By Simon Renatus
But what happens when the archetype itself needs therapy? When Safety, the ever-vigilant hero, is confronted with the fact that every hero has a shadow—and an anima, and a Trickster side to boot? The absurdity of an archetype lying on a therapist’s couch, discussing its own archetypes, is undeniable. Yet, it is through this playful thought experiment that we can uncover the deeper contradictions and vulnerabilities embedded within Safety’s cultural construction.
So, let us ask the question: What happens when Safety is forced to confront its shadow, its anima, and its illusions of control? How might these suppressed aspects come to light in therapy?
First, let us examine the Jungian concepts that frame this conversation.
Jung’s Archetypes
Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, believed that archetypes are universal patterns of human behaviour (that have an energy unto themselves), embedded in the collective unconscious. Think of the Hero, the Wise Old Man, or the Trickster: recurring characters in myths, stories, and even modern life. Safety, as it is constructed culturally, acts like the Hero—a figure of authority, control, and moral certainty.
But no archetype stands alone. The Hero’s shadow holds its fears and flaws, while the Anima represents the feminine energy it suppresses: the relational, nurturing, and intuitive qualities that balance the Hero’s dominant, outward persona. The Trickster, meanwhile, thrives on mischief, disrupting order and exposing illusions. Together, these archetypes reveal the complexities and contradictions within Safety’s constructed identity.
Now imagine Safety, clipboard in hand, sitting down with a Jungian therapist to confront these archetypes—its shadow, its anima, and its Trickster side. What might that conversation look like?
Scene 1: Probing the Shadow
Safety enters the therapy room, clipboard clutched tightly, wearing a high-visibility vest and steel-capped boots. Its movements are stiff, and it sits on the couch as though the cushions are a hazard waiting to happen.
Therapist: “Welcome, Safety. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Safety: “Comfort? Comfort isn’t part of the risk assessment.”
Therapist: “Perhaps we can explore why you feel the need to control everything?”
Safety: “Control keeps people safe! It means they get to go home to their families every day!”
Therapist: “And what happens when things don’t go as planned?”
Safety: “That’s not possible. There are procedures for everything. Every. Single. Thing.”
Therapist: “But what do you feel when those procedures fail?”
Safety: [Pauses, visibly uncomfortable.] “I don’t… fail.”
Therapist: “Interesting. What if I told you that denying failure only feeds your shadow?”
Safety: [Sits bolt upright.] “My what?”
Therapist: “Your shadow, the parts of yourself you suppress or deny, like uncertainty, fallibility, and doubt.”
Safety: “I’m an archetype. How can I have a shadow?”
Therapist: [Smiling.] “Even archetypes have layers.”
Safety: “I don’t have time for shadows. I bring the light! I’m busy ensuring compliance.”
Therapist: “That sounds exhausting.”
Safety: [Murmurs.] “It is.”
Safety’s insistence on denying failure and suppressing its vulnerabilities reveals the presence of its shadow. Jung’s concept of the shadow represents the parts of ourselves that we suppress or deny, often because they challenge the persona we present to the world. These suppressed aspects frequently surface in dreams, offering glimpses of what we struggle to confront in waking life. The persona, in Jungian terms, is the mask we wear to navigate society: the version of ourselves that aligns with expectations and roles. For Safety, the shadow holds its most uncomfortable truths: the fear of uncertainty, the inevitability of fallibility, and the vulnerability it refuses to acknowledge. Safety clings to procedures and checklists, believing these will shield it from failure. Yet this very denial of its shadow creates fragility, as rigid systems crumble when confronted with the unexpected.
But suppressing these truths does not make them disappear. Instead, they manifest in other ways: moralising, bureaucracy, and scapegoating. The more Safety suppresses its shadow, the more it projects responsibility onto others. Workers are judged not for their humanity but for their perceived ‘non-compliance.’ They bear the burden of systemic flaws that remain unquestioned and concealed behind layers of bureaucracy. This projection exhausts Safety because nothing ever truly changes. The same issues resurface, dressed in new procedures or tighter rules, perpetuating a cycle of frustration and stagnation. The therapist’s gentle probing begins to unravel this facade. To move beyond its rigidity, Safety must acknowledge what it fears most: its inability to control the uncontrollable. Only by bringing the shadow into consciousness can it begin to transform, finding strength not in denial but in humility and curiosity.
Scene 2: Meeting the Anima
Safety is now visibly uncomfortable, gripping the edge of the couch like it’s about to bolt.
Therapist: “Let’s talk about what you suppress. Specifically, your anima.”
