LES MISERABLES

Photo originally published on newyorktimes.com

When Shame and Hate Tear Hope Apart

Victor Hugo may have written his 19th century novel, ‘Les Miserables’, to condemn the ills of a society that created a class of ‘miserable ones’. But as a psychoanalyst, I’m interested in what ‘Les Miserables’ tells us about the inner causes of human misery. In ‘I Dreamed A Dream’, Fantine sings about one cause: Shame - which tears hope apart. Fantine doesn’t survive it.

Jean Valjean and Javert struggle with shame, too. Like many of us, they are haunted by their pasts; by losses and mistakes. Although, on the surface, it’s difficult to compare Jean Valjean and Javert, they are each one side of the other. The hate that grips them both takes a different form. Jean Valjean’s is turned against himself; Javert’s is directed outwards. Neither escapes. Each is trapped by the other.

Who is Jean Valjean to Javert – and Javert to Jean Valjean? We have no idea, in Tom Hooper’s cinematic adaptation of Les Miserables, why Javert single-mindedly pursues the letter of the law; bent on destroying Jean Valjean. Except that this puts him in the ‘right’. What makes more sense is that Javert was born in prison to a convict father and a gypsy mother. He turns against his shameful origins by becoming ‘Inspector Javert’.  

Isn’t Javert’s unrelenting hate for Jean Valjean, then, really directed at his own origins and, particularly, against his shameful self? ‘Inspector Javert’ is a more respectable identity. But another self in the form of Jean Valjean haunts him; a self he must destroy. For Jean Valjean, Javert is the self-hating, shaming, unforgiving voice that won’t leave him alone: “Men like you can never change” – a constant reminder of his wrongs. 

This kind of voice is, unfortunately, not unfamiliar to many people. At it’s worst, it ruins chances at love and even, sometimes, makes hate almost impossible to give up. This is Jean Valjean’s struggle in ‘What Have I Done’ when he allows the bishop to reach him: “why did I allow that man to . . . teach me love . . . I had come to hate the world  . . . Take an eye for an eye! Turn your heart into stone!” If Valjean doesn’t keep his heart hardened by hate, he’s afraid he’ll feel his shame “inside me like a knife.”

Shame and self-hate can make love seem dangerous. The complicated thing, though, is that love cures hate. Yes, there are risks to love. Jean Valjean loses Cosette to her own life. But, more tragically - with the Javert-voice constantly pursuing him in his mind, he can’t feel the real goodness of Jean Valjean. Losing Cosette makes him feel unlovable. He doesn’t really believe in Cosette’s love or the possibility of anyone else’s. He can’t go on. His shame is his prison and his demise.  

But, perhaps, Javert is the most tragic. His heart must unwaveringly remain stone; never allowing love. Not a fleeting feeling for the dead boy revolution fighter (his little boy self; the victim of his self-hatred); and especially not Jean Valjean’s kindness in releasing him. Kindness turns to pity in his mind – and he must set himself against Valjean. If he lets his heart soften, he doesn’t believe he’ll survive his shame; that he (his Valjean self) can be forgiven.

It’s true; shame and self-hate are difficult to overcome. But, painful experiences from the past, even mistakes, can be reconciled; and they don’t make someone ‘bad’. Psychoanalytic therapy wasn’t available in Victor Hugo’s time.  But, it is now. One of the most satisfying parts of my work is helping people get those cruel voices out of their heads; making love safer. Shame, self-hate, and despair don’t have to ruin anyone’s life – or hope. 

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinkers Guide to the Galaxy. 

ALMODOVAR'S "THE SKIN I LIVE IN"

From IMBd Website for "The Skin I Live In"

Controlling Loss

Being separate from the one you love can seem like losing everything. And, if a loss has already happened – you just might want to do everything possible to make sure it never happens again. There are many complex emotional methods for dealing with such fears – and Almodovar’s film, “The Skin I Live In” gives us a disturbing window into some. 

Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) uses the most extreme of measures not to feel hurt, need, or loss (as well as to express his bitterness and revenge). He kidnaps Vicente (Jan Cornet); controls and torments him; robs him of his identity; and makes him over in the image he wants - that of the dead wife he lost; naming him 'Vera' (Elena Anaya). In my last post (‘Gay Rights and Soul Murder’), I discussed one aspect of soul murder.  In Ledgard’s actions, Almodovar shows us another. 

Let’s backtrack a moment to the plot summary on IMDb: “A brilliant plastic surgeon, haunted by past tragedies, creates a type of synthetic skin that withstands any kind of damage.” Maybe Ledgard thought he was creating this skin for burn victims, like his wife. But, really, this was a skin he created for himself. A skin so hard, he could no longer feel. Or love.  

This kind of ‘skin’ is not unfamiliar.  Love can feel dangerous.  There’s the risk of being left.  Do you toughen yourself up?  Turn away?  Do you let your guard down?  Or don’t you? Ledgard fights this battle.  Mostly he keeps his feelings locked up as tightly as 'Vera'. But, he isn’t entirely immune. In spite of himself, he begins to fall in love with his creation. Is he capable of real love? No. He’s too scared. His is a love by possession; a love that suffocates.  

What about Vicente? He’s mostly an innocent victim; kidnapped, changed, and imprisoned. But, we’ve seen his insecurities; his desperation and need to be wanted. What if you’re a real life ‘Vicente’? Man or woman. If not for the actual locked door in the film - isn’t there some temptation to give yourself completely to a ‘love’ that masquerades as a singular togetherness; that says: “I want and desire only you”?  

