego’s agenda reinforces our inclination to dismiss the contributions of the inferior function-attitude-archetype. But in terms of psychological type, probably nothing is more crucial for our health and our growth. If typology is truly a useful guide for our life’s journey, it follows that: “The heart of psychological types comes when we begin to deal with the problem of the inferior function” (Beebe, 2012, Nov. 12). The Opposing Personality: Like all of the ego-dystonic functionattitudes, the fifth in the hierarchy almost always manifests in shadow form. It feels like “Other,” rather than part of “Me,” and its behaviors are usually uncouth and unacceptable. Like all elements of the psyche, this function-attitude and the Opposing Personality archetype that carries it contribute to the tension that pulls us toward compensation, individuation, and balance. But communications from the unconscious are invariably cryptic, usually in the form of metaphors and images, and like the other ego-dystonic archetypes, the Opposing Personality is most often activated in defense of the personality from real or imagined outside threats. Beebe (2004) writes: The most unexpected discovery was the archetype I call the opposing personality, which is characterized by

behaviors that may be described in the language of character pathology: oppositional, paranoid, passiveaggressive, and avoidant. This is a shadow that is very hard to see in oneself (it seems to fall in the blind spot of the superior function) and very easy to project onto another person, especially a person of the opposite sex. (p. 107) Opposition is the most notable aspect of the Opposing Personality’s energy signature. We’ve already noted that the same function in opposite attitudes is “close enough to fight.” With functional similarities in focus and modality, such siblings seem to be on the same page, but with their subjective/objective orientations reversed, they inevitably end up with different and not quite compatible judgments or perceptions. As Jung (1921/1971) put it, regarding the disparity between extraverted and introverted thinking: “The thinking of the introvert is incommensurable with the thinking of the extravert, since the two forms of thinking, as regards their determinants, are wholly and fundamentally different” (para. 38). He went on to elaborate: Each type of thinking senses the other as an encroachment on its own province, and hence a sort of shadow effect is produced, each revealing to the other its least favourable aspect. Introverted thinking then appears as something quite arbitrary, while extraverted thinking seems dull and banal. Thus the two orientations are incessantly at war. (para. 581) The Opposing Personality is like the Hero’s shadowy, would-be usurper sibling, always convinced that he could do a better job of running the kingdom. When the ego’s performance is inadequate, the Opposing Personality may rise and attempt a coup. When thus possessed by the OP, the personality becomes flat—one-dimensional. Like all shadow function-attitude-archetypes when they erupt into the real world, the Opposing Personality is not developed enough to team effectively with other function-attitudes and is thus limited to its own small bag of tricks. In situations of possession, the inflated function-attitude-archetype is too full of itself to “play well with others.” Other FA-As may participate in the rebellion, working in general concert, but we don’t see the integrated teamwork that we do in a healthy ego. Even though the OP tends to operate unilaterally, there may be an entire opposite-attitude rabble of ego-dystonic characters activated when the fifth function-attitude is engaged in its opposite-attitude conflict with the ego. So a Hero–Opposing Personality battle can, at the same time, be part of a broader Ego– Shadow war. Normally the most fully-differentiated function-attitude, the Hero/ Heroine is the most “solid object” in a person’s typology, casting the deepest shadow. As Beebe points out above, the Opposing Personality can therefore be quite difficult to discern in ourselves. In fact, I and others have found it to be the most difficult of all our functionattitudearchetypes to consciously detect. In addition, because, like its neighbor the Anima/Animus, the OP tends to take on a contrasexual form in dreams and in projection, and since it shares its E/I orientation as well, it is often particularly difficult to distinguish between the Anima/ Animus and the OP. The nature of the Opposing Personality comes into play in our lives most often through projections, the archetypal assumptions we make about other people. An INTJ and ENFP couple, for example, will face potential problems insofar as each person’s Hero is the other’s Opposing Personality (Ni and Ne). In such interactions it is very difficult, even for type-adept people, to avoid such projective thoughts as: “He fights me on everything.” “Why does she always get it wrong?” “Is he out to get me or just stupid?” “She never treats me with respect.” “What’s his hidden agenda?” The Senex/Witch: Parental in all the harsh, negative ways that the Father/Mother is not, this Critical Parent, typically the carrier of the sixth function-attitude, is hyper-critical and limit-setting. This can be a necessary attitude and tactic to take toward the Eternal Child in others (and perhaps, in ourselves)—the “tough love” needed to avoid overindulgence. But like all shadow archetypes, the Witch/Senex lacks the governing mechanism of consciousness to ensure that it’s only used appropriately. Its criticisms are often withering and crippling. Beebe (2012, Nov. 12) points out: “Humiliation, ridicule, etc. are deadly weapons (particularly to the Child) and the Critical Parent can wield them with apparent indifference to the wellbeing of the personality.” And he adds: “The Witch/Senex moves shame into guilt: a dangerous form of shame. It makes us ashamed of our shame—a toxic shame.” George Lakoff (2004) observes that: “Fear triggers the strict father model; it tends to make the model active in one’s brain” (p. 42). Fear, along with shaming, are very often the recognizable undercurrents of the energy signature of the Critical Parent.

Because the characteristics of the Witch/Senex are rather straightforward and easy for us to relate to, it seems unnecessary to describe it further. But this brevity is certainly not a reflection of its importance. As we’ll see below and in our discussion of “dynamics within the system”in Chapter 8, this function-attitude-archetype plays an important role in type dynamics, particularly in the development of the Eternal Child tertiary function-attitude. The Trickster: The archetype that typically carries the seventh function-attitude, the shadow sibling of the Eternal Child, the Trickster too is puerile but not in a timid or helpless way. “Although he is not really evil, [the Trickster] does the most atrocious things from sheer unconsciousness and unrelatedness” ( Jung, 1959/1969a, para. 264). The figure appears across cultures, most famously as the Greek god Hermes and the Roman Mercury. “A curious combination of typical trickster motifs can be found in the alchemical figure of Mercurius; for instance, his fondness for sly jokes and malicious pranks, his powers as a shape-shifter, his dual nature, half animal, half divine” ( Jung, 1959/1969a, para. 456). The Trickster is capable of defending us through sly trickery and deception. Beebe points out that it is often our Trickster functionattitude that defends our vulnerable Eternal Child from Senex attacks from others—often by catching the attacker in double binds. We can suspect that our Trickster defenses have been activated when we realize that we’ve put others in such “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” binds. The Trickster’s disrespect for rules and boundaries is an identifier for its energy signature as is its shiftiness. Because of these characteristics, the Trickster is, above all, a catalyst for individuation. In this, the Trickster is both destroyer and creator. It breaks down self-limiting structures, creating disorder, in order to open up new options that lead to a new order. By destroying or ignoring boundaries, the Trickster often plays a pivotal role in our psychological development beyond self-imposed, societal, or parental limits. Thus, “the Trickster is, among other things, the archetype of autonomy from parental patterns” (Beebe, 2012, Nov. 12). Disorder, of course, is anathema to the ego, so it is often this aspect of the transformation process that we notice through our reaction of disquiet and even fear. Jung (1959/1969a) pointed out that the Trickster “appears just as naively and authentically in the unsuspecting modern man—whenever, in fact, he feels himself at the mercy of annoying ‘accidents’ which thwart his will and his actions with apparently malicious intent” (para. 469). The Trickster archetype can be activated in compensation for an attitude of hyper-responsibility, a characteristic of the internal Senex. The Trickster has no respect for rules and no interest in maintaining consistency. Thus, “it’s the development of the Trickster that enables one to hold the paradox of heroism/imperfection, capacity/incapacity, etc.” (Beebe, 2012, Nov. 12). The Demon/Daimon: This is the archetype that feels most like “Other” to us and carries the eighth function-attitude that is our greatest area of ineptitude. Essentially, it’s our inferior inferior. Our failures in this area are those that can most undermine our lives and our “better selves.” The ways of behaving that strike us as somehow “inherently evil” are generally those associated with the negative traits of our own eighth function-attitude. “The Demon/Daimon is what we need to be ashamed of—the flaw in our character for which integrity exists and is needed” (Beebe, 2012, May 18-19). It is this sense of evilness, along with the undermining effect, that is most recognizable in the energy signature of the Demon archetype. And as one might expect of a character for which extreme incapacity and inferiority of the functionattitude is the hallmark, the Demon tends to be cowardly, fleeing from head-on confrontations. Needless to say, we rarely acknowledge it as part of ourselves, but rather project it onto others. Patterns of demonic projection are often at the root of social inequities and wars. In ESTJ American typology, for example, our most demonized individual and collective “enemies” are typically condemned not for flawed logic, intuition, or perception of the facts but for their assumed lack of or misguided and perverse values—i.e., in terms of our society’s Demonic extraverted feeling. On the other hand, like the precious gift at the end of the Hero’s allegorical journey through a dark Underworld, there can be a transformational reward for passing through this territory—for “confronting our demons.” Beebe acknowledges this inherent positive potential of the archetype as its “Daimonic” aspect.

SUMMARY Valerie Hunt (1989/1996), a prominent researcher in bioelectrics, writes:

Some aspects of reality—the mind is one—cannot be explained in a material framework. Mind has energy since it causes things to happen. Many of the experiences that we casually attribute to mind are clearly brain functions. … Other experiences and capacities … seem to be properties of the higher mind. … The mind is more of a field reality, a quantum reality, or a particle reality. … In the field, there is no immediate cause and effect as we know these, but rather meaningful coincidences or probabilities. (pp. 87, 89) Modern humans do their best to ignore this “field reality” that so contradicts our normal experience as framed by our Cartesian mindset. But Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) reminds us: All organisms, including humans, communicate and read their environment by evaluating energy fields. Because humans are so dependent on spoken and written language, we have neglected our energy sensing communication system. As with any biological function, a lack of use leads to atrophy. Interestingly, aborigines still utilize this hypersensory capacity in their daily lives. For them there has been no “sensory” atrophy. For example, Australian aborigines can sense water buried deep beneath the sand, and Amazonian shamans communicate with the energies of their medicinal plants. (p. 90) In spite of our “sensory atrophy,” the broader reality of constellated energies persists, and seeps into our lives, most commonly in our dreams and projections. When we become aware of this, it is usually through the metaphorical imagery of archetypes. After all, as Jung (1953/1966) pointed out: The old religions with their sublime and ridiculous, their friendly and fiendish symbols did not drop from the blue, but were born of this human soul that dwells within us at this moment. All those things, their primal forms, live on in us and may at any time burst in upon us with annihilating force. (para. 326) This “annihilating force,” which eventually and inevitably damages us, those around us, and our society, is the result of our denial—our bottling-up of these energic currents within ourselves. On the other hand, learning to recognize, accept, and deal with our archetypal undercurrents can lead us to greater wellbeing and effectiveness.

Chapter 8 ______________

Depth Typology Dynamics You think because you understand one you must understand two, because one and one makes two. But you must also understand “and.” — SUFI TEACHING

P

ersonality type tells us about our basic options for perception and judgment, that we have natural preferences for using certain of these mental processes over others, and that these impact the information we notice and the decisions we make. The Beebe model also includes the archetypes that energize and influence how those functionattitudes are used. So modern typology looks at the tools, techniques, energies, and information available to us for making the choices that shape our lives. Similarly, we all have our most comfortable, habitual ways of acquiring food, our go-to tools and appliances for preparing it, and recipes that influence how we cook. But this is not enough to fully describe the culinary process or predict the cuisine we’re likely to create. Likewise, we need to understand the dynamics of type—how an individual is likely to use his or her psychological tools and archetypal templates—if we expect to have much of an understanding of the typological process: how people actually live and grow.

MYERS-BRIGGS DYNAMICS The foundation upon which the Myers-Briggs model was built was the theoretical understanding of personality type of the mid-twentieth century. Its design was further shaped by Briggs’ and Myers’ desire to adapt that theory into a form that lent itself to accurate assessment through a simple instrument. Isabel Myers understood and wrote about the dynamic nature of the personality types that lies behind the sixteen four-letter codes. But since her framework was a simplified portrayal of the cognitive mechanisms (the functions and attitudes) of type, her “type dynamics” were likewise simplified and rudimentary compared to the fluid, constantly shifting reality of the live personality. Myers’ focus in writing about the dynamics of type seems to have been to counteract the impression of sixteen static type “boxes.” The MBTI® Manual (1998) warns: “Type theory predicts that the interactions of preferences result in behaviors that cannot be predicted from each preference separately” (Myers et al., p. 199). Giannini (2004) subsequently elaborated that these behaviors encompass “interests, values, needs, habits of mind, and surface traits that naturally result from the combination” (p. 303). On page 35 of Introduction to Type® (1998), Myers, Kirby, and Myers break down the “dynamic interaction of all four preferences within one type” as consisting of: 1. The superiority of the dominant function (in its “usual” attitude). 2. The balancing effect of the auxiliary. 3. A type’s “usual communication style”—i.e., which preferred function is extraverted and which preferred function is hidden (introverted). 4. The “hierarchy” of the four functions. 5. The “usual form of a type’s stress reactions”: inflation of the dominant or an “in the grip” inferior. 6. A developmental model, including: (1) development of the dominant and auxiliary in the first half of life; (2) the “confusions and opportunities” of identity crisis at midlife; and (3) becoming more comfortable with the tertiary and inferior, with the possibility of integration, in later life. Today, many type professionals still see this list as capturing the totality of the dynamics of type. But it is really just

a listing of the specific insights that fit easily with the Myers-Briggs model and which had been explored, developed, and accepted by the 1990s when the Manual was most recently updated. Useful as they are, they do not constitute a comprehensive model of the dynamic nature of personality. In particular, they do not speak to the flow of psychic energy that is the fundamental element of Jung’s understanding of the psyche. Without an overall picture of type dynamics that includes its energizing factors, we cannot hope to answer some important questions: Why do we use our function-attitudes in the specific ways that we do? Why do we tend to engage them in certain sorts of situations—often without regard for their appropriateness or effectiveness? Why and how do we create self-limiting barriers to our own growth and development? Why can’t we simply develop and use the function-attitudes we need? Why doesn’t type development simply follow our innate hierarchy of preferences? Why, even when we are “type aware,” do type-related problems continue to plague our interactions and relationships? What can we do to foster growth and development in ourselves and others?

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN COGNITION AND EMOTION In response to the inability of the type model to speak to such issues, many type professionals have begun to pay attention to working out how personality type and “emotional intelligence” can be used together to provide a more comprehensive picture of how we function psychologically. Important work has been done to dovetail these descriptive systems and to leverage their assessment findings in the interest of improving individual well-being and effectiveness and interpersonal communications and relationships. Whether one’s starting point is assessment results from a trustworthy type instrument or a reliable emotional intelligence (“EI” or “EQ”) instrument, adding insights from the other model enables a deeper and more sophisticated understanding than either assessment, with its intentionally-limited scope, can provide on its own. But to maximize the potential synergy, we need a conceptual bridge between the “how we think” realm of type and the “emotional influences” territory of EI. We need a linking construct that can help us understand our emotional issues in light of our type and the gifts and challenges of our type in terms of the emotional factor. John Beebe’s eight function-attitude eight archetype model of psychological type provides that link. Without Beebe’s archetypal energies component, personality type certainly constitutes an eminently useful model unto itself: a model of cognition. As such, it’s a model that treats emotion as information that we notice, process, and use in particular ways according to our typology. Within this cognitive model, even people with a preference for Feeling are seen as simply processing the data of perceived emotions in certain preference-related ways. Emotional intelligence models, by contrast, deal with the experience of emotions and our ability to manage and use them constructively. It is precisely these emotional affects and effects, characterized in terms of archetypal patterns, that Beebe links directly into the type model—describing specific, nuanced patterns of emotional strengths and challenges that are tied to the cognitive modes of each of the sixteen types. Jung (1953/1966) described the primordial images that he referred to as archetypes as “the most universal ‘thoughtforms’ of humanity… as much feelings as thoughts” (para. 104). Further: “As an attribute of instinct they partake of its dynamic nature, and consequently possess a specific energy which causes or compels definite modes of behavior or impulses” ( Jung, 1961/1963, p. 347). He conceived of this energy “as a psychic analogue of physical energy” which is closely related to instincts such as hunger, aggression, and sex, in that he regarded these all as “expressions of psychic energy” (1961/1963, p. 208). And in Psychological Types (1921/1971), Jung tied all of these factors— instincts, emotions, psychic energies—to type, saying that “an imperfectly developed function,” withdrawn from “conscious control,” autonomous and “contaminated with other functions … then behaves like a purely dynamic factor, incapable of differentiated choice” (para. 118). In other words, the function is “carried away” by the energies of the unconscious, which he came to describe in terms of their archetypal character. Jung (1959/1969b) further underscored the unconscious nature of emotion, pointing out that “emotion … is not an activity of the individual but something that happens to him” (para. 15). Giannini (2004) focuses on the energizing aspect of emotion, noting that the word itself “comes from the Latin, ‘emovere,’ meaning ‘to move out, stir up, agitate’ ” (p 157). Beebe (2010, Aug. 4-7) observes that “emotions and affect associated with function-attitudes are always about the archetype—specifically about the human experience of the archetype.” Modern neuroscience and endocrinology appear to be validating these theoretical connections. Molecular biologist Candace Pert (1997/1999) mentioned Paul MacLean’s “triune brain theory,” which views the

human brain in terms of three layers, representing different stages of human evolution: The brainstem (hindbrain), or reptilian brain, which is responsible for breathing, excretion, blood flow, body temperature, and other autonomic functions; the limbic system, which encircles the top of the brainstem and is the seat of the emotions; and the cerebral cortex, in the forebrain, which is the seat of reason. (p. 134) Conscious thought seems to be primarily a phenomenon of the most recently evolved, most human part of the brain, the cerebral cortex. The emotional energies that we perceive as archetypes, on the other hand, appear to be more heavily influenced by the older limbic system, the “seat of emotions.” A great deal of what we see in depth typology, then, may come down to an ongoing process of two distinct and differently-functioning neurological systems, striving to collaborate. On the one hand, we have the older system with its time-tested archetypal frames influencing our perceptions and responses. But the ability of this system to “understand” is limited to the general recognition of vague “feeling-toned” energy patterns, and its responses are limited to a handful of automatic instinctual reactions. On the other hand, we have a sophisticated and rational capacity to analyze and understand—a capability that can enable us to choose more appropriate responses from a wider array of options. But this system is hampered by multiple layers of cognitive biases, some innate and some learned. Clearly we need both systems. Wisdom and effectiveness require sophisticated collaboration between the two. We could, and our distant ancestors did, survive using only the older system. But this would be a primitive, animal existence, driven by instinct, reacting automatically, and lacking self-awareness and rational thought. On the other hand, operating only from our newer system (as many of us modern humans try to do), if we could even manage to do it, would distance us further from the reality of the world. All of our perceptions and actions would then be processed through the cognitive frames we create, several steps removed from the raw data of life. Recent decades’ breakthroughs in biochemistry have made it clear that there is much more than the brain’s hardwiring involved in the energizing of thought, emotion, and behavior. Pert (1997/1999), after years of research, even went so far as to pronounce neuropeptides and their receptors “the biochemicals of emotion” (p. 181). She clarifies that in this, she is using the term “emotion” in the broadest sense: To include not only the familiar human experiences of anger, fear, and sadness, as well as joy, contentment, and courage, but also basic sensations such as pleasure and pain, as well as the “drive states” studied by the experimental psychologists, such as hunger and thirst. … I also refer to an assortment of other intangible, subjective experiences that are probably unique to humans, such as spiritual inspiration, awe, bliss … (1997/1999, pp. 131-132) Debbie Shapiro (1997) presents a layman’s summary of the physiological process: Secreted by the brain, immune system, and nerve cells, are neuropeptides—hormones that act as chemical messengers carrying emotions from the mind to the body and back again. They create an intricate and elaborate two-way communication system that links the emotions with all areas of the body. Neuropeptides carry our fears, concerns, dreams, and hopes into every corner of our being. (pp. 15-16) She also quotes Dr. Deepak Chopra (1993/2007): “Without the feeling there is no hormone; without the hormone there is no feeling. … The revolution we call mind-body medicine was based on this simple discovery: Wherever thought goes, a chemical goes with it” (p. 21). And Pert (1997/1999) speculated that “the density of receptors in the intestines may be why we feel our emotions in that part of the anatomy, often referring to them as ‘gut feelings’ ” (p. 188). The energetics of unconscious psychic activity have now been generally substantiated by physiological research. As Valerie Hunt (1989/1996), a pioneer researcher of human energy fields, summarized: The human mind is envisioned as an energy field organized by emotion, where emotion is an agitation, a disturbance in the quality of flow of energy occurring as a result of field transaction. … Emotion is aroused energy, a human power source. (p. 171-172) To understand what this means for us psychologically, there is still no better framework than Jung’s. The whole of his scheme—his structural descriptors and his understanding of psychic processes—is anchored in his view of the psyche as being ultimately based on fields, forces, and flows of psychic energy. (He used the term “libido” as a

synonym for psychic energy ( Jung, 1921/1971, para. 778). I have avoided using this term, however, for fear that readers will associate it with Freud’s better known but more limited sex-drive-oriented definition.) In the realm of typology, only Beebe’s model brings the depth of understanding that comes from this energy-based view of psychic dynamics. Modern-day insights into the biological aspects of unconsciousness also dramatize the limitations of intentional type development. Any such conscious endeavor must, by its nature, be an activity of the cerebral cortex, one part of the brain, which is in turn only one part of the physiology of the mind. True individuation—the bringing of material, including function-attitudes, into consciousness where it can be recognized, managed, and integrated—must draw from resources that are not only psychologically “deeper”but also far more physiologically diffuse than the realm of the cortex. The more we learn about unconsciousness—about its biological mechanisms and its non-cognitive, emotionally charged, energy-driven nature—the easier it is to understand why it strikes the ego as primitive, uncouth, and unworthy of being accepted as part of who we are and why its “language” would be symbolic, allegorical, and confusing to the conscious mind. But its “feeling-toned” forms, the archetypes, are each characterized by a certain, often identifiable, energy. When John Beebe uses archetypal symbols to describe the eight key energic themes of personality type, he is describing the eight kinds of emotional energy that tend to come along with use of the function-attitude in each position in the sequence for each type: the hypercritical, authoritarian, intimidating Witch/Senex, for example, that characterizes the kind of emotional energy that typically carries the sixth functionattitude. Once we have intellectually grasped the nature of the eight archetypes, function-attitudes are often most easily recognized by the emotional energy of the archetypes that carry them. If we ask ourselves whether what we’re experiencing feels heroic, or nurturing, immature, embarrassing, oppositional, hypercritical, manipulative, or undermining, we can often detect the emotional tone of what’s going on typologically before we’re able to grasp it intellectually.

WHOLE-TYPE DYNAMICS Whereas the dynamics of the Myers-Briggs model constitute several pieces of the puzzle, Beebe’s dynamic picture of personality type includes the entire puzzle. This is not to claim that it can’t or won’t be clarified, modified, expanded, or otherwise refined and improved in coming years; Beebe himself expects that it will. I simply mean that just as Beebe’s framework encompasses, for the first time, all of the function-attitudes of each type, plus their archetypal energies, its portrayal of the dynamic forces at work within every typology appears to be comprehensive as well. It creates the inclusive framework that will make those future refinements possible. The dynamics of depth typology can be overwhelming at first. In the following pages, I’ll be describing six different dimensions of type dynamics. But they all fit together elegantly, and Beebe’s “axes of type” diagram provides a visual representation that helps us see how the different pieces work together. These insights do not need to be covered in introductory or intermediate type class material, and not all type professionals will feel the need to incorporate them into their daily work. However, there are situations where understanding the dynamics of type—in depth—is indispensable. This is particularly common when we’re working with individuals or teams for longer periods or addressing those sticky issues that don’t respond to simpler approaches. Anyone with an extended relationship with clients— teachers and mediators, for example—will find these insights useful. Therapists and coaches likely will find themselves referring to these ideas regularly. When we’re stuck not understanding what we’re encountering, we can examine these factors for an explanation. Even type trainers whose main interaction with clients is through introductory classes may find themselves tapping into these insights to better respond to those “me and my partner” questions that they inevitably field after workshops. The first and most essential thing to understand about depth typology dynamics is that function-attitudes trigger archetypal complexes, and likewise, archetypal patterns trigger function-attitudes. Beebe (2010, Aug. 4-7) says that: “The most common trigger for any function-attitude-archetype is when we engage that function-attitude.” This means, for example, that when the work we’re doing or the person we’re with influences us to engage our fifth function-attitude, we likely will do so in a somewhat oppositional way. Or if we engage our tertiary functionattitude, it may well be in a puerile, unreliable fashion. Even our dominant function can get carried away with itself, becoming inflated and overly-heroic.

Likewise, when others engage a function-attitude, we often unconsciously respond to the archetype that we associate with that function-attitude. If someone habitually engages a (for them) preferred FA that is sixth in our hierarchy, we may regard their interactions with us as tinged with a limit-setting, hyper-critical, Witchy agenda. The reverse can be true as well: The archetypal pattern can trigger engagement of the associated function-attitude. In situations that fit the Mother/Father pattern—actual parenting, counseling, being someone’s boss or mentor, or a CEO—we will tend to do so through our second function-attitude’s skillset, whether it’s well-suited or not. Likewise, when others take on an archetypal role (and all roles are, to some extent, archetypal), we may respond to them via the function-attitude that is associated for us with a fitting response. If someone presents a Senex-like demeanor toward us, for example, it may trigger us to engage our seventh function-attitude (the one linked to Trickster energy) in defense. Obviously, often it will be difficult to know which aspect—archetype or function-attitude—is the cause and which the effect. But, as the examples below illustrate, it may well be sufficient just to be aware that some such thing could be happening. Recall that the function-attitudes are controlled by archetypal energies only to the extent that they are unconscious—or to put it another way, to the extent that we are using them unconsciously. Every time we become (consciously) aware of an instance of function-attitude entanglement with archetypal energies, we loosen that archetype’s grip on us and depotentiate the power of its energies within us. This awareness is the fulcrum of the power of depth typology to improve our lives! Unconscious thoughts and feelings that we can intellectually understand and emotionally embrace can be integrated as ego-allies rather than remaining as shadowy destabilizing threats. Below are a couple of real-life examples of how this works and of how understanding how it works can lead to better outcomes in our personal performance and our interactions with others.

