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Contributions By Hermann Hesse
By: Arthur B. Schuller, MD
Of course, I neither can nor intend to tell my readers how they ought to understand my tale. May everyone find in it what strikes a chord in him and is of some use to him! But I would be happy if many of them were to realize that the story of the Steppenwolf pictures a disease and crisis–but not one leading to death and destruction, on the contrary: to healing.
HESSE, Steppenwolf
Artists, through their lives and works, have provided us with many examples of personalities and interpersonal relationships which have been subsequently
used by writers in applied analysis. Kohut (1960) has described three types of ‘psychoanalytic investigations of creative minds and of their creations’: the psychoanalytic biography, the demonstration of pathology and the attempt to understand creativity and disturbances of creativity.
In this paper I would like to offer an example of a fourth type of psychoanalytically orientated investigation: the broadening of our understanding of the psychotherapeutic process through the contributions of literary artists. To my knowledge Koff’s (1957) paper represents the only work in this area to date1. In his paper Koff attempts to demonstrate that the development of the relationship between Friday and Robinson Crusoe, between servant and master, could serve as a paradigm for the kind of therapeutic relationship that might be most helpful to a severely regressed patient, as it is experienced by the patient.
In this essay I will discuss Hermann Hesse’s (1927) Steppenwolf, suggesting that it can increase our understanding of how a person develops his sense of autonomy within the psychotherapeutic relationship. Stated in a different way, with certain kinds of patients the response of the patient and the therapist to the awareness of death, however broadly defined, is critical to, the evolution of the therapeutic process.
I am not assuming that Hesse was necessarily describing a psychoanalytically-orientated psychotherapeutic relationship. However, encouraged by the passage quoted above, I will suppose that Harry Haller, the main character in the book, is narcissistically organized and severely depressed and that his relationship with Hermine is a therapeutic one.
Harry Haller, the central character in Steppenwolf, is presented as a
man trying, unsuccessfully, to come to terms with himself. Thoughts of his
past, present or future offer him no consolation or promise of escape from
his dilemma: ‘that at the bottom of his heart he knew all the time
(or thought he knew) that he was in reality not a man, but a wolf of the
steppes’ (p. 47)2. The particulars of Haller’s discontent
make up the story of Steppenwolf
The setting is a small Swiss city in the mid 1920s. Harry Haller is approaching 50 years of age. He is intelligent, well-educated, a man of not great but sufficiently independent means. He has had a brief unhappy marriage: his wife became insane and attempted suicide. He has held a number of promising positions which have usually been terminated, equally unhappily.
Haller longs to be satisfied with a ‘middleclass’ life, able to enjoy what others around him seem to enjoy: family, friends and home. He longs to be able to accept compromise, sociability and especially, the affections of others. But the wolf in him allows him only to wish, not to realize. Haller finds himself attacking, bitterly and relentlessly, the objects of his longing.
For all who got to love him, saw always only the one side on him. Many
loved him as a refined and clever and interesting man, and were horrified
and disappointed when they had come upon the wolf in him. And they had
to because Harry wished, as every sentient being does, to be loved as a
whole and therefore it was just with those whose love he most valued that
he could least of all conceal and belie the wolf. There were those, however,
who loved precisely the wolf in him, the free, the savage, the untamable,
the dangerous and strong, and these found it peculiarly disappointing and
deplorable when suddenly the wild and wicked wolf was also a man, and had
hankerings after goodness and refinement, and wanted to hear Mozart, to
read poetry and to cherish human ideals. Usually these were the most disappointed
and angry of all; and so it was that the Steppenwolf brought his own dual
and divided nature into the destinies of others besides himself whenever
he came into contact with them (p. 49-50).
As a result Haller experiences a painful sense of loneliness and isolation
from himself as well as others. He moves from place to place, staying only
briefly. His days and nights are spent, usually alone, reading, writing
tracts on anti-German militarism and drinking heavily. He eats and sleeps
poorly. His room is a chaos of books and papers, cluttered and disorganized,
like Haller himself. The only control he feels over the course of his life
seems expressed in his intention to commit suicide on his 50th birthday
if there is no resolution in his struggle.
This timetable seems about to be advanced when, after a long period of
social isolation, he reluctantly accepts the invitation of a former colleague
to his home for dinner. During the pre-dinner conversation Haller’s
host singles out the author of a pacifist anti-German newspaper article
as being an example of the kind of unpatriotic spirit that is endangering
the German people. He is unaware that the author, writing under a pseudonym,
is his guest for the evening. The wolf in Haller mounts a savage verbal
assault, humiliating the host, his wife and their comfortable, uncritical
style of life. This episode, by itself no different than numerous others,
seems to be a ‘last straw’. Haller’s sense of self-disgust
and revulsion precipitate his intention to end his life and suffering that
very night. However, once made, his decision falls prey to indecision:
I reasoned with myself as though with a frightened child. But the child
would not listen. It ran away. It wanted to live. I renewed my fitful wanderings
through the town, making any detours not to return to the house which I
had always in mind and always deferred. Here and there I came to a stop
and lingered, drinking a glass or two, and then, as if pursued, ran around
in a circle whose center had the razor as a goal, and meant death. Sometimes
from utter weariness I sat on a bench, on a fountain’s rim, or a curbstone
and wiped the sweat from my forehead and listened to the beating of my
heart. Then on again in mortal dread and an intense yearning for life (p.
