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Free Associations| Home | Contents | Rationale| Interesting Links | THE TIGER AND ‘O’ by Meg Harris Williams
Probably
Wilfred Bion’s major contributions to psychoanalytic theory have been in
the area of thinking about thinking. He describes the operation of a
mysterious process which he terms ‘alpha-function’ upon primitive
emotions, to create a foundation for ‘dream-thoughts’ eventually
resulting in creative communication. At every stage this process is itself
dependent upon the emotional linkages of love, hate and the desire for
knowledge; and it co-exists with a parallel but antithetical, destructive
process - propaganda, lies and basic assumptions, masquerading as thought
but in fact propagating ‘-K’ or false knowledge. Bion’s theoretical
works on this subject, his major preoccupation, have been found confusing
by many; but his last main work, A
Memoir of The Future, has probably been found confusing for different
reasons, and it may be harder to see its contribution to the essence of
his life’s work. In this paper, I would like to approach the Memoir in conjunction with his other, more straightforward and accessible
biography, The Long Week-End, in
a way which might make its material more graspable and its contribution
easier to think about. I shall not attempt to provide a comprehensive or
consecutive view of the books; but rather to point out a pattern of
metaphor which, I think, dramatizes the interaction between aspects of K
and -K, showing Bion evoking an image of his own thought-process in
relation to ‘0’, the mysterious noumenal point of knowledge.
The
Long Week-End is a straight
first-person narrative; the Memoir is written in the form of a dialogue between eccentric assortments of
voices, each contributing some aspect of Bion himself. Like any other form
of literary appreciation or indeed any human communication, my account of
their relation is not a purely objective one, since it depends on my own
effort to construct what Bion calls a ‘receiving screen’, capable of
receiving the facts presented. Thus the pattern which I shall describe
involves juxtaposing passages from the two distinct types of autobiography
in an order different from that in which they were written. Nevertheless,
in its essential elements it should still delineate a Bionic tale of
’transformations in "0"‘. And it is worth remembering that
the whole problem of the transmission of experience, and its relation to
aesthetic form, is a central concern of the Memoir. As Bion says: ‘I wonder what I do when attempting to draw an
analysand’s attention to a pattern’ (M. I, 227; abbreviations are listed with the references). It is by no means
obvious what happens when a pattern is ‘drawn attention’ to, any more
than when one is ‘drawn’. In order for a pattern to be perceived, as
in order for one to be created, there has to be some correspondence in
experience between different minds or aspects of the mind.
In
terms of his self-analysis, presented within the autobiographical books,
the eternal search for ‘underlying pattern’ in mental phenomena is
Bion’s continuous preoccupation, reformulated time and again. It is
inseparable from the problem of identity, the question of ‘Who is
Bion’ (M. I, 96), and how does
he ‘resemble reality’. Bion considers ‘to what does reality
approximate’; how to relate phenomenon to noumenon; how to ‘order
dimensionless 0’ (M. I, 96). This has always been his concern, but the autobiographies
seem to indicate a turning-point in his method of investigation. A new
attitude, or a new emphasis, on the importance and capabilities of art,
seems to lie behind his new experimentation with ‘artistic’ as opposed
to ‘scientific’ genres of writing. Admittedly, in opposing
‘artistic’ to ‘scientific’, one has to bear in mind two different
ideas of’ scientific’ activity, which coexist within the Memoir. One corresponds essentially with artistic activity, while
the other (as satirized by Priest - ‘truth modified to lie within
man’s comprehension’ - or Rosemary) serves to curtail discovery in the
field of mental events by imposing a premature explanation.
In
the Preface to The Long Week-End, Bion writes: ‘If I could have resorted to abstractions I would have done
so.’ He regards himself as still dealing with the same ungraspable
phenomena as in his ‘scientific’ works, but now making use of ‘the
serviceability of "as if"‘: of the’ falsifications’, the
‘fictional’ characters who, he says, helped to keep his mental
digestive system in working order. Abstract concerns are embodied through
characters and dramatic juxtapositions rather than through mathematical
formulations. Bion employs this method, not because it is more colourful
or accessible to readers, but because he came to regard it as more
accurate: ‘Non’ artistic methods of communication are less accurate
than those used by artists’ (M. I, 120). He describes how Euclidean geometry became a backwards
force because it confined thought within the visually evident, and how
Cartesian co-ordinates then enabled more abstract thinking (M. I, 185). Perhaps his own equivalent of Cartesian co-ordinates in a
literary genre concerned with conveying the psychoanalytic experience -
‘The Grid’ - became unsatisfactory to him, a backwards force in its
turn. In Book III of the Memoir he comes up with the term ‘science fiction’ (used in an
idiosyncratic sense whose meaning is clear in its context). This seems to
express for him the way in which art can extend science into otherwise
unchartable regions of experience, in pursuit of ‘things invisible’ to
standard ways of seeing or investigation. The structure of an artistic
form is such that it can capture meaning which lies outside its own terms
of reference: thus, in Book I, The
Dream, Bion describes how a sculpture works on the observer: ‘The
meaning is revealed by the pattern formed by the light thus trapped - not
by the structure, the carved work itself’ (M. I, 202). The concrete form is also capable of conveying forms from another
realm of reality, beyond the phenomena of which it is composed. And the
way in which it conveys ‘0’, making known the unknowable, depends upon
a particular emotional link with the observer, which Bion describes as
‘passionate love’: ‘Passionate love is the nearest I can get to a
verbal transformation which "represents" the thing-in-itself,
the ultimate reality, the "0" as I have called it, approximating
to it’ (M. I, 197).
