Law and Conversation

December 17, 2012

Goethe’s Sorrows of Young Werther, guns, and mental health

Seen through my 21st-century eyes, the late 18th-century German Romantic classic, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s “The Sorrows of Young Werther,” is the tale of a deeply depressed, obsessive young man who needs some serious therapy. But even before the horrific school shooting in Connecticut a few days ago, I also read it as a case study of why the availability of guns needs to be limited.

**Spoiler alert: Predictable though the novel is, go read it and then come back if you don’t want to find out here how it turns out.**

The first two-thirds or so of the story is structured as a series of letters by Werther to his best friend, Wilhelm, interspersed with diary entries; it’s not always clear which is a letter and which is a diary entry. Werther appears to be somewhere between 19 and 24, in between the stage of living at home, dependent on his family, and out on his own and supporting himself for the first time. In the course of taking care of some family business, Werther decides to take an extended break in first one charming rural village, then another, Wahlheim, that truly enchants him. There he meets a young woman, Lotte, who he learns early on (though not before some pretty clear flirting on both of their parts) is engaged to be married to her longtime sweetheart, Albert.

It didn’t take long for Werther to annoy me. He rhapsodizes to Wilhelm about the pastoral landscape and the simple life that the peasants lead. “A wonderful serenity fills my whole being….I am quite alone, and pleased with life in this countryside, which seems to have been created for souls like me.” His letter about the pastoral inhabitants reeks of condescension: “The simple folk here already know me and have taken to me, especially the children.” It’s not surprising that Werther finds the Wahlheim area so idyllic: he’s a child of privilege, on holiday, with money in his pockets and time on his hands to play with the children. The hard work the “simple folk” must spend their lives doing to keep body and soul together doesn’t really register with him.

Far more serious than Werther’s juvenile romanticism is the progression of his crush on Lotte. He prolongs his visit and spends all the time he can with her, and also, necessarily, with Albert, who is always gracious to him even though Werther must be a bit of a chore to be around. For her part, Lotte does so little to discourage Werther that it seems quite possible that she’s thoroughly enjoying having two swains at once and has no idea of the ultimate depth Werther’s obsession will reach.

To the reader, though, Goethe’s foreshadowing makes the danger clear early on: Werther asks Albert if he can borrow his pistols for a trip, Albert freely delivers them to him, and Werther starts playing around with them, actually holding one to his head and joking about suicide. Though in this scene Albert doesn’t seem to get that there might be a problem, the narrative reveals much later that Werther talks about suicide more than once and that Albert and Lotte are concerned enough to talk about it with each other privately—and do nothing.

Werther leaves, continues to ruminate about Lotte, and drifts back after she and Albert are married. He eventually does start to get on Albert’s nerves, and no wonder: Werther is ALWAYS THERE, mooning around Lotte, who still doesn’t do a whole lot to discourage him. Only when Werther visits her when she’s alone, breaks down with her into tears over a romantic poem, and then ardently embraces her (which she gives every sign of wanting him to do) does she finally seem to realize that There’s A Problem Here. And even then—even though we learn that she and Albert have acknowledged more than once to each other their doubts about Werther’s stability—she voices no concern at all but helps Albert loan Werther his guns again. The only part of the ending that you might not be able to guess until you read it is whether the deeply depressed Werther kills only himself or takes Albert with him.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Much as Werther’s immature, melodramatic point of view annoyed me, he actually seemed fairly typically twentysomething to me. He thinks he has all the answers, but he’s kind and idealistic. He’s naive and unrealistic–yes, romantic–but he has a good heart and wants to make the world better. He’s wrapped up in himself, but the narrative reveals that he has many friends who love him. Albert, a stable and kind man, must have found him engaging and seen his fundamentally good qualities despite Werther’s wearing his attraction to Albert’s wife on his sleeve. I had no doubt that if Werther had talked to a therapist (OK, they didn’t have therapists in 18th-century Germany) or a more mature friend in person, or at least in real time (OK, no phones and no texting in the 18th century) about his crush and maybe taken some short-term anti-depressants (no Prozac in the 18th century, either), and if Albert and Lotte hadn’t so irresponsibly first encouraged his obsession and then gone into denial and given him a gun, his character would have emerged from his depression, stopped idealizing and hanging around an obviously unavailable woman, grown up, become a solid citizen (and, probably, a fairly responsible gun owner), and acquired some perspective and wisdom, as most of us do. But take an immature, narcissistic personality, provide him with lots of time but no meaningful outlet for his emotions apart from rumination, do nothing to discourage his obsessions, have everyone else deny that anything could be wrong, and give him a gun when he wants it with no questions asked, and we have excellent odds of at least one wasted life, whether an imaginary 18th-century German or a real 21st-century American.

