Hermann Hesse: 'The Glass Bead Game' (1)

Written November 27, 2009 at 6:05 am

It’s been 40 years since I read Hermann Hesse’s novels as a teenager. Actually, I read only a few, those most popular to the ‘60s generation: Demian, Siddhartha, Steppenwolf. I don’t recall reading others, and I know I never read The Glass Bead Game. My reactions were mixed. Obviously, the sensibility of these novels overlapped with the ‘60s sensibility. The outsider consciousness of Demian resonated most. While I could relate to some aspects of Siddhartha, others left me cold, particularly the Buddha-figure who treats his disciples like children and rationalizes his position to the main character, who admires him even while going his own way. I found this encounter nauseating. On the other hand, I was taken with Steppenwolf, which also expressed the outsider sensibility in a compelling fashion. However, within a few years my outlook changed, and I still recall how I relished the put-down of Steppenwolf I read in a campus newspaper: “All work and no play makes Harry a dull boy.” Harry being the main character who takes his angst all too seriously, and me losing interest in this sort of reading material. And that was the end of my engagement with Hesse until now, lifetimes later.

I’m just guessing at this point, but there seems to be two warring loyalties in Hesse’s soul: one, the attraction toward the mysticisms of the East; two, the desire to preserve one’s independent, authentic, individual experience. The Glass Bead Game is predicated on another major element, which I do not recall in the other novels mentioned: a nostalgic feudal-traditionalist pole of attraction, which stinks to high heaven of political reaction. But since the main character, Joseph Knecht, harbors rebellious tendencies, and, who, we will eventually learn, leaves the hierarchical monastic order in which he ascends to the top, the jury must for the moment remain out on what Hesse is all about.

Howard L. Parsons on mysticism revisited

In my two previous posts on Parsons, I commented, inter alia, on his essay essay "Theories of Knowledge: A Dialectical, Historical Critique", with some complimentary and non-complimentary remarks. Revisiting it, I want to emphasize that this essay is unique and invaluable.

It's an example of how much philosophy arrives in the public sphere DOA, while academic philosophy, like the intellectual world at large, rolls on addicted to familiarity and fashion. I don't participate in the star system in philosophy any more than in any other area. My goal has been to rescue noteworthy work from oblivion. Parsons belonged to a particular tradition in Marxism too heavily indebted to CP/Soviet-style Marxism: these people produced some good work even though they took questionable positions in other instances.  And the more "worldly" philosophers get now, the more they lose perspective: the merger of popular culture and intellectual culture demonstrates how thoroughly the culture industry saturates the souls of people in our time.  But back to Parsons.

Of particular interest in this essay is Parsons' treatment of mysticism, especially its psychophysical aspects.  Parsons makes a number of interesting statements, including this one:

As a theory of knowledge and of reality, mysticism is false. It absolutizes a moment in man's interaction with the world—the sense of qualitative unity. It statically identifies that moment with reality and with knowledge. It destroys the distinction between man and the world and obliterates the dialectic between them. Mysticism is the practice and ideology of men bent on escape from their conflicts and struggles in the real world. It is a flight of the attention from continuous intercourse with things, events, and people to concentration on a single quality or experience. It is a flight of fantasy insofar as it elaborates a theory in defense of this flight in practice. In the Western Christian Church heretical movements have often been associated with mysticism because it represented a counter‑movement against abstract and verbal orthodoxy. But it remained an alienated protest against the ruling form of alienation, a religious answer to a religious mistake. That mistake, especially in Western supernaturalism but also in various forms and mysticism, is the division and falsification of reality in thought. Things and events are interpreted as static, fixed, and isolated from one another, with no real interpenetration, conflict, development, or qualitative change. Such an interpretation serves the interest of the ruling class, which wishes to keep things and classes as they are, and to avoid conflict, change, and development into a new kind of class society or into a classless society. Mysticism perpetuates this mistake by emphasis on an experience which presumes to absorb and transform (aufheben) all parts and conflicts into a final and unified whole. But the mistake of mysticism is that while the world is felt to be unified, it goes on, in separated processes that interact and change without ceasing, outside the skin of the mystic.

Jean Anouilh’s Becket

I've always preferred literary art with a philosophical dimension. Case in point: the play Becket by Jean Anouilh. I was introduced to the play via the film starring Peter O'Toole and Richard Burton, which I saw with a friend 35 years ago or more.

We were so impressed with this drama that some years later, my friend initiated a local theater production of it. It never panned out, but I can still remember the rehearsals. Though not an actor, I participated in reading rehearsals, playing an archbishop locked in a power struggle with the King. Tossing out veiled threats was, I admit, intoxicating, even in fantasy. Nothing says sadistic lust for power like the Catholic Church.

But I recall as well something far more important—my reason for the fascination with the play—the curious self-awareness of the Becket character and the ambiguity of his role-playing, culminating in a martyrdom predicated on assuming "the honor of God". Having worked behind the scenes in the theater (long ago and far away) and kibitzing incessantly for years, I got to observe actors, directors, and playwrights. It's instructive to see who really has awareness of the meaning of plays and who doesn't. I've found actors in plays are just as clueless as actors in real life. But some roles can't be adequately played without profound inquiry into meaning. This play presents such a challenge.

I've distilled out of the play some key quotes revealing this most intriguing character:

Jean Anouilh's Becket: Choice Quotes

There's not a line wasted in this play, so it's hard to extract the essentials. I vividly recall almost all these extracts from decades past. I'll just add a comment about the King, since I've not focused primarily on him in these extracts. The King constantly marvels at the intelligence and elusiveness of his close friend Becket, who understands the social order the King commands better than the King does himself. This king—as is characteristic of all rulers—is obtuse to certain underlying properties of the social system he commands. Becket, however, as a member of a conquered people who collaborates with his conquerors, exhibits an excruciating self-awareness and a deeper awareness of how all components of the social order fit together, thus enabling him to help the king rule with greater efficiency. The King is merely pragmatic, though thoroughly so, and like all pragmatists he can see through pretense but not through pragmatism. Hence it is child's play for the King to deflate the hypocritical pretenses of the Catholic Church, while Becket remains an enigma to him. The interplay between these two characters is key to the brilliance of the play.

If you want some entertainment that makes you think instead of settling for the usual pabulum, you'd do well to rent this film.