This,
then, is the view of the function and potentialities of art which 1 gather
from Bion’s autobiographies, where it is indeed a central subject of
discussion; and I imagine that his reasons for attempting artistic genres
of writing derive from his view of art’s supremacy in the field of
mental exploration. That view cannot have been purely a form of
intellectual tribute or lip-service, but must have been prompted by an
emotional need on his part to find a ‘universe of discourse’ which
could relate thought and feeling: for ‘Conceptual thought and passionate
feeling are impossible to relate within the confines of existent universes
of discourse’ (M. I, 151). (He means, I take it, the ‘confines’ of ordinary
scientific investigation and philosophic discourse:
"talking-about’.) Bion felt his own ideas, his lifelong process of
self-discovery, confined; and it was in response to the driving of a form
of ’passionate love’ that he wrote the Memoir
of the Future. In one sense the ‘love’ was toward himself;
although really of course, leaving taints of egocentricity aside, it was
for ‘truth’ itself, in so far as its noumena could only be made known
through the phenomena of his own mind and its working. His observation of
the ‘facts’ of his own mind in operation, seeing feelingly, is his
contribution to humanity-in-general’s contact with ‘reality’.
It
was to stress this relation between art and reality that I used for the
title of this essay, ‘The Tiger and "0"‘, linking an image
with a metaphysical abstraction. This link is made by Bion in The
Dream (M. I, 122); ‘Psychoanalysis itself is just a stripe on the coat of
the tiger. Ultimately it may meet the Tiger - the Thing Itself - 0.’ At
this particular point the image of the Tiger actually becomes a symbol for
‘0’. In fact it is unusual for Bion to make such a deliberate
equation, and one certainly cannot use ‘Tiger equals 0’ as a
consistent key to unravel the tortuous metaphysical windings of the Memoir. On the other hand, if one uses this association suggestively rather than
as an explanation, it can I think provide a type of ‘receiving-screen’
which enables one to grasp certain essential structural reverberations in
the artistic form and, correspondingly, in the thought-process embodied
within it. Following the image of the Tiger can lead us into a whole
spectrum of dealings with ‘0’ in the autobiographies, ranging from
‘-K’ to ‘K’; from ways of evading knowledge and denying reality,
to as near as possible the state of knowledge itself. The ‘tiger’
experience (or matrix of experiences) is a particularly fruitful one to
concentrate on, since, as Bion’s quotation about the Tiger and ‘0’
suggests, it recurs in his memory frequently at points of catastrophic
change. The hunt for ultimate reality is consummated when the hunter and
the hunted meet. And the first passage I want to look at in detail, is in
fact the description of the Big Game Shoot in The
Long Week-End, which occurred, significantly, on Wilfred’s birthday.
Later we shall sec how the association of birth-day in its more
fundamental sense (the moment of birth) with a catastrophic ‘hunt’
becomes more symbolic, but all the elements for the Memoir’s symbolism are present in the realistic account of a childhood experience.
THE
BIRTHDAY HUNT (LWE, 16-17) (The references following sub-heads indicate
passages to Bion’s work which could usefully be read along with the
section.).
By
this stage in Bion’s autobiography, The Long Week-End, we are already acquainted with Wilfred’s
childhood terror of ’Arf Arfer’, the daytime nightmare of revenge on
his presumption, formed from a linguistic-emotional distortion of’
‘Our father which art in Heaven’ On the day of a long-anticipated Big Game Shoot which is also his
birthday, Arf Arfer appears to the boy both through the agency of his
father, and - in a more richly awesome aspect - through that of the tiger
who has been shot by his father (at least, in the boy’s fantasy his
father being a ‘fine shot’ who hunted with Jim Corbett) As a kind of
precursor to his encounter with the tiger, Wilfred is presented with an
electric train for his birthday. This is anxiously loaded with
significance by his father, who is overcome by humiliation firstly when
his prize toy fails to operate, and secondly when he discovers his son has
adopted a superstitious Indian method of reparation, evidenced by the
‘greasy mess’ transferred to his own fingers. Both the train and the
tiger are clearly associated with a notion of masculinity which the father
is trying to instil into the boy, the whole episode has the ring of a
failed initiation rite In the first stage, the train which comes to a
‘full stop’ and is then smothered with ghee to revive its workings,
evokes a sense of the father’s fear at femininity’s power to make
impotent, which in turn evokes terror in the child: ‘Arf Arfer with his
great black wings beating had already obscured the sun’. In the second
stage, the encounter with the tiger, or rather the tigress in mourning for
her dead mate, it becomes clearer how sexual fear and confusion are
related to fear of knowledge and ‘reality’ itself. The body of the
tigress is kept out of the camp, but her spirit penetrates it all the more
effectively through her roar which travels underground, and through her
roar, she brings reality into the camp and extends the small boy’s
conception of the awesome and majestic qualities of Arf Arfer:
That night. Arf Arfer came in terror "like the King of Kings". The hunt had killed a tiger and the body had been brought to our camp. His mate came to claim him and for the next two nights the camp was circled by great fires and torches burning bright to keep her out With her great head and mouth directed to the ground so as to disguise her whereabouts she roared her requiem Even my fear was swallowed up in awe as almost from inside our tent there seemed to come a great
cough and then the full-throated roar of the tigress’s mourning. (LWE,
17)
The
earthborn sound of the tigress’s roar, as if by magical acoustics,
appears to come from ‘inside our tent’: the boy feel’s inside the
tigress as much as he feels she is inside him. Being inside the tent, the
source of the roar, has the significance of being inside the mouth, or the
belly, the womb, of the tigress The
boy feels ‘swallowed up in awe’, which leads him to the fear of the
tigress’s literally eating him: ‘She won’t cat us Daddy? You are
sure she won’t?’ Already there is a suggestion of birth and death
being the ‘reversed perspective’ of the same process, rather as, in
the Memoir, Bion described them
as the ‘same instinct’ m ‘different directions’ (M II, 118). And that process is, in a way, a first primitive knowledge of
reality, of a Godhead which goes beyond the simple authoritarian and
omnipotent qualities of our picture of Wilfred’s father. Despite his
shooting prowess and the simple notion of masculinity associated with it,
the spirit of the tiger - through his feminine counterpart the tigress -
succeeds in penetrating the well organized ‘camp’. Through his
encounter with two tigers, male and female, dead and alive, yet both felt
as aspects of one being, Wilfred gains a hint of another kind of
masculine-feminine conjunction, and through this another kind of
Knowledge, which neither his actual father nor mother can offer him (nor
any other adult figure in his life. For mother, as well as father, seems
to evade the issue or to not understand the nature of Wilfred’s
curiosity about the tiger pair and their whereabouts
"Where
is she now?"
