Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

DOI 10.1007/s11089-007-0096-8

An Analysis of Acedia

Ryan LaMothe

Published online: 27 July 2007

# Springer Science + Business Media, LLC 2007

Abstract In this paper, the concept of acedia is reexamined as a diagnostic term that may be
helpful in understanding persons who recognize a good, yet who have no motivation or desire
for the good. A brief depiction of past and more recent theological and philosophical accounts
of acedia serves as a foundation for identifying various characteristics of acedia and for
differentiating acedia from depression. This leads to a psychoanalytic revision of acedia. I
first describe the relational dynamics and sources (developmental and cultural) of acedia
using a threefold dialectic: recognition–negation, surrender–generation, and disruption–
repair. The aim of this description is to explain how desire and interest are dissociated from
the object, draining the subject of motivation, though leaving intact the capacities for
recognition and valuation. I suggest, further, that acedia signifies a person’s defense against
loss as well as her attempt to retain meaning that is not meaningful. I conclude with several
comments on how this perspective can shape how one thinks about working with a person
who manifests acedia in some aspect of her life.

Keywords Acedia . Semiotics . Christian . Depression . Agency

Introduction

Winnicott (1971), a careful and wise observer of human beings, recognized that analysts
need “to acknowledge openly that the absence of psychoneurotic illness may be health, but
it is not life” (p.100). There are people, in other words, who do not fit our carefully
constructed taxonomies of psychopathology. Nevertheless, they show up in consulting
rooms, either as patients or analysts, lacking verve in their relationships and in their work.
They are not necessarily neurotic and do not easily fit DSM-IV (American Psychiatric
Association 1994) categories. Winnicott’s (1955) idea of the false self and Bollas’ (1987)
concept of the normotic self are attempts to name and describe people who are ostensibly
“healthy,” yet who unconsciously, as Thoreau noted, live lives of quiet desperation.

R. LaMothe (*)
Saint Meinrad School of Theology, 200 Hill Dr. St., Meinrad, IN 47577, USA
e-mail: rlamothe@saintmeinrad.edu
16 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

To lack interest, to be empty of verve or vitality in relation to a recognized good, has

been a concern of philosophers, theologians, and healers for millennia. While philosophical
and theological diagnostic languages, theories, and methods differ from analytic theories,
insights can nevertheless be appropriated and reinterpreted, providing alternative
perspectives. In this paper, I examine the concept of acedia as a diagnostic term that may
be helpful in understanding persons who recognize a good, yet who have no motivation or
desire for the good. I begin with a brief depiction of past and more recent theological and
philosophical accounts of acedia, which provides a basis for comprehending the character-
istics of acedia and how it differs from various forms of depression outlined in the DSM IV
(1994). This serves as a foundation for a psychoanalytic rendering of acedia. I describe the
relational dynamics and sources (developmental and cultural) of acedia using a threefold
dialectic: recognition–negation, surrender–generation, and disruption–repair. The aim of
this description is to explain how desire and interest are dissociated from the object,
draining the subject of motivation, though leaving intact the capacities for recognition and
valuation. I suggest, further, that acedia signifies a person’s defense against loss as well as
her attempt to retain meaning that is not meaningful. I conclude with several comments on
how this perspective can shape how one thinks about working with a person who manifests
acedia in some aspect of her life.

Perspectives on acedia

An in-depth examination of acedia or sloth1 in Christian traditions, which is not possible

here, reveals a diversity of perspectives and contexts. Indeed, any survey makes apparent
that this category of moral diagnosis has been used to account for a multitude of human
behaviors and experiences. Nevertheless, I cull from this brief exploration features of acedia
that contribute to a definition as well as identification of some of its characteristics, which
in turn serves as a foundation for differentiating acedia from depression.

Acedia in Christian history

The root meaning of acedia (Greek, a-kedeia) means literally without care or without grief.
In the fourth century, Evagrius (trans. 2003), a Christian monk, used this term to refer to a
monk’s “laziness when one rises for prayer” (p. 36). The “demon of acedia” instills in the
monk a lack of care for the good. When this occurs, the monk cannot pray, lacking the
motivation to seek the good, which, understandably, was conceptualized in terms of one’s
devotion to God. Like any competent diagnostician, Evagrius listed the signs of acedia-
hatred of industriousness, agitation, loss of desire for prayer, drowsiness, oppressiveness of
solitude, ignorance of scripture, and a slackening of care (p. 64). A common enough
etiological appellation for trouble in human life for theologians of this period, especially for
Evagrius, was the devil. The demon of acedia was “also called the noonday demon [and] is
the most oppressive of all demons” (p. 99). Anyone plagued by this demon would find it
difficult to rid oneself of it. Nevertheless, Evagrius proposed that the cure for indifference or
lack of care was perseverance with regard to the “cutting down of thoughts, concern for
death, meditation on the cross...” (p. 64). To realign the will, a monk needed to focus his
thoughts on his own need for salvation and on Christ’s sacrifice and suffering, making

1
While there are different connotations for sloth and acedia, in this paper whenever I use the term sloth it
will be understood as possessing the same root meaning of acedia—not caring.
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 17