97).
In this state Haller enters a tavern, The Black Eagle. He finds a young
woman, named Hermine, who listens to his tale of desperation. In the telling
of it he finds great relief and the presence of Hermine seems to comfort
him.
She says that very intelligent people do not know how to enjoy themselves
and suggests that she might teach Haller to dance. He gladly accepts in
order to retain her company. Over the next few days frenzied desperation
is replaced with anticipation of his meetings with her in the context of
learning how to dance. If not a rapid learner, he is at least a dutiful
pupil and almost child-like in his admiration of his teacher.
Hermine says,
Doesn’t your learning reveal to you that the reason why I please
you and mean so much to you is because I am a kind of looking glass for
you, because there is something in me that answers you and understands
you? Really we ought all to be such looking glasses to each other, but
such owls as you are a bit peculiar. On the slightest provocation they
give themselves over to the strangest notions that they can see nothing
and read nothing any longer in the eyes of other men and then nothing seems
right to them. And then when an owl like that after all finds a face that
looks back into his and gives him a glimpse of understanding-well, then
he’s pleased, naturally’ (p. 123).
In seems that Haller has never before felt as understood and accepted
by anyone. He attributes all knowledge to her and for the moment she accepts
his adulations. She tells him that she will teach him how to dance, to laugh
and to live. However, she stuns Haller by adding, somewhat hesitantly, ‘when you are in love with me I will give you my last command and you will obey it, and it will be better for both of us.... you won’t find it easy,
but you will do it. You will carry out my command and-kill me. There-ask
no more’ (p. 126).
For the moment, however, Hermine’s tutelage distracts Haller from
further thought of the ‘last command’. She teaches him to discover
and appreciate his perceptions of himself in the world, be it through dancing,
eating, looking after his clothes or making love.
The process, however, is not an easy one. Gramophones and dance records,
as well as dancing itself, have been to Harry symbols of an easy, pleasure-seeking superficiality, certainly beneath the vision of a serious student of ‘poetry, music and philosophy’. While there seems to be some benefit from this exercise ‘only the continued presence of Hermine makes it tolerable. Haller says it thus:
Just as the gramophone contaminated the esthetic and intellectual atmosphere
of my study and just as the American dances broke in as strangers and disturbers,
yes, and as destroyers, into my carefully tended garden of music, so, too,
from all sides there broke in new and dreaded and disintegrating influences
upon my life that, till now, had been so sharply marked off and so deeply
secluded....Every day new souls kept springing up besides the host of old
ones; making clamorous demands and creating confusion; and now I saw as
clearly as in a picture what an illusion my former personality had been.
The few capacities and pursuits in which I had happened to be strong had
occupied all my attention, and I had painted a picture of myself as a person
who was in fact nothing more than a most refined and educated specialist
in poetry, music and philosophy; and as such I had lived, leaving all the
rest of me to be a chaos of potentialities, instincts and impulses which
I found an encumbrance and gave them the label of Steppenwolf.
Meanwhile, though cured of an illusion, I found this disintegration
of the personality by no means a pleasant and amusing adventure. On the
contrary, it was often exceedingly painful, often almost intolerable. Often
the sound of the gramophone was truly fiendish to my ears in the midst
of surroundings where everything was tuned to so very different a key.
And many a time, when I danced my one-step in a stylish restaurant among
pleasure seekers and elegant rakes, I felt that I was a traitor to all
that I was bound to hold most sacred. Had Hermine left me for one week
alone I should have fled at once from this wearisome and laughable trafficking
with the world of pleasure. Hermine, however, was always there. Though
I might not see her every day, I was all the same continually under her
eye, guided, guarded and counseled besides, she read all my mad thoughts
of rebellion and escape in my face, and smiled at them (pp. 146-7).
The climax of the book centers around Haller and Hermine attending the
Masked Ball and, subsequently, the Magic Theatre. He is to meet her at the
ball to demonstrate his mastery of the social graces. As they dance together
Haller’s child-like admiration for her changes to love:
She knew that there was no more to do to make me in love with her. I
was hers, and her way of dancing, her looks and smiles and kisses all showed
that she gave herself to me. All the women of this fevered night, all that
I had danced with, all whom I had kindled or who had kindled me, all whom
I had courted, all who had clung to me with longing, all whom I had followed
with enraptured eyes were melted together and had become one, the one whom
I held in my arms (p. 196).
Together they move on to the Magic Theatre, where they meet Pablo, an
accomplished jazz musician and good friend of Hermine. He invites them to
refresh themselves with a special elixir and Haller begins to feel euphoric.