"Oh
I don’t know child - far, far away I expect. "
It is clear that he is
preoccupied with more than physical whereabouts, since the context goes on
to Heaven and Jesus and implications of the tiger’s soul:
"What
is he doing now?"
"Who?"
"Jesus
- I mean the tiger." (LWE, 18)
Wilfred
never actually saw either of the tigers, but their internal reality for
him was perhaps all the greater for that; the idea of the tiger becomes
associated with a reality both infinitely distant from him and within him:
in other words, with ‘0’. ‘There are many formulations of dread,
unformulated and ineffable - what I denote 0’ (M. I, 87); the arrival of Arf Arfer ‘like the King of Kings’ is
such a formulation, of the type that the ‘civilized world’ seeks by
sophisticated means to avoid: warding off ‘awareness of something which
is dread or terror and behind that the object that is nameless’. Yet the
nameless object, the monstrous tiger or its transmigrating soul, its
‘mate’, penetrates Wilfred’s mind despite the civilized world’s
efforts to build a wall of camp fires to protect his and their
consciousness.
We shall never know
whether the actual Birthday Hunt of 1903 (or whenever) caused Wilfred
Bion’s preoccupations with the ‘Tiger and 0’ - as he insists
himself, he has no idea who he himself was at that age, and his apparent
concern with the past is in reality a concern with the present. One cannot
use this episode to construct a cause-and-effect history of complexes and
symptoms. One is, however, justified in referring to the written account
as a description of a point of catastrophic change, and in noting how
elements in it are varied, expanded, repeated, throughout the
autobiographical books. Bion ends his account of that day with a
description of the jungle night taking over, bringing with it, after human
sophistications, ‘the real world and real noise’:
Intense
light: intense black; nothing between; no twilight. Harsh sun and silence;
black night and violent noise. Frogs croaking, birds hammering tin boxes,
striking bells, shrieking, yelling, roaring, coughing, bawling, mocking. That night, that is the real world
and real noise. (LWE, 18)
Through
the animal activity he is of course really describing human activity - but
real human activity, not the civilized veneer; the kind of primitive
noises for which man has to find an ear before his real knowledge can
progress. These are the lights and noises which, in Book 3 of the Memoir, make up Bion’s picture of prenatal life, the kind of life which
continues though mostly unrecognized, behind postnatal consciousness, This
is the jungle of reality into which one aspect of the Tiger transmigrates,
roaming free despite a death. The child Wilfred has one day to renew
contact with the tiger whom his father and mother could not help him
contain. As he writes, allegorically, in The
Long Week-End, in the context of his war experience:
I
was cut off from my base. And the enemy was in full occupation of my
mother. "Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new." Yes, woods you fool! It’s there in the jungle that you’ve got to live. (LWE,
114)
He
has to go back to the ‘jungle’ to recover his ‘base’, including
the lost image of his internal ‘mother’, who, like his internal
father, lives partly in the double image of a tiger, though unrecognized
by the civilized parents of actuality.
THE
OTTER HUNT (M. III, 10-12)
Bion
uses the metaphor of a wildlife hunt several times to sketch a scenario
for a journey either towards, or away from, knowledge, or for an ambiguous
and confused activity which may involve both at the same time. In The
Dream (M.I, 9) he speaks of the ‘great hunters’ of psychoanalytic
‘intuition’, saying that we need space for both the great hunters and
the hunted, the ‘wild asses’. His ‘psychoanalytic zoo’ (M. II, 20)
contains ‘beautiful and ugly’ creatures such as ‘Absolute Truth - a
most ferocious animal which has killed more innocent white lies and black
wholes than you would think possible’. This ferocious animal can only be
hunted ‘in our nightmares’ and contrasts with such things as
‘answers’, ‘dogmas’ and ‘scientific facts’ which are known to
us by ‘the pale illumination of daylight’. One of the miscellaneous
characters who is given a voice in the Memoir is ‘P.A.’ (a psycho-analyst), who complains:
While
I am “considering”, someone rushes in with the “answer” and
there’s no catching up with an “answer”. You might as well try to
catch a bandersnatch… I would
include in my psycho-analytic zoo a whole series of fascinating animals -
if I were sure they would not escape and roam the world as the latest and
must beautiful newborn facts. (M. II, 20)
In
the hunt towards illusion and reality, the image of the tiger is extended
through creatures as various as the ‘bandersnatch’ and ‘Absolute
Truth’; and there is always the possibility of a monstrous ‘escape’
from the control of the hunter, resulting in ‘newborn facts’ which are
both dangerous in themselves, and liable to be dangerously
misappropriated.
In
the Dawn of Oblivion, Bion
describes (through the activity called an ‘otter hunt’) the ambivalent
attitude of latency towards ‘newborn facts’ and the idea of pregnancy.
