The Wisdom of Not Knowing: Reflections on Jung and the Soul of Therapy

The First Encounter

The first time I encountered the work of Carl Jung was when I plucked this volume from the shelves of a bookshop sometime during my mid-late teens. Having no idea at the time who this man was, or about psychoanalysis, I imagine I was attracted by the title.

A Timely Passage in a Culture of Speed

I find this following passage fascinating today, in a world where we must all be ever quicker to 'know'. Alluding to a way of working that seeks not to impinge upon the patient/client/analysand with 'expertise', or to demand that the person coming for therapy knows what they want, but allowing for something to emerge from the encounter. One of the qualities of soul is a move away from haste, rushing. Getting to what one wants too quickly—premature growth—can result in psyche bringing us back to the ground of where we were, a reaction to an overwhelm of unfamiliar terrain.

"As far as possible, I let pure experience decide the therapeutic aims. This may perhaps seem strange, because it is usually assumed that the therapist should have an aim. But it seems to me that in psychotherapy especially it is advisable for the physician not to have too fixed a goal. He can scarcely know what is wanted better than nature and the will-to-live of the sick person. The great decisions of life have far more to do with the instincts and other mysterious unconscious factors, than with conscious will and well-meaning reasonableness. The shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases."

"None of these considerations, of course, prevents us doing everything possible to make the lives of patients normal and reasonable. If this brings about a satisfactory result, then we can let it go at that; but if it is insufficient, for better or for worse, then the therapist must be guided by the data presented through the patient's unconscious. Here we must follow nature as a guide, and the course the physician then adopts is less a question of treatment than of developing the creative possibilities that lie in the patient himself."

Jung’s Influence Beyond the Page

Jung's words, first read in passing, returned to me with increasing clarity as I found myself stepping into the work of psychotherapy years later. What initially struck me with its poetic depth began to reveal its philosophical and clinical weight. These passages from Modern Man In Search Of A Soul propose a radical idea—that perhaps we don’t always need to “know” in the way we are conditioned to believe we should. And more than that, that a therapist—or any companion on the road of change—need not always lead from the front.

The Tyranny of Certainty - Jung on Not Knowing

In contemporary culture, certainty is highly prized. We are encouraged to have answers, strategies, five-year plans. There is little tolerance for uncertainty, and even less for the slow unfolding of experience. Therapy, however, and indeed healing more broadly, often refuses to adhere to such linear expectations.

Jung invites us instead into a very different orientation—one that trusts the wisdom of the unconscious and the creative nature of psyche. This is not to be mistaken for a lack of direction or carelessness. Rather, it is a form of reverence: for the uniqueness of each individual, for the inner timing of transformation, and for the unpredictability of the soul’s path.

No One-Size-Fits-All

When Jung writes that “the shoe that fits one person pinches another,” he underscores the essential singularity of human experience. There is no universal prescription for a life well-lived. No checklist that applies to everyone. And yet, so much of modern life—even therapy, at times—leans on models that assume otherwise. Standardised protocols, evidence-based approaches, and goal-oriented interventions all have their place, but they can inadvertently overlook the individual’s own capacity to shape their way forward, in their own time.

There is something deeply humane—and humbling—in the idea that the therapist should not impose a fixed aim. It asks the therapist to remain open, attuned, and curious. To resist the impulse to “fix” or direct, and instead to accompany, to witness. It also places a profound trust in the individual’s innate potential for growth and integration, even if that potential is hidden or dormant.

A Different Kind of Responsibility

For those not in the field of psychotherapy, this may sound like a kind of passivity, or even a lack of responsibility. But what Jung is pointing to is a different kind of responsibility—one that involves staying close to the living moment, allowing what wants to be known to reveal itself, rather than rushing to preempt it. This process often unfolds more like a dance than a diagnosis, more like a listening than a leading.

There is also, in these words, a respectful acknowledgement of suffering. Not all pain can be immediately “resolved,” and not all crises require a solution in the conventional sense. Sometimes, the psyche is not asking for a fix, but for understanding—for someone to stay present long enough for deeper truths to emerge. Jung's reference to the “creative possibilities” within each person speaks to this hope: that even in distress, there are seeds of growth, meaning, and transformation.

What Happens When We Slow Down

In my work, I’ve seen how the urge to know too quickly—whether from therapist or client—can short-circuit this process. It is often when we pause, allow space, and refrain from making immediate meaning, that something surprising begins to take shape. A new image. A feeling long buried. A gesture toward something previously unspoken. These moments cannot be summoned on demand. They come when the psyche feels it is safe to speak.

In this way, therapy becomes less a process of repair and more a process of unfolding. And the therapist, far from being the expert with all the answers, becomes a companion—someone who holds a certain kind of space. Not empty space, but spaciousness. A room where complexity is allowed, where uncertainty is not feared, and where the client is trusted to bring their own wisdom to bear.

A Living System, Not a Problem to Solve

Jung’s approach, as reflected in these passages, also resonates with the broader themes of his work. His lifelong interest in dreams, myth, archetypes, and the collective unconscious speaks to a worldview that sees the psyche not as a machine to be fixed, but as a living system—dynamic, symbolic, and mysterious. In this sense, the therapeutic process is not just about solving problems, but about engaging with life more fully, more consciously.

There is something profoundly countercultural about this perspective. In a time where even our inner lives are often subjected to metrics, efficiency, and productivity, Jung’s writing calls us back to a slower, more soulful way of being. It asks us to trust that growth does not always follow a straight line—and that healing, when it comes, may look nothing like we expected.

The Inner Compass of the Psyche

The line “he can scarcely know what is wanted better than nature and the will-to-live of the sick person” is especially moving to me. It suggests that within each of us is a kind of inner compass, a natural inclination toward wholeness—even when we feel lost or broken. The role of the therapist, then, is not to impose direction, but to support that movement toward integration, however it may appear.

This way of working can feel risky. It demands patience, humility, and the willingness to sit with not knowing. It may even go against the expectations of those seeking quick answers or immediate relief. But it is also, I believe, what allows therapy to be truly transformative. Because when we relinquish the need to rush toward a fixed outcome, we make space for something more organic to take root. Something that belongs uniquely to the person in front of us.

Living the Questions in Everyday Life

And this attitude need not be confined to the therapy room. In our daily lives, we might ask ourselves: Where am I rushing to know? Where might I soften the need for clarity, and allow for unfolding? How might I trust that something meaningful can arise from simply being present to what is here?

The reflections of Jung on not knowing, read all those years ago on a whim, continue to shape how I think about therapy, and about life. They remind me that we do not always need to strive, to explain, to control. Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is to listen deeply—to ourselves, to others, to the quiet intelligence moving beneath the surface.

And in doing so, we may discover that we are not so lost after all.

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