He proceeds to undergo what seems to be a series of bizarre but terrifyingly
real experiences; reviving, reliving and remodeling the old struggles. Towards
the end he finds a mirror in which he views himself: a composite of the
old Harry and the new. He spits at his image and splinters the mirror.
At last, and with sadness, he comes upon the sleeping forms of Hermine
and Pablo. Without a word between them, without a ‘last command’
from Hermine, Haller stabs her and she dies.
And from the dead face, from the dead white shoulders and the dead white
arms, there exhaled and slowly crept a shudder, a desert wintriness and
desolation, a slowly, slowly increasing chill in which my hands and lips
grew numb. Had I quenched the sun? Had I stopped the heart of all life?
Was it the coldness of death and space breaking in?
With a shudder I stared at the stony brow and the stark hair and the
cool pale shimmer of the ear. The cold that streamed from them was deathly
and yet it was beautiful, it rang, it vibrated. It was music! (p. 240).
Confused and anguished, Haller is startled by the appearance of Mozart,
one of Haller’s favourite composers. With him, Haller considers his
role in what has happened:
When Hermine had once, so it suddenly occurred to me, spoken about time and eternity, I had been ready forthwith to take her thoughts as a reflection of my own. That the thought, however, of dying by my hand had been her own inspiration and wish and not in the least influenced by me I had taken as a matter of course. But why on that occasion had I not only accepted that horrible and unnatural thought, but even guessed it in advance? Perhaps because it had been my own (pp. 243-4).
Haller is convinced of his guilt and wants to pay the consequences, but
Mozart is put off by his seriousness and lack of humour.
Growing angry at this rebuff, Haller prepares to ‘stand trial’.
The public prosecutor reads:
Gentlemen, there stands before you Harry Haller accused and found guilty
of the willful misuse of our Magic Theatre. Haller has not alone insulted
the majesty of art in that he confounded our beautiful picture gallery
with so-called reality and stabbed to death the reflection of a girl with
the reflection of a knife; he has in addition displayed the intention of
using our theatre as a mechanism of suicide and shown himself devoid of
humour. Wherefore we condemn Haller to eternal life and we suspend for
twelve hours his permit to enter our theatre. The penalty also of being
laughed out of court may not be remitted. Gentlemen, all together, one-two-three.‘
On the word ‘three’ all who were present broke into one simultaneous peal of laughter, a laughter in full chorus, a frightful laughter of the other world that is scarcely to be home by the ears of men (p. 245).
Haller’s confusion and anger grow. Instead of the charge of murder
to which he pleads his guilt and for which he readily desires to suffer,
he is charged with bringing ‘so-called reality’ to the Magic Theatre
and lacking a sense of humour! But Mozart is unrelenting:
‘You are uncommonly poor in gifts, a poor blockhead, but by degrees
you will come to grasp what is required of you. You have got to learn to
laugh. That will be required of you. You must apprehend the humour of life,
its galIows-humour. But of course you are ready for everything in the world
except what will be required of you. You are ready to stab girls to death.
You are ready to be executed with all solemnity. You would be ready, no
doubt, to mortify and scourge yourself for centuries together. Wouldn’t
you?’
‘Oh, yes, ready with all my heart’, I cried in my misery.
‘Of course! When it’s a question of anything stupid and pathetic
and devoid of humour or wit, you’re the man, you tragedian. Well,
I am not. I don’t care a fig for all your romantics of atonement.
You wanted to be executed and to have your head chopped off, you lunatic!
For this imbecile ideal you would suffer death ten times over. You are
willing to die, you coward, but not to live’ (p. 246).
Haller’s mind is reeling: murder and humour, suffering and laughing,
reality and fantasy. His sense of values, his sense of the validity of his
own perceptions seems called into question.
Earlier words of Mozart return to Haller’s mind. As noted above,
Mozart had appeared after Hermine’s death and he and Haller had talked
about what had happened. At the same time they were listening to music of
Handel being broadcast on a radio. Haller had vigorously objected because
of the radio’s distortion of the music, but Mozart had insisted:
Laughing still, he [Mozart] let the distorted, the murdered and murderous
music ooze out and on; and laughing still, he replied:
‘Please, no pathos, my friend! Anyway, did you observe the ritardando?
