Healing Masculine | Healing Feminine

This essay is featured on Episode 3 of the MeadowSong Podcast. You can listen on this page, the MeadowSong Podcast website, or most major podcast platforms.

This past summer, my wife gave birth to our second son. Just a few months earlier, I had begun working with a Jungian analyst to address some personal goals and challenges that had been rising up in my life. Through that work, themes of masculinity and femininity became a point of focus in my personal development. In particular, it became apparent that I was looking for greater access to the aspects and energies of the Father and King archetypes, as I was desiring to be a source of greater order and blessing for my family, in my place of work, and in the realm of my own personal creativity.

The Father and the King are, of course, traditionally considered to be masculine figures. In meditating on these archetypes, the ambivalent feelings I have had about masculinity throughout my life, and the current state of masculinity in our culture, I came to wonder how I might be a positive model of what it is to be a man in the here-and-now - not one who reinforces oppressive patriarchal patterns and structures, but rather someone who, in alignment with higher truths, might serve as an encouraging, empowering presence in the lives of those around us. 

Had I been asked that question five years ago, my answer would have amounted to something like, Be as feminine as possible. As a cisgender male who grew up in a very feminism-conscious home, I understood sexism from an early age. My parents showed us the movie 9 to 5; we were made aware of the way women were portrayed as sexual objects in the media; and there was an overt disinterest (and in many cases disapproval or even contempt) for what was seen as hyper-macho entertainment like football, boxing, and professional wrestling. 

At some point, I made a subconscious promise to myself not to be that kind of man in any way whatsoever. And that went pretty well for the most part. I’ve always been known as a kind and sensitive person who cared about relationships and the feelings of others. But there were troubles, too. For example, not wanting to objectify women, I had an ambivalent and often disconnect relationship with sexuality and desire. When I was younger and would get angry, I did not know how to channel those feelings into constructive action. Thinking I needed to get rid of these dangerous tendencies, I suppressed them as best I could; but of course, they found other ways of creeping out of the dark corners into which I had shoved them. In my twenties, the White Knight identity that I had consciously taken on was constantly undermined by the way in which I would passive-aggressively criticize my romantic partner. All the while, I felt a growing sense of impotence when it came to taking real action towards my truest and inner-most goals and desires. In other words, I was lacking the assertive energy (traditionally associated with masculine archetypes) needed to make things happen in my life. So as not to embody what is referred to today as toxic masculinity, I had exiled even the positive aspects of the masculine from consciousness, only to have the more shadowy aspects sneak through in covert ways.

Part of the issue was that I had only a minimal framework for understanding masculinity and femininity as archetypal energies. I’d argue that this is the case for all of us when we are young. Before we can develop this framework, we simply feel archetypes on a subconscious level, and we attach them to the characters in our lives. We see our parents, the gods, the heros, and the movie stars, and we say, There! That’s what it means to be a man or a woman… a mother, a boss, a lover. This process of reduction is natural and necessary when we are in the earlier stages of our psychological and spiritual development, but if our awareness of the archetypal realm never develops past that state, then we easily conflate archetypal energy with stereotypical gender identity. These stereotypes are wounding to us all, regardless of gender, and they are evident in expressions like, “Real men don’t cry,” and, “you hit like a girl.” In my personal case, I did not identify with what I thought it meant to be a man in society, and thereby lost access to masculine energy in general.

Many great teachers who work with archetypes attempt to clear up the confusion between gender identity and the archetypal masculine and feminine by using different words for these complimentary energies: yin and yang, active and receptive, solar and lunar, and so on. We might even see society’s movement towards understanding gender identity as fluid and nuanced (rather than as a fixed duality) as an encouraging sign that we are also ready to see the relationship between masculine and feminine archetypes in the same way: as a spectrum.

When we recognize the yin-and-yang duality as a spectrum, we see that, when one side is out of balance, the other side must be as well; healing one means healing both, because truly they are one. Furthermore, we see the truth in what has been said by depth psychology as well as the old mystics: that we each have an inner masculine and an inner feminine, and that wholeness comes from our willingness to embrace the full spectrum of expression of these energies.

