The Three Christs of Ypsilanti (2 page)

Having said this—that there is an admirable compassion about Rokeach's approach, and that this approach could only have been
undertaken
before
deinstitutionalization had done its worst—it's also true that Rokeach, in his wish to produce results, is very free in his intervention in the men's lives, moving them forcibly from one ward to another, changing their circumstances, appointing them to periodic chairmanships over one another, even writing letters to them from characters selected from among their particular delusions, a level of psychic intrusion nearly as deliberate, and manipulative, as Lacan's celebrated “short sessions” (in which an analyst would abruptly walk out on a patient after a very short interval, leaving him to wonder and to fret at his abandonment).

One of these interventions, described in one of the most arresting passages in the book, features the unmarried Leon, who comes to believe in a fictitious wife that Rokeach has invented for him and in whose name Rokeach has regularly been writing him letters.

He's depressed about the letters! And about the diminished opportunities for love in his long-term incarceration! What a surprise! And yet this passage is followed by one even more poignant: “August 4. This is the day Leon's wife is supposed to visit him. He goes outdoors shortly before the appointed hour and does not return until it is well past.” That is, Leon waits for his wife, a wife who doesn't exist and who doesn't
materialize when she says she's going to, and when no good comes of Leon's desire for reunion with this wife, he withdraws further. A strange thing does occur in the process, however: Leon, under the siege of his imaginary wife,[
3
] stops responding to the divine sobriquets he has affected (the most frequent is Rex), and demands that he be called by the more earthy name of R.I. Dung. The reader acquainted with schizophrenia will likely construe this development as an expression of mitigated self-regard, played out in the symbolic realm, or perhaps a response to a “double bind” of the sort that Gregory Bateson imputes to schizophrenics. But there can be no doubt that, at least for a time, Leon no longer asserts himself as the son of God, or at least is willing to modify or suppress his belief for short-term gain: matrimonial society.

A 1981 afterword to a paperback edition of
Three Christs
finds Rokeach seriously reconsidering his intrusions into the men's lives: “I now almost regret having written and published [the study] when I did.” Rokeach further casts himself as a
fourth
delusional Christ in the project, noting his “God-like” control of the lives of the men. This is a point well taken. While “almost regret” feels slightly withholding as regards the moral of the story here, Rokeach's willingness to recast his views from a later vantage point
is
uncommonly graceful for a man of science:

This “almost regret” is keen enough that the author gives scant details of the later lives of the men—as if to allow them some much needed privacy. At last. The silence is respectful. And, it seems to me, penitential.

There's an earnestness in Rokeach, both during and after the experiment—no matter his theoretical naïveté and ethical lapses. There's an earnestness in
any
attempt to reach a schizophrenic on her or his own terms. Looking back from our moment in history, it's hard not to feel that Rokeach's study validates the notion that schizophrenics are in distinct ways beyond help. But this is to miss the art of
The Three Christs of Ypsilanti
, its nuances, its descriptive elegance. If literature were a treatment model, which it is after a fashion, another name for its modality would be: compassion. In this regard, we have to say that Rokeach's endeavor, both in its original guise and when supplemented by his later reservations, is a success.

After two years and a month Rokeach's experiment drew to a close—as it happens, just as deinstitutionalization began to accelerate throughout the nation. In the epoch that followed, our epoch, an experiment like Rokeach's, featuring close experimental contact in a controlled hospital setting over the course of years, seems next to unthinkable. And yet it's the new environment we live in that makes an enlightened perspective on
Three Christs
possible. And what would be the features of that enlightenment? Perhaps a regret about the “total institution,” as Rokeach has it, alongside an approval of compassionate, personal interaction with the ill. Because: refusal to reconceive of the institution in a humane form and refusal to care for the sick continues to leave schizophrenics at large, or in the shelters and jails of the nation. We have achieved liberty for schizophrenics and liberty does not always look so great.

In the original conclusion to
Three Christs
, in some of the most pas-
sionate writing in the book, Rokeach describes the ultimate goal of his experiment: to help the men depicted therein to “transcend loneliness.” And maybe, after all, he did achieve this end for a time. And maybe this book, as a literary act, will help us along these lines, too, in its generosity and its quixotic ambition. That said, the last words of the introduction plausibly ought to belong to Joseph Cassel, the most exacting writer among the three Christs, who did on occasion describe carefully what he felt, and whose yearning for self-improvement in the experiments is palpable, even when mixed up with a lot of mumbo jumbo about espionage and life in merry old England. Here's the envoi he wrote to Rokeach after the men's meetings had come to an end:

[
1
]Pseudonyms all.

[
2
]See, for example, page 62.

[
3
]There are more devastating missed connections with this fictitious wife, but I'll leave them to the reader to discover.

