Women Who Run With The Wolves: A male reading

Occasionally within a group of men I hear the plea of ‘I don’t understand women.’ Sometimes plaintive, sometimes angry, and just about always perplexed.

Reading Women Who Run With The Wolves¹ may help. But, before I suggest how, there are a couple of caveats.

Caveat 1: The desire to understand is complicit in the not understanding. To understand means to fully grasp the meaning, significance, or nature of something. It means to be able to explain it and categorise it. Understanding is inherently a mechanistic perception. Women (and men for that matter) do not conform to such classifications. The desire to understand is (if I may be so bold) a male notion.

Caveat 2: Because of caveat 1 there are no answers, for men, to the appeal to understand women. Hence, this book can help but it cannot answer.

Having outlined these two caveats, let me delve into (at least some of) the book through a male reading. Although the book is now more than thirty years old, and although I have come across reference to it dozens of times during those 30 years, I have only recently read it.

Men – do not be put off by the title. It can look as though Clarissa Pinkola Estés intends the book solely for women; much of its contents apply to men also.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés is a storyteller and tells stories in groups and gatherings in many parts of the world. In this book she recounts numerous stories from various regions of the world. These stories are mythological and the characters in them are archetypes. This is important to note. The characters point to parts of our internal psyche, they are not identifiable people in our outer world. Furthermore, our internal psyche is shaped, in part, by cultural archetypes.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés explores these archetypes, dismantles them, pulls them apart, and then gently puts them all back together again. Her insight in doing so is extraordinary.

Let us return to the plea that began this blog – men unable to understand women.

As I read through Women Who Run With The Wolves one thing is very clearly articulated. Women contain at least two natures, and most likely, many more. Men do too, by the way, and I will come back to this later. But first – the dual nature of women.

As well as being an author, Clarissa Pinkola Estés is a Jungian psychologist, and as such alludes to the Jungian concept of animus. She defines animus as a woman’s ‘internal masculine energy’ and notes that, ‘This psychic figure is particularly valuable because it is invested with qualities which are traditionally bred out of women, aggression being one of the more common.’

Her aim in narrating and examining these stories is to enable women to discover and connect with their inner beings (archetypes) particularly the archetype of the Wild Woman (the wolf.) For the male reader, this aspect of women’s psyche may be hard to appreciate. Even the thought of a wild woman is dangerous, and even frightening. It is there though, and Esté suggests it is present in all women.

In her book Esté does not refer to the other Jungian concept of anima – a man’s internal feminine energy. Yet, reading Women Who Run With The Wolves from a male perspective, this concept is always present. Indeed, within many of the stories it is possible to glimpse the anima.

Women’s animus is an inner energy, and unless overtly displayed, remains hidden in our patriarchal society. As such, it can also be hidden from their male partners who wish to understand women.

There is one story in the book that is worth considering a little further, as it is a story that addresses exactly these matters. The story is called Manawee and is of African-American origin.

In the story Manawee is keen to court twin sisters. The father of the twins will only allow Manawee to do so if Manawee can guess the names of his daughters. Manawee tries and tries, but always fails. He goes away. Later he returns to try guessing again, this time bringing his little dog with him. Again he fails, and again he skulks off home. But his dog goes back to the sister’s hut and overhears the two of them talking about Manawee and calling each other by their names.

The little dog runs off to tell Manawee. On the way he smells a juicy bone and goes searching for it and chews it up. By the time he has finished he has forgotten the twins names. The dog goes back again, and from outside again hears the sisters’ names. He runs off again, and again is waylaid by the sumptuous smell of nutmeg. He forgets the names again and goes back to sleep at Manawee’s hut for the night.

The next morning, the little dog trots off to the sister’s hut and spies them getting ready to be wed. “Oh no!” he thinks, “I have to tell Manawee their names.” He hears their names and this time, even though accosted by a nasty stranger, he doggedly returns to Manawee and tells him the names of the twins. Manawee sprints off to the village where the twins and their father live. He tells the father their true names. The father blesses the marriage, and the twins tell Manawee that they have been waiting for him for a long time.

There is much archetypically in this story. Let me mention just a couple briefly.

·       The twin daughters refer to the dualism within women. In this story, one twin exemplifies the outer woman, the other the inner energy. Manawee is not marrying two women but is marrying ‘one who lives in the topside world, one who lives in the world not so easily seen,’ as Esté expresses it. He must accept both (i.e. be able to name each of them) before he can be wed. (Remember, the twins are archetypes. The story is not to be read as referring to polygamy.)