Mark’s INTJ story: I was editing a very technical, intricate, and for me, difficult to understand article by another author. The process required that I microscopically examine virtually every phrase to comprehend its meaning, as well as the basis for the statement, all its implications, and the possible unintended consequences of saying it one way versus another. I was engaging in the precision-demanding, “defining” work of introverted thinking (Ti), my sixth function-attitude. After a while, I noticed that I was becoming increasingly cranky, impatient, and inflexible. I could feel this energic mood taking over so strongly that it was beginning to control how I did the work and was even threatening to influence how I interacted with the author. This energy became so prevalent that when I had occasion to retake the MBTI assessment in the middle of this process, I reported as an introverted thinking type. But once I noticed what was going on, I quickly was able to identify the tone of the energy that was gripping me as that of the Critical Parent / Senex archetype, which typically carries the function-attitude of the sixth position (Ti for INTJ). I don’t know whether it was engaging in the introverted thinking mode of operating that brought the Senex-y energy with it or whether it was the “tough love” nature of the editor’s role that inclined me to take an introverted thinking approach to the editing. I’ve seen it work in either direction and, in this case, it was probably both. The important thing is that by being able to recognize what was going on emotionally, I was able to defuse (“depotentiate” is the Jungian term) that energy and consciously choose more appropriate and effective function-attitudes and energies to bring to bear on the project. In this case, I shifted to the supportive, “let-me-help-you-with-this” emotional tone of the Father archetype that naturally carries my auxiliary extraverted thinking. This function-attitude is adept at reorganizing and collaborating, and it turned out that reorganizing the article solved most of the problems that had triggered my “witchy-ness” in the first place. Note how well the following simplified descriptions, based on the Beebe model and excerpted from the FunctionArchetype Decoder (McAlpine, Shumate, Evers, & Hughey, 2009), predict the problems that occurred—and hint at root causes, triggers, and keys to emotional self-management and self-improvement. When you use Ti, if it’s your Critical Parent / 6th function (e. g., Mark):

• •

“Can get in the habit of criticizing all the time, especially if one’s competence is threatened” “Often engages in a repetitive hammering away at the point that can make others feel intellectually bullied”

When you use Te, if it’s your Good Parent / 2nd function (e. g., Mark): • “Can feel an irresistible urge to organize people for their own good”

Bob’s ISTJ story: For approximately seven years I’ve been working with an individual whose type code is ESTP; mine is ISTJ. He would call and reserve a time for us to talk about a certain topic. Once he had asked for a certain time, I would protect that time and do my research so that I would be ready for his phone call. The call never came on schedule. I’d hear from him maybe two or three hours later. By that time, I’d be so angry that it was almost impossible for us to have a successful discussion. This went on for several years until I was ready to end the relationship. Extraverted sensation (Se), in the dominant / Heroic position for my business partner, often has a very loose relationship with schedules. He becomes so fully engaged in whatever is presently happening that he forgets he should be somewhere else doing something else at a certain time. On the other hand, introverted sensation in my dominant / Heroic position is all about following conventions of behavior and remembering commitments, which means that if you reserve a timeslot with someone, you show up on time. When such a way of being comes with Heroic energy, it is an extreme violation to forget a commitment. Thankfully my office manager stepped in to get us to discuss the anger I was feeling and the behavior that was causing the anger. Once I became conscious of the archetypal energy dynamics of the situation, it was easy for me to stop taking his behavior as a personal affront, and it became obvious that resolving the issue would need to involve honoring both Heroes. We solved the problem by scheduling our meetings in terms of “his time” or “my time.” If it’s his time, I do not put it on my calendar, and if it’s my time, he calls on time or calls earlier if he needs to reschedule. This arrangement has now been successful for more than five years. My anger had been caused by my unwillingness to allow for extraverted sensation in my life. Acknowledging this and being willing to allow his calls to interrupt me also has allowed me to let him know that I’ve learned not to be so rigid regarding my schedule. (Robert McAlpine, personal communication, April 16, 2012) The fifth position of the function-attitude hierarchy carries the archetypal energy that Beebe has dubbed the “Opposing Personality” because it tends to challenge the ego, and especially the Hero—usually in passiveaggressive ways. It’s disrespectful of and impatient with the dominant’s way of operating. Bob therefore perceived his associate’s dominant extraverted sensing-related behavior as oppositional— insulting and disrespectful of Bob’s Heroic introverted sensing sensibilities. His friend probably felt the same way about Bob’s Heroic introverted sensation-based expectations. The notion that he should abandon an activity just to keep to a preset schedule likely felt to him like it dismissed the importance of the in-the-moment experience. The Function-Archetype Decoder (McAlpine et al., 2009) observes: When you use Se, if it’s your Hero / 1st function (e. g., Bob’s friend): • “If inflated, can be so absorbed in the present that past and future, including consequences to self and others, are disregarded” When others use Se, if it’s your Opposing Personality / 5th function (e. g., Bob): • “May view them as behaving inappropriately” When you use Si, if it’s your Hero / 1st function (e. g., Bob): • “If inflated, can adopt a rigid adherence to existing procedures” • “If inflated, the likelihood that any change could occur may be inconceivable” When others use Si, if it’s your Opposing Personality / 5th function (e. g., Bob’s friend):

•

“May become instantly agitated if the errors of one’s past are pointed out”

“Archetypal baggage,” is a factor in all interactions and therefore something that should always be taken into consideration. Whenever we enter into a situation that seems to fit a common theme and whenever we unconsciously engage a function-attitude, a certain amount of archetypal energy engages as well. Since most situations fit one or more archetypal patterns and since we rarely, if ever, engage our function-attitudes in complete consciousness, archetypal complexes are essentially always part of the type dynamic. If we’re not aware of this—if we’re engaging an undeveloped function-attitude, are not sufficiently focused on the actual situation, or we are emotionally vulnerable—the archetype may even dominate the situation. We then respond to the archetypal preconceptions more than to the reality.Even in the best of circumstances when we’re conscious and self-aware, some archetypal residue is present. To recap, so far we’ve discussed and demonstrated three fundamental principles of depth typology dynamics: 1. Use of a function-attitude, either by ourselves or by others, can bring with it the emotional baggage of the associated archetypal complex. 2. Taking on archetypal roles (ourselves or others) can trigger engagement of the associated functionattitudes. 3. “Archetypal baggage” is an omnipresent factor in our interactions. An understanding of these three simple principles of linkage between the function-attitude and the archetype is sufficient to reveal a tremendous amount of the dynamic activity of the psyche to us. Beyond this, there are also several specific dyads of push/pull, tension/compensation relationships within the function-attitude-archetype cast of characters, which can come into play.

THE AXES OF PERSONALITY The hierarchy of function-attitude preferences for each type speaks to the innate level of comfort and energy expenditure in engaging each of the function-attitudes. In the Beebe model, it also describes the natural alignment of the function-attitudes for each type with eight archetypes. But the energy vectors of type dynamics do not follow the straightforward scheme of the preference hierarchy. John Beebe, inspired by Jung’s penchant for fourfold diagrams, has developed the concept of the “axes of type” as a way to illustrate, as simply as possible, the dynamic forces within and between types. These axes delineate the primary dynamic relationships that are inherent in the characteristics of the functionattitude-archetypes cast. As touched upon in the previous chapter, the four ego-syntonic function-attitudes tend to operate in ways that suggest two internal pairings: the dominant with the inferior and the auxiliary with the tertiary. And although we’ll focus here, for simplicity’s sake, on these ego-syntonic pairs, they are duplicated in the egodystonic function-attitudes as well: fifth with eighth, and sixth with seventh. Beebe conceptualizes each of these dyads of function-attitude-archetypes as occupying opposing poles of an “axis” of personality. He calls the vertical axis the “spine” of personality and the horizontal one, the “arms.” These labels make visual sense when we imagine superimposing the image of a person with arms outstretched, as in da Vinci’s famous “Vitruvian Man,” over the following diagram.

Figure 4. John Beebe’s Axes of Type (using a female ISTP example). Copyright by John Beebe 1988. Used with permission from the author.

The focus of the spine function-attitudes—their raison d‘être— is in defining the core of Self. So according to our definitions of Jungian concepts in Chapter 4, development of the spine means the emergence of our innate “personality.” The ego-syntonic spine, of course, also relates to the core characteristics and potentialities of the ego, while the shadow spine does not. Jung, von Franz, Hillman, and many others have written at length about how the inferior function both complements the dominant and creates a dynamic tension of opposites between them which serves to promote the individuation of the authentic personality. Every dyad of spine function-attitudes always consists of opposite approaches to either perceiving or judging (both of the functions of that “dichotomy”) and one is extraverted and the other introverted. If they are perceiving function-attitudes, then one uses the Sensing approach and one uses Intuiting. If they’re judging FAs, one operates in the Thinking mode and the other, Feeling. Now factor in that one is the Heroic dominant function of the personality and the other is its inferior Anima/Animus counterpoint, and we begin to get a sense of why Beebe speaks of individuation of the dominant and inferior, including the development of a working relationship between the two, as a process of developing ever-deeper “integrity” of who we are. He explains this idea of integrity of the personality, saying that the spine is about “identity, selfhood, private vision, goals, etc.” (Beebe, 2010, Aug. 4-7). Most people who are familiar with type would agree that our dominant function-attitude is the keystone to who we are. That much seems self-evident. Clearly, developing the Core Me, becoming who we are meant to be, must include embracing and developing our dominant function-attitude. But even complete differentiation of our dominant FA would leave the core of personality incomplete and unbalanced. My own “Heroic” introverted intuition, for example, needs to be counterbalanced by the extraverted orientation and by the feminine principal. Without these influences, I would be a caricature of an introverted male. It also desperately needs to be anchored in the world of concrete data and sensory experience. Introverted intuition that is completely untempered by extraverted sensation would be almost pathologically ungrounded, its visioning proclivity drifting off into irrelevant fantasy. Other function-attitudes help in counterbalancing the dominant too, of course. The other two ego-syntonic FAs have the notable characteristic of having an opposite-dichotomy focus. If the dominant is a judging function, #2 and #3 are the functions of perception; if #1 is about perception, #2 and #3 focus on judgment. The auxiliary in particular is actively involved in lending this J/P balance to the personality. In fact, all seven other function-attitudes supplement the dominant and, to the extent that they are conscious, they expand the capacities of the ego. But only the inferior Anima/Animus FA can contribute the exact right focus and capacity needed to enhance the scope of the dominant and bring this primary gift and personality characteristic to its full potential. A true blossoming of my Ni dominant is only possible if accompanied by some differentiation and integration of my extraverted sensing Anima. No other function-attitude could supplement introverted intuition as perfectly as extraverted sensation. And we find the same “exact right” fit in all types’ dominant/inferior pairings. Thus integration of these two particular functionattitude-archetypes can create a core of true integrity of personality. In fact, even just conscious awareness and acceptance of our inferior function’s limitations and vulnerability lay the foundation from which personal integrity can arise. Imagine an adult with any of one of the eight function-attitudes as their well-developed dominant but utterly without any integration of their fourth FA. Probably no such person exists. Life forces at least a little development of all the functions, and our sense of inferiority in some modes of functioning evinces our awareness of our limitations in these areas. But if we can imagine such an extreme example, we can get a sense of the importance of development of the spine. Regardless of their type, an individual utterly lacking in any development of their inferior would certainly be an immature, not very effective, and rather annoying person. If they lacked even an awareness of their shortcomings, they would be downright pathetic and perhaps even dangerous to themselves and others in their denial of their own ineptitude. Someone with dominant introverted intuition would be a Chaplinesque figure, foolishly trying to meet every physical challenge, stumbling and bumbling through life. Someone with dominant introverted thinking who was completely disconnected from his inferior extraverted feeling would be similarly hapless in relating to others. But add in a developed and integrated Anima/Animus inferior and with this one typological stroke, we immediately see someone with considerably more personal power, influence, and maturity—a person who is capable of making significant contributions in all they do, primarily through a more sophisticated use of the gifts of their dominant function-attitude. Just as my introverted intuition dominated personality needs to be anchored in present sensory reality via my

extraverted sensing inferior, someone whose personality revolves around their dominant extraverted sensation needs to develop a partnership between that experiencing-oriented mode and their inferior introverted intuition. In this way, raw in-the-moment enjoyment can blossom into meaningful, insight-provoking experience. Similarly, dominant introverted sensation, with its focus on past experience, needs extraverted intuition’s influence to project those experiences into the future and reveal the possibilities they imply. Dominant extraverted intuition’s orientation toward the future requires introverted sensation’s retrospective view to lend an understanding of how things actually work.A person whose personality spine is led by their planfull, organizing, extraverted thinking FA could be quite draconian and insensitive unless their Te is augmented by introverted feeling’s appreciation and assessment of how actions would uphold or violate core values. Dominant introverted feeling could lead to an overly passive, laissezfaire personality without the help of extraverted thinking’s pragmatic “make it happen” influence. Someone with an introverted thinking-dominated spine might achieve a precise and elegant intellectual understanding of whatever draws their attention, but without the aid of their inferior extraverted feeling, that insight might well not relate to the affairs and needs of people at all. Untempered dominant extraverted feeling’s focus on interpersonal relating can become controlling and smothering, so the influence of introverted thinking’s logical analysis helps one define the situations where validation and guidance are what people need. According to Beebe, the horizontal “arms” axis is focused in quite a different direction. Its two function-attitudes are engaged mainly in our relationships with the external world—particularly with other people. The auxiliary functionattitude, carried by the nurturing and supportive Mother/Father complex, is our default mode for taking care of other people and things. The tertiary Eternal Child function-attitude influences how we innately desire to be taken care of. Again, note that both arm FAs are always opposite poles of either the J or P dichotomy, in opposite attitudes, and that their archetypal roles are likewise both complementary and fertile ground for tension. “The ‘arms’ axes are about ways of caring for and being cared for by others— about relating and interacting” (Beebe, 2010, Aug. 4-7). Note also that although I have been focusing on the two ego-syntonic axes, they are mirrored on the ego-dystonic side. There is a shadow spine made up of the fifth function-attitude carried by the Opposing Personality archetype at one pole, and the Demonic/ Daimonic eighth function-attitude at the other. The shadow of the arms axis is composed of the Witch/Senex sixth function-attitude and the Trickster seventh. Recall that our shadow functionattitude-archetypes serve to defend the Self against external attacks and internal imbalance. This larger purpose is often beyond the ken, and even contrary to the priorities of the ego. So these shadow FA-As that commonly show up through dreams, fantasies, projections, and “out of character” behaviors are usually viewed as negative and unacceptable. But understanding these shadow complexes and the dynamics of their axes can help us unravel the psychic purposes and messages of such unconscious eruptions—the “what’s going on behind the scenes” of personality type.

INTERPERSONAL FRICTION BETWEEN DIFFERENTLY-ORIENTED AXES The axes of personality type illuminate our understanding of the psychological dynamics within individuals: internal conflict, balance and imbalance, and developmental patterns. Their significance for these intrapersonal issues cannot be overstated. But as factors in creating and resolving interpersonal discord, they are tremendously significant as well.It is in our interactions with others that these factors are usually easiest to observe, so I will focus on these interpersonal dynamics. In addition, at the risk of seeming to overemphasize the negative, I will talk mostly in terms of the disconnects and conflicts that can result. Again, it’s simply easier to describe and relate to in this way as we tend to notice more about what goes wrong than about what goes smoothly. Moreover, it is almost always to address such problems—poor communication, ineffectiveness, conflict, and so forth—that the aid of therapists, coaches, or consultants is enlisted. Hopefully, however, it will be clear that in highlighting areas of potential incompatibility, areas of potential compatibility are also implied—and that these hold the greatest potential for building positive relationships. Two important, but previously underappreciated, areas of potential friction and conflict in interactions between people of different types can be seen using Beebe’s typological schematic (Figure 4). The first can be thought of as conflicting functional orientations. If our spines define the core of who we are, then each of us is primarily oriented toward either perception or toward judgment. It’s easy to see that there could be friction between perceivingoriented people and judging-oriented people. In fact, Beebe and many others agree that this is the “most problematic” type difference of all. Note too that if an individual’s overall personality orientation (their spine) is all

about perception, then they’ll relate to others primarily through judgment (their arms), and vice versa. Thus, whether a given type has a judging spine of selfhood and relates to others via perceiving arms or a perceiving spine and judging arms is one of the most important things to understand about that typology. Isabel Briggs Myers emphasized the importance of the judgment/ perception disparity; the MBTI Manual® (1998) notes that her mother, Katharine Briggs, had observed and described these two modes of operating prior to the publication of Jung’s Psychological Types. The Manual explains: In any new activity, it is appropriate first to use a perceiving function (S or N) to observe or take in the situation; then it is appropriate to use a judging function (T or F) to decide on the appropriate action. Perceiving types typically remain longer in the observing attitude because it is more comfortable and natural for them. Judging types move more quickly through perception in order to reach conclusions and achieve closure, as they are most comfortable and satisfied when a plan has been developed or when a decision has been made. (p. 26) The Manual goes on to detail the distinguishing characteristics of these two orientations: In the Judging attitude, a person is concerned with making decisions, seeking closure, planning operations, or organizing activities. … Perception tends to be shut off as soon as they have observed enough to make a decision. In contrast, people who prefer the Perceiving attitude will often suspend judgment to take another look, reporting, “We don’t know enough yet to make a decision.” People who prefer Judging often seem in their outer behavior to be organized, purposeful, and decisive, frequently stating, “Yes, we do have enough information to make a decision.” Procrastination can be the result of perception with a deficit of judgment. Prejudice can come from judgment with a deficit of perception. (pp. 26-27) But notice that Briggs’ and Myers’ focus was on how judgment and perception manifest in “activity” and “outer behavior”—in interactions—in other words, when extraverted. Thus the “P” or “J” of a person’s type code points to which of these we prefer to extravert; whereas Beebe’s emphasis is on which one defines us as a person. For the extraverted types, these coincide; but for the eight introverted types, they don’t. Both J versus P extraversion (Myers’ focus) and the J versus P personality (Beebe’s focus) denote landmark typological issues; but the distinction between the two areas of emphasis is significant and particularly important to keep in mind when it comes to people with a preference for introversion. Interacting when dealing with the Myers-Briggs J/P extraversion disconnect can be quite problematic. But differing judgment versus perception spines create a conflict that strikes at the very foundation of people’s personal identity and integrity.The observable differences between those whose typological spine, the core of who they are, is about judgment and those whose spine is about perception can be less obvious (if not extraverted) than a simple “J versus P” difference, but these differences are deeper, more entrenched, and harder to resolve. A true judging personality (i.e., a type with a T-F dominant–inferior spine) is centered around cognitive processes for sorting through information, prioritizing, making decisions, and taking action—what Jung called “rational” functions. A perceiving personality (S-N spine) is centered around a habitual focus of attention through its “irrational” functions—more a way of being than the judging personality’s way of doing.

Table 3. Judgment vs. Perception Personalities.

To illustrate how all this works, think of two people, one an ENTJ type and the other, ISFJ. They both will usually interact in a judging mode (Te and Fe, respectively). But only the ENTJ is truly a “judging type.” The ISFJ, as shown in Figure 5, is a “perceiving type.” He is “all about” gathering information, even though this may not be apparent from interacting with him. In the long run, this is likely to be a serious source of conflict between these two people; one which, if they remain unaware of it, may never be resolved. A judging/perceiving mismatch between people, if not understood, will invariably lead to misunderstandings, incorrect assumptions, and friction. Their “who

I am” and “what it’s all about for me” are so fundamentally different, that if they don’t take this disparity into account, then clearly the relationship will be on shaky ground. Note too that for such pairs of people the basic nature of how they tend to interact with others— represented by their auxiliary-tertiary arms axes—is at odds as well. While the ENTJ will tend to take care of others and want to be taken care of via perception, the ISFJ will relate via judgment. The ENTJ, for example, might attempt to help by sharing an intuitive perception. With Ni in the Father/Mother position, introverted intuition would likely be her go-to mode for lending support to others. But the ISFJ may “hear” the observation as a call to act on the information. Since his arms, and specifically his “how I want to be taken care of ” Eternal Child tertiary, are oriented towards judgment and taking action, his friend’s sharing of information may well be misread as a list of “you shoulds.” And if their positions were reversed, with the ISFJ trying to support his friend via his Fe Parent, perhaps with some advice on what she should do, the ENTJ may take it as a personal attack. The well-intentioned Fe parenting attempt, with its judging focus, could well be taken as a challenge to the ENTJ’s judgmental core identity. This particular distinction in type dynamics, interaction disparities versus identity disparities, would be reversed if the ENTJ is relating, instead, to an ISFP type. On the surface, there will be an obvious J/P disconnect in their interactions: the ENTJ extraverting via her judging (Te) function-attitude and the ISFP extraverting her perceptions (Se). But in this case, if they can get past this by treating each other with patience and respect, they will discover important common ground in that they are both oriented toward judgment. In fact, these seemingly “opposite types” (all the code letters different), both have Te–Fi spines and Ni–Se arms—and potential for powerful collaboration and attraction.

Figure 5. Comparing ENTJ with ISFP (its “code opposite” type) and with ISFJ.

The second area of potential interpersonal friction that’s highlighted by Beebe’s axes diagram has to do with the attitudes in which we prefer to engage the four functions; i.e., which function-attitudes are ego-syntonic. As discussed earlier, there is an inherent disconnect between each pair of function siblings—each function in opposite attitudes. I think of this opposite-attitudes disconnect as the “most insidious” kind of potential friction between types because, like quicksand, what appears to be solid, common ground hides a morass. Two people, one with preferred (egosyntonic) extraverted sensing and the other with introverted sensing (or Ne vs. Ni, Te vs. Ti, or Fe vs. Fi) will appear to share a common typological language, think alike, share assumptions, etc.; but their opposite orientations, the objective environment versus subjective internalization, are actually so fundamentally different that their perceptions, reasoning, and conclusions will never really connect. So in looking at different typologies for possible areas of friction and disconnect, one key question to consider is whether the individuals have any ego-syntonic function-attitudes in common—even if they are not comfortable or developed. If so, then when one person engages that function, at least it will fit with the ego typology of both people. If not, it will exert a pull toward the other person’s shadow side; to them it will feel somehow “off ” and raise alarm-bells of distrust.

Using the first type in Table 4 as a reference point, we can see which types have ego-syntonic function-attitudes in common with ISTJ. These commonalities are areas of potential compatibility between people of these typologies; and the absence of such commonalities points to potential areas of friction. Note that even when two types share ego-syntonic function-attitudes, if they are on different axes (dominant/inferior spine versus auxiliary/tertiary arms), this points to the opposite “functional-orientations” variety of potential disconnect, discussed earlier. The table enables us to do a “headcount” of the potential inter-type compatibilities and incompatibilities between the sixteen types. These numbers will be the same no matter which type we compare to the others. • • • • • •

If two types share one ego-syntonic judging or perceiving function-attitude, they share both. Eight of the types have the same ego-syntonic judging FAs and eight do not. Likewise, eight of the types share ego-syntonic perceiving FAs and eight don’t. Four have both their ego-syntonic FAs of perception and judgment in common. So the other twelve have the potential for opposite-attitude friction via at least one axis. Four types share the same FAs as spines; but only two of them are identical, while the other two are the inverse. Likewise, four types have the function-attitudes of their ego-syntonic arms in common—two identical and two inverted.

The most extreme iteration of the opposite-attitudes disconnect is “shadow types.” Whenever two people’s type codes share the same functions (the second and third letters), but opposite attitudes (the first and fourth letters), each person’s configuration of preferences (their ego-syntonic axes) will be the other’s Shadow (their ego-dystonic axes). For the ISTJ example in Table 4, her shadow type is ESTP. Shadow-opposite types tend to dramatically demonstrate the pitfalls of the attitude disconnect: the illusion of common ground and the reality that understanding or connecting with each other will be extremely challenging. As shown in Figure 6, ISTJ’s code-opposite type, ENFP, prefers to engage all the functions in the same attitude, albeit in reversed order of preference. ESTP, on the other hand, not only prefers to engage all the functions in the opposite attitude, the entire configuration of the egodystonic side of an ESTP personality mirrors ISTJ’s ego-syntonic hierarchy. ESTP is the shadow-opposite of ISTJ.

Figure 6. ISTJ’s ego-syntonic function-attitudes compared to the same FAs in its “code opposite” type, ENFP and its “shadow opposite” type, ESTP.

The following personal stories illustrate ways in which these dynamics can work. The first describes a situation of spine incompatibility, but with the potential for connecting via the arms. The second story involves two shadowopposite types.

Mark and Carol, coeditors: In 2010, Carol and I created a free on-line journal to publish articles that bridge the gap between personality type and depth psychology. Carol’s type is ENFP and mine is INTJ. Editing can be intense work, full of tough decisions and subjective judgments. Looking at our types, any type professional would predict that there would be friction and disagreement between us; and, in fact, it does seem that we rarely read the same text the same way and often reach different conclusions. Even when we agree, we almost always have reached our conclusions by very different routes. Carol filters information in an extraverted intuiting way while I see it through introverted intuition. Introverted feeling guides her decisions and extraverted thinking structures mine. There are times when we get resentful and annoyed with each other and times when we completely misunderstand and misinterpret each other. On the other hand, we’re still working together and have even become friends. We feel that our sometimesrocky collaboration produces a high-quality contribution to the field that we both know is far better than what either of us could create on our own. As always in relationships, humility and mutual respect are requisites for all the “working it out” we need to do. And there are some typological keys that not only predicted that this partnership could work, but guide us in what we need to do to keep it working. Some of them are conventional type wisdom. We both know, for example, that if a first draft needs to be reorganized, I, with my developed extraverted thinking perspective, should usually take the lead. When it comes to recognizing the real possibilities and difficulties that may be hidden in a first draft, her extraverted intuition is far more pragmatic and useful than my Ni perceptions. A look at diagrams of our ego-syntonic axes reveals additional clues. Looking at one potential issue reveals some good news. Although our typological spines contain functions that are in the opposite-attitude from each other’s, they are both perceiving spines. I suspect that if one of us had an overall orientation toward perception and the other toward judgment, our partnership would have fallen apart long ago. Looking at a second factor, we see that although two of our ego-syntonic functions are opposite in attitude, the other two are a match—common ground.

Figure 7. Carol’s and Mark’s ego-syntonic type axes.

When we look at the third factor, the archetypal energies, the fundamental dynamics of our interactions—of what works and what doesn’t—are revealed. The functions of “who we are,” our spines, are the same, but opposite in attitude. They are, in fact, each other’s’ shadow spines. It’s no wonder that we so often seem to be speaking the same language only to turn out to be misunderstanding each other and coming at things from opposite directions. But where our function-attitudes match is in the arms of interaction—the primary typological determinants of how we relate to others. In fact, my Eternal Child, the area of ego activity where I am most likely to be unreliable and need support, is introverted feeling which happens to be carried by Carol’s Mother archetype and is therefore the mode in which she naturally tends to support others. Likewise, I tend to support others through my Fatherly auxiliary, extraverted thinking— the same function-attitude that for Carol, as her Eternal Child tertiary, is most likely to need support. The ways in which each of us

naturally desires to be nurtured and enabled happen to be the ways in which the other naturally nurtures and enables. One scenario where this dynamic has played out repeatedly is that as we exchange perceptions and ideas back and forth via emails (a notoriously impersonal medium), we may become increasingly annoyed and intransigent. When this happens, we have learned that what we need to do is talk on the phone. The moment we switch to this more personal medium of human voices and real-time dialogue, we find ourselves reoriented toward taking care of each other, and we each feel supported by the other. The tension is always quickly diffused and the issues resolved. This evolution of our working relationship would probably have occurred anyway, even if we had no understanding of the type dynamics at work. So what’s the benefit of all this detailed type analysis beyond the basic attitude of tolerance and respect that any level of type knowledge fosters? Like any start-up enterprise, we knew going in that our journal would require a significant investment of time and energy—an investment that neither of us could afford to waste on producing a mediocre product or in a partnership that was doomed to self-destruct. But the differences in our typologies gave us reason to believe that there could be a beneficial augmentation of each other’s areas of strength and the dovetailing of our typological common-ground provided good reason to believe that we could find ways to make it work. I’d like to be able to claim that our understanding of type also guided us to arrive quickly at the best processes and practices for working together. Understanding type dynamics did provide useful clues all along the way, of course, and we used the nonjudgmental language of type constantly in sorting things out. But our use of phone calls described above, for example, actually just evolved from noticing what worked best. Our retrospective analysis of why it worked, however, provided insights that both of us will apply to interactions and relationships for the rest of our lives.

Mark’s “shadowy” partnership: Years ago, I teamed up with an ENTP friend in an informal business collaboration. Predictably, her typological spine and mine were never quite on the same page. In particular, her heroic Intuition and mine, when anticipating and planning how to meet the needs of clients, could never agree on the best strategy. We were aware of the typological issue, and since she was the more experienced in the subject area, I thought to solve the problem by simply deferring to her judgment when it came to strategy and lesson plans. But, unlike with Carol, we were complete shadow opposites—no common typological ground at all—and could never quite agree on anything. Eventually, this just felt (to both of us, I’m sure) too much like continuing to bang our heads against a wall, and we agreed to end the collaboration (though we remain friends). Detecting archetypal energies draws upon both Sensate and Intuitive attention and both Thinking and Feeling discernment. If we witness, for example, behavior that seems to fit Beebe’s descriptors of the Senex—controlling, belittling, limit-setting, etc.—we may logically deduce that it is probably the Senex/Witch archetype that we’re witnessing. But I find that often what I first notice is the “witchy” energy involved—i.e., that’s how it feels to me. Of course confirming the Intuitive/Feeling hypothesis with Sensing/Thinking data and analysis, or checking the S/T theory against the N/F “vibe” is the ideal way to double-check. Archetypal energies grab us; Jung even dramatically called it “possession” by the archetype. At such times, it’s virtually impossible to find an objective perspective from which to recognize this in ourselves. It is generally much easier to discern the archetypal energies in the behavior of other people than to detect and identify them in ourself. But sometimes we can infer our archetype-tainted behaviors from the reactions they elicit. Conflict itself, whether internal or external, is a red flag that cues the depth typologist, like the depth psychologist, to look for archetypal influences. In such situations, these energies tend to be more prominent and obvious than in their usual roles as the internal background of our lives.

DYNAMICS WITHIN THE SYSTEM Jung (1956/1967) emphasized that: “There are no ‘purposeless’ psychic processes; that is to say, it is a hypothesis of the greatest heuristic [insight-promoting] value that the psyche is essentially purposive and directed” (para. 90).