An inspiration, eh? Yes, and now you intolerant man, let the sense of this
ritardando touch you. Do you hear the basses? They stride like gods. And
let this inspiration of old Handel penetrate your restless heart and give
it peace. Just listen, you poor creature, listen without either pathos
or mockery, while far away behind the veil of this hopelessly idiotic and
ridiculous apparatus the form of this divine music passes by. Pay attention
and you will learn something. Observe how this crazy funnel apparently
does the most stupid, the most useless and the most damnable thing in the
world. It takes hold of some music played where you please, without distinction,
stupid and coarse, lamentably distorted, to boot, and chucks it into space
to land where it has no business to be; and yet after all this it cannot
destroy the original spirit of the music; it can only demonstrate its own
senseless mechanism, its inane meddling and marring. Listen, then, you
poor thing. Listen well. You have need of it. And now you hear not only
a Handel who, disfigured by radio, is, all the same, in this most ghastly
of disguises still divine; you hear as well and you observe, most worthy
sir, a most admirable symbol of life. When you listen to radio you are
a witness of the everlasting war between idea and appearance, between time
and eternity, between the human and the divine. Exactly my dear sir, as
the radio for ten minutes together projects the most lovely music without
regard into the most impossible places, into respectable drawing rooms
and attics into the midst of chattering, guzzling, yawning and sleeping
listeners, and exactly as it strips this music of its sensuous beauty,
spoils and scratches and beslimes, it and yet cannot altogether destroy
its spirit, just so does life, the so-called reality, deal with the sublime
picture-play of the world and make a hurley-burley of it. It makes its
unappetizing tone-slime of the most magic orchestral music. Everywhere
it obtrudes its mechanism, its activity, its dreary exigencies and vanity
between the ideal and real, between orchestra and ear. All life is so,
my child, and we must let it be so, and, if we are not asses, laugh at
it. It little becomes people like you to be critics of radio or of life
either. Better learn to listen first! Learn what is to be taken seriously
and laugh at the rest. Or is it that you have done better yourself, more
nobly and fitly and with better taste? Oh, no, Mr Harry, you have not.
You have made a frightful history of disease out of your life, and a misfortune
of your gifts. And you have, as I see, found no better use for so pretty,
so enchanting a young lady than to stick a knife into her body and destroy
her’ (pp. 242-3).
Haller begins to see that the ‘distortion’ which he has been
striving to eliminate is as much a part of ‘reality’ as the ‘more pure’ spirit of life he has been longing for. The distortion and the pure spirit can complement each other provided he can learn to recognize and appreciate them as not necessarily at odds with each other, or as mutually exclusive, but as different aspects of himself and his world. He also becomes aware that he, himself has distorted what he has perceived: he has seen
what he wanted and assumed that he was seeing the whole.
The murder of Hermine then might be understood as Haller destroying what
he thought was Hermine, but what he subsequently realizes to have been his
perception of her. He made her ‘in his own image’; and having
destroyed that image, he thought he had destroyed her. He realizes now that
other Hermines still live.
At the conclusion of Steppenwolf Harry Haller has begun to understand
that the way he has viewed and interpreted his life events may not be the
only way. Additionally, he has begun to realize that he may have a choice
in how he views and interprets his life events. He must now learn how to
exercise that choice.
Discussion
Ultimately, it seems that the contributions of literature to psychology
are not confined to the relatively restricted area of psychological theory,
that they need not be the material for what is essentially man’s epitaph,
formularized thought. On the contrary, it seems that the vitality of literature
can contribute significant gifts to psychology where it is itself most
vital, in therapy. For being a repository of the best expressions of what
man for centuries has thought and felt, literature can supplement and enrich
the bald statement of psychological fact and suggest the infinite variations
of theory as expressed in action; it can implement what is too often the
chill superficiality of case history; and it can supply the carefully articulated,
emotional and intellectual explanation of the metaphors and tropes to which
inarticulate suffering is too often reduced (Askew, 1958).
In Steppenwolf Hesse has presented us with a character, Harry Haller,
who is struggling to master his internal sense of disquiet. The process
of mastery that Hesse describes is, in itself, fascinating and I think of
great importance to our understanding of the healing process within the
psychotherapeutic relationship.
Hesse suggests in this work, as well as others (Hesse, 1922, 1945), that
the attempt at mastery, or perhaps better, self-in-the-world understanding
and mastery, cannot begin in earnest until the possibility of personal death
is a real one3. Harry Haller’s way of coping, of doing business, with himself and the world has become revoltingly unacceptable to him. Having apparently lost the capacity to engage people, to see them as potentially involved in his life, Haller feels an almost overwhelming sense of despair, self-disgust and isolation. At the point of his entrance to the Black Eagle Tavern, Haller is no longer considering suicide as a convenient, rational choice to be exercised on his 50th birthday if his life situation does not improve. He now feels driven to suicide. There is no choice, only a terrifying inevitability.
To appreciate more clearly the precarious hold that Haller has on himself
and the world I think it would be helpful to develop the two literary images
that seem to dominate this section of the story.
The figure of the Steppenwolf, by Hesse’s definition, is a lone
wolf. It stands apart from the pack, not governed by the same rules. It
is defiant and unpredictable, especially in its tendency to sudden and vicious
attack. I think the vision of bared teeth and powerful jaws dripping with
blood (p. 48) is both necessary and frightening to Haller. The isolated
grandiosity and the specific kind of aggressive behaviour attributed to
him by this image suggest the strength of the primitive, oral-aggressive
impulses that he is struggling to contain.