When I work to recall a story that centers on the healing of the masculine and/or feminine, I can’t help but think of the much-celebrated artifact of recent pop culture we have in Disney’s 2016 animated film, Moana. In this movie, we have a rich depiction of the healing of the archetypal feminine. Those on the Disney creative team are aware of the role and responsibility they have as makers of modern mythology, and there is so much I love about this film. But before we look at the story, I should say that there has been quite a bit of legitimate criticism of how the movie depicts Polynesian culture. It falls outside of the scope of this episode to consider whether or not the film is a case of cultural colonization; but I will say that, as a composer who has worked in collaboration with culture-bearers to recontextualize indigenous musics for a Western audience, I can appreciate Disney’s efforts while also honoring the disappointment and feelings of violation experienced by Polynesian and Hawaiian viewers of the film. One way or the other, it is important to acknowledge from the start that, while the movie incorporates many elements of Polynesian culture and mythology, it is in no way an accurate depiction of them. I would only hope that, though the movie lacks in accuracy, it might inspire Westerners to look further into Polynesian culture on their own. If you’d like to read more about the concerns about how Moana depicts Polynesian culture, you can click the link in the show notes that will take you to a very well-written and easy-to-read article by a Smithsonian scholar.

The tale is, quite through and through, an archetypal hero’s journey… or, I should say, a heroine’s journey. Moana is the daughter of the chief of a Polynesian island village. She is destined to become her father successor, and while she feels an inner call to explore the world beyond the watery horizon, she knows that to do so would mean breaking her father’s rule against risking the dangers of the open ocean, as well as leaving the people of her village to whom she feels obligated as their future leader.

It just so happens that the bounties of the island are beginning to show signs of strain, and it looks as though it will not be able to support the village for much longer. The ocean itself has chosen Moana to return the Heart of Te Fiti – a divine amulet taken from the Great Mother Goddess by the demigod Maui – to its rightful place on a faraway island. And so she leaves her family’s village under cover of night to collect Maui off the island where he had been exiled and complete her quest, facing multiple perils along the way, most notably Te Kā, the volcanic monster who turns out to be none other the broken-hearted Te Fiti.

There is much to be said about the ways in which this story captures the Zeitgeist of the moment in which it was created, most of which deal with expressions of the feminine: gender roles, environmental sustainability, and the importance of emotional intelligence, to name a few. Even the concept of wayfinding suggests something of the Receptive principle when contrasted with the Western imperial sea exploration of the latter half of the second millennium CE.

The dynamic in the film which I most want to highlight, however, is the relationship between the Island Mother Goddess, Te Fiti; the Volcano Monster, Te Kā; and the withering island where Moana’s home village is located. In these three “characters” (I’m calling the island a character for the sake of this illustration), we have the three components of the triangular structure of an archetype, as described by Jungian psychologist, Robert Moore. Archetypes, of course, are bivalent, having a light and a shadow side. Moore suggests that the shadow is bipolar, with an overactive and an underactive pole. His description of the King archetype, for example, is made up of the Good King in His Fullness, the Tyrant, and the Weakling. In Moana, we have the feminine Mother-Queen-Goddess parallel: Te Fiti as the Good Mother, Te Kā as the Devouring Mother, and the dying island as the Withering Mother, unable to go on supporting life with her abundant nurturance.

To be clear, these characters are inventions of the Disney writers and not taken directly from Polynesian mythology (although, in some cases, there are loose connections between the two). That said, we might take them as a useful illustration of the structure of archetypal energy. The three are really one. When an archetype is present in our life, all three aspects of that archetype’s energy are always present. For instance, when I began my work with the Jungian Analyst and started inviting more Kingly energy into my life, I saw the difference in the areas of my life I had mentioned before. My son, for example, seemed to be calmer and more connected to our family in subtle ways as I offered him more structure and loving awareness. Simultaneously, when he was not responding in ways in which I wanted him to, I also felt the urge to control his behavior far more than I was accustomed to feeling prior to my intentional evocation of the King.

So, what determines what aspect of an archetype comes through us into our outer life and relationships? Consciousness.