salvation possible. Hopefully, this and serving the needs of others would restore one’s desire
and motivation for the good.
In his peregrinations, John Cassian, another monk, may have crossed paths with
Evagrius in Constantinople. Like Evagrius, Cassian was no less concerned about the spirit
of acedia and its effects on monks. Cassian’s account of acedia, however, is more
emotionally descriptive. Once a worried and anxious heart “has seized possession of a
wretched mind, it makes a person horrified at where he is, disgusted with his cell, and also
disdainful and contemptuous of the brothers” (Cassian trans 2000, p. 219). Tormented by
the spirit of acedia, the unhappy monk becomes agitated, seeking to flee his cell and to seek
consolation elsewhere. Flight, Cassian realized, can also take the form of sleep. Sleep,
though, is not the only form of escape. Busyness and idleness, Cassian (trans 1997)
determined, could also be manifestations of acedia, each representing a form of not caring
for the good, whether that is toward God or the good for oneself and others. Cassian
believed gentle exhortation, endurance, fortitude, and charitable actions were remedies for
this sin (Bringle 1990, pp. 57, 60). It was the will, dependent on the grace of God, that
would lead one from acedia to desire for the good.
Centuries later, philosopher and theologian Thomas Aquinas (1968) also recognized the
emotional aspects of acedia or sloth, the primary one being depression, which “makes one
spiritually sluggish because of weariness in flesh” (p. 255). Aquinas (1966) argued that this
loss of hope “has as its consequences that men plunge into evil without restraint and
abandon their efforts to do good” (p. 97). Accompanying the loss of hope is the sense that
spiritual and human goodness have no ultimate significance (p. 99). I wish to highlight
three points here. First of all, Aquinas, reminiscent of Cassian, acknowledged the emotional
elements of being able to recognize, but not desire, the good. Second, Aquinas did not
believe that acedia is mere laziness. A slothful person can be industrious. What links acedia
as laziness and acedia manifested in busyness is that while one can recognize the good, one
has no desire for the good and is thus not motivated to pursue it. Finally, for Aquinas,
acedia meant that a person can recognize the good (assess positive value to an object) and
attribute meaning to it, but she or he does not experience the good as meaningful—full of
meaning.
More recent formulations of acedia or sloth echo this tradition. Following the Christian
tradition, Fairlie (1978) argued that acedia signals our disregard for “what we ought to do”
as well as a lack of care for and “neglect [of] our neighbors” (p. 129). Similarly, Ortberg
(1994) and Keizer (2003) recognized that neglect of neighbor can take the form of busyness
and other forms of distraction. Our busyness, in other words, may reveal an underlying
passivity and indifference with regard to discerning and acting on the good for others
(Menninger 1973). Lysons (1986), following Aquinas, posited that the heart of acedia’s
passivity is an intellectual and spiritual indifference. This cultivated lack of imagination and
refusal to be moved by good or evil (Himes 2000) inadvertently consents to harm, whether
that is in relation to oneself or others (Menninger 1973, p. 147).
While contemporary perspectives echo this tradition, there are several important
differences, namely, the acknowledgement of acedia in relation to the political sphere
(Keizer 2003), the influence of culture in contributing to acedia, and the contextual aspects
of acedia. In the first case, acedia is extended to one’s indifference to the goods and evils in
the political life of the community. As citizens, we recognize that participating in civic life
is a good, but we lack the motivation to vote, to write Congress, to protest, etc. With regard
to the second difference, writers note how cultural values, beliefs, and meanings are
internalized, distorting the will and creating a sense of indifference about the good for
oneself and others (McFadyen 2000). For example, feminist scholars (e.g., Dunfee 1982;
18 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

Plaskow 1980; Reuther 1983; Suchocki 1994) argue that patriarchal narratives, rituals, and
structures colonize and distort the will of women by elevating the desire and motivation to
care for others and, at the same time, praising women’s indifference toward and sacrifice of
their own needs and desires. Thus, the ethos of a particular culture can be the source of a
person’s lack of care for oneself and others. A third important distinction between past and
present versions of acedia is the recognition that acedia is contextual and partial. In other
words, past versions of acedia were, generally speaking, represented as if the entire
character or personality of the person was affected. It was believed that acedia took hold of
the person’s psyche, distorting his will in physical, spiritual, and secular endeavors. While
there are people who appear to be indifferent toward nearly everything, it is more likely that
each of us is slothful in some things or in some contexts. I may, for example, be passionate
about the good when it comes to psychoanalytic psychotherapy and indifferent about the
political, economic, and foreign policies that are harmful to the very people I work with in
therapy. This indifference easily extends toward those who live outside our borders. Or,
from a feminist angle, a woman may recognize and labor for the good of others, while
neglecting to contemplate her own needs and desires, even though she recognizes that these
needs are good. She also may be indifferent to the culture’s role in contributing to the
subjugation and objectification of women, while she demonstrates great concern and
devotion for her husband, her children, her extended family, and neighbors.
In brief, traditional Christian versions of acedia served as a category that covered
numerous forms of not caring (e.g., depression, boredom, anxious agitation), and they all
tended to view the source of this human dilemma in terms of the devil While more recent
versions have important differences, there are strands of continuity. First, acedia as lack of
care is clearly viewed as a human problem—individual and relational. Second, recent
perspectives agree with traditional views that a slothful person’s capacity for recognition of
a good and his capacity to will the good are intact, though the desire and motivation for the
good are absent. The differences between recent and past views are centered on etiology.
Past views identified the devil as the source, while recent perspectives focus on the effects
of culture in distorting one’s capacity to be motivated to act toward a good.
Given this brief survey, I define acedia as a lack of care and motivation for a recognized
good. A person’s capacity for agency or will and his capacity to construct meaning are
intact, but distorted, as a result of being unable to experience any desire or emotion toward
the good. I will address in more detail the sources of acedia, but for now I accept modern
renditions that point to the influence of dominant cultural narratives in extinguishing one’s
desire and distorting one’s agency. Finally, distortion of the will and the corresponding lack
of desire and emotion may be pervasive or partial/contextual and manifested in ennui,
passivity, or busyness. In other words, acedia need not be considered solely in terms of a
person’s character—shaping all his behavior and relationships—but rather as aspects of
oneself, which fits with postmodern notions of the self (cf., Aron 1996; Mitchell 1993).
Thus, a person may manifest acedia in one area of his life and not in other areas.

Acedia and depression

Before moving to an analytic interpretation of acedia, it is important to distinguish between

acedia and depression because they may appear similar in their manifestations (Solomon
2001). People who suffer from depression often find it difficult to muster any energy to care
about themselves or others. A criterion of depression in the DSM-IV (1994) is “diminished
interest or pleasure in all, or almost all, activities most of the day, nearly every day”
(p. 327). This lack of pleasure or interest is frequently accompanied by fatigue, insomnia (or
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 19

hypersomnia), difficulty in concentrating or indecisiveness, which is linked, in part, to

