This chapter continues with the voice of the patient, but rather than focusing on those who were ashamed of their fate, here the patients fought back. Individuals and advocacy groups challenged diagnoses both inside and outside the asylum. This chapter explores how men fought back against certification and incarceration and attempted to restore their public reputations or regain their freedom. The chapter outlines the boundaries of madness, and the debate over the line between eccentricity and madness.
Here Chancery lunacy cases take centre stage, widely publicized in the press as men of wealth and position battled to prove their sanity. Such situations were the worst-case scenarios for families of status and influence and demonstrate a complete breakdown in family coherence. The chapter ends with a series of case studies which played out in the public eye, exploring how and why different men challenged their diagnoses. Men’s chief justification for telling their stories can be grouped into three main motivations: an attempt to reassert their patriarchal control, an attempt to regain their freedom, and a desire to restore their reputation.
This chapter places media representations of madness as its central focus. Stories of madmen as perpetrators of violence made for sensational copy, and thus they are overrepresented in media coverage. These narratives reveal larger anxieties of the modern age, and the fragility of established rules and norms of society. The fear that madness could strike at any moment, and that a man could suddenly fall victim to an irrational and violent breakdown, was particularly gendered as male. Madwomen were often portrayed as victims whereas madmen were often portrayed as perpetrators of violence, both within the home and within the asylum. These media panics are perhaps the most public expressions of underlying anxieties about the threat that madness posed to everyday people and highlight the deep stigmas of men’s mental illness.
In assessing media trends, clear gender- and class-based panics emerge. In particular, the figure of the working-class madman who murders his family highlights fears of domestic instability. And stories of sudden madness emphasized deeper fears about the state of British manhood and the dangers of modern technology.
The second half of the nineteenth century saw the establishment of a national network of asylums across Britain. Asylums were sites of both enormous hope and dashed expectations. This chapter explores why some people embraced institutionalization, and why others did not. It gives readers a brief overview of the structures of asylums, rules of admission for different classes, and types of conditions, and builds on the strong institutional histories of asylums. It provides information about the diversity of asylum experiences, from the elite institutions for the wealthy, to the mass pauper asylums, to the criminal asylum.
The Victorian asylum was born out of optimism, flourished in an era of no better alternatives, and quickly became a symbol of failed expectations. I focus on the male experience of incarceration, and how this experience was particularly destabilizing for those used to being in control of themselves and their families. Men also proved particularly difficult patients to control if they were prone to violence. This chapter introduces the typical experience of madness in the Victorian era that saw the asylum as at least a part of most men’s curative treatment.
While some families hid their family members away in dark corners, victims of neglect and cruelty, others kept loved ones at home under expert care and keen attendance. This chapter explores men who were treated at home, sent to travel, or lived in the community. Diversity is underscored both in patient experiences and the reasons for choices of treatment. I emphasize the complex negotiations between patients, doctors, and families in decisions of care.
While many madmen likely left no trace in the historical archive, there are many examples when single care went wrong, and families were forced to admit to authorities that they needed help. This includes men at all income levels. Case studies highlight the complex family dramas involved when a man of wealth and power refused treatment and would not be restrained. This chapter also explores the abuse that patients suffered outside of official legislation and sometimes within their own homes.
Out of his Mind is a study of the consequences of a diagnosis of insanity for men, their families, their friends, and the culture at large.
Studying the madman allows for an exploration of the cultural expectations of male behaviour, how men responded to those norms in their lived experiences, and what defined the bare minimums of acceptable male behaviour. Men’s authority in society was rooted in control over dependants within their household and beyond; without that power, the foundation of their manhood was in question. As such, madness touched on a key tenet of nineteenth-century masculinity: control. Building on accounts from sufferers, doctors, government officials, journalists, and novelists, Out of his Mind offers insight into the shifting anxieties surrounding men in mental distress. Exploring everything from wrongful confinement panics, to cultures of shame and stigma, to fears of degeneration, this study makes an important contribution to histories of gender and medicine.
This text puts the madman at the centre of the history of Victorian masculinity and helps us better understand the stigma of men’s mental illness that continues to this day.
This chapter puts the patient at the forefront of analysis and is deeply influenced by recent trends in the history of emotions to interrogate shame and stigma. The value-laden diagnostic system of Victorian lunacy meant that patients were often held responsible for their own breakdowns. Without a thorough understanding of the causes of mental illness, ‘intemperance’ was often used as a cover for any disease doctors believed was self-inflicted. Both patients and their families were well aware that men could be blamed for their mental breakdown, leading to shame and secrecy.
This chapter outlines the intellectual framework of this culture of shame, and how patients struggled within this context. The ideal late Victorian man was above all things in control of himself and his place in the world. A man who lost control of his mind and his emotions struggled to retain his sense of manhood. When men felt culpable for that loss, their shame added an extra layer of humiliation. In particular, when a man’s madness was associated with alcohol or sex, internal and external pressures of shame intensified. Often patients were hardest on themselves, and doctors feared that guilt over sexual indiscretions could be more damaging than the sexual habit itself. Chapter sources include memoirs and case notes to find the voices of the patients, along with medical texts and fiction to get a sense of the broader popular and medical contexts of the issues.
