Introduction

In 1956, Swiss psychiatrist Carl Gustav Jung wrote the essay Gegenwart und Zukunft, translated into English and published 2 years later as The undiscovered self. In this essay, Jung reflected upon the importance of individual responsibility towards society, and the threat institutions and collective mindset may pose to social cohesion and moral development. This echoed his life-long exploration of the significance of the unconscious on human behaviour and social phenomena, and outlined the importance of engaging in ‘inner work’. The inspiration for the present paper’s title comes from the following quote:

A million zeros joined together do not, unfortunately, add up to one. Ultimately everything depends on the quality of the individual, but our fatally short-sighted age thinks only in terms of large numbers and mass organisations, though one would think that the world had seen more than enough of what a well-disciplined mob can do in the hands of a single madman. Unfortunately, this realisation does not seem to have penetrated very far—and our blindness is extremely dangerous. People go on blithely organising and believing in the sovereign remedy of mass action, without the least consciousness of the fact that the most powerful organisations can be maintained only by the greatest ruthlessness of their leaders and the cheapest of slogans. (Jung 1958 [1970], par. 535)

The expression ‘million zeros’ refers to the undifferentiated mass of individuals who, for lack of conscious engagement with their psyche, perpetuate irresponsible and self-destructive behavioural patterns. It should not be read as implying a value judgement on these people, as if these ‘zeros’ were somehow unworthy beings. Rather, the metaphor aims to stress the moral and social importance of being an individual who fundamentally understands and accepts her moral agency. This, in Jung’s view, is the most difficult and the most crucial task anyone will face in their lives. To do so requires courage, a lengthy exploration of the content of one’s psyche, and the acceptance of the fact that we are not entirely the masters of our own houses.

Jung’s quote highlights two major points: firstly, it recognises the difficulty for individuals to make sense of their personal moral responsibility when they live and work in a collective system (i.e. the hurdles one encounters when attempting to move away from the mass); secondly, it denounces the general tendency of governments and organisations to mainstream and standardise every single aspect of human activity, which further jeopardises individual efforts to affirm one’s full moral agency. Far from denying the internal turmoil attached to ‘doing the right thing’ in a complex and often conflict-ridden work context, Jung rather suggests that understanding the process of moral deliberation calls for a concomitant reflection on the individual’s engagement with their deep self, and on the pervasive effects of the values embedded in the socio-economic environment (Stein 2014). In using such a strong metaphor, Jung does not imply a simplistic and antagonistic state of affairs whereby some individuals are ‘bad’ and others ‘good’. The quote evokes instead the profound significance of individual choice in moral matters. When one is faced with a complex moral dilemma, the temptation to do as others do or to follow the mainstream discourse in spite of one’s doubts or reservations is great (see Bandura’s analysis of the social cognitive influences on the moral self for examples of this process, 2002). Yet, doing so means we fail to make a clear individual choice, to trust the voice of our conscience (Rozuel 2013). We unwittingly cast ourselves as ‘zeros’—i.e. as followers or reluctant conformists, often feeling most uneasy about this, because acting as a ‘one’ is indeed a very difficult choice to make. But it is at once the most essential ethical choice we ever have to make.

In this paper, I argue that imagination has an important role to play in moral education and development, especially in enabling individuals to grow from ‘zeros’ to ‘ones’. This is all the more significant as most business and management education programmes still uncritically perpetuate worldviews which do not support an inclusive perspective on development, nor a reflective and compassionate approach to relationships (see, for example, the critiques of Birnik and Billsberry 2008; Etzioni 1991; Ghoshal 2005; Giacalone and Thompson 2006; Grey 2002, 2004, 2013). Adopting a conceptual framework grounded in Jung’s analytical psychology, I explore how imagination has the ability to liven up the business ethics curriculum and to make us ask ourselves challenging questions about our ability to be and do ‘good’. The paper argues that psychological work is inherently moral work, and explains how imagination is a most useful pathway towards deep psychological work. I then discuss how engaging the creative imagination of students, otherwise immersed in fairly doctrinal studies, enhances critical reflection on values, and allows for a less constrained expression of individual ethical sensitivity.

Ethics, Individuals and the Psyche

Although Jung wrote The undiscovered self against the backdrop of the Cold War and the human disaster of World War Two, the relevance of his observations as outlined in the quote above remains remarkably true in today’s global economy. The world of business is heavily shaped by such powerful, mass organisations. The very roots of the latest financial crisis point towards unconscious and blind ‘madmen’, short-sighted regulators and a mass-consumption scheme that led to massive levels of debt by means of ruthless sales techniques and cheap commercial rhetoric. The oft-cited Enron case or the more recent bankruptcy of Lehman Brothers demonstrate a blind faith in the slogans that ‘profits are always soaring’ and ‘this company does not know failure’, whilst far too often the individual agents working for the corporation simply silence their suspicions and join the well-disciplined mob until things get so bad there is no redemption. Other slogans have equally destructive consequences: the logic of ‘low cost, low prices’, spiralled down the supply chain, means unreasonably low wages and shortcuts in basic health and safety provisions in the workplace, which were at the centre of the debate following the devastating collapse of the Rana Plaza garment factory in Dhaka, Bangladesh, killing more than 1000 workers in 2013. The factual exploitation of a workforce is often publically denounced, with plans for charity donations and partnerships with well-known NGOs to ‘solve the problems’, but conveniently ignored as consumers are asked to support the national economy by consuming further and further, whilst demanding affordable goods. The unsustainable system is so ingrained in our modern modes of living that we seem to have become blind to its very absurdity (Kasser 2002). Business organisations are undoubtedly powerful, even more so when economic interests feed into political interests, further jeopardising hopes of transparency and accountability of leaders and influential decision-makers (Klein 2008).