It shows how ‘Golden boys and girls all must/ Like chimney sweepers,
come to dust’, in a hunt to the death. The hunt ends in another version
of the prototypal ‘Arf arfer’ nightmare, with the child pursued by the
tiger. The factual basis of the Otter Hunt is given briefly in The Long Week-End (LWE, 68), but in the Memoir it is
richly elaborated through realism and dream-story, touching the ‘real
night’ of the tiger in the jungle. The ‘hunt’ is seen from both
perspectives, the ‘golden boys and girls’ and the tiger-cat, the
hunters and the hunted (roles which reverse themselves when day becomes
night). Both sides regard the other as an unwelcome foetus: thus the Cat
in her soliloquy:
It
is nice to stretch in the sun. Not that there is much. When there is, that
B’yrrh-Lady sends those damned children out into it. Why couldn’t she
keep them in her womb? Can’t blame her if she chucks the devils out at
once… The hell hounds always behave like a fetus - omnipotent, as
old as God and as all-knowing, impossible to teach… These devils can’t
tell the difference between a flowerpot and a pregnant pot… In the
childhood of the race, at least the Egyptians respected animal containers
for their content- (M. III,
l0-11)
It
is precisely the ‘content’ of the image, represented by cat and
flowerpot, which the ‘childhood of the race’, represented by the
golden children, wishes to destroy in the game hunt. It is their reaction
to being ‘chucked out’ into the sun by their ‘B’yrrh-Lady’
mother. The ‘tent’ in which the child Wilfred heard the roar of the
tigress, is converted into a pot, an imprisoning false womb: on the model
of a ‘tiger trap’ which he describes being taken to see at the Indian
fortress of Gwalior (LWE, 32) and which filled him with inexplicable terror, owing to the
fusion of hunter and hunted in his mind. Now, the cat-mother prophesies:
‘Wait till the Great Cat Ra catches them in their dreams’, and sure
enough when day becomes night there is a reversal of perspective and the
hunter becomes hunted. The boy’s dream:
Tibs,
you are a spoiled cat. No, it’s no good you saying you are a Tiger. If you are a tiger you are really a spoiled tiger - a cat that has been
spoiled and has turned into a pussy cat. Cyril laughs when he says
“pussy”. He says it s a gross word. Now don’t you turn into a gross
cat Tibs. That’s German. I hope I’m not getting afraid of an unspoiled
great Kat. Tiger… Tiger… we learnt in school - burning bright. Please
sir! Its eyes sir - what dread hands question mark and what dread feet? A
stop sir? Yes sir, a proper pause. If the wine don’t get you the women
must. It rhymes with dust. (M. III, 10-11)
In
association with the ‘spoiling’ of the ‘tiger’, the degradation of
femininity into the ‘pussy’, the cat becomes generalised Female
hunting the Male - ‘if the wine don’t get you the women must’. At
the same time it transforms into the German army, prefiguring the future
war. in another kind of ‘grossness’. Behind both these disguises
emerges the real Tiger of the jungle, ‘burning bright’. The dreamer
tries to regain control by desperately seizing the rules of grammar
(representing the rules of civilized society) and voicing his obedience to
commands, as in school and war: ‘Yes sir, please sir, a stop sir.’
However at each point the image of the tiger breaks through - its eyes,
dread hands, dread feet. The punctuation with which he tries to contain
the nightmare power of the image had been designed by the poet to project
it more fully. Yet his dependence on it, symbolizing his reliance on adult
society’s authority, is equivalent to the dependence on such things as
saluting, polishing buttons, drill, in the army where even death becomes
‘a question of etiquette’ and where Bion’s friend Hauser ‘always
shaves before action’. The full ‘stop’ which becomes a ‘proper
pause’ echoes the day of the Tiger Hunt when Wilfred’s electric train
came to a ‘full stop’ (just as, he pointed out, his tank was to do in
the future); and his sister who was in the process of learning to read and
punctuate, reiterated helpfully: ‘full stop?’ Whether the dreamer is
devoured by the power of knowledge or by its opposite, his omnipotent
efforts to imprison and curtail it, the ambiguous hunt ends in the
‘proper pause’ of death. The golden game ‘rhymes with dust.
In the Memoir, points of catastrophe are frequently introduced by the sound of ‘Arf arf arf’ and the memory of the Tiger. Thus in The Dream a ‘faint sound’ is heard, ‘Arf arf, arf, which is interpreted by the character whom Bion names ‘Myself’:: My
God! Here they come again. Those howls! It’s eerie. I believe they are nearer. That! That!… That is a tiger.
No: Tigers are only cats. That is no cat. Arf, arf, arfer’s little
history of England. You damned hyena! If the wine don’t get you then the
women… (M. 1, 107)
In
Arf Arfer’s little history of England, a story of non-development of the
mind, if the wine don’t get you then the women must - ‘Mother
England’ being an ‘old whore’, a feminine Cronos devouring her sons.
In the above passage, the tiger nightmare ends up with a more specific
description of a mutilated soldier’s dream: he watches the lawn open up
and a woman walk out of it towards him, ‘till he screamed!’ (In the Memoir the woman is his wife, in The Long
Week-End, describing the same dream, the woman is his mother.) The
tiger nightmare links with a whole pattern of imagery suggesting traps,
womb-graves, false births, imprisoned or mutilated foetuses, in a
continuous pattern of mutual recrimination between ‘container’ and
‘contained’.
IN
THE TANK: DINOSAUR MENTALITY (LWE, 115. 254, 262: M. I,
94, 69; II, 156)
Within
the psychoanalytic zoo of the Memoir, tiger mentality is extended to - or rather contrasted with -
dinosaur mentality, whose orientation to ‘0’ is that of ’-K’ or
the depths of non-knowledge in a dangerous and self-destructive
fossilization of the primitive. Saurian mentality represents the kind of
primitive state which has lost its link with reality and which, unbeknown
to itself, can not survive ‘in
the jungle’. In this it contrasts with that aspect of tiger mentality’
which, in Wilfred’s original dream, survived bodily death and
transmigrated into ghost or soul, seeking a new life far away in the
jungle.