A consideration of the second image may help to orient us to the beginnings
of Haller’s inner turmoil. The figure of The Black Eagle suggests an
ominous bird of prey, the Angel of Death. It shares with the wolf the quality
of aloofness and the tendency for sudden attack, dropping out of the sky
with powerful beak and talons to overpower its unsuspecting victim. It might
also be helpful for our understanding of Haller to consider the eagle as
representing a mothering figure, as described by Eisenbud (1963) and Rosenfeld
(1956) in their papers discussing the analysis of dream material referring
to birds.
Acknowledging the tentativeness of my speculations, I would like to suggest
that the Black Eagle represents to Haller what he expects from the world
when his own resources fail him. For Haller the world is a terrifying place,
promising only annihilation to the weak and unwary. It seems likely during
that early time in his life when he was most dependent on the nurture and
support of others, the world, for whatever reason, took on its frightening
aspects, offering not comfort and sustenance but the threat of destruction.
Haller used his introject of the hostile world to create the wolf within
him, to serve as a protector, as a kind of defence against the eagle in
the world. The wolf served him well, guarding him from the closeness with
others that might revive his unconscious memories of dependent helplessness.
However, Haller’s defence could not protect him against his longing
for closeness. Having lost yet another opportunity to satisfy that longing,
his sense of isolation becomes so intense that he finally opts to give up
the wolf. Haller attempts to discard his protector, only to find himself
once more defenceless and terrified at the certainty of his destruction.
It seems to me that stumbling into The Black Eagle Tavern symbolizes a regression to a psychic state which is related to that described by Zetzel (1965): when confronted with a perceived, significant loss which overwhelms his
capacity to adapt, Haller experiences the absence of hope. At that point
he seems not to possess sufficiently supporting introjects to help make
the loss tolerable and offer hope of eventual, at least partial, compensation.
Having given up the wolf, those introjects that he does have only enable
him again to feel alone in a hostile world, helpless and without hope of
receiving help. He sits down in The Black Eagle hoping only to delay his
death.
However, he meets Hermine and she saves his life, as least for the moment.
She listens. She is empathic and understanding. She facilitates Haller’s
looking at himself and assessing his strengths and weaknesses. She becomes
a friend, ally and educator, helping Haller to experience aspects of himself,
senses, thoughts and feelings that had previously seemed alien to him (Hesse,
1963). In return, he worships her and essentially asks her to tell him what
to do and not to leave him.
What appears to be happening to Haller is somewhat akin to Freud’s
description of the narcissistic attempt to obtain substitutive satisfaction:
In that case a person will love in conformity with the narcissistic
type of object-choice, will love what he once was and no longer is, or
else what possesses the excellences which he never had at all. The formula
parallel to the one there stated runs thus: what possesses the excellence
which the ego lacks for making it an ideal, is loved (Freud 1914b, p. 101).
Hermine, however, is not content to be idealized or to continue indefinitely
as a dance instructor. Dramatically, as well as therapeutically, something
significant is introduced in the troublesome passage where Hermine requires
that Haller kill her after she has taught him how to dance, laugh and after
he has fallen in love with her. In the understanding of this passage., and
the climax of the story lays the significance of what, in my opinion, Hesse
has to teach us about psychological healing of people who suffer like Harry
Haller.
To develop my point I need to turn to Winnicott’s work since some
of his considerations are germane to my discussion. Winnicott (1958) suggests
that the development of the ability to be alone is an important and often
difficult developmental achievement. It is in this state of ‘aloneness’
that the developing ego begins its mastery and integration of impulses arising
from the id. Prior to this developmental phase the infant’s id impulses
have been ‘mastered and integrated’ by the, hopefully, empathic
response of a supporting mothering figure. The idea of the movement towards
autonomy suggest that the infant’s ego, in the course of time, takes
on more and more of the task of mastery and integration, of ego-containment,
of the id impulses.
Winnicott suggests also that the infant’s capacity to be alone depends
on the existence of a fairly consistent mental representation of the good
object, which facilitates the infants being alone by allowing him to feel
reasonably comfortable with his present and near future. Initially the infant
practises being alone in the presence of the mother. The infant’s maturing
ego supported by the relationship with the mother is actually strengthened
by the task of mastery and integration of instinctual impulses. ‘Gradually
the ego-supportive environment is introjected and built into the individual’s personality, so that there comes about a capacity actually to be alone’ (Winnicott, 1958). The need for the external support, as such, diminishes and the developing infant is able to physically separate himself from his mother by, paradoxically, taking her with him. The nature of this maternal introject will in large part, determine the quality of the projections utilized by the developing ego.
