Between Emptiness and Enslavement: The Role of Interpersonal Relationships in the Work of Ernst Weiß, Hermann Ungar, and Ludwig Winder

Abstract

This article explores the complex struggle for identity in the works of three prominent Moravia-born Prague German writers of the early twentieth century: Ernst Weiß, Hermann Ungar, and Ludwig Winder. It delves into the recurring motif of fear of intimacy and the paradoxical actions of their characters, who often view affection as a threat to their autonomy. Drawing on the psychoanalytic theories of Ronald Fairbairn and Harry Guntrip, the study examines how these authors depict this schizoid dilemma—the wish for interpersonal relationships, contrasting with the fear that love will lead to the destruction of the self. By analyzing selected works, the article identifies various coping mechanisms employed by the characters, such as emotional detachment, withdrawal into fantasies, and the creation of safe but ultimately hollow relationships. Through a comparative analysis, the paper reveals how these literary figures navigate their need for interpersonal connections while grappling with the terror of their own desires.

1. Introduction

“Franta ging aus zu seiner Arbeit, voll Freude auf die Nacht. Endlich keine Angst mehr um das zerstörte Geschlecht. Keine Scham wegen der Verstümmelung” (Franta went out to work, looking forward to the night. At last, no more worries about his destroyed sex. No more shame of the mutilation, Weiß 1982b, p. 98).1 This is how Ernst Weiß describes the mental state of the protagonist in the short story Franta Zlín. His joy comes as a surprise to the reader, as Franta’s partner had died the previous evening. Due to a war wound, sex became a source of great shame for him and made all intimacy impossible. The death of his partner, therefore, comes as a liberation.

If one delves into the literature of twentieth-century Prague German authors, one quickly discovers that similar feelings form the central theme of many novels.2 The seemingly incomprehensible and paradoxical actions of various characters often appear as manifestations of a common core: the fear of intimacy, of the closeness to another person, where every act of affection is felt as a weakness to be severely punished. Those who dare to love, these authors convince us, are stripped of their autonomy and rejected. If we define identity as a sense of self in contrast to the other (Lichtenstein 1977), the ability to relate is crucial to it. The disruption of this ability leads to a fear of relationships and their absence. These then, in a vicious circle, further erode existing senses of identity and force different coping mechanisms designed to compensate for this ego-weakness. The aim of the present article is, then, to compare the mechanisms applied by the characters in selected works, in order to show that the “Angst um die Persönlichkeit” (fear for one’s personality, Binder 1966, pp. 107–8) forms a central theme not only for Franz Kafka, but also for many of his Prague peers. The focus will be on three authors of the same generation: Ernst Weiß (1882–1940), Ludwig Winder (1889–1946), and Hermann Ungar (1893–1929).

“It is the great tragedy of the schizoid individual that his love seems to destroy; and it is because his love seems so destructive that he experiences such difficulty in directing libido towards objects in outer reality” (Fairbairn 1952, p. 50). This is how the British psychoanalyst Ronald Fairbairn viewed the central problem of the so-called schizoid personality. In his developmental theory, he placed the onset of schizoid disorder in the early oral phase, when the child is not yet capable of showing aggression toward the beloved object on which he or she is dependent. Any serious disturbance in the relationship is viewed by the child as a result of love, not hate. Love is seen as a danger: it could exhaust the object, leading to abandonment (Seinfeld 1991, p. 197). The child, for whom such a situation is a mortal threat, then concludes, according to Fairbairn, that the path to survival is through the suppression of his or her own destructive libido.

Fairbairn’s theories3 were further developed by his follower, Harry Guntrip, who, in his 1969 study, produced a detailed description of the so-called schizoid dilemma, demonstrating itself in nine key mechanisms. The need to love is reconciled with “the fear either of exhausting [their] love object by the demands […] or else losing [their] own individuality by over-dependence and identification,” (Guntrip 1969, p. 48)—that is, either emptiness or enslavement. The resulting state Guntrip calls a schizoid compromise.