Speaking about the undifferentiated contents of the psyche, he noted: “The purpose of the dialectical process is to bring these contents into the light” (1953/1966, para. 339). Clearly Jung felt that we are capable of bringing unconscious functions into consciousness. In fact, maintaining intrapersonal psychic balance and promoting personal growth is apparently the central purpose for which the system of psychic dynamics evolved. Interpersonal friction and conflict—unfortunate and even sometimes disastrous as it is—is, from a psychological point of view, a side effect. In the previous section, I focused on person-to-person interaction in describing these energic tensions, because they’re easier to detect from the outside and easier to describe. But the same dynamics appear to apply within the individual psyche as well. From the perspective of depth typology, the “tension of opposites” which Jung mentioned so frequently, is a tension between opposing function-attitudes and between the archetypes that carry them within each personality. Pairs of archetypal roles that are naturally mutually oppositional always carry function-attitudes that likewise pull in opposite directions. When an extraverted sensing Hero becomes inflated, the introverted sensing Opposing Personality rises to object, and the introverted intuitive Anima insists: “Hey, don’t forget about me!” The energies of the psychic system, like water, seek to settle into their natural, at-rest configuration. Overuse of a function-attitude is physically and mentally unhealthy as well as ineffective—as is getting stuck in a particular archetypal role. Our system of psychic compensation is quite efficient and only becomes problematic when we dam up its natural flow of energy. At such times, our dreams, synchronicities, and the reactions of others will clue us in to the psychic situation—if we pay attention. “Compensation” is the tendency to reestablish psychic balance so we can better manage our lives. These same dynamics also serve the larger, longer-term purpose of stimulating and directing our psychological growth—the differentiation and integration of our unconscious function-attitudes into conscious use—the individuation of personality. Depth typology is useful in many immediate and practical ways in our daily lives; but if you believe, as Jung did, that individuation is the psychic purpose of our lives, then the guidance that understanding functionattitude energy dynamics can provide is certainly the greatest gift that the study of psychological type has to offer. In explaining the dynamic vectors of depth typology, I have focused on interactions between people. But you’ll notice that in all the stories I related, resolution of the interpersonal difficulties involved personal insights and adjustments. After all, “as without, so within” and as good type trainers always emphasize, type is ultimately about self-management. Every kind of tension between people, mentioned above, also occurs within a person. An inflated dominant-function Heroine will create a tension with its opposites that pulls one toward compensation and the restoration of balance. In this scenario, there will be tension between the Heroine and Animus (and the dominant and inferior function-attitudes), between the dominant function-attitude-archetype and the opposite-attitude Opposing Personality, between the inflated spine and the opposite-dichotomy arms, and between that ego-syntonic spine and the ego-dystonic shadow spine. This, obviously, is where depth typology dynamics get complicated. But this system of multiple tensions reveals an array of possible explanations for psychological dysfunctions. We can examine each possibility, one by one, until we hit upon the issue that fits the symptoms and resonates as true. Whenever there is psychological imbalance, there are unconscious attempts to compensate going on as well. Sometimes it is the imbalance itself that we first notice—inflation, possession by the archetypal complex, projection, etc.; sometimes it’s the signs of compensatory activity that offer the first clues. Intellectual examination can be fruitful. We can, for example, consider which function-attitudes seem to be engaged and whether they appear to be getting over-used or locked-in to an archetypal role. Do we find ourselves unable to use function-attitudes that would be more appropriate for the situation? Or do we seem unable to shake a certain kind of energy/mood—heroic, overly-protective, irresponsible and vulnerable, hypercritical, etc.? (See Beebe’s archetypal descriptors, Chapter 7.) Generally, it is the behavioral effects and emotional affects of the problem itself that we can consciously detect, analyze, and evaluate. But if we also can note (through techniques such as active imagination and dream work) what manifests from the unconscious to pull us in the opposite direction, this will point to the compensation and rebalancing process that’s already underway. Although we can’t consciously target or push this process to meet our ego’s agenda or timetable, we often can facilitate it by paying conscious attention to the barriers that arise. The dynamics of tension that pull us toward individuation are influenced by archetypal associations and align along the various vectors of internal opposites, and this has ramifications for any attempt to outline a sequence of normal type development. Beebe does not subscribe to the scheme proposed by Harold Grant and others that the developmental norm follows the function-attitude hierarchy in a linear fashion: dominant, then auxiliary, then tertiary, then inferior, etc. He says that he has observed two common patterns that don’t conform to that

sequence.The evidence and corroboration of these two patterns are not yet sufficient to propose them formally as a coherent developmental model, but they certainly are worth testing out. I have found that both describe well the patterns of development that I have observed in myself, help me understand the associated disorientation and uneasiness, and foster positive movement. The first developmental pattern involves the spine of selfhood: that differentiation of the Anima/Animus inferior function-attitude is necessary in order to fully develop the dominant. Despite the common assumption that the dominant function is the “first and most” developed, many, many people never fully step into the power of who they are that would come with the gifts of a fully differentiated dominant. It may well be that this is because, without development and integration of the supplemental Anima, the Hero’s growth is self-limiting; beyond a certain point, only the illusion of growth that we call inflation is possible. I explored this developmental pattern earlier when explaining the importance of the tension of opposites along the ego-syntonic spine. The second developmental track proposed by Beebe is that of the tertiary Eternal Child. Development of a functionattitude always involves some level of development of its shadow sibling. After all, development requires differentiation; and differentiation from the same function, used in the opposite attitude, is a necessary part of the process because these two “sibling” function-attitudes so closely resemble each other. A well-developed auxiliary Mother function-attitude, for example, necessarily involves some differentiation of its shadow, the sixth FA Witch. Beebe says that the target of the harsh, belittling, limit-setting criticism of our sixth function-attitude Witch/Senex is usually the Eternal Child in others and in ourselves. In fact, he has observed that this “problem of the Witch/Senex and Eternal Child” is behind many self-limiting psychological issues, including limited development of the tertiary function-attitude. The archetype of the Child really does carry the energy,perspective,and limitations of a vulnerable child; it is no match for the authoritarian, “witchy” attacks of the Critical Parent. It is often the case that when an ego-syntonic function-attitude-archetype is unable to fend off an attack, its shadow attempts to come to the rescue. And in this case, Beebe finds that the deceptive, limit-defying tactics of the Trickster seem to be exactly what’s needed. Whereas the naïve and vulnerable Eternal Child is helpless by its nature, the street urchin-like savvy of a somewhat developed Trickster has the tools to subvert the power of the Witch/Senex. In this pattern of archetypal dynamics, we may have the outline of a pattern of type development. It appears that in order for the tertiary function-attitude Child to develop, the seventh function-attitude Trickster must first become sufficiently differentiated to come to its defense—to make it safe enough for the Child to come out of hiding and become conscious. If you’ve ever felt that you are regularly being taken advantage of—like a helpless child—because you’re not willing or able to “fight dirty,” it may be that what’s needed is development of your seventh function-attitude with its Trickster deceptiveness. If Beebe is right that we need to first develop our Trickster seventh function-attitude to then differentiate its opposite-attitude sibling, the tertiary Child, then it would make sense that many of us would perceive the seventh FA as being the more developed, more conscious of the pair. This might very well explain the ongoing debate regarding the attitude of the tertiary—i.e., that the seventh could easily be mistakenly assumed to be the ego-syntonic tertiary due to its level of development. To put it another way: perhaps it is a flaw in our old model of development— 1, 2, 3, 4, respectively—that has caused us to erroneously assume that the more developed of those two function-attitudes must be the one we naturally prefer. I discussed earlier the logic of internal balance that I feel argues strongly in favor of Beebe’s claim that the tertiary is used in the same attitude as the dominant. But if this question is ever to be resolved, it will require a lot of well-informed self-reflection regarding the archetypal energy signatures of these function-attitudes. Shadowy, mischievous, manipulative behavior and affect would accompany any use of the Trickster seventh FA. Vulnerable, innocent, and playful characteristics are identifiers for the tertiary Eternal Child.

SUMMARY To recap, in Beebe’s model, we find the following dynamic principles at work: 1. Use of a function-attitude, either by ourselves or by others, can bring with it the emotional baggage of the associated archetypal complex. 2. Taking on archetypal roles (ourselves or others) can trigger engagement of the associated functionattitudes.

3. The dominant–inferior “spine” defines the core of each personality type; so development and integration of these function-attitudes is crucial to the development of personality. Likewise, the fifth and eighth function- attitude-archetypes form a shadow spine that relates to the core of who we are as well. 4. The auxiliary–tertiary “arms” determine how we prefer to relate to and take care of others and how we desire to be taken care of. And their shadow axis, the sixth and seventh FA-As, influences our relationships as well. 5. In addition to the compensatory, balancing, and growth-promoting tension-of-opposites energy vectors diagramed by Beebe’s axes, there is also a dynamic tension between each function-attitude-archetype and its opposite-attitude sibling. 6. Normal type development likely follows a path that is more influenced by the archetypal energies that carry the function-attitudes, than by the function-attitudes’ positions in the preference hierarchy. These dynamics lead to the fundamental typological realities of all relationships and interactions between people, as well as within the individual psyche: • •

•

•

•

•

Archetypal baggage influences all interactions to the extent that the function-attitudes involved are undeveloped and the archetypal themes are unconscious. One of the most important things to understand about each type is whether that type has a judging spine of selfhood (the dominant-inferior axis) and relates to others via perceiving arms (the auxiliary-tertiary axis), or a perceiving spine and judging arms. Since our spines define the core of who we are, and are either all about perception or all about judgment, friction between perceiving-oriented people and judging-oriented people is quite common. Beebe calls this the “most problematic” type difference of all. For the extraverted types, this coincides with the MBTI code J or P of how we prefer to interact. For the introverted types, it is the opposite from the code. Extraverting via J or P and J vs. P personal identity are different typological issues. If two people share a developed function, but in the opposite attitude, initially they probably will feel that they share a common typological language, think alike, share assumptions, etc. But their opposite orientations—the objective environment versus subjective internalization— create a significant disconnect. “Shadow types” are the extreme of the opposite-attitude interpersonal dynamic. Two types with the same preferred functions, but in opposite attitudes, will each tend to operate from the entire shadow personality of the other; i.e., their ego-syntonic preferences (one through four) match each other’s shadow functionattitudes (five through eight). Trust and good communication are extremely difficult between shadow types. If individuals have any ego-syntonic function-attitudes in common—even if they are not comfortable and developed, then when the other person engages that function, it will at least fit with the ego typology of both people and serve as common ground for a relationship. But if the engaged function-attitude is not ego-syntonic for both, it will exert a pull toward the other person’s shadow side and feel somehow “off” and untrustworthy.

Quantum physics recognizes that “there is so much order that our attempts to separate out discrete events create the appearance of disorder” (Wheatley, 1999, p. 22). In attempting to enumerate the various elements of depth typology dynamics, I feel that I am doing exactly that: artificially separating out “discrete events” in order to describe them coherently but at the cost of creating an unnecessarily confusing appearing picture. The reality is that the psyche is an elegantly simple system, operating from a few “strange attractor” principles: dynamic tension between opposites, compensation, balance, interacting energy fields manifesting as archetypal complexes and images, and steady movement toward greater sophistication and consciousness. If, in our efforts to comprehend, we need to think in terms of finite, linear dynamics, and this creates “the appearance of disorder,” that disorder is just an illusion created by our methodology. As we use and think about these individual dynamic factors, and get increasingly comfortable with each of them, the big picture of the elegant system begins to emerge. Early in this chapter, I posed several questions that I feel only Beebe’s model is equipped to address. I must apologize to any readers who then expected that by the end of the chapter I would have given simple, genericallyapplicable answers to those questions. Beebe’s model encompasses the whole of personality. And although it captures and outlines the principal structures and dynamics of this complex system in ways that are simple enough for us to grasp, it does not limit its scope or complexity in order to make the model easier to understand or more

convenient to use. The hard questions of typology can only be answered on a case-by-case basis. They’re too complicated to allow for one-size-fits-all responses. Rather than pat formulas, what the eight function-attitude eight archetype model gives us is the capability of answering those questions for ourselves and for our individual clients. It provides the framework, concepts, and principles that enable us to take our exploration of personality type as far as we want to or need to go. My hope is that I have not only been able to describe that framework and those concepts and principles with sufficient clarity but also have conveyed the exciting and virtually limitless ability to investigate the tough questions that this tool offers.

Part III ____________________

An Applications Sampler

T

hus far, my focus has been on providing a thorough treatment of the structure and the theoretical and empirical basis of today’s depth typology. Writing “how-to”-style descriptions of its use in the different arenas of type application is an obvious next step. But presenting explorations of each application that are detailed enough to do them justice is beyond the scope of this book. In this section, however, I will touch briefly on a range of applications to hint at the work currently being done and the future potential. In the following mini-chapters, I’ll explore limited aspects of several arenas where type is used in hopes of conveying the gist of how depth typology can contribute. At this point, thousands of type professionals have integrated aspects of Beebe’s model into their work and hundreds have wholly incorporated it as a cornerstone of their professional offerings. In a wide range of fields, people have been figuring out how best to apply the enhanced precision, depth, and scope of the new typology. In some of these areas, much progress in applying this new framework has been made, while in others, people are just beginning to explore the possibilities. Wherever an understanding of personality type has proved useful in the past, innovative professionals will continue to find new insights and uses; and it seems certain that the applications innovators of the future will be basing their contributions on the depth typology perspective.

Chapter 9 ______________

Teaching the Beebe Model You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him find it within himself. — GALILEO GALILEI

I

’ve been using the Beebe model to introduce new learners to personality type for well over a decade. Many others too have switched to teaching about type using the terms and concepts of the eight function-attitudes and their hierarchy of preference. Some early converts have been using this framework much longer than I have— most notably, Margaret and Gary Hartzler, Bob McAlpine, and Leona Haas. In fact, it was around 2001-2002 that I became convinced of its advantages for learning about type when I witnessed the unusually advanced level of understanding demonstrated by Leona Haas’ new students at some workshops I attended. Transitioning from a preferences-based teaching format presents some challenges at first. Squeezing “the basics” into the few hours that type trainers usually are allotted has always been challenging; so how can we possibly add an additional layer of information into the presentation? I find that this is mostly just a matter of the trainer needing to make the conceptual transition. Some of what we used to explain about what personality type is, how it works, and its importance for self-understanding is no longer necessary. Instead of adding to the material that needs to be presented, the new terms and concepts can replace pieces that are no longer needed. Over my first few years working with this model, every time I prepared to introduce a new group to typology, I found more “must cover” points that were no longer necessary or that just could be mentioned briefly. Eventually I had evolved a true Beebemodel version of an introductory workshop. Most of what we learn about personality type can only be learned from real life—from informed observation of how we and others think and operate. So my primary goals for an introductory workshop are: first, to motivate participants to think about and use the concepts and framework as they go about their lives; and second, to give them the information they’ll need to learn from those experiences and observations. The motivation comes first and foremost from the personal revelations in the feedback they receive based on their type assessments. (Prior to the first workshop, I always administer a type assessment and conduct a live one-on-one feedback session with each participant so my discussion here about introductory workshops includes the assessment and feedback process.) In the workshop, those first “ahas” can be expanded beyond the personal as experiential exercises reveal insights about one another. The rest of the workshop is all about teaching the basic concepts and providing the informational resources to enable ongoing learning. It would take a separate book to present a comprehensive depth typology training manual. For now, I’ll summarize the basic elements that I feel it’s important to include to get you started on building your own updated “introduction to type” workshop. We’ll cover some of the advantages of this approach as well. What are the practical differences and advantages of treating the eight function-attitudes as the basic elements of type, their natural alignment as the framework, their development, use, and interaction as the dynamics, and their characteristics and traits as the basic descriptors of the types? How does this differ, in practice, from treating the functions and the attitudes as the basic elements? Let’s look first at why teaching an admittedly more complicated model to new learners makes sense.

WHY TEACH THE BEEBE MODEL TO NEW LEARNERS For individual type verification and feedback, the function-attitudes provide a more precise tool. The most powerful hook for new type learners is that “aha” moment when they’re stunned at how well a skilled type professional

“understands” them. But a feedback/ verification session is only as impactful as it is accurate. The various versions of the sixteen type profiles that we find in the literature are almost entirely based on the dominant attitude and the dominant and auxiliary functions. A traditional profile for a reported INFP client, for example, contains statements based on the nature of Introversion, Intuition, Feeling, and Perception; it doesn’t mention that this person likely extraverts his Intuition. And what it says about the two preferred functions will include some statements that are only true for those who use them in an extraverted mode, some that apply only to the introverted mode, and some that are true for both. For example, our hypothetical INFP might have difficulty reconciling his active social participation in certain kinds of interactions with being labeled “an introvert.” Likewise, some of the more “caretaking”-related descriptions may not jibe with the reality of how he tends to engage his feeling function in more private ways. “Off the rack” clothing fits some reasonably well, others poorly, and fits almost no one perfectly. The enhanced accuracy that the type professional can bring to the interpretation process if she is thinking in terms of the preferred function-attitudes not only dramatically aids in arriving at a client’s “best fit” true type, it enables them to achieve an excellent fit—with more revelations and fewer reservations for the client. When it comes to making type verification easier and more successful, however, the enhanced accuracy of functionattitudes over the functions-plus-attitudes approach is only part of the story. As a type-pro becomes more and more sophisticated in his understanding and use of the eight function-attitude eight archetype model, its archetypal dimension becomes an increasingly important addition to his verification toolkit. The greatest difficulty in type verification comes when individuals have developed function-attitudes that don’t match the dominant/auxiliary development predictions for that type. Though certainly not the norm, type professionals consistently see such atypical development in a small percentage of clients. But if one has a basic understanding of the archetypal complexes that tend to carry the function-attitudes, it is often quite easy to identify the natural hierarchical location of unusually-developed functions and thus reveal the innate true type. For example, according to the Beebe model, it is the complex of the Eternal Child that tends to carry the tertiary function-attitude. So if, for example, descriptions of traits associated with extraverted intuition, the proposed auxiliary for our reported INFP, don’t resonate with the client, and he displays developed perception tendencies more in line with introverted sensing’s characteristics, then further investigation is needed. Just substituting “S” for “N” in the type code doesn’t work because developed introverted sensing doesn’t fit with the simple explanation that ISFP is his true type. In this situation, the consultant might pay attention to whether his use of Si evinces the immaturity, unreliability, and manic characteristics associated with the Eternal Child archetype. If so, and if everything else appears to fit well with the profile, then Si may be his tertiary function-attitude and INFP may well be his true type after all, even though his development of Si and his lack of development of Ne is unusual for INFP types. On the other hand, if his introverted sensation shows other archetypal characteristics and other function-attitudes seem unusually developed or undeveloped for INFP, then a different typology is probably indicated. We become more familiar and adept with the archetypal energy characteristics the same way we learn about any aspect of type: by reading the experts and attending workshops, and above all, by self-examination and observing others. As a type-pro attains increasing familiarity with these “complexes of feeling-toned ideas,” she begins to become as skilled at recognizing which of these emotional energy patterns are in play as she is at recognizing which function- attitudes are engaged, and type verification becomes much easier and more reliable. Recognizing engaged function-attitudes is easier for new learners than recognizing whole typologies. And understanding and remembering the characteristics of eight FAs is far easier than memorizing sixteen type profiles. It doesn’t give the impression of “classifying” people. When new learners are introduced to type in terms of the function-attitudes, they’re getting the insights of their assessment results in the form of a dynamic “Here’s how it may work for you” hypothesis, rather than the static-sounding “Here’s who you are” pronouncement that profiles seem to imply.This avoids most of the resistance that many clients have to feeling “stereotyped”—“put in a box.” Rather than what can seem like a “buy in or reject it all” choice, the insights promote a response of further exploration. The function-attitudes can even be explained without using type jargon at all and immediately incorporated into clients’ ways of seeing themselves and others. We can explain, for example, that extraverted sensing is a habit of noticing information that focuses on the sensory experience of the immediate environment. In so doing, we’ve framed that preference as a description of the experience of using a mental process, not in terms of generalities about the nature of Sensation, Perception, and Extraversion. It’s simpler—OK, it’s also more complicated. The Beebe model encompasses more psychic territory; therefore gaining the full benefit of its view of type comes only when one has come to understand how all eight function-

attitudes work, the nature of the eight associated archetypal energy complexes, and the dynamic relationships between all of these. There’s a lot more to this model of type, so true mastery of the whole thing is challenging. It is the cornucopia version of the type model as it is full of far more information than one could possibly digest quickly. To understand why it also can be said to be simpler, though, we need to compare just its apples to the apples of the preferences model. While the Beebe model can take one to a deeper understanding of the psyche, using just the part of it that speaks to our innately preferred functions and attitudes, as in the preferences model, is in my experience, simpler and therefore easier to learn and to teach. The preferences model looks primarily at the dominant and auxiliary functions and the prevailing attitude. In the Beebe model, the equivalent information comes in the form of the descriptions of two function-attitudes, the dominant and auxiliary. Grasping the basic characteristics of each function-attitude involves only about a paragraph of information. This gives new learners all they need to start noticing how their typology works. Experienced coaches and counselors can choose to use the full depth and scope of the Beebe model to guide their own understanding of relationship problems, compulsions, developmental barriers, counterproductive behaviors, and other “shadowy” issues. But if one’s intent is just to explore the primary gifts and blind spots of type-preference, as in a standard MBTI assessment debrief or when instructing new learners, or to take a quick look at potential areas of friction between types in a team, then one can focus on the dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes. This is as simple as personality type can get, and these two innately preferred function-attitudes give you essentially the same information as the profiles—except more succinctly and with greater accuracy. Its precision, dynamic nature, and simplicity are all aspects of the Beebe model that directly impact the learning experience for type novices. But there are other advantages that come into play for those who choose to learn more. And these aspects also can come in handy for the teacher/trainer, even at the introductory level. The model includes the emotional dimension of personality. Addressing the archetypal aspects of personality brings emotion into the personality picture as well—in a way that’s directly tied to the dynamics of typology. I mention this only briefly in introductory sessions. But doing so enables me to reference the archetypal roles of the function-attitudes when fielding the inevitable questions about particular situations and relationships as new learners begin to connect type to their lives. For many type professionals, it’s also significant that this model dovetails with other models and instruments. Because Beebe’s model is a Jungian expansion of the Briggs-Myers framework, it meshes not only with the MBTI assessment tool and other instruments that use the MBTI code, it also fits with all the theories, assessments, and frameworks that MBTI theory fits with: Temperament, FIRO-B®, Emotional Intelligence, Interaction Style, the Five Factor Model, etc. In many cases, it creates a stronger and more clearly defined bridge between the different models by virtue of its ability to express Jung’s theory more fully than a more simplified view can. Thus, advanced practitioners likely will find that it makes for an easier and more powerful union with the other models and instruments that they may wish to use. It fosters a deeper, broader, and more nuanced understanding of personality. The personality of each human being is far more complex than a simple product of its primary features—one’s preferred ways of operating. In any given situation, our less-conscious mental processes play a part too—sometimes staying in the background and sometimes jumping to the fore. Only when our conceptual framework includes the capacity to understand these shadow aspects can it guide us in exploring beyond our primary gifts and blind spots. Since the eight function-attitude eight archetype model of personality type encompasses more of the Jungian principles of how the psyche works, it enables us to take our competence—as both end-users and advisors—to whatever level we need or choose. No type model that doesn’t include a mapping of the basic dynamics of all eight function-attitudes, and also their emotional “primitive energetics,” can provide such an inclusive and flexible paradigm for exploring the infinite uniqueness and depths of personality. These deeper insights of type are obviously beyond the reach of new learners and beyond the scope of introductory workshops. But when we introduce the terms and concepts of depth typology from the very beginning, we’ve laid the groundwork that will enable our students to move seamlessly to more advanced applications in subsequent workshops and expand their understanding as far as they desire.

TEACHING POINTS FOR INTRODUCTORY WORKSHOPS In my “introduction to type” workshops, I include: Unpacking the MBTI Code. Because the function-attitudes are the backbone of this teaching approach, the first order of business is to connect them to the four-letter codes of participants’ assessments. This is the one element that I always include despite feeling that it is not something they absolutely need to know. I could, theoretically, just say: “ESFP means dominant extraverted sensing, supported by auxiliary introverted feeling. Take my word for it.” Then I could give them the code-to-function-attitudes “translations” for all sixteen types and go from there. But people are always curious about the code because it’s how their type is initially presented to them from the assessment. So explaining the logic of it helps them move from fixating on the four letters to thinking in terms of the functionattitudes. I start with very basic descriptions of the four functions and the extraversion and introversion attitudes. Then I explain how the E/I orientations affect the functions and result in the eight function-attitudes. This enables me to then deconstruct a type code into the dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes for that type. I do this slowly and carefully. Then, with their permission, I repeat the process using participants’ codes. I do this as many times as it takes until everyone in the class understands not only what their own dominant and auxiliary function-attitudes are but also how they can be deduced from any type code. I also explain that we all have all eight of the function-attitudes available to us but that most remain relatively unconscious and undeveloped. I mention the Judgment/Perception dichotomy at this point as a “pointer” that tells us the hierarchical arrangement of preferences, and I show them an eight-function-attitude type hierarchy as an example. But I mention this only briefly and keep the focus on the dominant and auxiliary. The handout for this part of the lesson is a chart showing the function-attitude hierarchies for all sixteen types. The dominant and auxiliary are graphically emphasized and the ego-dystonic four are deemphasized “in shadow.” Next, I focus on the characteristics of each of the eight function-attitudes and the primary traits that tend to come with their conscious use.I see this—beginning to get a feel for the nature of all of the function-attitudes—as the key informational takeaway from an introductory workshop, so I spend more time on this than on any other part of the session. This is by no means an exercise in rote memorization. Every time I talk about a trait or characteristic, I backtrack to the basics of the function and explain why its engagement with an extraverted or introverted focus would logically result in such a trait. If I’m telling them, for example, that people with well-developed introverted sensing tend to have a high level of “body-awareness,” I’ll talk about Sensation’s attention to physical information, about introversion’s orientation toward the subject, the “Me,” and about introverted sensors’ talent for comparing current information to past history. If I’m talking about how people with developed extraverted feeling tend to move proactively to maintain harmony in social situations, I’ll reiterate my points about Feeling’s sensitivity and concern for emotional tone, and how, when extraverted, this means working to keep people around them happy. I give participants handouts with a handful of key characteristics for each function-attitude for future reference, and I make sure they also have access to more extensive descriptions as well. I also briefly introduce the concept of the function-attitudes playing archetypal roles in our personalities. I limit my scope here to explaining that the dominant FA generally acts as the heroic leader and the auxiliary as the supportive parent. I mention that all the function-attitudes tend to play such roles and that the lowest four in the hierarchy often show up in shadowy, negative forms. I avoid going into detail about the archetypes in an introductory session, but it’s important to introduce the idea of such energies affecting personality, so that later on I can reference this factor as needed. Having familiarized participants with the basic concepts, I can now facilitate some exploration. Ideally, I’ll have a follow-up workshop during which I can do this at length, including a lot of experiential work. If my client has specific concerns, such as “communication problems,” this provides the theme around which I will design this “making it real” portion of my sessions. If I don’t have the luxury of a planned second session, I make sure to include one or two brief experiential exercises in my introductory session. These are conducted with breakout groups that are segregated by type. The debriefs from these exercises give me the opportunity to underscore my points about how differently the groups approach the same task. And if the client did express concerns about a particular problem, I make sure to include at least a handout on that issue in this first session.

In a way, the “questions and answers” wrap-up is the most important part of an introductory workshop. I always allot a generous amount of time for this. It is my opportunity to clear up any misunderstandings and address any reservations. It’s also when participants bring up examples from their own lives. This allows me to bring type to life for them in a way that no made-up scenarios can. It is in preparation for this part of the workshop that I have mentioned the rest of the hierarchy of function-attitudes beyond the dominant and auxiliary. It’s also an immediate benefit of having introduced the concept of archetypal roles, since I’ll inevitably need to touch upon these aspects of the typologies involved as I address their questions.

