Sacred Boundaries: Jung, Hillman, and the Nature of Intimate Connections

I recently dated a man who’s polyamorous.

It didn’t last long.

And while I don’t judge others for their life choices (as long as they are honest and transparent about them, and they are not knowingly or intentionally harming others), I ultimately concluded that the polyamorous lifestyle is incongruous with how I want to do life and intimacy.

During the couple of months when we were dating, and in the couple of months afterward, I found myself reflecting on a fundamental concept in Jungian psychology that has been ardently questioned by one of my favorite post-Jungian thinkers, archetypal psychologist James Hillman:

Is the human psyche (and, by proxy, human relationship, intimacy, sexuality, and/or meaningful connection)… Monotheistic? or Polytheistic?

In other words, is our psychological health, well-being, and behavior as functioning (or, perhaps, ethical?) “grown ups” best represented by cultivating and maintaining a sense of integrated “oneness?” Or rather, is mental health—as a mature adult—more appropriately reflected by the proliferation of numerous aspects of our individual selves, each living out its own unique destiny, each following through on different (and perhaps conflicting) impulses at different times, necessitating the varied explorations afforded by e.g., multiple romantic partners?

To be honest, I’m still not sure.

I know that for me, there is a sacredness with which I choose to live my life—an inviolable essence through which I desire to exist within my home, my body, and my mind. I feel most psychologically well when I am careful not to allow any outside intrusions (be they the energies of unwanted thoughts, ideas, events, or people) to desecrate that which I consider holy. I experience that way of being as a unified, sanctified holding space—as a temple—a temenos.

In ancient Greece, a temenos referred to a sacred precinct—the boundaries of a temple’s courtyard or its walled enclosure. In my life and relationships—from friendships to work relationships to connections with children to intimate or romantic partners—I hold my energy exchanges with other beings (human and otherwise) as sacred. What that means to me is that, once I invite a person (or, in some instances, an object or an experience) into my temenos, I perceive a protective boundary around that person or experience and I strive to safeguard it.

While some people may be able to hold that space of integrity and intentionality with “the many,” I just don’t think I’m built that way. It’s not a moral judgement on anyone who does choose to live that way. For me, the sacredness of my life and relationships lies in honoring and protecting the depth and exclusivity of intimate connections—a choice that reflects my own psychological landscape and values. It’s the way I am able to hold and feel the energies around and within me most meaningfully and profoundly.

The holding of energies within the boundaries of my temenos allows me to focus, rather than squander, my most empowered sense of self, as well as to meaningfully share the gifts that I desire to offer to others. It is from that sacred base that I find the strength and integrity to be my most authentic self in the world.

While I can maintain that sacred, protective boundary with and around my connections with hundreds of individual patients or clients, with multiple friends, and with many beloved children in my life, intimate romantic relationships seem to present a boundary that (for me) cannot be crossed and still remain holy. I choose to honor that as something that is non-negotiable in my relationship with myself and with others. To do otherwise fractures my heart and fragments my psyche; it disturbs my spirit and unsettles my soul. It leads to the opposite of mental health and well-being.

Jung used the term “temenos” to refer to the healing space that is created and held between therapist and client/patient to support mental health. In the therapeutic environment, this relationship is meant to help “unfragment” a fragmented psyche. The fragmented psyche is considered to be a psyche that is unwell and in need of healing; it is the source of our psychic pain. It is within the sacred space of the therapeutic environment/relationship that an individual is (ideally) most free to be, explore, and express the depths of pain, sorrow, joy, and vulnerability that he or she might not otherwise feel safe enough to experience or express. This exploration is crucial for our psychological well-being, as it allows us to integrate the diverse facets of our identity into a cohesive whole. It is the tamping down of these aspects of our humanity that limits our capacity to be and become our authentic selves.

Much of Jung’s framework for psychology centers around the idea of an individuated Self—a core, singular “I” that has—over the course of a lifetime and often with the help of an analyst/therapist—differentiated itself from the cacophonous voices of our parents and mainstream society to arrive at something akin to a settled version of ourselves: a solid embodiment of the person we ultimately came here to be.

In my own life and work, this idea of a central “I” that we return to through a process of unfragmenting the fragmented psyche has always made sense to me.

In my early 20s, toward the end of my training as a classical singer in a BFA program in voice, I began to ask myself:

“If I dropped all of the tension in my body and all of the preconceived notions of who I think I am and who others expect me to be…and I opened my mouth, took a breath, and made sound…what would come out? Would I speak? Or sing? What would I say? Would I sing opera? Or some other genre entirely? Is there a voice—a central voice—that I can authentically call my voice?”