This theme is related to reality-testing in Winnicott’s paper, ‘Transitional Objects and Transitional Phenomena’ (1953). Here Winnicott describes how the transitional object might serve as a link between the subjective world of primary narcissism and the objective world of reality-testing. He describes the transitional object as a product of the infant’s creative activity which takes a real object, e.g. a teddy bear, and projects on to it a variety of qualities, depending on the nature of the infant’s introjects. The transitional object is not an emotionally neutral object ‘ outside‘ the infant. Nor is it a projection from ‘inside’, utilized by the infant, as e.g. the hallucination of the mother’s breast or face. Rather, it combines aspects of both ‘outside’ and ‘inside’ by Winnicott’s definition, becomes a possession of the infant which persists in the course of time. It is this possession, created by the infant, that facilitates his movement from the perception of the world as inner reality towards the perception of the world as objective reality. ‘In relation to the transitional object the infant passes from (magical) omnipotent control to control by manipulation (involving muscle eroticism and coordination pleasure)’ (Winnicott, 1953.).
How the infant actually accomplishes this passage in relation to the
transitional object is, I think, more implied than explicitly stated. Winnicott
suggests that it is not possible for the infant to move from the pleasure
principle to the reality principle unless there is adequate mothering. By
active adaptation to the infant’s needs, the mother provides him with
the illusion that the world, e.g. the breast, is under his omnipotent control.
The infant’s repeated experiencing of adaptation by the mother gives
rise to the good (and bad) internal object. This internal object sustained
by the mother, supplies the qualities of the projection with which the infant
will cathect the transitional object. Since the transitional object must
comfort the infant, be loved by him and survive his aggression, inadequate
adaptation by the mother early in the infant’s life might lead to a
persecutory introject, which will make it difficult for the infant to create
a comforting, accepting and tolerant possession.
However, if the mothering has been and continues to be adequate, active
adaptation to the infant’s needs gradually lessens as he becomes more
able to tolerate frustration. The incomplete adaptation by the mother at
this phase in the developmental and maturational process begins to move
the infant from the perception of the world as inner reality under his omnipotent control towards the perception of objective reality, which will increasingly require his physical (including verbal) manipulations to satisfy his needs. It is here, I think that the transitional object facilitates the acceptance of the reality principle. As the infant gradually extends himself into the objective world, although still supported by the mother (who attempts to maintain the degree of frustration at an optimal, tolerable, level) he utilizes his possession to receive comfort, to lavish affection and to release rage, when the process of accommodation to this new way of perceiving himself
in the world becomes too discomforting. As the discrepancy between the internal
object and the mother, as a newly perceived, objective entity, becomes more
apparent to the infant (because of the mother’s momentary physical
absence or unavailability) the transitional object serves to sustain the
fragile introject. As the infant’s development proceeds, the introject
becomes more constant, having been adequately reinforced by the mother herself
and the transitional object. Finally (at least for this developmental phase)
when the internal object has become constant enough to support the young
child’s self-confidence in his attempts to master the objective world,
the transitional object, the created possession, can be gradually decathected.
The instinctual energy, made available to the child by this gradual decathexis,
can be reinvested in the developmental tasks at hand, e.g. the recognition
of the oedipal triangle.
Having brought the discussion this far, there is yet another question
to be asked and tentatively answered: how does a child (or an adult under
certain circumstances, e.g. in the psychotherapeutic relationship) finally,
or as finally as possible, distinguish his projections from the objective,
‘real’ world, itself. Winnicott (1969) suggests an answer.
I understand Winnicott to be saying that eventually, if all has gone
reasonably well, the child (or adult, under certain circumstances) responds
to the discrepancy between the good aspects of the internal object and the
mother herself, with omnipotent, destructive impulses, directed towards
the disappointing mother. These destructive impulses are cathected with
the bad aspects of the internal object. If the mother is able to survive
this destructive attack, she becomes more ‘real’ for the child,
i.e. she begins to exist external to the child, independent of his projections
and outside of his omnipotent control. Winnicott (1969) writes:
It is important to note that it is not only that the subject destroys
the object because the object is placed outside the area of omnipotent
control. It is equally significant to state this the other way round and
to say that it is the destruction of the object that places the object
outside the area of the subject’s omnipotent control. In these ways
the object develops its own autonomy and life, and (if it survives) contributes
in to the subject, according to its own properties.
By ‘survive’ Winnicott means ‘not retaliate’ (p.
714). For it is by not retaliating that the mother helps her child destroy
the early good-and-bad internal object and develop a perception of her as
being separate from him.
Winnicott does not suggest that this process of distinguishing inner
reality from outer reality is completed at once, either during childhood
or as an adult. It is repeated again and again, with different aspects of
the same object and with different objects.
Associated with this process of destruction and survival is a shift from
relating to objects towards using objects. For Winnicott, ‘relating’
implies that the object has only become meaningful to the subject through
projection and identification. The nature of the object itself is not considered. The subject has a solipsistic view of himself and the objects around him. On the other hand, ‘using’ implies that there is a sense of shared reality between the subject and the object, that the object is not just a projection of the subject. Indeed there are now actually two subjects,
each able to perceive the other and interact with the other. The sense of
meaning within this relationship can be derived from shared experience rather
than unilateral projection and identification.
