Intimacy doesn't require absolute knowledge of oneself or the other person. There is always some resistance to too much self-exploration. People really don't want to know or have it known what secrets are slumbering in their souls. If you try too much to penetrate another person, you'll find that you have thrust him into a defensive position that he fights against. In fact, the knowledge of the other is best initiated not by exploration but by a simple declaration: you are fine as you are. Of course, in order to offer such acceptance to another, one has to accept oneself. Such self-acceptance requires that acknowledgment and ownership of a bad as well as a good side of self, one's hidden darkness or shadow.
The shadow may include our anger, selfishness, jealousy, pride, insecurity, wildness, or destructiveness. Although these qualities are an integral part of us, we want to hide them or deny them. They get out of the darkness when we project them onto others-husband, wife, child, friend, neighbor, co-worker, or another race and culture. Only by accepting one's own shadow can one allow the other person to keep his own secrets.
Stripping the other person of his depth and psychological secrets is not getting to know someone. In fact, getting to know someone deeply would require not seeing too clearly. The magic in relationships is maintained partly by taming one's excessive curiosity to discover the ingredients of the whole, by resisting unweaving the mystery of otherness, by not throwing too much light on the person. Every soul has "a lie" in its formation, because it is never fully formed; at any given stage, it seems like pretending. Dr. Relling, in Ibsen's Wild Duck, says that he takes care to preserve his life lie. If you take away the average person's "life lie," you rob him of his happiness too.
The need not to shed too much light on another person harkens back to ancient Greek mythology-the beautiful princess Psyche and her beloved Eros (Cupid). Psyche was unable to find a husband, but an oracle revealed that a monster on top of a mountain would marry her. Unbeknownst to Psyche, that beast was really Eros, whom she had promised never to look upon. Convinced by her jealous sisters to break that vow, she lit a lamp and beheld the handsome Eros as he slept. Suddenly awakened and realizing that he had been betrayed, the winged figure flew away.
Of course, Eros was Love.
Adapted from The Art of Serenity