feelings of worthlessness or inappropriate guilt. The etiology of depression is complex, but
research has clearly identified physiological components that often respond well to
medication. While acedia is similar in that there is a marked lack of desire or interest, there
are no clear symptoms of insomnia, difficulty concentrating, or fatigue in acedia. Finally,
there is no deep sense of worthlessness or even inappropriate guilt. More importantly, a
depressed person will usually respond to medication, feeling more energetic and able to
concentrate, while a slothful person will not experience any change in symptoms.
I offer a brief illustration to highlight differences between acedia and depression. Gwen
was a witty, intelligent, and active (e.g., friends, exercise) 55-year-old married woman with
three adult children. Gwen began therapy after the tragic death of her daughter in a car
accident. The first year of therapy centered on her grief and on, what I believed to be, her
dysthymia, which stemmed from existing in a desiccated marriage and working at a job that
was below her capabilities. Gwen’s lack of interest in her marriage and work, however, did
not extend to her children. After some discussion, Gwen went to see a psychiatrist and
began taking an SSRI. As she worked through the grief, it became evident that her
lukewarm attitude about her marriage and work did not stem from depression and she did
not suffer from feelings of worthlessness. Gwen reported no change as a result of taking the
medication, though she clearly made changes with regard to how she grieved her daughter’s
death. Gwen, in other words, continued to be tepid, at best, when speaking of the man she
married right after college or speaking about her job. When she ceased taking the
medication, again there was also no apparent change in her indifference about her husband
and work and her relative lack of curiosity about herself.
I will return to Gwen’s situation below, arguing that her difficulty in living can be
understood in terms of acedia. For now, I wish to make clear that acedia’s lack of care is
distinct from the lack of interest that is manifested in depression. First, acedia does not
respond to medication that is usually prescribed for those suffering from depression, which
suggests a nonbiological etiology or at least one that does not respond to SSRIs. Second,
acedia is not rooted in a person’s deep or pervasive sense of worthlessness or inappropriate
guilt, though in acedia a person can express her lack of significance that is often interpreted
as worthlessness.2 Third, acedia is not necessarily connected to insomnia, indecisiveness,
fatigue, suicidal thoughts, or an inability to concentrate. In short, the lack of desire and
interest stems from other dynamics and sources.

Psychoanalytic renderings: Relational dynamics, defense, and sources of acedia

Gedo (1995) wrote that “psychoanalysis is a science of motivations” (p.470), which

suggests that psychoanalysis may aid us in understanding the following questions: What
relational dynamics lead to persons not caring about and, therefore, not motivated to pursue
recognized goods? How is it that a person’s capacity for agency and capacity to construct
meaning remain intact, yet drained of desire and emotion for the recognized good—the
object has meaning, but is not meaningful? How are we to understand acedia in terms of a
psychological defense? What is being defended and what is its motive? To address these
questions, I rely primarily on the work of relational psychoanalysts, infant–parent

2
This is an important distinction. In acedia a person may attribute significance to someone else and not
attribute significance to her desires and needs. This does not mean that the person feels worthless. She simply
has no interest and this lack of interest is not fueled by shame.
20 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

researchers, and postmodern perspectives that view the self as multiple and unity as a
necessary fiction in human life (Aron 1996; Bromberg 1998). In particular, I examine
acedia in terms of three interrelated dialectal pairs—recognition–negation, surrender–
generation, and disruption–repair—that are both interpersonal and intrapsychic. This
discussion addresses the dynamics that give rise to acedia and serves as the foundation for
depicting acedia as a defense.

Recognition–negation

Hegel understood human life to be a struggle for recognition (Pinkard 2000). Benjamin
(1988, 1990, 1995, 1998), who relied, in part, on Hegel for her depiction of psychological
development and the vicissitudes of domination, contended that the capacity for recognition
is necessarily accompanied by negation. Negation, which means the other is not-me
(difference), is, Benjamin argued, “a vital moment in the movement of recognition”
(Benjamin 1998, p. 83). That is, negation3 is the very condition for the possibility of
recognition, even prior to the capacity for symbolization. This dialectic of recognition and
negation in human development signifies a paradox. Benjamin (1988) wrote, “The paradox
of recognition, the need for acknowledgment that turns us back to dependence on the other,
brings about a struggle for control. This struggle can result in the realization that if we fully
negate the other, that is, if we assume complete control over him and destroy his identity
and will, then we have negated ourselves as well” (p. 39). This unconscious realization is
accompanied by the subject’s acceptance of “the premise that others are separate but
nonetheless share like feelings and intentions” and he “is compensated for his loss of
sovereignty by the pleasure of sharing, the communion with another subject” (p. 53). In
brief, the handing over omnipotence secures the subject’s identity and contributes to his
capacity to take pleasure in the mutual sharing of subjectivity.
Describing the parent–child developmental dance of recognition and negation, vis-à-vis
desire and agency, sets the stage for understanding the dynamics and sources of acedia.
Winnicott (1971) believed that the parent’s survival of the child’s omnipotent creation
(recognition) and annihilation (negation) helps a child learn to use aggression in asserting
her needs and desires, as well as moving toward differentiation; that is, the child’s ability to
recognize the parent as a not-me object, as well as the child’s later ability to recognize the
other as having a mind distinct from her own (see Fonagy et al. 2002). The parent, as the
different other, survives the child’s creation and destruction, leaving the child with a sense
that her desires and omnipotence are not dangerous and that the other will recognize and
appropriately respond to her desires. The child’s use of a transitional object (TO) is yet
another step in the process of creating and destroying, of recognizing and negating
(Winnicott 1971). The TO is recognized—omnipotently—as a good object. In this moment
of recognition, the child’s desire and emotion for the TO establish her motivation and
capacity to act toward the good object. Recognition of the object as a good, which includes
negation (the TO is not-me), is inextricably yoked to the child’s desire and emotion.
Additionally, the use of the TO is a relational achievement that furthers the child’s ability to

3
Freud (1925/1961) argued that negation was a logical operation associated with the capacity for
symbolization. Spitz (1957, 1965), Ver Eecke (1984), and Litowitz (1998) have extended the notion of
negation to a pre-symbolic rejection and refusal of another person or object, which precedes the semantic
“no.” An infant’s initial “recognition” is accompanied by a somatic, presentational, pre-logical negation that
is manifested in avoidance, retreat, expressions of physical disgust and aggression (Spitz 1965). Similarly,
Lichtenberg et al. (1992) posited an aversive motivational system, which is present from birth, as the earliest
form of negation.
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 21