Chapter 10 ______________

Counseling, Coaching, and Psychotherapy So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp: it has its inner light, even from a distance— and changes us, even if we do not reach it, into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are. — R. M. RILKE

C

ounseling and coaching, like Jungian analysis, include elements of psychotherapy. The professional is called upon, occasionally or often depending on the profession, to apply his knowledge of how the psyche works to help clients overcome psychological dysfunction and/ or personal ineffectiveness.Since its introduction in 1921,psychological type has contributed insights relating to the ego-syntonic personality: better appreciation and leveraging of one’s natural gifts, acceptance of blind spots and challenges, and recognition of inflated modes of thinking and operating. Now, the tool has been expanded to apply to the whole psyche. Depth psychologists who see and appreciate the significance of this change can now use type as an additional go-to tool for analysis and for guiding therapy, and counselors and coaches can now operate with some understanding of psychological issues that would otherwise be completely beyond their scope. Depth typology integrates the Jungian principles which form the foundation of depth psychology, including: 1. The Unconscious is as much a psychological reality as the Conscious. In fact, due to the vast scope of the Collective Unconscious, it is far more powerful and influential in our lives than our individual consciousness. 2. In every psyche there exist tensions between opposing elements that naturally pull us toward greater capacity and balance in the moment (compensation) and over time (individuation). 3. Maintaining psychological balance and enabling growth— individuation—requires bringing unconscious material (including the different modes of operating that we call the function-attitudes, as well as archetypal energies) into conscious awareness and assimilating this information, energy, and these modes of operating into our conscious approach to living our lives. From a “systems” perspective: “A self changes when it changes its consciousness about itself. … Thus, the source of change and growth for an organization or an individual is to develop increased awareness of who it is, now” (Wheatly & KellnerRogers, 1996/1999, p. 100). 4. The biologically normal psyche is thus designed and equipped with the capability of being a healthy and effective system—to self-correct, to heal itself, as needed. As Jung (1953/1966) put it: “The unconscious compensation of a neurotic conscious attitude contains all the elements that could effectively and healthily correct the one-sidedness of the conscious mind if these elements were made conscious, i.e., were understood and integrated into it as realities” (para. 187). Normally,our undeveloped function-attitudes carry on their business at an unconscious level, unnoticed. The nonpreferred function-attitudes of perception take in information that we don’t usually consciously notice, and the nonpreferred judging FAs see the alternative ways of making choices that we do not consciously employ.They operate in the background of our conscious lives as the “little voices” and the “some other parts of me” that raise tiny objections and help us make minor course corrections—always pulling us toward a more balanced life than our conscious function-attitudes alone are capable of conducting. Thus, a self-aware Thinking woman may sometimes “follow her heart,” contrary to all logic; the Sensing man may take an “intuitive leap”; the Feeling woman will “think it through” rather than always “going with her gut”; and the Intuitive man may stop and gather more facts before acting on his vision. Day-to-day, our uneven but balanced system of function-attitude preferences and

development serves us adequately. It “gets us by.” But life inevitably presents problems that are beyond the capacities of our current state of development to solve— that require sophisticated, conscious use of function-attitudes that are not conscious. Sometimes this comes as a dramatic, new kind of challenge. But even if the issue has been with us for most of our life without being noticeably problematic, eventually it demands resolution. Perhaps it blocks our career advancement, undermines our relationships, or manifests as a physical disease.Eventually chronic “minor”issues demand our attention. Whether the issue is immediate and dramatic or slowly building, there are two things that we know about our natural psychological response to it: (1) It’s a “problem” because the conscious, ego-oriented side of us has proven unable to resolve it (and often is only dimly aware of it). (2) The unconscious side of us is quite aware of it but can only respond in pre-programed, disorganized ways that are laden with archetypal energies. When our previously competent and balanced array of personal tools is no longer sufficient, then what constitutes a natural, “right” balance for us has shifted. A new normal is needed—one that must include development of previously inaccessible tools. Depending upon the function-attitudes being called upon and/or the archetypal energies triggered, specific parts of our unconscious typology are energized to move toward consciousness. In response, our existing ego-centric toolkit typically becomes energized to defend itself against the threat to the status quo. The harder the unconscious, “internal Other” elements work to get our conscious attention, the more threatening and invasive they seem to the ego—and the more the ego digs in to resist the invasion. When our relatively developed, ego-identified functionattitudes become over-energized, we become caricatures of our normal selves, trying harder and harder to fix the problem with our usual approaches. The dominant function-attitude, for example, may become a super-Hero or the auxiliary may become a hyper-vigilant, overprotective Parent. But because these approaches have already failed to fix the problem, such “inflation” is never the solution. At best, it distracts us from trying alternate approaches; at worst, it wreaks additional havoc. When the movement of the needed function-attitudes into consciousness is stymied, the pull becomes increasingly urgent. Those “little voices” become ever louder and more insistent. Their natural process of differentiation has been blocked, so these parts of us remain unconscious and laden with primitive, archetypal energies. Their clumsy forays toward consciousness can be destructive and complicate the original problem. The archetypal patterns can become more real to us than our actual situation. We make assumptions and projections that, although they hold grains of truth, distort the reality when taken uncritically. Our Senex, for example, may denigrate and try to control others or parts of ourselves; or we may feel that other people are behaving like hypercritical parents and berating us. Our Trickster may defend us with deception. Or we may Demonize someone, unfairly blaming them for our problems. Despite these dysfunctional and sometimes dramatic side effects, the personality’s automatic attempt to attain the appropriate balance is always at the root of the activity. As Jung (1953/1966) put it: I regard the loss of balance as purposive, since it replaces a defective consciousness by the automatic and instinctive activity of the unconscious, which is aiming all the time at the creation of a new balance and will moreover achieve this aim, provided that the conscious mind is capable of assimilating the contents produced by the unconsciousness, i.e., of understanding and digesting them. (para. 253) The basic dilemma that brings most people to seek counseling or therapy—and the basic challenge for the professional—is that the Ego/Me views the very parts of oneself that hold the solution, the Not-Me shadow, as the threat to be defended against. But as Beebe (2010, Aug. 4-7), paraphrasing Jung, points out: “It is one’s ‘conscious stance’ that the unconscious is actually responding to” in the first place. So we have all the ingredients for a deadlock between Ego and Shadow—and between the Me that I have been and the Me that I need to become. New information and ways of operating need to be differentiated and assimilated into consciousness, but not only does the ego naturally tend to ignore or resist this “foreign”material, it is not really even capable of “getting it.” Until it truly incorporates the new mode of operating, the ego can only manage a laughably inadequate imitation as expressed by an obvious Thinking character in the movie Pushing Tin, who admitted, “Yes, I think I had that feeling” (Linson & Newell, 2009). Instead of such ego-based faux development, the focus needs to be on helping to create the conditions that allow the natural, slow, osmosis-like flow of unconscious contents into consciousness. It is the counselor or therapist’s role to simply facilitate this natural process.

When the doctor takes such products seriously and gives the patient access to the meanings they suggest … he makes it possible for the patient to assimilate at least part of the unconscious and to repair the menacing dissociation by just that amount. ( Jung, 1956/1967, para. 683) But contrary to what our EST cultural bias would have us believe, this does not necessarily mean grasping the situation in terms of thinking logic or sensing experience. Intellectual understanding is by no means indispensable in all cases, but is called for only when evaluation through feeling and intuition does not suffice, that is to say, in the case of people for whom the intellect carries the prime power of conviction. ( Jung, 1964/1970, para. 550) How can depth typology aid the professional in creating the conditions that promote individuation? In his forthcoming work, Beebe (2016) points out the most important consideration: To know the theory of psychological types is to be better able to meet patients where they are, to appreciate individual differences, and to recognize the different types as valid starting places for adaptation. To be unaware of the types is to risk unnecessarily pathologizing what may actually be adaptive and healthy. In addition, we need to be able to communicate effectively with our client. Typologically, we need to be able to “speak the same language.” It’s not enough, however, to simply match their preferred functions. As I pointed out earlier, two people using the same function in opposite attitudes is a communication disconnect waiting to happen. In fact, Beebe (2009, Sept.–2010, April) has said that “matching up with the attitude of the function of the client is the key to compatibility.” If we fail to match the attitude of a client’s developed function, we may well be perceived as its archetypal shadow and responded to accordingly. Counselors and coaches need to appreciate the extensive preparation that depth psychologists go through before taking on the considerable responsibilities of working with the unconscious. We need to understand our own limits and resist the urge to overreach in an attempt to help. On the other hand, only a small percentage of those who would benefit from psychotherapy will ever seek it out. Financial barriers and the mistaken notion that “you’ve got to be really messed up” keep vast numbers of people who could be helped away from depth psychologists’ services. For these people, I can’t help but believe that some well-informed and careful help is usually better than no help at all, and I believe that depth typology can provide an eminently accessible and useful depth psychology “lite”— to guide any counselor or layperson. The ability to recognize the eight function-attitudes (including their undeveloped manifestations) and Beebe’s eight archetypes and an appreciation for their dynamics gives us important information that enables us to speculate more intelligently about the client’s psychic challenges. Identifying what parts of the personality have been mobilized is a necessary first step in de-energizing the problematic complex. One critical element of the individuation process is squarely in the traditional territory of type professionals: “ego strength.” Beebe has stated that: “Integrating shadow requires self-esteem. Therefore, opportunities to build selfesteem are critically important, no matter how small” (personal communication, December 23-24, 2010). Throughout this book, I’ve emphasized the new territory that is now encompassed in the new model: the shadowy, more-problematic side of personality. But we should continue to value the contributions of personality type practitioners’ emphasis on people’s natural gifts and talents as well. Typology has been helping people build up their self-esteem since long before “positive psychology,” with its similar goals, became a popular trend among therapists. Identifying and reinforcing the client’s typological strengths, while alerting her to the apparent nature of the development that is demanding attention, is an appropriate arena where any counselor, well-grounded in depth typology, can make important contributions to a client’s wellbeing. People come to counselors, coaches, and therapists because of perceived problems. But while we work to help them unravel the problem, we must not lose sight of the fact that their ego must be capable of participating in the solution. Typologically, this means bolstering the perception and decision-making capabilities of the client’s most conscious and ego-integrated function-attitudes and encouraging their healthy involvement. If someone has a natural preference for extraverted thinking, for example, the logic of the therapeutic process and the psychological mechanisms involved will probably need to be discussed. If their preference is for extraverted feeling, on the other hand, it may be more important to talk about the effects of the issue on the people they care about. With developed

extraverted functions, this is usually a simple matter of respecting and going along with how the client wants to talk about things. Developed introverted functions, of course, are not always verbalized directly. These may need to be inferred and reinforced indirectly, often requiring a more nuanced approach. Precision tends to be a priority for those who make their decisions primarily through introverted thinking. So the “messiness” and apparent illogic of some aspects of the therapeutic process may need to be addressed. For those with a preference for introverted feeling, private core values will likely play a pivotal role, so the counselor will need to try to discern and align with those values. Finally, we should note the issue that sent Jung down the psychological type road in the first place: the need to understand how Freud and Adler’s theories (and his own too) could be so different from each other. How could these intelligent, highly educated, and well-meaning people look at the same data (i.e., information from patients) and come to such disparate conclusions? Psychological type is first and foremost about “observer bias,” a central issue for any therapist, counselor, or coach. Even though we “know better,” the unavoidable reality is that, as Jung (1953/1966) put it, “everyone thinks his psychology is the measure of all things” (para. 289). After all, we are our own ultimate frame of reference. Depth typology provides another valuable tool for examining our own biases, so that we can do our best to avoid archetypal projections and the assumption that like me is the baseline for normal.

Chapter 11 ______________

Self-Development and Self-Help What stays in balance is correct, what disturbs balance is incorrect. But if balance has been attained, then that which preserves it is incorrect and that which disturbs it is correct. Balance is at once life and death. — C. G. JUNG

M

any people view personal development as a lifelong, day-today project in keeping with Robert Louis Stevenson’s (1896) observation that: “To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life” (p. 164). When proactively working to improve our psychological wellbeing, we often think of this work as “self-development”; when we’re focused on resolving a problem, we call it “self-help.” In either case, the key to success is to synchronize our efforts with the individuation process, the unique internal agenda for growth that—for reasons beyond our intellectual understanding—is right for us. We cannot consciously design or force our own growth though we can facilitate it; we also can position ourselves better to handle the inevitable challenges it brings. •

•

•

•

•

•

We can cultivate a willingness to let go of life-conditions that keep us stuck. Some things we can change and some we cannot. But we can always change our personal relationship with the situation. For example, we can forgive others for what they do. We can let go of accompanying resentment, anger, and guilt. We can keep an open mind regarding the observations and opinions of others. This will not only give us a greater appreciation of other people’s perspectives and provide information and ideas that are new to us but it’s also the most effective way to begin to understand and appreciate these undeveloped typological perspectives within ourselves. Thus, we can embrace new ways of looking at things and new approaches to making decisions. We can learn to make better choices and move toward becoming “sovereign” unto ourselves. We can build our self-confidence—our “ego strength.” We can get to know and accept who we are. Understanding our psychological type can help a great deal with this. “Exercising” one’s Anima or Animus fourth functionattitude seems particularly important in this regard. We feel a pull to engage in activities that interest our fourth function, and when we do so, it often feels like an invigorating vacation. But just as we would probably scoff at the idea of taking a week off amidst a crisis at work, the more psychologically stressed we feel, the less likely the Hero is to take a break and allow its opposite number some time to play. In fact, the opposite reaction is more likely: a spiraling into ego inflation. But giving the Anima some attention can have a powerful effect on ego strength just as Beebe’s emphasis on the integrity of the spine of identity predicts. In addition, showing “respect” for the Anima by allowing her into our consciousness seems to release the deadbolt on our door to the unconscious, allowing other important content to trickle through. We can practice kinesthetic self-awareness. Our bodies and minds send feedback signals constantly, most of which we tend to ignore. This is information that can add to what our “thinking brain” can provide. We can get in the habit of tuning in to these parts of us. What are my legs, back, neck, etc. saying to me right now? What is my gut reaction? We can develop a non-judgmental attitude toward whatever comes along. We can overcome our instinctive reaction to reject instantly whatever is new or does not fit with our agenda or preconceptions. We can acknowledge it; consider it intellectually; feel it in our body; sit with it a while; and ultimately, respond from a place of more fully-integrated perception and judgment. We can develop attitudes of patience and determination toward efforts to take care of ourselves. We can

•

learn to trust our internal guides and allow them to work when and how they need to. Allowing selfdevelopment work to become a significant part of one’s life is a big change for most of us and requires conviction. We can learn and practice techniques for noticing and examining our unconscious activity. This might include techniques such as dream work, active imagination, and mindfulness meditation.

Developing habits of “good mental hygiene”—making self-awareness, self-care, and self-development a life priority —does enable us to deal more proactively with many of the psychological challenges that come along before they become crises. But often the shifts required for our natural development—our individuation—to proceed are too great for even the most self-aware person to embrace. As Jung points out in the Red Book quote at the beginning of this chapter, psychological turmoil is an inevitable part of the human condition. Even if we create a life as perfect and placid as a Zen garden, the tectonic plates beneath it will inevitably shift at some point, and the attitudes and skills that we had explored in the interest of “self-development” may become the critical survival tools for “selfhelp.” At such times, ego-inflation is often a noticeable part of the psychic response: responding in our normal ways, but with increasing energy and desperation and with increasingly unsatisfactory results. We may also notice unfamiliar archetypal patterns with accompanying uncharacteristic moods and behaviors coming to the fore—in our thoughts and emotions, our interactions with (and projections upon) others, in our dreams. These patterns are clues that depth typology can help us unravel. In Ego and Archetype (1972/1973), psychotherapist Edward Edinger cites Hegel’s “threefold cyclic pattern” of historical social movements as being an apt outline of the process of psychic development. First, an original position is conceived and established. This is called the thesis. Next the opposite position is constellated, grows and finally overthrows the first. This is called the antithesis. In the final phase the onesidedness and inadequacy of the antithesis is recognized and replaced by a synthesis of the two opposites. The formula is thus: thesis, antithesis, synthesis. (p. 184) We are often first alerted to our in-progress psychic growth spurts when the archetypal antithesis of our former status quo is energized. Most commonly, we project these complexes onto others; and it requires exemplary selfhonesty to realize that we are reacting to these people in ways that go beyond what’s justified by what they actually do and only marginally related to who they really are. Our internal rationale insists that since these thoughts, feelings, attitudes, and desires don’t fit with our idea of who we are, someone else must be responsible. Psychological resistance to the unfamiliar is natural and automatic, just as the body’s immune response to biological antigens serves to maintain the healthy integrity of the physical body. This only becomes problematic when the automatic response mechanisms make errors in discerning the “good stuff ” from the “bad stuff.” Our immune system can sometimes attack needed cells or fail to reject harmful ones. The psychological immune system can make the same kinds of mistakes; usually because, rather than defending our true nature, we protect who we think we are. We protect our Ego, rather than our Self. Our conscious understanding and acceptance of who and what we are is so much more limited than the dynamic, mostly-unconscious system of our whole self that we create unnecessary and unhealthy defenses. Misunderstanding the nature of the Me that needs to be maintained, we create barriers that resist information and energy that our wiser, higher self knows are essential. It is only at that higher level that we know clearly how to thrive. Here are two stories of such crises seen through the lens of depth typology: Joe’s Trickster, Bryan: INTJ Joe’s 40-year-old son, Bryan, lives with Joe and Joe’s wife for economic reasons. Bryan’s type preference is for extraverted feeling with introverted sensing, ESFJ. In many areas and in his own fashion, he is a very responsible adult. But he has consistently made questionable life choices that have had negative consequences, have narrowed his career options, and have contributed to his current situation of limited earning power. He leads with his heart and seems to spend most of his spare time helping his friends. He’s quick to judgment about “what’s right” and what “should be” done, but he seems incapable of seeing, much less taking into account, the possible unintended consequences of his actions. In terms of type, his choices

are almost entirely governed by his dominant extraverted feeling, tempered only by his introverted sensing view of how things “should” be. His extraverted intuiting tertiary is immature, unreliable, and usually ignored. His ability to use his inferior introverted thinking to analyze situations is undeveloped and hardly ever used. Joe and his wife are retired after a lifetime of low- to moderatepaying, blue-collar jobs. Their modest retirement income and assets are barely enough for them to get by on, so the strains of adding Bryan to the situation make him an easy target for projection. Joe found Bryan’s obliviousness about the future increasingly irritating. Bryan does what “feels right,” and his “everything will work out” approach to life seemed irresponsible and problematic to Joe, even though Joe knew that this was, in many respects, an unfair judgment. Joe’s introverted thinking Senex had been triggered, probably as an archetypal response to what he perceived as Bryan’s “childishness.” Bryan seemed to need a “reality check,” and Joe felt like he was being an overly permissive parent in shying away from setting needed limits. He seemed to need to summon a harsher Critical Parent energy to get control of Bryan’s behavior. But the longer he put off the confrontation, the more he turned that Senexy energy inward, condemning, and belittling his own introverted feeling Eternal Child. He found himself second-guessing his own values. He became immobilized, unable to make the tough, smart financial decisions that were needed. His relationship with Bryan suffered too, of course, but the discord was mostly internalized. It wasn’t until Joe noted a series of dreams in which Bryan played a caricature of himself, completely naïve and leaving chaos in the wake of his “undisciplined” behavior, that Joe realized that he was projecting his own extraverted feeling Trickster energy onto his son. He distrusted Bryan’s sincerity and unfairly blamed him for creating the financial double bind that was wreaking disharmony in the household. Once he became conscious of this, the archetypal energy began to disburse. He started finding himself able to deal with Bryan as a real person, including addressing with him (but without the Senexy tone) some of the real issues of Bryan’s responsibilities in their shared financial situation. Soon, Joe’s ability to engage his authentic creativity was revitalized, and real solutions emerged. Maryanne, pushing past her “limits”: Maryanne is a CrossFit athlete and probably an ENFP. “CrossFit” is an exercise program that requires commitment and dedication and includes a strong team-support element as well as specified goals and competition as motivation. Maryanne set a goal for herself to meet the criteria for a certain level of CrossFit qualification at an upcoming competition. The criteria included several full-body pushups. These pushups are done in a handstand position against a wall for stability. They involve lowering the entire mass of one’s body by bending the arms and then straightening the arms to raise the body. Maryanne was fit and physically capable of the task, yet she just couldn’t manage to do a single pushup. Suspecting that she was encountering some mental barrier, she asked a friend for help. The physical challenge that Maryanne had taken on seems to have required a new kind of conscious commitment and self-trust beyond anything she had ever felt before. In terms of Beebe’s model, a higher level of integration of the spine of conscious selfhood was needed. It’s easy to guess that while her Heroic extraverted intuition could easily envision her doing the pushups, her introverted sensing Animus, the epicenter of her sense of “inferiority,” might have strong reservations. Introverted sensation relies upon past experience as its primary source of information, so with no previous pushups in her Si database to allow for this verification of her capacity to perform the task, this function-attitude understandably would feel very inferior indeed. This part of her personality may well have been undermining her psychic integrity with a view along the lines of “I’ve never done it before, therefore I can’t do it.” Not only would such an internal conflict drain energy and undermine one’s mental alignment but those who have witnessed how the physical body reflects the psyche can easily imagine that Maryanne’s physical spine and her somatic core were probably not well aligned for the task at hand either. Her friend led her through an active imagination exercise in which Maryanne saw herself being presented with the gift of a mirror. The next time she tried to do a pushup, at the critical moment it occurred to her to look at the mirrored wall of the gym, and somehow, “magically,” she managed to do a pushup. Then she did more, and still more in the days that followed. At last count, Maryanne could do over 40 pushups in

succession. Opening the door to the unconscious simply allowed the needed psychological adjustments to happen. It seems likely that when her extraverted sensing Daimon (the shadow of her Si Animus) was activated through the symbolic device of the mirror, the message that came through was: “Look at me now, in this moment. See the reality of my powerful body.” All she had needed, apparently, was a reminder to engage the in-the-moment awareness of Se, and she was then able to go beyond who she thought she was and what she had unconsciously assumed that she was capable of doing— and step into a new level of personal integrity, alignment, and power. However we get there, after de-energizing the defensive archetypal swing into “antithesis,” “synthesizing” a new balance of an expanded “Me” personality is the outcome that the Self demands. Jung (1953/1966) wrote: The idiosyncrasy of the individual is not to be understood as any strangeness in his substance or in his components, but rather as a unique combination, or gradual differentiation, of functions and faculties which in themselves are universal. … Individuation, therefore, can only mean a process of psychological development that fulfills the individual qualities given; in other words, it is a process by which a man becomes the definite, unique being he in fact is. (para. 267) Rigidly resisting everything that threatens our comfortable ordinary reality—our psychological status quo—is, over the course of a lifetime, a sure recipe for stress, hopelessness, purposelessness, ineffectiveness, psychological dysfunction, and physical disease. Overcoming this rigid closed-mindedness when it comes up is the task before us all, whether we call it “personal development” or take a longer view and think of it as “individuation” or even as “evolution.”

Chapter 12 ______________

Relationships and Communication Even the man whom we think we know best and who assures us himself that we understand him through and through is at bottom a stranger to us. He is different. The most we can do, and the best, is to have at least some inkling of his otherness. — C. G. JUNG

B

eing a whole, complete, individual human being is the theoretical ideal; the closer we can come to it, all other things being equal, the greater will be our happiness, effectiveness, and health. But our interconnectedness with others is part of what it means to be human as well; “working on our relationships” is secondary to “working on ourselves” only because relationships depend upon the psychological development of the individuals involved. “Companionship thrives only when each individual remembers his individuality … [rather than] identify himself with others” ( Jung, 1961/1963, p. 356). Relationships are essentially patterns of interactions—the habitual emotions, assumptions, and stances that people adopt toward each other. The dynamics are usually easier to see (at least for others) when those patterns have coalesced over the long term, especially in highly interdependent relationships such as between life-partners, parents and their children, and employees and their bosses. These major relationships, therefore, will be our focus here. But the same principles apply to all kinds of relationships, and indeed to every single interaction. The underlying type dynamics can even explain why we sometimes feel an immediate attraction or dislike toward virtual strangers. Type users have long understood that there is often a sense of affinity between two same-type people—an ease of communication and a feeling of “he gets me.” Being type-alike is certainly no guarantee that people will get along, but it increases the chances enormously by eliminating type-based communication disconnects and related erroneous assumptions. Why then are we so often drawn to very different types, even to form long-term business and life partnerships? The explanation for this “attraction of opposites”lies in our unconscious awareness of the incompleteness of our own development, coupled with our innate drive toward wholeness. We sense that there are ways of being that elude us and we yearn to fill the gap. I have never happened to encounter an enduring type-alike business or life partnership. I’m sure they exist; no doubt my informal survey is skewed by the fact that when typology is the topic, people tend to bring up problematic relationships, not the easy ones. Certainly, same-type coworkers’ relationships are rarely problematic. But we’re looking here at deeper, more demanding relationships where investment and expectations are much higher than just a matter of who we “get along” with. I feel safe in saying that when it comes to forming such deeper relationships, it is difference that creates attraction. From my anecdotal observations, it seems to me that the strongest and most enduring attraction tends to be between people whose typologies are slightly but not extremely different— and especially when the differences fit with the individuals’ journey toward individuation. I, for example, certainly enjoy hanging out and talking with my fellow INTJs, but I find that I am consistently most attracted to INFJs. In fact, of my three closest friends, two are verified INFJs, and I suspect that the third is as well. These are the people who feel like my soul siblings. When such a “soul connection” is mentioned, depth typologists immediately suspect an Anima/Animus factor. But that doesn’t fit the typology of an INTJ–INFJ relationship. The two types have identical Ni–Se spines; and my friends’ inferior extraverted sensation is not noticeably more developed than my own. Nevertheless, what’s behind this pattern of attraction for me does appear to be driven by developmental dynamics. I seem to have begun developing my inferior extraverted sensing Anima at an unusually early age and have continued to engage and

integrate this part of me throughout my life. Sports, music, building things, and other sensation-oriented activities have always been an important part of who I am. It’s understandable, then, that my strongest developmental pull would not be in the direction of my Anima Se, but rather toward Feeling. My tertiary introverted feeling Eternal Child is unarguably the least developed of my ego-syntonic FAs. My emotional self-awareness and my ability to read the emotional tone of others have always been rather clumsy and unreliable. So although my tertiary Fi doesn’t match the attitude of INFJ’s auxiliary extraverted feeling, I have a “fan’s” appreciation for and fascination with Feeling in general. I know too that my auxiliary extraverted thinking tends to hold back development of my dominant introverted intuition, discounting its insights as unsubstantiated and illogical. I think that it is the ability of my INFJ friends to trust their Ni without such internal Te editing that I find most appealing. I have certainly learned a lot from them in this regard. I suspect that it is often the case that such developmental pull is behind the attraction between two people. Thus, we so often hear spouses introduced as “my better half ” and declarations of love frequently include words to the effect that “you complete me.” The rough typological translation is: “You embody ways of seeing the world and of operating in it that I admire and aspire to. By joining together, maybe we can achieve the wholeness that I yearn for.” Often, this results in forming relationships between typologies with a mix of significant differences and important commonalities. But we also see many major relationships that primarily feature stark differences. Through fraught with challenges and dangers, there’s nothing inherently wrong with forming teams with very little typological common ground. With respect for each other’s typological gifts, empathy for their challenges, agreedupon approaches for resolving conflicts and friction, and a lot of work on communication, disparate type partnerships can develop divisions of labor along the lines of typological strengths. Thus, the individuals augment each other effectively—particularly when dealing with the rest of the world. But Jung (1953/1966) observed that even when this works well, it may break down later in life. When two types marry they may effect an ideal union. So long as they are fully occupied with their adaptation to the manifold external needs of life they fit together admirably. … [They have 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. (para. 80) We see this fairly often. Even the couples who have leveraged their type differences into effective teamwork in building careers and social networks, and raising families, and who seem to everyone around them to be “power couples,”can become increasingly alienated and antagonistic toward each other once they have conquered the (outer) world.They may even shock friends and family by separating in their middle age once the mutual task of raising children no longer occupies them. Our ego-dystonic shadow function-attitudes tend to come into play when needed to defend ourselves against others, not to connect or cooperate with them. This archetypal defensiveness and the projection that usually comes with it don’t go away when the principal “other” becomes “eachother.” If anything, these archetypal energies intensify when they are no longer spread across a wide array of convenient targets. If the projections of shadowy intentions and unfulfilled expectations have not been depotentiated within oneself, and can’t be dispersed broadly into the world, many come to rest upon the partner, triggered by the very type differences that had once been the source of attraction and team effectiveness. Without necessity nothing budges, the human personality least of all. It is tremendously conservative, not to say torpid. Only acute necessity is able to rouse it. The developing personality obeys no caprice, no command, no insight, only brute necessity; it needs the motivation force of inner and outer fatalities. ( Jung, 1954, para. 293) It is likely that we often unconsciously choose to enter into typologically challenging relationships precisely to create the “motivation force” we need for our personal growth. If, rather than “putting up” with others’ differentness or avoiding situations where the differences come into play, we can stay consciously aware of the irritation and discomfort, it may indeed push us into needed personal development. The relationship won’t be as placid-appearing as an avoidant one, but it will ultimately be healthier. Perhaps we can even come to appreciate that the “difficult people” in our lives are actually helping us by serving as psychic catalysts—that “everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves” ( Jung, 1961/1963, p. 247). Then we can shift our energy from projecting onto those individuals to tending to the individuation work they are precipitating in us.

Of course turning typologically challenging relationships into constructive collaborations and catalysts for growth takes a lot of effort and can only succeed if both parties are willing to be honest with themselves and genuinely work toward overcoming the challenges. I consulted with a long-established sales team where an ENFP leader (I’ll call him James) had recently been hired with instructions to make the team more efficient and effective. But his efforts to reorganize how the team worked together and upgrade individuals’ approaches to their jobs with metrics-driven marketing techniques had been met with stout resistance. Most of his people were supportive; but some were quite intransigent. At the core of this second faction was Anne, an ISTJ type. Looking at their ego-syntonic function-attitudes in Figure 8, typologists won’t be surprised to hear that James comes across with a rather brash, constant-flow-of-ideas extraverted intuiting style, and that Anne’s reaction was of the stereotypically introverted sensing “But that’s not how it’s done!” kind. But we can also see all sorts of typological potential for collaboration. Not only do the FAs of their arms axis dovetail nicely, but James’ Anima Si is Anne’s Heroine, and her Animus Ne is his Hero. While presenting a very straightforward explanation of the tension between them, their type axes also point to an abundance of possible meeting-points for collaboration and to the potential to stimulate needed psychological development for each other. But James had his mandate to bring innovation to the team bolstering his Ne perspective and Anne knew that the overall organization shared her traditionalist Si perspective. Neither was sufficiently motivated to muster any genuine respect for the other view. So despite paying lip service to the idea of stretching to cooperate, both felt encouraged to dig in their heels to defend their inflated ego stances. Knowing this, I was not surprised when several months later, James moved on to another organization with new challenges.

Figure 8. James’ and Anne’s ego-syntonic type axes reveal the dynamics of opposites: likely tension and conflict along with potent opportunities for collaboration and growth.

“Communication” is often what clients identify as “the problem.” Communication is a central part of every interpersonal application of typology. Dysfunctional communication is always a major part of any problematic relationship or interaction—as both a contributing cause and a symptomatic effect—so good communication needs to be cultivated if there is to be a solution. This is the reality of all relationships, regardless of the context. Type professionals know that providing a nonjudgmental framework for personality differences, and the “neutral language” that comes with it, is among the most powerful benefits of learning about type. But we also know that old habits die hard and damaged relationships require patient healing. A therapist or coach is usually needed to change entrenched blaming and manipulative interactions into open conversations aimed at building typological bridges and finding new, mutually-beneficial ways of working and being together. A common initial reaction to learning about type is, understandably, to focus mostly on oneself. The curiosity and focus usually then broadens to include others—and to examining our relationships with them. But some people, instead of learning how to meet others half way, get stuck on their own side of the divide, unconsciously expecting the other person to come to them. When this happens, they use their newly learned type language primarily for explaining how they see things, think, and operate. Some may even use their type to excuse bad behavior—blaming their shadow function-attitudes, rather than taking responsibility for managing them and overcoming such limitations. A certain amount of this is understandable, but it’s the counselor’s responsibility to notice and point out such crutches and their shortcomings and gently bring their client along to a more balanced, fair, empathetic, and

conciliatory approach that will support the continued growth and wellbeing of all parties.