Denouncing the characteristic short-sightedness and blindness of human beings who believe that they are less malleable than they are, Jung brings our attention to what it means to be an individual who aspires to act ethically. What he suggests, in effect, is that we may tend to inflate our agency, and yet also under-estimate our degree of responsibility. We often do so unconsciously, prompted by environmental factors (including the people around us) which alter the clear perception of the domain of the moral self. As Bandura stresses ‘[t]here are many psycho-social manoeuvres by which moral self-sanctions can be disengaged from inhumane conduct’ (2002, p. 102). What we project onto others symbolically or archetypally can thus influence our ability to activate self-sanctions and to stand by the moral values ingrained in the self. This is why and how moral agents can become ‘zeros’, disengaging from their personal moral identity and sense of responsibility towards self and others, and instead adopting a collectively defined role that seemingly relieves them of their direct responsibility for the actions undertaken and their consequences, humane or inhumane. To understand this process, we need to examine the nature, role and influence of the psyche on human behaviour and social life. In what follows, I offer a brief overview of Jung’s approach of the psyche as delineated by the tradition of analytical psychology, and discuss the moral dimensions attached to being an individual in a Jungian sense.

Brief Overview of Analytical Psychology

Part of the depth psychology tradition, analytical psychology contends that the psyche is not restricted to what the conscious ego knows and understands, but includes a vast unconscious layer whose content is partly personal and partly collective, and whose influence on an individual’s behaviour is paramount (Jung 1938 [1966], par. 266–295). The actual centre of the psyche is therefore not the conscious ego (that is, the ‘I’ who generally feels in control) but the archetypal self, the symbolic representation of all that we are and all that we can be (Jung 1923 [1971], par. 789–791). An archetype is a primordial motif (expressed through images or symbols), a psychic mould which gives shape to individual and collective experiences, and therefore carries universal meaning (Jung 1931 [1969]). It captures “the characteristic patterns that pre-exist in the collective psyche of the human race… and determine the basic ways that we perceive and function as psychological beings” (Johnson 1986, p. 27). Archetypes are thus forms of instinctual behaviour which have more to do with how we apprehend the world than with how we act and react, the latter being the domain of physiological instincts (see Jacobi 1959 for a thorough review of the concept). What Jung reveals, ultimately, is that we are much more than we think we are, and many of our supposedly conscious choices are influenced by unconscious forces which we fail to even notice. The purpose of analytical work is thus to bring to consciousness—as much as we can—these unconscious influences so that we can fully understand our choices and motives for action (Jung 1963 [1995]). Failure to do so, in Jung’s view, makes us vulnerable to irresponsible, excessive or destructive behaviours (Jung 1958 [1970]; Neumann 1969 [1990]; Rozuel 2010).

Because of their psychological nature, archetypes do not as such lend themselves to moral assessment (i.e. they are “pure, invitiated nature”—Jung 1954 [1969], par. 412). Indeed, moral judgements are a function of consciousness. However, their influence on the conscious ego can lead us to behaviours that can be examined from a moral point of view. It is thus possible to identify so-called positive and negative qualities of archetypes. These qualities are universally found, but the images which convey these qualities pertain to various cultures and traditions, hence the specific traits ascribe to each archetype in narratives about them may appear to be slightly different. Nevertheless, the essence of the archetypal motif is stable because of its instinctual root. This is why we associate fairly consistent qualities to archetypal figures such as the mother (the Earth mother or Great mother), the father (the ruler or King), the animus/anima (the complementary, other, contra-sexual aspect of an individual), the witch (the enchantress, the powerful feminine), the wise old man (the magician, the guide), the divine child (the eternal youthful energy), the life–death–rebirth cycle or the shadow (the dark stranger, the hidden).

All archetypes can thus be said to display a moral ambivalence, although the ability of the conscious ego to deal with the psychic energy generated by the various archetypes (i.e. the libido, which for Jung, unlike Freud, was not restricted to repressed or sublimated sexual drives but represented a sort of life-force energy—see Hopcke 1999, pp. 21–23) is hugely determinant in the eventual moral behaviour. When the ego lacks the strength or the structure to consciously understand what it is subjected to, that is, understand the unconscious forces which disturb its conscious efforts to behave and react in a certain way, the libido bursts into projections (i.e. projecting one’s unacknowledged qualities onto an external object or subject—Jung 1959 [1969], par. 16) and complexes (i.e. an internal tension reflected through a psychic situation perceived as incompatible with the prevailing conscious attitude—Jung 1948 [1969]).