·       The little dog is what Esté calls Manawee’s dog nature. The little dog shows that Manawee (and all men) have a dual nature: Esté tells it thus: ‘His human nature, while sweet and loving, is not enough to win the courtship. It is his dog nature, his instinctual nature, that has the ability to creep near the wildish women and with his keen listening hear their names.’

Dogs, as we know, have a keen sense of sight, smell, and hearing. With that in mind, the little dog in this story is the perfect archetype for Manawee’s instinctual nature.

Thus, for men who bemoan being unable to understand women, there are some valuable lessons in Women Who Run With The Wolves.

The first lesson is to recognise that women have a dual nature. Perhaps more importantly, it is to recognise that men do also.

The second lesson is to let go the desire to understand. Instead, men must access their dog nature and learn to listen. Not just hear, but truly, deeply listen, and not be distracted from that attention.

Reading the book reveals many other lessons. Any man who wishes to discover them is recommended to read this important book.

Notes:

1. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With The Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman, Rider, London, Sydney, Auckland, Johannesburg, 1992.

Going With The Flow

Every so often we might be given the advice to ‘just go with the flow.’ 

How useful is this counsel?

As is, the analogy is only partially complete. It must be extended. ‘Going with the flow’ could suggest a ‘she’s right’, laissez faire, casual, or lackadaisical approach to life.

It can even be interpreted as advocating fatalism.

A kayaker will tell you otherwise.

A kayaker knows the principle of going with the flow well. It is far easier to use the flow of a river to your advantage than it is to battle against the current.  However, the kayaker is not inactive in this endeavour. If the kayak is not actively kept in the flow of the current then the kayak can very easily end up sidelong to the flow, often resulting in the kayaker going for a swim (unless they are adept at the Eskimo Roll technique) or the kayak getting smashed into rocks.

Often an inexperienced kayaker, when first encountering rapids, will stop paddling.  They then find that the river has taken control, forced them sideways and suddenly they are upside down. An experienced kayaker, however, when entering a section of rapids, will maintain their paddle stroke, sometimes even upping the tempo. They know that by maintaining the momentum of the kayak they can remain upright and in the flow of the river.

When a kayaker enters a river, they usually have a goal of some sort. It may be getting to a point further down the river. Although a kayaker has this future goal, they must bring themselves to the present moment in the flow of the river and be aware of their paddle technique and body posture. They need to watch out for the tell-tale signs of rocks, look out for eddies and check the actions and manoeuvres of any other kayakers around them. They may have goals, but to get to them they must concentrate on the flow they are in at the present time. There is no sitting back and just drifting, that would have them upside down or smashed against a rock before going too far.

A kayaker uses the flow, they don’t allow it to use them, nor do they try to control the flow.

This extended analogy has application in our own lives. To remain with the flow we must give up one of our most cherished yearnings – the yearning for control. We must learn to use the flow. We must learn techniques to remain upright and not get smashed against the rocks. We must be on the alert for whirlpools, eddies, cataracts, and other potential dangers.

Occasionally we will get caught up in these eddies, whirlpools, or cataracts.  Fighting these, any kayaker will tell you, spells disaster.

Eddies, whirlpools, and cataracts may turn out to be signs that we need to slow down, be more alert, move to another part of the river, or maybe even get off the river and portage around a particularly nasty obstacle.

When we do get ‘in the flow’ we find a sense of freedom, a sense that everything is just right, that we don’t have to expend too much energy.  When we get those feelings then we can be assured that we may be on the right track, that what we are doing is correct, appropriate and effective.

 

 

No Answers Are Better Than Simplistic Answers

What is the answer to the question of life?

There are no answers to that question. Or, if there is an answer, then the answer is in the question itself.

If there are no answers, then does that mean there are no questions?

Not at all. There are many questions. There are probably more questions than there are grains of sand on a beach.

It is the question that is important, not the answer.

Albert Einstein, one of the foremost questioners of our time, made this clear when he advised; ‘Don’t listen to the person who has the answers, listen to the person who has the questions.’

Our world is huge. Our galaxy is enormous. Our cosmos is vast. Coming up with answers for just our world minimises and constricts our sense of wonder, let alone our galaxy and the cosmos.

Answers contain, enclose, and limit us. Questions open up, expand, and amplify our appreciation and awe.

Questioning in Turbulent Times

It is difficult to claim anything but that we are living in turbulent times. Environmentally we are witnessing cascading disasters – e.g. species extinction, turbulent weather systems, toxic waste pollution … Socially our political systems are increasingly polarising people. Wars seem continuous, shifting from one geopolitical hot-spot to another every few years. Individually we are suffering more and more from anxiety, depression, obesity, isolation, and bullying. All these examples are only a few of the plethora of examples that could be given.