Chapter 13 ______________

Cultural Personality Type No prisons are more confining than the ones we know not we’re in. — WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

S

ociologically, a “culture” is any group of people who share common beliefs and/or behaviors that set them apart from other people. This suggests the possibility that any given culture may have a preferred way of filtering and processing information and/or of decision-making—a “cultural type.” This typological view of culture is clearly indicated in the MBTI® Manual (1998) with a quote from Geert Hofstede defining culture as learned “patterns of thinking, feeling, and acting” (p. 368). Most of us belong to multiple cultures at the same time. Our nation, geographic region, religion, ethnicity, profession, workplace, family, etc. may each have a distinct culture and typology. Understanding cultural type helps us understand both its influences on individuals and the dynamics of interactions between cultures.

CULTURES AND INDIVIDUAL TYPOLOGIES The editors of the 1998 edition of the MBTI® Manual quote Myers and McCaulley from the 1985 edition as pointing out that, “Jung believed he was describing mental processes common to the entire human species. To the extent that he was correct, type differences should be consistent across cultures” (p. 367). Type practitioners and depth psychologists almost universally accept Jung’s proposition that psychological type is “innate”for each individual.So without any outside (cultural) type bias influencing how we “report” via type instruments, any large random sampling of any population around the world should show approximately the same distribution among the sixteen Myers-Briggs types. But ample evidence has shown that this is not the case. Type tables from different countries show differences in type distribution and differences in the “validity tests” results for various functions and attitudes. Generally, the more difference there is between cultures, the more difference we find between their reported types. For example, studies show reported types with a dominant preference for introverted intuition (INTJ and INFJ) as representing only 1.8% of the population in Arabic cultures (Schaubhut & Thompson, 2011b), as opposed to 11.9% in Bahasa, Indonesia (Schaubhut & Thompson, 2011a). One clear implication is that “false reporting” via type assessment instruments is an area where cultural type comes into play, so cultural influences must be taken into account when verifying individuals’ “true type.” “People respond to some items in certain ways not because those responses reflect whatever psychological characteristic the item has been designed to tap but rather because those responses are more popular or socially desirable in the culture” (Myers et al., 1998, p. 131). It may be that the cultural type of Indonesia supports introverted intuitive behavior, and if the other study’s figures are truly representative of Arabic cultures, it’s a good bet that the culture has a preference for Sensing. I know of no studies comparing a hypothesized cultural type to false reporting bias among its people, but many type professionals have seen this effect in organizational cultures. Not long ago, I worked with a business with a strong and obvious ISTJ (Si, Te) cultural typology. Fully half of its employees who ultimately verified a preference for Intuition initially reported as Sensing types—and most of these, as introverted sensors. There are two possible phenomena of cultural type bias that may be at work when individuals report one type through a well-validated instrument, then later verify a different true type (aka “best-fit type”). (1) The individual may have learned to flex to meet cultural expectations without disturbing their natural type development; or (2) their development may have been distorted, resulting in stunted development of their natural gifts and confusion about

who they truly are. In the latter case, they are less likely to be an effective, happy person until and unless they can distinguish themselves from the cultural influences that have skewed their type development. “Environment becomes extremely important because it can foster development of each person’s natural preferences, or it can discourage them by reinforcing activities that are less satisfying, less comfortable, and less motivating” (Myers et al., 1998, p. 28). More than a few type professionals originally became interested in type largely from a need to make a typological distinction between themselves and their family or geographic or ethnic subcultures of origin. Some have succeeded in this only when they physically moved away from that context into an environment where either individual differences were more accepted or where the prevailing cultural typology aligned with their natural preferences. The other possibility is that their natural type development has proceeded, relatively unimpeded, but they have stretched that development to include the culturally approved function-attitudes. They’ve learned to wear those function-attitudes, as needed, as part of the persona they show their world.This is more common than the “type distortion” scenario when the cultural typology is encountered after the individual has had the chance to develop their natural preferences—as in the case of an employee adapting to an organizational typology. If the individual has adapted successfully to a prevailing sub-culture, without sacrificing who they really are, a family of origin that practices a supportive “be who you are” philosophy usually deserves the credit. Cultural gender roles present a stark and well-documented example of how cultural views can influence reported type. Data presented in the MBTI® Manual (1998), from a “national representative sample” in the U.S., shows the percentages of males and of females reporting preference for each of the functions and attitudes. We see differences between the genders on each dichotomy, and it may be that all of these disparities reflect cultural gender biases. But the one that jumps out as being the most likely and obviously related to cultural roles is the T/F dichotomy, because here the responses of males are so dramatically different from those of females. In this sample, men were 13.0% more likely to report a preference for Thinking than Feeling; women were 51% more likely to report a preference for Feeling than for Thinking (pp. 157-158). For all we know, there may be genetic Y vs. X chromosome links at work in this, but it seems more plausible that some or all of this gender-influenced reporting comes from longstanding cultural biases. Despite significant strides towards gender equality, American culture still largely views emotional sensitivity and relationship-orientation as the realm of women and objective, dispassionate analysis, the realm of men. The Thinking woman is seen as “cold.” The Thinking man is seen as “decisive.” The Feeling man may be viewed as a “wimp,” while the Feeling woman is “warm and caring.” Experienced type professionals are quite aware of the social pressure on Feeling men and Thinking women to hide their true gift and develop its opposite. We frequently find ourselves debriefing clients whose responses to a type instrument indicate uncertainty about their natural preference for Thinking or Feeling. And in my experience, in the vast majority of these cases, this ambivalence comes down to women who have been discouraged from developing and displaying their innate preference for Thinking and men who have felt compelled to hide their preference for Feeling. Needless to say, type practitioners aiding in the verification process need to be aware of such cultural influences. When clients express uncertainty about their reported type, the type pro needs to find out whether one of the above developmental scenarios might be in play, and if so, which one. If cultural bias has affected the reported type via the instrument, but not negatively impacted the individual’s development, the client’s unusual development of nonpreferred function-attitudes needs to be acknowledged as a “good thing” while the type professional also points out the natural gifts that should not be underestimated or underappreciated. On the other hand, in the situation wherein the client is genuinely confused about who he really is, patient and sometimes extensive coaching may be needed. In either case, the individual who does not naturally fit with the typology of their environment needs all the support they can get.They may feel like a closet misfit if they feel unable to express their uniqueness or like a “voice in the wilderness,” alone and marginalized, if they do go public with their minority perspective. Their voice is needed to balance the cultural bias, but in a be-like-me society, speaking from one’s authentic perspective can be a tough path to follow. Lenore Thomson (1998) points out: For one thing,societies tend to favor some type configurations more than others. Types that are well represented will have more options for using their strengths, but they are also less likely to see the limits and possibilities of social institutions. Conversely, types that are uncommon may have to work harder to be understood, but they are also less likely to be seduced by a collective illusion. (p. 8) Concepts like peer pressure, natural affinity or dislike, mob mentality, social pressure, social mores, cultural

identity, pressure to conform, and so forth are familiar and accepted descriptions of human social dynamics. The concept “cultural type” allows us to bring these phenomena into the scope of psychological type—and to bring depth typology to bear on cultural issues.

CULTURE CLASHES It is also important to understand cultural type when working with the culture itself, for example, when dealing with friction and conflict between cultures. Type professionals who specialize in conflict resolution recognize the importance of understanding the dynamics between the individual types involved in mediations, but when the negotiations are between different cultures, the dynamics between the cultural typologies are at least as important as those of their specific representatives. Jung witnessed both World Wars, including their buildups and the polarization of the Cold War that followed. He believed the “psychological factor” to be the key element of both the causes of such global dysfunction and the hope for avoiding such catastrophes in the future. He observed that gross inflation of the cultural Hero and a truly “inferior” utilization of individuals’ inferior function-attitude are always at play in sociopolitical calamities. John Beebe (2009, Sept.– 2010, April) shares Jung’s view that “the inflated Hero is the greatest destroyer of the collective and individual soul and therefore the cause of many human catastrophes.” In her lectures on the inferior function (1971/1979), von Franz noted that propaganda targets the inferior (pp. 66-68). Both Jung and von Franz saw the Anima/Animus functionattitude, the individual’s primary personal maintainer of psychological equilibrium, as being vulnerable to the “party line” of an unbalanced, “heroic” version of the collective typology. Any well-developed function-attitude aids us in making good choices. Sophisticated use of a perceiving FA helps us to discern between reality and illusion; sound decision-making depends on good information and skillful use of a judging FA. Not only does our fourth function-attitude usually lack the sophistication to be used reliably, but we also tend to overestimate its competence and not realize when its perceptions or judgments are flawed. In Moral Tribes, cognitive researcher Joshua Greene (2013) cites convincing evidence indicating that: Biologically speaking,humans were designed for cooperation, but only with some people. Our moral brains evolved for cooperation within groups, and perhaps only within the context of personal relationships. Our moral brains did not evolve for cooperation between groups (at least not all groups). (p. 23) We see, therefore, the dynamics of “Me vs. Other” played out on a societal scale, where the “Me”—the self-defined organism—is “Us” (however we define it) and the “Not-Me” is “Them” (i.e., any group that we perceive as a threat or potential threat to Us). And just as cultures can be described as having typologies, friction between “Us” and “Them” often involves cross-type factors and projection of “our” shadow upon “them.” It is not as though there aren’t effective, nonviolent, time-tested ways of resolving disputes and reconciling different interests and perspectives between groups. The Iroquois alliance of (Native American) nations, for example, developed an elegant formalized process for consensusbased conflict resolution that has been successful for centuries. When sufficiently motivated, we’re quite capable of even redefining our idea of “Us” to include others. Wars that are perceived as “just” and in defense against an aggressor serve as examples of how disparate factions within a nation, and even separate nations, can virtually overnight redefine themselves as “Us” and come together to work as one against the common threat. We see the same transformation when we rally together to respond to natural disasters. Most people probably find the basic premise of the Star Trek series plausible: that developing the capability for interstellar travel and meeting non-terrestrial races might so alter our idea of “Us” that war between humans would quickly come to an end. But even Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry’s vision of a future in which human society—and the human psyche —is more highly evolved still needed to have plenty of threatening “bad guy” aliens. Without some perceived Other, we’d have no one to carry our projections; we’d be forced to face the truth that the unacceptable Other is within each of us. Jung saw that it is our denial of the uncivilized, “animal” side of our nature that is at the root of most social discord and of its manifestations in collective acts of evil such as genocide. He wrote: Separation from his instinctual nature inevitably plunges civilized man into the conflict between conscious and unconscious, spirit and nature, knowledge and faith, a split that becomes pathological the moment his

consciousness is no longer able to neglect or suppress his instinctual side. The accumulation of individuals who have got into this critical state starts off a mass movement purporting to be the champion of the suppressed. In accordance with the prevailing tendency of consciousness to seek the source of all ills in the outside world, the cry goes up for political and social changes which, it is supposed, would automatically solve the much deeper problem of split personality. (1964/1970, para. 558) Christianity has had an undeniable and powerful influence on the shaping of modern Western culture, and this world view systematizes such denial with its trinity of higher powers, Father, Son, Holy Spirit— all ego-syntonic in their psychological significance. By contrast, many other religions throughout human history have embraced a quaternity of deities, including one representing our base, animal, socially-unacceptable side. We Christians are taught to suppress such “evil” thoughts, feelings, and behaviors through acts of ego-will. But the Other within can’t be willed away. Instead, unacknowledged and repressed, it is projected onto others, where, energized by our fears, the Shadow can eventually burst forth in acts of unconscionable actual evil. Harmlessness and naïveté … lead to projection of the unrecognized evil into the “other.” This strengthens the opponent’s position in the most effective way, because the projection carries the fear which we involuntarily and secretly feel for our own evil over to the other side and considerably increases the formidableness of his threat. … One would therefore do well to possess some “imagination for evil,” for only the fool can permanently disregard the conditions of his own nature. In fact, this negligence is the best means of making him an instrument of evil. ( Jung, 1964/1970, para. 572) Typologically, we’re talking about our unconscious ego-dystonic function-attitudes. Because the archetypal energy complexes that carry them incorporate that which is unconscious within us that the civilized ego considers unacceptable and evil—animal urges, deviousness, unabashed aggression, and so forth—projection of our own shadow onto other individuals and groups is a typological fact of life. But denying these parts of ourselves and projecting them instead onto others serves only the selfish, short-sighted interests of the ego—at the cost of the authentic wellbeing of both individual and society. In my opinion (and Jung’s, Myers’, and Beebe’s), better type understanding is a crucial element of any effective resolution of the so-called “political” differences that tear society apart. “Nothing promotes understanding and rapprochement more than the mutual withdrawal of projections” ( Jung, 1964/1970, para. 577). Whenever we find ourselves, individually or collectively, demonizing others, we would do well to stop to examine our attitudes typologically. If we feel a visceral, emotional, personal repugnance toward “them,” it’s a strong signal that we need to take a hard look at our own typology for the explanation. What function-attitudes does the “threat” seem to be acting out and where do these fall in our own type hierarchy? What archetypal energies do we associate with this Other? What archetypal reactions are triggered in us? And if the reaction seems to be broadly accepted and relatively uniform in our culture—as evinced by the slant of news reports, the rhetoric of politicians, and social media conversations— then it is probably our cultural typology that is most relevant. The point of such selfexamination is to become more self-aware regarding the issue at hand. “A little less hypocrisy and a little more selfknowledge can only have good results in respect for our neighbor; for we are all too prone to transfer to our fellows the injustice and violence we inflict upon our own natures” ( Jung, 1953/1966, para. 28). Cultural type is a factor not only in dysfunction between cultures, but also within a culture. Currently, for example, a stark Us vs. Them divide exists in the U.S. between Social Conservatives and Liberals. There have been isolated incidents of violence associated with this division of views. Moreover, our representative government has become so polarized by it that it is unable to conduct the business of governing effectively. In Don’t Think of an Elephant!, George Lakoff makes a convincing argument that these two cultural factions are, at their core, based on two different family models. Lakoff contends that according to the Conservative “strict father” model, human nature is flawed and must therefore be tamed and molded into “right behavior” by means of the consistent and unrelenting administration of rewards and punishment to train people to survive in a hostile world. With a scarcity-based world view, the model assumes that there must be winners and losers in life, and that right behavior leads to success while failure indicates wrong behavior. Social “entitlement” programs, for example, only reward and encourage laziness. The Liberal “nurturing parent” model appears to be more in accord with Jungian thought. In this view, human nature is basically good if properly guided and supported. With an abundance-based world view, the model assumes that individuals will succeed if their parents protect, support, and enable them in exploring the world and experimenting (including making mistakes) to find out “who they are.” From this perspective, government support for those who

need it allows people to survive and learn from misfortune and mistakes so that they can then “go forth and prosper.” Both groups exist within the prevailing ESTJ American typology, wherein introverted sensing tends to take on the Mother/Father role and extraverted sensing, its shadow, the Witch/Senex. Although other archetypal energies are no doubt involved too, it seems possible that the disrespect and alienation that both groups feel for the other may come in large part from seeing them as the shadowy Bad (Se) Parents of our society. Liberals may perceive the Conservatives’ attitude that financial success validates behavior as foolishly naïve materialism and the seeming lack of empathy for “have-nots” as evidence of a ruthless “I’ve got mine” selfishness. But by the Conservative family model, it is the Liberals who are the Bad Parents of our society. With their apparent overindulgence and overly permissive attitude toward failure, the Liberals seem to be coddling the wasteful and dysfunctional elements of our society. Both sides ignore facts that contradict their archetypal view for: “To be accepted, the truth must fit people’s frames. If the facts do not fit a frame, the frame stays and the facts bounce off ” (Lakoff, 2004, p. 17). Another, equally valid typological interpretation of conflict within a culture is to hypothesize that what we’re seeing is conflict between subcultures of different types. The Liberal subculture can easily be viewed as having an ESFJ typology (Fe–Ti spine); and Conservatives, as ESTJ (Te–Fi spine). Whether the dysfunction is intra- or inter-type in nature, we’re talking about poor use of a typology, not saying that the type itself is problematic. The problem with the national culture is not that it is ESTJ. All types come with gifts and limitations. The trouble is that the current U. S. culture is a not-very-functional version of ESTJ typology, and yet it is powerful enough to marginalize other, potentially compensatory, cultural and individual types within it. Archetypes, including those triggered typologically, provide shortcuts for dealing with situations for which personal experience has not adequately prepared us. We all frequently use such shortcuts. But no matter how useful they can be at times, archetypal complexes are too nonspecific and emotion-laden to allow us to see clearly the real person or people we are dealing with for who they are. If we continue to ignore the negative impact of refusing to accept our own personal and collective Shadow and continue projecting it onto others, we will never learn to resolve our real differences, nor will we address the real problems we face. As Jung (1964/1970) put it, “The underestimation of the psychological factor is likely to take a bitter revenge” (para. 569).

Chapter 14 ______________

Spirituality and Creativity Take your well-disciplined strengths And stretch them between two opposing poles. Because inside human beings Is where God learns. — R. M. RILKE

I

n a BBC interview, Jung famously responded to John Freeman’s question on whether he believed in God, saying: “I don’t need to believe; I know”(1959,Oct.22).From reading Jung,it becomes obvious that his sense of “knowing God” came largely from his understanding of the human mind—that Jung saw God in the meaning behind the machinations of the psyche. Whether we buy into Jung’s concept of the Higher Power or not, we can’t understand his psychology, including psychological type, unless we get a handle on his idea of how spirituality fits into the picture. Jung saw a higher power in the Collective Unconscious, writing: Humanity is one, with one psyche. Humility is a not inconsiderable virtue which should prompt Christians … to set a good example and acknowledge that though there is only one truth it speaks in many tongues, and that if we still cannot see this it is simply due to lack of understanding. No one is so godlike that he alone knows the true word. (1964/1970, para. 779) We noted earlier that Jung came to view the collective unconscious as more than just the product of collective human experience—to see it as also reflecting the basic truths of all existence. He observed, for example, that “duality” appears to be a “cosmic principle” at work everywhere, which, among other things, “leads up to the pairs of opposites, that is, to the beginning of the Types” (1989, p. 28). In Civilization in Transition (1964/1970) he clarified: “This is certainly not to say that what we call the unconscious is identical with God or is set up in his place. It is simply the medium from which religious experience seems to flow” (para. 565). Jung considered the ultimate meaning and purpose of the Cosmos to be unknowable but believed that some of its characteristics (such as duality) could indeed be confidently deduced. The collective unconscious is itself compelling evidence of something greater than ourselves, something that hints at meaning and purpose. If the interviewer had instead asked him whether he considered himself to be a “religious” man, Jung might have answered in the negative as he saw the organized European religions of his day as mostly missing the point. The religious point of view, understandably enough, puts the accent on the imprinter, whereas scientific psychology emphasizes the typos, the imprint—the only thing it can understand. The religious point of view understands the imprint as the working of an imprinter; the scientific point of view understands it as the symbol of an unknown and incomprehensible content. ( Jung, 1953/1968, para. 20) Modern Christianity, in particular, has exiled half of human nature, the Shadow, and thus cannot properly incorporate or deal with that side of our reality—of our “truth.” Christ is our nearest analogy of the self and its meaning. … Looked at from the psychological angle he corresponds to only one half of the archetype. The other half appears in the Antichrist. The latter is just as

much a manifestation of the self, except that he consists of its dark aspect. ( Jung, 1959/1969b, para. 79) Jung paints a picture of modern mankind as alienated from true participation in the spiritual nature of the cosmos by its world view of scientific objectification. He viewed modern religions as hollow shells, no longer able to address many of the deepest spiritual needs of their followers. Richard Tarnas (2006) articulates this assessment: Perhaps the most concise way of defining the modern world view is to focus on that which distinguishes it from virtually all other world views. Speaking very generally, what sets the modern mind apart is its fundamental tendency to assert and experience a radical separation between subject and object, a distinct division between the human self and the encompassing world. … Apart from the human being, the cosmos is seen as entirely impersonal and unconscious. Whatever beauty and value that human beings may perceive in the universe,that universe is in itself mere matter in motion, mechanistic and purposeless, ruled by chance and necessity. … For the modern mind, the only source of meaning in the universe is human consciousness. (pp. 16-17) Jung (1961/1963) explained why such a world view is psychologically problematic: Meaninglessness inhibits fullness of life and is therefore equivalent to illness. Meaning makes a great many things endurable—perhaps everything. No science will ever replace myth, and a myth cannot be made out of any science. For it is not that “God” is a myth, but that myth is the revelation of a divine life in man. (p. 340) Far from dismissing organized religion as intrinsically dysfunctional, Jung found that a psychological understanding of religion brings tremendous power and relevance back into the religious framework. Psychotherapist Edward Edinger (1972/1973) pointed out that the Jungian interpretation of such Biblical passages as Matthew 5:44, with its instruction to “love thy neighbor,” gives a startling new dimension to the meaning of the Christian myth. We are being instructed to love our inner enemy, to make friends with our inner accuser, and to offer no resistance to that within us which we consider evil (inferior, unacceptable to ego standards). (p. 142) Just as psychological understanding of religion adds a lost depth to religious ritual and teachings, a spiritual take on psychology adds power and import to what would otherwise be just a sterile science. Individuation becomes far more than an academic idea and even more than a goal for wellbeing and effectiveness. It can legitimately be seen as the basic human spiritual journey and the source of true meaning and purpose in our lives. I personally have found solace, motivation, and strength in thinking of this human existence as a perhaps unique iteration of some unknowable universal dance—a fractal reflection of a god-ness wherein universal principles meet sensual experience and godlike potential meets psychic and somatic limitations, all in a crucible of self-awareness. In this grand scheme and intimidating endeavor, depth typology, with its inclusion of the energies and functions of conscious and unconscious, provides a map and guide that’s simple and logical enough for even my limited, Thinking-oriented mind to grasp. Whatever “spirit” is, it is certainly both within us and beyond us. It’s the connection we have with our innermost selves, with each other, and with the unknown. It is the arena of synergy where body and mind, self and cosmos interact in ways that defy our understanding of space and time; where we are not restrained by what “makes sense.” It is a great source of power and strength. Spirituality is about engaging our human body/mind to attain deeper awareness of what our lives really are and how to live them happily and successfully—to remember our “original instructions” rather than arrogantly attempting to impose our ego will in an attempt to control our lives. Instead of trying to dam and redirect the flow of the river of life, the spiritual part of us humbly accepts the capriciousness of that river and seeks to swim with the current. Spirituality and creativity share some core characteristics. They both describe always-present aspects of our lives that ebb and flow and which can, to some extent, be cultivated. Very high levels of spiritual awareness and creative inspiration are quite elusive, ephemeral states of consciousness—difficult to achieve or even to define. Yet spirituality and creativity carry “practical” benefits that we all desire. The spiritual life brings a sense of purpose and meaning and authenticity— a personal connection to something greater than ourselves. Creativity describes the ability to draw from that “greater something” to live and produce tangible products from beyond the limitations of our normal conscious awareness. The term “spirituality” focuses on the state of being, and “creativity” implies

doing. Both are simply alternate ways of viewing the process and effects of individuation. Psychological/ physiological researcher Valerie Hunt (1989/1996) pointed out: Descriptions of the different phases of creative states, such as belittling logic, complete absorption, increased imagery, absence of judgment, courage to take a chance, withdrawal from external realities, expanded perceptions, weakened body image boundaries, time warp and spatial distortion, trusting open systems of insight, intuition, imagination, also describe aspects of higher consciousness. (p. 158) She goes on to posit that it would be fruitless to seek to understand the origins and nature of creativity solely by studying brain function: Brain hemispheres do not cause creativity; at most, they only support it. … I believe that the brain is an elegant recognition and sorting instrument. But the brain is brilliantly uncreative, as are people who process information primarily via the brain. … When tied to the brain, there is no “depth perception,” only surface happenings. (1989/1996, p. 160) In my view, creativity springs from the magical place where body, mind, and soul converge—the arena that is the focal point of Jungian psychology. From a typological perspective, heightened creativity emerges when new alliances and working relationships are formed between developed, ego-identified function-attitudes and newly differentiating function-attitudes as they become more conscious and seek to find their place in an actively reorganizing conscious. Not only does this process enhance our functional scope but it also liberates the formerly unconscious function-attitudes from some of the limitations and emotional baggage of their archetypal roles. We not only become capable of seeing and doing new things but we are able to use these new capabilities in new ways as well. In light of what Jung, Hillman, von Franz, and others have written about the inferior as the “soul function,” it should come as no surprise that the route to both spiritual awakening and enhanced creativity seems to run through our fourth function-attitude. And Beebe’s observation that our dominant and inferior function-attitudes, together, form the “spine” of who we are provides insights into why this would be so and hints at the dynamics of how it works. The innately oppositional-yet-supplemental relationship of the inferior to the dominant, along with its yin-to-yang archetypal energy and its ability to access the unconscious, make it the perfect match for the dominant and the perfect balancing and catalytic agent for developing toward the integrity of selfhood and the enhanced spiritual depth and creativity that goes with it. Perhaps a personal experience will help to bring this rather esoteric idea down to earth. At this point, I’ve been actively working on this book (on and off, but mostly on) for over three years. As I’ve grappled with these complex ideas and with translating my own vague introverted intuitive understanding into words that will make sense to others, I have gotten stuck more than a few times. When this happens, I keep working, but I grow increasingly aware that the writing has become dry, more awkward, less clear, less energized. In a word, it’s short on creativity. If I try to push on, putting words to paper in the hope that I’ll “work through it,” I usually stay stuck. But if I give myself permission to take some time off for extraverted sensing activities—to engage my Anima—I inevitably return to the writing more refreshed, energized, and inspired. For me, what works is anything that involves physical activity and demands attention to the immediate sensory world around me. As I write this, for example, I’m looking forward to a couple of weeks from now, when the cycles of the natural world will push me to divide my time between writing and picking apples and making cider. By contrast, someone for whom such Se activities are their dominant, most comfortable norm, would likely feel a similar spiritual and creative boost from spending some time in their Anima/Animus introverted intuiting mode—perhaps reading a thought-provoking book or just in quiet introspection. This tactic for reenergizing myself creatively has worked consistently all my life. It’s a “magic cure” that I had discovered by instinctively getting away from what was grinding me down and seeking out the kind of activity that I felt drawn toward. Now that I’m aware of John Beebe’s concept of the spine of personality, I have enough of an intellectual understanding of what’s behind this “cure” to consciously remind myself when I’m in need of an extraverted sensing break—in need of the “magic” of the Anima. Spiritual experience is not limited to the ecstatic visions of the saints and mystics, nor creativity to the outbursts of creative geniuses. It can also be as simple and mundane as mowing the lawn or hanging out with friends if that’s what provides the needed typological nudge to connect with one’s inferior function and thereby enhance the integrity of the central axis of personality.

Chapter 15 ______________

Health and Wellness Every disease is like an invading force trying to destroy our rigid forms and make us more whole. — ALBERT KREINHEDER

OUR MENTAL MODEL OF HEALTH AND HEALTHCARE

T

he U.S. healthcare system is in crisis. A lack of consensus regarding priorities and goals for healthcare is an obvious contributing factor, as is gridlock based on conflicting moral frames, too-powerful special interests, etc. But probably the most problematic issue is our mental model of what “health” itself is. Likewise, the crisis in the delivery system for healthcare in the U.S. is largely a reflection of an underlying flaw in how we conceive of “healthcare” itself—a problem that goes well beyond the borders of the United States. “Allopathic” medicine (aka “Western” medicine) has become so pervasive that it is thought of as “conventional” or “traditional” medicine even though it ascended to a position of dominance over other medical models not much more than a century ago. The allopathic model is crisisoriented, focuses on illness and trauma, and views disease as an invasion of foreign agents (“antigens”). Its principal intervention tools are macro-chemical counterattack and surgery. It is therefore very expensive, and the costs continue to increase rapidly as the diagnostic and intervention technologies become increasingly sophisticated. Its current status as defining modern Western medicine is more a result of savvy tactical moves by its proponents in the early Twentieth Century and its congruence with Cartesian objectivity (of which it is a product) than a reflection of its empirical efficacy. In China, by contrast, practitioners of traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) did not officially buy into allopathic medicine until 2001, and then only as a supplement to TCM, “mainly in the areas of acute and catastrophic care that comprise a relatively minor percentage of total patient complaints” (as cited in Herring & Roberts, 2002, p. 14). The problem with this situation is not Western medicine itself. It clearly has made tremendous advances in certain areas with lifesaving capability when used appropriately. The problem is that it has come to be viewed as the only valid model for healthcare and indeed for defining health itself. Medical research funding and educational institutions perpetuate this fallacy; institutional providers, hospitals, are shaped by it (though this is beginning to change); and health insurance companies remain mostly locked into the crisis-care model. Most problematic of all, we “consumers” hold on to its mental model of physical health. Even though science no longer encourages us to view the human body as simply an object mechanically responding to other objects such as bacteria and viruses, and even though about half of Americans now use complementary or alternative therapies (Herring & Roberts, 2002, p. ix), our healthcare and lifestyle choices are still largely shaped by the mechanistic Cartesian model of physiology. The allopathic monopoly is slowly breaking down, concurrent with a gradual recession of our ESTJ hubris. The measurable data that demonstrate the limitations of the current approach cannot be denied. For example: •

In summarizing a study conducted by the Baylor School of Medicine, and published in The New England Journal of Medicine, Dr. Bruce Moseley, surgeon and lead author, described an experiment in which he did knee surgery on three groups: two versions of conventional surgery and one “fake surgery” (a real incision and so forth, but no action aimed at surgical repair). The research team concluded that there was no significant difference in the results. Moseley expressed his surprise and consternation when he wrote:

•

•

•

“My skill as a surgeon had no benefit on these patients. The entire benefit of surgery for osteoarthritis of the knee was the placebo effect” (as cited in Lipton, 2005/2008, pp. 109-110). “Only 5% of cancer and cardiovascular patients can attribute their diseases directly to heredity” (Lipton, 2005/2008, p. 42). Yet a high percentage of cancerrelated research funding continues to go into the search for genomic links. “Research conducted in 1972 by the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare in Massachusetts showed that job dissatisfaction was the leading predictor for heart disease” (Shapiro, 1997, p. 11). However, healthcare research relating to heart disease remains focused on its physiological mechanisms rather than psychosocial factors. “According to conservative estimates published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, iatrogenic illness [illness contracted as a result of a hospital stay and/ or medical procedure] is the thirdleading cause of death in this country. … A new study, based on the results of a ten-year survey of government statistics, came up with even more dismal figures. … That study concludes that iatrogenic illness is actually the leading cause of death in the United States and that adverse reactions to prescription drugs are responsible for more than 300,000 deaths a year.” (Lipton, 2005/2008, p. 77)

We need to appreciate the contributions of the modern allopathic modality and take advantage of them when needed. Just as there are many factors that influence health that we have little or no control over, like genetic predisposition and environmental factors, there are many health interventions, such as testing, surgery, or pharmaceuticals, that need to come from the “outside”—from professional providers. At the same time, however, each of us needs to develop a broader understanding of what health is so we can become a more active participant in our own wellbeing. Such a holistic understanding must incorporate the role that the psyche plays in our physical health.