Much of this compromise can be found in the novels by Prague German authors. The social status, age, and beliefs of their protagonists differ, and so do the strategies they use to maintain their identity. What unites them is the effort to overcome an identical dilemma: the need for interpersonal relationships, without which existence becomes impossible, conflicting with the terror of one’s own libido. Ralph Klein (Masterson and Klein 1995, pp. 23–31) categorized Guntrip’s nine mechanisms into three groups. The first contains purely schizoid characteristics: withdrawnness, introversion, and loss of affect. The second group Klein named pseudonarcissistic and viewed as the sum of narcissism, self-reliance, and superiority. The third group includes so-called pseudoborderline characteristics: loneliness, regression, and depersonalization. In this article, characters from selected novels will be analyzed in relation to these three clusters, with the aim of revealing parallels in their strategies and the schizoid dilemma as the central point around which their experience is built.

2. The Inward Turn

A prominent manifestation of the dilemma is the seeming absence of deeper relationships. If the display of affection is seen as the greatest danger to the maintenance of the object and, thus, to one’s own existence, an emotional investment in a relationship becomes impossible. Replacing relations to external objects, to living people, attention is fixated on the objects of one’s own interior. This becomes problematic when fantasies connected to internal objects substitute for interpersonal relations. As Klein (Masterson and Klein 1995, p. 17) argues, this escape into interiority is not always visible, but remains covert, hidden behind defenses manifested by apparent extraversion. However, the consequence of the withdrawal of emotions from external relations is then a notion of inability to truly feel, sometimes coupled with a disgust for the shallowness of the world.

A typical example of emotional detachment is the character Marengo from the eponymous short story by Ernst Weiß. This young man, until he was thirty-two, could do no more than endure life, and his efforts were focused on his business. He is characterized as “hungrig nach Illusion, aber sein männliches Gehirn ließ keine zu” (hungry for illusion, but his male brain would not allow any, Weiß 1982b, p. 104). The battle between desire (libido) and the antilibidinal component of personality is interpreted as a clash between the female heart and the male brain. Marengo has no friends, and outside of his business he seems to cease to exist. It is only during the story that he first reflects on the emptiness of his performance-oriented life and makes his first attempt at change.

Absolute loneliness is depicted more dramatically in Weiß’s novel Die Feuerprobe. The protagonist wakes up in a public toilet in the middle of Berlin, unsure of who he is and how he ended up in that place. The outside world of the city is depicted as completely anonymous, without the slightest concern for the individual. His very disconnection from his surroundings is closely intertwined with the inability to find his own identity. Klein (Masterson and Klein 1995, p. 54) describes the danger where, after escaping into their inner self, patients “may feel that they have lost the capacity to reverse the process and have gone beyond the gravitational pull of human relationships.” And indeed, the protagonist’s struggle to discover some clue in his past finds little hold on the impersonal, cold relationships with his father and wife: relationships that failed to anchor him in life because in them, there was no room for the expression of his emotions. Only the decision to establish a relationship with far more secure objects, abandoned children, can bring the hero out of the void and back to reality.

The main character of the last novel published during Weiß’s lifetime, Der Verführer, even elevates the reluctance to relate emotionally to the role of a personal philosophy, which the protagonist describes as “die Theorie einer Freiheit in Ausgleich des Einzelnen, und in der ewigen Begegnung zwischen All und Nichts” (the theory of freedom in the balance of the individual, and in the eternal encounter between All and Nothing, Weiß 1982a, p. 133). This philosophy acts as a direct image of the “‘in and out’ program” described by Guntrip (Guntrip 1969, p. 37), a form of schizoid compromise in which rapprochement within interpersonal relations is always replaced by withdrawal to safety. The hero of the novel applies his philosophy with great consistency: once he starts to like a woman, he backs off. The whole process of in and out then usually takes years, during which the protagonist forms intense relationships primarily with his fantasies. Here, the close affinity of Der Verführer with Weiß’s debut novel, Die Galeere, is revealed. Although the two works are separated by twenty-five years, their central motif is identical. In Die Galeere, too, the hero struggles to form a functional relationship, being focused primarily on scientific interests and attaching himself to fantasies more than to real people. His decision to refuse intimacy with his partner because he has fallen in love with her sister after a single brief encounter might serve as an example. Needless to say, once he turns his platonic love into a relationship, the once adored woman becomes for him “ein kleines, mittelmäßiges Mädel, nicht gut, nicht schlecht” (a little, mediocre girl, not good, not bad, Weiß 1982d, p. 143).