According to Jung, one of the most important unconscious influences from a moral point of view is that of the archetypal shadow, the container of everything that is repressed, rejected and condemned (Jung 1959 [1969], par. 14). The conscious repression of the shadow does not annihilate its power, however, and acts of violence, mundane or on a large scale, usually reflect an upsurge of the shadow that can no longer be contained or hidden (see Zweig and Abrams 1991 for examples of shadow manifestations). Indeed, the less control we have on our inner mechanisms, the more intense the release of psychic energy through exuberant behaviour. This is why Jung suggests that psychological work is moral work, although not in a prescriptive and standardised way. Rather, each person is called up to ‘know thyself’ and integrate this knowledge consciously and responsibly so as to stand up as a unique individual rather than an undifferentiated product of the masses (Jung 1958 [1970]).

To a large extent, there can be no moral progress without an individual’s willingness to engage with the psyche and work through, over a long period of time, the ‘nitty gritty stuff’ that she will find in herself. Knowing oneself does not happen overnight, nor is it as easy as depicted in popular magazines. In fact, it is likely one of the most difficult and harrowing tasks a person will undertake, because we will face the dark unknown. This is the very reason why it is so fundamental to moral development: we cannot claim to being moral if we do not know who we actually are, and if we do not understand what we actually are capable of (Jung 1934 [1954]). Psychological work, in this purview, becomes an essential companion to moral work, of even greater importance for those of us who are educators, leaders or decision-makers in any rank (Castro 1994).

Educating Individuals

Whilst those discontented with current business ethics education emphasise the need for more critical and ethically informed reflection, more sensitivity to the context of organisational life, more consideration of the good life and a humanistic worldview that gives space to spiritual concerns, I argue that these are all components of the process of individuation. Individuation, for Jung, represents the life-long process of psychological work whereby the individual uncovers complexes and archetypal identifications, and works towards conscious integration of these hitherto unconscious elements so as to glimpse at the self (Jung 1958 [1970]). The self is the archetype of wholeness, and stands for all that one is. It is both personal and collective, as we are essentially microcosms resonating with the external macrocosm (Jung 1958 [1970], par. 540, 553). To accord self with ego-consciousness means to live more fully and with greater integrity (psychological, emotional, physical, spiritual and moral).

Individuation is thus a major task that faces the individual and reverberates onto her environment. Individuals matter because “the only direct and concrete carrier of life is the individual personality, whilst society and the State are conventional ideas and can claim reality only in so far as they are represented by a conglomeration of individuals” (ibid, par. 553). Organisations and systems certainly influence individual behaviour, but Jung rightly stresses that any social or political change is driven by changes within the individual herself (ibid, par. 582–583). Besides, only an individual person, in her uniqueness as “a relative exception and an irregular phenomenon” (ibid, par. 494), can display a will to strive for change, to imagine a different state of being that feels better to her and makes her happy (ibid, par. 587).

In spite of appearances, moral education does not seem to pay much attention to the individual, except to prescribe certain types of behaviours or forbid others (Castro 1994; Maclagan and Campbell 2011). Some approaches, starting with the virtue ethics tradition, give more consideration to the subjectivity of the moral agent, entrusting him to decide, after careful and wise deliberation, what the right course of action is. Virtue ethics, however, does not provide as comprehensive a framework as we need to make sense of the weaknesses of our character. In Jung’s words (1935 [1977], par. 212) “Our virtues only enable us to be independent. There we don’t need anybody, there we are kings; but in our inferiority we are linked up with mankind as well as with the world of our instincts”. Practical wisdom is an important quality of character (Roca 2008), but a good person will need to understand how to use it appropriately when we are in the depths of our inferiority (Maclagan 2012)—and not enough is said about how this happens (e.g. Aristotle 1992; Dyck and Kleysen 2001; Moberg 2007). On the other hand, analytical psychology recognises that a complex, ambivalent unconscious domain can so easily disturb our righteous rational ego. Therefore, a good life cannot be achieved by mere rational endeavour to control one’s unsuitable urges; rather, we ought to bring consciousness onto our deceptively substantial “propensity to evil” (Jung 1958 [1970], par. 574) if we are to seriously make a difference in our moral stand and understand why we do the things we do, and why we feel the way we feel (Mamchur 2008). Because the psyche is volatile, the best way to engage with it is through non-rational means, instead letting imagination in, trusting in its guidance whilst maintaining a discriminatory mind over the process (Jung 1923 [1971], par. 93).

Nurturing the Soul Through Imagination

This, in turn, calls for a reconsideration of the soul in our contemporary education system, especially that promoted by business and management schools. As Nussbaum (2010, p. 6) explains, nurturing the soul is essential in human development and democratic ventures, where the soul is understood not in a religious way but as “the faculties of thought and imagination that make us human and make our relationships rich human relationships, rather than relationships of mere use and manipulation”. Paying attention to the soul, therefore, is the necessary counterpart to the excessive focus on material comfort and accumulation of stuff which characterises most Western societies (Kasser 2002). For Jung, the soul is somewhat similar to the psyche, a complex and mysterious mix of conscious and unconscious contents which define who we are as human beings and as unique individuals (Hopcke 1999, pp. 37–41). More generally, the soul can be perceived as the deeply intimate expression of one’s being, and the caring ability to relate in a meaningful way.