Werther’s fictional problems in 18th-century Germany, like real life matters in 21st-century USA, are not simple and do not have just one cause or solution. It seems clear to me, though, that we need to stop the madness of unregulated, unquestioned, easy access to firearms in this country. And, though I don’t understand why Liza Long tosses off “it’s easy to talk about guns,” her essay on the challenges and heartache of parenting a disturbed or different child eloquently shows why it’s also necessary to address mental health. She doesn’t mention national health care, but her reference to having given up freelancing for benefits illustrates why that, too, is imperative. Until we make all three a priority, more lives will be wasted. Some may be ours; some will be people we love.

November 30, 2012

Mantel’s memoir and mental health

In Hilary Mantel’s 2003 memoir, “Giving Up The Ghost,” she describes her harrowing, physically devastating, decades-long struggle with endometriosis. Doctors failed to diagnose it for years, suggesting that she must be pregnant; that her pain was imaginary; that it was caused by stress, caused in turn by (unfeminine and therefore inappropriate) overambition; prescribing powerful antidepressants that left her unable to read or concentrate and, later, antipsychotic drugs; and hospitalizing her for mental illness. Finally, in surgery motivated at least in part by a concern that she might have cancer, her ovaries and uterus were removed, and with them, of course, any hope of having a child. All of this, before she was thirty.

Until reading Mantel’s book, I had no idea how serious endometriosis could be. (I should note that I’ve done no research of my own on the condition.) In a small number of women, she says, endometrial tissue migrates throughout the body, growing, forming scar tissue, and causing problems wherever it happens to be – not only in the pelvic region, but also in the chest, in the legs, or in the head, for example. Mantel says she spent days when she was too tired to move. “I had known days of my life when everything hurt, everything from my collar bone down to my knees.” The migraine headaches from which she continues to suffer are probably the result of “a hormonal disarrangement” which, she says, frequently accompanies endometriosis.

Though this memoir is an eyeopener about endometriosis, what I found particularly memorable was how Mantel passionately highlights the deep prejudice against women, against sick people, and against sick women that, sadly, were harbored by a number of doctors and nurses whom she encountered back in the 1970s, when she was treated. “The odd thing…was that the staff [of the hospital where Mantel had her hysterectomy/ovariectomy] were inclined to treat the patients as malingerers….Young girls with flaky cervixes were probably no better than they should be, and anything in the pelvic inflammatory line attested to a vibrant sex life.”

Mantel’s description of her treatment after going to see a doctor because her legs hurt so much, before she’d been diagnosed with endometriosis, has a frightening ending: she accedes to being hospitalized and treated with antipsychotic drugs that turn her into a zombie. “It was in the nature of educated young women, it was believed, to be hysterical, neurotic, difficult, and out of control, and the object was to get them back under control, not by helping them examine their lives or fix their practical problems…but by giving them drugs which would make them indifferent to their mental pain—and in my case, indifferent to physical pain too.” Before her hospitalization, her psychiatrist, Dr. G., suggests that if she insists on persisting in studying law, instead of what he thinks would be a far better fit, working in her mother’s dress shop, she should be in a back office preparing the paperwork for real estate transfers.

Handling real estate transfers, while less glamorous than appearing in court to try or argue a high-profile or high-priced matter, can be quite complex and is certainly as important to a lawyer’s clients as any other matter. (See my article in the June 2011 issue of the Illinois Bar Journal on conducting residential real estate closings.) But Dr. G.’s suggestion to Mantel is transparently based on his own misconception that preparing deeds and other real estate closing documents is easy, mindless work, suitable for a female (read, an inferior being who doesn’t understand her place and proper behavior in the world).

While this doctor’s ignorance of what it takes to practice law is understandable, his arrogance in thinking he knew what members of another profession do is unpardonable. Even more so is his incompetent treatment of Mantel for a psychiatric condition that she never possessed. Topping that, when he visits her in the hospital and learns from her that she’s written a short story, he says forcefully that he doesn’t want her writing. Why? His answer reveals that he doesn’t really know, since he can think of nothing more to say than simply “Because.”