In
Bion’s myth in the Memoir, the
dinosaurs represent that aspect of man which fails to recognize the seeds
of destruction at a point of catastrophic change, and instead of
strengthening his endoskeleton, constructs a false exoskeleton which is
not protective but destructive of its progenitor. In The
Dream we meet Adult Tyrannosaurus and Albert Stegosaurus, and see
their reaction to the possibility of a ‘brain’ developing between
them. Instead of considering how to promote its development they make a
mutual attempt to eat one another:
ADOLF: What’s that tiny little thing you’ve got up there? ALBERT:
A rudimentary brain.
ADOLF:
Hmmm… I don’t like it. Mark my words, it will burst your head open!
Chacun a son gout. Ow! What’s that? You’ve shoved your thoughts into
me, you vile creature... If this fool Albert thinks I can’t chew up his
armour!
ALBERT:
If this fool Adolf thinks my armour can’t wear down his teeth! (M.
I, 94)
Bion
calls this the battle of ’Sade versus Masoch’. The dinosaurs fail to
realize that ‘eating’ and ‘being eaten’ are merely parts of one
reversible process, (momentarily) giving a sense of illusory supremacy but
not contributing to the growth of the dinosaur-mind: ‘Tyrannosaurus
didn’t like being eaten… what was amusing and satisfying was the same
activity when the perspective was reversed and yet felt quite different -
or so it thought. It was not different but "reversed"‘ (M. I, 103). Their sterile activity diverts attention from the real
problem of how to deal with the ‘tiny little thing’, the monstrous
birth which they have sired: ‘What saurian engendered thought?’ It is
an ‘ugly monster, capable of independent existence’ (M. II, 119). And unable to use ‘thought’ for the purpose of developing
their species, they find that it destroys them. In the words of Alpha in The
Dream, the ‘Mind’ becomes equated with a bomb:
I
knew a delightful old stegosaurus who thought he had found the answer to the tyrannosaurus. But the “answer” was so successful
that it turned into a kind of tyrannosaurus itself and loaded him with
such fame - not to mention exoskeleton - that he sank under his own
weight… Yes, but those same dead bones gave birth to a mind… Now, the
Mind… you just try it. Just attach it to your sensory perceptions! (M. I, 68-9)
And
in The Past Presented, Bion
images the final catastrophe of saurian man, in a speech by the Priest:
Here
he comes and is just going round the bend! Look out! He’s using an
atomic bomb instead of a ball, and… Here is a list of the glorious dead
who batted into the third day after all and have come direct out of the
computer, the Holy Boast of our civilisation- Quid nunc? these are they
who come out of great fibrillation and here endeth the Christ-Semitic era
and beginneth the post-fissile quasi-epoch. I only am escaped alone to
tell thee… What’s yet to come is still unsure. Man is a discarded
experiment like the mammals, like the saurians, like fire, like sparks
that fly upward, like troubles when there is no mind to experience them. (M. II, 156)
This
picture of catastrophe is introduced by the ‘savage, wild howls,
unmistakably animal’, of the tiger nightmare, and represents one
direction into which contact with the tiger can lead: in this case it is
the ‘bloodcurdling duet’ of Roland-tiger and Alice-tiger which leads
to the fine image of the birth of an atomic bomb and a self-consumed
civilization going up in flames: ‘It’s Roland - that is his howl. 1
would know it anywhere. He is calling his mate. That’s Alice –
tigerish…’ Nevertheless, in this case, one has ‘escaped alone’ to
tell the tale and transmigrate to the new epoch, becoming a Ghost of the
Future.
In The Long Week-End, the place
which proves the supreme container for dinosaur mentality and its
self-destruction, is the Tank of the war. Time and again the tank is
compared to the body of a dinosaur, or to the dinosaurish aspect of the
tiger, a sinister trap for man rather than a protective armour. The tanks
are ‘prehistoric monsters’ and on August 8th (which Bion calls point
of ’-K’, the day on which his soul ‘died’) he registers his fear
of the tanks being trapped ‘like dinosaurs in a prehistoric
catastrophe’. After his experience he feels himself ’a survival from a
remote past’. In The Dream Stegosaurus speaks up to register his recognition of the situation,
centuries after his own demise:
MYSELF: God’s Englishmen looked so funny going into battle in tanks. STEGOSAURUS:
Like us. Couldn’t move. Sitting target. (M I, 133)
The tanks can be seen as a sort of perversion of the image of tiger-as-mother: as false mothers of the kind which trap and consume their children. In Bion’s detailed description of the progression of his acquaintance with tanks one sees him re-living the tiger nightmare, as it drawn by an inevitable fascination to act out its unresolved aspects. Thus he is first attracted to the tanks regiment in order to ‘penetrate the secrecy surrounding them’ - the secrecy of the mother’s body in a primeval past. His first sight of a tank is an image of a false birth, like the Gwalior tiger trap: I saw my
first tank. It blocked the way to camp. The day was hot, sunny, still. The
queer mechanical shape, immobilized and immobilizing, was frightening in
the same way as the primitive tiger trap near Gwalior; I wanted to get
away from it. A metallic hammering came from inside; a soldier got out and
the day sprang to life again. (LWE, 115)
His
own temporary paralysis of fear ends when the tank releases its prey. The
first time his own tank is hit (LWE, 162), he finds himself repeating the lines from ‘Lycidas’:
‘His gory visage down the stream sent’; recalling how the mother,
‘The Muse herself could not defend her son’; his ‘mother’ is
absent and powerless not just physically but emotionally. He describes the
tanks as ‘purring’ their way into battle:
The
troops might have been sleepwalking… the tanks rolled up a gentle grassy
slope. There was a soft muffled explosion. Robertson’s tank opened as a
flower in a nature film might unfold. Another thud; then two, almost
simultaneous, followed. The whole four had flowered. Hard, bright flames,
as if cut out of tinfoil, flickered and died, extinguished by the bright
sun. One tank, crewless, went on to claw at the back of one in front as if
preparatory to love-making, then stopped as if exhausted. (LWE, 254)
The
‘sleepwalking’ dream appears as a primitive mating ritual, a
self-consuming love-death. The tank flowering in flames is reminiscent of
the camp fires in the jungle and its exotic foliage, and of Priest’s
speech about man as a ‘discarded experiment’ ‘like the ‘saurians,
like fire, like sparks that fly upward’- Sleepwalking up a gentle grassy
slope, the mind is - apparently painlessly - extinguished.