In the various conversations around this topic can be heard the optimistic contention that when people are faced with increased severity and personal harm from disaster that they will ask questions of the systems from within which the problems emerge.

However, history and psychology suggest that instead of people asking questions around these plights, most often simplistic answers are sought instead.

And, where do we find simplistic answers? Amongst the socio-political extremes; where to question is out-of-the-question (if you’ll excuse the quip.)

This, in turn, leads to greater polarisation. Then, sadly, the answers proclaimed by each side morph into righteousness. One side claims to have the right answers and that the other side has the wrong answers. Of course, the other side claims the exact opposite.

In the ensuing shouting match, the ability to question gets tossed aside.

All this leads inevitably to …

… greater turbulence.

What can we do in the face of all this?

Keep questioning, especially questions that open our eyes, ears, and hearts to the wonder and mystery of the cosmos and our world. Yet, understand too, that each question only leads to further questions, not to simplistic answers.

Living In Luxury

We live in luxury, don’t we?

What’s wrong with that sentence?

First, define luxury. Second, who is we?

Most dictionaries will define luxury as something involving comfort and/or elegance, and being expensive to obtain.

The luxury of comfort then could include: a home that is able to be heated in winter and cooled in summer; readily obtainable meals that are nutritious and tasty; a car fitted out with surround sound, Bluetooth, and push-button adjustable seats; holidays once, twice, or more times per year in a location of choice reachable by international flights; a large-screen television; comfortable and stylish clothing; a washing machine, dishwasher, clothes dryer. microwave oven, an air fryer; an outdoor pool with an electronic BBQ nearby; an investment property or two; a share portfolio providing passive growth and/or income ….

In short – all the mod cons. It’s a comfortable life.

It may be argued that only a few of these are expensive. Then wait. There’s more to come.

Before going further, who is we?

A question? In what income decile of the population would you have to be to afford these luxuries? Let’s say the top decile – i.e. the top 10% of income earners.

Now, here’s the rub. What income does someone need to be in the world’s top decile of income earners?

It turns out to be just US$20,400 per year (A$30,000 if you live in Australia for comparison.)

Doesn’t sound like a lot does it. It would be easy to look around and point out that “I’m not as well off as that person, or that person, or that person…”

Easy to say if our vision is restricted to our cohorts, our peer group, or the society we happen to live in. But, if our perspective is broadened out to encompass the whole world, then US$20,400 is a high income. Let me say too, before the objections come, this figure is adjusted for cost of living from one country to another.

Now, it is possible to answer the question of who is ‘we’? ‘We’ are the citizens of the wealthy, rich nations of the world. Of the 20 richest nations per capita, 10 are in Europe, 5 in Arabia, 3 in Asia, plus the USA and Australia. The highest ranking South American nation is Guyana at 44^th. The highest African nation is South Africa at 92^nd. Of the 176 nations with identifiable income levels, 18 of the bottom 20 are African nations.

Furthermore, that US$20,400 is thirty-eight (38) times the income level of the bottom 50% of the world’s population. Thirty-eight times!

The we identified above are living in luxury. Two groups of people are paying for this luxury. One group are all those living at poverty levels; levels that are way way less than US$20,400.

The other group, ironically, are the we. We are paying for it with high rates of obesity, diabetes, and other diseases of luxuriousness.

Additionally, there is a third player that is paying the cost of our living in luxury – the planet itself. The planet is suffering from our disease of consumption.

On the first page of their ground-breaking book on inequality epidemiologists Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett warn that ‘… the truth is that the luxury and extravagance of our lives is so great that it threatens the planet.’¹

Luxury – An earlier definition

It is time for us to remind ourselves of what the word luxury originally meant. In the Old French language, the word luxurie had connotations of debauchery, dissoluteness, and lust. Prior to that, the Latin word luxuria meant excess and profusion.

Isn’t this exactly what our living in luxury has brought us to? Excessive and profuse consumption leading to debauchery (doing too much of something that is not good for us, or for the planet) and dissoluteness (acting without moral – or even material – constraint.)

By the 14^th century the word luxury had taken on association with lasciviousness and sinful self-indulgence.

Are these historical and etymological meanings of luxury closer to a proper denotation of living in luxury today?

Notes:

1. Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett, The Spirit Level: Why equality is better for everyone, Penguin Books, London, 2009.

Learning From Cousin Bonobo

All our siblings have died. Homo erectus – dead. Homo habilis -dead. Homo neanderthalensis  - dead. All our evolutionary brothers and sisters are dead and extinct. Only us – Homo sapiens – are left alive from our immediate family.