Now, looking back on her treatment, Mantel writes “I think, in retrospect, that it would have been better if I had denied that I had pains in my legs, if I had taken it all back, or brightly said that I was well now.” Neither she nor we can know what her physical condition would be if she had – she did not make clear whether removing her ovaries and uterus were necessary given the severity of her condition – but she still struggles with headaches and other unpleasant effects that resulted either from her condition or the treatment she received. But if you’ve glanced at literary news lately, you’ve probably noticed that Hilary Mantel just won her second Man Booker Prize in 3 years – an honor without precedent – for “Bring Up the Bodies,” the sequel to her first Booker winner, “Wolf Hall.” (That’s what inspired me to read her memoir; I’m partway through “Wolf Hall.”) Lucky for her and those of us who love her books that she didn’t follow doctor’s orders; perhaps it’s also lucky for her distinguished literary career that she dropped out of law school.

The outrageous medical treatment Mantel received occurred in the 1970s. For a doctor’s perspective on the dangerous but still not uncommon phenomenon of a physician’s reaching an erroneous conclusion and administering inappropriate treatment through stereotyping a patient and ignoring facts that do not fit into the stereotype, see Jerome Groopman’s thoughtful and well-written “How Doctors Think.” Read Mantel’s memoir for a really good story and a reminder why, whatever our occupation, we should all take some extra time to try to understand what’s going on with a person before making a snap, uninformed judgment.

December 26, 2011

Peter Kocan’s “Fresh Fields:” mental illness and the law

Challenge ButtonNews from the Mental Health Summit at the University of Chicago as well as the Chicago News Cooperative’s excellent coverage of mental health services cuts in Illinois in the pages of The New York Times coincided with my reading Australian writer Peter Kocan’s autobiographical novel, “Fresh Fields.”

In 1966, as a teenager, Kocan tried and, fortunately, failed, to assassinate Australian labor leader Arthur Calwell. Though he was found to be a borderline schizophrenic and sentenced to life in prison, most of which he spent in a mental hospital, he was pronounced cured and released from custody after ten years. He began writing in prison and is now an acclaimed writer, having received a number of literary awards as well as obtaining advanced degrees.

In “Fresh Fields,” Kocan depicts the descent of a fourteen-year-old loner into insanity. The youth, as the author refers to him throughout, didn’t seem fundamentally abnormal to me (though I’m no mental health expert). Rather, his mental unhinging seems to occur as a gradual result of his extremely limited socialization.

Kocan makes the dysfunctionality of the youth’s family clear in his first few paragraphs. The youth, his mother, and his younger brother are fleeing their home and the abusive Vladimir, who is his mother’s husband or partner and may or may not be the youth’s father. Kocan refers to the youth’s mother only as “the woman,” and she has no more than minimal dialogue and interaction with him. Though the youth is only around 15, his mother apparently doesn’t think it important for him to go to school. She pushes him to get a job and support himself, since she evidently can’t. He gets and loses a series of jobs due to his complete lack of experience and missteps that a more experienced and wiser person would never make. The hard knocks he’s gotten, coupled with the absence of any meaningful human relationship or social interaction, cause him to retreat into himself. He becomes increasingly obsessed and identifies with Diestl, a soldier character in a German movie about the aftermath of World War II who is alone, wounded, and bitter. By the end of the book, it’s clear that he’s going to explode.

“Fresh Fields” is the prequel to Kocan’s two novellas, “The Treatment” and “The Cure,” which I reviewed earlier on The Europa Challenge website. His stories and personal history, together with a number of articles I’ve written for the Illinois Bar Journal on mental health law, make me wonder to what extent isolation causes people to develop mental illness, or dementia. (From there, it’s a short step to wondering whether solitary confinement for misbehaving prisoners is ever a good idea.) If only more positive socialization were the answer for all who suffer; unfortunately, it’s clear that there are many other factors that cause or contribute to mental problems, some (but not all) of which can be alleviated by counseling, some (but not all) of which can be alleviated by drugs, and some (but not all) of which may be alleviated by more socialization.

You can read more about Kocan in Patrick Bryson’s paper, “Lunatics and the Asylum: Representations of ‘The Loner.’” We in the U.S. are not alone in having difficulty in funding and framing our mental health care system; see Inside Story for more about Australia’s mental health care problems. And NPR had a story recently about how to hold violent psychiatric patients accountable without punishing them for being sick.

Though it still carries a stigma, mental illness has touched most people’s lives. I admire Kocan and all those who are bringing their experiences out of the closet.