I think there is.

Hillman argues that the notion of unified self (or Self) that is so central to the individuation process in Jungian theory contradicts what many of us recognize as the inherent plurality of the psyche—what I would call “the many voices” that haunt our psyches. For me, these “other” voices are not the core essence of who we are. That doesn’t mean these “other” voices can’t or don’t support the central “I” in its emergence or becoming. I believe that they do. But, while all of these voices might inform the central “I,” I believe that what we are ultimately in search of is the unabashed, unapologetic expression of that central, inviolable “I.” It’s the voice that emerges when we manage to move intentional, pressurized breath beyond the inner cacophony and into alignment with the soul.

Hillman's critique of Jungian psychology, which contrasts the monotheistic perspective of a unified Self with the polytheistic view of a diverse, (naturally) fragmented psyche, raises important questions about our understanding of human nature and the complexities of our relationships, to ourselves and to “others.” His perspective invites us to consider whether our psychological health and growth might be better served by embracing the multiplicity within us rather than striving for a singular, unified identity.

Hillman writes:

The question “polytheism or monotheism” represents a basic ideational conflict in Jungian psychology today. Which fantasy governs our view of soul-making and the process of individuation—the many or the one?

I would respond to this by saying that my “fantasy of soul-making” involves the many coming through the one—a process of allowing all of the disparate parts within us to speak or sing in a chorus that supports the emergence of one voice—the one who holds the microphone and takes the solo in a given moment.

Hillman’s conceptualization of soul-making insists that our psyches are akin to a polytheistic pantheon—a collection of diverse and sometimes conflicting personalities that present themselves like autonomous gods and goddesses, each vying for his or her rightful seat on the throne. I don’t disagree. I am suggesting that this is only part of the story—that the psyche is neither monotheistic nor polytheistic; it is both. The gods and goddesses do not depart once we have reconciled our relationships with them and determined which one of the many voices should be given the spot at the podium. Like a counsel of elders, they support and inform our voice. They even color it. Our task is not to silence all but one of them, but to honor their counsel as we would that of any respected elder—to listen, patiently and attentively, and then to live out our own myth, as imperfect and botched up and full of mistakes as our unique story will inevitably be.

Hillman's critique of a Jungian monotheistic psyche raises important questions about how we conceptualize our psychological journey. Does the pursuit of a singular, unified Self overshadow the richness of our individual complexities? Are we limiting ourselves by striving for a monolithic identity rather than embracing the multiplicity within us? These questions are not just theoretical but profoundly influence how we approach our relationships and personal development.

For Jung, the journey of individuation involves the integration of various aspects of our psyche into a cohesive whole—a process that unfolds over a lifetime of self-discovery and growth. This notion resonates deeply with me, as I've long believed in the sanctity of personal identity and the importance of nurturing a unified sense of self within the complexities of life's relationships—in relationship to one’s own self; between self and other; between humans and different species; and in the ways in which we relate to our planet and to the universe as a whole. While I don’t go so far as to suggest, in a “New Age” sense, that we are all “One,” I do suggest that we exist within a “oneness.” Each of us, within that networking of connected oneness, holds a place of a central “I.”

Hillman challenges this monotheistic approach, insisting that our psyche resembles something more like an assembly of diverse archetypal forces, each with its own distinct influence and expression. In this view, the path to psychological health and ethical maturity may involve honoring and exploring the myriad facets of our identity, rather than striving for a singular, dominant Self.

In my own quest for authenticity, I've often asked myself what it means to speak with my true voice—to express myself fully and authentically without the constraints of societal norms or external expectations. This journey parallels Jung's concept of individuation—an ongoing process of self-discovery and integration that requires us to confront and reconcile the various aspects of our psyche. But it doesn’t have to conflict with Hillman’s view of the many. This philosophical tension—the interplay between the singular and the multiple, the unified and the fragmented—continues to shape my understanding of psychological health and ethical adulthood. It guides us to our authentic voice.

In practice, we may never actually find our ONE, true, authentic voice. Furthermore, if we do find it, it might continually elude us, coming through us one moment and disappearing the next, much like the flight of the gods. We might only seldom really speak or sing through the power of that authentic voice, in true alignment with our soul. But it behooves us to try. It is in the trying to distinguish that one authentic voice from the “other” voices, that our souls live out their destinies.

#JungianPsychology #PolytheismVsMonotheism #PsychologicalHealth #RelationshipBoundaries

References:

James Hillman, "Psychology: Monotheistic or Polytheistic?"

James Hillman, "Psychology--Monotheistic or Polytheistic?: Twenty-Five Years Later"