Lawrence Erlbaum Associates (Taylor & Francis Group)

"In the Labyrinth of the Image": An Archetypal Approach to Drama in Education

Author(s): Gano Haine
Source: Theory into Practice, Vol. 24, No. 3, Educating through Drama (Summer, 1985), pp.
187-192
Published by: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates (Taylor & Francis Group)
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1477039
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Gano Haine
"In the Labyrinth of the Image":
An Archetypal Approach to Drama
in Education
We live on images. As human beings we
know our bodies and our minds only through
what we can imagine. To grasp our humanity
we need to structure these images into met-
aphors and models. Writers, artists, and vi-
sionaries have always known this-as have
philosophers and scientists in other ways.
(Lifton, 1979, p. 3)
Drama is the act of crossing into the world of
story. In doing drama we agree to live as if the
story were true by entertaining its imaginal reality.
We imagine the story, engage with it, struggle with
its unfamiliarconcepts, associate our own experi-
ence to it, and fill up its shape with our particular
interpretation.We process the key events, images,
and themes of story through the body by living
them out in drama. This process holds true whether
the stimulus for the drama is a written story, an
oral tale, or a group decision. Drama enables us
to discover the heart of story through its images.
This article delineates an archetypal approach
to drama in education. The concept of the archetype
will be used as a "lens" (Gardner, 1982) on the
relation between drama and story-a means of
uncovering aspects of the drama process which
previously have not received primary attention.
Drama will be viewed as "image work" (Hillman,
1983a). Participationin drama draws on both con-
scious and unconscious imaginativecapabilities and
involves teacher and student in the bedrock of
Gano Haine is a doctoral candidate at Northwestern Uni-
versity and former administratorof the Children'sDrama
Workshop at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
human reaction. By viewing drama as participation
in archetype and, therefore, placing the archetypal
image at the heart of drama, we re-vision the nature
of drama in education (Hillman,1977b).
Archetypes as Dramatic Structures
What is an archetype and how does it affect
our view of the drama process? Storr (1983) pre-
sents excerpts of Jung's thought in which arche-
types are conceived as the universal structures of
the humanmind,the formal,relationalpatterns which
organize experience. These "organizers" are the
content of the collective unconscious and are man-
ifest in images determined by the cultural context
(Stevens, 1982). The archetypes are not, however,
genetic buttons waiting to be pushed. Rather, they
are "a kind of readiness to produce over and over
again the same or similarmythical ideas" (Stevens,
1982, p. 70). Archetypes drive toward realization
in all areas of life (Stevens, 1982).
The application of the forms or "structures"
(O'Neill & Lambert, 1982) of drama to our experi-
ence is an act of archetypal imagining. In his fore-
word to Drama Structures, Bolton (1982) calls for
"a new respect for the 'content' or 'themes' for
which drama can be the vehicle (p. 7). This article
contends that these structures have been identified
as successful because they are archetypal. By
"successful" is meant the ability of the structure
to elicit an unusual quality of emotion, commitment,
and thought from groups of children of otherwise
normal ability. Drama of this type often elicits a
level of skill which could not be predicted from class
behavior in other areas. Through the drama struc-
ture children find a voice that we are not accus-
tomed to hearing. This voice contributes to the
power of the film Three Looms Waiting(BBC Om-
nibus Series, 1969) which demonstrates Dorothy
Heathcote's ability to enable children to find their
own voice within the dramatic experience.
Support for the view that the structure itself
may have something to do with the depth of the
drama experience is found in Robertson's Rose-
garden and Labyrinth(1982), a book which docu-
ments the author's experience of archetypal
phenomena in the teaching of art. Certain themes,
among them "rosegarden" and "labyrinth,"enabled
a quality of "something more" to appear in her
students' paintings.
I cannot at this point describe what it was,
only a vague feeling that the same sort of
thing was happening again and again. My
rational mind told me that all the children in
the class were often, though not always,
painting the same subject, but it was not the
repetition of pit tips or waterfalls, but rather
some way of seeing it which seemed to jump
out at me from this particularset of paintings.