recognize the agency and desires of the other, as well as to express and share her own
desires and needs in the presence of the other person who likewise recognizes and negates.
Put another way, the child begins to learn to recognize and act on her desires, along with
recognizing the desires and agency of those who are other-not-me. Agency, then, is bound
up with desire and emotion toward a recognized good.
When we move to the parent and her recognition and negation of the infant, we clarify
further the importance of this dialectic. The other partner in this dance is the parent whose
love and concern, manifested in appropriate mirroring or attunement (Stern 1985), involves
both negation of the infant—in the sense that the infant is not me (parent)—and accurate
recognition of the infant’s assertions. It is this negation, then, that makes it possible for the
parent to create a relational space for and to recognize accurately the infant’s emotional,
nonverbal expressions. This is necessary for the child’s sense of safety and security in (a)
recognizing an object as a good, (b) in attributing desire toward the good, and (c) having
the motivation to act.
Acedia emerges out of subtle disruptive patterns of recognition and negation whereby
the child is able to recognize objects as good, but desire and emotion are split off. In
situations where the parent’s recognition of the child is imbued with personal projections,
the parent consistently misrecognizes and, therefore, overlooks or negates4 the child’s
desires and needs. One could say that a child is “conceived by his mother, but not
conceived of by her” (Borris 1997, p. 388, quoting Judith Mitrani: italics Mitrani’s). There
is, of course, a continuum of ongoing misrecognition with one end being traumatic, giving
rise to psychopathology and neuroses, and the other being relatively psychologically
disruptive, giving rise to less notable problems in human life (e.g., acedia). The kind of
parental misrecognitions and negations that are implicated in acedia are not psychologically
traumatic. That is, a parent may mingle affection and playfulness with her misrecognitions,
yet they remain misrecognitions. Because the child is psychologically and physically
dependent on the parent, she will adapt to these misrecognitions, sacrificing not only
omnipotence, but also her desires. In addition, the child will learn to recognize the desires
and needs of the parent, all for the sake of remaining attached. This means that the capacity
to recognize something as good remains intact. However, as a result of repeated
misrecognitions, the child will have difficulty connecting her desires and emotions to the
good object. Agency and recognition are intact, but weakened because there is no desire
and emotion to motivate the child to act toward the good object—an object that represents
her desires and needs.
While I am focusing on the developmental dynamics of recognition and negation, it is
also important to point out that these dynamics can take place in the larger culture. For
instance, consider the reality and dynamics of patriarchy. Patriarchal narratives that
dominate a culture narrowly define women’s desires. In other words, the desires of women
are recognized, defined, and narrated by men in power. This does not, in and of itself,
suggest trauma or violence. There may be a patriarchal family that expresses much affection
toward females, yet this affection is accompanied by a circumscribed recognition of the
female’s desires. Females in this system, in short, are taught in thousands of ways to
conform to the restricted desires manifested in the patriarchal narratives. Those female
desires that fall outside of this narrow range are not recognized—either they are ignored,
denied, rejected, or shamed. Many women in this system will, therefore, not recognize (or
misrecognize) their own desires (desires that do not fall within the patriarchal orbit) because

4
This is negation as annihilation versus parental negation (child as not-me) that is relatively free of
projection, creating a space for the child’s desires and emotions.
22 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

there is no social recognition or space for them. One could say that, while their capacities
for agency and recognition of a good are intact, their personal desires and emotions are
split-off (perhaps sublimated, in some cases), making it difficult to be motivated to
acknowledge and pursue their own desired ends.
Gwen’s situation illustrates, in part, the disruption of recognition and negation. During
our work together, Gwen recalled a memory that became important because it represented a
family dynamic. When Gwen was 14, her unmarried older sister became pregnant. This was
a painful shock to her very religious parents. One evening, Gwen feigned sleep as her
mother wept bitterly and her father sat in shocked stoic silence. It was at that moment that
Gwen vowed never to be the source of shame and hurt to her parents. This memory and
semiconscious vow crystallized a pattern of relating wherein Gwen, in part, sacrificed her
own desires and needs in order to obtain positive parental recognition as well as to avoid
the anxiety associated with negation as annihilation or loss. She overlooked her own
desires, while she focused on recognizing the needs and desires of her parents. I am not
suggesting that Gwen’s parents did not love her, but rather that their love likely entailed a
consistent pattern of misrecognition or lack of recognition of Gwen’s desires.5 Perhaps,
because of their affection—affection joined, in part, to the expectation that she accede to
their desires—Gwen unconsciously learned to overlook her desires and emotions for the
sake of securing her attachment to her parents. As an adult, Gwen was quite adept at
noticing the needs and desires of others and she knew intellectually what was probably
good for her, but she had difficulty getting in touch with any desires or emotions in relation
to the recognized good. She was, however, aware of intense anxiety whenever she began to
think about asserting herself. For instance, Gwen thought it would be good or desirable to
travel. She also believed that she should divorce her husband and find someone who loved
her, but she could not muster enough desire or emotion to act toward these ends. This
pattern of recognizing and acceding to her parents’ desires and needs may be understood in
three related ways. First, Gwen internalized this pattern of recognizing the needs and
desires of others for the sake of securing the relationship and insuring she would not
experience intense loss, anxiety, and rage (rage at sacrificing her desires). Second, her
parents’ consistent pattern of misrecognition—joined with conditional affection—made it
difficult for Gwen to recognize, express, and symbolize her subjective desires. Third, Gwen
was intellectually able to recognize a good, but could not locate her desire—emotion for the
good, which obstructed sufficient motivation to act in relation to the good object.

Surrender–generation

Recognition and negation are inextricably yoked to the dialectic pair, surrender–generation.
Hegel contended that a foundational attribute of human life is that we do not “receive
contents of the world [so much] as we take up our experience in a kind of spontaneous
activity” (Pinkard 2000, p. 164; italics added). To take up our experience means one is
willing to be moved by and to move the objects of the world. Over a century later,

5
From another, more macro perspective, cultural stories and narratives can be lived out and used, wittingly
or unwittingly, to subjugate, such that a person’s desires and needs are misrecognized. That is, cultural
narratives may undergird recognition of only particular socially accepted assertions and desires, while
omnipotently negating (annihilating) the attempted assertions of others. In this instance, negation becomes
annihilation or denial, instead of a negation that includes the recognition and acceptance of the desires and
needs of the other. In Gwen’s situation an argument can be made that patriarchal, cultural narratives were
implicated in her parents’ and others’ misrecognitions of her desires.
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 23