During
the next battle (at ‘Happy Valley’), Bion in a sense ‘sleepwalks’
himself under the alienating influence of influenza and alcohol. He
evacuates his own tank ‘before he knows what he is doing’ and abandons
it to its inevitable destruction - ‘a total wreck’. Once again he is
reminded of the revenge of the Arf Arfer God, the aspect of the tiger
which is ‘Lord Cat Almighty’:
Again
I had the sense of being a cornered rat which a giant was nonchalantly
aiming to club to death. Even as a rat I was incompetent - like a mouse I
had once seen sit up on its haunches in what looked like an attitude of
prayer to Lord Cat Almighty who at that moment was luxuriously licking his
paws and washing himself. I had escaped - apparently. Who knew what the
Lord Cat Almighty was up to during this short respite? “Remember also
the humble beasts…” (LWE, 262)
The
phrase about the ‘humble beasts’ was quoted during the description of
the Tiger Hunt, in the context of his questions about the tiger’s
afterlife: suggesting again the reversal of hunter and hunted, and the
tiger avenging her destruction by appearing in her most primitive,
vengeful retributive guise.
Dinosaur
mentality is therefore associated with the opposite to knowledge of the
mother’s body; it is associated with false knowledge and a destructive
kind of curiosity which has to ‘sleep’ before even a chance escape
from disintegration can be effected. And this is, from another vertex, a
form of false art, divorced from reality, distanced from ‘0’. In The
Long Week-End, Bion describes a shelled tank with its charred bodies
of men hanging out of the doors; and in the Memoir a member of that tank crew speaks for his experience:
We
burnt a fair treat. Some of us tried to get out, sir, and this made it
more real like. The black guts pouring out of the “prehistoric
monster” - just like the newspapers say, sir! (M. I, 168)
The
irony comes from the notion of ‘reality’ and the ambiguity of ‘real
like’ - like real, but not real. There is in fact no notion of reality,
no awareness of ’O’. The soldier accepts that the whole war is an
artificial construct, a charade or show, a spectacle, geared to satisfy
society’s demands for a false or substitute reality and shield it from
contact with any actual reality. The apparent factualness of ‘the
newspapers’ is fed on lies. As with the war artists who refused to allow
Bion’s tank to be moved until the sketch was finished, the war itself
represents a kind of false art. At Bion’s training camp, war is
described as ‘big game shooting’ (LWE, 122). It is portrayed as the ultimate hunt, the real thing towards which
all his education and training have been leading. Yet in fact, like the
adults’ attitude to the Tiger Hunt when he was a child, it is remarkable
for its unreality. It is so
unreal that he feels he himself no longer exists: he becomes a
‘chitinous semblance’ of himself and ends up as an ‘antiquity’, a
‘survival from a remote past’ - a dinosaur on display in a museum.
Bion regards himself as having attained the point of ‘-K’, of false or
non-knowledge, on August 8th (when he sleepwalked out of his doomed tank):
‘It is "-K". The date in -K is August7 and August 8’ (M. I, 168); and on that day he ‘died’:
I
would not go near the Amiens-Roye road for fear 1 should meet my ghost - I
died there. For though the Soul should die, the Body lives for ever. (M. II, 35)
His
experience of dinosaur mentality during the war separated his soul from
his body, but in the opposite way to that assumed by a conventional
‘religious vertex’. Bion feels that it was not his body which failed
to survive the catastrophe, but his soul or ghost; and the theme of the
entire Memoir can be seen as an
effort to renew contact with that lost aspect of himself and thereby with
reality itself.
BREAKDOWN:
THE GHOSTS OF IDEAS (M.III, 1-6, 44; II, 177-9; II, 51-3)
In The Long Week-End Bion described
how he lost himself; the Memoir, the
fantasy-autobiography, as well as emphasizing mental disintegration, is
also devoted to finding himself, through re-living the past until it
becomes a new experience, a life of the future. The underlying pattern
involves alienated parts of the self undergoing a strange meeting across
some formidable gap or caesura, such as birth, death, sleep. At such
points, catastrophic change is possible: not only in the sense of
destructive breakdown, but in the sense of evolving a new existence, .an
idea. Then the feeling is chat ‘the ideas hold me whether I like it or
not’ (like the boy Wilfred ‘swallowed up by awe’ in the mouth of the
tiger) (M. II, 35). Following
the boy Wilfred with his curiosity about the other-worldly whereabouts of
the tiger after the hunt, Bion continues his explorations within himself
across the boundaries of ordinary daylight consciousness, in the quest for
‘beautiful and ugly’ wild animals such as ‘Absolute Truth’. The
‘postnatal’ discussion groups within the Memoir keep returning, therefore, to the necessity to evolve more sensitive
means of mental reception, based on the analogy of animal awareness:
"They
say animals are aware of the imminence of an earthquake. Humans are
sensitive to the imminence of an emotional upheaval."
"You
mean people who are afraid they are going mad, or going to have a
breakdown?"
"Break
up, down, in, out, or through?" (M. III, 102)
This
‘animal’ sensitivity refers to the necessary qualities of the
primitive, like ‘learning the smell of a stone’ - to tiger mentality
rather than to dinosaur mentality. It expands the spectrum of awareness
from ordinary sensuous actuality, to the ‘infrasensuous’ and ‘ultrasensuous’,
in a way more capable of registering the infinite stretch of
‘dimensionless 0’.
