A Psy-Fi Tale

Chapter VI / V

Ruthlessness

‘The subject says to the object: ‘I destroyed you’ and the object is there to receive the communication. From now on the subject says: ‘Hello object!’ I destroyed you.’ ‘I love you.’ You have value for me because of your survival of my destruction of you.’ ‘While I am loving you, I am all the time destroying you in [unconscious] fantasy. Here fantasy life begins for the individual. The subject can now use the object that has survived. …  It is important that survive in this context means ‘not retaliate. … Actual destruction belongs to the object’s failure to survive … This quality of ‘always being destroyed’ makes the reality of the surviving object felt as such, strengthens the feeling tone, and contributes to object constancy.  [Winnicott, p.90 – 94] ‘The Use of an Object,’ in ‘PLAYING AND REALITY’, Tavistock Routledge, 1993

The empathy she’d demonstrated for individuals more commonly in receipt of condemnation placed her outside a career. She was not ambitious; except – did ‘not joining’ have a competitive element – a way of placing herself above competition, a competitive anti-competitiveness? The nurse felt drawn towards the footprint of fanaticism. In the terrorist’s diatribes she had recognized elements of the fundamentalist faith of her childhood – a faith whose certainties had infuriated her even whilst she knelt beside her parents, her elder sister and a large group of like-minded adherents. [She’d thought of them as ‘no-minded’]. But the look in her parents’ eyes when she voiced her doubts – her sister remained silent – had filled her with a sense of disquiet that wasn’t alleviated by the secular beliefs of peers. It was more than disapproval; it was the withdrawal of affection …. A blanket of loneliness permeated the embers of protest.

When she heard how the murderer had divided himself, she remembered how she had divided her father: into two men: a figure of respectability and faith when he was with her mother and the man that she loved to spend hours fishing with. Then his eyes lit up and he told stories of childhood adventures, of places he had visited – even of struggles he had when he was younger. She knew not to push him too hard in case he retreated into his faith – and there were long periods of silence whilst they watched the water for ripples. She had withdrawn from the first man and her mother. She loved the second man with all her heart.

She had fought ruthlessly with her sister. The sisters attended a girls’ school, felt alienated by the conservativism and consumerism of their fellow students – finding themselves observers on the world. They were well into their teens, and the nurse remembered the day, when she had decided that the provocation of her sister was inconsistent with humanistic beliefs. She had ceased to fuel the conflict which had instantly ended. Her elder sister could still point to scars that had been acquired by then. Subsequently they knew each other as well as they knew anyone. It was only when she went to University that she discovered a peer group.

She had felt the attack coming hard upon the anxiety of those who considered themselves senior professionals and had been perched on the edge of her seat. She’d felt energized. She had wanted to be with the murderer when he moved and then, as the interaction evolved, when he came back from the edge. To do nothing would have felt like making a difficult choice, accompanied as it would have been by frustration. Doing what came naturally did not feel like courage. It barely felt like a choice. She did not feel comfortable with the admiring looks that were coming her way. She’d enjoyed her interaction with the two men on the floor.

Why did she enjoy working in disturbing situations? She shuddered at the ruthlessness of the two outcasts – but – it was in the open! It was violent and demanded a response. She sensed the loneliness inside the rage. It was the complacency of more successful people and the ignorance of their cruelty that she found unbearable. At one time she had seen herself as a revolutionary but not found a cause which avoided becoming another set of dogmatic beliefs. Psychiatric nursing had been an option – not a solution. Unfortunately it was a professional frame which tied her in to a society which reeked of hypocrisy.

She had thrown herself into her work and felt somewhat disquieted when friends noticed similarities with parents who had thrown themselves into their faith. She was too curious not to notice the accuracy of such observations. She’d felt drawn towards the therapist’s way of thinking ever since they’d met in the hospital but alienated by the excluding nature of her practice. She then felt quiet satisfaction watching the woman’s professional certainties being shaken. Was this what she wanted to see happen to her mother? She tuned in easily to people who spoke about the fragility of relationships with mothers.