(p. 27)
Robertson studied this experience systematic-
cally through assigning carefully selected themes in
the classrooms of 12 teachers whose work she
was supervising. The resulting sample was 3,400
paintings (p. 36).1 She found that certain themes
consistently produced work of haunting quality in
the paintings of whole classes, for the most part
irrespective of the particularteacher or the "talent"
of individualchildren (p. 29). Such work was char-
acterized by: (a) an unusual degree of absorption
while doing it, (b) a degree of satisfaction with the
final product disproportionate to its "objective" ar-
tistic worth, and (c) an unusual way of representing
the subject which was still very evocative of it (p.
32). She determined that this "something more"
had to do with the presence of collective uncon-
scious material, that is, of unconscious imagery
originating beyond individualexperience.
The idea of a shift into the collective uncon-
scious illuminatedfor me certain drama experiences
which were difficult to explain in terms of main-
stream drama methodologies. Perhaps this was the
"click" that I had felt at moments in the drama,
the drainingaway of time and physicality, the sense
of some compelling meaning hovering over us.
Viewing drama as education of the ego, as mastery
(e.g., expertise in "showing" a story), or even in
188 Theory Into Practice
terms of deploying thinking and language skills in
relation to a drama situation, failed to explain this
"drama." These elements of skill and high-level
thinking were clearly in evidence in the quality of
the children's responses, yet the special quality of
these dramas was, to use Robertson's (1982) words,
"something more." The utilizationof the children's
personal experiences and associations, their per-
sonal unconscious, seemed critical yet was insuf-
ficient in accounting for the overwhelming feeling
of the drama. I grew, instead, to understand "the
moment when we have drama" as something which
comes from beyond our capacities as individuals,
yet in a specific way.
Hillman(1983a) refers to the "message-bearing
experience of the image-and the feeling of bless-
ing that an image can bring" (p. 14). In drama we
sit outside the cave and individualsolutions to the
question, "What, do you suppose, lies within?"
drain away. The answer happens as if we were of
one accord; we do not have the sensation of in-
venting it. This experience is transpersonal, fleeting,
difficultto access, and does not happen every time.
Drama is one way of introducingthe "structures"
which draw on the collective, that is, on the
archetypes.
Imaginal Experience and Seeing Archetypally
Archetype manifests through image and can be
known only through involvement in imaginal ex-
perience (Hillman,1983a). It will be helpful, there-
fore, to look more carefully at what is meant by
imaginal experience. All behavior and language
grows out of our imaginal life. Imaginalexperience
is the often unacknowledged environ of daily living.
Each day we experience a flow of fantasy, memory,
and speculation which punctuates our every action.
Sitting at the typewriter, I am suddenly inside the
experience of sitting in the sun at the beach. This
experience may come to me through a variety of
pathways: a visual image of sea and sand; the
sensation of warmth on tanning skin; the sound of
waves; a half-formulatedthought, "If I finish this
article, I can go on vacation!" For the most part,
this experience remains unspoken, inner, and pri-
vate. We become aware of our imaginal life only
to the extent that dissonance is created with rou-
tine, as, for example, losing my train of thought for
this article! This capacity is the key to doing drama.
The truth of the story, its images and symbolic
value, are processed through bodily participationin
the imaginal.
 In speaking of her students' work, Robertson
(1982) mentioned a "way of seeing" (p. 27). Hillman
(1983a) emphasizes that image itself is a "way of
seeing," a process rather than an object. This idea
of a "way of seeing" is crucial in implementingan
archetypal approach to drama. Such an approach,
however, is not accomplished by picking out the
archetypes in the class's work; for example, by
identifying the "Great Mother" in a drama about
the death of a family matriarch. Such intellectual
understanding gives no clue for further directions
in the work. Labeling an archetypal image, espe-
cially by taking it out of context, is not in itself
meaningful. Analyzing the archetype is counter to
its transformative nature, and as such an analysis
tends to reify or reduce the image (Singer, 1979).
Rather, drama must be seen archetypally, using an
amplified understanding of aspects of the Great
Mother to deepen the aforementioned drama.
The distinction between analyzing the arche-
type and seeing archetypally is difficult to under-
stand, let alone put into practice. Perhaps McLuhan's
(1962) metaphor of the stained-glass window will
be of some help. The stained-glass window rep-
resents the difference between "lighton" and "light
through":
This theme enters into the very texture of
medieval thought and sensibility, as in the
technique of the "gloss" to release the light
from within the text, the technique of the
illuminationas light through, not on, and the
very mode of Gothic architecture itself. (p.
