by Connie Zweig
For couples who do shadow-work to reduce conflict and deepen their relationships, we hold a particular attitude about ending relationships: Stay as long as possible, attempting to bring shadow issues into awareness. In the end, if the relationship terminates, you will know that you gave it your best effort. And you will feel that you honored your highest intentions, as well as romancing a bit more of your shadow.
REDEFINING SUCCESSFUL RELATIONSHIP: FROM SHADOW-BOXING TO SHADOW-DANCING
A conscious relationship does not breed complacency; it does not offer the security of a warm blanket. Instead, a relationship is a cauldron in which to cook the soul. Its aim is heat, not warmth; movement, not rest. The goal of a relationship, then, is not to make order or to sit back and relax in an idyllic paradise. Rather, it aims to share the mystery of evolution—and evoke evolution through confrontations with the shadow.
In this context, we would call any relationship successful that brings forth love, healing, and awareness, even if it ends after a few dates. If one partner identifies a new character and awakens to shadow awareness, he or she may not repeat an old pattern in the next round. And that new quality of consciousness may help to create a much more satisfying intimacy the next time. If one partner feels a deeper sense of authenticity, recovering buried parts or unrealized gifts, then healing has taken place. If one partner learns to see through a particular projection and view the Other with greater clarity, then both have a better chance of knowing what they want in the next relationship.
As two partners make the transition from noncommittal, experimental dating to the safe enclosure of the eggshell, the projection takes hold. They make agreements and maintain relationship rules that permit them to feel more safety and intimacy. But eventually the shadow erupts and they face a crisis of commitment. Romancing the shadow, they may move into the chicken yard, experiencing more intimacy and independence. Continuing to do shadow-work at times of conflict, eventually they may move from shadow-boxing to shadow-dancing, the topic of the next chapter. To make this transition, each partner will want to remember the needs of the soul, which offers depth and a connection to the sacred dimension. If we can learn to differentiate between the needs of ego, shadow, and soul, we will have a key to a deeply rewarding life of intimate partnership.
In the opening myth, Psyche vowed to Eros to make love with him in the dark. But her curiosity took hold of her and she lit a candle in their bedchamber, illuminating the god in all his splendor. Betrayed, Eros fled, the love bond fractured.
On one level, Psyche did not have the faith to keep her agreement to remain in the dark. When she broke it, the relationship ended. But on another level, Psyche, whose name means soul, refused to remain in the garden of the unconscious. Like Eve, she chose knowledge and sacrificed the innocence of the original relationship, enabling it to become something more. This act set Psyche on her own path of consciousness; she underwent difficult trials, including a journey to the underworld, until she was reunited with her Beloved once more in a deeper bond, which is the topic of the next chapter.
CHAPTER 6
SHADOW-DANCING TILL DEATH DO US PART
A man and a woman sit near each other,
and they do not long
at the moment to be older, or younger,
nor born in any other nation, or time, or place.
They are content to be where they are,
talking or not talking.
Their breaths together feed someone whom,
we do not know.
The man sees the way his fingers move;
he sees her hands close around a book she hands to him.
They obey a third body that they share in common.
They have made a promise to love that body.
Age may come, parting may come,
death will come.
A man and a woman sit near each other;
as they breathe they feed someone we do not know,
someone we know of, whom we have never seen.
—ROBERT BLY
Relationship is a myth for our times. The quest for the ideal relationship has taken on legendary proportions, like the quest for the Holy Grail. We pay homage to relationship as our ancestors paid homage to the gods. Its story line grips us with hope and devastation in ubiquitous newspaper headlines, romantic novels, and movie plots. We long to fathom the ineffable mystery of relationship, to understand what makes it work, and to avoid what makes it fail.
If we don’t have a primary relationship, we live haunted with self-doubt, questioning whether we are capable of intimacy and commitment, even questioning the value of life without it. We yearn for the sacred marriage, the union of souls that will endure the passage of time. We long for a partner who offers a shady oasis in a hot, dry world; a mate who provides a refuge of acceptance and understanding. We dream about the sweetness of love and speak constantly to friends about the urgency of the quest: how to find a relationship, how to change ourselves in order to attract the right person, how to keep that person interested in us, how to make it last for the long term.
Certainly, the isolation and fragmentation of social life in the Western world spur this search. Our general estrangement from others forces us to seek one with whom we can find intimate companionship. But beneath these untenable social conditions and the widespread fantasy of partnership as solution lies something more: an unconscious image that drives us because the archetype of marriage lies at the center of the image. And it compels us to follow it; it compels us to desire it.
If we have a relationship, we may be fortunate enough to feel moments of fulfillment in deep resonance with another human soul. But we also may long for more intimacy, more depth; conversely, we may long for more separateness, more time alone. For to be in a committed relationship is to hold the tension of opposites: the secret yearning for engulfment, the secret dread of entrapment; the fantasy of being rescued, the ongoing debt to the rescuer; the aliveness of creative partnership, the deadness of meaningless routine. And, of course, a marriage as a psychological relationship includes the sacred union of masculine and feminine in each of us.