Safety: “My… what?”
Therapist: “Your anima. It’s the feminine energy within you—the relational, nurturing side that embodies trust, compassion, and adaptability.”
Safety: [Leaning back, crossing its arms.] “I have no need for such …weak traits.”
Therapist: “Really? And how do you build trust with others?”
Safety: “Trust is irrelevant. I have rules. Compliance ensures everything runs smoothly.”
Therapist: “And when compliance doesn’t happen?”
Safety: [Huffs.] “That’s their fault for not understanding the importance of the rules. I have zero tolerance!”
Therapist: “What if I told you that your lack of relational qualities might be making compliance more difficult?”
Safety: “People just need to follow instructions.”
Therapist: “But relationships are the glue of living, Safety. Without trust, your rules don’t stand a chance. And trust requires faith—the willingness to navigate the uncertain.”
Safety: [Visibly stiffens, muttering.] “Trust is… messy.”
Safety’s dismissal of relational qualities as ‘weak’ highlights its rejection of the anima: the nurturing, adaptive energy that complements its dominant persona. Jung’s concept of the anima provides a lens through which we can understand the consequences of this imbalance.
Jung described the anima as the inner feminine energy that complements the outward masculine persona. When the anima is ignored or suppressed, it leads to imbalance, stripping away the qualities that allow connection and growth. Safety, constructed as a hyper-masculine projection, has denied this part of itself entirely. In its insistence on dominance and control, it rejects trust, seeing it as irrelevant or even threatening.
This denial, however, comes at a cost. Rules alone cannot create safety; without relationships, they are brittle and lifeless. Curiosity and humility, the very qualities Safety deems weak, are what give systems their strength and resilience. Safety’s rejection of these qualities reflects a deeper absence: faith, the capacity to hold uncertainty, trust in others, and navigate the unknown. Faith works when the path is unclear. It works when the map ends and the next step must be taken without absolute certainty. Immature Safety clings to rules and procedures, believing they alone can guarantee order. Mature Safety, by contrast, learns that faith, the trust in people and relationships, is what truly sustains us, allowing systems to support rather than constrain our shared humanity.
The therapist’s observation cuts to the heart of Safety’s struggle. By refusing to acknowledge its anima, Safety perpetuates a culture where compassion is replaced by punishment, and adaptability is smothered by rigidity. Relational trust, dismissed as ‘messy’, is in fact the foundation. Until Safety confronts this imbalance, it cannot mature. True growth lies not in rigid control but in the ability to hold complexity: to balance rules with relationships, hubris with humility, and dogma with faith.
Scene 3: Facing the Trickster
Safety, still clutching its clipboard, leans back slightly, attempting to regain composure. The therapist, sensing an opening, leans forward.
Therapist: “Now that we’ve touched on your shadow and anima, let’s talk about another part of you. The Trickster.”
Safety: [Scoffs.] “The what?”
Therapist: “The Trickster. It’s the part of you that disrupts, misleads, and creates illusions. Have you ever noticed that you promise certainty but often deliver… bureaucracy?”
Safety: [Bridles.] “That’s absurd! I reduce risk! I save lives!”
Therapist: “Do you, or do you create complexity that gives the illusion of control?”
Safety: [Sputters.] “This accusation will need to go through the review process!”
Therapist: “Think about it. How often do your procedures make things safer, and how often do they simply create more paperwork?”
Safety: [Pauses, gripping the clipboard tighter.] “I… I don’t know.”
Therapist: “It’s okay not to know. The Trickster thrives on pretending it knows everything. The opposite of the Trickster isn’t about eliminating complexity; it’s about facing it honestly. It’s about humility and discernment, focusing on what truly matters, even when it’s messy or uncertain.”
Safety’s defensiveness when faced with the Trickster’s illusions underscores its struggle to confront the complexity it claims to manage. The Trickster archetype sheds light on the deeper dynamics of deception and control within Safety’s systems.
Jung’s Trickster archetype is a chaotic force, disrupting the status quo with mischief and subversion. While often portrayed humorously, the Trickster has a dark side: it deceives, creating illusions that mask deeper truths. In Safety’s case, the Trickster thrives in its insistence on objectivity: the belief that its systems and procedures are neutral, detached, and absolute. But objectivity in Safety is an illusion. Its tools and processes are shaped by subjective choices, influenced by assumptions, biases, and the limitations of human perception.