THE “WELLNESS” MODEL Body, mind, and spirit are not separate things. There is no evidence that they are separate; and there is ample evidence that they are inexorably intertwined. These terms are nothing more than convenient ways to talk and think about aspects of the human condition. We use these convenient concepts to allow us to focus more narrowly and therefore in greater depth on each aspect. It is probably just as well that the surgeon spends most of her time studying physiology, that the analytical psychologist concentrates on the psyche, and that the cleric and philosopher focus on life’s meaning. On the other hand, each of these specialists is limited to the extent that they disregard the influences of the other facets.This, in fact, is exactly why we, as wellness “consumers,” must become our own systems analysts. The specialists, by definition, have narrow views. We are the only ones whose job it is to see past particular symptoms and look at the broad picture of our own spiritual/psychological/physical health. As the persons responsible for maintaining our own health, we miss the crucial gestalt if we don’t include all three dimensions. Wellness is our natural state. Human beings co-evolved with their environment, so they are “designed” to function well and succeed as a species. Regardless of what factors may push us away from wellness and regardless of how a state of dis-ease may show itself, restoring true health always involves regaining balance. When all the physical, psychological, and spiritual components of the system are working together properly, they are in balance with one another and with the external environment. Even the relatively rare situations where the cause and cure of health crises are entirely external and wholly biological require us to make psychological and spiritual adjustments. But balance is not a static thing. It involves constant shifting, compensating in new ways as we are pulled to evolve as a person. The universe itself is in constant flux, and all its systems—including the human-being system—have both a need and the ability to adjust in order to regain their unique, ever-changing, ideal balance. Scientists are beginning to understand the mechanisms of mind/ body interaction. Biomedical researcher Candace Pert (1997/1999) summarized her findings: What we were now seeing was astounding and very revolutionary. The immune system was potentially capable of both sending information to the brain via immunopeptides and of receiving information from the brain via neuropeptides. …Thus,we might refer to the whole system as a psychosomatic information network, linking psyche, which comprises all that is of an ostensibly nonmaterial nature, such as mind, emotion, and soul, to soma, which is the material world of molecules, cells, and organs. Mind and body, psyche and soma. … The nervous, endocrine, and immune systems are functionally integrated in what looks

like a psychoimmunoendocrine network … a bodywide communication system, one that we suspected was ancient in origin, representing the organism’s first try at sharing information across cellular barriers. The brain, or neuro, component was only one part of the organism’s nonhierarchical system to gather, process, and share information. (pp. 164, 171, 177-178, 185) Information flows from every cell in our body to every other cell via multiple systems, including the central nervous system and the collection of functions that we call the immune system. This information includes not only the “hard data” of our physical status— stomach aches, cuts and bruises, exhaustion, and so forth—but our thoughts and emotions as well. Bruce Lipton (2005/2008) underscores the sophistication and complexity of this system: Biomedical scientists have been particularly confounded because they often do not recognize the massive complexity of the intercommunication among the physical parts and the energy fields that make up the whole. The reductionist’s perception of a linear flow of information is a characteristic of the Newtonian universe. In contrast, the flow of information in a quantum universe is holistic. Cellular constituents are woven into a complex web of crosstalk, feedback, and feedforward communication loops. … A biological dysfunction may arise from a miscommunication along any of the routes of information flow. To adjust the chemistry of this complicated interactive system requires a lot more understanding than just adjusting one of the information pathway’s components with a drug. (pp. 72-73) This omnidirectional communication system requires some kind of a central management capacity for sorting through and prioritizing the disparate data and coordinating overall responses. So although we now know that it is a gross oversimplification to think of the human “mind” as limited to the functions of the central nervous system, our brain does appear to serve as the main clearinghouse and coordinator. Adrenaline signals, released by the central nervous system, override the influence of histamine signals that are produced locally. … There is a similar priority built into our biology, which requires cells to follow instructions from the head honcho nervous system, even if those signals are in conflict with local stimuli. … [My experiments revealed:] on a single-cell level a truth for multicellular organisms—that the mind (acting via the central nervous system’s adrenaline) overrides the body (acting via the local histamine signal). (Lipton, 2005/2008, pp. 106-107) In other words: “The brain’s function is to coordinate the dialogue of signal molecules within the community” (Lipton, 2005/2008, p. 102). As noted in Chapter 2, there’s also ample evidence that much of our physical/psychological/spiritual nature and activity is a reflection of electromagnetic field-level organization. This brings us right back to the nub of the psycho-somatic issue: In our wondrously complex “psychoimmunoendocrine” self-healing network, our human gift of self-consciousness gives us the capability of overriding our natural wellnessmaintenance system to contribute to both creating physical disease and to healing ourselves. “Every illness has a mental or spiritual aspect to it. It is not, of course, ‘all in the mind,’ but certainly the mind is somehow in the illness” (Kreinheder, 1991, p. 102). Phenomena that contradict the idea that body and mind operate independently of each other have long been noted. These include: the placebo effect, hypnosis, autosuggestion, faith healing, shamanic practices, kinesiology, and homeopathy (Whitmont, 1993, pp. 64-65). Because they call the very framework of modern medicine into question, these phenomena have been mostly ignored in the West though they are well documented and researched elsewhere. The term “health” carries some associations that are misleading. Most of us think of health as the absence of an active disease. If we get a check-up from our physician and no identifiable disease or known and measurable predisease condition is found, we say we are in “good health.” We even delude ourselves into believing that if we can get rid of symptoms—take an aspirin for our headache—our “health” has been restored. But Jungian analyst Marion Woodman (2004, July 23) reminds us that this isn’t how it works: “There’s nothing wrong with medicine as long as you are not using it as a soporific (i.e., to make the symptoms go away so you can pretend they have no meaning).” Returning to a state of wellness is not a matter of turning off the alarm so it doesn’t disturb our delusion that everything is OK. People, when they notice the warnings, need to “let go of their serious selfdirected ego position with its emphasis on common sense and control and conformity and caution, and … let the easier, more natural way carry them along with its flow” (Kreinheder, 1991, p. 55). Dramatic intervention by expert “providers” may be needed too, but that alone never restores us to the natural healthy state. Note that when we talk about the psychological roots of disease, we are not saying that such issues are necessarily

the cause of the disease. Sometimes they are the primary cause; sometimes they aren’t. A more valid generalization would be to say that they at least help to create a climate where disease and dysfunction can flourish—a suppression of our natural psycho-physical agility to readjust to repair ourselves as needed, including our auto-immune system’s ability to fight disease. “Wellness” is a more accurate term for what we’re talking about than “health,” as we currently understand the term. Wellness is health that goes right down to our core and encompasses all aspects of our being, working together in balance. In a state of perfect wellness, all the components of the system know what they are and do what they do best in concert with the other components. Their relationships with each other are unencumbered, and they freely exchange the information they all need in order to adapt effectively to the needs of the organism as a whole. Energy, information, and action flow unimpeded within and beyond the borders of the system. In a “wellness” paradigm, we are looking at health and disease at a deeper, more subtle, and more fundamental level. We are concerned with the underlying foundations of health— with the natural balance and adjustment system that is at the heart of the matter. We are looking at those psychosomatic conditions of which disease and dysfunction are merely outward manifestations. By thus looking deeper, we can intervene at the source where less physically invasive (and less expensive) approaches can be most effective and where cures can address the root problem, not just the current visible results of the problem. The outward manifestations of wellness include: happiness, better relationships with other people, effectiveness at work and in all we do, lower stress, a sense of belonging, and better ability to cope with the unexpected. The concept “disease” connotes tangible symptoms. In the same way that wellness describes a broader and deeper paradigm than health,“dysfunction” is an apt term for describing the situation when part of a system strays from the natural balance of wellness. A psychosomatic system is dysfunctional when its natural, effective operation is compromised— whether it has (yet) resulted in the detectable symptoms of disease or not. In the same way that “pre-cancerous” conditions may or may not mean that cancer will follow, dysfunctional conditions may or may not ever lead to an identifiable problem or disease. Such dysfunction can be said to be pre-pre-disease. We would do well to do what we can to restore the natural balance before we are forced to do so by the debilitating and lifethreatening crisis that may result from ignoring it. The symptom isn’t really the problem. It is merely the visible manifestation. The problem is in the total way of thinking and feeling and acting. The symptom is a kind of indicator that something has gone wrong with the total mechanism. (Kreinheder, 1991, p. 53)

STRESS The point at which we often first notice such pre-disease dysfunction in our lives is when we realize that our relationships, our work, our stamina, our decision-making, etc. are suffering. We may well conclude that the problem is “stress.” Stress can, in fact, be seen as the disease of our times (Thompson, 2010, p. 111). It certainly can’t be denied that modern life includes a broad spectrum of stressors, incessantly coming at us from all directions. Granted, we don’t have to worry about being eaten by sabretooth tigers, but since a stressor is “anything …that knocks you out of homeostatic balance” (Sapolsky, 1994/2004, p. 111), it’s safe to say that stressors are everywhere and constant in our 21st-century lives. It’s important that we learn to take signs of stress seriously as possible signs of a chronic situation which can both predict and contribute to disease crises and that we take action to address its sources. Shapiro (1997) notes diseases for which a direct link to stress has been established: “Maladies directly caused by stress include migraine headaches, ulcers, irritable bowel syndrome, high blood pressure, asthma, muscle tension, and fatigue” (pp. 1-2); and stress is a proven “factor” in many more. Neurobiologist and stress researcher Robert Sapolsky (1994/2004) notes that “cognitive flexibility,” the ability to choose and use “the right strategy at the right time” for coping with life’s challenges, is a key to stress reduction (p. 411). So once again, we come back to individuation. “Right strategies” require engaging the functionattitudes that are appropriate and effective for the situation. Even if the right FAs are not already differentiated and conscious, they are capable of helping us if we let them. But if we limit ourselves to predetermined ways of operating, unconsciously assuming that only our most comfortable function-attitudes’ perceptions and judgments are legitimate, then they hog most of our psychic energy and conscious attention and thus become part of the problem. For example, if someone with an ESTJ typology is wrestling with longterm family disharmony, not only do Te’s logical analysis and Si’s past perceptions seem ill-suited to resolving the problem, but their ineffectiveness has already been proved by the persistence of the problem. It could be that the keys to the solution lie with the core

values of inferior Fi, with playing with Ne visions of new possibilities, or even with undermining the status quo of current relationships through a demonic Fe intervention. In any case, expanding our toolkit of “right strategies” is the psychological key not only to our psychic health but to our physical wellbeing as well.

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF WELLBEING Dr.Leon Hammer (1990) summarizes the inherent crucial psychological error embedded in the current Western allopathic model: Western medicine exists within the same philosophical framework that produced industrialization, sharing with it the aim of controlling and defeating nature and the universe. It reflects the resentment of Western man towards any control over his fate, other than by his own ego. (p. 386) Candace Pert (1997/1999) quoted a friend’s apt summation of the contrasting new paradigm of wellness/dysfunction revealed by cutting edge biomedical research: I’m no longer a machine made up of a body being pushed around by a brain, at the mercy of an electrical charge to keep my heart beating and my synapses crackling. Instead, I can now see myself as an intelligent system, one that involves a massive and rapid simultaneous exchange of information between mind and body. My cells are literally talking to each other, and my brain is in on the conversation. … Now that I know my body has wisdom, this calls for a new kind of responsibility on my part. I can no longer act like a dumb machine and wait to be fixed by the mechanic— otherwise known as the doctor. Now I have the potential to consciously intervene in the system myself, to take an active role in my own healing. I’m both more powerful and more responsible in creating the health I experience than the dumb machine I used to think I was. (p. 262) It’s hard to avoid crossing the line from taking responsibility into self-blaming. Being “responsible” doesn’t imply that we have complete control and therefore are culpable for everything that happens. Our responsibility is simply to participate in our wellbeing, rather than giving away that power. Blaming ourselves and feeling guilty about not doing better is counterproductive, and blaming others for their misfortunes is unfair. Blaming is ego-directed judgment, always based on the flawed assumption that we know, from our ego-perspective, what we should do and how things should be. In dealing with my own health challenges, I have become more aware of behaviors and mental patterns that promote my wellbeing and others that compromise it. I’ve noticed, for example, that eating foods with significant amounts of sugar or wheat gluten noticeably lowers my overall energy level, and feedback from wellness professionals has made it clear that it taxes my kidneys as well. I know that in my situation, it’s important that I do everything I can to lessen the toxin-removal workload on my kidneys. But while I’ve significantly reduced my intake of sugar and wheat products, I am still far from having completely removed them from my diet. I have to work every day to avoid condemning myself for my less than perfect performance. Like many people, I am far less judgmental of others than of myself. It seems that our sense of who we could be—an idealized self-image—raises our expectations of ourselves and thus increases our disappointment and frustration when we fall short. So I find it important to remember to treat myself with the attitude of nurturing support with which I treat others. Love, respect, and acceptance of ourselves must go hand in hand with high goals and the desire to do better. It can be a very difficult line to walk. I find it helpful to separate the aspirations from the judgment. My goals are lofty; they are what I believe that I am capable of achieving. But when I fall short, I then need to forgive myself and move on to a new set of goals. A new, “more psychological” approach to wellbeing emphasizes those aspects of maintaining and regaining health that are more personal and self-directed. It seems to me that the importance of such an approach rests mainly on three considerations: 1. Psycho-spiritual attitude is a hugely impactful aspect of health which is, for the most part, neglected and poorly understood in modern Western society—and therefore not an automatic or significant part of our mainstream healthcare provider system. 2. It is the arena where we can have tremendous influence to improve our own health. It’s where we don’t need to play the role of passive recipients of “treatments”; we can actually do something about our physical wellbeing. And studies indicate that even just the participation itself promotes more positive

attitudes and better disease outcomes. 3. It’s the arena where we must increase our awareness and action if we are to solve some of modern humanity’s most pressing problems. To varying degrees, the crisis in health care goes hand in hand with rampant drug use, work-related stress, the anger and violence of the alienated, and global resource depletion (to name just a few issues of our time). They’re all linked to our poor understanding of what it is to be a healthy human being. Counterproductive or downright destructive behavior patterns are inevitable when we forget how to maintain real health and wellbeing. Edward Whitmont (1993) wrote: The particular paradigm proposed here views illness and healing as a dramatic staging of conflict and conflict resolution by virtue of interplay of polarizing forms which are always prior to the material shapes in which they manifest. This dramatic play serves the goal of eventual resolution through a discovery of ever more differentiated forms of consciousness and growth and notably, the differentiation of the personality. (pp. vii-viii) “If we take such a personal perspective seriously … healing would then require discovering the inherent ‘intent’ of the crisis” (Whitmont, 1993, p. 35). Such a task brings us right back to the basic Jungian description of a psyche in healthy balance: a strong conscious ego that is nevertheless aware and respectful of the intelligence and power of the unconscious—a consciousness that pays attention and promotes its own wellbeing and growth via the differentiation of elements from the unconscious. Whitmont (1993) notes the delicate balance required for this process: an ego that is sufficiently strong, but not inflated. When the ego is inflated, “increasingly or predominantly ego-initiated volition and intentionalities operate regardless or even in opposition to the life current with which the ego has lost conscious connection. They are no longer homeostatically regulated or automatically selfdissolving when no longer needed” (p. 112). When the ego takes complete control, our toolkit for wellness and healing becomes the limited toolkit of the ego, and chronic psycho-somatic-spiritual imbalance thus becomes inevitable. On the other hand, sometimes a developed ego’s strong sense of identity is exactly what is needed. There are other illness propensities not associated with ego hubris. Some of them may, in fact, call for more ego assertiveness than has been available. … In this category we may consider illnesses that arise in response to external shock, fear, catastrophic events, violence and abuse. (Whitmont, 1993, p. 114) Every crisis carries gifts: lessons to be learned and opportunities to become a better version of who we are. The outward manifestations are like flags, waving to tell us, “Look here! Something’s not right and you need to attend to it.” We ignore such warnings (by medicating the symptoms without paying attention to their messages) at our peril. Following such signals to wherever they lead can produce unforeseen benefits that go far beyond simply dealing with the symptom and the immediate crisis. The simple act of focusing our conscious attention on something brings a powerful force to bear. Attention is the basis— and perhaps the most important element—of all approaches to physical therapy, just as in psychotherapy. When we pay attention to something that is interfering with our natural balance, we take the necessary first step toward healing. In many situations, the awareness itself is sufficient to begin the healing. Dis-ease can be as much a part of the path of individuation as individuation is a keystone of good health. In this examination of depth typology’s relevance to health and wellness, I’ve hardly mentioned type at all. But in previous chapters, I have already said a great deal about how typological insights can help us negotiate the process of individuation, and individuation is the key to wellbeing. Jung (1953/1966) observed: It is a fundamental error to try to subject our own fate at all costs to our will. Our will is a function regulated by reflection; hence it is dependent on the quality of that reflection. This, if it really is reflection, is supposed to be rational, i.e., in accord with reason. But has it ever been shown, or will it ever be, that life and fate are in accord with reason, that they too are rational? We have on the contrary good grounds for supposing that they are irrational, or rather that in the last resort they are grounded beyond human reason. (para. 72)

ADDICTIONS AND COMPULSIONS “Compulsions” are habitual behaviors that are not under the control of the conscious mind nor understood by it. Our

society labels the more harmful compulsions, particularly those which involve regulated substances, as “addictions.” Cigarette smoking, alcoholism, habitual overeating, and reliance on drugs that are not medically justified are commonly thought of as addictions. But we could just as easily apply that label to compulsive coffee drinking, video game playing, or jogging. Regardless of which of these labels we use, the bottom-line is that conscious, ego-driven attempts to curb the behavior inevitably encounter strong unconscious resistance. We either fail to change the harmful behavior or we succeed but eventually develop another to take its place. The dynamics of the unconscious are overpowering our ego-will. “I” am not in control. As discussed earlier, the myth of conscious ego-control leads to blaming. We see this playing out on a societal scale in the U.S. “war on drugs.” Although this nation-wide approach to the serious social problem of the use of addictive drugs has clearly failed to mitigate the problem, aggressive prosecution (i.e., blaming) of the drug users themselves continues to be a cornerstone of the campaign. Our prison system has been taxed beyond the breaking point with a large percentage of prisoners having been convicted of crimes either directly or indirectly related to illegal drug use. And despite a multitude of studies that have demonstrated that addiction counseling programs are far more costeffective for taxpayers than incarceration, mandatory sentencing laws keep the emphasis on punishment and thus serve to sustain our illusion that addiction is a matter of “will.” The solution, according to this rationale, lies in increasing the negative consequences, so people will consciously choose not to be addicts. For our purposes here, the question that we need to consider is one that’s not tied to specific labels or diagnoses: When we, or our clients, patients, or friends, seem unable to change self-destructive or selfdefeating behavior, can depth typology help us understand and deal with the unconscious forces that are sustaining the behavior? Let’s look at a handful of common statements on the nature of addiction: Addiction is an attempt to “fill a void”—to “fill a hole in the soul.” Addictions are attempts to “numb the pain”—to “keep the demons at bay.”Well-known self-healing teacher Louise Hay (1982/1984) writes that addictions are about “running from the self ” and “not knowing how to love the self ” (p. 10). Though all these statements come from the perspective of non-clinicians, most of us would agree that they contain basic truths about the nature of addiction. Collectively, they imply that the behaviors serve the purpose of addressing a vague sense of incompleteness or pain or of defending against a vaguely perceived threat. It’s clear that the perspective being articulated here is that of the ego. If we ask who feels incomplete, in pain, or threatened, the only possible answer is that it’s the conscious, selfdefined “Me.” Recognizing this, it’s easy to see that the statements are likely expressing different aspects of the same psychological situation. The “Me” is successfully resisting the internal “Other,” perceiving it as a threat. Facing an entrenched, fortified ego-resistance, the natural response of the unconscious is increasingly insistent and powerful attempts to break through, and the ego responds, in turn, with increasingly desperate defense, including, at some point, even otherwise unthinkable selfdestructive behaviors. Our disquieting sense of a “hole” in ourselves increases while the “pain” of the internal dysfunction intensifies and the perceived “demons” try all the harder to break through the blockage. As with any other iteration of “being stuck,” addictions and compulsions keep us from being able to adapt our behaviors appropriately and effectively. We are rigidly following a mindset and formula for action that has more to do with our selflimiting habits of mind than with reality. The mention of “demons,” “soul,” and “self,” above, points depth typologists toward the dynamics in play. Even as we demonize and resist the archetypal energies of the activated unconscious functions, we have a persistent yearning and often an intuitive sense of what we’re really yearning for: the integration of the Anima or Animus “soul function,” to become more fully who we’re meant to be—a resolution that in a very real sense requires us to learn to love our whole Self. In addictions, unresolved archetypal complexes are given concrete form as that energy is attached to objects, actions, and substances (similarly to “projecting” onto people). Thus food addictions, for example, may be manifestations of an unresolved need for nurturing (the Mother archetype) and alcoholism, of a need for integrating the energies of the Spirit (Animus/Anima). Albert Kreinheder (1991) expressed this notion, paraphrasing Jung: If you are not conscious of your fantasies, they will become your fate. That is because behavior is formed out of the inner fantasy life. And if you are not conscious of the fantasy, it is acted out automatically. It will break through, possibly in a harmful way. (pp. 104-105) This statement views the situation from the perspective of the archetypal energies’ drive to break through into consciousness. James Hollis (1996) expresses the same truth, but from the perspective of the ego, pointing out that: “All addictions are anxiety management techniques whether one is conscious of being anxious or not” and that the

alcoholic, in particular, is “most invested in the need for control of the sense of self ” (pp. 62, 89). Addictions,of course,also involve a physiological dependency.Sapolsky (1994/2004) points out that all addictive substances have one thing in common: they all trigger the release of the neurotransmitter dopamine in the “pleasure pathway” area of the brain. Most experiences that we consider enjoyable and “rewarding” similarly include this physiological response. But artificial stimulation reduces our natural dopamine release mechanisms’ activity, thus increasing our dependency on the addictive behavior or substance (p. 343). The body’s dependency is certainly problematic and needs to be addressed. But, as with any other health issue, without addressing the psychological dependency as well, there can be no true cure. It is this common psycho-somatic connection that justifies treating addictions as diseases. Beebe’s model is well suited for helping us recognize which unconscious parts of us are pushing to be allowed into consciousness as well as the dynamics of the battle that is taking place. The issues of the spine of personality appear to be central to addiction. Beebe (2012, May 18-19) and others have noted that: “All addictions are addictions to perfection.” In Chapter 8, I noted that the Anima/Animus fourth function-attitude, the inferior counterpoint to the dominant, serves, by virtue of its incapacities, to keep Heroic inflation in check. But with that can come a nagging sense of inferiority, of incompleteness, and often of shame. Beebe (2012, May 18-19) has called addiction “the Hero’s comeuppance,” and sees the need to consciously “admit defeat,” and “embrace and hold the shame” that’s associated with the inferiority of the fourth function as the essential and often the most difficult step in resolving the issues underlying addictions. Thus, the “hole” that addictive and compulsive behaviors are making a misguided attempt to fill is the felt shortcoming in the integrity of the self that results from such a sense of inferiority. And the perceived “pain” is the associated shame. Our hope for breaking this dysfunctional association depends upon recognizing the thing that the voice within us is trying to address. In this, the ability to identify the activated archetypal complex(s) and the associated functionattitude(s) can be invaluable. At the same time, we also need to come to understand “what really nourishes and feeds us” (Beebe, 2009, Sept.–2010, April). What is it that the addictive substance or compulsive behavior is serving as a poor substitute for? This is very much an issue of the spine of our personality, and specifically of a need for differentiation of the inferior function-attitude, carried by the Anima/Animus.

Chapter 16 ______________

Decision-Making and Problem-Solving It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change. — CHARLES DARWIN

W

e make decisions and solve problems constantly—from carefully considered, momentous ones like choosing which home to buy or adopting a long-term corporate strategy, to innocuous ones like which socks to wear, to seemingly innocuous ones that may turn out to be momentous, like whether to run a yellow traffic light. Our personality type preferences are well-known, major influences on how we make those decisions. Half of our typology is all about our decision-making methodology; half is all about the kinds of information upon which we base those decisions. As previously noted, Albert Einstein famously observed that “We cannot expect to resolve complex problems from within the same state of consciousness that created them,” and few would disagree. But when we rely exclusively on our typological default settings, always engaging “the same state of consciousness” is exactly what we’re doing. Most people are somewhat aware of the shortcomings of any myopic approach to problem-solving. Many popular television shows create much of their dramatic tension and build their plotlines by acting out various typological interactions. Crime-solving dramas, for example, are often built around main characters who each embody a function of type: the analytical approach (Thinking), the “follow your gut” approach (Feeling), trusting “hunches” (Intuition), or acute observation of the factual details (Sensation). Screenwriters get a lot of mileage out of the resulting conflicts and collaborations between these typological caricatures. But it is always some combination of the different perspectives that leads to solving the mystery. Isabel Briggs Myers brought a new level of sophistication and insight to problem-solving when she outlined a fourstep methodology based on the four functions in Gifts Differing (1980/1995, p. 119). Gordon Lawrence discussed it further in People Types and Tiger Stripes, and most type professionals today know this four-step model by the name he gave to it: “Zig-Zag Analysis” (1979/1993, pp. 161-162). In 2006, Leona Haas and I suggested that by distinguishing between the extraverted and introverted attitudes of each of the four Jungian functions, the four-part decision-making model could be fine-tuned into eight more focused steps (pp. 133-141) —a “Zig-Zag 2.0,” if you will. The following is a simplified outline of this eight-step decisionmaking process. It should be noted that the ordering of the steps is what makes sense to me. It seems right to me, for example, that the Thinking function-attitudes should handle the initial judgment triage with the Feeling function-attitudes following up to look for what Thinking failed to take into account. Someone with a preference for Feeling might well disagree with this ordering. I don’t presume that my sequence is any more right or more effective than any other. I do know, however, that it has worked for teams that I have coached, including teams that have included Feeling types. The important thing is that all the ways of perceiving and judging are included. Step One engages Extraverted Sensation: Perspective: Focus on concrete information about the current reality—the objective data and observations available all around us. Task frame: What can we observe about this problem? Step Two engages Introverted Sensation: Perspective: Focus on concrete information from the past—personal, subjective memories—and make

practical comparisons. Task frame: What is the history of the problem? Step Three engages Introverted Intuition: Perspective: Search for meaning, significance, patterns, correlations, and interrelationships, even if they cannot be proven or demonstrated. Task frame: Make philosophical observations about the problem. What are the broadest possible implications? Step Four engages Extraverted Intuition: Perspective: Connect relevant information and project it forward to see the “big picture” and to reveal new, practical options. Task frame: Note plausible extrapolations based upon the data. What new approaches to the problem can be generated? Step Five engages Introverted Thinking: Perspective: Apply logical precision without regard for “conventional wisdom.” Task frame: Fill in the missing pieces or steps of the various options. Do they stand up to a “devil in the details” test? Eliminate those that don’t. Step Six engages Extraverted Thinking: Perspective: Apply objective, impersonal analysis. Task frame: Bring logical structure to the array of options and create agreed-upon objective criteria and a shared framework for judging them. How does each option rate for effectiveness? Eliminate the least effective. Step Seven engages Extraverted Feeling: Perspective: Create and maintain external harmony. Task frame: How might the remaining options affect the needs, desires, relationships, and emotions of people? Eliminate options with unacceptable impacts upon stakeholders. Step Eight engages Introverted Feeling: Perspective: Respect everyone’s values. Task frame: Ask: “Does this feel right to me?” “Am I comfortable with this plan?” “Does it respect the values of all the participants and stakeholders?” Eliminate options that don’t. By thus paying attention to each of the function-attitudes, we ensure a more comprehensive decision-making process —one that greatly reduces the chances of neglecting whole blocks of important considerations. Had we instead focused, for example, on Sensing perceptions in general, we might have ended up with a good Se snapshot of the current reality, but without the historical Si “how we got here”and “what’s already been tried” perspective. Intuition, undifferentiated by attitude, would likely yield Ne options, but neglect Ni’s broader-scope insights. A Thinking focus would likely follow Te’s use of conventional, shared frameworks and criteria, but overlook the attention to details and the outside-the-box analysis of Ti. And a Feeling-oriented focus on harmony would probably note the ramifications for maintaining or undermining harmonious relationships (Fe), but might well overlook deeper issues relating to core values (Fi). In a four-step group decision-making process that’s guided by the four functions, it tends to be the extraverted versions of each function that are expressed unless individual typology or team culture brings certain introverted functions to the fore. In making the rounds of the eight function-attitudes, we do our best to emulate the skillsets associated with our undeveloped function-attitudes, but we face severe limitations in this regard. A consultant who understands these eight ways of operating can help keep the process on track. But the ideal way to achieve high-quality decisionmaking is to include people with the developed functionattitude skillsets needed to augment our own—and listen to them. Methodically going through eight different perspectives can be a laborious process, especially the first few times we do it, since all but a few of these steps will be awkward and uncomfortable as they call upon our undeveloped function-attitudes. Nevertheless, I and others have used this exercise with corporate teams, often with the demonstrable result of avoiding costly mistakes. I worked with an IT team (in which a preference for Feeling was predictably underrepresented) to develop new procedures for prioritizing its work. Without being reminded to include Fe and Fi concerns, the team would have virtually ignored the very aspect of the old procedures that necessitated the reexamination: the need for greater sensitivity and responsiveness to the circumstances and the

priorities of the people who call upon them for technical support. Another example of the hazards of typologically incomplete decision-making periodically makes headlines: the objective, cost-benefit-analysisdriven judgments made in certain industries regarding “acceptable” defect rates. When the product is automobile tires or brake systems, defective products get people killed. Even if we were to accept the dubious assumption that such corporate decisions must be made from a purely profit-oriented perspective and empathy is irrelevant, it is clear that such decisions often include little intuitive anticipation of possible public reaction and the resulting loss of millions of dollars in sales. It also should be mentioned that using the eight function-attitudes as a framework for addressing a real issue doubles as a powerful experiential exercise for teaching about the eight function-attitudes themselves. I have used this process with teams both as a consultant, where making the best possible decision was the objective, and as a trainer, where teaching about type was the main agenda. With a little practice, this process can become a quick checklist to help us make better day-to-day choices. In fact, once we become aware of which perspectives we are most likely to overlook and how to engage or compensate for them, we can take the shortcut of simply pausing to take those factors into consideration. In the pursuit of better decision-making, and problem-solving, we need to deal not only with our own typological shortcomings and biases but also those of our culture. In the prevailing U.S. culture, extraverted thinking and introverted sensing have disproportionate credibility and power; and extraverted sensing, though a shadow function, seems to be inflated as well. The playing field of decision-making is far from level. The analytical, logical presentation—particularly if it draws from common past experience and visible concrete data—is the argument that is viewed as inherently credible. By contrast, for example, people who have strong, introverted intuitive insights that are often hard or impossible to explain rationally are largely dismissed and ignored. Likewise, those who lobby for placing values ahead of logical pragmatism seldom win the debate. To make the best possible decisions, those who hold such minority views must dare to step forward and push to be heard; and those who share the perspectives of cultural common sense must learn to heed the “non-sense.” In a respectful, type-savvy environment, such productive conversations can happen, and all parties will benefit from the cumulative wisdom of the collective.