131)
In drama we wish to release the meanings from
the text, whether written or invented solely by our-
selves. We attempt to create "light through" the
events of the story. Light on the events restricts
us to plot, light throughimmerses us in the meaning
of the events. Specifically, light through is a matter
of developing the imaginal side of the drama ex-
perience. Seeing the drama archetypally is to view
drama as "image work" (Hillman,1983a).
Image Work and Story
In order to be of maximum usefulness to the
teacher, I will confine the examples of drama as
image work to the exploration of various types of
written texts. The advantage of stories that have
been written down is that the archetypal structures
are already laid out. The concept of "image work"
enables the teacher to bridge from the literaryme-
dium to drama.
In working with story, it is important to un-
derstand that story is not primarilyplot or sequence
but rather a complex arrangement of narrativeand
image. The plot event is the bones of the story,
not its flesh. The view of story as "beginning,
middle, and end," as it has traditionallybeen re-
flected in American creative dramatics, is a limited
one, resting on a literacy-based concept of story
that is essentially linear and rationalistic. Story is
also the subtle, paratactic unfolding of image in
dream, oral tale, or daydream. Psyche spins the
story, while ego weaves it into text (Berry, 1982).
We can speculate that the structure "beginning,
middle,and end" is itself archetypal(Hillman,1983b).
However, story itself spans the traditions and con-
ventions of many cultures, not all of which take a
linear, teleological view. The preliteratetext is con-
structed differently from the written-as, for ex-
ample, in the fairy tale, a series of images honed
and cleansed of personal content over the centuries
(von Franz, 1982). The text of film has unique
characteristics more similarto dream and daydream
than to literature(McLuhan,1962). To equate story
with plot or sequence omits too much material.
In working from written texts we must keep in
mind that we wish to connect with story via the
drama medium, not recreate literaryqualities. Story
is purposeful, but the purpose is not necessarily
that of beginning, middle, and end. The purpose of
story is the embodiment of the archetype and the
purpose of the drama is to form a connection to
the archetypal content of the story through image
work.
To view drama as image work with story leads
away from methodology based on sequence or skill
hierarchy.The image itself leads us away from this
type of approach since it presents informationsi-
multaneously rather than sequentially (Hillman,
1977a). Our purpose in the drama is to become
involved in the image on as many levels as possible,
rather than to make the drama "work out" or tie
it to beginning, middle, and end. Image work in-
cludes a concern with the following: (a) the image
as a process; (b) the movement of image; and (c)
the use of the image to release the hidden side of
the story, that is, to act as a point of entry for a
possible experience of archetype.
Image means far more than the visual, sensory
impression that is the common definition of the
word (Hillman,1977a). For example, in a story about
a boy making a sword, such as the episode in
Alexander's Book of Three (1969), a simplistic ap-
proach would abstract "sword" as the image. One
VolumeXXIV,Number3 189
can then imagine a series of visualizationexercises,
imaginary sword fights, etc. However, this way of
working reflects a literal understanding of image
and, therefore, has only the thinnest of connections
to the idea of image as "way of seeing."
Rather, the image is the contextualized form
with all of its emotional overtones and undertones
(Hillman,1978a). We are interested in sword-ness,
not the sword itself.2 Here, the context is sword-
making, or, more accurately, boy sword-making
(Hillman, 1977a). The class is told by teacher-in-
role as Dallben, the sorcerer, that what makes a
battle sword strong is the forging of dreams into
it. Any number of expressive modes can be chosen
for the sharing of the dreams. They can be danced,
sung, mimed, told, or drawn as runes. This ap-
proach uses the sword as a funnel for the larger
issues of the work and draws on the unconscious
capacities. The image is "worked" through the
drama as the sword is worked in the forge. In this
way it gathers greater meaning and emotional
significance.
The central agreement of any drama lesson is
that we submit ourselves to the story. By submit
I mean being willing to let the story work on us,
rather than forcing the story through the sieve of
plot enactment. We are not attempting image-la-
beling;rather,we are "imaging"by "releasingevents
from their literal understanding into a mythical ap-
preciation" (Hillman,1983a, p. 27).
Image work rests on a paradoxical balance
between the content of the image and its form. On
the one hand, staying with the context or "sticking
with the image" does implya certain preoccupation
with content (Hillman,1978a). We are interested in
archetype not as an abstraction but as a particular
image. The potential for transformation, for learn-
ing, lies in the particularway the image comes to
us (Hillman,1978a). For each class, "our" drama
is uniquely our own, even at its most universal.