Heidegger (1971) made a similar point, arguing that a necessary factor in human experience
is one’s readiness to undergo it.
To undergo an experience with something—be it a thing, a person, or a god—means
that this something befalls us, strikes us, comes over us, overwhelms and transforms
us. When we talk of “undergoing” an experience, we mean specifically that the
experience is not of our own making; to undergo here means that we endure it, suffer
it, receive it as it strikes us and submit to it. It is something itself that comes about,
comes to pass, happens. (Heidegger 1971, p. 57)
These two philosophers suggested that, in the moment of taking up or surrendering, we
encounter and are receptive to something that moves us and is, in part, outside our control.
Surrender, then, connotes a receptivity and vulnerability to be moved by the other. It is
important to note, however, that surrender,6 to be moved by the other, for Heidegger and
Hegel, is not mere passivity. In the moment of surrender, a person wills to take up or be
stirred by the object while, at the same time, she constructs experience. For instance, a poet,
Heidegger (1971) believed, generates meaning through her use of language in constructing
verse and, at the same time, the poet surrenders to the word, to an experience, and to the
other. Each pole of this dialectical pair is contingent upon the other. In the act of being moved
by the other, one is generating meaning, and new meaning comes about only by being
moved. Mutual (not equal) receptiveness and vulnerability—surrender—is part and parcel of
the generation of experience that accompanies the realization of desire and a sense of
aliveness. In brief, the dialectic of surrender–generation is what makes meaning meaningful.
The dialectic of surrender–generation shapes recognition and negation. Optimally,
recognition includes a willingness to be moved by the other as well as by one’s own feelings,
needs, and desires. Openness to being moved includes recognition of the other’s desires and
needs, which are not one’s own. That is, to take up and be moved by the other’s desires signals
recognition and negation (not-me) of the other’s desires. This makes possible the subjective and
intersubjective construction of enlivening experience. Put negatively, imposition, impingement,
and deprivation involve an absolutized recognition and construction of the other, which
transforms negation into annihilation and surrender into subjugation. The recognition of and
openness to the other’s needs and desires, in these situations, are foreclosed and the possibility
of generating new experience is eclipsed. Enlivening experience is not generated, because there
is nothing new—no thing, no desire, and no one to move me or be moved by me. Experience
retains meaning, but it is not meaningful.

6
The idea of surrender has been discussed in various ways in the psychoanalytic literature. Angyal (1965/
1982), for example, argued that there is a drive for autonomy (assertion) and a drive for homonony
(surrendering to something greater). In his discussion about regression, Khan (1972) put forward the idea that
malignant regressions “are basically reactive in nature. They are an attempt to avoid and evade something
else that a patient dreads and is threatened by from within: namely surrender to resourceless dependence in
the analytic situation” (Khan 1972, p. 225). “Surrender,” in this circumstance, means annihilation of the self,
which Khan attributed to the patient and the analyst. In a similar vein, Ghent (1990) proposed that
masochism involved a pseudo surrender—submission that had the appearance of surrender. Surrender, for
Ghent, is not voluntary and is an experience of being “totally present,” which is connected to a sense of
aliveness and “the discovery of one’s identity, one’s sense of self, even one’s sense of unity with other living
beings” (p. 111). Unlike surrender, though often confused with it, submission implies domination,
compliance (Winnicott 1971, p. 28), the presence of a false self (Winnicott 1971, p. 34), the perversion of
object use, lack of self-integration, and “losing oneself in the power of the other” (Ghent 1990, p. 115).
Pointing to Winnicott, Ghent suggested that masochism reflects a “perversion of the wish for surrender”
(1990, p. 119), which screens the person’s “longing to be reached and known, in an accepting and safe
environment” (p. 118). Ghent, like Angyal and, implicitly, Winnicott, viewed surrender as necessary for the
achievement of a true self and a sense of aliveness.
24 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

Distortions of surrender and generating experience, like master–slave relationships or

other forms of bondage and domination, are, in fact, subjugations that lead to
objectification, depersonalization, victimization, and an attenuation of freedom, spontaneity,
agency, and creativity. Subjugation, unlike surrender, forecloses one’s receptivity toward
taking up or being moved by an object, by one’s desire, or by another person. Similarly,
subjugation screens a sense of hopelessness that the other will be moved by my desires and
needs. Neither the victimizer nor the victim is receptive, because each is either seeking to
enforce invulnerability (victimizer) or wishing for invulnerability (victim). In these
instances, the subjugated other is absolutely constructed, permitting no possibility of
moving the victimizer.
Subjugation is not always the result of trauma. Indeed, subjugation or distortion in
surrender and generating experience is best viewed as a continuum. More subtle, less
traumatizing forms of subjugation, especially when accompanied by love and affection, are
evident in acedia. Gwen, for instance, wanted to protect her parents from distress and
herself from parental rejection. Her parents loved and cared for her, though they apparently
and unwittingly did not recognize Gwen’s acquiescence as anything but her being a good
daughter. Consequently, her parents were not moved by Gwen’s desires, making it difficult
for Gwen to recognize and be moved by her own desires. Gwen’s acquiescence, then, was a
form of subjugation—subjugation to the needs and desires of her parents for the sake of
preserving the attachment and affection, all of which crowded out her own desires and left
meaning static.
An interesting point here concerns Gwen and the socially held and recognized symbols
associated with marriage. Gwen could intellectually recognize that these symbols, in part,
signified the realization of one’s desire for love and passion. Yet, even when she recalled
marrying her husband, Gwen could not recall much, if any, affection or desire for him. She
knew it would be good to marry, but this “good” was disconnected from desire. There was
no desire to surrender to or to be moved by her husband. The absence of surrender means
that new meaning and experience is not generated, which is one way to understand Gwen’s
lifeless and static marriage—her marriage had meaning (person-social), but was not
meaningful. Given this, one could ask what motivated her to marry and remain married.
Recall above that a slothful person is not necessarily inactive. The ancients realized that
acedia could be manifested in busyness, which is often fueled by anxiety and hopelessness.
I believe that Gwen married and stayed in a lifeless marriage because it was safer not to risk
being moved by her passions for something more. Indeed, later in therapy, Gwen became
visibly anxious when she began to feel attracted to a man at work. Her initial responses
were to cut off these feelings and desires and to withdraw.