Chapter 17 ______________

Parenting, Teaching, and Learning Styles The whole of life, from the moment you are born to the moment you die, is a process of learning. — JIDDU KRISHNAMURTI

M

uch has been written about how type influences how we learn, and depth typology is providing many new insights. Parents and teachers of “learning challenged” children, for example, may come to a new understanding of such problems and discover more effective ways to address both the learning difficulties and the problematic behaviors that can accompany them. And using the enhanced model in this arena provides greater precision in understanding how everyone learns. If we know which functionattitudes someone is most likely to engage in the learning process, we know much more about their “learning style” than if we only look at their functions and attitudes. In this application of depth typology, our focus is on individuals’ most preferred functionattitudes, typically their dominant and auxiliary. Focusing on just these two innate preferences is particularly appropriate when dealing with children since these two ways of operating usually constitute their entire type toolkit—and good development of these two function-attitudes is the primary task at hand, ultimately far more important than their schoolwork. Two examples may serve to illustrate how type-based learning style can work: Example #1: My type is INTJ: dominant introverted intuition (Ni), auxiliary extraverted thinking (Te). Most who know me view me as being quite intelligent—probably because I routinely jump ahead of others by “connecting the dots” (Ni) and am usually quite facile at seeing and articulating a logical explanation, or breaking down a problem or possible course of action (Te). But my ability to retain what I think of as “info-bits” or “random data” has always been abysmal, and often quite problematic and embarrassing. I’m referring to information which, to my mind, stands alone, without a discernable place in a larger story or pattern that’s of interest to me. Dates of battles, names of kings and queens, odd conjugations of foreign language verbs, and so forth, were extremely difficult for me to remember in high school and college. No amount of attempted rote memorization could register such “bits” indelibly in my memory. I figured out early on that to understand and remember specifics, I needed to see how they fit into a pattern. Knowing, for example, that Psychological Types was first published in an era when Hitler’s Brownshirts were beginning to clamp down on the German opposition, Einstein received a Nobel prize, Pablo Picasso was painting, the theories of quantum mechanics and uncertainty were being worked out, and Babe Ruth was traded to the Yankees, gives me a sense of context that somehow not only makes it easier for me to remember the publication date, but also to understand its significance. It doesn’t constitute a “logical pattern,” but even a sense of the gestalt seems to provide a “place to put” the information in my mind. Example #2: My daily commute routinely used to land me sitting at a certain traffic light, looking across the intersection at a sign marking the entrance to my town’s landfill site. I tried hundreds of times to memorize which days of the week the sign said that the site was open, but when it came time to take my trash there, I was never certain. Then one day, waiting for the light to change and gazing at the sign, I was pondering the obvious fact that they needed to be open on Saturdays to accommodate all the residents who work Monday-Friday.

Then I realized that in choosing which weekday to close, they had probably opted for Monday so their employees would have a conventional two-days-in-succession “weekend.” As soon as I’d seen this simple logical pattern, I knew that I’d always remember the schedule. My inferior extraverted sensation and my Demonic introverted sensation, on their own, are unreliable. I cannot muster genuine interest (energy) for “random facts,” no matter how hard I try. But if I can place a fact into a logical framework, it sticks—I can find my way to it whenever I need to. What I’ve read about type and learning appears to corroborate my personal experiences and observations: effective learning is a pretty straightforward matter of connecting to one’s developed functionattitudes. Teachers and educational systems that can adjust to customize lessons to fit typological learning styles for individual students will succeed with most students. Those that rigidly adhere to a one-size-fits-all approach will succeed only with those students for whom it does fit. In Gifts Differing (1980/1995), Isabel Myers made a very significant observation concerning early childhood development, saying: “What children need is the conviction that satisfaction can and must be earned” (p. 185). Typologically, early childhood is a period of broad experimentation that leads to the child learning which mental processes work best for them. They then go back to these successful modes of operating more and more often, thus developing skillsets around these natural perceiving and judging preferences. But if the child is never allowed to fail —if everything works for them—(what Myers called the “spoiled child” scenario), or if they are never able to succeed—if nothing works—(the “discouraged child”), then this critical initial stage of personality development cannot take place! The necessary feedback loop is broken. In the first situation, the child is “protected” from the consequences of her decisions and rewarded no matter what she does. She then has no basis for identifying and developing her natural preferences. There is no “must” in the critical lesson that “satisfaction … must be earned.” Instead of learning what information to attend to and how to make good choices, this “spoiled” child learns that what happens in her life is out of her control—it is “someone else’s fault.” On the other hand, the child that is under-indulged and rarely experiences success and rewards may never learn that “satisfaction can … be earned.” Like the “spoiled” child, this “discouraged” child may quickly abandon his natural attempts to impact his environment. He too may fail to develop the use of the function-attitudes needed to succeed in life. Beebe’s model provides a new level of understanding of parent/ child dynamics, which applies not only to our actual parent-child relationships but also to all relationships that echo that dynamic of power and responsibility versus incapacity and dependence. This includes bosses and employees, political leaders and followers, and often, even spouses—any relationship where we unconsciously project a parental or childish role onto others or where we take on a parental or childish role with others. Whenever we suspect that such an archetypal dynamic could be activated, we would do well to examine the possible interactions of the second function-attitude (usually carried by Parental energy) and the third (carried by the Eternal Child) of the parties involved. Beebe’s suggestion is that each individual desires to be taken care of in a certain way consistent with their tertiary functionattitude; and that they tend to take care of others via their auxiliary function-attitude. Mismatches in this regard are at the root of a tremendous amount of strife. But if we can learn to recognize them and compensate for them, a great deal of projection and dissatisfaction in our relationships can be avoided. A brief example: Whenever someone I care about tells me about difficulties they’re having, I feel a Fatherly compulsion to “fix” it for them. Ideally, I would fix the system or root problem that my extraverted thinking analysis deduces is the cause. Failing that, I want to give them at least some logical feedback in hopes that it will provide information they need and thus enable them to fix the problem. This is the form that my parenting instinct takes, regardless of whether it’s appropriate, whether it has any real chance of helping, whether it’s what they actually need, or even if they are clearly asking for something else from me. I’ve needed to learn to step back from that knee-jerk response and consider outof-the-INTJ-box ways of taking care of others. Maybe they need reassurance that they’re safe, or valued, or loved; maybe they just need a hug. (Note the deprecating “just.” A hug never seems like enough to me to truly take care of someone, even though I know that many times it is.) Often the key to knowing what people need from us is to start by looking at what form of support and nurturing fits for their tertiary function-attitude Eternal Child rather than automatically reverting to our auxiliary parenting mode. If the need is truly coming from the Eternal Child in someone, it will have an emotional tone of helplessness and

vulnerability. The Child in us normally bubbles with naïve enthusiasm, spontaneous playfulness, humor, and creativity. But as with any actual child, the function-attitude carried by the Eternal Child archetype tends to take on more than it can handle and then become overwhelmed and may then withdraw in fear. This is when the Child needs reassurance and support from an adult. But the nature of the needed reassurance and support depends on the function-attitude that is carried by the Eternal Child archetypal energy. For someone taking on a parental role, a good place to start for figuring out what’s needed is with Beebe’s key descriptors of the function-attitudes (Table 1). Keep in mind, however, that when we’re dealing with childlike needs, we’re not looking at the FAs as areas of developed skills and competence. In this situation they are more like areas of aspiration—which can therefore provide clues to how the Child has gotten in over his or her head. Someone with an extraverted sensing tertiary function-attitude, for example, probably needs help with something involving practical sensory activities—and they want it now. A delayed response is of no value when the problem is in the moment. Perhaps they need their computer or car fixed for them; or maybe they need reassurance that they can do what they’ve taken on; or coaching on how to accomplish it. An introverted sensing Puer or Puella, on the other hand, is more likely to need the reassurance of stability and familiarity. If they are fearful of a new situation, the best parenting tactic might well be to point out how various aspects of the new are just iterations of previous experiences that they have dealt with successfully. An extraverted intuiting Child could feel intimidated by all the possible negative outcomes he envisions. So one might simply remind him that the scary possibilities may never come to be and reassure him that if they do, he won’t have to face them alone. An introverted intuitive tertiary could struggle with a frightening sense of what the future will bring as well. But her imaginings will be more like a vague and ominous sense of impending catastrophe than the Ne Child’s specific scenarios. A parent could probably best help by encouraging the Ni Child to shift her focus from imagining the threat to imagining an effective response— and of course reassuring her that she won’t have to do it alone. An extraverted thinking Child often needs help when his desire to organize his world and solve problems fails him. We could help him brainstorm an actionable plan. An introverted thinking Child will become overwhelmed if she is unable to clearly define a situation. Supplying additional relevant information and helping to clarify aspects of the situation that are not well understood may help her fulfill her desire for a precise understanding. An extraverted feeling Child wants to relate and interact with people. Parenting an extraverted feeling Child means being his friend in a mode of active sharing and participation. An introverted feeling child needs to feel recognized, valued, and respected for who she really is. Authenticity in fulfilling these needs is the key to supporting an introverted feeling Child. In dealing with someone’s Eternal Child, keep in mind too that the nurturing, supportive, and protective energy of the archetypal Mother or Father is not always what’s needed. Sometimes the Critical Parent role must be assumed to set necessary limits.

Chapter 18 ______________

Cultivating Effective Leaders, Workers, and Teams Knowing others is intelligence; Knowing yourself is true wisdom. Mastering others is strength; Mastering yourself is true power. — LAO-TZU

L

eadership coaching is a consulting specialty where personality type is commonly employed to help leaders get to know themselves better and understand those they are expected to lead. “Leadership development” initiatives are generally undertaken for the benefit of managers, either through a proactive program for rising stars or to address problems and limitations. So leadership coaches usually work within the management hierarchy of for-profit businesses. But the same principles apply to anyone in a leadership role, and the reality is that everyone is called upon to lead at least occasionally. Wheatley (1999) points out that most modern organizations are “designed from Newtonian images of the universe,” wherein the assumption is “that influence occurs as a direct result of force exerted from one person to another” (p. 7). Such organizations run primarily on metrics—observable, quantifiable measures such as productivity, error rate, and cost per unit of product—and managers and leaders are evaluated primarily in terms of the metrics of those people and operations for which they are responsible. Generally, the closest that even the most progressive organizations come to concerning themselves with the psychology of their managers is, predictably, in terms of behaviorist, results-oriented, indirectly measureable skillsets known as “competencies.” The business consulting firm Lominger Limited, for example, developed a list of 67 core competencies, including traits and skills such as: “approachability, compassion, command skills, directing others, ethics and values, timely decision making, listening, integrity, planning, drive for results, strategic agility, and time management” (Lombardo & Eichinger, 1996/2000). For type professionals, such a list immediately brings to mind a parallel list of the specific function-attitudes from which such traits draw most heavily. “Planning,” for example, tends to come easiest to people who can engage a developed extraverted thinking approach; trust in intuitive foresight is needed as well. This is not to say that other FAs aren’t important for good planning too—a sense of what worked and what didn’t in the past, the forte of people with developed introverted sensation, comes to mind. In fact, as I argued in Chapter 16, engagement of all eight function-attitudes in the process is ideal. But it seems that for each competency, truly excellent performance requires development and skillful use of certain particular functionattitudes. It’s hard, for example, to imagine anyone achieving high scores for “approachability” without having differentiated extraverted feeling, or being a pillar of “ethics and values” if introverted feeling is unconscious for them, or being stellar at “time management” unless they’re able to consciously engage extraverted thinking. When called upon to address leaders’ perceived deficiencies in specific competencies, the type-aware professional knows that meaningful and lasting development of such skills must involve differentiation of nonpreferred functionattitudes and their integration into the conscious ego-personality.Training that focuses just on developing the behaviors themselves can be beneficial. But if desired habits don’t fit with the ego, they simply won’t “take.” The individual won’t consistently excel in these areas over the long term; and when he or she tries to mimic the behaviors, they may well be perceived by others as “faking it”— as pretending to care about others, for example, rather than actually caring. Although the goal may be thought of in terms of traits, the bulk of the work needed to

support the desired behaviors must take place at a deeper and more elusive level. The coach who understands this, and who knows how to nudge and support the individuation process, will be far more effective than one who focuses solely on the competencies themselves. Effective leaders are enablers. They provide the structure and support needed for their team members to succeed in their work. Psychological support is high on the list, even though leaders may not think of it as “psychology.” In 1999, Marcus Buckingham and Curt Coffman published First, Break All the Rules, a landmark work in the organizational development (OD) field, based on data gathered through research by the Gallup Organization. It was a game-changer because the “rules” it debunked were the conventional “command and control” wisdom, the residue of Cartesian thinking and industrial age organizational assumptions. In its place, the authors revealed the practices employed by the world’s best managers—and many of these practices turned out to be aimed at supporting and enabling employees to fulfill their potential both as individuals and in teams. These practices are those which effective leaders and OD consultants intuitively “knew” were important all along, but that have always been difficult to substantiate with hard data. It makes sense that people who are more fully-developed human beings will be happier, more effective, and more productive employees. But genuine personal development takes time, so it is usually not possible to demonstrate a direct impact of developmental work upon widget production. Now, though, the value of managers’ practices that are aimed at developing and supporting their people is backed by two studies conducted over a span of about 25 years with the analytical rigor for which the Gallup Organization is well known. The results are compelling not only because the studies were well designed and executed but also because of their massive sample size: “over a million employees from a broad range of companies, industries, and countries” in the first study and over eighty thousand managers in the second (Buckingham & Coffman, 1999, pp. 11-12). The “best practices” that were distilled by Gallup analysts from the survey responses and explained by Buckingham and Coffman are basically of two kinds: logistical and psychological.The logistical needs include such items as “having the materials and equipment needed to do the work right.” But eleven of the twelve “core elements” are partially or entirely about the emotional/psychological work environment— what managers commonly think of as “morale” factors. These focus on issues such as whether or not employees receive positive reinforcement (“recognition or praise”), whether they have a mentor figure (“someone who encourages my development”), and whether they feel valued (“Do my opinions seem to count?” “Does someone at work seem to care about me as a person?”). It even turns out that whether one “has a best friend at work” is among the top factors that correlate with employee success (Buckingham & Coffman, 1999, p. 28). In looking at Buckingham and Coffman’s list of organizational difference-makers, I’m reminded of Abraham Maslow’s well-known “hierarchy of needs.” In 1943, Maslow wrote about what he considered to be the basic needs of humans to survive and thrive. His hierarchical premise holds that if and when humans’ most basic needs are met, then they can and do attempt to meet the next-level needs, and so forth, on to the “highest” human needs. The needs and the accompanying innate drive to fulfill them never go away. But when we reach a point where satisfying a basic need no longer requires all of our time, focus, and energy, then according to Maslow, we are able to turn our attention to other important but slightly less crucial needs. At the first-priority end of the hierarchy are the requirements of physiological survival such as food and shelter. The next higher-level needs are those related to safety, then comes love and belonging, then esteem, and, finally, self-actualization. If we were dropped into the wilderness, our first priority would be obtaining sufficient water and food and protecting ourselves from the elements. Once stable sources of food and water were found and a basic shelter made, we’d quickly turn our attention to safety issues like protecting ourselves from predators. As we continued to build an evermore reliable life-sustaining infrastructure, other needs would become priorities, but we’d have to be far removed from the issues of basic survival before we would be likely to concern ourselves with matters relating to “belonging” or “identity.” So even though Maslow’s hierarchy seems a bit oversimplified, the basic premise of prioritization does make sense. It seems to me that “individuation” fits into this scheme as the psychological dimension of “self-actualization.” As discussed earlier, the drive toward individuation appears to be something that’s always present regardless of circumstances, fostered by what life forces us to deal with rather than something that waits for us to get around to it. But psychologists, sociologists, and anthropologists continue to find Maslow’s terms useful and most would agree that biological survival of the individual and the species are the “first things first” of life. So taking Maslow’s

hierarchy as a rough approximation of human priorities seems justifiable. I find it interesting to note that it fits rather well with Buckingham and Coffman’s list. In our work-lives, the paycheck addresses the most basic physiological needs for food and shelter; and stable employment speaks to the safety needs for security, order, freedom from fear, and so forth. Although these factors don’t make the Gallup list, it seems safe to assume that this is because they are the “givens” of employment—so basic that they aren’t what distinguishes the best from the rest. Many of the items that are on the Gallup list seem to relate to bolstering employees’ sense of “belonging” and/or their “self-esteem,” the next levels of Maslow’s hierarchy. Even the highest of Maslow’s needs, “self-actualization,” is addressed in the items in the BuckinghamCoffman list, including: “progress,” and “development,” and “opportunities to learn and grow” (1999, p. 28). If “self-actualization” does indeed involve individuation, and if we buy Maslow’s assertion that our basic needs are prioritized, we can think of the factors that contribute to employee satisfaction and performance that don’t directly speak to individuation as being necessary preconditions for individuation. So all of the psychological issues revealed by the Gallup studies can be seen as either directly or indirectly related to individuation. Fostering employees’ individuation may, at first, seem like a ridiculous expectation to have of employers. But we’re not talking here about what’s necessary for just getting people to show up and do their jobs; we’re looking at the factors that elevate performance to higher levels. The psychological (and therefore performance-effecting) importance of these factors starts to make sense then, when we consider the Jungian conviction that individuation—becoming ever-more of who we can potentially be—is our most fundamental and powerful psychological drive. Since we spend most of our adult lives “at work” and often invest a great deal of psychic energy and ego-identification there as well, our work environments are clearly among the most powerful influences on our personal growth—and our employers are among the biggest potential beneficiaries of that development. But if the key to high-performing leaders and employees is individuation, then why did I include teams in this chapter? One obvious reason is that teams are made up of individual people, and, of course, a team’s wellbeing and capability depend upon the personal development of its members. But it’s also useful to view the team itself as an “organism”—a living system of human “components” that must work together to sustain the system and move it toward its goals. In order to thrive, both the team as a whole and the people who make it up need an uninhibited flow of accurate information, realistic selfidentity, and open relationships. “In healthy human systems people support one another with information and nurture one another with trust” (Wheatley & Kellner-Rogers, 1996/1999, p. 39). Teams too, need to individuate. Type-savvy OD practitioners realize that everything we know about the challenges and benefits of type development for individuals applies to the development of teams as well; that the factors that limit the development and functionality of teams are usually type-related. Like any sub-culture, teams exhibit an overarching typology, and the strengths and challenges of any given team are often best understood in terms of the dynamics and developmental progress of that “team type.” Communication and relationships between team members, for example, are usually limited primarily by typological biases and blind spots. The same can be said about how “team-type” influences its ability to interact with other teams. Even the most basic, “introduction to type,” training can help teams by introducing the model’s non-judgmental language and encouraging self-awareness and the letting-go of biases and assumptions. But, as any type consultant/trainer can attest, longer-term relationships with follow-up workshops and as-needed coaching are the only reliable way to ensure lasting and significant impact on a team’s wellbeing and functionality. In designing team-building programs, I recommend using real situations from the team’s workplace for “experiential exercises” whenever possible. This promotes personal investment and involvement from participants at a higher level than can be reached with imaginary scenarios. Solving a problem together using the functionattitude-based eight-step decision-making process, discussed in Chapter 16, can be an extremely effective teaching exercise. In setting up this exercise, the issue to be tackled must be chosen carefully. It needs to be challenging enough to justify such a methodical and mindstretching treatment and complex enough to hide information and insights until viewed from the different function-attitude perspectives. This is not as difficult as it may sound. Once you know a team’s typology, you know its blind spots. But the task also can’t be so big that it will prove unsolvable. Predetermining that it is within the sphere of influence of the team will help ensure that it can indeed be resolved. It’s important that the team’s solution to the problem will be within its power to enact, or at the very least, that its recommendation will be taken seriously. If the product of the work appears to be dismissed by those who are higher-up in the organization, it will only reinforce a “why bother” feeling of powerlessness.

If done right, such an exercise gives “minority types” the chance to show their gifts (often for the first time) to the team and model ways of operating that are unfamiliar to the majority. And the eight-step process encourages all participants to really “go there”—to sample other perspectives and modes of operating, rather than just settling for an intellectual understanding of type differences. I’ve used a lot of different approaches and OD tools in working with teams, and I find that type education is the most impactful work that can be done to foster team building!

Chapter 19 ______________

Saving the World We face insurmountable opportunity. — POGO

Y

ears ago, at my first APTi conference, the international gathering of personality type practitioners and enthusiasts, I attended a workshop where participants were asked what benefit we hoped to get from attending the conference. For some reason, I uncharacteristically shared my most private, most heartfelt goal. I said that I was trying to figure out how I could use the insights of typology to “help save the world.”I explained that I had an intuitive sense that type held that kind of power, and I was looking for insight into how to leverage it to serve this over-arching purpose. After the session, many in the class went out of their way to tell me that they shared that desire. The decades since then have only reinforced my impression that many, perhaps even most, type practitioners overtly or covertly carry that agenda of trying to “save the world,” one client, couple, team, or organization at a time. I think we share the notion that if we can help enough people become a little more balanced and whole, then we humans can collectively begin to make the better, more mature, decisions upon which the fate of our species depends. Such type-pros (and, I suspect, many Jungian analysts as well) believe, along with C. G. Jung, that: It is pointless to praise the light and preach it if nobody can see it. It is much more needful to teach people the art of seeing. … We must first clear the way for the faculty of seeing. How this is to be done without psychology, that is, without making contact with the psyche, is frankly beyond my comprehension. (1953/1968, para. 14) And, as he added elsewhere: “There is no cure and no improving of the world that does not begin with the individual himself ” (1953/1966, para. 373). Humankind faces the greatest threat to its survival in recorded history; a crisis that will, at best, lead to dramatic changes in how we live, and at worst, result in the extinction of our species. Every generation seems to deal with some “greatest threat ever,” but this one is different. In the “good ole days,” epidemics, wars, and natural or manmade environmental disasters could disrupt or even wipe out populations and habitats locally and sometimes even in large regions. Now, it’s the entire eco-system of our planet that has been disrupted. This time, there will be no safer, more viable place for survivors to migrate to and begin anew. This is no longer speculation, the realm of intuitives. As environmental activist Bill McKibben (2010) summarizes (and amply documents): We’ve changed the planet, changed it in large and fundamental ways … that have already taken us out of the sweet spot where humans so long thrived. … The world hasn’t ended, but the world as we know it has—even if we don’t quite know it yet. (pp. xiii, 2) That “sweet spot” for human life was created by millions of years of coevolution with our incredibly complex ecosystem. As some elements of the system changed, others adapted or disappeared. Humans evolved along with their ecosphere. As sentient, self-aware, tool-making, habitat-altering beings, we even can claim a privileged place in this “web of life.” All species expand and ebb—experience periods of optimal conditions and thrive, then max out the ability of their environment to sustain them and wane in population and activity. Humans, however, have cleverly managed to temporarily overcome such natural limiting factors, inventing new ways to feed themselves, adapting to extreme environments, immunizing against plagues, etc. But humans’ Achilles heel is the flip side of that exceptional mental

capability: ego inflation. We can and do operate based on self-constructed, inaccurate ideas of who we are; we ignore information that does not reinforce our faux self-image; and we live in false relationship with our environment. The three basic requirements for successfully participating in any system are thus distorted by our mistaken notions of who we are—of our proper role in the larger system. Individually, we create (and live based upon) ideas of who we are; and when we buy into the collective identities of religious and political “-isms,” we further reinforce incomplete and flawed notions of our place in the world. Jung (1956/1967) recognized this tendency as an “unavoidable stop-gap,” but added that it “must sooner or later be replaced by adequate understanding and knowledge if our civilization is to continue” (para. 674). We humans are the problem and we are among the many victims as well. We have a rapidly closing window of opportunity for taking the dramatic actions needed to prevent our planet from becoming uninhabitable to higher life forms, yet most of us have yet to even look honestly at the facts of our situation. We have been unable to change our self-destructive behavior because we are so invested in our faulty world view and our fictitious self view that we consider them to be the non-negotiable “givens” of the situation rather than variables that can be modified. Economic growth, for example, is a necessity for the current world business structure, so anything that might threaten the Gross Domestic Product is not to be considered. Every resource on the planet, even air and water, is viewed as having innate value only insofar as it can be used by us. And the idea of simply coexisting in harmony with our environment is seen as foolishly romantic and naïve. We project our problems and waste most of our precious time and energy blaming and fighting “Them.” Humanity is in a state of collective hubris with an unjustifiably inflated notion of its own wisdom and importance. One of the billions of components of the system has, like a cancer, forgotten its proper role and become toxic to the wellbeing of the whole. I see the world view of Western Cartesian reductionism, described in Chapter 2, as playing a major role in this collective inflation. There’s nothing wrong with logical analysis, or objective observation, or attention to sensory information, or respecting the past. But when these ways of perceiving and judging are considered to be the only legitimate ways, we have a dangerously distorted view of reality—an inflated, immature view. Jung (1953/1966) pointed out that “mankind is, in essentials, psychologically still in a state of childhood” (para. 401). Now, we desperately need to grow up. As a species, we stand at a crossroads, both in terms of our survival and our psychological evolution. Psychological inertia always requires a catalyst—a crisis—to push us out of our comfortable status quo, no matter how dysfunctional that status quo may be. Global climate change may one day turn out to have been the catalyst for a significant step forward in the psychological evolution of our species. Wheatley and Kellner-Rogers (1996/1999) describe a similar situation: Two billion years ago, life faltered on the brink of extinction because of a dramatic rise in oxygen, a gas that was poisonous to the organisms that then existed. Oxygen wiped out these microbial organisms in catastrophic numbers. “In one of the greatest coups of all time,” write Margulis and Sagan, “the [blue-green] bacteria invented a metabolic system that required the very substance that had been a deadly poison.” These bacteria reacted to their changed environment and developed the process of using oxygen for respiration. They invented breathing as we know it. (p. 91) I’m not suggesting that we humans can physically change to thrive on breathing petrochemical exhaust, but I know that we have, already within us, the capacity for the needed psychological evolution. In typological terms, the challenge comes in two interrelated forms: the need to differentiate and integrate new ways of perceiving and judging into consciousness and the need to disempower the shadowy archetypal energies that are carried by our unconscious function-attitudes. “There is need of people knowing about their shadow, because there must be somebody who does not project” ( Jung, 1976, p.168). Mental frameworks are necessary for creating the working understandings of our reality that enable us to live our lives. But if we’re not aware of the frames we superimpose on our world, then rather than being helpful utilitarian constructs that we can use, as Hillman put it, they “have us.” George Lakoff (2004) writes: “Reframing is social change” (p. xv). Archetypes are our most fundamental, ingrained, and unconscious frames. But the more they are energized by fear, the more shadowy and potentially destructive they are. I believe that humankind currently collectively carries a burden of fear that is perhaps unprecedented in scale; and that this has led to rampant projection of shadow archetypes upon each other—particularly on cultural “Others.” As destructive as this surely is in the short term, it is even more dangerous in the longer term because it is a distraction from the real threat to our

survival: ourselves. Changing this must start with humility, the breakthrough revelation many people experience at their very first introduction to type—the realization that “my way” is not the only way, and in fact, is not even always the best way. With humility comes a withdrawal of projections. Jung (1958/1969) described the hypothetical person who succeeds in withdrawing all projections: “Such a man knows that whatever is wrong in the world is in himself, and if he only learns to deal with his own shadow he has done something real for the world” (para. 140). How do we support our natural desire to organize and the world’s natural desire to assist us? It begins with a change in our beliefs. We give up believing that we design the world into existence and instead take up roles in support of its flourishing. We work with what is available and encourage forms to come forth. We foster tinkering and discovery. We create connections. We nourish with information. (Wheatley & Kellner-Rogers, 1996/1999, p. 38) The same can be said of our psyche’s natural desire to assist us. I’m convinced that Jungian typology can indeed contribute to “saving the world.”But if the psychological roots of the problem lie in ego inflation and the projection of Shadow, then it is depth typology that is needed. Ego-oriented models don’t encompass the unconscious and archetypal elements of personality that have run amok. They can’t guide us in the individuation that’s desperately needed. Throughout this book, I’ve repeatedly returned to the same theme: To thrive, humans’ innate capacity for adaptation must be maximized; and individuation is the psychological key to fostering that flexibility and growth. The overwhelming evidence that largely irreversible global climate change is underway is there for anyone to see. (I refer interested readers to Bill McKibben’s Eaarth [sic], which presents a succinct, authoritative, and chilling summary.) The situation calls urgently for action. We can still make changes that will mitigate the impact and make it survivable. Despite the dire situation, I sincerely believe that we can create a new world where our children and grandchildren can lead lives that are more fulfilling and satisfying than the current paradigm promotes. We can adopt the goal of “optimizing instead of maximizing” our relationship to our ecosystem. “Instead of treating the web of life as a commodity,” we can learn to “respect it as the context of our existence” (Capra, 2002, pp. 239, 203). But to change how we see and respond to our world, we must stretch our capacity for seeing and responding. Many more people need to become a little more self-aware—to break out of their “box” of personality-related assumptions and shadow projections, so they can do what humans are capable of doing so well: adapt. And I believe that type and Jungian practitioners can make a significant contribution to this noble and urgent endeavor. You must go back and tell the people that this is the hour and there are things to be considered. Where are you living? What are you doing? What are your relationships? Are you in right relation? Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your truth. Create your community. Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for the leader. This could be a good time. There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. See who is there with you and celebrate. At this time in history we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt. The time of the lone wolf is over.

