thoughts on Frankl

Reading Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, I feel like my breath has been swept from my lungs.  My heart swells for the unimaginable physical and psychological suffering he witnessed and experienced; and my mind feels like a contortionist, trying to twist and stretch to wrap itself around the whys and the hows of not only those who did or did not survive, but also the whys and the hows of those who were capable of inflicting and maintaining such horrors, and everything and everyone in between. While this may seem a melodramatic introduction to a simple book analysis, it is an honest reflection of the effect Frankl's book had on me. It is a story of external torment and internal escapism; of humanism and dehumanization; of finding hope, power, truth and meaning; and of the will to survive through the most unlikely and seemingly impossible circumstances. 

       The phases of which he speaks, while generally comparable to Kubler-Ross’s widely known five stages of grief, are unique to the prison camp experience—a torturous purgatorial period of neither life nor death.  Initial admittance into this purgatory resulted in, first, shock and an unbearable flood of emotion.  Such was the intensity of these feelings that death could seem a welcome reprieve from the agony of longing, disgust, humiliation, dehumanization and physical anguish.  Secondly, however, and too late for the many who did not survive the first stage of psychological reactions, was the experience of detachment.  Apathy became a very “necessary protective shell” (p. 23) for self-preservation, and inmates regressed to “a more primitive form of mental life” (p. 28) where wants and needs were manifest in dreams and rooted in survival and normalcy rather than luxury or excess.  This is the stage in which Frankl spends the most time relaying his experience. 

I am especially inspired by and taken with the notion of inner escapism during this stage—the notion that truth and meaning for a person is all that is left when everything else has been brutally stripped away.  Some found meaning in life and the will to survive through love.  Some found it in thoughts of family, some in helping ease the suffering of others and responsibility to community, and some in the suffering itself, wearing it as a badge of courage. It was a “spiritual freedom… [an] independence of mind” that kept a small flame of hope burning despite the lack of air.  Meaning in life indicated a reason to live—goals on which to make good.  They indicated a hope for a rebirth out of purgatory and life after their own figurative death.  There is no life without death, no light without dark, no joy without sorrow, and no ease without suffering.  Those who lost sight of the potential other side of their suffering also lost the will to live.  They no longer saw the deeply buried meaning in their life.  Illness was often the clinical cause of death, but it was absolute despondency that frequently allowed the illness to take hold.  With this thought, I am reminded of my grandfather who willed himself to die within weeks of my grandmother’s passing.  Had he the motivation, he could have lived much longer, but he chose to be taken by his illness. Life was not the same without her and he no longer felt the world needed him or him, it.

       Finally, Frankl speaks of liberation: the third stage in the mental process experienced by the prisoners.  I was intrigued to find that my preconceived notions of good and evil (as had also been demonstrated in the actions of some of his inmate counterparts during their incarceration) were wrong.  It serves as a good reminder that there is no simple formula for what makes one person good and one person bad.  Other prisoners could be the most malicious characters in the camp, while Frankl speaks of a Nazi foreman who moved him to tears in offering a small piece of extra bread.  In a place where prisoners are treated as nonentities, to be acknowledged and validated through even the smallest kindness meant the world and fed his soul while his stomach still grumbled.  It is impressive that absolute power and absolute suffering—both sides—can expose both the most brutal nature of an individual as well as his humanity.  “Life in a concentration camp tore open the human soul and exposed its depths” (p. 87), and these depths were left exposed and raw upon being thrust into liberation and freedom. 

Understanding the lingering psychological and social effects of this atrocity on one generation (that experienced it directly), I find myself curious about the likely parallels between this event and the generations of slavery and oppression that are such a relatively recent part of our history.   In both contexts, individuals, groups, families, and communities have been torn apart, brutalized, and dehumanized.  In both contexts, instances of humanity and relative decency can be found even within the offending ranks. In both contexts, there have been lingering misunderstandings, anger, sadness and despondency along with powerful and inspiring acts of heroism and courage.  What can our society, our world, take from these historical lessons?  How can we use these experiences to make a change in the world today?  How can we respond to each other respectfully and with understanding, rather than reacting without considering the teachings of our past? “No group consists entirely of decent or indecent people” (p 86).  We all have the potential for good and evil.  We simply must make a choice between the two, understanding that “True saints are the ones who can absorb the evil done to them, and not pass it on to others” (anonymous).