Jungian analyst Murray Stein has suggested that by joining opposites, a relationship points toward the spiritual possibility of wholeness. According to Jung, the Self is the inner principle of direction and orientation toward meaning, which is awakened through holding opposites. So, Stein reasons, relationship today has taken on mythic proportions because it promises wholeness and symbolizes the Self.
Paradoxically, although relationship is our myth, we have no myth of relationship. That is, the old myths of romantic partnership reflect archaic patterns of human consciousness that do not match our current political, psychological, and spiritual development. Instead of helping us to form more conscious alliances with shared opportunity and shared responsibility, today’s archetypal images can become shadow characters that sabotage our more innovative efforts to bond.
For example, if we turn to the Greeks, we find no stories of two partners who mutually contribute to the welfare and creativity of a family and who have the skills to resolve conflict and deepen their intimacy. Instead, we see marriage evolving out of the early goddess cultures into the patriarchal pattern of Zeus and Hera. Today, some contemporary women who choose the traditional role of full-time wife, like Hera, project the fulfillment of their desires onto their heroic husbands. If they stifle their own self-expression, they may grow resentful, depressed, or ill. Only a few women, such as those in traditional religious subcultures, find the narrow path of fulfillment in living out the Hera pattern today. Rejected by feminists who belittle her dependency and idealized by fundamentalists who overvalue her traditional ways, the character of Hera has difficulty finding an appropriate place at the table today. Yet she still reigns in the shadow of many women and may appear abruptly as a wild jealousy or keen possessiveness.
Like Zeus, some traditional men today, such as the Christian group the Promise Keepers, continue to fantasize a kinglike ru
ling power in the household, making decrees rather than joint decisions with their partners. Terrified of the epidemic breakdown of the nuclear family, they long for the old image of patriarchal stability, so they unknowingly pay homage to the archetypal king, husband, and father and thereby vanquish their own vulnerability into shadow. However, reports.from men in power seem to indicate that, despite appearances, they often feel powerless internally. Although a Zeus persona sits on the throne of power, the soul of a man who is highly influenced by him may feel alone, isolated, and bereft.
Alternatively, a matriarchal family pattern centers around the maternal instinct for family and children. In millions of single-parent families today, in which the mother is both provider and caretaker, the children may have little contact with their own fathers. We can detect this pattern in the myth of Demeter, whose life revolves around her daughter Persephone, who has little exposure to men until she is abducted by Hades.
In addition, the early legends of the heroes no longer serve us in these postpatriarchal times, when male hegemony has given way to diversity, In these countless tales, a young male full of bravado makes a perilous journey, which typically includes a descent to darkness, and slays a terrible shadow-monster, winning a damsel as his prize. Interpreted psychologically, the hero slays the monster-Other within; the ego vanquishes the shadow but does not stop to recognize it as a dark brother, so the deeper initiation does not take place.
The shadow side of the hero’s journey is now coming into awareness: Many men suffer with the emotional and financial burdens of heroic expectations. In attempting to heal, they are exploring new forms of masculinity that are both strong and nurturing, independent and emotionally related to women, productive and connected to soul. Many women have pointed out the violence and power-shadow that are inherent in this heroic vision, which have been enacted via domination over women and the environment. A heroine’s journey would not simply replace the protagonist with a woman but might tell a different story altogether.
This chapter calls into question these archaic images of male-female relationship that go unnoticed but unconsciously rule over us like powerful gods. With the death of these myths comes the death of romance—and the birth of conscious relationship or shadow-dancing, the central theme of this chapter. We hope to renew the purpose of committed love by setting it in the developmental context of shadow-work.
The shadow challenges our longing for simple answers. Therefore, in this chapter, we do not present a simple how-to formula for happy marriages or a therapist’s simple diagnosis of unhappy ones. As Albert Einstein reportedly said, “Everything should be as simple as it can be, but not simpler.” So we explore the innate human wish for lasting love—and its seeming impossibility, often due to the emergence of painfully difficult shadow feelings and behaviors and our inability to form conscious relationships with them as characters at the table.
Thus far, Chapter 1 addressed issues of the personal shadow and authenticity—that is, taking responsibility for the Self by doing internal work. Chapter 2 examined the formation of shadow in family patterns and explored how to create more authenticity among family members. Chapter 3 looked at the effects of betrayal by parents, resulting in four parent-child shadow patterns. Chapter 4 looked at the influence of parent-child patterns during dating, when the shadow turns our partners into parents or ideal images of gods. Chapter 5 examined more closely the process of projection during romance, whereby shadow and soul are attributed to the other person and suggested how to take responsibility for these projections in order to separate Self from Other. Chapter 6 raises the octave of responsibility to another level: We suggest that, as Robert Bly describes in his poem, a Third Body emerges in a conscious intimate relationship that becomes the container in which love grows. We call this the soul of the relationship. It is this larger force that we can choose to honor and cherish in the best of times and the worst of times.
