BOOK REVIEW BY KATHRYN G. WHITE, Ph.D.
Reprinted with permission from Psychoanalytic Psychologist,
Journal of the Division of Psychoanalysis,
American Psychological Association,
Fall 2006, pp. 64-65 and 69 with all rights reserved.
Broadly speaking, contemporary Jungian writers fall into three categories: “classic” writers
who amplify symbolic themes with little to no reference to psychoanalytic theories,
“integrators” who link contemporary Jungian ideas to classic and contemporary
psychoanalytic theories, and those somewhere in the middle. Jerome Bernstein’s Living in
the Borderland appropriately fits right in this middle territory. He has written a book that will
be interesting to many Jungians, that will feel speculative or “flaky” to use Bernstein’s word
to many psychoanalytic rationalists, and will stir up some provocative ideas for others.
Living in the Borderland is not a book to introduce contemporary Jungian thought to
psychoanalytic readers, but is readable by non-Jungians. Although Bernstein does link his
thoughts to psychoanalytic writers such as Joyce McDougall, Robert Stolorow and Harold
Searles, his role is neither translator nor apologist. Rather, he uses psychoanalytic thinking
as he uses the writings of linguists, historians of medicine and religion, scientific theorists,
brain researchers, and Navaho teachers. Within this breadth, Bernstein is careful to
introduce his many references. In particular, his description of the Jungian psyche and
collective unconscious is short, sweet and clear.
Bernstein strikes out in new psychological territory, which he names “the Borderland.” The
word “Borderland,” opens the metaphor of space or territory to describe phenomena “that
does not readily fit into standard cause and effect logical structure” (p. xv). The title also
implies some reframing of the “borderline” category of psychopathology. Indeed, Bernstein
acknowledges the allusion to the diagnosis, and notes that in part he intends the concept to
address dynamics that “are sometimes … used as a basic for diagnosing Borderline
pathology” (p. 103). However, his goal is to differentiate certain aspects which may be seen
in the context of Borderline personalities, but that he believes are not pathological. Whether
arising within or without borderline pathology, they are subject to serious misunderstanding
and iatrogenic wounding.
By “transrational” he refers to “objective nonpersonal, nonrational phenomena occurring in
the natural universe…the kinds of experience that typically are labeled and dismissed as
superstition, irrational, and, in the extreme abnormal or crazy.” (p. xv-xvi) Bernstein does
not deny the reality of superstition or psychosis. He notes that in the clinical consultation,
“Borderland features…are virtually always mixed with/accompanied by pathological
features” (p. 137). And he is careful to distinguish between the imaginal world, the source of
which is within the individual, and what he sees as the nonpersonal origin of Borderland
phenomena. Bernstein feels that differentiating Borderland from pathological elements
clarifies pathology and enables a less defended approach to the pathology. At the same
time it allows healing of core trauma in the therapist’s witnessing without interpretation or
evaluation genuine and often “secret” experience: “A major theme of this book is that there
is an increasing number of people who have transrational experiences that are real—not
real seeming “as if” experiences, but real” (p. xv-xvi).
Bernstein’s Borderland does not encompass all forms of transrational experience, although
his clinical discussion is pertinent to all forms. Rather, he is concerned with a very specific
form of experience that can link the individual with “split-off roots in nature.” Bernstein’s
term describes a psyche that “straddles the split between the developed, rational mind and
nature in the western psyche, and one who holds and carries the tension of that split and
an emergent reconciliation of that split at one and the same time.” (p. 17)
This knowing of nature through direct non-scientific, non-dual experience forms the
language and clinical examples of the book, while Bernstein’s concerns about
environmental blindness and scientific hubris provide the energy to his writing. His long
professional and personal relationship with the Navaho tribe have clearly imbued his
thinking and impelled his openness to alternative systems of reality. This book centers on
issues of nature, using the Navaho worldview and healing rituals as anchors. For those who
are not captivated with environmental concerns or Native American symbolism, the book
might, at first, feel a bit limited. In addition, the Jungian comfort with sliding quickly and
matter-of-factly between myth, science and psychological theory may be a bit disorienting to
non-Jungians. Jungians, being concerned with not only the personal unconscious, but also
the cultural and collective unconscious take for granted that the individual psyche is always
linked to social, ecological, and collective issues, and do tend to assume the reader can
make the transition without explicit explanation—much as any psychoanalyst needs no one
to explain why an early memory of being fed might have meaning. This thinking will be
stimulating to some, perhaps less so to others.
Underneath the specificity of the Borderland phenomena that he describes, Bernstein
speaks compellingly about what he perceives our western culture as ignoring and actively
dismissing. Woven into and underlying every page in the book is a critique of the western
mind’s over-reliance on what is seen as “rational,” and the forgetting that the “rational” and
“science” itself are mental constructs, extremely useful, but limited in scope. He reminds us
of a world outside of the logical, scientifically validated, tangible data that our culture sees
as ultimate reality. In this, he takes on a serious critique of the “western ego,” which he sees
as caught in narcissistic grandiosity (“inflated,” to use the more common word in analytical
psychology.)
In many situations less dramatic than Borderland experience, we have neglected to assert
the truth of what is psychologically “real” in deference to our culture and out of a kind of
complacency. This neglect through time has caused all of us who are engaged in
psychoanalysis and depth psychological work to find ourselves shocked by the literal
aspects of current “scientific” and “empirical” approaches and the ridicule and criticism of
what we see as the core values of our practice. To us these values have to do with meaning
and experience. As “science” sees, we are irrational and our knowledge unproven.
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