September 23, 2011

Mental health and criminal justice: The Treatment and The Cure

Challenge ButtonI posted a review of Australian writer Peter Kocan’s “The Treatment and The Cure” over on The Europa Challenge Blog this week. Kocan’s work is a worthy addition to the canon of literature dealing with the treatment of mental illness – the criminally insane, in particular. He knows what he’s writing about: he himself was sentenced to life in prison for attempting to assassinate the Australian Labor Party leader in 1966, when he was 19. After spending around ten years in a prison asylum, he was released. Since then, he’s made a career as a writer and has won major literary awards in Australia. Hope you’ll click on over and have a look at my review. Even better, read Kocan’s autobiographical book for yourself. It’s a compelling, and chilling, story.

Treatment of the mentally ill has a long and sordid history. In recent years, some judicial systems have tried addressing offenders with mental illnesses through setting up specialty courts, which I wrote about in the April 2008 issue of the Illinois Bar Journal. Kocan’s narrator doesn’t appear to be mentally ill at all; he describes a system in which, from his point of view, treatment in the form of medication or electroshock sessions is administered more for punishment, or on whim, than for therapy.

Other memorable stories of mental illness include Joanne Greenberg’s “I Never Promised You a Rose Garden,” Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar,” and the movie based on Sylvia Nasar’s biography of Nobel laureate John Nash, “A Beautiful Mind.” Ken Kesey’s “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” of course, is a classic novel about a prison mental hospital made into an equally classic movie with a superb performance by Jack Nicholson.

What are you reading this weekend?

November 2, 2010

Vote today! Suffrage and stories of women’s lives and the law

Yesterday a friend forwarded an e-mail headed “Voting rights for women.”  The e-mail’s text reviewed the imprisonment and deplorable treatment of women who peacefully picketed the White House in November, 1917, carrying signs criticizing President Woodrow Wilson for opposing women’s suffrage, and noted that women in the US didn’t have the right to vote until 1920.  That’s not even a century ago; there are people still alive who can remember 1920. 

The e-mail, which reprints a February 19, 2004 column in the Cleveland Plain Dealer by Pulitzer Prize-winning writer Connie Schultz, refers to an award-winning 2004 HBO movie, “Iron Jawed Angels.”  An excerpt:  “It is jarring to watch Woodrow Wilson and his cronies try to persuade a psychiatrist to declare Alice Paul [one of the picketers] insane so that she could be permanently institutionalized.”  The Wimminwise blog from The Women’s Center at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary has more information about the e-mail and its story, including links to the Library of Congress, from which the photos in the e-mail appear to have been taken, and Snopes.com, which checked out the story’s facts and determined them to be true.

I’ve long thought that modern women who protest “I’m not a feminist, but….” should think more carefully about what their lives would be like without those who marched, protested, and engaged in other unladylike behavior that challenged the mainstream thinking of their day and no doubt earned them condemnation from their families and neighbors.  Stories from and about the 19th century are a great way to start thinking about the transformation in the law and women’s lives.

I posted a couple of months ago about Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre” and Jean Rhys’s “The Wide Sargasso Sea,” the back story of Bertha Rochester.  Rhys’s story highlights the worst-case possibilities for women in loveless marriages not so long ago.  Because women were raised to be supported by their husbands, because whatever property had been theirs became their husbands’ upon marriage, and because, indeed, women lost their legal identities upon marriage until the enactment of laws giving them rights, there wasn’t much married women could do without permission from their husbands.  Divorces were both difficult to obtain and socially unacceptable in 19th century England, and, in any event, it would have been far more difficult for a divorced woman then to support herself than even in today’s challenging economic times. 

Jane Austen’s novels (which Bronte didn’t like) are also windows into the world of middle- and upper-class English women in the 19th century.  Though she wrote her novels with a delightful sense of humor, Austen shows very clearly the limited and bleak choices of those women:  marriage or relying on male relatives who may or may not have been kind or congenial for support.  Working-class women, of course, had equally dreary choices and even harder lives.  Though they could and, indeed, often had to work outside the home to support themselves and their families, their options were domestic service, low-paid manual labor, or prostitution. 

It seems comical today to note that writing was considered unfeminine and inappropriate for women in Charlotte Bronte’s day.  And it’s poetic justice that Robert Southey, England’s Poet Laureate from 1813 to 1843, is probably remembered more for his advice to the 20-year-old Charlotte Bronte to leave writing to men, for “Literature cannot be the business of a woman’s life,”  than for any of his poetry.

For literary smiles, check out this YouTube video on Bronte Sisters Power Dolls from FineMoustaches.  And if you’re a US citizen, read Connie Schultz’s column in the Plain Dealer from Sunday, and don’t forget to vote.

UPDATE:  See this subsequent post for more context for Southey’s advice to Charlotte Bronte, courtesy of Dennis Low, whose comment appears below.

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