T
HE ACCOUNT
presented herein concerns three men, all of whom claimed the same identity, and tells what happened in the two years they lived together. The report describes a scientific research project, but it is also a story worth telling in its own right. In many of its readers it may well provoke anxiety and tension; to most of us it seems a terrible thing for a person not to know who he really is. This is the only study on which I have ever worked that has aroused the interest of children. I shall never forget my neighbor's children running after me to inquire whether the three men who had lost their identities and believed themselves to be Christ had made any progress in finding out who they really were.

I have tried to tell this story in sufficient detail so that other behavioral scientists will find it useful for purposes other than those discussed in Chapters I, XI, and XIX. At the same time, it must be pointed out that the present account is necessarily a highly selective condensation of a far greater body of material consisting of hundreds of tape recordings, personal notes, case records, reports by research assistants, nurses, and aides, and reports and letters written by the subjects themselves.

This project could never have been carried to a completion without the support, active co-operation, and encouragement of many individuals and institutions. I am happy to acknowledge my deep gratitude to the Social Science Research Council for its support
through a Faculty Research Fellowship in 1960. This was supplemented by Michigan State University through a special grant from its Development Fund and also through additional annual grants from its All-University Research Fund.

I am happy also to acknowledge the unstinting co-operation and encouragement of Vernon A. Stehman, M.D., Deputy Director of the Department of Mental Health in the state of Michigan, and of the psychiatric staff at Ypsilanti State Hospital. I am especially grateful to three psychiatrists under whose direction this work was carried out: O. R. Yoder, M.D., Medical Superintendent; Kenneth B. Moore, M.D., Clinical Director; and his successor, Alexander P. Dukay, M.D. Thanks are also due to Drs. John Olariu and Walter A. Brovins, resident psychiatrists, and to many nurses and aides, especially Caroline Gervais and Henry Westbrook.

This work engaged the services of a number of research assistants for various periods of time. I would like to acknowledge my indebtedness to them. Dr. Richard Bonier, Dr. Ronald A. Hoppe, Doris Raisenen, and Cheryl Normington worked on the study during the summer of 1959. Dr. Mark Spivak worked with me from September 1959 to October 1960. His extensive experience in the application of social-psychological theory and research in the mental-hospital setting was invaluable to me. Mary Lou Anderson worked with me from October 1960 until the termination of the project. The crucial role she played is recorded more fully in several chapters of this book.

I wish to acknowledge further my deep indebtedness to Dinny Kell, who listened to all the tape recordings and prepared sensitive summaries of each. I have benefited greatly from many discussions I have had with her about the material, although we sometimes disagreed about interpretation.

I alone must bear full responsibility for the experimental procedures employed and for the interpretations set forth in this work.

It was my good fortune to spend the academic year 1961–62 as a Fellow at the Center for Advanced Study in the Behavorial Sciences. I wrote the present report in this scholarly and idyllic
center of learning overlooking Stanford University. But my good fortune did not end here. Miriam Gallaher, of the Center staff, patiently showed me the many ways in which it was possible to communicate to the reader the drama of research without sacrificing scientific accuracy or integrity. Whatever literary merit this work possesses is due in large part to her editorial judgment and wisdom.

I have also richly profited from my association with Professors David Krech and Richard S. Crutchfield, consulting editors for Knopf publications in psychology, and with Nancy E. Gross, Knopf's trade editor. The final revision of this manuscript was a happy experience for me because I had the benefit of their many thoughtful and painstaking editorial suggestions.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge my indebtedness to Anna Tower, of the Center staff, and also to Alice Lawrence and Dixie Knoebel, of Michigan State University, for relieving me of all the cumbersome concerns connected with the preparation of this manuscript for publication.

MILTON ROKEACH

East Lansing, Michigan

July 1, 1963

TO THREE MEN

WHO WILL HEREIN BE CALLED

Clyde Benson

Joseph Cassel

Leon Gabor

THE ENCOUNTER

T
HE THREE
C
HRISTS
met for the first time in a small room off the large ward where they live. The date was July 1, 1959. All three had been transferred to Ward D-23 of Ypsilanti State Hospital a few days before and had been assigned to adjacent beds, a shared table in the dining hall, and similar jobs in the laundry room.

It is difficult to convey my exact feelings at that moment. I approached the task with mixed emotions: curiosity and apprehension, high hopes for what the research project might reveal and concern for the welfare of the three men. Initially, my main purpose in bringing them together was to explore the processes by which their delusional systems of belief and their behavior might change if they were confronted with the ultimate contradiction conceivable for human beings: more than one person claiming the same identity. Subsequently, a second purpose emerged: an exploration of the processes by which systems of belief and behavior might be changed through messages purporting to come from significant authorities who existed only in the imaginations of the delusional Christs. These purposes were intimately connected with my own special field of interest in psychology. I am not a psychiatrist or a psychoanalyst, whose primary concerns are psychopathology and psychotherapy. My training is in social psychology and personality theory, and it is this background that led me to my meeting with the three Christs.