Jung and the PhD: On Being Immersed and Emerging
Cécile Rozuel
To a large extent, the three to four years spent doing a PhD are an immersive experience by themselves. When the boldly enthusiastic new researcher I was back then stepped into what would become my research office for the coming years, I was emphatically impressed by the studious atmosphere that reigned in the room. This was it, and here the ‘magic’ of inspiration and hard work would happen and produce a thesis. Yet, although I let the excitement and pride of the future achievement fill me in, a certain anxiety kept bugging me, reminding me that the path towards the completion of an awardable thesis ought not to be so straightforward. But the first few weeks didn’t seem the best time to fall into introspection, and after all, I liked challenges – that’s why I went in for a PhD in the first place.
I started to explore the fields of literature that were supposed to inform my research and help me define my research question. Those phrases I had been welcomed with kept crossing my mind – ‘significant contribution to knowledge’, ‘expert in your own field’ – strange how some sentences can be stimulating and upsetting at the same time. But at that stage, I tried to ignore the pressure and instead focused on learning as much as I could about the literature and the threads of research that seemed promising. I scanned a lot of Business Ethics books and journal articles, and touched a few other disciplines, from philosophy to behavioural studies, some which were estranged to me, some of which I simply did not understand – but none of them made me feel passionate. So I began to feel anxious, and what I wrote at that time is a collection of summaries with no trace of a sound, articulated argument. From a dare-daring child who first discovers the ocean and runs to plunge into the sea, I had become a desperate swimmer who’s afraid of drowning and can’t seem to reach the safety of the shore.
I spent the first part of my second year wondering if I’d ever find the way out of the PhD – even considering that maybe the best way out of the PhD was to leave without the PhD. Yet, isn’t it silly to quit just because I didn’t seem to locate the finish line and thus figure out my itinerary to reach it? So it is, I thought, and I then started to reconsider my strategy. I was looking for something that would make sense to me, stir up my curiosity and constitute a manageable and interesting topic on which to write my thesis. No problem. So far, I had proceeded in a fairly logical way, starting up with my supervisors’ suggestions and expanding by cross-referencing my readings. Since this didn’t seem to get me where I was due to be, I decided to adopt a more spontaneous approach. In fact, I listed the basic questions I wanted to enquire about, and I tried to feel them instead of just thinking about them. Okay, you can’t literally ‘feel’ questions; what I mean is that I tried to perceive what it evoked for me personally, and to let my emotional response add substance to my purely intellectual reflections. This was a time when my brain was the locus of many internal debates and soliloquies, many repetitive but some enlightening.
After three months, I began to feel I was getting somewhere as I could sense my enthusiasm grow. And not just my enthusiasm, but my dedication, which had suffered a setback, was growing too. My first incursions out of the traditional literature I had been exploring so far proved unsuccessful in that it didn’t make sense as a whole when confronted with what I had already gathered. But then, I came across the works of Carl Gustav Jung, and I immersed myself into his thoughts.
Now, there are, in my experience, several degrees of immersion. I have been immersed in my PhD from the very beginning in that I confronted everything I read, listened to, watched, thought or found out, to my research topic. I nourished my reflection with every single bit of information I could find or that came to me incidentally. This was a conscious effort, in so far as I was trying to spot an interesting and uncommon way to approach the issue I wanted to examine. Indeed, experience had taught me that sometimes good ideas spring from free-association and mind-wandering. But I soon realised that my mind was constantly mulling over my research, no matter what I was doing or what I was thinking in the first place. I just could not stop cogitating upon my research. Yet, the ideas that emerged from that rather intense brain-activity were either very general or anecdotal. This was because I was swimming in the ocean without a real purpose except to see what was in the ocean. Consequently, my quest was set to be never-ending, because it was not bounded by anything per se.
It has been different with my Jungian immersion – or should I say obsession? I believe that these two words can describe my experience. I was so happy to have found a piece of literature that made sense to me, was coherent with my research and the rest of the literature, and yet was something apparently new to my field of research. I became convinced – or maybe I convinced myself – that I had finally found ‘it’, that framework around which to articulate my research question and build the whole thesis. I started to read his writings with confident eagerness, and I highlighted each sentence which I found illuminating – so well that soon the books were coloured with post-it markers on each single page. But that did not matter, because it really made me discover things I wouldn’t have else discovered.
