The Three Christs of Ypsilanti - Milton Rokeach [77]
At the regular group meeting on February 18, 1960, I asked the chairman for the floor and, after being recognized, said that I wondered, since Leon insisted on calling himself Dung, whether we should not also, in the same spirit, call Joseph “Mr. God,” and Clyde “Mr. Christ.”
All three men responded to this proposal negatively; apparently a psychotic is a psychotic only to the extent that he has to be. Both Clyde and Joseph objected strenuously—thus demonstrating that they had quite a realistic grasp of the implications of being called by their delusional names and of all the problems this might present. And Leon shrewdly and realistically joined forces with them, although his reasons were different from theirs.
Moreover—and quite surprisingly—my question did not start an argument among the three men about identity. All of them stuck realistically to the issue under discussion: should we or should we not call them by their delusional names? Primarily they were oriented toward me and the issue before them, and not toward one another. In fact, they joined forces against me and supported one another by presenting a united front. Even the ensuing discussion did not provoke them against one another. Nor did Leon accuse me, as he had done months before, of using negative psychology and negative duping. His comment was entirely realistic. He pointed out that the effect of what I was proposing would be to set the three men against one another.
Clyde’s initial response was anger. “Oh, no. Now, don’t be funny,” he said. “Just because that fellow there that should be Rex changed, I don’t want to be scoffed at and have one of the patients calling me those names.”
—I didn’t suggest you have this name outside, but only at the meetings.—
But this did not mollify Clyde. He wanted Rex to be Rex, he said, and himself to be Clyde.
“You can call me Rex, sir,” Leon said. “I’ll accept that.”
I then said that I sometimes forgot who they really were when I had to call them by names like Clyde and Joseph. At this, Joseph interposed that he knew he was God. Clyde objected strenuously.
“Every time I say I’m God,” Joseph complained, “he says I’m not God. It’s a waste of time to talk to him. Just overlook it! The best thing is to adhere to Joseph Cassel.”
I repeated their names, going around the room—Mr. God, Mr. Christ, Mr. Dung.
“I don’t like that name,” Clyde said. “It’s manure to put around a tree.”
“I’ll answer to Rex,” Leon said.
—Could we call you Jesus? That’s on your birth certificate.—
“I prefer Dung because it’s a humble name and doesn’t arouse direct and indirect prejudice or jealousy.”
(To Joseph)—What would you do if I called you Mr. God?—
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
—If you don’t want to be called God, I wonder if you are God?—
“It doesn’t make any difference to me. I know what I am.”
—Can we try it for a week, Mr. God, Mr. Christ, Mr. Dung?—
Clyde replied angrily: “I think you’re intoxicated right now.”
—What’s your name, Joseph?—
“Joseph Cassel.”
—And God?—
“Why not?”
—Did you write the Ten Commandments?—
“Yes, but I don’t want to get recognized over here.”
—We’re trying to give you recognition.—
“I disagree,” said Leon. Then he and Joseph started yelling at each other about the Ten Commandments, ignoring the question of identity entirely.
—You gentlemen are making it difficult for us.—
“It’s indirect agitation,” Leon said. “There’s a confliction.”
“You must understand,” Joseph added. “It’s too heavy for an individual to participate in these meetings over here, to go into that God business. All we have to do is to carry on as we were before: R. I. Dung, Joseph Cassel, Clyde Benson. It’s too impossible what you fellows want. It’s all right for me. I can carry it, but they can’t, so I ask Dr. Rokeach’s permission to carry on as we have been carrying on.