The motif of preferring internalized objects to real persons appears repeatedly in the work of Ludwig Winder, Kafka’s successor in the narrower Prague circle (Brod 1966, pp. 142–43). In the novel Die jüdische Orgel, the protagonist Albert falls in love with a singer, and what strikes him about her is precisely her coldness and indifference (Winder 1999, p. 30). Reminiscent of Weiß’s Die Feuerprobe, the novel involves passion towards a partner who poses no threat of expectations and allows for wild fantasies. When he is later confronted with her true form as an ordinary, servile choir girl, Albert can do nothing but pray: “Werde wieder Vision!” (Become Vision again! Winder 1999, p. 36). Another motif Winder shares with Weiß (especially with Weiß’s novel Georg Letham: Arzt und Mörder) is his protagonist’s decision to choose a woman who does not attract him and who only satisfies his desire for self-punishment.4 The sense of alienation present in Albert’s marriage from the beginning creates a safe distance. He perceives his partner solely through a few basic characteristics: her ugliness, her stupidity, her unhappiness. The woman becomes for him a mere test to pass. The absence of love is no obstacle to him. On the contrary, it allows him to keep his distance and the undisturbed peace of his inner world. An identical situation occurs in Winder’s later novel, Dr. Muff. Here, too, the eponymous protagonist commits to marrying a woman he is not attracted to and for whom he feels only pity. The ugly Änne, ridiculed by others and wanted by none, is a safe object for him, since he is in no danger of becoming attached to her. At the same time, he can become a strong, benevolent authority towards her, one that he himself craves.5 Later, when Muff actually gets to know his wife, he notes the “Leere ihres kleinen Hirns” (Emptiness of her little brain, Winder 1931, p. 158), yet still he stays with her. Because of her limitations, his wife is not a threat to him—unlike the beautiful and intelligent Alice, whose rejection he knows he would not survive.

Pazi (1990, p. 213) considers the ability to love to be a key skill that the characters in Winder’s novels strive for—often in vain. Indeed, his heroes tend to take refuge in abstract rationalizations rather than their relationships with the real people in front of them. Albert in Die jüdische Orgel perceives a world burdened by the prism of his Jewish background. Muff and Peter Toman of Der Kammerdiener live through visions of higher values to which they cling. Peter in Die nachgeholten Freuden, immersed in his personal vendetta, diminishes and belittles love (Winder 1927, pp. 221–22).6

Franz Polzer, the protagonist of Hermann Ungar’s novel Die Verstümmelten, is very close to the character in Weiß’s short story Marengo: outside of his work he lives in seclusion. In contrast to Weiß’s hero, though, he is also afflicted by a gnawing fear, stemming from a traumatic childhood. Lehnen (1990, pp. 48–50) highlights Polzer’s relations to external objects and exaggerated orderliness as substitutes for real existence. The only character with whom Polzer dares to establish a libidinous relationship is the son of his old friend. Sudhoff mentions the “für seine Verhältnisse außerordentliche Initiative” (extraordinary initiative by his standards, Sudhoff 1990, p. 591) with which Polzer devotes himself to the young man. Not only does he show affection, but the moment when the boy is in danger triggers, for the first time, Polzer’s urge to act. As in Weiß’s Die Feueprobe, there are clear parallels between the protagonist and the child, into which forbidden libidinal strivings are projected. While in the case of these works, the act of love towards a child is linked precisely to the escape from the outside world, Ungar succeeds later, in Die Klasse, discussed in more detail below, in showing the moment of acceptance of the inner child as a way to accept oneself and, at last, to love others. Here, the teacher Blau manages to free himself from his fears and to experience compassion and affection for the suffering pupils from whom he had, before, expected nothing but betrayal.7