In summary, Winnicott has described the work of the infant in adapting
to and mastering his inner world and the objective world. He has repeatedly
stressed the importance of the mother’s support, as physical presence,
introject and transitional object. Furthermore, if I have understood him
correctly, he has suggested that the developing child (or adult) cannot
become an autonomous person in a world of objects unless he is permitted
the opportunity to destroy his early introjects and experience the survival
of loved (and hated) objects as separate from himself. This, I think, brings
us back to the relationship between Harry Haller and Hermine.
I would like the reader to consider Hesse’s Steppenwolf as a dramatic
presentation of the clinical and theoretical issues discussed by Winnicott.
It is not my intention to equate the therapeutic relationship with the mother-child dyad. However, there are several aspects of the therapeutic relationship which seem to me to be analogous to that between a mother and her child. I am suggesting that Hesse is describing a relationship that moves from
symbiosis towards autonomy and mastery, from perception by projection towards
perception of objective reality and from object relating towards object
usage. Viewing the psychoanalytic psychotherapeutic relationship in this
way might give us a new perspective of what we do, or might do, in our treatment of patients like Harry Haller.
Hermine, in the role I have assigned her, seems to have several characteristics
which facilitate therapeutic movement in her relationship with Haller. She
is initially able to sustain him. By this I mean that she is able to provide
him with a physical and psychological presence that permits him to re-experience shis helpless dependence without feeling overwhelmed. She is able to adapt to his needs so completely that Haller, in his regressed state, is able to project on to her good aspects of the internal object, which is still
a very active part of his psychic functioning. Hermine does not disturb
this ‘illusion’ of Haller’s: she is able to be just as he
creates her (Winnicott, 1953). Supported by her, he is able to begin integrating and mastering the terrifying impulses within him (Winnicott, 1958).
In the context of this precise adaptation to Haller’s needs, Hermine
is also able to intervene very actively, without disrupting their relationship.
At first, this degree of activity in psychoanalytically orientated therapy
may seem out of place. One of the major concerns is that a very active therapist may be perceived by the patient as too intrusive. The therapist’s desire to intervene, however well intended, may interfere with his ability to respond empathically to the patient, resulting in an inappropriate intervention. Furthermore, the active therapist may hinder or prevent the minimally contaminated development of the patient’s transference. Both of these points are well taken. However, keeping them in mind, let us consider Haller’s response to Hermine’s active interventions.
Initially he does not feel her interpretations and suggestions to be
disruptive. He does not respond with fright or anger as though his mind
has been read, either too accurately, against his will, or not accurately
enough. On the contrary, Hermine seems to be expressing the thoughts he
has been longing to express. He is relieved that someone else can understand
and share his difficulty. Consequently, she does not seem to be intruding
herself into their relationship, that is, she allows Haller to continue
relating to her as a projection of the good aspects of his internal object.
Hermine’s active interventions seem to strengthen Haller’s sense
of the constancy of her support.
I think Hesse has emphasized that the therapist’s degree of activity
per se does not determine the appropriateness or non-intrusiveness of a
given intervention. Furthermore, and what might be even more important,
his story suggests that to the extent the therapist can maintain the empathic
bond with his patient, to that extent he can be as active or as passive
as his style suggests. Depending on the specific nature of his interventions,
he may remain appropriate and non-intrusive and facilitate the unfolding
of the therapeutic process.
We must now consider the specific nature of Hermine’s active interventions. Although empathy is necessary to the development of the therapeutic relationship, it is not sufficient. What is also required on the part of the therapist is the ability to intervene appropriately. It is another characteristic of Hermine, as a therapist, that she is able to do this. Let us turn to Haller’s introduction to the art of dancing. Haller has been ‘living in his mind’. He has, by turns, been tormented by his thoughts and tried to master their primitive content by taking refuge in the world of ideas and intellectual pursuits. His body has served as a vehicle for his mind. Hermine tells him that he does not know how to have fun. She will
teach him to dance.
At first it is difficult for Haller to invest himself in what seems to
be a diversion. It appears to him ludicrous for a middle-aged man, with
stiff, untrained muscles, to ‘shuffle around a dance floor holding
another person in his arms. Were it not for Hermine, he would stop at once.
However, Hermine is supporting as well as persistent and Haller dutifully
continues to practise.
At the Masked Ball we can observe that a significant change has come
over him. Having gained some confidence in his ability to dance, he finds
that he is now able to use his body consciously to interact with other people.
In addition he is aware of his intense pleasure in this new-found mastery
of his body.
The nature of Hermine’s intervention can, I think, be understood
in the context of Winnicott’s developmental schema. He suggests (Winnicott, 1969) that patients suffer because of inadequate mastery of some developmental task or tasks. The therapist’s role is to help his patient to re-experience and master those tasks in a facilitating environment. The measure of the appropriateness of a given intervention would, then, seem to be how closely it approximates the patient’s developmental phase and how well it helps him to master the phase-specific task before him. I have suggested that Haller relates to people by projection. He does not perceive them as objective entities, separate from himself. The task before him would appear to consist of gradually becoming aware that he can physically interact with others. Also that the process of physical interaction is distinct from, although it may be associated with, the process of relating by projection. The awareness that other people will respond to his physical manipulations helps to make them ‘real’, i.e. part of the objective world (Winnicott, 1953).
