From a psychological perspective, what does the shadow symbolize?
Good Morning, Wayne. To begin with, thank you for asking me such a deep question. In fact, there is so much that could be said that I’m not sure where to start. My first thought? One of my favorite Buddhist sayings comes to mind; “That which you resist, persists.” The more you try to not be something you dislike, the more you feel compelled to become it.
As seen from a psychological perspective then, the shadow refers to the “you,” you wish to deny, disown, and never let see the light of day. We all have these alternate personas, the parts of our personalities we feel sure would make the world see us as monsters or unlovable. For example, take that modern bullshit diagnosis referred to as “Imposter Syndrome.” In most cases, rather than help us, this DX puts this fear into our heads. Then the more we try not to think about it, the more we secretly fear we’re pretending to be someone we’re not.
Ironically this unwanted belief then undermines our confidence, making us act like that incompetent person we fear we are. A better perspective? Embrace our flaws and talents and learn to love our humanness.
Of course, like most people, I find doing this is easier said than done.
As for the shadow as a symbol, for most folks, Jung’s writings come to mind. Here I have to admit, while Jung’s ideas have inspired a deep interest in Eastern philosophical writings, trying to make sense of his professional writings has mostly left me flat (and at times, shouting, WTF, stop talking in tongues!). At the same time, reading his preface to his friend, Richard Wilhelm’s, translation of I Ching is my favorite of all Jung’s writings. Clear. Personally honest. Revealing. Human. And most of all, Jung honoring his shadow side, offering his truth, naked, unvarnished, and free from any obfuscating “professional” symbols.
Am I saying using psychological symbols is wrong? In a way, I am. Psychology is best served in a form which, as Ernst Rutherford said, “can be taught to the bar maid.” After all, psychology’s main goal is to teach us to better know ourselves. And to do this, we so need this kind of plain-spoken truth.
Now in the service of trying to follow my own admittedly lofty advice, I offer the following excerpt from one of my earlier books, a bit of little-known lore about the origin of that well-known symbol.
Imagine you are a monk living in southern China some two plus thousand years ago. In the center of your monastery is a courtyard, and in the center of this courtyard is a large white, circular stone patio with a 4” hole in the center. In this hole stands an 8 foot high pole, and each day you place a stone on this patio to mark the midday sun’s shadow as it gets blocked by this pole. Of course, some days would be cloudy or overcast. Thus on those days, there would be no measurable shadow. More times than not though, there would be one. And because the position of the sun changes over the course of the year, by placing stones on this patio, a shadow shape would gradually emerge.
What would you see if you were to do this? If you lived anywhere near 23° northern latitude, you would see the origin of the Tao symbol—a circle which contains an unmarked white yang on left, and a shadowy black yin on the right.
What does this drawing have to teach us? To show you, I’m going to ask you to picture a large glass sphere. Now imagine holding this sphere in your hands and inside it, there are two colored smokes, one black and one white. Now imagine these two smokes are flowing toward each other, the white smoke chasing the black, and the black smoke chasing the white. Moreover, while it seems they each keep turning into the other, neither grows smaller in size.
Were you able to picture this? If so, did you feel anything? To be honest, it’s hard to do. If you stay with it though, you’ll begin to feel things, including that you’ll feel drawn into what you see. This happens because whenever we picture movement, our mind and body connect. In effect, our two sources of feelings temporarily function as two end points on a continuum. This causes us to momentarily lose touch with the duality which permeates our world, including that we cease to feel separate from what we’re picturing. And when this happens, we can literally feel like we have stepped into the scene.
Realize this change in our sense of self is the essence of all genuine spiritual experiences. Here you lose your sense of separateness and merge into what you see. This is also why some spiritual practices call this state “selflessness,” and why philosophers call the state wherein two complementary opposites merge, a unity.
My point?
We become our true selves only to the degree to which we embrace both the white and the black. Or as the ancient Chinese peoples referred to them, as both “the sun side of the mountain (the yang) and the shadow side (the yin).
Once more, thank you, Wayne.