For both Polzer and Blau, physical intimacy is a particular source of terror. While Polzer associates the vagina with repulsion and a fear of being swallowed up, Blau feels an aversion to “Situationen […], die ihn dem Hund auf der Straße gleich machen,” (situations which bring him down to the level of a dog in the street, Ungar 2001, p. 164), i.e., sexuality. Of all the characters, Polzer’s friend Karl goes the furthest in his struggle against intimacy, becoming a physical counterpart to Polzer’s mental torment (Sudhoff 1990, p. 562). Karl is rendered impotent by the progressing necrosis of his limbs, but his impotence also makes him immune to physical proximity. The mechanism described by Fairbairn, whereby fear of closeness “induces [those affected] to hate, instead of loving” (Fairbairn 1952, p. 26), is identifiable in Karl’s sarcasm, as well as in the perversions used to humiliate his selfless, beautiful wife. As merely accepting her care is threatening to him, he moves away, preferring a voyeuristic, impersonal affair with an exceptionally unattractive woman. That this strategy is not effective and only leads to a further deterioration of Karl’s situation is demonstrated by the onset of psychotic states symbolized by the caregiver and former butcher, Sonntag (Smrkovský 2023a). Karl thus eloquently symbolizes the negative phenomena that accompany the flight inward: impotence, emptiness, and personality disintegration.

3. Narcissism

Of the hero in Weiß’s Marengo, the reader learns: “Und doch verbrachte dieser Mensch sein Dasein nicht wie in einem Zuge gleichartiger Heringsbrut […] an seinesgleichen angeschmiegt,” (And yet this man did not spend his life nestled up to his peers like a herring in a shoal, Weiß 1982b, p. 104). His loneliness implies independence, even uniqueness. The narcissism of schizoid personalities is the logical consequence of intense relationships with internalized objects. As Guntrip (1969, p. 42) states, “[h]is love-objects are all inside him, and moreover he is greatly identified with them, so that his libidinal attachments appear to be to himself”. Unlike true narcissistic personalities, however, this form of narcissism is aimed at maintaining distance between self and other. The goal is “to feel above others, not […] better than them” (Masterson and Klein 1995, p. 27). Marengo’s intense experiences are really based on a sense of independence: “Sich frei fühlen, sein eigener Herr sein, war ein hoher Genuß, ein großes, ein einziges Gefühl. War dieser Wunsch erfüllt, konnte man auf viele andere Wünsche verzichten” (To feel free, to be one’s own master, was a great pleasure, a great, unique feeling. If this wish was fulfilled, one could do without many other wishes, Weiß 1982b, p. 105). Weiß’s other characters often base their self-worth on their ability not to need others. “Zu meiner Frau kehre ich nicht mehr zurück. Ich will sie nicht zerstören, aber auch nicht mehr besitzen. Ihre Ehe kann sie brechen, unsere nicht mehr. Neben mir mag sie leben, wenn es ihr so behagt, mit mir nicht mehr” (I will not return to my wife. I do not want to destroy her, but I do not want to possess her either. She can break her marriage, but not ours. She may live next to me, if she likes it that way, but no more with me, Weiß 1982c, p. 154), states the protagonist of Die Feuerprobe. His victory thus lies precisely in the independence from his only relationship.

In Die Galeere, the hero’s egoism is repeatedly emphasized by other characters and even the narrator, but it is also what inspires admiration in others. The feeling of superiority to others is inherent in many of Weiß’s characters; however, their aim is not admiration but emotional independence. Some surround themselves by patients (Der arme Verschwender; Mensch gegen Mensch); some go even further: the protagonist of Der Verführer perceives everyone else as inferior. For him, others are pawns to be manipulated according to his needs. But even for him, it is the creation of a safe distance that is essential, not fame or respect.8

A common element in Weiß’s characters and the heroes of Ludwig Winder’s novels is the wish to become an ideal object for others. When Muff, entering a relationship with the unattractive Änne, plans to “vollbringen, was kein anderer versuchen und vollbringen kann” (accomplish what no one else can attempt and accomplish, Winder 1931, p. 86) because no one else is “von weltlichen Wünschen so vollkommen losgelöst”9 (so completely detached from worldly desires) as he is, his self-centeredness is fully on display. Albert Wolf in Die jüdische Orgel repeatedly mentions his tenacity as a positive quality that distinguishes him from others. They both take pride in their ability to become so independent that they are free even from their own needs. Sass illustrates the schizoid nature of Charles Baudelaire, who despised the need for interpersonal relationships, by his desire to turn his life into a “work of art” (1992, p. 88) that will not be corrupted by something as profane as sexual appetite. Seinfeld gives the example of the famous patient Ellen West, who had a wish “to become omnipotent and self-sufficient without needs” and further “to become aerial, […] a pure ‘soul,’ divorced from the body” (1991, p. 133). Behind this wish is the schizoid belief that one can only be loved when one is a “dead baby” (Seinfeld 1991, p. 191), i.e., when one has no needs of one’s own.