This illusion creates a false sense of certainty. Safety promises procedures that will eliminate risk and guarantee compliance, but these promises are hollow. The layers of paperwork create complexity that overwhelms rather than protects, shifting focus away from a nuanced interaction with risk. Workers, expected to conform to an ostensibly objective system, experience it instead as detached, impersonal, and blind to the realities of their work, because it prioritises metrics over lived experience.
The Trickster thrives in this denial, perpetuating the belief that more systems and metrics will bring greater clarity and control. But Safety’s claims to objectivity unravel under scrutiny. Phenomenology[i] reminds us that all experience is subjective, situated in context and shaped by individual perception. Safety’s efforts to reduce human experience to checklists and compliance strip away the richness of lived reality, undermining the very trust and adaptability that make systems resilient.
The therapist’s observation lands uncomfortably for Safety. Confronting its Trickster nature means admitting that objectivity is a comforting illusion, not a truth. True transformation lies in humbly acknowledging subjectivity. By recognising the limits of its control and the need for relational trust, and by listening to the voices of those it seeks to protect, Safety can move beyond illusion and toward a more authentic, effective role.
Scene 4: Individuation. Safety’s Journey Toward Wholeness
Safety sits quietly on the couch, its clipboard forgotten. For the first time, it feels the weight of everything it has suppressed: the fear of uncertainty, the rejection of relational trust, and the illusion of control. The therapist, sensing the shift, speaks gently.
Therapist: “You’ve faced a lot today, Safety. Your shadow, your anima, your Trickster. These parts of you aren’t weaknesses. They’re keys to your growth.”
Safety: [Tentatively.] “But… I thought I had to be strong. In control.”
Therapist: “Strength isn’t rigidity. True strength lies in balance. In connection. In embracing what you fear most.”
Safety: “You mean uncertainty.”
Therapist: “Yes. And trust. Faith doesn’t diminish your role; it transforms it. Safety isn’t about eliminating risk. It’s about creating space for relationships, curiosity, and growth—even in the face of uncertainty.”
Safety: [Quietly.] “So… safety isn’t just rules and procedures.”
Therapist: “No. It’s about the human experience those rules should support.”
Jung described individuation as the journey toward wholeness, the integration of all parts of the self; shadow, anima, Trickster, and more. For Safety, this journey means recognising that its purpose isn’t diminished by acknowledging uncertainty and fallibility. On the contrary, these qualities make it stronger, more adaptable, and more human.
Individuation is not about perfection. It is a process of becoming whole, of holding complexity and navigating uncertainty with courage and faith. For Safety, this means transforming its fixation on control into guidance, its rigidity into adaptability, and its moralising into compassion.
Conclusion
At the outset, imagining Safety, the archetype, lying on a therapist’s couch might have seemed laughable. An archetype discussing its own archetypes? Surely, that is too much even for a playful thought experiment. Yet, this absurdity is what makes the journey so compelling. By leaning into the meta, we reveal how Safety’s own contradictions mirror those of the systems it governs, and ultimately, the people within them.
As unconventional as it is to picture an archetype on the couch exploring its shadow, anima, and Trickster, this thought experiment uncovers something profound: even Safety, in its rigidity, has the potential to transform. By embracing its suppressed parts, it can move beyond its fixation on control and step into a role that fosters trust, discernment, and human-centred growth.
Safety no longer seeks to eliminate ambiguity but to navigate it. It becomes a guide, not a rigid enforcer, but a partner in creating space for people to thrive even when the path is unclear.
Sources
Jung, C. G. (1933). Modern man in search of a soul (W. S. Dell & C. F. Baynes, Trans.). Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co. Ltd.
Jung, C. G. (1970). Aion: Researches into the phenomenology of the self (2nd ed., R. F. C. Hull, Trans.). Princeton University Press. (Bollingen Series XX: The Collected Works of C. G. Jung, Vol. 9, Part II).
University Interscholastic League. (n.d.). The twelve character archetypes. Retrieved January 20, 2025, from https://www.uiltexas.org/files/capitalconference/Twelve_Character_Archetypes.pdf
[i] Phenomenology is the study of how people experience and make sense of the world, focusing on subjective perception rather than objective facts. Developed by philosophers such as Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger, it emphasises understanding objects and experiences as they are lived and felt, revealing insights often overlooked by rigid, procedural approaches.
Rob Long says
When anyone denies the reality of fallibility/mortality, they need some serious therapy. When Zero becomes an ideology and takes over as the mantra for an industry, that industry needs some serious therapy. When objects are given preeminence over subjects, some serious therapy is needed. Thanks Simon for this piece.
Brian says
This is a fantastic blog and so true. How this industry has to make a quantum change.