The soul is thus closely attached to the human capacity to sympathise and care for another—two qualities which appeal to the imagination (Rozuel 2012; Werhane 1999). To live soulfully implies that we allow ourselves to be more human, both frail and strong, both emotional and analytical, both engaging and reflective. This, argues Cranton (2008), is the very reason why we need to let the soul (re-)enter academia. For Anderson (2009, p. 181): “To teach is to mother the soul in another. In acts of love formed of soft tissue and hard bones, teachers mother what is possible in others”. Guroian (1996, p. 8) further recalls that the “ancient and true vocation of the teacher [is] to make persons into mature and whole human beings, able to stand face to face with the truth about themselves and others, and desiring to correct their faults and to emulate goodness and truth wherever it is found”. If we are to revise our approach to ethics education to favour the emergence of conscious, caring and concerned individuals, we will need to (re)learn the language of the myths, of the symbols that carry the wisdom of humanity from its origins to the present. This is where imagination is needed: we need it to uncover the stories that teach us how to understand who we are—as a unique individual, as a human being and as a microcosm reflecting the macrocosm.

The stories are already written in the soul, but we need imagination to free them and comprehend them (Guggenbühl 2008). This is the power of the healing imagination: “Imagination heals by building a bridge sturdy enough to link us up, each of us, to the river of being already present in us, to the currents flowing through us and among us in our unconscious life” (Ulanov and Ulanov 1991, p. 15). If at present “man is an enigma to himself [… lacking] all criteria for self-judgment”, it surely is a moral and social imperative that educators address this problem (Jung 1958 [1970], par. 537). A thorough process of self-reflection, and further a true appreciation of individuality and a deep understanding of the nature of one’s psyche are required to challenge the ‘zeros’ and stir the emergence of the ‘one’ lying within.

In that purview, a lack of imagination becomes a major moral hurdle in both existential and practical terms. It challenges the very definition of who we are (as unique individuals) and how we live (as social beings living in a community with democratic aspirations—see Nussbaum 2010), whilst also restricting our ability to define moral expectations and enforce social norms and rules in a dynamic manner respectful of the broader environment. If that is indeed the case, the need to balance rational thinking with imaginative creation, in our schools if not in our work organisations and public institutions, is pressing. In what follows, I consider practical steps through which imagination can be instilled into ethics teaching.

Enhancing Imaginative Exploration and Ethical Reflection

Humanities, Imagination and Good Citizenship

In her impassioned defence of the value of humanities and the arts to sustain democratic societies, Nussbaum (2010) argues that the purpose of education should not be solely to produce technical experts, but should primarily concern itself with developing inquisitive and responsible citizens who engage in independent critical thinking and accept accountability for their opinions and actions. She warns that the focus on economic growth in designing educative programmes does not merely neglect creative and artistic domains, deemed unproductive therefore non-valuable, but tends to actively discard any attempt at introducing alternative humanistic approaches in the classroom. In a statement closely echoing Jung’s analysis of the million ‘zeros’, she explains (2010, pp. 23–24)

[E]ducators for economic growth will do more than ignore the arts. They will fear them. For a cultivated and developed sympathy is a particularly dangerous enemy of obtuseness, and moral obtuseness is necessary to carry out programmes of economic development that ignore inequality. It is easier to treat people as objects to be manipulated if you have never learned any other way of seeing them. As [Indian writer, poet and Nobel Prize recipient Rabindranath] Tagore said, aggressive nationalism needs to blunt the moral conscience, so it needs people who do not recognise the individual, who speak group-speak, who behave, and see the world, like docile bureaucrats. Art is a great enemy of that obtuseness, and artists […] always ask the imagination to move beyond its usual confines, to see the world in new ways.

When considering business and management curriculum across the globe, rare are those programmes which offer a significant amount of humanities and arts-related content. Instead, business and management degrees are designed to educate for economic growth, as evidenced by the prevalence of economics-based theories in management practices and academic research in organisations. Giacalone and Thompson (2006) relay Nussbaum’s fear that we are well in the process of educating ‘docile bureaucrats’: business students are effectively taught to leave ethical considerations to others as they are not here to judge, but are merely there to apply their expert knowledge to a given situation. Moral conscience is thereby numbed and separated from the immediate decision-making environment which only leaves room for economically pragmatic elements (see Castro 1994 for a thought-provoking discussion of this challenge). This is the recipe for engendering millions and millions of ‘zeros’. If we seriously aspire to cultivate the oneness in each student, in each individual, then we will need to break away from a moulding educating system, and demand that students play an active part in their learning and development. This requires that we infuse more conservative and dogmatic disciplines with what Nussbaum calls “the spirit of the humanities”: critical thinking in the Socratic tradition; approaching issues from the perspective of a citizen of the world; and, most importantly, a “daring imagination” to develop an empathetic and sympathetic understanding of various human experiences (2010, p. 7).