This concluding chapter tackles the question of Dolto’s twenty-first-century reputation and what France is to do with her legacy.
Considering various references to Dolto in intellectual and popular culture, it shows that after 2000, she was no longer seen as a unifying national expert, but rather as someone linked to a particular ideological outlook, whose ideas were a suitable subject for mockery. Efforts to continue her agenda by her daughter or the politician Edwige Antier, or by opponents of equal marriage legislation, demonstrate that Dolto’s thinking became a polarising rather than a unifying force.
The chapter also shows how, towards the end of her life in the 1980s, Dolto was disconcerted by an increased focus on the psychology of race and empire in France’s former colonies, and unable to adapt her ideas to this development.
As Dolto’s life recedes into history, it becomes easier to see her ideas as products of a particular set of historical circumstances, rather than – as she and her followers believed – timeless truths about the human condition. While there are good reasons for wishing to retain some of Dolto’s contribution, it is doubtful that the ongoing desire to celebrate the positive aspects of her interventions can withstand the increasing criticism of the problematic and outdated aspects of her ideas.
This chapter looks at Dolto’s ideas in relation to autism, and the scandal around the relatively poor outcomes for French autistic children that emerged after 2000. It shows that Dolto played a significant and hitherto under-appreciated role in promoting psychoanalytic understandings and treatments of autism in France, specifically the idea of autism as resulting from defective or toxic mothering.
The first part of the chapter places this aspect of her career in the context of the radical psychiatry movement of the 1960s and 1970s. It explores the relationship between radical psychiatry and Lacanian psychoanalysis, with particular reference to the ideas and work of Jean Oury, Félix Guattari and especially Maud Mannoni, a protégée of Dolto’s. It shows how Mannoni and Dolto saw so-called childhood psychoses, including autism, through the prism of antipsychiatric ideas, arguing that autism was not an inborn condition but the result of a pathogenic family environment.
The second section examines Dolto’s popular book-length case study, Le Cas Dominique (1971). It shows how Dolto manipulated the narrative of the case to bring it under the pathogenic family paradigm that she had developed with Mannoni, blaming Dominique’s condition on his mother. The chapter also demonstrates the largely favourable reception of Le Cas Dominique in the French press – before, in a short final section, illustrating the links between the Dolto-Mannoni approach to autism and the twenty-first-century scandal.
This chapter examines Dolto’s family and social environment during her youth, looking especially at her family’s cultural and political values and its conception of women’s roles. It ultimately demonstrates that Dolto’s eventual hard-won break with her family’s right-wing ideological background was incomplete and less comprehensive than Dolto later suggested.
The first half of the chapter examines the social and political beliefs of Dolto’s parents and wider milieu. It provides a portrait of upper-class girlhood in the interwar period, showing how – like her contemporaries Simone de Beauvoir and Élisabeth Lacoin (the ‘Zaza’ of Beauvoir’s memoirs) – Dolto struggled to escape the cultural expectations placed on young women from bourgeois families and assert her right to higher education and a medical career.
The second half of the chapter looks at Dolto’s partial break with her family in the mid-1930s, her rejection of an approved marriage suitor, her subsequent turn to psychoanalysis and what this meant in the context of her family. René Laforgue was engaged by her father to psychoanalyse Dolto, but the analysis transformed her in unforeseen ways, reinforcing her separation from her family and leading her to seek to become an analyst herself. The chapter argues that this victory for the young Dolto came at the price of internalising anti-feminist views, as evidenced by her 1938 thesis, and reiterated throughout her career.
This chapter provides a history of psychoanalysis in France before 1939. It analyses the state of the French psychoanalytic movement (the Société Psychanalytique de Paris) both organisationally and (especially) ideologically, during the period of Dolto’s analysis and training between 1934 and 1939.
The chapter begins by noting that Freudian psychoanalysis became established significantly (fifteen to twenty years) later in France than in comparable countries, and providing an explanation for this in the context of the politics of science and medicine in the Third Republic. The late beginnings of French psychoanalysis had consequences for its eventual intellectual and social composition, and thus for its ideological orientation at the time of Dolto’s arrival in the group. Its early theoretical debates were shaped by the wider French context of interwar natalism and political discourse around the family, and by the need to acquire medical patrons in order to make institutional headway. The patronage of the psychiatrist Georges Heuyer was particularly important.
While the early French psychoanalytic movement was politically diverse, those who mentored Dolto, notably Édouard Pichon and René Laforgue, were from its Catholic, French-nationalist wing. These analysts drew on anti-feminist currents in the international psychoanalytic movement to develop a theory of ‘family neurosis’ in which mothers, in particular, were thought to pass on psychological faults and complexes to their children. Dolto, in turn, made these ideas cornerstones of her own thinking.