D. W. Winnicott's Constant Search for the Life That
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D. W. WINNICOTT’S CONSTANT SEARCH FOR THE LIFE THAT FEELS REAL by James William Anderson Northwestern University and Private Practice Introduction “He just makes theory out of his own sickness.” According to Masud Khan, that is the dismissive claim Joan Riviere put forth at the conclusion of a public lecture by Donald W. Winnicott.[1] Such a statement from anyone is objectionable, but coming from Joan Riviere, who had been Winnicott’s analyst, it is unspeakable. Yet underneath her pathologizing twist, there is an element of truth, in that all psychological theorists rely heavily on their most personal experience in developing their theories (Anderson, 2005). Freud no doubt had a torrid Oedipus complex. Erik Erikson (Coles, 1970, p. 180), originator of the concept of the identity crisis, observed, “If ever an identity crisis was central and long drawn out in somebody’s life, it was so in mine.” Henry A. Murray, with much better humor than Riviere, noted once, referring to theories of human development, “They’re all autobiographies, every one of them.”[2] In examining Winnicott’s life, my main objective is to explore the connection between his life and work. While I make use of the published sources, I also rely heavily on interviews I did in the 1980s with a number of people who knew him, such as Khan and Clare Winnicott, Marion Milner, Margaret Little, and Anna Freud. Winnicott’s early life Winnicott was born on April 7, 1896, in Plymouth, a seaside city in the county of Devon in the southwest of England. His parents were, Frederick Winnicott, a successful businessman who served two terms as Lord Mayor of Plymouth, and Elizabeth Martha Woods Winnicott (Kahr, 1996). He was the youngest of three children. His sisters were six years (Violet) and five years (Kathleen) older than he was. Plymouth is like an island cut off from the rest of the country, and, according to Clare Winnicott, he derived some of his inner security from the comfort of having a place in the city’s stable and settled social system.[3] Clare Winnicott (1978, p. 25) after rhapsodising about his childhood, speculates that some who read her account of how positive his early life was will conclude “that it sounds too good to be true. But the truth is that it was that good.” “Essentially he was a deeply happy person,” she goes on, “whose capacity for enjoyment never failed to triumph over the setbacks and disappointments that came his way.” While I accept her view of his underlying happiness and his ability to withstand trying experiences, I am one of those who she suspected might say her account is idealized. The strongest pieces of evidence are Winnicott’s (1998, p. 2) statement that he first went into psychoanalysis in 1923 because of “personal difficulties,” and his having two lengthy analyses, one lasting ten years, the other an additional six. An examination of his childhood further gives us a picture of a person who, while not predominantly depressed or anxious, faced some significant problems. Winnicott’s writing about the early mother-child relationship is central to his work; I will consider his own experience in the light of this perspective. His basic position is that, when the mother’s connection to her child is troubled or interfered with, there are consequences. If to some significant extent the child’s gestures are not responded to, the child tends to develop a false self. “Where the mother cannot adapt well enough,” Winnicott (1965b, p. 146) writes, “the 1 infant gets seduced into compliance, and a compliant False Self reacts to environmental demands and the infant seems to accept them.” The false self, in Winnicott’s (1965b, p. 148) developmental schema, represents a way of being that is “adapted to the expectations of various layers of the individual's environment.” “In effect the compliant or false self,” he explains, “is a pathological version of that which is called in health the polite, socially adapted aspect of the healthy personality.” Winnicott (1965b, p. 148) notes that “There is but little point in formulating a True Self idea except for the purpose of trying to understand the False Self, because it does no more than collect together the details of the experience of aliveness.” Elsewhere Winnicott (1965b, p. 225) explains that the true self is the state of a person who is living “an existence on a basis that feels real”. In other words, a person might live predominantly on the basis of the false self: the person largely conforms to the expectations of others, and such a life will feel futile. In a true self existence, a person feels vital and meaningful; a person lives on the basis of desires, impulses, intentions, and values that feel deeply anchored within oneself. Margaret Little wrote me, “I once asked about his mother. He said she had been a ‘good mother’, but had been depressed during his infancy.”