Imagination and Moral Imagination

Imagination has perceptible psychological and social qualities (Moberg and Seabright 2000). Its roots extend far beyond the mind to reach the unconscious realm and connect with a transcendent reality that affects each of us deeply. “Imagination feeds reality”, and “[a]ll of us are grounded in this immediate reality of being. It is what allows us to be our individual selves, to live with ourselves and others, and what makes it possible for others to live with us. This being-in-ourselves which is also a being-with-others is the reality that the imagination constantly confirms” (Ulanov and Ulanov 1991, p. 5, 7). Through imagination, we capture the world we live in, we develop an understanding of ourselves and of others, and we appreciate the scope of our choices (Young and Annisette 2009). Through imagination, we also shape our present and construct our future. British playwright Edward Bond asserts that “Bad drama flourishes in an unjust society. Our future always depends on the state of our imagination. […] This is because theatre is the place where reality is made real. The plays young people write, act and watch are blueprints of the world they will have to live in” [cited in Nicholson (2009, p. 11)].

As a function of the mind, imagination involves the ability to create and activate new mental images, or to rearrange known mental images to create a new scene, different from perceived reality (Bronckart 1991). Imagination is thus also an important component in rational thinking, that is, it helps order concepts and ideas, and identify overarching themes and logics. Yet, imagination is more than a mental exercise. It elicits feelings and emotions, it is what gives ‘texture’ to emotions; this is why it acts as a core ingredient for human sympathy. Living without imagination is not really living. However, imagination is not a panacea, and the link between imagination and actual moral behaviour needs to be carefully considered (Seabright and Schminke 2002). Michaelson (2005, p. 366) rightly notes that ethical misconduct may require “a great deal of imagination” and recalls that Enron’s debts were cleverly concealed by means of creative accounting tricks. Imagination is present in many occupations and activities, from creative industries to more traditional domains including management. What differs, however, is how and for what imagination is used, and these different modes of engagement with imagination are morally significant. Used instrumentally or within the confines of pre-determined domains of expertise, imagination may help achieve practical goals but it does not necessarily connect with the moral values of the self, therefore weakening the individual’s ethical sensitivity and moral integrity. Imagination has to be qualified, and—as I argue—it necessitates a connection with the self to be of moral value.

Moral imagination is a more applied form of imagination which purports to overcome unintentional harm caused by a lack of self-awareness of one’s biases or prejudices. Its aim is to enhance moral decision-making, although it does so on the grounds of a fallible human psyche which needs to be explored further to anticipate unconscious disruptions (see Rozuel 2012). Its role is nonetheless worthy of attention: moral imagination suggests that engaging imaginatively with a situation increases moral sensitivity and social awareness (Moberg and Seabright 2000; Werhane 1999). It helps “open windows to other places and times” and entices us to “walk in someone else’s shoes” (Townsend 2005, p. 74), thereby bringing into light aspects of human life that we may not readily consider. Moral imagination involves both cognitive and affective dimensions of human development, and triggers empathetic or sympathetic connections with the other(s) which potentially improve moral decision-making (Michaelson 2005). For Bohlin (2005, p. 35ff), moral imagination—especially stimulated through literature—enables us to acquire moral vision, engage in moral rehearsal (i.e. exploring a range of possibilities), develop a moral identity and cultivate an ability for moral judgement. It is whimsical but constructive, and needs nurturance and regular practice derived from a rich life and conscious experiences (Guroian 1996, pp. 6–7).

Moral imagination is also closely associated with the development of virtues, especially practical wisdom (Moberg 2007; Roca 2008), and is potentially eudaimonistic (Kekes 2006) or at least existentially meaningful (Frankl 1959 [2006]; Townsend 2005). It is an important component in the preservation of an independent mind and the consistent adherence to a value system “that allows us to lead a life of integrity” (Townsend 2005, p. 80). To lack moral imagination implies that we relinquish a most precious human ability, instead relying on pre-determined scripts to define our behaviour. This “moral self-denial” (Roca 2008, p. 613) is not inconsequential, and needs to be analysed and understood. To do so, we must reconsider what constitutes and influences the ‘moral self’, and thereby dive into the human psyche. When exploring the moral significance of imagination and its psychological determinants (as I propose to do here), it is thus best to adopt a broader perspective on imagination as a human function rather than focus on moral imagination as a practice. Immoral imagination exists, an inevitable shadow counterpart to moral imagination, and Jung (1958 [1970]) would agree that, ultimately, the moral quality of imagination reflects the quality of the individual.

Enquiries into the imaginative domain nurture qualities that can counter-balance an excessive emphasis on rationally detached decision-making. This trait is too often praised as an inherent quality of effective business people, minimising the fact that it implicitly dehumanises the other. As Nussbaum (2010, p. 102) argues “It is all too easy to see another person as just a body—which we might then think we can use for our ends, bad or good. It is an achievement to see a soul in that body, and this achievement is supported by poetry and the arts [and imagination], which ask us to wonder about the inner world of that shape we see—and, too, to wonder about ourselves and our own depths”. Although there is a legitimate place for rational decision-makers, responsible agents would equally possess qualities akin to an imaginative and reflective explorer, such as the ability to use intuition and sensation on top of rational thinking to develop an inclusive plan of action, or the willingness to question established norms when they do not seem adequate. Both are important aspects of moral development and contribute in different ways to moral education and the nurturing of a good character.