Disruption–repair

All human relationships exhibit routine mis-meetings (Buber 1958), misrecognition, and
relational interruptions. These disturbances exist on a continuum from severe to minor,
though all represent some form of intrapsychic and relational disjunction between
recognizing one’s desires (or the other’s) and surrendering to these desires and the good
object. These disruptions point to the human need for relational and psychic repairs. This
need for repair first appears in the dance between parent and child and continues in diverse
forms throughout one’s life. For example, infant–parent researcher Edward Tronick (1989)
noted that breakdowns in mother–infant interactions are followed by attempts by one or
both parties to repair the relationship. Momentary or prolonged breakdowns may be the
result of parental misattunement, misrecognition, impingement, and deprivation, rendering
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 25

the infant distrustful and, at worse, hopeless. When the disruption is repaired, it means that
(a) one or both parties recognized the disruption and (b) there was sufficient trust and hope
to surrender to the disruption experience and be moved by it—so that meaning could be
generated—meaningful interaction. Successful repairs provide the partners with the sense
of trust and hope that relational disruptions can be handled and mended, and that the
disruptions can be meaningful. If the disruption is not mended, the child may sacrifice his
subjectivity and desires for the sake of maintaining the attachment. In these cases, the
disruption itself or the threat of disruption become linked to varying degrees of anxiety,
hopelessness, and meaninglessness because of the absence of experiences of repair.
The dialectic of disruption and repair is inextricably yoked to the dialectical pairs of
recognition–negation and surrender–generation. Let me return to the child who sacrifices
her subjectivity as a way to mend the disruption with her parent. The parent’s
misrecognitions are disruptive because they are not connected to the child’s subjective
desires and needs. One way a child obtains security is to submit to parental desires and
recognitions, all the while the child unconsciously negates or splits off her own desires and
needs. Submission to the parent’s desires is a pseudo repair, because the child’s subjectivity
is, in part, sacrificed and it is in the midst of this sacrifice that meaning is drained of its
vitality. Submission, then, becomes the mode of pseudo repair and an avoidance of
relational disruption, which means that new experience and meaning are not generated.
Happier occasions involve repeated breakdowns and timely repairs or “localized
spoiling” (Winnicott 1971, p. 97), which contribute to a person’s sense of confidence that
disruptions (Beebe and Lachmann 1994), while inevitable, do not lead to submission,
annihilation or deadness. In these situations, the parent realizes, consciously or
unconsciously, that something is amiss and seeks to repair it. That is, the parent recognizes
the disruption by recognizing the child’s assertions, which include the child’s efforts to gain
the parent’s attention as well as express her desires and needs. Something quite remarkable
occurs when parent and child are able to effect repairs. When this takes place, the child
obtains enough trust to recognize and surrender to these momentary breaches, because she
is confident that mom will recognize disruptions and seek to repair them. Moreover,
successful repairs provide partners with confidence that (a) their desires and needs will be
recognized, (b) they can move and be moved by each other, (c) disjunctions are not
equivalent to denial or annihilation, and (d) they can construct and share their experience.
Acedia signifies an underlying futility when it comes to repairing relational disruptions.
Put differently, acedia may be depicted as both a defense against further failure and loss as
well as a pseudo repair. By killing off one’s desires, a person no longer needs to depend on
and risk the other’s recognition; s/he no longer risks or faces subjective and relational
disruption that attends the failure to recognize, because there are no disruptions, only stasis.
When one’s own desires are deemed insignificant, the other’s assertions fill the relational
gap, making it safer, though not satisfactory, to submit to the other’s desires. The gradual
twisting of one’s will, through subjugation to the other’s desires, is manifested in this
pseudo repair. Gwen’s recollection of her sister’s escapade and resulting banishment
signified her expectation that failure was equivalent to rejection. This single memory is a
screen memory, representing cumulative patterns of relational failure and inopportune
repairs. Gwen’s solution was to effect a pseudo repair by sacrificing her desires and needs
for parental favor. Her subjugation to the needs and desires of her parents (and her husband)
represented, in my view, (a) a defense against risking the relational disruptions and
attending emotional distress of rejection, (b) a deep sense of distrust and near hopelessness
that people would recognize her deepest unspoken, unfelt desires, (c) a pseudo repair that
lacks a sense of meaningfulness, and (d) a chasm between her desires and social symbols
26 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

that represented desires. Acedia’s indifference, then, defends against further relational and
subjective disruption by rendering one’s desires insignificant and without meaning.
In summary, these three interrelated pairs are interpretive lenses for depicting the
subjective and relational dynamics that give rise to acedia. The implication is that acedia is
not something that arises within the individual, but rather within the matrix of social
relationships and their dynamics. Acedia may be pervasive or contextual. Gwen, for
instance, tended to have difficulty identifying and acting on her desires and needs in most
situations and relationships. A more contextual illustration is the seeming “laziness” of
someone who is not motivated to vote in democratic elections. The person recognizes that
voting is a good but does not possess the desire to act because he believes that his vote is
without meaning—that it will not be recognized and will not move the “other.” In this
example, acedia extends only to this context and not to other areas of the person’s life.

Acedia in the consulting room

One might wonder what would motivate a slothful person to seek therapy. Who would seek
help if one is without care or indifferent? The very act of asking for help seems to suggest
some level of grief or need that motivates a person. Perhaps what motivates a person has
nothing to do with what she is slothful about, but something else she cares about. Gwen, for
example, began therapy because of the death of her daughter, whom she clearly loved and
grieved. Her grief screened, for a time, the more pervasive lack of desire and motivation, as
well as the lack of subjective and intersubjective meaningfulness. The therapist’s dilemma
is how to handle and work through acedia such that a person experiences significance,
need, and passion. In this section I cannot possibly do justice to Gwen’s work and the
complexity of the process. Nevertheless, I briefly discuss acedia in terms of the dynamics of
transference and countertransference and conclude with a depiction of analyst–patient
dynamics that foster desire and motivation.
In working with Gwen, there were times when it seemed as if there was no positive or
negative transference, which one might expect when desire, emotion, and, indeed,
subjectivity are split off. Positive or negative transference would signal desire and affect
that would be in play in a patient’s (or therapist’s) attempt to move the other, yet Gwen, for
the most part, was not moved by her own desires. This said, if there was projection, it was
Gwen’s expectation that I would be someone she would need to acquiesce or defer to as she
had her parents, her husband, and her friends. That is, she acted as if I was yet another
person who would not recognize or be moved by her unstated needs and desires. This “as
if” relationship did not evoke any negative feelings in her because she unconsciously split
off any feelings of disappointment, anger, or rage that would typically emerge when one’s
desires and needs are thwarted.
Gwen’s transference may also be understood in terms of the relative absence of
generating meaningful experience as well as the absence of relational disruptions. The lack
of generating meaning was manifested in the felt lack of movement or novelty and her
seeming indifference and lack of imagination about the future. It is important to note that
Gwen’s indifference about the future was not despair or a felt sense of futility. Indeed, she
expressed no feelings about the future. For instance, I recall Gwen saying, “Ta da, ta da, ta
da, then you die.” This did not mean her life was meaningless, but that the future held no
surprise, no new meaning or experience. One existed toward death and this existence was a
matter of fact and devoid of intense feelings—sadness or hopelessness. Whenever there is a
lack of novelty, there is an absence of risk, which forecloses the need to repair any mistakes
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 27