[4] Winnicott (1958, p. 93) writes specifically about the effect of a depressed mother. One pattern is for the child to try to bring vitality to the mother: “the mother’s need for help in respect of the deadness and blackness in her inner world finds a response in the child’s liveliness and colour.” Winnicott (1965b, p. 192) further explains, “The task of the infant in such a case is to be alive and to look alive and to communicate being alive; in fact, this is the ultimate aim of such an individual….” Was Winnicott one of these children who, faced with a depressed mother, is sidetracked from living a life that proceeds from the true self but instead tries to bring vitality to his mother? A poem (Rodman, 2003, pp. 289-290) Winnicott wrote at the age of 67 offers evidence that he was one of those children. In the poem the narrator is Jesus. From the cross, Jesus speaks of how he did not have time “for loving.” He was too busy taking care of others, such as “those sick of the palsy/and the blind and the maimed and widows bereft and grieving /women wailing for their children.” There is an obvious parallel to Winnicott’s life of taking care of others, a way of living that can be seen as an extension of his caring for his mother during childhood. Jesus further observes, “mother below is weeping /weeping /weeping/ Thus I knew her.” So the poem has Jesus saying that his mother did not just weep as he was on the cross but was crying in the past. The poem continues: “Once, stretched out on her lap/ as now on a dead tree/ I learned to make her smile/ to stem her tears/ to undo her guilt/ to cure her inward death/ To enliven her was my living.” In other words, Winnicott, seemingly identified with Jesus, describes Jesus recalling his having a depressed mother whom he had to “enliven.” There is nothing in the New Testament indicating that the mother of Jesus’ childhood was depressed and would have had any reason to be. My conclusion is that Winnicott’s description reflects his own experience of childhood. And the image he paints, of a little boy who had to bring vitality to his depressed mother, is just the pattern he describes for the child of a depressed mother. There is also some evidence of Winnicott’s troubled relationship with his mother. His first analyst, James Strachey, wrote a passage, that with some decoding, bears on the subject. “Winnie [his name for Winnicott] prefers his Ma to be his castrator,” Strachey (Meisel and Kendrick, 1985, p. 330) wrote his wife, while Winnicott was in analysis with him, “because he 2 doesn’t want to give free rein to his murderous anti-Dad impulses….In Winnie’s case at all events the normal Oedipus situation seems deeper repressed than the inverted one.” Strachey is saying that he has observed Winnicott as being affectionate toward his father and fearing and disliking his mother (the so-called inverted Oedipus complex). Strachey also claims that at a deeper level Winnicott wants his father’s death. Some other anecdotes add to our picture of Winnicott’s childhood. Winnicott reported (C. Winnicott, pp. 22-23) a complex memory, from the age of three, involving a doll and his father. The doll, named Rosie, belonged to his sister, Violet. His father, who was “just then entering” Winnicott’s “conscious life,” teased him about the doll. Parodying a popular song, his father would sing to him, as Winnicott recalled, “Rosie said to Donald/I love you/Donald said to Rosie/I don’t believe you do.” In relating the incident, Winnicott added, “Maybe the verses were the other way around, I forget.” Violet remembered the same incident and was certain that Donald, as he suspected, had reversed the verses.[5] Therefore their father’s mocking song was, “Donald said to Rosie/I love you/Rosie said to Donald/I don’t believe you do.” His father was making fun of Donald for his attachment to the doll. Donald, the little boy, would have felt that this sincere feeling coming from within him was a feeling he was being told he should not have. I also note that his father’s disapproval probably had a basis in gender roles; his father may well have felt that a little boy should not care so much about dolls. Donald was so disturbed that “I bashed flat the nose of the wax doll.” The story ends with his father heating up the doll’s nose and remolding the face.