It is worth clarifying the contribution of imagination to ethics more generally, before examining practical instances of imaginative or creative material applied to (business) ethics education. It could be argued that imagination and ethics pursue different goals. Imagination is about exploring the world, both inner and outer, and comes with the ability to change, shape-shift and create. On the other hand, ethics is about establishing boundaries, more or less rigid, to guide behaviour and understand the value of such norms and boundaries. So, to some extent, imagination stretches our perception of the world, whilst ethics delimits the scope of what we can and cannot do in the world. In this purview, the role of imagination in ethics is twofold: firstly, to explore the boundaries set to guide behaviour, in particular connecting with feelings and intuition to ensure these boundaries do not reflect unexamined prejudices, but instead support the quest for a meaningful and dignified life; secondly, to dive deeper, inwardly and outwardly, within set ethical boundaries so as to fully experience and appreciate the scope of an ethically guided life. In other words, imagination brings depth, movement and dynamism to ethics: it brings life to the ‘good life’. In Jungian terms, imagination in ethics functions as a channel to the libido, so as to direct it towards sympathetic connections and inclusive behaviours.

The Value of Stories in Education

Effective moral education stirs the imagination whilst engaging the critical mind to develop one’s character (Buber 1947), and stories are a wonderful medium to achieve such outcome (Bohlin 2005; Guroian 1996). The relevance of creative material for ethical reflection has been noted by business ethics researchers and teachers before. Imagination is stimulated through an encounter with non-traditional resources, as well as—where relevant—a non-traditional approach to teaching and assessing. As such, stories are suitable vehicles to make sense of life and the world “beyond our parochial interests” (Michaelson 2005, p. 360). Stories “portray universal human dilemmas and give us frameworks for understanding our own emotions and showing us how to resolve problems and find meaning in them” (Townsend 2005, p. 74). They often are more accessible than “bland facts” and are able to teach more effectively the “nuggets of truth” that can only be found in tacit knowledge (Moberg 2006, p. 312).

Ackerman (in Boylan et al. 2011, pp. 66–67) claims that “fiction can provide what might be called enhanced hypothetical situations […] by enabling readers to enter imaginatively into the characters’ inner lives and thus to grasp the characters’ viewpoints ‘from the inside’”. This is because “so much of our own formation and development, our basic moral values and indeed moral identity emerge from stories […] that the story form itself often brings a sense of intimacy and authenticity” (Boylan et al. 2011, p. 72). Meaningful moral work is stimulated by the intimacy, authenticity and empathy brought forth by stories, because they do not merely speak to the mind but also touch the heart and the soul. Stories enable vicarious learning of what it is to be human (Kennedy and Lawton 1992). Even deep aversion for a story is matter for self-reflection on one’s own moral character. Indifference, on the other hand, may be harder to tackle, for it suggests limited imaginative abilities. In that case, educators have a bigger task at hand to elicit an emotional reaction from the students, which can later be reflectively analysed and examined.

Creative material used in relation to business ethics teaching have included ancient spiritual texts or parables (Koehn 2005; Moberg and Calkins 2001); children’s literature (Greenwood 2000); tales and fairy tales (Guroian 1996; Michaelson 2005); comic books (Gerde and Foster 2008); science fiction short stories (Pease 2009); plays (Brinkmann 2009; Kennedy and Lawton 1992; Wolfe 1991) or traditional literature ranging from contemporary fiction to classics or classic tales of survival (Bohlin 2005; Bouckaert and Ghesquiere 2004; Boylan et al. 2011; Kennedy and Lawton 1992; McAdams 1993; McAdams and Koppensteiner 1992; Michaelson 2008; Townsend 2005; Wolfe 1991; Young and Annisette 2009). Movies or documentaries are another popular form of creative material used in the classroom to entice discussion of contemporary ethics issues (e.g. Berger and Pratt 1998; Biktimirov and Cyr 2013; Harrison 2004; Moberg 2006; O’Boyle and Sandonà 2014; Shaw 2004; van Es 2003; Werner 2014). Creative approaches to teaching include the use of case studies for debates (Strawser 2010), role-play (Brown 1994; Roca 2008), external visits (McPhail 2002) or collaboration with other disciplines such as arts or literature studies (although not about business ethics teaching, Clarkson (2005) provides an example of how imagination and reflection on values such as acceptance of diversity and otherness can be stimulated by non-traditional delivery of class material).

It is worth noting that the use of creative resources to stimulate discussion and reflection on business ethics issues may differ: some of the approaches listed above use tales or stories as opposed to traditional textbooks or real-life case studies to symbolise in a more narrative fashion the moral process; others have used the resources as primary, literal material through which students were encouraged to connect with the various dimensions of their psyche and observe their inner experiences and responses. Whilst both perspectives stimulate moral imagination in that students are asked to embrace unusual narratives and to empathise with other characters’ inner deliberations so as to make sense of their decisions and actions, I propose the latter practice goes further in encouraging moral reflection and self-knowledge.

