Half and Half

This article will appear as a chapter in Dr. Eigen's book, The Sensitive Self, which is currently a work in progress.

“Well then, if you want to know,” he said, becoming confidential, “last night I had a most enjoyable evening. People smoking, intelligent, friendly atmosphere, and then…,” becoming indignant in a noisy voice, “the waitress brought me only half a cup of coffee, and that ab-so-lutely finished it.” Dropping his voice, “I couldn't do a thing after that. Not a thing.” Almost whispering, “That finished it.”

Here we have a typical Bion clinical fragment: a sudden change in experience, good to bad, with no prospect of recovery. The “spontaneous recovery” rhythm, depicted in the last chapter, is missing or not working well. The patient takes a hit and goes under. Recovery is not a possibility.

At least, that is what the patient says. The communication Bion describes is complex and finely nuanced, in spite of the proposed simplicity of outcome. The proposed simplicity rotates around a switch being turned from on to off. Life going on, then being turned off.

The turn-off hinges on an abrupt, unexpected happening. The waitress brings half a cup of coffee. How could she? How dare she! Does the patient think she possesses diabolic intent, or is she merely careless, indifferent, inconsiderate, insensitive? Whether mean or distracted, it is clear she does not care enough.

Our psychoanalytic ear hears echoes of a wounding nourisher feeding the formation of personality. A fusion of wound and nourishment runs through many of Bion's examples. A patient reports a good lunch, when a mug of beer is inexplicably thrown in his face (Bion, 1965, pp. 2-4); the delight of ice cream becomes the scream of deprivation, then no scream at all as the patient “dies” into the cold silence (Bion, 1970, pp. 13-14); a patient's mother “cuts off supplies” so he did not have enough money to buy food, let alone the mental/emotional food of analysis (Bion, 1992, p. 29