For Carl Jung, growth and personality development hinge on integrating opposing forces within ourselves. While inner conflicts can take many forms, one of the most fundamental challenges is reconciling the competing tendencies of our type’s dominant and inferior functions.
Given our natural tendency for binary thinking, our first instinct when faced with internal conflict is to adopt an “either-or” mindset. We weigh our options, choose the one with the most “pros” or the fewest “cons,” and hope the competing desire fades into the background. And for a while, it might. But inevitably, whatever we reject resurfaces, demanding our attention once again. This cycle can feel like psychological “whack-a-mole,” where suppressed parts of ourselves keep reemerging, refusing to be ignored.
As much as we might long for perfect internal unity, the reality is that, psychologically, we are a plurality rather than a singularity. Although we may achieve periods of harmony, the fact that both we and the world are constantly changing invariably introduces new struggles that require our attention.
The past few years have yielded some profound and transformative realizations for me—insights that felt like scales falling from my eyes, offering a sense of hope, clarity, and renewed purpose. But recently, I noticed something unsettling: that sense of joy and conviction had faded. Worse, I found myself slipping back into old ways of thinking and behaving, almost as if those life-changing insights had been an illusion—nothing but a mirage in the desert.
Perplexed, I decided to retrace my steps. Where exactly had I lost my way? One realization stood out: I had unknowingly fallen into the trap of either-or thinking. My newfound clarity had created a stark contrast between my “old self” and my emerging “new self.” We see this kind of language in religious contexts all the time—admonitions to embrace the “new self” and discard the “old.” Such language generates a lot of enthusiasm, even euphoria, around transformation. But when the intensity of those experiences fade, we’re often caught unaware, unprepared for the inevitable return to the mundane. After glimpsing what feels like transcendence, we’re dismayed to find ourselves back down to earth.
The Problem with “Either-Or” Thinking
I understand why this “new-old” dichotomy is so compelling. Life-changing insights feel precious, like unearthing a long-lost treasure. The excitement they bring is real and often justified.
But a major pitfall is that we can become so attached to the feeling of transformation that when our enthusiasm wanes (as it inevitably does), we start to doubt the insight itself. If we equate the value of an idea with the intensity of our emotions around it, we risk discarding something meaningful when the initial thrill fades.
Another consequence of this binary framing is the tendency to reject our former selves. It’s understandable—we associate our “old self” with the struggles that led us to seek change in the first place. We want to leave behind the patterns responsible for that suffering. But in doing so, we often oversimplify the situation, labeling the old as wholly bad and the new as wholly good. Unfortunately, this kind of thinking can end up burning potentially valuable bridges between the two.
Why We Need Bridges
But why do we need these bridges? Why not simply embrace the new and move forward?
Psychological bridges serve the same purpose as physical ones—they allow us to connect different territories and enjoy access to a broader range of resources. In Jungian terms, they help us integrate the diverse aspects of our personality, granting us greater psychological flexibility and a richer engagement with life.
For many, transformative insights stem from encounters with their inferior function. Because the inferior function operates largely outside of our conscious control, it often feels mysterious, even spiritual, when it emerges. It reveals an entirely different world from that of our dominant function.
However, this can lead to an extreme reaction—we become so captivated by the inferior that we reject the dominant. Wanting to embrace what seems like a new and more enlightened way of being, we naively see the inferior and its spiritual potency as our “new self.” Of course, this imbalance can only be sustained for so long before problems arise and a rediscovery of the dominant function is required.
Navigating Competing Desires: A Concrete Example
As an INTP, I’ve long seen myself as a seeker and explorer (P) rather than a teacher or counselor (J). My explorations have generally taken the form of independent thinking, reading, and writing. But in midlife, I began having insights connected to my inferior function (Extraverted Feeling), which gave me a stronger sense of conviction. I was also growing weary of being stuck in my head and felt an urge to engage with people more directly. This led to an identity crisis: Was I meant to shift from being an explorer to being a teacher? The idea of teaching what I had already discovered, rather than continuously seeking new knowledge, didn’t thrill me. But at the same time, I was burned out on writing. Neither option felt fully satisfying.
While I haven’t entirely resolved this dilemma, I now see a way forward. I’ve taken meaningful steps toward teaching, which I’ve enjoyed, but I also recognize its limitations. Teachers hope to inspire transformation, but their impact is often subtle and difficult to measure, which can lead to frustration and disillusionment. At times, I’ve felt the urge to retreat back into solitary exploration, questioning whether this new path was truly viable or merely an illusion.
Eventually, I realized that this is exactly why we need bridges between the old and new. While it’s natural to embrace change, over-identification with any one aspect of ourselves can lead to imbalance and dissatisfaction. By allowing space for both the new and the old, we create a more fluid and adaptable approach to growth—one that accommodates both our soul’s needs and the unfolding demands of life.
Holding the Tension of Growth
The key takeaway here is to resist the lure of either-or thinking when navigating personal transformation. When possible, maintain a degree of sobriety toward breakthrough insights to avoid burning bridges between your past and present self. Instead of outright rejecting the old, remain in conversation with it—because soon enough, you will need it again.
Not only does this approach serve personal growth, but it also fosters empathy. By remaining connected to our past struggles, we are better equipped to understand and relate to others. Additionally, avoiding over-identification with the “new self” helps guard against grandiosity, keeping us grounded in a sense of continuity rather than rupture.
True growth isn’t about choosing one self over another. It’s about learning to hold the tension between them, allowing the old and the new to enrich and inform each other. When we build bridges instead of burning them, we gain access to a broader, more integrated sense of identity—one that can navigate the vicissitudes of life with resilience and wisdom.
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