Of course, creative material can take various forms beyond written contributions. Imagination can be stimulated by all of the senses, therefore musical pieces or visual arts can equally elicit a feeling or reaction which carries psychological meaning and moral insights. However, written stories and literary works are possibly one of the most accessible forms of creative material, providing both a set context but also offering sufficient freedom to subjectively picture what actually happens and to go beyond what is written. The remainder of the paper focuses on literature and works of fiction as valuable creative resources. In this purview, fairy tales are particularly appealing, and their overall developmental, symbolic and therapeutic value is familiar to analytical psychologists and others (e.g. Bettelheim 1976; von Franz 1996). Behind their apparent simplicity, they ask essential questions about human life. The archetypal undertone of fairy tales encourages reflection on the difference “between what is rationally do-able and what is morally permissible” (Guroian 1996, p. 12). Guroian (ibid) further explains

Fairy tales might not qualify as scientific hypotheses or theories, but they do resonate with the deepest qualities of humanness, of freedom and of the moral imagination. At the same time, they deny the materialism and psychological determinism that lurk behind much of the modern talk of human liberation, and they discredit the hubris of reason and rationality that displaces faith and confidence in truth.

In that respect, fairy tales offer solid premises for a critical examination of the underlying assumptions of business and management education. They encourage an exploration of otherness in its many forms, and invite us to access unexplored psychic territory to understand the other who is, actually, just a part of the self (Guroian, 1996).

Writing and Enacting Stories to Enhance Ethical Reflection

I argue this approach could be extended further, in the spirit of the mythopoetic pedagogy defended by Cranton (2008). Reading stories is a starting point; however, writing stories adds a level of experience by forcing us to be vulnerable and to expose ourselves, and enabling us to learn more about ourselves from that exposure. Autobiographies “can have a profound impact on self-awareness, relationships with others, and interpreting and understanding how our beliefs and values have evolved” (ibid, p. 131). But even fictional stories uncover deeply intimate aspects of the self that would not be brought to the surface in a traditional essay or report. Writing stories nurtures a sense of magic, enchantment, empowerment and a more active participation in life. Because everything is possible in a story, more can be revealed that is honest and true. It is a great learning experience for students to play with their imagination with a view to constructing or crafting something meaningful and personal. It is equally rewarding for the teacher to read the pieces written by these students, and witness possible transformation. Taking this proposal further, brave enough teachers may ask students to enact their written pieces, using this experience as an even more profound opportunity for self-exploration and group reflection, in the tradition of Theatre-in-Education or more humbly creative drama approaches which aim at activating the social imaginary of participants and audience alike (see Nicholson 2009; Rosenberg 1987). Unlike role-play aimed at preparing better managers, better negotiators, better leaders, such drama experiments are meaningful in so far as they create a space for sympathetic and authentic connection with another (the character) drawing upon one’s inner world and resources. When given time to reflect upon the experience, deep moral learning can happen about one’s values and one’s ambiguity.

Creative writing practices, I argue, have their place in business ethics education, especially when developed from a Jungian perspective (Sonik 2008). When the burden of creation does not solely sit on the ego’s shoulders, but is in the hands of a much more encompassing unconscious domain, the work consists not so much in creating and writing, but in relaxing and attuning oneself with the psyche. Whatever emerges is meaningful on several levels: first and foremost, it reveals parts of the student’s soul, which includes moral values, aspirations, attitudes, judgements and, likely, a good deal of archetypal projections (Sonik 2008). This is prima materia for self-knowledge and self-understanding, as well as the foundation for a more subjective valuation of tolerance for otherness in self and others. Second, the creative outcome may contain the kernel of a socially relevant solution to a real-life problem, albeit one which was not obvious from the conventional standpoint. Third, the process of crafting a story by tapping into one’s inner world and digging through one’s sensitivity and emotions exposes students to a different way of making sense of reality, activating vicarious learning. This is especially valuable both for students who do not feel comfortable with ‘creative stuff’ or find these sorts of activity pointless, and for students who are imaginative but do not know how to channel and utilise their imagination in a constructive and reflective way.

Creating stories—in the form of a fairy tale or folk tale, a short-story or a play—as part of a business ethics course is not about the artistic or literary quality of the text, although the quality of communication is an important aspect to consider. Rather, what teachers can assess are the relevance of the story to the theme given (which can be broad or specific, for example, ‘a contemporary socio-economic development problem’ or ‘a case of character corruption’), the coherence of the story itself, which is closely linked with the depth of reflection and authentic engagement with the storyline from the student’s part, and more subtly the degree of personal expression in the writing. To assist in this task, it may certainly be useful to ease students into creative writing by introducing small tasks, such as commenting on a story, expressing not merely what they think but how they feel about it, or aspects of it. Students can then be invited to play with the story, for example, writing what happens afterwards, or re-telling the story from another character’s perspective. These steps help create a space to activate imagination, to learn to appreciate it, as well as—incidentally—to explore one’s psyche and get to know thyself. Imaginative or creative writing thereby connects students with something hitherto hidden which unleashes potential and a greater awareness of what they can contribute as distinct individuals. Accepting oneself makes it easier to accept others, because self-acceptance requires recognition of otherness within oneself.

