Few figures in music history embody contradiction as starkly as John Lennon. The same man who wrote "Imagine no possessions" amassed a fortune; the poet of peace who once sang "All You Need Is Love" admitted to being a violent abuser; the feminist ally who penned "Woman Is the Nigger of the World" had, by his own admission, "hit women" in his youth. Lennon’s psychological journey—from a troubled, violent young man to a self-proclaimed feminist and advocate for peace—is as complex as it is unsettling. How did this transformation occur? And what does it reveal about the nature of personal change, particularly under the glare of fame?
Lennon’s early life was marked by instability and abandonment. Born in 1940 in Liverpool, he was raised primarily by his aunt Mimi after his father deserted the family and his mother, Julia, was deemed unfit to care for him. Julia’s sporadic presence in his life ended tragically when she was struck and killed by a car when Lennon was just 17—a loss that haunted him for decades.
Psychologists might diagnose this upbringing as a breeding ground for attachment disorders and unresolved rage. Lennon himself acknowledged this in interviews, describing himself as "a violent man who has learned not to be violent". His first wife, Cynthia Lennon, recalled in her memoir that he once struck her in a jealous rage, leaving her temporarily. Even his music betrayed this aggression: in "Run for Your Life" (1965), he sang, "I’d rather see you dead, little girl, than to be with another man"—a lyric he later dismissed as "rubbish" but one that reflected his possessive, volatile mindset at the time.
This violence wasn’t limited to women. In 1963, Lennon nearly killed Cavern Club DJ Bob Wooler in a drunken assault after Wooler insinuated a romantic relationship between Lennon and the Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein. "I must have been frightened of the fag in me to get so angry at that," Lennon later admitted, revealing deep-seated homophobia and toxic masculinity.
Lennon’s transformation began in the mid-1960s, coinciding with two major influences: his heavy use of LSD and his relationship with Yoko Ono.
Lennon first took LSD unintentionally in 1965, and the experience was revelatory. "It was terrifying, but fantastic," he said, describing how the drug dissolved his ego and forced him to confront his own flaws. Under its influence, he claimed to see himself "as I really was—a bastard, a hypocrite". This self-awareness, coupled with the countercultural ethos of the era, pushed him toward pacifism and introspection. Songs like "Tomorrow Never Knows" and "Strawberry Fields Forever" reflected this psychedelic-induced shift, trading aggression for surreal, meditative lyricism.
Ono, an avant-garde artist and committed feminist, played an even more pivotal role. Their relationship, beginning in 1966, was transformative. Ono challenged Lennon’s chauvinism, introducing him to feminist literature and radical politics. By 1972, they released "Woman Is the Nigger of the World," a controversial but explicit condemnation of patriarchal oppression.
Lennon’s evolution wasn’t immediate. He initially resisted Ono’s ideas, admitting in a Dick Cavett interview that he "argued a lot" before accepting her perspective. Yet, by the 1970s, he had embraced a more egalitarian role, becoming a "househusband" during his five-year hiatus from music to raise their son, Sean—a radical departure from his earlier neglect of his first son, Julian.
Lennon’s later years were marked by a tension between his ideals and his imperfections. He championed pacifism while admitting he was "a violent man"; he sang about gender equality while still grappling with his past misogyny.
Even after his feminist awakening, Lennon relapsed. His infamous "Lost Weekend" (1973-75)—an 18-month separation from Ono—saw him binge-drinking, partying, and reportedly mistreating women, including his then-girlfriend May Pang. This period underscored the difficulty of sustained personal change, particularly for someone with Lennon’s addictive personality.
By the time of his death in 1980, Lennon seemed to have reached a fragile equilibrium. His final album, Double Fantasy, included "Woman," a song that functioned as both a love letter to Ono and a broader apology to women:
"Woman, I can hardly express / My mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness / After all, I’m forever in your debt".
It was a stark contrast to the threats of "Run for Your Life," suggesting genuine, if incomplete, growth.
Lennon’s story forces us to confront uncomfortable questions: Can abusers truly change? Is redemption possible for those who harm others? His case is complicated by the fact that his transformation was both real and uneven—a mix of sincere repentance and lingering hypocrisy.
In today’s #MeToo era, Lennon’s history of abuse has led some to reassess his legacy. While his music remains influential, his personal failings can’t be ignored. As writer Lucía Benavides noted after reading Cynthia Lennon’s memoir: "I couldn’t be a feminist and keep brushing [his violence] off".
Yet, others argue that Lennon’s willingness to confront his flaws—rare for men of his generation—makes his journey noteworthy. "We can’t have a revolution that doesn’t involve and liberate women," he said in 1980, acknowledging systemic sexism in a way few male celebrities did at the time.
John Lennon’s psychological evolution was neither linear nor complete. It was a messy, often contradictory process—shaped by drugs, love, fame, and his own tortured self-awareness. His story is a reminder that even the most celebrated figures are flawed, and that change, while possible, is never easy.
As we revisit his legacy, we must hold both truths: Lennon the abuser and Lennon the advocate, the violent young man and the aging pacifist. In doing so, we don’t excuse his sins, but we recognize the humanity—and fragility—of transformation.