that arise when one acts on one’s hopes and desires. In other words, in Gwen’s transference,
there was no need for relational repairs because there was no risk or desire. Of course, this
does not mean I did not make mistakes. I made many, but to Gwen there were no mistakes.
Relational disruptions were to be avoided, because there was little hope for genuine repair.
For her to recognize and experience one of my mistakes would have been, and eventually
was, an achievement.
The apparent lack of positive or negative transference evoked a sense of deadness in me
(cf. Green 1999; Ogden 1999). This form of countertransference, which naturally has roots
in my own history, was accompanied, at times, by feelings of frustration and the fantasy of
trying to enliven her. In fact, there were times when I caught myself working hard or being
provocative, which I later understood as an attempt to infuse desire and motivation in her—
to get her to move and be moved. I also worked to imagine what her desires and needs
were, yet, not surprisingly, my efforts were initially met with a manifest lack of emotion or
energy. Later in our work together, Gwen told me that my failed attempts to enliven her or
ferret out any of her desires were meaningful, because they represented, in part, my care for
her even though, at that time, she could not feel much care for herself. Another aspect of
my countertransference was my frustration. I would attempt to recognize and explore
Gwen’s desires, desires that I believed were latent. These attempts were frequently treated
with indifference, which was, in part, related to Gwen’s fear of recognizing and
experiencing her desires, for to do so would put her at risk of disappointment and hurt.
My frustration did not seem to me to be a response to Gwen’s projective identification, but
rather my experience of being in relationship with someone who would not move or engage
me in a meaningful way. This stemmed, in part, from growing up with a depressed mother,
but it became important to me to differentiate depression from Gwen’s acedia. Put another
way, I initially took this countertransference to be a sign of my struggle with a depressed
woman, but, as I indicated above, depression is distinct from acedia.
In terms of the process of therapy, there were two moments that signified for both of us
movement away from her acedia. Months after her husband moved out (at his instigation),
Gwen bought a dog—a dog (Penny) that was of the same type and color her daughter had a
few years before she died. Two manifest reasons for buying the dog were (a) she was a tie
to the memory of her beloved daughter and (b) to have “someone at home who is glad to
see me no matter what.” Gwen also desired to care for “someone”—someone safe, someone
who would recognize and respond to her “unconditionally.” I suspect that her relationship
with her dog served as a safe relationship in which to express her desires and affections and
to repair relational disruptions. Gwen, for instance, might misrecognize her dog’s cues,
heightening the dog’s response until such time that Gwen recognized and appropriately
responded to her. I would add here that Gwen’s tales in analysis about her dog felt
meaningful to me and to her. Perhaps, in Gwen’s own motivation and actions in buying,
caring for, and training Penny, one hears echoes of Evagrius or Cassian who believed that a
remedy for acedia was to aid someone in need.
Another important event was Gwen’s decision to travel to Europe with several women
friends. Typically, Gwen, if she was aware, would not voice her desires or needs with
friends, simply going along with whatever they wanted. In Europe, she found herself
becoming increasingly irritated at her friends for their lack of recognition of her unstated
desires. At one point, Gwen risked telling them what she wanted to do, which surprised
them. This took a great deal of emotional energy, but Gwen was also energized by what she
did. When relating this event (and there were several others), there was a sense that these
moments were meaningful as well as hopeful, because they represented her ability to
recognize, risk, and act on her desires with those she cared about.
28 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

These events paralleled the dynamics that were taking place in our work together. In
general, and despite my “unnoticed” mistakes, I consistently sought to recognize any
glimmer of desire on Gwen’s part and invited her to recognize her desires instead of negate
them by way of splitting, denial, or rationalization. I also recall lauding her strength and
motivation to grieve her daughter’s death, while most of the family wanted to move on.
That is, in her grief was a deep desire for and love of her daughter. Recognizing, affirming,
and experiencing all of this made her relationship to her deceased daughter and the grief
meaningful. Consistently cultivating the recognition of her desires led, in part, to Gwen’s
willingness to recognize and claim her desires, which was the first step toward being
motivated to act on them. In my view, when Gwen began openly to admit her desires
(wanting a pet), to care for others (e.g., daughters, friends, dog), there was a corresponding
dynamic of her being moved by these desires and by others (versus submission). For
instance, her surrender to her desires in Europe meant not only that she was moved by these
desires (motivated to act), but also that she risked moving others; it was in this and other
moments that new meaningful experience was generated. Interestingly, when Gwen began
to recognize and claim her desires, my failures and misrecognitions became more apparent
to her, necessitating the need for repair. For instance, during one session, she said, with
obvious frustration, “Don’t push me.” I had been prodding her to act on her desires about
being free from her husband, which signified, in my view, my agenda and the avoidance of
her anxiety about confronting her husband. This minor disruption was easily repaired
because of the level of trust we had built, but I would add that it signified her sense of
safety to express aggression and move me to recognize my failure.

Conclusion

As long as human beings have been aware of suffering, there have been attempts to
categorize and understand it. Philosophers and theologians have long used the idea of acedia
to refer to a person who is without care, though this diagnostic term has covered a multitude
of human behavior and struggles. I have argued that a revised concept of acedia can be
helpful to differentiate between the lack of care that derives from depression and the lack of
care that results from splitting off desire, need, and passion. The traditional depiction of the
etiology of acedia has been the devil, which is reinterpreted as the relational (developmental
and cultural) dynamics that involve (a) a lack of recognition of the one’s desires and needs,
(b) the submission of the person to the needs and desires of the powerful other, (c) the lack
of mutual generation of experience that is meaningful, and (d) the fear of repairing relational
disruptions. These dynamics are manifested in the felt lack of transference and the
concomitant countertransferencial efforts to imagine and recognize the patient’s desires,
needs, and passions. The process from acedia to care may be understood as the (a) ongoing
recognition of the patient’s unstated (real and imagined) desires and needs, (b) willingness to
be moved by the patient as well as identifying when and where the patient has been moved
by or moved someone, and (c) working through of relational disruptions.