Such approach has been adopted and implemented in modules run at undergraduate or postgraduate level which I led or to which I contributed. In one module (undergraduate), students were specifically introduced to core Jungian concepts about the psyche (e.g. archetypes, ego, self, projection), and were invited to reflect on the relevance of these concepts to understand organisational life and social interactions. In one particular session, they revisited fairy tales they enjoyed in their childhood, and whilst doing so, students became aware of a process of transformation in their ability to apprehend reality: some enthusiastically re-ignited the ‘magic’, others judge themselves harshly for not spotting the apparent lack of logic of the story; either way, they uncovered aspects of themselves they had not confronted before, but were ready to bring to the surface now. Through discussing the tales, and more so through the task of writing their own tale after choosing pictures from a range of fairy tale cards, students tapped into a different layer of reality, one more ethereal, which allowed them to look at themselves and their environment more creatively and more symbolically. The written tales themselves were most interesting, but what mattered more was the experience of writing a tale and giving oneself the freedom and the space to do so.

Fairy tales can also be used as marked assessment. In a postgraduate module, students were asked to write a fairy tale which would bring reflection onto a socio-economic development issue of their choice—from environmental sustainability to social exclusion to power imbalance in international governance systems. All students found the task both challenging and valuable, as they drew upon skills they did not use in other modules. The anxiety created by the absence of the usual safety net of academic theories and references was somewhat alleviated through seminar exercises involving spontaneous story-making (both individual and collaborative) using props and images. The tales submitted were, most importantly, very personal, insightful and moving. To write a coherent tale (even when it involves magical creatures), students had to get to the essence of their argument, and find images and a suitable rhythm of expression to evoke the message they were trying to convey. This meant they had to become intimate with themselves, and ask themselves why this message deeply mattered to them—not merely intellectually, but at the level of the heart and the soul. This process is revelatory: it helps us connect with the roots of what we are, what we believe in, and what we are afraid of. It is deep psychological work, and profoundly moral work at once.

Imagination for Meaningful Moral Education

It seems even more crucial, therefore, to ensure that future business agents have, at minimum, some awareness of their psyche and of how it affects them, for they in turn affect the lives of many by their actions or lack of action. I have argued that one of the best means to achieve such awareness is through instilling imagination in the curriculum, especially creative writing experiences. Society needs more ‘ones’ and less ‘zeros’; that is, we need more conscious individuals who fully understand their responsibility, and less unconscious followers who unreflectively obey orders. For Jung, a conscious individual is deeply concerned about the society she lives in, for she has become acutely aware of her literal connection with the rest of the living planet—to be a microcosm mirroring the larger cosmic reality is no small thing, and unveils a much deeper sense of responsibility for one’s actions. Self-reflection is essential, but inner work for moral development entails additional steps.

Meaningful (as opposed to cosmetic) moral education would at least ensure the following is included within any curriculum: (1) an honest psychological exploration (with the intention to know thyself); (2) a confrontation with—and acceptance of—the inevitable shadow; (3) a withdrawal of projections (following and expanding the call for critical self-reflection and exposure to non-business material too); (4) an acceptance of the fundamental human need to experience both the rational mind and the transcendent (e.g. supporting growing scholarship in spirituality and meaning at work); finally, (5) an affirmation of individual integrity in contrast to an identification with the mass (reflecting upon the meaning of integrity and the risks of compartmentalization—see Becker 2004; Beebe 1992; Colby and Damon 1992; Rozuel 2011). These are no small tasks, and it would be foolish to believe they can be achieved solely through an ethics module over the course of university studies. They constitute a life task and require tremendous efforts from the individual who embarks on her psychological journey. Yet, they are what ethics education should be concerned with primarily. Table 1 lists further examples of activities that might encourage meaningful moral work in light of the steps outlined above (see also Dobson 2008; Johnson 1986; Slattery and Selig 2009; Ulanov and Ulanov 1991 for stories on how to stimulate the psychological imagination and explore one’s unconscious).

Table 1 Examples of imagination-based activities for meaningful moral education
Full size table

Conclusion

The paper has discussed how education which focuses on economic growth and does not leave space for imagination and creative enquiries is at risk of training individuals which, in Jung’s terms, are more ‘zeros’ than ‘ones’. This, in turn, creates important moral challenges and jeopardises the credibility of business ethics education claiming to develop responsible agents, for responsible agents would be expected to carefully know themselves and what they are capable of. In this paper, I have thus aimed to demonstrate the necessary role of psychological work in sustaining moral development and ethical integrity. Imagination is required to explore the domain of the potential or the possible, provided this is done for the purpose of self-understanding and appreciation of the other. This, in essence, is soul work. In this purview, imagination and creative material help extend self-reflection by connecting the mind with the emotional domain and, ultimately, the soul.

Drawing upon Jung’s analytical framework, I have argued that creative material can be exploited further to stimulate students’ imagination by engaging students in the creative process. This creative process is morally significant, in so far as it provides each individual with a more refined sense of ‘who they are’, pinpointing dark aspects of the self which we usually turn a blind eye to (the shadow), identifying tendencies to project qualities or flaws onto others, and confronting us with questions outside the scope of the rational mind. This process cannot take place without some imagining. Likewise, if we do not take the time to find out who we are, what we dream of, and all that we are capable of, both in good and potential evil, then our moral postures may not be as strong as we think they are. Encouraging our students to imagine something else, to write or enact a different world is meaningful, especially when students have become sufficiently acquainted with their inner world to draw substance from it and write a truly intuitive story. Then, there is a chance they learn something that brings them closer to their self and taps into untouched gold.