degree of his normality. The reaction of a
man to his admission to a concentration
camp also represents an abnormal state of
mind, but judged objectively it is a normal
and, as will be shown later, typical reaction
to the given circumstances. These reactions,
as I have described them, began to change in
a few days. The prisoner passed from the
first to the second phase; the phase of
relative apathy, in which he achieved a kind
of emotional death.
Apart from the already described
reactions, the newly arrived prisoner
experienced the tortures of other most
painful emotions, all of which he tried to
deaden. First of all, there was his boundless
longing for his home and his family. This
often could become so acute that he felt
himself consumed by longing. Then there
was disgust; disgust with all the ugliness
which surrounded him, even in its mere
external forms.
Most of the prisoners were given a uniform
of rags which would have made a scarecrow
elegant by comparison. Between the huts in
the camp lay pure filth, and the more one
worked to clear it away, the more one had to
come in contact with it. It was a favorite
practice to detail a new arrival to a work
group whose job was to clean the latrines
and remove the sewage. If, as usually
happened, some of the excrement splashed
into his face during its transport over bumpy
fields, any sign of disgust by the prisoner or
any attempt to wipe off the filth would only
be punished with a blow from a Capo. And
thus the mortification of normal reactions was
hastened.
At first the prisoner looked away if he
saw the punishment parades of another
group; he could not bear to see fellow
prisoners march up and down for hours in the
mire, their movements directed by blows.
Days or weeks later things changed. Early
in the morning, when it was still dark, the
prisoner stood in front of the gate with his
detachment, ready to march. He heard a
scream and saw how
34 Man's Search for Meaning
a comrade was knocked down, pulled to his feet again,
and knocked down once more—and why? He was feverish
but had reported to sick-bay at an improper time. He was
being punished for this irregular attempt to be relieved of
his duties.
But the prisoner who had passed into the second stage of
his psychological reactions did not avert his eyes any more.
By then his feelings were blunted, and he watched un
moved. Another example: he found himself waiting at sick
bay, hoping to be granted two days of light work inside the
camp because of injuries or perhaps edema or fever. He
stood unmoved while a twelve-year-old boy was carried in
who had been forced to stand at attention for hours in the
snow or to work outside with bare feet because there were
no shoes for him in the camp. His toes had become frost
bitten, and the doctor on duty picked off the black gan
grenous stumps with tweezers, one by one. Disgust, horror
and pity are emotions that our spectator could not really
feel any more. The sufferers, the dying and the dead, be
came such commonplace sights to him after a few weeks of
camp life that they could not move him any more.
I spent some time in a hut for typhus patients who ran
very high temperatures and were often delirious, many of
them moribund. After one of them had just died, I watched
without any emotional upset the scene that followed, which
was repeated over and over again with each death. One by
one the prisoners approached the still warm body. One
grabbed the remains of a messy meal of potatoes; another
decided that the corpse's wooden shoes were an improve
ment on his own, and exchanged them. A third man did
the same with the dead man's coat, and another was glad to
be able to secure some—just imagine!—genuine string.
All this I watched with unconcern. Eventually I asked
Experiences in a Concentration Camp 35
the "nurse" to remove the body. When he decided to do so,
he took the corpse by its legs, allowing it to drop into the
small corridor between the two rows of boards which were
the beds for the fifty typhus patients, and dragged it across
the bumpy earthen floor toward the door. The two steps
which led up into the open air always constituted a prob
lem for us, since we were exhausted from a chronic lack of
food. After a few months' stay in the camp we could not
walk up those steps, which were each about six inches high,
without putting our hands on the door jambs to pull our
selves up.
The man with the corpse approached the steps. Wearily
he dragged himself up. Then the body: first the feet, then
the trunk, and finally—with an uncanny rattling noise—
the head of the corpse bumped up the two steps.
My place was on the opposite side of the hut, next to the
small, sole window, which was built near the floor. While
my cold hands clasped a bowl of hot soup from which I
sipped greedily, I happened to look out the window. The
corpse which had just been removed stared in at me with
glazed eyes. Two hours before I had spoken to that man.
Now I continued sipping my soup.
If my lack of emotion had not surprised me from the
standpoint of professional interest, I would not remember
this incident now, because there was so little feeling in
volved in it.
Apathy, the blunting of the emotions and the feeling that
one could not care any more, were the symptoms arising
during the second stage of the prisoner's psychological re
actions, and which eventually made him insensitive to daily
and hourly beatings. By means of this insensibility the pris
oner soon surrounded himself with a very necessary protec
tive shell.