Not being a psychologist, it was not easy to understand some theories or technicalities. I was also supposed to apply some of his propositions to a clearly non-clinical setting, and this required some careful thinking. But when you are immersed, you just trust that you will manage, that you will succeed, that you will achieve. I was no longer lost in the ocean. I was still small and ignorant, but I had a clearly defined target, and my path was marked out. I felt I could dive further in confidence because it just would make sense. Of course, at times, I could not help a sense of panic when I faced the vastness of what remained to be learnt; however, that feeling was quickly discarded by the amazement I experienced for Jung’s ideas, insights and influence on modern times. It was almost as if that immersion into Jungian ideas had boosted my faith in my PhD research. Yes, I was progressing fine. Yes, I was on the way to provide a significant contribution to knowledge. Yes, it was all worth the efforts and the pain. And yes, I had found an incredible source of knowledge that could foster my reflections for the years to come. So I thought.
Being immersed in Jung did not come without drawbacks. Academically, the risk is that you lack distance to ‘critically evaluate’ the resource. Indeed, little by little, as your knowledge develop, you begin to see the world through that lens, and that lens only. I thus began to analyse the world in a Jungian way (or to be more accurate, in my Jungian way!), searching for archetypes, identifying shadow projections in human relations and trying to connect to that state of wholeness that was held to be the ultimate life achievement. Furthermore, I noticed how often Jung’s name appeared in my daily life: in newspapers, as a quote in a fantasy novel, even in TV adverts. It was as if I was connected to the proper frequency and everything coincided to confirm that I was on the right track. But I did not handle criticism and scepticism well. To me, Jung had something to teach us and it was important to try and apply some of his ideas in the field I was researching – full stop. I just could not question in great details the theories that I was using to direct my enquiry. It’s not that I was blind and gullible to whatever was presented as Jungian. Rather, I was convinced that something was worth being explored on that level and I would not give up until I had found it; so in the meantime, I became a true disciple in order to grasp the essence of the theories and eventually master the concepts enough to apply them efficiently. On reflection, I believe this was necessary to write the thesis; but at the time, it just was the obvious thing to do.
On a (slightly) lighter note, being immersed may cost you socially. I noticed after a couple of months that I was seriously alienating my friends and entourage by getting back to Jung in everything we were discussing. Excerpt:
“…
- Have you heard the news about such friend who still has that irritating habit?
- Well, you know what? Jung would say that if we are irritated by his habit, it’s because we project this habit onto him. In fact, we are annoyed by an aspect of ourselves we are unconscious of, but that we project onto others.
- Sure, it’s not good to criticize. But anyway, the point is I met him earlier today and while I was talking to him he kept doing it, and I was really really irritated by that.
- Well, according to Jung, we are essentially dual and we should try to integrate our dark side with our good side in order to reach the state of wholeness. If you are angry, you also create negative energy for yourself and that’s not good.
- Yeah, maybe…oh, look at that cloud – that’s a really unusual form, isn’t it?
- Yes, it looks a bit like a mandala. You know, Jung considered mandalas were a symbolic representation of the self archetype, that lead to wholeness.
- Okay – can you stop now?!?”
The most intriguing part of the phenomenon is that you don’t even realise you are so obsessed with it you keep talking about it, again and again. What’s the cure, doctor? Let live. Little by little, I emerged back into the world ‘as it is’ and I regained my critical mind. Strangely enough, it was as if it had been rejuvenated by that immersion. My thoughts were both more assertive and more moderate, balanced. I could put Jungian ideas in perspective and remain assured in my choice of framework. I could confidently let the data speak and tell what they wanted to tell, accepting that maybe they would not tell me anything Jungian. What mattered was that I had come to a workable, coherent framework around which to articulate my clearly formulated research question – and that’s what is essentially required from PhD candidates.
As I am finalising my thesis, I already know this was all worthwhile. I am grateful for what I learnt, both from Jung and his followers, and from the many authors I read but with whom I did not catch on. I thoroughly enjoyed being immersed because it allowed me to ask questions I would not have dared to ask, about my research and about myself. I was lucky to be surrounded with patient friends who bore with me despite my obsessive discussions, and I appreciated their hints to bring me back to a more balanced reality. This certainly helped me emerge and rediscover Jung from a healthy distance. I cannot promise I won’t do it again for I am naturally passionate, and passion leads to immersion. But I know more about the process and maybe will I be able to speed up the recovery stage. Not too much, though – the magic of the discovery must remain…
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