Had she redirected anger at her mother towards her only sibling? Had this freed her up in some way? Now she was close to her sister – but not her mother. The older sisters in the group who had looked after their siblings definitely lacked spontaneity – although they did seem more grown up. Did growing up involve colluding with normal cruelties? Attempts to protect the woman who heard voices had been life sapping. Even the manager was beginning to notice this. Was she feeling affectionate towards the manager? Was this how her friendships evolved: with people she initially hated who were willing to keep talking?

Were sexuality and ruthlessness connected? The nurse didn’t know how her sexuality had evolved but suspected that the continuous conflict and subsequent respect for her sister had influenced it. With her sister she had held nothing back. She both destroyed and repaired. That way solidity lay.

Was this why her most intimate relationships were with women even though she enjoyed working with men?

It wasn’t that she couldn’t love men but, as with her father, she was never sure whether she would have to second guess their limitations. She felt warmth towards the politician in his current bemused state. Would she still feel the warmth when he took refuge in the trappings of power? She was beginning to see how much they had in common. They both liked to intervene actively – unlike the therapist who looked as if she could wait for ever. Did they both see themselves as rescuers? What was being rescued had become less clear.

She noticed that the terrorist, whose role had changed so dramatically when he had rescued rather than condemned, looked drained. She imagined her parents without their faith. Would life be worth living when they saw how little they knew their children, each other or themselves? Her own excitement had slipped away. Her mood had dropped. She made eye contact with the manager; more than a glance.

She liked the way that: the Visitors had located their meetings at the sites of perceived failure; they re-distributed guilt; they thought; their questions unsettled everyone. They were never seduced by the promises of pseudo-science, sanity, the law, protection. They understood aggression and questioned the ruthlessness of normality. Might she fall in love with a Visitor? That was a strange thought.

Chapter Vi / VI

Destruction and concern

‘It is easy to get at the anger and frustration linked to something we disapprove of… difficult thing is for each individual to take full responsibility for the destruction that is personal and that inherently belongs to a relationship with an object that is felt to be good, in other words that is related to loving…. Integrated person takes full responsibility for all feelings and ideas that belong to being alive….failure of integration when we need to find the things we disapprove of outside ourselves.’ [ ‘Aggressiveness, Guilt and Reparation.’]    

‘All aggression that is not denied, and for which personal responsibility can be accepted, is available to give strength to the work of reparation and restitution.’ [‘Aggression,’] 

[Both papers in D.W.Winnicott , DEPRIVATION AND DELINQUENCY; Tavistock/Routledge, 1985]

He’d always been angry – or on the edge of it. Violence was an outlet. She’d often been resentful – or on the edge of it. Controlling and cutting opportunities within numerous re-configurations and re-organizations provided an outlet. He knew that he was bad. She had tried to be good. He was the only child of a chaotic mother and an unknown father. She was the eldest daughter of a frequently depressed mother and a busy father. Both destroyed intimacy although not intentionally. Neither considered themselves likeable.

He’d killed quickly and angrily. She’d squeezed out vitality calmly and in a planned way. He knew that he was causing harm. She had thought that she was keeping people safe. She could have said that she was following instructions. He could have said that he was driven by his wife’s infidelity. They organized their worlds accordingly. Life was what it was. You got on with it and found a role in an organization that most suited your personality. She was a hospital manager; he a prisoner serving a life sentence.

The terrorist had a faith which had led to the death of several people, mostly whose eyes he had seen. The politician had convictions which had led to the death of many whose eyes he had not seen. Both would have said they were motivated by a greater good – despite the suffering that followed in their wakes. Their systems of belief: were strong enough to tolerate the scorn of outsiders, lasted longer than life itself and provided opportunities for a degree of commitment which did not seem so possible with human beings.

Metaphors lingered. The manager had voted for the politician who had advocated ‘cleaning the streets of criminals.’ The terrorist had equated cleansing with genocide. The nurse’s parents had lost their daughter whilst trying to purify her soul. Why had the Visitors not used the hand sanitizer in the psychiatric hospital? How often was socialization an obsessional attempt to wash away interactional anxieties – rather than the provision of a meeting place?

Doubt…discomfort…unwanted memories. Everyone was contributing – episodically in a coherent manner – more often unsettling and messy. Categories were becoming muddied.