THE THIRD BODY: THE SOUL OF THE RELATIONSHIP
During dating and romance, two individuals meet and a chemical reaction occurs in which their missing parts overlap and their internal characters begin to shadow-box with each other. Fairly quickly, the persona of the couple develops. Jungian analyst Murray Stein calls this the uniform of adulthood. The partners may present themselves to others as two independent, unconventional individuals with separate interests and groups of friends, or as a united front with a traditional lifestyle and shared values. They may appear to be distant from one another or constantly clinging; they may seem relaxed and open or extremely private and exclusive.
Whatever the persona, the shadow of the couple remains hidden: their apparent compatibility may disguise conflicting values or even domestic violence. Their bon vivant lifestyle may camouflage near-bankruptcy. Their puritanical religious doctrines may belie split-off shadows that act out in sexual affairs or perversions. At a more subtle level, they may agree, perhaps implicitly, that they cannot be vulnerable, angry, or depressed with one another, thereby sacrificing authenticity for the status quo. For most people, this is the foreground or personal field in which relationships take place.
But at a background level, we propose that there is a transpersonal field that contributes to bringing two people together, thereby shaping their fate. From this perspective, the relationship is larger than they are, transcending their individual egos and shadows, perhaps acting like an invisible glue that holds them together. We call this the soul of the relationship or the Third Body.
As shadow-boxing with the Other gradually turns into shadow-dancing with the Beloved, authenticity between the partners deepens and they feel a palpable sense of safety and comfort. Some people might imagine this felt sense as a big, fluffy cushion on which to relax or a pliable container in which the relationship can grow. We have found that at this stage many couples become conscious of the presence of a Third Body—a new entity that is greater than the two separate individuals. With its emergence, the partners feel yet greater trust and can risk yet more vulnerability and authenticity, for they are bound together as if in a joint soul.
People have an intuitive sense of the Third Body and its containing function in their lives together. For each couple, it has a unique texture and flavor. It may feel sweet, soothing, warm, and loosely knit. Or it may feel cool and shady, like a protective covering. Couples know when the Third Body is nurtured because it feels like a positive vibration or loving air between them that hums quietly. And they know when it is wounded because it feels like a wrenching tear in the fabric of their love.
This field that is the Third Body knits together the various dimensions of our lives; it holds our egos, shadows, souls, and the larger world together in a common story. It contains the personal, interpersonal, and archetypal realms.
The care and feeding of the Third Body is an ongoing part of maintaining a conscious relationship. Like a plant, it is alive and responds to the correct amount of water, air, and light. If we take it for granted or attend to it only when a problem arises, it may become dehydrated and wither. In its weakened state, it cannot tolerate more stress. But if we nurture it and maintain its delicate equilibrium, it grows strong and supports the life of the relationship.
We suggest that, when the shadow erupts and we feel betrayed, instead of stepping onto the roller coaster of blame or caretaking each other like parents and children, we now have another option: to honor and nurture this larger field that is the relationship. In this way, as Robert Bly puts it in his poem, we make a promise to love that body, to feed someone whose presence we feel but cannot see.
For Stewart and Susan, the care and feeding of the Third Body became a key to deepening their sense of safety and intimacy. Stewart’s father had avoided intimacy in his marriage by engaging in a series of affairs. Stewart also feared losing his identity in his relationship with Susan, so he carried on the family sin by frequently flirting and acting seductive with other women. During the stages of dating and romance with Susan, he made excuses for his behavior. Bu
t after their marriage, it wounded her deeply.
One evening, at a summer party, an attractive woman approached Stewart and asked him to dance. Having done shadow-work, Stewart became aware of a shadowy rebellious character that often feels an impulse to do something forbidden. This character in turn triggers another that feels guilty for abandoning Susan and resentful for feeling controlled. Stewart reported that his guilt arose simultaneously with his attraction to dancing with the stranger.
Stewart’s actions with other women are shaped in part by the degree to which he values or devalues his own commitment to the Third Body. When he flirts with strangers, he is not attending to his relationship with Susan in the here and now; he’s time traveling, reliving his parental complex by repeating his father’s pattern and acting out his dependency and anger with his mother. Then he feels terribly guilty, which he believes stems from upsetting Susan but is in fact his passive-aggressive way of attacking her. So he ends up feeling like a bad person and resents her for “making him” feel that way. This feeling is a signal that he’s turning his partner into a parent.
On the other hand, he says, if he rejects the other woman’s offer, he will feel weak, as if he needs his mother’s permission to dance. With this deepening awareness, Stewart is making conscious those parental complexes that shape his behavior. And he is beginning to romance the shadow projections that emerge from them, which opens the door to healing family sins.
In addition, he frequently projects the responsibility for the bond onto his partner. If he dances with the other woman as a rebellious act, this character creates his own guilt. If he refuses to dance out of self-sacrifice for Susan, this character will be caught in a parental complex. But if instead he chooses not to dance out of his own free will in order to honor the relationship with Susan, he will be making a long-term investment in their joint account.