If you’ve been taken in by your insecurities – you can escape. Vicente did - to “a place inside. A place that no one can destroy.” Robert Ledgard sealed himself into a hardened skin. Vicente took shelter in a different way - by holding on to who he really was; refusing to accept his ‘new identity’. Yes, he plotted his escape; played his part so subtly we thought he might be in love.  But, love is not a game.  Nor does it rob you of who you are. 

In the end – real love is about separateness. The words of poet, Ranier Maria Rilke describe it best: “A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.” 

GAY RIGHTS OR SOUL MURDER?

Gay Rights Photo from www.fanpop.com

The People at Mikey’s Late Night Slice vs. Antonin Scalia 

I can’t get Antonin Scalia’s outrageous comment out of my mind: "If we cannot have moral feelings against homosexuality, can we have it against murder?" This may be old news (12/11/12), but the barely concealed bigotry is not. So, I was particularly happy to read Joel Diaz’s blog on HuffPost today about so many people standing up against homophobic hate. That gives me hope. After all, this is 2013. Why does anyone have to invoke the constitution or the bible when it comes to what should be a very basic human right to love whoever we love? 

Anyway - it’s clear to me. Scalia’s got it all mixed up. Having moral feelings against homosexuality is murder. Leonard Shengold, M.D. (1989; 2000), a very astute psychoanalyst, defines soul murder as "a dramatic term for circumstances that eventuate in crime: the deliberate attempt to eradicate or compromise the separate identity of another person". Isn’t that what’s happening here? Anyone who masquerades as a constitutional or biblical supporter against gay rights is a soul murderer.

Think about it. How can homosexuality (a form of love) and murder be treated as the same issue? How can anyone in his right mind compare love and hate? Anyway, what is the ‘moral’ problem in loving someone you love? Love doesn’t hurt anyone. But, hating people who love differently, or telling them they are wrong for being what they are – does.  And anyone who is offended by someone expressing love in their own way should face the fact that the real problem is in them.  Not in the person who happens to be different. 

As Shengold says, soul murder is a crime. Then, isn’t the hypocrisy that haunts our society today a part of that crime? If religion, let’s say, is about saving peoples’ souls - how can ‘soul saving’ disguise itself as forcing anyone into some preprogrammed box – and telling them they have to be just like you? The psychoanalytic therapy I practice isn’t like that. Religion doesn’t have to be like that, either. Take the changes Gene Robinson, the courageous gay Episcopalian Bishop, worked tirelessly to achieve in the Episcopalian church (detailed in the documentary, 'Love Free or Die'). He endured hateful attacks and cruel ostracism to do so and is, without a doubt, one of the most loving, real, and inspiring people I’ve had the privilege to meet. 

Gene Robinson’s message is universal – we all, gay or straight, have the right to openly be who we are. This New Year – let’s each of us search our souls and do what we can to promote this freedom (short of bigotry, murder, emotional abuse, or physical harm). Yes, Joel Diaz’s blog on HuffPost is hopeful – especially to know that his story went viral.  To see so many people standing up for the rights of others to freely live their own lives – means that we, as a people, do have the capacity for change. Let’s take a lesson from Gene Robinson’s work and from all those people at Mikey’s Late Night Slice. Soul murder cannot be tolerated.  

THE ARTIST

George's Nightmare from 'The Artist' 2012

 

What Makes Change A Nightmare?

Change is scary to many of us. Often we don’t even know why. Surprisingly, perhaps, ‘The Artist’ is more than just a compelling homage to the silent film. ‘The Artist’ is an accurate portrayal of why change can be frightening for some; and, for others, like George Valentin, an absolute nightmare. What is it that makes change so frightening?

George’s terrifying dream tells us quite a lot. After George turns away from the Talkies, from Al Zimmer, from his future, and from change, he has this dream:  Everything in his dressing room makes a shattering sound. George is petrified. Mouthing: ‘What the hell?’ into the mirror - he has no voice. He is the only silent thing in the room. Mouths hovering above are talking and laughing - at him. George doesn’t yell for help.

George is used to living in a silent world. Not only the world of silent movies, but also of his feelings. We can see why in his dream. Voices inside his mind mock him if he even thinks about needing help. To George - needing help; needing people; opening up and talking about feelings – is humiliating.  Some of you, I’m sure, feel the same way. It isn’t easy to be open; to risk saying how you really feel. Voices in your mind, too, might tell you ‘it’s crazy’, ‘don’t make a fool of yourself’, ‘you’ll just be hurt’ – or something like that.

What happens if those voices get louder and louder when you even think of wanting someone, or something else?  Does a warning flash in your mind - ‘Keep those needs quiet’ - like the ‘See No Evil’, ‘Hear No Evil’, ‘Speak No Evil’ monkeys that appear at just those moments in ‘The Artist’? And, like George, do you tell yourself you’re just fine? You can take care of yourself. You don’t need anyone, really. But, it isn’t true for you – any more than it is for George.

In spite of voices that tell you otherwise, there are other feelings and needs that come right along anyway – unwanted and unexpected. Just like Peppy Miller. Who is ‘that girl’? She is everything George is afraid to let himself be - alive, open, not afraid of change, and disarmingly herself. She disturbs his protective shell. He feels something for the first time.  Can he let himself? Not so easily.

George does what many frightened people do. He runs away. He drinks. He is terrified of opening up. He expects to be hurt, and when he is, he attacks himself: “Stupid! loser!”  The voices that mock his need for help and love almost win. Especially when he discovers how much he needs Peppy.

But, something hopeful remains – like the one movie he saves (dancing with Peppy). Once George begins to see that needing help, and love, is not a weakness – he can change. And, not only does he dance again with Peppy, he talks. He no longer lives in a world of silenced feelings. Most importantly, George proves those mocking voices wrong.