This
attempt to expand the spectrum of awareness lies behind Bion’s
‘pre-natal’ dialogue which begins The Dawn of Oblivion. The pre-natals are uncomfortably aware of the
approach of a catastrophe, a change of state, of ‘the imminence of an
earthquake’; and at the time of birth Psyche and Soma, newly conscious
of their separateness, try instinctively to bite and swallow one another.
SOMA:
Who is that?
PSYCHE:
I bit it.
SOMA:
It had just bitten me. Bite it again! That’s my
- not it.
PSYCHE:
It can’t be. I put my foot in it - was it your stoma?
You
have confused me again. Pain, feet - all mixed up. Why can’t you take
your choice?
SOMA: I do. If you had any respect for my ‘feelings’ and did what I feel you, you wouldn’t be in this mess. PSYCHE: I am in this mess because I was squeezed into it. Who is responsible - your feelings or your ideas? All that has me is yours - amniotic fluid, light, smell, taste, noise, I’m wrapped up in it. Look out! I’m getting absorbed! SOMA: I’ll pi you when I’ve absorbed you. All piss, shit and piety. You can idea-lize it - get a good price for it no doubt. Bless me - I’ m getting absorbed too. Help! PSYCHE:
That’s what comes of penetrating in or out. I’m confused.
SOMA:
That’s what comes of not penetrating - you break up or down. (M. Ill, 6)
The
strange lights, noises and turbulence within the womb as Psyche and Soma
separate from one another, represents in a sense the original struggle in
the jungle - what Bion called the ‘real night’. It is the prototypal
scene of hunting, penetrating, breakdown, absorption. Psyche and Soma’s
instinctive reaction is to be tempted into the familiar sade v. masoch
ritual of dinosaur mentality; though despite this, at the point of
catastrophic upheaval, they do at least recognize their ‘confusion’
and struggle to acknowledge another perspective of penetration and
‘idea-lization’ which could potentially relate ‘feel-ings’ to
‘ideas’, body to mind, through remembering their common origin.
Equipped
with a new vocalization of pre-natal life, Bion gives a revised account of
the day of -K, the day on which his soul died while his body escaped from
the flaming tank. In this fantasy account, by contrast with the account of
actuality in The Long Week-End, he does manage to re-enter the tank when he realizes he has been
sleepwalking. This allows his second emergence to take on a new kind of
meaning:
I
caught up with my leading tank. I knew the long-range naval guns must get
us. "Get out!" I told them, "and walk behind till it gets
hit" I set the controls at full speed and got out myself. It raced -
for those day- ahead so we could hardly stumble up with it. And then – Then! the full horror came on me. Fool! what had I done? As I
scrambled and tripped in my drunken influenza to catch up with the tank,
in the shadow of which I had ordered my crew to remain sheltered, my
ice-cold reality revealed a fact: the tank, in perfect order, with guns, ammunition and its 175 horsepower
engines, was delivered into the hands of the enemy. Alone, I alone, had
done this thing! My pyrexia left to rejoin its unknown origin... I was in;
I did get in. A high-velocity shell struck; without thought I shot out of
the hatch as the flames of petrol swathed the steel carcass. (M. III, 44)
The
fantasy account, though very similar to the actual events, is antithetical
in terms of its orientation towards ‘0’. Instead of a slowing-down of
intellect, and excess of stupidity and unreality, the kind of
‘foolishness’ here described conveys a quickening of intelligence, an
inspiration: ‘without thought’ implying ‘beyond thought’. The
spectrum of everyday values of ‘facts’ and ‘folly’ is stretched to
include the infrasensuous and suprasensuous, such that the officer can
both re-enter the tank (an impossible feat) and be ejected from its
flaming carcass by the power of intuitive knowledge. The image is not a
realistic but a fantasy one: it becomes a metaphor for the birth of
thought, a kind of resurrection or transmigration of soul, a phoenix-like
action emerging from the ashes of the ruined life, the ravaged womb, the
broken shell of the dinosaur. Soul outlives body, rather than vice-versa
as in the factual account, Bion merely sheds the exo-skeleton, the false
protection, of the tank and dinosaur mentality.
At
another point in the Memoir, toward the end of The Past
Presented, Bion describes the subsequent encounter between himself as
P.A. (the psycho-analyst), and his ‘Ghost’. The Ghost had been
released, or lost, at the point of his soul’s death at -K, and he has
difficulty in recognizing him. Revising the account of the tank’s
explosion is equivalent to returning to the Amiens-Roye road despite the
‘fear I should meet my ghost - I died there’. And this is what happens
at the ‘Party of Time Past’ in Book II, which takes place in
‘Purgatory’, to the accompaniment of the ‘resurrection blues’. The
partygoers exclaim at the entrance of this ‘awful looking specimen’
with the ensuing dialogue:
P.A.:
I hardly recognised him. It’s my ghost.
GHOST:
I died at English Farm and I’ve been working through Purgatory since. I
feared I might become like P.A… You only saw me wearing my Hero dress. I
was afraid you’ d see me - as 1 saw poor Gates. (M. II, 177-9)
Gates
was one of Bion’s tank crew who had ‘shell shock’ - which according
to P.A., meant he ‘went sane long before the war was over’. Bion sees
the shell shock in metaphorical terms as losing the shell of
self-deception and ‘going sane’, coming into closer contact with
‘truth’ and ‘reality’. The Ghost also had shell shock, but this
was disguised by his ‘hero dress’. Bion, on his fantasy evacuation
from the tank ‘without thought’, sheds his shell and hero dress, and
after many years of ‘Purgatory’ becomes capable of recognizing his
alienated Ghost or spirit.