As Sass notes, though, even Baudelaire was convinced that if his pursuit of life as art was to be meaningful, “the gaze of the other must still be attracted” (1992, p. 88). Weiß’s “Verführer” does indeed renounce all desire, but the goal of his denial is to control others, whom he wants, through his own indifference, “mehr Leidenschaft einzuimpfen” (to inject more passion, Weiß 1982a, p. 235). In Winder’s novel Die nachgeholten Freuden, Peter Dupic mentions his “sündhafte Freude […], arm zu sein” (sinful joy […] of being poor, Winder 1927, p. 194), and at the end he turns away from the woman he loves, saying ‘Ich darf nicht nachgeben. Ich darf nicht an mich denken. Ich habe schon zu viel, zu sehr an mich gedacht” (I must not give in. I must not think about myself. I have already thought too much about myself, Winder 1927, p. 254). It is obvious where he draws his self-worth from, as is the internal struggle he undergoes. Even Muff is determined to give up his own happiness only because he has stopped believing in happiness as such. Had he known that sincere love could exist, he would not have survived (Winder 1931, p. 301). That his epiphany turns out to be based on an illusion is a sad testament to his hopes for improvement.

Perhaps no character embodies narcissism based on self-sufficiency as much as Karl from Ungar’s novel Die Verstümmelten. His resolution, “aus purer Bosheit am Leben [zu] bleiben” (to stay alive out of sheer malice, Ungar 2001, p. 57), is indeed reminiscent of the indomitable will of Weiß’s heroes but enriched by offensiveness and contempt for others. The disfigured Karl limits his communication to sarcastic remarks directed against any values held by others. Seinfeld mentions an antisocial tendency in people suffering from distorted identity, where “the true secret self is protected by oppositionalism” (Seinfeld 1991, p. 98). Sass calls this phenomenon counter-etiquette and sees it as a desire to be free, independent of basic societal norms, which are seen as a form of coercion that threatens identity (Sass 1992, p. 110). The most frequent targets of Karl’s mockery are the remaining libidinous expressions of his friend Polzer, for example, his fixation on a painting left to him by his mother (Ungar 2001, p. 113). The culmination of antisocial tendencies is the absolute independence from norms, represented by the gloomy philosophy of Sonntag, the former butcher, murderer, and Karl’s new nurse. In his moral solipsism, only one’s own actions are the source of moral value, and the environment ceases to have any influence. Sonntag then demonstrates his disregard for the world in the murders he commits without the slightest hint of compassion.

In Ungar’s novel Die Klasse, the protagonist Josef Blau is a teacher who tries to fight his inner weakness with a dehumanized perception of his surroundings. He avoids any closer contact with his pupils, whom he perceives as a uniform threatening mass. He places himself above others, as the only person chosen to recognize human guilt (Ungar 2001, p. 303). Blau thus shows good aptitude for the position of a dictator, whose fear of the world has resulted in a need to control others. This is evidenced, moreover, by the fantasies of physical punishment that would allow him to assert his superiority. These desires find their culmination in the figure of Blau’s friend, Modlizki. This representative of the proletariat hides behind a mask of complete emotional inertia. As a servant, he carries out the orders of his employer, but he performs all his activities in a completely mechanical manner, without emotional participation. From this inner independence he derives a deep satisfaction, combined with a feeling of superiority, as he himself sums up, “Ich bleibe von allem ausgeschlossen. Es ist nicht so, daß sie mich ablehnen, sondern, daß ich es ablehne” (I remain excluded from everything. It is not that they reject me, but that I reject it, Ungar 2001, p. 253). Under his mask of detachment, however, Modlizki harbors a fierce resentment against the world. The conflict between the students, who look up to Blau, and Modlizki, who despises him for his contact with the world, is one that the teacher has to resolve to begin the renewal of his self at the end. This catharsis, however, is mostly criticized for its naivety and described as a mere wish of the author that does not fit into the rest of the novel (Sudhoff 1990, p. 670).