Moana’s mission to save her village (which, of course, was both the answer to her desire for adventure as well as her obligation to serve as a leader) all hinged upon her ability to return the heart of Te Fiti; and in the climactic scene of the film, Moana (who has deduced that Te Kā is actually Te Fiti… Te Fiti without her heart) walks through a Moses-like parting of the ocean towards the fiery Te Kā who, in turn, rages towards her. Moana’s courage and willingness to face Te Kā has a calming effect on the monster, giving Moana the chance to return the heart, and we watch as the cinder and ash of the volcano creature fall away to reveal Te Fiti, the beautiful, lush, green Island Mother.

The heart is, of course, a symbol of compassion; and it is compassion, of course, (and curiosity!) that allows us to face our own shadow. Suddenly, when we face the shadow of an archetype – in other words, when we bring it into consciousness – we can exercise discernment regarding that aspect of the archetype’s energy. In this way, we see that the shadow is not all bad, but rather simply that which is acting through us in an unconscious fashion, usually because we don’t want to look at it due to a learned distaste for that form of energetic expression (like how I felt about masculine assertiveness as a boy). When we bring consciousness to the shadow, we can decide if, when, and how that shadowy energy might actually be useful and adaptive in a given situation. We know that volcanoes help to form the conditions for island life to flourish; and likewise, volcanic energy in a person psychological life, rather than being indiscriminately destructive, can bring about powerful change if channeled in the right way.

The writers of Moana also honor the idea that healing the feminine also means healing the masculine; the image they give for this is not so grand as the transformation of Te Kā, but it is not insignificant. One of the critiques that scholars and culture-bearers have of the movie is the depiction of Maui. Indigenous artwork often depicts the demigod as a clever young man with a slight build and his hair in a top knot… a far cry from the hulking figure with wild, flowing hair we see in the movie. My fantasy about this artistic choice made by the film’s creators is that they wanted Maui to appear hypermacho, as I imagine he is meant to represent Western patriarchy. At the beginning of the film, he comes across as arrogant, self-promoting, and self-interested, dismissing Moana as a “princess” and a “little girl.” Indeed, the core conflict of the film’s storyline is put into motion when Maui takes the heart of Te Fiti under the hubristic premises that humans could and should have the power of Creation, so much so that it should be taken from the Mother Goddess. What could be read as a parallel to the Greek’s Prometheus (which we do see in the actual myths of Maui), or perhaps even an allegory for spiritual alchemy, when presented in the film has more of a hint of the capitalistic obsession with industrial progress. 

However, throughout the movie, we see Disney’s Maui slowly show more and more vulnerability and selflessness; and in the end, he admits he was wrong for stealing the Heart of Te Fiti and apologizes. When he does this, the source of his magical powers (his potency), which is, of course, his fishhook, is then returned to him.

While I really love the symbolism of these images, I will offer one more criticism of the movie that, I think, helps to illuminate the lens through which the Western eye sees all that we’ve discussed here. The myth of Maui involves a female figure, Hina, who is his companion and who, together with Maui, symbolizes balance and harmony. It seems to me that balance and   harmony are foundational principles within the Polynesian symbol system, with complimentary symbols for light and dark; masculine and feminine; earth and sky; and fire and water all featured prominently in the mythology. In contrast, with its monotheistic, patriarchal framework, the Western Judeo-Christian system is built more upon the concept of good versus evil, with victory (rather than balance) being the prime objective. On a cosmological level, this paradigm, or course, has its place (perhaps as the counterbalance to the Eastern paradigm). But it seems fitting (albeit ironic, perhaps) that a Westernized story that clearly depicts the healing of the feminine should make use of cultural tradition that has at its core the principle of balance between the opposites, and then altogether omit the feminine figure who helps create that sense of balance.

I’ll end by saying that evoking Kingly energy didn’t make me any less sensitive or nurturing; as I endeavored to express at the start of this episode, these qualities are pretty central to who I am. Rather, bringing the archetype of the King into my life brought a greater sense of balance to who I see myself to be. When we see the masculine and feminine – in their entirety, shadow and all – as simply being two ends of the same continuum, the hope is that we might gain greater access to the full spectrum of their energetic expression, and therefore experience greater wholeness in our relationships with one another and with ourselves.

NOTES

Critique of the depiction of Polynesian culture in Moana: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/how-story-moana-and-maui-holds-against-cultural-truths-180961258/

Robert Moore and Archetypes: https://robertmoore-phd.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=page.display&page_id=33