Another
related recognition drama is portrayed in Book II of the Memoir, this time between the character Roland and ‘Du’, precursor of the
prenatal somites in Book III, and suggesting contact with the internal
still existing pre-natal world, in a way potentially resulting in the
genesis of ideas. This encounter also straddles day and night, waking and
dream thought: ‘the night, the dream, is a "roughness" between
the smooth polished consciousness of daylight; in that
"roughness" an idea might lodge’ (M. 11, 45). Du, like Ghost, represents a roughness, a carrier of
ideas; and like that ‘awful looking specimen’ he is at first
unrecognized by the mind of which he forms a part:
ROLAND:
You’re an ugly-looking devil. Who are you? Not the devil; A nightmare
then? Not a nightmare? You aren’t a fact.
DU:
I am the future of the Past; the shape of the thing-to-come.
ROLAND:
Not a ghost?
DU:
Do I grin like a ghost? How do you like these teeth? All my own. I fasten
myself to your psyche - psyche-lodgment we call it. Most amusing.
ROLAND:
Get out you ugly devil!
Du
is the intimate enemy within, the foreigner who is an essential component
of the ‘psyche’, ‘ugly’ and savage partly because unknown and
unrecognized. He is a kind of Ghost, a Ghost of the Future, a kind of
Tiger or wild animal in the psychoanalytic zoo (hence his ‘teeth’ and
grin’ like the Cheshire cat); also, following the war metaphor, a kind
of German (‘Du’ being intimate ‘thou’). He is associated with the
‘monstrous embryo’ regarded with disgust and suspicion by its
progenitors, and compares his knowledge to that of a foetus. ‘Any foetus
could tell you that.’ Roland’s mind is defined as a kind of womb, and
the question between him and Du is, how does an idea get out?
ROLAND:
What the hell are you doing here Du?
DU:
I told you it wasn’t hell - held perhaps. 1 can kick my way out of here
easily.
One
recalls ‘ideas that hold me whether I like it or not’; this place is
‘held’ not ‘hell’ although it feels like hell - a version of the
child’s tent penetrated by the tiger’s roar. The boundaries of
container and contained are confused; Roland is uncomfortably held by the
idea he holds. Du warns of abortion:
DU:
I’m only an idea of yours; You abort me if you kick. around like this.
ROLAND:
You’ve no right to be kicking around if you are only an idea - even an
idea in the mind of God. Metaphors have no right to behave as if they were
facts.
DU:
Words, words; words have no right to be definatory caskets preventing my
birth. I have the right to exist without depending on a thinker thinking
all day and night. Come inside.
ROLAND:
No thank you said the fly to the spider.
DU:
Said the fetus to the father - if I may use metaphors borrowed from the
world for the living. An idea has as much right to blush unseen as any
blush. (M. II, 51-3)
Roland
is fearful of ‘going inside’ in case he is trapped, like the fly by
the spider, the tiger at Gwalior, or the boy in the tent. Yet all is
reciprocal and ambiguous - who is inside whom? Who is eating, absorbing,
hunting whom? The boundaries are confusing, as with Psyche and Soma.
Roland tries to create artificial or commonsense boundaries through
imposing the rules of language (like the boy dreaming of Tiger Tiger):
‘You aren’t a fact… Metaphors have no right to behave as if they
were facts.’ But a new definition of ‘fact’ is required to
accommodate Du’s existence, which, he insists, is real and inevitable
whether the thinker can use ‘words’ to describe him or not. Du objects
to the misuse of words as a false tank-like shell preventing the release
of meaning! ‘Words have no right to be definatory caskets preventing my
birth.’
The dream-dialogue between Roland and Du thus bring us back to the Memoir’s key concern with the relation between experience and aesthetic form: the problem of using words, not as a protection against knowledge, hut artistically, as containers capable of trapping a ‘roughness’ beyond their smooth grammatical form, like the sculpture trapping light through and beyond its tangible sensuous form- The light, ‘0’, the truth, knowledge itself, cannot be possessed or represented in any direct or paraphrase able way; its existence within the experience of man depends upon a complex alliance of identification and aesthetic capacity. At times of catastrophic upheaval, the over-rigid ‘scientific’ definitions of ‘fact’ are liable to explode like the tank with its illusorily protective exoskeletun. Instead, the elastic boundaries of artistic form are necessary to accommodate new loads of meaning and the birth of ideas without breakdown. Man’s relation with unapproachable ‘O’ is like that with the Tiger - an ambiguous symbol both progressive and retrogressive, whose meaning depends upon its use and upon the activity of ‘hunting’ one’s self. Bion warns against, or makes one aware of, the type of automatic or omnipotent mental operation which might commonly be considered ‘thinking’ but which is really more an explaining-away, an evasion or barrier against experience; knowing ‘about’ instead of knowing. Instead, in these last books, he tries to dramatize the very process of thinking itself - the type of thinking which, however imperfectly, ‘shapes the thinker’, and whose reality is seen rather in the changing shape of a mind than in any theory, message or summary of experience.
REFERENCES (The
abbreviations following each entry
give
the mode of referencing in the text.)
W. R. Bion, A
Memoir of the Future (Book One). The
Dream, Rio de Janeiro, Imago Editora. 1975 (M. I)
W. R. Bion, A
Memoir of the Future (Book Two), The
Past Presented, Rio de Janeiro, Imago Editora. 1977 (M II)
W. R. Bion, A
Memoir of the Future (Book Three), The
Dawn of Oblivion. Perthshire, Clunie Press, 1979 (M. III)
W. R. Bion, The Long Week-End. Abingdon, Fleetwood Press. 1982 (LWE)
First
published in Free Associations:
Psychoanalysis, Groups, Politics, Culture No.1, pp. 33-56,1985.
Copyright:
Process Press Ltd.
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