Writing to be Part of the Conversation

I first started to write in the 1970s because I had to. Academics live by the rule “publish or perish,” at least until receiving tenure. Even after that, publishing remains the major means for advancement, though failing to publish carries less serious consequences. Writing is part of the job, and the rules for what kind of writing, on which topics, where to publish, and so forth are quite explicit—straightforward enough to be taught to graduate students, which is also part of the job. In these circumstances, the “why” of writing is pragmatic.

More interesting is the question of why I write when I don't have to, when seemingly nothing external depends on my doing so. For during the same time that I was writing for work I was also writing and publishing papers that would not be included in my tenure dossier, papers outside the rules; and these papers were my first writings about psychoanalysis.

I had arrived at that point in my work with a focus on meaning, but that was not where I had started. Like most shy children, I was more comfortable listening than speaking; being quiet and well-behaved, I was allowed to be present as adults talked about both current world events and their personal affairs. Being very young, I am sure I did not understand all the nuances of what the adults said, but I definitely sensed that their words were just the topmost layer of deeper, more interesting meanings. Curiosity about those “enigmatic signifiers” (per Laplanche) compelled me to spend hours in my father's library, surrounded by books, many of which impressed on me that words have power and magic.

One favorite was a book on the Bible in art, in which a passage of the Bible was surrounded by reproductions of its depiction by various artists. Although I was told that a picture has the power of a thousand words, I could see for myself the power of words to create multiple worlds.

Another favorite was the large, cloth-