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"When Freud observed how his one-and-a-half-year-old grandson dealt with the
loss of his mother, he was impressed by the child's inventiveness; the way
the child transformed the mother's absence into a pleasurable game. 'The
child had a wooden reel with a piece of string tied round it,' Freud wrote in
Beyond the Pleasure Principle:
'What he did was to hold the reel by the string and very skilfully throw it
over the edge of his curtained cot, so that it disappeared into it, at the
same time uttering his expressive "o-o-o-o". He then pulled the reel out of
the cot again by the string and hailed its reappearance with a joyful "da"
(there). This, then, was the complete game--disappearance and return. As a
rule one only witnessed its first act, which was repeated untiringly as a
game in itself, though there is no doubt that the greater pleasure was
attached to the second act. The interpretation of the game then became
obvious. It was related to the child's great cultural achievement--instinctual renunciation...which he had made in allowing his mother to go away without protesting. He compensated himself for this, as it were, by himself staging the disappearance and return of the objects within his reach.'
Without the invention of this game, one might think, the child would feel the unbearable pain of his mother's absence. And yet as Freud describes this scene--in which for him too the woman, his daughter, is absent; and in which he too makes up a story [to bear her absence]--it is not as though the child is merely making a choice to manage his suffering, but rather that the mother's absence is an opportunity for the child to find another pleasure. And not only the ascetic pleasure of instinctual renunciation, but the pleasure of symbolization itself; the delight of making up the game. Whether or not the loss is being mastered by the child--whatever that might mean--a new talent is being found; and being found to be so pleasurable that it is repeated, 'untiringly, as a game in itself'. The situation calls up something new in the child. Without the mother's absence there would have been no game, no new pleasure.... And what the child discovers is that he can now have two pleasures for the price of one: this child still has a mother, and he has acquired a new game for himself; and he can have both (if not always at the same time). All Freud's language--the child 'very skilfully' throwing the reel, his 'expressive', 'joyful' sounds, the child's 'great cultural achievement'-- celebrates the child as artist, discovering his artistry; and not merely (or bitterly) actively re-enacting with his toys what he has had unavoidably inflicted on him.
'When it plays at "throwing things far away,' Moustafa Safouan writes, 'the child is trying out his new freedom.' This particular new freedom--to live well in the absence of the mother, to make and take things up--is only available to the child when the mother goes away. Compensation may be the wrong word here...what Freud...actually describes --is more akin to the artful elaboration of an experience. The child, after all, is not finding a substitute for the mother, because there isn't one, but an extension of her (something comforting and pleasurable) that is also an alternative to her. More of the same--mother all the time--would spell the death of innovation. What is it inside us, Freud seems to be wondering, that can turn an absence into a pleasurably open space, that makes an improvisation out of a deprivation?
Of course the child must know somewhere, by now, that the game too could disappear (the reel could be taken away from him, just like the mother is). But the new 'skill' the child might acquire in the mother's absence is this very talent for dealing with albeit temporary disappearances. The child, that is to say, is learning the arts of transience. And he must learn that loss--hopefully not more than he can actually bear--is a permanent presence in life."
--Adam Phillips, Darwin's Worms, 2000
loss of his mother, he was impressed by the child's inventiveness; the way
the child transformed the mother's absence into a pleasurable game. 'The
child had a wooden reel with a piece of string tied round it,' Freud wrote in
Beyond the Pleasure Principle:
'What he did was to hold the reel by the string and very skilfully throw it
over the edge of his curtained cot, so that it disappeared into it, at the
same time uttering his expressive "o-o-o-o". He then pulled the reel out of
the cot again by the string and hailed its reappearance with a joyful "da"
(there). This, then, was the complete game--disappearance and return. As a
rule one only witnessed its first act, which was repeated untiringly as a
game in itself, though there is no doubt that the greater pleasure was
attached to the second act. The interpretation of the game then became
obvious. It was related to the child's great cultural achievement--instinctual renunciation...which he had made in allowing his mother to go away without protesting. He compensated himself for this, as it were, by himself staging the disappearance and return of the objects within his reach.'
Without the invention of this game, one might think, the child would feel the unbearable pain of his mother's absence. And yet as Freud describes this scene--in which for him too the woman, his daughter, is absent; and in which he too makes up a story [to bear her absence]--it is not as though the child is merely making a choice to manage his suffering, but rather that the mother's absence is an opportunity for the child to find another pleasure. And not only the ascetic pleasure of instinctual renunciation, but the pleasure of symbolization itself; the delight of making up the game. Whether or not the loss is being mastered by the child--whatever that might mean--a new talent is being found; and being found to be so pleasurable that it is repeated, 'untiringly, as a game in itself'. The situation calls up something new in the child. Without the mother's absence there would have been no game, no new pleasure.... And what the child discovers is that he can now have two pleasures for the price of one: this child still has a mother, and he has acquired a new game for himself; and he can have both (if not always at the same time). All Freud's language--the child 'very skilfully' throwing the reel, his 'expressive', 'joyful' sounds, the child's 'great cultural achievement'-- celebrates the child as artist, discovering his artistry; and not merely (or bitterly) actively re-enacting with his toys what he has had unavoidably inflicted on him.
'When it plays at "throwing things far away,' Moustafa Safouan writes, 'the child is trying out his new freedom.' This particular new freedom--to live well in the absence of the mother, to make and take things up--is only available to the child when the mother goes away. Compensation may be the wrong word here...what Freud...actually describes --is more akin to the artful elaboration of an experience. The child, after all, is not finding a substitute for the mother, because there isn't one, but an extension of her (something comforting and pleasurable) that is also an alternative to her. More of the same--mother all the time--would spell the death of innovation. What is it inside us, Freud seems to be wondering, that can turn an absence into a pleasurably open space, that makes an improvisation out of a deprivation?
Of course the child must know somewhere, by now, that the game too could disappear (the reel could be taken away from him, just like the mother is). But the new 'skill' the child might acquire in the mother's absence is this very talent for dealing with albeit temporary disappearances. The child, that is to say, is learning the arts of transience. And he must learn that loss--hopefully not more than he can actually bear--is a permanent presence in life."
--Adam Phillips, Darwin's Worms, 2000