Hermine’s suggestion that Haller learn to dance is developmentally
appropriate. Sustained by her, he is able to practise mastering his body
and experiencing the associated muscle eroticism, all the while extending
himself into the objective world. For Haller, dancing is not a regression
from mental activity since, in his case, mental activity served as a defence
against his primitive impulses. Rather, dancing is a prerequisite to further
therapeutic movement.
While dancing with Hermine at the Masked Ball, Haller begins to experience
her as part of the objective world. As he does so, his idealized projection
of her begins to change to affection or love for her as a real person, separate-from
himself.
With Haller beginning the transition in his mode of perceiving, from
projection to shared experience, he leaves the ecstasy of the ball and finds
himself in the Magic Theatre where he suddenly re-experiences all of the
terrors of his inner world in a series of frighteningly vivid hallucinations.
Tired and worn, he confronts his image in a mirror, which reflects to him
that there are now two Harry Hallers, the old and new. Unlike the patients
in Elkisch’s (1957) paper who seem to reassure themselves of their
intactness by looking into a mirror, Haller is beyond the reassurance of
viewing his composite. He destroys the image. Without realizing it at the
time, he moves on to discover a new way of looking at himself and the world,
a new awareness of what is subjective reality (or projection) and what is
objective reality. I submit that it is only made possible by his destruction
of Hermine.
I am suggesting that the destruction of Hermine is therapeutically indicated
and that it occurs at a specific phase in the course of therapy. Haller
is just beginning to see the objective world, and this includes Hermine,
as being independent of his projections and outside of his omnipotent control.
She has been his most consistent object during this transition. She has
been able to adapt herself to his idealization of her and thereby has been
able to sustain him in his therapeutic experience.
However, in the Magic Theatre Haller discovers that what he assumes to
be the figure of Hermine is no longer as he created her, i.e. she is no
longer exclusively his possession. He is now able to see that she also shares
experiences with people other than himself. Since his newfound love for
her as a real person is still possessive and since projection and omnipotent
control are still his most familiar modes of perceiving and dealing with
the world, he responds to this by apparently stabbing her to death.
Haller is immediately overwhelmed with a combination of grief, despair
and confusion. It seems that the wolf in him has been reawakened with terrifying suddenness. However, Mozart appears, helping Haller to distinguish his subjective reality from the objective world, helping to realize that he has not really killed Hermine at all. Haller’s growing awareness and acceptance of the limits of his omnipotent control and the continued support of others seem to mark the end of the Wolf4.
It is essential to note that Mozart, like Hermine, is able to sustain
Haller, to intervene actively and appropriately. Mozart, though apparently
abusive, refuses to allow Haller to retreat. The issue is not whether Haller
should feel guilty, but that there is no objectively real basis for his
feeling guilty: he has not actually killed Hermine. The focus of their discussion is the distinction between Haller’s projection and what is objective reality. During the course of it Haller begins to realize that the origins of his guilt and terror are in his response to his projections. This insight significantly diminishes his sense of both and permit’s him to address himself again to the determination of the objective world.
But what has happened to Hermine? She has not ‘returned to life’.
She does not seem to have survived Haller’s destruction of her. I think
Hesse has given us a most apt description of what the experience might be
like for a person trying to establish a sense of objective reality. It may
be correct metapsychological usage to refer to the gradual decathexis of
the early introjects. But for the person experiencing the decathexis, there
is a terrifying impulse to destroy the object. There is also joy if it survives
(Winnicott, 1969).
I would like to suggest that for Haller, Hermine does not survive as
a young woman who taught him to dance, just as Mozart does not survive as
a classical composer with whom he listened to Handel on the radio. What
survives are the characteristics of sustenance and active and appropriate
intervention, that is, the caring nature of the object. Hermine and Mozart
are Haller’s projections on to ‘whoever-it-is-really’ that
was and continues to be therapeutically involved with him. If ‘whoever-it-is-really’ is able to encourage and survive Haller’s repeated destructive impulses, his (or her) objective qualities will gradually become more apparent to Haller. As Haller is able to tolerate the independent existence of the therapist without feeling too threatened by the loss of omnipotent control, he will pass from relating by projection (and its vicissitudes) to sharing experiences with a real object.
At the end of Steppenwolf Haller has begun to realize that the distinction
between his projections on to people and their objective existence and attributes will need to be made again and again (Freud, 1914a). He realizes that his ‘sickness’ and guilt have to do with his assumption that the world and the people in it are only as he sees them, within his omnipotent control. His healing begins as he appreciates their capacity to survive his destruction of them and as he appreciates the limits of his omnipotence.
I think that Hesse has helped to make the point that if psychotherapy
is to be more than supportive nurturing, if autonomy is a goal, then the
therapist must expect and permit the patient to try again and again, in
seemingly unending and increasingly creative ways, to destroy him. |
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