Archetypes and the Shaping of the Self
This is an edited and slightly expanded transcript of an In Medias Res Bites podcast episode.
We often ask ourselves big questions about life: What is my purpose? What kind of person do I want to become? What should guide my decisions, especially when I find myself unsure of the right course of action? Ideally, they are not questions confined to adolescence or moments of crisis. They are the kinds of questions we ought to return to again and again, across different stages of our lives.
There are many ways to frame these inquiries. We might think in terms of goals, relationships, virtues, or values. But here, I’d like to propose another lens—one that has shaped my own way of thinking and living: the idea of archetypes.
I don’t mean archetypes in the loose, pop-psychological sense of personality types or zodiac signs. I mean something deeper and more existential: enduring, universally recognized ways of being that help us imagine the life we are called to live. Think of the rebel, the sage, the pilgrim, the guardian, or the healer. These figures aren’t merely characters from novels or ancient myths, nor are they roles we perform on the social stage. I think of them instead as recurring patterns of human existence that appear across cultures, stories, and spiritual traditions—patterns that resonate with us.
Carl Jung, the Swiss psychiatrist, described archetypes as recurring motifs embedded in what he called the collective unconscious—a deep, shared structure of human meaning shaped by ancestral memory, culture, and symbolic imagination. For Jung, archetypes such as the Self, the Persona, the Shadow, and the Anima/Animus were not constructed; they were discovered. These are not things we make up, in other words, but patterns we find ourselves inhabiting and responding to. They feel given, not invented—more like discoveries than creations, as if we are responding to something already there
Others have built on his insights. Joseph Campbell’s theory of the Hero’s Journey outlined a universal narrative arc—a call, a threshold, trials, transformation, return—through which many human lives and stories unfold. And Christopher Vogler, building on Campbell, outlined eight central archetypal characters in myth and storytelling: the Hero, the Mentor, the Ally, the Threshold Guardian, the Herald, the Shadow, the Trickster, and the Shapeshifter.
But you don’t need to accept all of Jung’s metaphysics or Campbell’s interpretation of mythology to feel the force of this idea. Many of us have had the experience of encountering someone—a mentor, a grandparent, an elderly person in a church pew—and feeling the pull of admiration: that is the kind of person I want to become, at least in part. We are drawn not merely to what they do, but to the way they are, mirroring, quite possibly, an aspirational archetype.
Archetypes, then, do more than describe—they draw. They don’t merely classify; they call. At their best, archetypes awaken what Plato called eros—not merely sexual desire, but a magnetic longing for the good. (Iris Murdoch took up this Platonic notion, describing how the Good exerts a gravitational pull on our moral imagination).
When an archetype truly resonates, it stirs in us a kind of Sehnsucht—a longing to become more than we currently are. It invites transformation. We begin to imagine new values, to act differently, to align our lives with something deeper and more enduring. Archetypes give us a glimpse—not of who we are, but of who we could be.
This longing shows up across all cultures. The Stoics held up the sage as their archetype of human excellence: not simply a teacher, but a person of tranquility, inner freedom, and wisdom. Plato envisioned the philosopher as a lover of truth and justice, one who sees through appearances toward deeper realities. The biblical tradition offers its own archetypal figures: the prophet, the righteous sufferer, the faithful servant—each one bearing witness to the possibility of divine alignment in human life.
Consider the archetype of the rebel. This might be the prophetic voice confronting injustice—figures like Abraham Joshua Heschel, Martin Luther King Jr., or Gandhi. But it might also be the quiet dissenter who chooses integrity over approval. Not all rebels are loud, but they are all faithful to something higher than convention. And this illustrates an important point: archetypes are not rigid or moralistic. They are supple; they have plasticity to them. They can find their expression in different vocations, different life circumstances, and aspirations. The healer can be a physician, a counselor, or a quiet friend who listens well. What unites them, then, is not a profession or fixed list of what the archetype represents, but a posture or set of qualities—a readiness to be present, to help, to mend.
Some time ago, I wrote down the following key archetypes that I found deeply compelling:
The Mystic – not in a technical or esoteric sense, but as someone who seeks to live in awareness of God’s presence, responsive to the divine in each moment.
The Saint – a figure of moral clarity, compassion, generosity, and love.
The Explorer – curious, truth-seeking, open to experience, committed to shedding shallowness and distraction.
The Warrior – resilient and disciplined, someone who does not shrink from hardship but perseveres with focus and purpose.
The Sage – a presence of wisdom, balance, and perspective, living with thoughtful restraint and clarity.
Of course, I fall short of all of them; they don’t describe who I am. But they offer me a grammar or grid for self-reflection and concrete actions. In the midst of difficult decisions or disorienting situations, one or more of these archetypes often presents himself with a challenge: Are you sure you want to do this? Is this who you really are? What about your true values?
In future reflections, I’ll explore each of these five archetypes in greater depth. Each one, I believe, opens up a distinct dimension of what I call the craft of living. For me, these aren’t just psychological types; they are vehicles of spiritual formation. They shape my imagination, and they name the longings and disciplines I hope to grow into. (As a side note, in one of my previous posts, I wrote about David Brunner, a composite archetype. On the importance of such alter egos, see Todd Herman’s The Alter Ego Effect: The Power of Secret Identities to Transform Your Life.)
So here’s a simple challenge: identify one or two archetypes that resonate with your current season of life. What kind of person do you feel drawn to become? What patterns of being inspire you? You might begin not with abstract ideals, but with a concrete person or story that stirs something in you. Ask: What does this person embody? What do they name? What stance do they represent?
Write it down. Reflect on it. And the next time you find yourself unsure of what to do, ask: how would I act if I were living from that archetype?
For Christians, this may feel familiar. In Scripture, we are called to act in the name of Jesus, the ultimate archetype. The question "What would Jesus do?" is one way of responding to that archetypal call. When we live in alignment with such a model, we may be surprised by the clarity and integrity that follow.