The drama itself is important, rather than the dis-
cussion which might follow it. The drama contains
the imaginal richness. On the other hand, Stevens
(1982) emphasizes Jung's description of the arche-
type as a formal, relational pattern similar to "the
axial system of a crystal" (p. 45). The content
becomes the way a particulararchetype has been
realized in a particularcontext. The content is the
way the archetype has imaged itself (Hillman,1983a).
Imaginal Movement
The plasticityof the archetypalimage, its shape-
shifting propensity, is a critical concept in an ar-
190 Theory Into Practice
chetypal view of drama. Often the archetypal image
seems to engage in a sort of "genre"-jumping(Hill-
man, 1978a). More simply, the image is not the
one the teacher expected or planned. It requires a
sort of instructionaldouble-take for the teacher to
realize that the drama is working. This is especially
true in work with adults and adolescents where the
image frequently shifts in genre from fantasy to
social realism. The indication that we are in the
presence of an archetypal image is often the un-
usual absorption and disproportionate satisfaction
mentioned by Robertson (1982).
For example, in drama work based on "Little
Red RidingHood," an information-gatheringsession
began with the problemof the missing child.Teacher-
in-role entered as an outside expert in search of
any assistance, rumors, or suggestions that the
townspeople might provide. The teacher's plan had
to do with exploring "wolfness" (as previously dis-
cussed) and the questions were strongly weighted
toward wolves lurking in the forest. The towns-
people, however, flatlyrefused to "discuss any such
nonsense as wolves in the forest" and took the bit
of the drama firmlyin their own teeth. The apparent
direction of the drama appeared to be conflict in
the town and the splinteringof social groups. This
obvious, social level is a common feature of many
adult drama lessons. The dark area of the drama
began to center on the rumor of hippies in the
woods. We had shifted from the fairy tale wolf to
a 20th-century urban wolf. Image had shifted with
the context.
Related to the idea of plasticity and shape-
shifting is an emphasis on imaginal movement as
a criterion of this approach (Hillman,1983a). The
image itself leads us into and out of other images,
and this movement gives meaning to the drama.
Anno's picture book, Anno's Journey (1978), is a
visual analogue of this process. A tiny human figure
in a rowboat emerges from vast sea space and
travels across a landscape of increasing complexity.
Just as he arrives at the center, a burgeoning
eruption of image, a train appears. From the center
he follows the train which leads out and the land-
scape subsides into increasinglysparsely populated
fields. Finally,he disappears over the horizon. This
unravelingsupports the feeling of the drama lesson
which is "imaginallyright." The teacher must con-
stantly ask, "Where is the drama moving, toward
what images are we led?"
We experience imaginalmovement in the drama
not by imposing it but, rather, by deepening and
elaborating the image in which we find ourselves:
 In alchemical terms what we have been doing
is an iteratio of the prima materia: going over
and over again the same opaque "unpsy-
chological" stuff, giving more and more pos-
sibilityfor connections to appear and psychic
patterns to emerge. Psyche emerges, but not
in straight messages given by interpretive
meanings. Rather, psyche emerges as we
merge with or get lost in the labyrinthof the
image. (Hillman,1977a, pp. 74-75)
We want to explore the images of the story so
that we continually see more in them. The image
itself has the ability to move us. As Avens (1982)
states, "The meaning of images dwells in the im-
ages themselves, as life dwells in the body" (p. 70).
In this sense, drama becomes an overarching kind
of learning, teaching not only the content area of
the conscious mind (i.e., what I remember of the
characters, themes, and events of the story) but
also moving into the unknown, the shadow area of
the story which cannot reveal itself untilwe engage
with it. In part, this is what Frank Kermode has
called the "secret side" of narrative(cited in Mitch-
ell, 1983), or, to quote a source as ancient as
Heraclitus: "the hidden connections are the best"
(cited in Hillman,1977a, p. 81).
Drama of this type views the element of sur-
prise as absolute necessity. We do not know what
we will find in the drama, any more than we know
what we will find in the next chapter of a book. In
good drama, as in a good book, events have a
dual nature: We do not know where we are going,
but when we get there we sense a rightness about
it. A story renews itself with every class. When we
know exactly what we will find in the drama-when
we are sure of the outcome-we have lost drama,
because the thread to imaginal experience has
snapped.
