40 Man's Search for Meaning
But even they kept on reminding us that an ordinary
laborer did several times as much work as we did, and in a
shorter time. But they did see reason if they were told that
a normal workman did not live on 10-1/2 ounces of bread
(theoretically—actually we often had less) and 1-3/4 pints of
thin soup per day; that a normal laborer did not live under
the mental stress we had to submit to, not having news of
our families, who had either been sent to another camp or
gassed right away; that a normal workman was not threat
ened by death continuously, daily and hourly. I even al
lowed myself to say once to a kindly foreman, "If you could
learn from me how to do a brain operation in as short a
time as I am learning this road work from you, I would
have great respect for you." And he grinned.
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 41
is another matter; the dreamer had to wake from them to
the reality of camp life, and to the terrible contrast between
that and his dream illusions.
I shall never forget how I was roused one night by the
groans of a fellow prisoner, who threw himself about in his
sleep, obviously having a horrible nightmare. Since I had
always been especially sorry for people who suffered from
fearful dreams or deliria, I wanted to wake the poor man.
Suddenly I drew back the hand which was ready to shake
him, frightened at the thing I was about to do. At that
moment I became intensely conscious of the fact that no
dream, no matter how horrible, could be as bad as the
reality of the camp which surrounded us, and to which I
was about to recall him.
Apathy, the main symptom of the second phase, was a
necessary mechanism of self-defense. Reality dimmed, and
all efforts and all emotions were centered on one task: pre
serving one's own life and that of the other fellow. It was
typical to hear the prisoners, while they were being herded
back to camp from their work sites in the evening, sigh with
relief and say, "Well, another day is over."
It can be readily understood that such a state of strain,
coupled with the constant necessity of concentrating on the
task of staying alive, forced the prisoner's inner life down
to a primitive level. Several of my colleagues in camp
who were trained in psychoanalysis often spoke of a
"regression" in the camp inmate—a retreat to a more
primitive form of mental life. His wishes and desires
became obvious in his dreams.
What did the prisoner dream about most frequently? Of
bread, cake, cigarettes, and nice warm baths. The lack of
having these simple desires satisfied led him to seek wish-
fulfillment in dreams. Whether these dreams did any good
Because of the high degree of undernourishment which
the prisoners suffered, it was natural that the desire for food
was the major primitive instinct around which mental life
centered. Let us observe the majority of prisoners when
they happened to work near each other and were, for once,
not closely watched. They would immediately start discuss
ing food. One fellow would ask another working next to
him in the ditch what his favorite dishes were. Then they
would exchange recipes and plan the menu for the day
when they would have a reunion—the day in a distant
future when they would be liberated and returned home.
They would go on and on, picturing it all in detail, until
suddenly a warning was passed down the trench, usually in
the form of a special password or number: "The guard is
coming."
I always regarded the discussions about food as danger
ous. Is it not wrong to provoke the organism with such
detailed and affective pictures of delicacies when it has
somehow managed to adapt itself to extremely small
rations
42 Man's Search for Meaning
and low calories? Though it may afford momentary psycho
logical relief, it is an illusion which physiologically, surely,
must not be without danger.
During the later part of our imprisonment, the daily ra
tion consisted of very watery soup given out once daily, and
the usual small bread ration. In addition to that, there was
the so-called "extra allowance," consisting of three-fourths
of an ounce of margarine, or of a slice of poor quality sau
sage, or of a little piece of cheese, or a bit of synthetic honey,
or a spoonful of watery jam, varying daily. In calories, this
diet was absolutely inadequate, especially taking into con
sideration our heavy manual work and our constant ex
posure to the cold in inadequate clothing. The sick who
were "under special care"—that is, those who were allowed
to lie in the huts instead of leaving the camp for work—-
were even worse off.
When the last layers of subcutaneous fat had vanished,
and we looked like skeletons disguised with skin and rags,
we could watch our bodies beginning to devour themselves.
The organism digested its own protein, and the muscles
disappeared. Then the body had no powers of resistance
left. One after another the members of the little community
in our hut died. Each of us could calculate with fair ac
curacy whose turn would be next, and when his own would
come. After many observations we knew the symptoms well,
which made the correctness of our prognoses quite certain.
"He won't last long," or, "This is the next one," we whis
pered to each other, and when, during our daily search for
lice, we saw our own naked bodies in the evening, we
thought alike: This body here, my body, is really a corpse
already. What has become of me? I am but a small portion
of a great mass of human flesh . . . of a mass behind barbed
wire, crowded into a few earthen huts; a mass of which
daily a certain portion begins to rot because it has become
lifeless.
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 43
I mentioned above how unavoidable were the thoughts
about food and favorite dishes which forced themselves into
the consciousness of the prisoner, whenever he had a mo
ment to spare. Perhaps it can be understood, then, that even
the strongest of us was longing for the time when he would
have fairly good food again, not for the sake of good food
itself, but for the sake of knowing that the sub-human exis
tence, which had made us unable to think of anything other
than food, would at last cease.
Those who have not gone through a similar experience
can hardly conceive of the soul-destroying mental conflict
and clashes of will power which a famished man experi
ences. They can hardly grasp what it means to stand dig
ging in a trench, listening only for the siren to announce
9:30 or 10:00
A
.
M
.—the half-hour lunch interval—when
bread would be rationed out (as long as it was still avail
able); repeatedly asking the foreman—if he wasn't a dis
agreeable fellow—what the time was; and tenderly touch
ing a piece of bread in one's coat pocket, first stroking it
with frozen gloveless fingers, then breaking off a crumb and
putting it in one's mouth and finally, with the last bit of
will power, pocketing it again, having promised oneself that
morning to hold out till afternoon.
We could hold endless debates on the sense or nonsense
of certain methods of dealing with the small bread ration,
which was given out only once daily during the latter part
of our confinement. There were two schools of thought.
One was in favor of eating up the ration immediately. This
had the twofold advantage of satisfying the worst hunger
pangs for a very short time at least once a day and of
safeguarding against possible theft or loss of the ration. The
second group, which held with dividing the ration up, used
different arguments. I finally joined their ranks.
The most ghastly moment of the twenty-four hours of
camp life was the awakening, when, at a still nocturnal