But we do have a couple of cousins. Pan troglodytes and Pan paniscus. More commonly these two cousins are known as chimpanzees and bonobos. They are the closest to us in the evolutionary family. We share 98.7% of our genes with these other two primates.

Our common ancestor lived some 6 million years ago, at which point our immediate families diverged. Then the families of bonobos and chimpanzees further split around 2 million years ago.

Using corridors across the river that no longer exist, one family, the chimpanzees, settled north of the Congo River. The other, the bonobos, made their home south of the Congo River. Neither chimpanzees nor bonobos have learnt to swim, and so the two species live separated today by the mighty Congo River. Hence, they learnt to adapt to their unique environments and learnt differing behaviours.

When Jane Goodall began studying chimpanzees in their natural habitat in the 1960s she thought that if the behaviour of chimpanzees was similar to that of humans, then the behaviour of our common ancestor (the one that lived 6 million years ago) was probably also similar.

Soon after she began her research one of the big debates in the scientific world was that of nature versus nurture. This debate centred around the question; Is a baby born with a clean slate, and will only experience make that child aggressive or kind? Jane Goodall thought she could answer this question through her studies. In a 2021 interview in response to a question about this debate, Jane Goodall replies that, ‘When I said no, there’s an instinctive element to it, I was heavily criticised. But I think it makes sense. How can you possibly look around the world and say that there is not an innate aggressive tendency in humans?’¹

Goodall’s reply is based upon the recognition that within chimpanzee society males show a tendency to use violence and to dominate female chimpanzees. This portrayal of chimpanzee behaviour has been tempered slightly in recent times, with the co-director of the Chimpanzee Sanctuary Northwest, in the US, saying that aggression ‘only makes up a very small part of their daily activity,’ and that the trait has been overemphasised.

But what of the other cousins – the bonobos?

Research on bonobos living in their natural state has not been as long as that for chimpanzees. Bonobos tend to live in less accessible forest than do chimpanzees, plus their numbers are much less, making study of bonobos less easy than the study of chimpanzees.² However, we are able to discern differing behaviour between these two primates.

Bonobos tend to display contrasting behaviours to that of chimpanzees. They are less aggressive and females are the leaders of bonobo groups. It needs to be noted however, that (as with chimpanzees) this portrayal is also simplistic. Bonobos can be aggressive.

The aggressive behaviours of chimpanzees and bonobos, though, are markedly dissimilar. Chimpanzees show a proclivity towards ganging up on an opponent, whereas bonobo aggression is displayed in one-to-one combat. Significantly, chimpanzees will kill (murder) their opponent, whereas bonobos do not.  

Learning from Cousins

We might ask ourselves: Can Jane Goodall’s wondering about whether the behaviour of chimpanzees and that of our common ancestor suggest an innate tendency towards aggression in humans?

The answer has to be: not necessarily. The answer is nuanced and ambiguous.

When our cousins diverged from each other 2 million years ago, with one going north of the Congo River and the other heading south of it, then, presumably, they took with them the innate tendencies of the common ancestor of them and us from 6 million years ago.

Yet, their behaviours in natural settings today are very different, albeit (as noted above) their behaviours are not clear-cut. We have to conclude that chimpanzees and bonobos learnt differing behaviours. This suggests that they each adopted dissimilar cultures.

Since chimpanzees and bonobos are our closest cousins we could learn something from them.

If we could listen to Cousin Bonobo we might learn how to get along with each other without resorting to murder or warfare. We might also learn how to live in a more egalitarian society in which women bring their nurturing skills and values into the communal setting.

For us to listen to Cousin Bonobo however would mean we would need to give up our belief that we are superior to the “animals” and have nothing to learn from them

Au contraire. We have much to learn.

Notes:

1. https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/22585935/jane-goodall-chimpanzees-animal-intelligence-human-nature  accessed 20 August 2024.

2. Both chimpanzees and bonobos are endangered. Estimates for chimpanzee numbers in the wild vary from 170,000 to 300,000. Bonobo numbers are much less, estimated at between 30,000 and 50,000

Mystery, Awe, and Curiosity

How many times have you stood, sat, or lain, watching a sunrise or sunset? How many times have you gazed at a rainbow as it hung in the sky? What about the stars at night? Have you peered at them and wondered how many there are, how far away they are, or how big they are?

Turning to the smaller things in life: have you ever lain in a field and studied a blade of grass, or a tiny flower? How about sitting on a beach and letting a handful of sand filter through your splayed fingers? Have you seen the world, as Blake did, in each of those grains of sand?