Kermode's "secret side" of the story is of
overwhelming importance in the children's picture
book by Ryan (1972), Hildilid'sNight
High in the hills near Hexham
there lived an old woman named Hildilid/
She hated bats and owls and moles and
voles/
and moths and stars and shadows and
sleep,
and even the moonlight, all because she
hated the night.
The irony of the story, surely an insomniac's fan-
tasy, is that Hildilid'sfutile efforts to sweep away
the night, propitiate it, rend it out of being, are so
exhausting that she falls asleep as day breaks. She
lives, therefore, with a reversed ratio of night to
day. One senses a whole universe of meaning be-
hind the story-in Arnold Lobel's woodcut illustra-
tions and in the careful choice of words. It has to
do with the dark side, perhaps with "witchness."
This story that lies behind the story is the area for
drama; it is the "secret side" to which the author
points. Drama initiates us to the hidden possibilities
of the story.
Lately, I have begun drama work with groups
of children by talking about their imaginal experi-
ence, using topics ranging from recurring dreams
to reading in private. "When you read a story," I
say, "where do you go?" "Where are you, the part
that makes you you, while your body remains in
the room?" "Do you think we could go there to-
gether, live in the world of the story for a while,
and see what would happen?"
I find in children the same sense of pleasure
in the powers of the mind, in the reality of interior
experience which is, I believe, a large part of the
appeal of the wave of fantasy adventure movies
now inundatingour culture. It is the overwhelming
moment in E.T. when the boys, who have met at
the park to assist the brothers, confront E.T. stand-
ing at the back of the stolen truck, his chest glow-
ing. Elliott says, by way of explanation, "He's a
man from outer space and we're taking him to his
spaceship." One boy, the doubter, says to Elliott,
"Well . . . can't he just beam up?" Elliott replies,
"This is reality, Greg" (Spielberg & Kennedy, 1982).
I find a profound longing for an authentic, real
experience of story. The story is not made by the
TV, by the author who sits on the mountaintop, by
some faceless, nameless, altogether other from our-
selves. Instead, we use the shards of all the other
experiences (Meek, 1982) and what lies deepest in
the unconscious to piece together a story just for
ourselves. We return to an "as if" quality of play.
In so doing, we alter the "nothing but" attitude of
the contemporary child.3 We push for real thinking
and feeling with confidence that both are there,
untriggered, hidden in the group. The archetypal
image is the trigger which releases both.
Conclusion
Currently, archetypal psychologists use the
metaphor of the searchlight to describe the ego's
relation to the unconscious (Singer, 1979). Con-
sciousness, in this sense, is a matter of unconscious
material springing to life under one's fingertips. It
is like holding a magnifyingglass over a vast, min-
utely detailed map. The terrainunderthe glass wells
up, while around the edges detail blurs and fades
into an indistinct mass. Drama is the magnifying
Volume XXIV,Number 3 191
glass, the searchlight on story. By applying atten-
tion to the images of the story we discover new
realms and awaken the world of story. Behind its
images lie the archetypes like the great beasts of
fairy tales. Inside the drama we are the third brother,
the idiot savant who carelessly pitches a stone into
the pool or down the well and then watches, shocked
into awareness, as the giant form emerges from
the dark.
Drama may reveal to us the stories which are
living us out (Hillman, 1978b). It could provide us
with valuable information concerning the archetypes
as they are unfolding in the lives of our children,
what Stevens (1982) has called the "phylogenetic
blueprint" of our culture (p. 70). Through drama
we have the opportunity to affect this blueprint in
critical ways. Drama may be a volatile issue within
the curriculum because it concerns the imaginal life
ignored in Western culture. Perhaps this is the
reason it has been relegated to every drafty hallway,
ancient gymnasium, and unused peripheral building
that our institutions have to offer. Hillman (1978b)
asks, "Where can the heart go to school?" Cur-
rently, it is a tragic question. Perhaps imagining an
archetypal approach to drama-in-education is a small
part of the answer.
Notes
1. It would be interesting to repeat Robertson's study in
drama.
2. Dorothy Heathcote has long worked with the "ness"
aspect of the image, as in her lesson on "bridgeness" in
the diploma course, Universityof Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
3. Jung developed the "as if"/"nothingbut" opposition.
In many ways, "nothing but" encapsulates the ideas of
Marie Winn (1983) on the attitudes of the contemporary
child, as developed in Children WithoutChildhood.
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