References

American Psychiatric Association (1994). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (4th ed.).
Washington, DC: Author.
Angyal, A. (1982). Neurosis and treatment. New York: De Capo Press. (Original work published 1965).
Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30 29

Aquinas, T. (1966). Summa theologica (vol.33) (W. Hill, Trans.). New York: McGraw Hill. (Original work
published 1265–1273).
Aquinas, T. (1968). Summa theologica (vol.9) (K. Foster, Trans.). New York: McGraw Hill. (Original work
published 1265–1273).
Aron, L. (1996). A meeting of minds: Mutuality in psychoanalysis. Hillsdale, NJ: Analytic Press.
Beebe, B., & Lachmann, F. (1994). Representation and internalization in infancy: Three principles of
salience. Psychoanalytic Psychology, 11, 127–165.
Benjamin, J. (1988). The bonds of love. New York: Pantheon Books.
Benjamin, J. (1990). Recognition and destruction: An outline of intersubjectivity. In S. Mitchell & L. Aron
(Eds.), Relational psychoanalysis (pp. 181–210). London: Analytic Press.
Benjamin, J. (1995). Like subjects, love objects. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Benjamin, J. (1998). The shadow of the other. London: Routledge Press.
Bollas, C. (1987). The shadow of the object. New York: Columbia University Press.
Borris, H. (1997). Envy in the psychoanalytic process. Journal of Melanie Klein and Object Relations, 15,
365–396.
Bringle, M. (1990). Despair: Sickness or sin. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press.
Bromberg, P. (1998). Standing in spaces: Essays on clinical process, trauma, and dissociation. Hillsdale, NJ:
Analytic Press.
Buber, M. (1958). I and thou. New York: Charles Scribner.
Cassian, J. (1997). The conferences (B. Ramsey Trans.). Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press.
Cassian, J. (2000). The institutes (B. Ramsey Trans.). Mahwah, NJ: The Newman Press.
Dunfee, S. (1982). The sin of hiding: A feminist critique of Reinhold Niebuhr’s account of the sin of pride.
Soundings, 65, 316–327.
Evagrius, P. (2003). Eulogios (R. Sinkewicz Trans.). Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press.
Fairlie, H. (1978). The seven deadly sins today. Washington, DC: New Republic Books.
Fonagy, P., Gergely, G., Jurist, E., & Target, M. (2002). Affect regulation, mentalization, and the
development of the self. New York: Other Press.
Freud, S. (1961). Negation. In J. Strachey (Ed. & Trans.), The standard edition of the complete psychological
works of Sigmund Freud (Vol. 19, pp. 235–243). London: Hogarth Press. (Original work published
1925).
Gedo, J. (1995). On the psychology of motivation. Psychoanalytic Inquiry, 15, 470–480.
Ghent, E. (1990). Masochism, submission, surrender. Contemporary Psychoanalysis, 26, 108–136.
Green, A. (1999). The dead mother: The work of André Green. London: Routledge Press.
Heidegger, M. (1971). On the way to language. San Francisco: Harper Collins.
Himes, K. (2000). The formation of conscience: The sin of sloth and the significance of spirituality. In J.
Keating (Ed.), Spirituality and moral theology (pp. 61–78). New York: Paulist Press.
Keizer, G. (2003, 14 June). Political sloth. Christian Century, 120, 8. (Full text online: http://findarticles.
com/p/articles/mi_m1058/is_12_120/ai_103996796).
Khan, M. (1972). Dread of surrender to resourceless dependence in the analytic situation. International
Journal of Psychoanalysis, 53, 225–230.
Lichtenberg, J., Lachmann, F., & Fosshage, J. (1992). Self and motivational systems. Hillsdale, NJ: Analytic
Press.
Litowitz, B. (1998). An expanded developmental line for negation: Rejection, refusal, denial. Journal of the
American Psychoanalytic Association, 46(1), 121–148.
Lysons, K. (1986). The seven deadly sins: Sloth. Expository Times, 92(12), 371–372.
McFadyen, A. (2000). Bound to sin. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Menninger, K. (1973). Whatever became of sin? New York: Hawthorne Books.
Mitchell, S. (1993). Hope and dread in psychoanalysis. New York: Basic Books.
Ogden, T. (1999). Analyzing the forms of aliveness and deadness of the transference–countertransference. In
G. Kohon (Ed.), The dead mother (pp. 128–148). London: Routledge Press.
Ortberg, J. (1994). The last taboo. Leadership, 15, 80–85.
Pinkard, T. (2000). Hegel: A biography. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
Plaskow, J. (1980). Sex, sin, and grace: Women’s experience and the theologies of Reinhold Niebuhr and
Paul Tillich. Lanham, MD: University Press of America.
Reuther, R. R. (1983). Sexism and God talk. Boston: Beacon Press.
Solomon, A. (2001). The noonday demon: An atlas of depression. New York: Scribner.
Spitz, R. (1957). No and yes: On the genesis of human communication. New York: International Universities
Press.
Spitz, R. (1965). The first year of life: A psychoanalytic study of normal and deviant developmental object
relations. New York: International Universities Press.
30 Pastoral Psychol (2007) 56:15–30

Stern, D. N. (1985). The interpersonal world of the infant. New York: Basic Books.
Suchocki, M. (1994). The fall to violence: Original sin in relational theology. New York: Continuum.
Tronick, E. (1989). Emotion and emotional communication in infants. American Psychologist, 44, 112–119.
Ver Eecke, W. (1984). Saying “no”. Pittsburgh, PA: Duquesne University Press.
Winnicott, D. (1955). Metapsychological and clinical aspects of regression within the psycho-analytical set-
up. International Journal of Psychoanalysis, 36, 16–26.
Winnicott, D. (1971). Playing and reality. London: Routledge Press.
Winnicott, D. (1990). Delinquency and deprivation. London: Routledge Press.