The therapist wondered why the impulse to punish had departed from the group. Her analytic mind went into action. Were the endless questions a form of indoctrination? Were they losing touch with reality because of anxiety with regard to the aliens? Were they colluding with atrocity?

But … what was the alternative when you were spending so much time with difficult people? Continuously rubbing noses in the evil they’d done – or assessing their sanity – was likely to lead to an appalling atmosphere – hardly conducive to social interaction. Nor was she clear that protecting the public by shutting intolerable people away in a hospital or prison – with careful selection of those suitable for therapeutic intervention – was as sensible as she had once supposed.

The manager no longer felt outrage when she looked at the murderer: mostly she felt sad. Her wish to organize or attribute accountability was in abeyance. Had her failure to re-create a familiar role in the group opened a window? Jason no longer felt hatred towards this source of potential rejection: he felt confused. He also noticed that the politician was treating him differently – without the evil eye. Would a father have eased his continuous sense of living on an edge?

They were moving in unfamiliar territory. The absence of the stiffness in throats, necks, backs, shoulders – previously a prelude to violence or moral outrage was novel. The manager felt the warmth of the therapist on her left. The politician felt the warmth of Jason on his right. Jason could feel the warmth of the men on either side of him and the gaze of those opposite didn’t feel penetrating. He couldn’t feel the rod in his back.

Was this ‘intermingling waters’? Was this why the Visitors had suggested locking up the successful and the unsuccessful together? Had they needed each other? Had each invented the other to give life a manageable shape: the disapproving and the disapproved of, controllers and magnets for chaos, professionals and amateurs, the lost – and those who had imagined they were on the path?

The politician, thinking about himself as a father, surprised himself by allowing in a thought concerning how much of the damage his policies had caused he had ever wanted to know about.  What was shaking his certainties? Was he really asking these questions aloud? What kind of damage limitation to his image would be necessary on the return to civilization? Thoughtful transparency and self-reflection had never been prized by any electorate.

Was fundamental change really possible? How many reflections would the murderer need to see in how many eyes before his rage became less chaotic and reactive? What would help him to think rather than attack when he felt hurt? How much growing up – or growing down – would be necessary for him to become a different kind of adult? There seemed to have been some glimmers of hope when he was younger. The politician felt guilt at his part in quashing them. But surely, now it was too late. And yet, they had survived each other for over a year.

Why was the man looking at him in that way? His thoughts went back to the beginning in the prison where he had spoken so strongly about choice. The politician shuddered. Hope made him feel uncomfortable. He had a sense of déjà vu. That was the way his daughter had looked at him. Was it a look he’d given his father? He remembered going into politics thinking that things could get better.

The nurse had said, “I’m not proud of the way I treated my sister.”

The Manager had replied, “Is it necessary to revisit the things you’re not proud of?” Her older sister filter had eliminated most of her early memories. She had spoken for the politician but almost immediately he’d felt regret.

“I wish I’d learnt to listen to my daughter,” he’d said quietly.

It had felt strange when the terrorist had joined in the conversation.

“I was ashamed of my father,” he’d said.

Jason also remembered that conversation. While they were talking, he had bubbled. He knew about humiliation and rage. He was less sure about shame. He sensed that somehow it was experienced by people who were more solid than himself.

The warder had surprised everyone by puzzling aloud about the difference between shame, guilt, remorse and concern. He had noticed how highly the public rated shame and guilt [which seemed to involve a criminal feeling bad] and remorse [regret] as indicating that the moral code had been upheld. Good and evil separated: suffering re-located in evil-doers: a social lack of sympathy when criminals too brittle to carry the weight of concern became suicide statistics.

The past, present and future: personal and social had been forced into an unfamiliar constellation in the politician’s mind. Was concern less attractive to the public because it suggested a broader kind of thinking, more likely to implicate everyone … more risky … it could go anywhere … more likely to consider all possibilities to remedy a situation … including how groups and organizations, not just individuals, impacted on each other … less about doing good and more about recognizing your connection with the despised?

Once you had seen things in a broader way, could you return to old ways of thinking?  Not without a pang of conscience when you noticed the effect of on others.  Not when you saw the face of your daughter everywhere.