Mysterious isn’t it? How is a sunrise or a rainbow formed? What enables that blade of grass to grow?

If we do stop to ask ourselves such questions, we are compelled to stand, sit, or lie, in wonder and awe. Life, in all its magnificent arrays is mysterious. Albert Einstein commented that, ‘the most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all art and science.’ Remember that this was a man who probably understood the workings of the cosmos far better than any other person. Yet, he perceived this cosmos as mysterious.

Perhaps, like another Albert – Albert Schweitzer – both of them understood that, ‘as we acquire more knowledge, things don’t become more comprehensible, they become more mysterious.’

Mystery invokes curiosity.

A meteorologist can tell us how a rainbow is formed.

But, a meteorologist cannot explain why a rainbow is formed. A meteorologist cannot take away the mystery.

And I, for one, do not want a meteorologist to remove the mystery.

I want to stand, sit, or lie, in awe and wonder. I want to be curious about the mystery of life and all it has to offer.

The mystery of life does not need to be explained to me. I do not need a first cause. Nor do I require, as Aristotle did, an unmoved mover.

We might want to explain this mystery by positing an anima mundi, God, Allah, the One, or even the Divine. Yet, all of these imply a first cause, as if everything can be explained if only we could trace each effect back to a cause, which itself is an effect with a cause. We could do this ad infinitum, without ever arriving at the initial cause.

Because there isn’t one.

Everything is dependent upon everything else. In the ancient Indian texts of the Vedas and Upanishads and early Buddhist writings we find the Pali word Pratītyasamutpāda which has roots in words that can be translated as to spring up together, or to come to pass together.

Simply put, when everything arises together, and co-dependently, we can only stand, sit, or lie, in awe and contemplate the mystery of it all.

Furthermore, we are part of this mystery. Jack Kornfield observes that; ‘We not only are witness to the mystery, we are the mystery looking at itself.’¹

So, next time you are gazing at a sunrise or a blade of grass, or letting grains of sand run through your fingers, or looking up at the Milky way, be curious enough to consider that you are seeing yourself.

You are contemplating the Mystery.

Note:

1. Jack Kornfield, The Wise Heart, Ebury Publishing, London, Sydney, Auckland, Johannesburg, 2008

Castles and Walls

Have you ever wondered how many castles there are in the world? What’s more, have you ever wondered where most of them are located?

The answer to the first question is open, with estimates varying between 200,000 and 1 million.

However, the answer to the second question can be answered with more certainty. If you guessed that most of them are located in Europe, you would be correct.

Some 98% of all castles in the world are located in Europe, with Italy, France, Ireland, and Germany together accounting for around 88%.

Although there are over 300 castles in the USA, all of them were built following European colonisation.

A castle, according to experts, is a fortified structure built primarily by, and for the use of, nobility or royalty. This distinguishes castles from, for example, palaces, mansions and other similar buildings.

A castle is fortified.

Another fortified structure is the wall. Some of the earliest cities in the world, particularly in Mesopotamia and the Levant area were walled. Cities such as Uruk, Babylon, and Jericho were walled and fortified. Any traveller in Europe will have noticed the old city walls often found in the middle of European cities today.

Again, most of the walled cities of the world are located in Europe.

The other major parts of the world in which we find fortified walls are in China (the Great Wall is especially famous,) the Indus Valley, and the walls built by the Romans in northern England (Hadrian’s Wall) and Thrace (Anastasia Wall.) Apart from Myanmar, most walled cities in SE Asia were built following European invasions.

Apart from now being tourist destinations and part of the heritage of many European cities, what do all these castles and walls suggest to us?

They strongly suggest a continent of conflict, where one side had to wall themselves in to protect themselves from outsiders.

Castles and walls suggest a mindset of us versus them.

Castles and walls are mean to divide, to cut off the in group from the out group.

This us versus them mindset appears to have arisen concurrent with the building of fortified castles and walls. This mindset arose within one continent and one culture. Europe and the European culture. Walls did not only get built physically, they got built mentally also. Walls and castles got built in our psyches and in the ways in which we perceive the world.

This mindset has since been exported (by the process of colonisation and globalisation) throughout the world.

Let us not pretend that humanity is naturally antagonistic, brutal, distrustful, and divisive.

Most indigenous and nature-based cultures are not. Some groups within these cultures have become so because of the hegemony of the Europeanised culture that has swept the world over the past 500 years or so.

We can read it in the castles and walled cities of Europe.

It is up to those of us from within this European culture to tear down the castles and walls within our own worldview and mindset.