Gather yourselves! Banish the word “struggle” from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we have been waiting for. — “MESSAGE FROM HOPI ELDERS”

Conclusion The type question is one of the most vital for our psychology and … any further advance will probably be along those lines. — C. G. JUNG

I

n the first chapter of this book, I wrote that I feel that even type professionals who choose to limit the scope of their work to the ego side of personality—to focus on people’s developed, conscious “preferences”— and even those who choose to use simpler models, should familiarize themselves with Beebe’s model so that they can recognize when what’s going on with their clients is beyond the scope of such ego-oriented schemes. If we aren’t aware of what lies beyond our own particular field of expertise, we tend to see everything as fitting into our understanding of “how it works” and may, with the best intentions to help, give bad advice to clients and fail to recommend other resources when needed. Anyone who is in a position of coaching or counseling others needs to take the physician’s dictum to “do no harm” very seriously. This includes knowing enough about what lies beyond the limits of one’s own area of expertise to recognize when a client’s needs can’t be addressed within that scope. In addition, I and others have found the model to be invaluable for verifying true type, for unraveling unusual type development, and for teaching and using typology in general. Throughout this book, I have emphasized depth typology’s usefulness in understanding and promoting individuation; this is what makes it, in my opinion, a musthave tool for Jungian analysts as well. But perhaps the most compelling and exciting reason for embracing depth typology is that it provides such a rich resource for typological innovation. It is almost certainly going to be the basis of the future breakthrough insights and application improvements in all arenas where psychological type can be used. I feel confident in this prediction because I’ve already seen it happening and because of the three seachange enhancements that John Beebe has brought to the model, and which I have emphasized: (1) Whereas the functions and attitudes of type provide a theoretical framework for thinking and talking about personality, shifting the focus to the function-attitudes allows us to use a framework that describes the live, dynamic mental processes that are actually at work. (2) Rather than limiting type to the ego-syntonic side of personality, the model encompasses, for the first time, the whole personality, including even the collective unconscious. (3) Formerly a purely cognitive model, psychological type now also encompasses the emotion-related energies that drive us. Just a few generations ago, the best way available for capturing a person’s physical likeness was to commission a painted portrait by a skilled artist. Now, most of us have the ability to make audio-videos of ourselves and of one another at any time. I can’t imagine that the next advances in typology will be based on the “old technology” of type any more than that the next advances in imaging will be based on pigment-on-canvas technology. I hope to follow up this book with a series of practical applications guides in collaboration with subject-area experts. Each will fully explore how depth typology is being used in a specific field. My hope for this book is that it will aid and inspire you to experiment in your field with the enhanced model’s insights and innovations and to become one of the pioneers who helps bring typology to the next level and introduces its exciting insights to the world.

References Barfield, O. (1957/1988). Saving the appearances: A study in idolatry. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Beebe, J. (1992). Integrity in depth. College Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press. Beebe, J. (2002, Oct. 11-13). Archetypal complexes. Lecture conducted from Type Resources, Memphis, TN. Beebe, J. (2004). Understanding consciousness through the theory of psychological types. In Analytical psychology: Contemporary perspectives in Jungian analysis (pp. 83-115). Hove & New York: Brunner Routledge. Beebe, J. (2006). Psychological types. In R. Papadopoulos (Ed.), The handbook of analytical psychology, pp. 130152. London & New York: Brunner Routledge. Beebe, J. (2007, Oct.). Type and archetype. Australian psychological type review. Beebe, J. (2009, Sept.–2010, April). Portraits of personality [Webinar]. In Type Resources Webinar Series. Beebe, J. (2010, Aug. 4-7). The battle within. Lecture conducted from Type Resources, Berea, OH. Beebe, J. (2012, May 18-19). Winning the war within. Lecture conducted from Type Resources, Louisville, KY. Beebe, J. (2012, Nov. 12). Shame and the inferior function [Webinar]. In Type Resources Webinar Series. Beebe, J. (2014, Feb. 24). Type recognition [Webinar]. In Type Resources Webinar Series. Beebe, J. (2016). Energies and patterns in psychological type: The reservoir of consciousness. Manuscript submitted for publication. Berens, L. (1999). Dynamics of personality type. Huntington Beach, CA: Telos Publications. Buckingham, M. & Coffman, C. (1999). First, break all the rules. New York, NY: Simon & Schuster. Capra, F. (2002). The hidden connections. New York, NY: Doubleday. Chopra, D. (1993/2007). The essential ageless body, timeless mind. New York, NY: Harmony Books. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990/1991). Flow. New York, NY: Harper Perennial. Douglas, C. (1989, June). Christiana Morgan’s visions reconsidered: A look behind the Visions Seminars. San Francisco Jung Institute Library Journal, pp. 5-27. Dussault, R. (1996). Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Vol. II: Restructuring the relationship. Ottawa, ON: Government of Canada Publications. Edinger, E. (1972/1973). Ego and archetype. Baltimore, MD: Penguin Books. Giannini, J. (2004). Compass of the soul. Gainesville, FL: Center for Applications of Psychological Type, Inc. Greene, B. (2004). The fabric of the cosmos. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf. Greene, J. (2013). Moral tribes. New York, NY: The Penguin Press. Haas, L. & Hunziker, M. (2006). Building blocks of personality type. Charlotte, VT: Eltanin Publishing. Hammer, L. (1990). Dragon rises. Red bird flies. Barrytown, NY: Station Hill Press. Hartzler, G. & Hartzler, M. (2005). Functions of type. Huntington Beach, CA: Telos Publications. Hay, L. (1982/1984). Heal your body. Carlsbad, CA: Hay House. Heisenberg, W. (1972). Physics and beyond. (Arnold Pomerans Trans.) New York, NY: Harper Collins. Herring, M., & Roberts, M. (Eds.). (2002). Complementary and alternative medicine. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Hill, G. (1998). Men, the anima, and the feminine. San Francisco Jung Institute Library Journal, pp. 49-32. Hillman, J. (1971/1979). The feeling function. In Hillman, J. & von Franz, M-L., Lectures on Jung’s typology. Dallas, TX: Spring Publications. Hillman, J. (1975/1992). Re-visioning psychology. New York, NY: Harper Collins Publishers. Hillman, J. (1985). Anima. Dallas, TX: Spring Publications. Hofstadter, D. (2007). I am a strange loop. New York, NY: Basic Books. Hollis, J. (1994). Under Saturn’s shadow. Toronto, ON: Inner City Books. Hollis, J. (1996). Swamplands of the soul. Toronto, ON: Inner City Books. Hollis, J. (2011, May 6-7). Stories told, stories untold, stories that tell us. Lecture conducted from C. G. Jung Center for Studies in Analytical Psychology, Brunswick, ME. Hunt, V. (1989/1996). Infinite mind. Malibu, CA: Malibu Publishing Co. Jung, C. G. (1921/1971). Psychological types. (H. G. Baynes & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton

University Press. Jung, C. G. (1953/1966). Two essays on analytical psychology (2nd ed.). (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1953/1968). Psychology and alchemy (2nd ed.). (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1954). The development of personality. (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1954/1966). The practice of psychotherapy (2nd ed.). (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1956/1967). Symbols of transformation (2nd ed.). (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1957/1987). The Houston Films. In W. McGuire & R.F. C. Hull (eds.), C. G. Jung speaking (pp. 276352). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1958/1969). Psychology and religion: West and east (2nd ed.). (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1959, Oct. 22). Face to face [Interview]. ( John Freeman, Interviewer) BBC. Jung, C. G. (1959/1969a). The archetypes of the collective unconscious (2nd ed.). (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1959/1969b). Aion (2nd ed.). (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1960/1969). The structure and dynamics of the psyche. (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1961). Freud and psychoanalysis. (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1961/1963). Memories, dreams, reflections. (R. Winston & C. Winston, Trans.) New York, NY: Vintage Books. Jung, C. G. (1963/1970). Mysterium coniunctionis (2nd ed.). (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1964/1970). Civilization in transition (2nd ed.). (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1967). Alchemical studies. (G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1968). The Tavistock lectures. In G. Adler & R. F. C. Hull (Trans.), The symbolic life: Miscellaneous writings (pp. 5-184). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1976). C. G. Jung: Letters (Vol. 2: 1951-1961). G. Adler (ed.). (R. F. C. Hull, Trans.) Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G. (1989). Analytical psychology: Notes of the seminar given in 1925. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jung, C. G., von Franz, M-L, & Freeman, J. (1964). Man and his symbols. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Kreinheder, A. (1991). Body and soul. Toronto, CA: Inner City Books. Kuhn, T. (1962/1996). The structure of scientific revolutions. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Lakoff, G. (2004). Don’t think of an elephant! White River Jct., VT: Chelsea Green Publishing Company. Lao-tzu (1988). Tao te ching. (S. Mitchell, Trans.). New York, NY: Harper and Row. Lawrence, G. (1979/1993). People types & tiger stripes (3rd ed.). Kansas City, MO: The Covington Group. Linson, L. (Producer), & Newell, M. (Director). (1999). Pushing tin [Motion picture]. United States: 20th Century Fox. Lipton, B. (2005/2008). The biology of belief. Carlsbad, CA: Hay House. Lombardo, M. & Eichinger, R. (1996/2000). For your improvement. Minneapolis, MN: Lominger Limited. Maslow, A. H. (1943). A theory of human motivation. Psychological Review 50 (4) 370-396. Retrieved from http://psychclassics. yorku.ca/Maslow/motivation.htm McAlpine, R., Shumate, C., Evers, A., & Hughey, D. (2009). Function-Archetype Decoder [Computer software]. Available from Type Resources’ website: http://www.type-resources.com McKibben, B. (2010). Eaarth. New York, NY: Henry Holt and Company. Moore, B. & Fine, B. (1990). Cognition. In Psychoanalytic terms and concepts. Binghamton, NY: Vail-Ballou Press. Myers, I. (1998). Introduction to type®. Palo Alto, CA: Consulting Psychologists Press. Myers, I. & Myers, P. (1980/1995). Gifts differing. Palo Alto, CA: Davies-Black Publishing. Myers, I., McCaulley, M., Quenk, N., & Hammer, A. (1998). MBTI® Manual (3rd ed.). Palo Alto, CA: Consulting

Psychologists Press. Oppenheimer, R. (1956, March). Analogy in science. The American Psychologist, 134. Pert, C. (1997/1999). Molecules of emotion. New York, NY: Touchstone. Sapolsky, R. (1994/2004). Why zebras don’t get ulcers. New York, NY: Owl Books. Schaubhut, N. & Thompson, R. (2011a). Technical brief for the MBTI® Form M Assessment—Bahasa Indonesia. Retrieved from the CPP website: https://www.cpp.com/pdfs/Tech_Brief_MBTI_bahasaindonesia.pdf Schaubhut, N. & Thompson, R. (2011b). Technical brief for the MBTI® Form M Assessment—Arabic. Retrieved from the CPP website: https://www.cpp.com/pdfs/Tech_Brief_MBTI_Arabic.pdf Shapiro, D. (1997). Your body speaks your mind. Freedom, CA: The Crossing Press. Spoto, A. (1989/1995). Jung’s typology in perspective. Boston, MA: Chiron Publications. Stevenson, R. L. (1896). Familiar studies of men and books (13th ed.). Bensenville, IL: Lushena Books. Tarnas, R. (2006). Cosmos and psyche. New York, NY: Plume. Thompson, H. (1996). Jung’s function-attitudes explained. Watkinsville, GA: Wormhole Publishing. Thompson, H. (2010). The stress effect. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Thomson, L. (1998). Personality type: An owner’s manual. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. von Franz, M-L. (1970/1981). Puer aeternus. Salem, MA: Sigo Press. von Franz, M-L. (1974/1995). Shadow and evil in fairy tales. Boston, MA: Shambhala Publications. von Franz, M-L. (1975/1998). C. G. Jung: His myth in our time. (W. H. Kennedy, Trans.) Toronto, ON: Inner City Books. von Franz, M-L. (1971/1979). The inferior function. In Hillman, J. & von Franz, M-L., Lectures on Jung’s typology. Dallas, TX: Spring Publications. Wall, S. & Arden, H. (1990). Wisdomkeepers. Hillsboro, OR: Beyond Words Publishing. Wheatley, M. (1999). Leadership and the new science (2nd ed.). San Francisco, CA: Berrett-Koehler Publishers. Wheatley, M. & Kellner-Rogers, M. (1996/1999). A simpler way. San Francisco, CA: Berrett-Koehler Publishers. Whitmont, E. (1993). The alchemy of healing. Berkeley, CA: North Atlantic Books. Wilcox, D. (2011). The source field investigations. New York, NY: Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Woodman, M. (2004, July 23). Coming home to myself. Lecture conducted from Association for Psychological Type, Toronto, ON. Young-Eisendrath, P. (2010, November). Type, psychoanalysis & meditation. Personality Type in Depth. Retrieved from http://typeindepth.com/2010/11/personality-type-psychoanalysis-and-meditation/

About the Author

M

ark Hunziker is an internationally respected teacher, coach, consultant, and author. He is the founder of Wellness Resources of Vermont (www.vtwellness.net), through which he provides coaching and counseling services to individuals and training and human resource development assistance to businesses, government agencies, and nonprofits of all sizes. His innovative work in team building and personal development draws from the profound insights of Jungian Personality Type. Mark is co-author of the influential Building Blocks of Personality Type, coeditor of the on-line journal Personality Type in Depth (www.typeindepth.com), principal developer of the Integrated Problem-Solving™ training system, and has served as Health and Wellness Interest Area Consultant to the Association for Psychological Type International. He is a certified personality type Master Practitioner, has trained fellow type professionals, and presented before many business and professional organizations. Mark is quietly passionate about his family and friends, about good music of all kinds, local politics, experiencing the natural world, and the importance of depth typology.

Index A Adler, Alfred, 178 allopathic medicine, “Western” medicine, 292-295, 302 analytical psychology, depth psychology, Jungian psychology, 91-92 Anima/Animus, 107, 167, 168, 171, 175-183, 208-210, 256-257, 262, 289-290, 309-311 archetype(s) in depth typology, 105, 151, 162-190, 199-232, 244 in psychic dynamics, 57, 160-162, 188-190, 194-232, 337 nature of, 20, 90-91, 98, 151-159, 188-190 arms of interaction, 207, 211, 230, see also axes of type as within, so without, as above, so below, 34-37 attention, 42, 126-127, 162, 201, 257, 306 attitude(s), 60, 135-136 attraction, 265-268 auxiliary function-attitude, 59-60 axes of type, 200-218, 229-231

B balance, imbalance, 25-26, 40, 94-95, 166-169, 224, 247-248, 250, 296, see also compensation Barfield, Owen, 15 Beebe, John, 277 on individuation and type dynamics, 78-79, 118, 123, 178, 208, 250-251, 310-311 on the function-attitudes and archetypes, 101-102, 106, 135-139, 144-145, 163-164, 169-170, 178, 183, 185-188, 195, 200 on type differences, 212-213 Beebe model, see depth typology Berens, Linda, 54, 57, 131 boundaries, 25-26 Briggs, Katharine, 59, 61 Buckingham, Marcus, and Coffman, Curt, 173, 327-328

C Capra, Fritjof, 26, 33, 36, 39-40, 113, 339 Cartesian, 15, 24, 36, 327 Child, see Eternal Child Chopra, Deepak, 197 Chuang Tzu, 117 cognition, 194-199 collective unconscious, 20, 23, 40-41, 58, 93, 114-115, 158, 247 communication, 252, 270-271

intercellular, 26, 40, 296-298 compensation, 113, 118, 225-226, see also balance competencies, 326-327 complex(s), 66, 98, 158, 160 conflict functional orientation and, 216-219, 229-231, see also shadow types internal, 224-229, see also tension of opposites interpersonal, 212-224, 230-231, 268-270 conscious, consciousness, 3, 29-34, 40, 58, 76-83, 115, 116 as relates to type, 81, 83-84, 88-89, 103-104, 107, 247 cortex, prefrontal–, cerebral–, 78, 196 creativity, 288-291 Critical Parent, see Witch/Senex Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, 80 cultural type and gender bias, 275-276 and inter-cultural conflict, 277-283 and type development, 274-275 in the U. S., 85-86, 188, 281-283, 317

D Demon/Daimon, 100, 107, 167, 171, 187-188, 250 dependent origination, 36 depth typology, 63-72, 111, 129, 143-148, 151-152, 162-188, 247-248 and individuation, differentiation, type development, 43, 66-68, 122-127, 227-231 and the new sciences, 44 dynamics, 166-190, 199-232 in analytical psychology, 13, 250-254 in decision-making, 312-317 in type training, 235-245, 316-317, 331 in type verification, 237-239 scope and significance, 9-10, 43-44, 123, 129, 194-195, 199, 232, 237-242, 247, 341-342 dichotomy, 57, 133-134 judgment vs. perception, 59, 213-216, 243, 275 differentiation, 58, 81, 115, 119-120, 123-127, 133-134, 263 dysfunction, 8

E Edinger, Edward, 108, 113, 287 ego, 4, 23, 41, 78-85, 90, 108, 111, 116, 138-139, 149, 208, 249, 250, 259, 305-306, 327 ego-dystonic, 101-107, 165 ego strength, 176-177, 252-253, 256-257, 305-306 ego-syntonic, 103-107, 164-165, 216-218, 231, 246-247 eight function-attitude eight archetype model, see depth typology emotion, emotional intelligence, 194-199, 241 energy, energy field(s), 19, 39, 124-126, 151, 188-189, 198 Eternal Child, 107, 167, 168, 171, 174-175, 185, 211, 221, 227-229, 238, 260, 321-324 extraversion, 60, 135-136 extraverted feeling, Fe, 138, 141, 173-174, 211, 260, 315, 324 extraverted intuition, Ne, 138, 142, 147, 210, 269, 314, 323

extraverted sensation, Se, 138, 139, 140, 171, 182, 204-205, 210, 239, 262, 314, 323 extraverted thinking, Te, 138, 142, 202-203, 210, 314-315, 319, 324

F Father, 160, 202, see also Mother Feeling, 132, 133-135, 141, 176-177, 275-276 fractal(s), –mathematics, 34-35 Frey, Adam, 168, 176 function(s), 132-135 function-attitude(s), 12, 63-67, 81, 103-106, 123-126, 130-131, 136-150, 239, 243, 248-249, see also hierarchy of–

G Giannini, John, 61-62, 67, 70, 152, 158, 192, 195 Greene, Joshua, 278

H Haas, Leona, and Hunziker, Mark, 57, 131, 313 Hammer, Leon, 302 Hartzler, Gary, and Hartzler, Margaret, 122, 235 Hay, Louise, 308 health, healthcare, 292-295, 299, see also wellness Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 258 Heisenberg, Werner, 38 Hero/Heroine, 106, 158, 161, 167, 168, 171-173, 204-205 Herring, Mary, and Roberts, Molly, 293 hierarchy of function-attitude preferences, 68, 103-104, 143-148 and archetypal energies, 162-188 higher power, 37-38, 159, 188-190, see also spirituality Hillman, James, 22, 32, 66-67, 83, 159, 164 Hofstadter, Douglas, 41, 70 Hollis, James, 83, 103, 116-117, 120, 152, 309 Hunt, Valerie, 19, 188-189, 198, 288-289

I identity, 27, 29-34, 41, 86, see also ego individuality, 42, 93, 114, 263 individuation, 41-43, 113-115, 119-122, 247, 252-253, 263, 287, 288, 306, 329, see also type development inferior function-attitude, 60, 175-176, 178-183, 208-209, 277-278, 289-290, see also Anima inflation, 83, 84-85, 173, 249, 256, 258, 277, 335, see also rigidity, possession information, 26, 27, 296-297 integral membrane protein(s), IMP, 26 integrity, 180-181, 208-209 introversion, 12, 60, 136, 180 introverted feeling, Fi, 138, 141, 210, 315, 324

introverted intuition, Ni, 138, 142, 147, 210, 314, 319, 323-324 introverted sensation, Si, 138, 140, 204-205, 210, 260, 262, 269, 314, 323 introverted thinking, Ti, 138, 142-143, 147, 202-203, 210-211, 314, 324 Intuition, Intuiting, 132, 133-135, 142 irrational, see perception

J judgment, judging, 59-60, 132, 134-135, 213-216 Jung, C. G., 65, 53, 88, 106, 306-307, 334-335 on archetypes, 164, 175, 179, 184, 189, 195 on consciousness and unconsciousness, 12, 65, 76, 78-80, 89-100, 102, 248 on the dynamics of the psyche, 94, 97, 113-115, 118-120, 126, 166, 224, 250-251, 263 on relationships, 264, 267, 268, 279, 280 Jung, C. G (continued) on spirituality, religion, and the cosmos, 37-38, 284-287 on the structure of the psyche, 82, 86-87, 100, 107-109 on theories and models, 47-48, 50-51, 73-74 on the theory of psychological types, 55-59, 65-67, 70

K Keirsey, David, 54 Kellner-Rogers, Myron, see Wheatley Kreinheder, Albert, 159, 298, 299, 300-301, 309 Kuhn, Thomas, 45-46, 52-53

L Laing, R. D., 49 Lakoff, George, 70, 157, 186, 281-282, 337 Lawrence, Gordon, 313 leadership development, 325-332 learning styles and teaching, 318-321 libido, see energy limbic system, 196 Lipton, Bruce, 18-19, 26, 35, 40, 78, 80, 93, 95, 119, 156, 189, 294-295, 297, 298 Lombardo, Michael, and Eichinger, Robert, 326

M MacLean, Paul, 195-196 Maslow, Abraham, 329-330 McAlpine, Robert, 172, 203-204, 235 McKibben, Bill, 334, 338 model(s), 45-48 type models, 46-55, 241 Mother/Father, 98-99, 107, 167, 168, 171-174, 201-203, 211, 221, 321-322 Myers, Isabel Briggs, 60, 313, 321 personality type theory,

model, 59-63, 143-144, 192-193 Myers-Briggs Type Indicator®, MBTI®, 60, 242-243 false reporting, 11, 273-276

N neuropeptides, 26, 197 new science(s), 18-24, 39-40 Newtonian, see Cartesian

O objective, see extraversion objectivism, objectivity, 17-18, 20-24 observer effect, –bias, 22, 254 Oppenheimer, J. Robert, 38-39 Opposing Personality, 106, 167, 168, 171, 183-185, 204-205

P parenting, 321-324 participation, 303 perception, perceiving, 59-60, 132, 134-135, 213-216 persona, 86-89, 138, 179 personality, 74-76 personality type, 74-76, see also type theory, Myers Pert, Candace, 26-27, 195-197, 296-297, 302-303 possession, 161-162, 223-224, see also inflation preference, see hierarchy preferences model of personality type, 62-63, 240 projection, 97-100, 161-162, 181, 258-259, 268, 280, 337 psychological type, see personality type, Myers, Jung Puer/Puella, see Eternal Child

Q quantum, quantum theory, 15, 19-22, 51

R rational, see judgment reductionism, reductionist, 17, 20 relationship(s), 27, 264-270 rigidity, 116-120, 249, see also inflation Rilke, R. M., 114

S Sapolsky, Robert, 301, 310 Schrödinger’s Cat, 21-22 self, 4, 107-111, 118, 139, 149, 208, 259 self-awareness, 6-7, 76-77, 257 Senex, see Witch Sensation, Sensing, 132, 133-135, 139-140 shadow, 100-103, 106, 211-212, 280 shadow type(s), 218-219, 223, 231 Shamdasani, Sonu, 53 Shapiro, Debbie, 197, 294, 301 Shenandoah, Audrey, 36 soul, see Anima/Animus spine of integrity, 180-181, 207-211, 227, 230, 290-291, see also axes of type spirit, see Anima/Animus spirituality, 109-111, 120, 284-291 Spoto, Angelo, 39, 109-110 strange attractor(s), 82, 157-158 stress, 301-302 subjective, see introversion subjective bias, xxix-xxx, 5-6, 50 synchronicity, 37 system(s), 33, 39-40, 88, 119-120, 166, see also systems science systems science(s), –thinking, –theory, 20, 24-29, 157

T Tarnas, Richard, 17, 18, 23, 85-86, 152-153, 156, 160, 286 team(s), 331-332 tension of opposites, 58, 166-168, 208, 224-225, 229-230, 247 tertiary function-attitude, 60, 144-146 theory(ies), 45-52 Thinking, 132, 133-135, 142, 176-177, 275-276 Thompson, Henry (Dick), 56, 131, 301 Thomson, Lenore, 114, 276 Trickster, 107, 167, 168, 171, 186-187, 228-229 type development, 10, 68, 84, 87-89, 104-105, 120-126, 138-139, 174, 181-182, 198, 226-230 type theory, see model(s), theory(ies)

U unconscious, unconsciousness, 12, 29-34, 40, 64-65, 89-97, 98-99, 198-199, see also collective unconscious in typology, 103-104, 107, 120-122, 148-150 uncertainty principle, see quantum theory

V verification of type, 11-12, 142-143, 171, see also depth

typology von Franz, M-L., 45, 51, 91, 100, 117-118, 167, 179, 182, 277

W wellness, wellbeing, 295-307 Western world view, see Cartesian Wheatley, Margaret, 16, 27-28, 33, 36, 39, 88, 94, 166, 231, 247, 326, 331, 336-338 Whitmont, Edward, 19, 36, 85, 110, 305-306 Wilcox, David, 155-156 will, 85, 117, 308, see also individuality Witch/Senex, 106, 107, 167, 168, 171-172, 185-186, 199, 202-203, 227-228, 250, 260 Woodman, Marion, 299

Y Young-Eisendrath, Polly, 6

Z zig-zag analysis, 313