As Dr. Conchis has observed in his The Mid-century Predicament: “The rebel with no specific gift for rebellion is destined to become the drone; and even this metaphor is inexact, since the drone has at least a small chance of fecundating the queen, whereas the human rebel-drone is deprived even of that small chance and may finally see himself as totally sterile, lacking not only the brilliant life success of the queens but even the humble satisfactions of the workers in the human hive. Such a personality is reduced to mere wax, a mere receiver of impressions; and this condition is the very negation of the basic drive in him—to rebel. It is no wonder that in middle age many such failed rebels, rebels turned self-conscious drones, aware of their susceptibility to intellectual vogues, adopt a mask of cynicism that cannot hide their more or less paranoiac sense of having been betrayed by life.”
While she had been speaking the others at the table listened in their various ways, some looking at her, others sunk in contemplation of the table. Lily was one of the most attentive. The “students” scribbled notes. I spent all my time staring at the woman, who never once looked at me. I felt full of spleen, of hatred of all of them. There was some truth in what she was saying. But I knew nothing could justify such a public analysis, even if it were true; just as nothing could justify Lily’s behavior—because most of the “material” this analysis was based on must have come from her. I stared at her, but she would not look up. I knew who had written the report. There were too many echoes of Conchis. I was not misled by the new mask. He was still the master of ceremonies, the man behind it all; at web center.
The American woman sipped water from a glass. There was silence; evidently the report was not finished. She began to read on.
“There are two appendices, or footnotes. One comes from Professor Ciardi, and is as follows: ‘I dissent from the view that the subject is without significance outside the matter of our experiment. In my view one may anticipate in twenty years’ time a period of considerable and today almost unimaginable prosperity in the West. I repeat my assertion that the threat of a nuclear catastrophe will have a healthy effect on Western Europe and America. It will firstly stimulate economic production; it will secondly ensure that there is peace; it will thirdly provide a constant sense of real danger behind every moment of living, which was in my opinion missing before the last war and so contributed to it. Although this threat of war may do something to counteract the otherwise dominating role that the female sex must play in a peacetime society dedicated to the pursuit of pleasure, I predict that breast-fixated men like the subject will become the norm. We are entering an amoral and permissive era in which self-gratification in the form of high wages and a wide range of consumer goods obtained and obtainable against a background of apparently imminent universal doom will be available, if not to all, then to an increasingly large majority. In such an age the characteristic personality type must inevitably become auto-erotic and, clinically, auto-psychotic. Such a person will be for economic reasons isolated, as for personal ones the subject is today, from direct contact with the evils of human life, such as starvation, poverty, inadequate living conditions, and the rest. Western homo sapiens will become homo solitarius. Though I have little sympathy as a fellow human being for the subject, his predicament interests me as a social psychologist, since he has developed precisely as I would expect a man of moderate intelligence but little analytical power, and virtually no science, to develop in our age. If nothing else he proves the total inadequacy of the confused value judgments and pseudo-statements of art to equip modern man for his evolutionary role.’”
The woman laid down the paper and picked up another. “This second note comes from Dr. Maxwell, who of course has had the closest personal contact with the subject. She says: ‘In my view the subject’s selfishness and social inadequacy have been determined by his past, and any report which we communicate to him should make it clear that his personality deficiencies are due to circumstances outside his command. The subject may not understand that we are making clinical descriptions, and not, at least in my own case, with any association of moral blame. If anything our attitude should be one of pity towards a personality that has to cover its deficiencies under so many conscious and unconscious lies. We must always remember that the subject has been launched into the world with no training in self-analysis and self-orientation; and that almost all the education he has received is positively harmful to him. He was, so to speak, born short-sighted by nature and has been further blinded by his environments. It is small wonder that he cannot find his way.’”
The American woman sat down. The old man in the white beard nodded, as if pleased with what had been said. He looked at me, then at Lily.
“I think, Dr. Maxwell, that it would be fair to the subject if you repeated what you said to me last night in connection with him.”
Lily bowed her head, then stood up and spoke to the others. She glanced at me briefly, as if I was a diagram on a blackboard. “During my relationship with the subject I of course experienced a certain degree of counter-transference. I have analyzed this with the help of Dr. Marcus and we think that this emotional attachment can be broken into two components. One originated in a physical attraction for him, artificially exaggerated by the role I had to play. The second component was empathetic in nature. The subject’s self-pity is projected so strongly on his environment that one becomes contaminated by it. I thought this was of interest in view of Professor Ciardi’s comment.”
I didn’t; I knew it was simply another turn of the screw of humiliation.
The old man nodded. “Thank you.” She sat down. He looked up at me. “All this may seem cruel to you. But we wish to hide nothing.” He looked at Lily. “As regards the first component of your attachment, sexual attraction, would you describe to the subject and to us your present feelings?”
“I consider that the subject would make a very inadequate husband except as a sexual partner.” Ice-cold; she looked at me, then back to the old man.
Dr. Marcus intervened. “He has basic marriage-destructive drives?”
“Yes.”
“Specifically?”
“Infidelity. Selfishness. Inconsiderateness in everyday routines. Possibly, homosexual tendencies.”
The old man: “Would the situation be altered if he had analysis?”
“In my opinion, no.”
The old man turned. “Maurice?”
Conchis spoke, staring at me. “I think we are all agreed that he has been an admirable subject for our purposes, but he has masochistic traits that will get pleasure even out of our discussion of his faults. In my opinion our further interest in him is now both harmful to him and unnecessary.”
The old man looked up at me. “Under narcosis it was discovered that you are still strongly attached to Dr. Maxwell. Some of us have been concerned about the effect that the loss of the young Australian girl, for which, I may also tell you, you feel deeply guilty in your unconscious, and now the second loss of the mythical figure you know as Lily, may have on you. I refer to the possibility of suicide. Our conclusion has been this: that your attachment to self-gratification is too deep to make any other than a hysterical attempt at suicide likely. And against this we advise you to guard.”
I gave a sarcastic bow of thanks. Dignity, keep some remnant of dignity.