4. Emptiness

Despite all attempts to create a safe distance, schizoid personalities cannot completely free themselves from the need for other people10 and retain a “wish for connection and relatedness” (Masterson and Klein 1995, p. 21). However, the fear of exhausting objects with their needs often prevents them from establishing deeper relationships and creates a feeling of being “bad because they are different, strange, set apart from others, and unable to experience love” (Masterson and Klein 1995, p. 30). This may result in an “ontological insecurity” (Sass 1992, p. 215) which manifests as a “feeling of nothingness, having no substance” (Manfield 1992, p. 215). It is the emptiness of his previous existence that causes the protagonist of Weiß’s Marengo to question his lifestyle. The intensity of the questions that arise in him (Cf. Smrkovský 2023b) is accentuated by the use of question marks, which appear sixteen times on the last page alone.11 The subtitle of the novel Die Feuerprobe, Detektivgeschichte einer Seele (Detective story of a soul), signals the effort to discover the solid core of one’s own personality, which is felt as empty, not fitting into the world. Guntrip (1969, p. 44) notes that the danger of escaping inward is a state of depersonalization, i.e., a “loss of the sense of identity and individuality, loss of oneself”, and it is this very state that is experienced by the lost hero of the novel, which Weiß himself described as a “letzten Versuch meiner Selbstbehauptung” (last attempt at my self-assertion, Pazi 1993, p. 60). In fact, this was not the last attempt: in his subsequent novels, the protagonists, as Kindt (2008, p. 206) remarks, repeatedly attempt to find their lost identity by rationally recapitulating their lives.

Seinfeld (1991, p. 133) mentions the frequent fixation of schizoid personalities on a moment, an achievement, a value, which—as a “transformational object”—takes the role of the unavailable parent and becomes in the person’s imagination a path to “an omnipotent, self-sufficient state”, curing him of his dependence and inadequacy. Winder’s heroes frequently search for a value that would make them absolute and would correct that “basic fault” (Balint 1979), the inability to connect due to one’s own imperfection. In Die jüdische Orgel, Albert Wolf blames his difference on his Jewish background, compromised by the strict upbringing by his orthodox father, and sees his Christian lover as his way to salvation. The hope that the acquisition of the coveted woman has the power to change the protagonist’s entire worldview and save him from suffering forever is no less prominent in Dr. Muff.

In both works, however, the hero is disappointed, for the vision of the woman turns out to be a mistaken one, and it leads not to salvation but to the loss of his last hope. Both men end tragically: Albert Wolf becomes an “entselbstete[r] Schemen” (de-selfed phantom, Oskar Baum, in Krolop 2015, p. 143) devoid of any identity, while Muff ends his “nutzloses Leben” (useless life, Winder 1931, p. 86) with suicide. When the servant in Der Kammerdiener loses his transformational object, the old count and the order associated with him, he is no longer able to navigate the world and dies. His son, Peter, decides to live in opposition to his father’s life, but as Dr. Muff shows, an over-fixation on rigid ideas does not make life easier; rather, it reveals the absence of a real self (Guntrip 1969, p. 65). Only in the character of Peter Dupic in the novel Die nachgeholten Freuden does the reader witness Winder’s hero abandoning his inner struggle and becoming an authentically loving person.

In Ungar’s novels, loss of identity is depicted in an extreme form. In Die Verstümmelten, Franz Polzer’s inner emptiness is reminiscent of Weiß’s Marengo or the protagonist of Severins Gang in die Finsternis (Severin’s Journey into the Dark), written by another Prague author, Paul Leppin (Schneider 2022). Through his weakness, Polzer is trapped in a prison consisting of a monotonous job, an apartment with ever-increasing demands from his landlady, and, overall, a world held together only by a desperately maintained orderliness. When Polzer angrily adjusts the position of the curtain cords and newspapers on his desk (Ungar 2001, p. 23), his pedantry becomes evidence of his fear of an unexpected occurrence against which he would have to take a stand—and therefore actively assert himself.12 His compulsion to constantly hold himself together manifests itself as a terror of the dark, of sleep13, and of being robbed. The descent into psychosis that comes in the figure of the brutal nurse Sonntag, enforcing order through the repetition of sins, can then be seen as an attempt to turn weakness into strength. What the hero of Weiß’s Der Verführer seeks at the beginning of the world war, that is, an absolute egoism, where one is free from all values, is introduced into Polzer’s life by the brutal nurse.

In Ungar’s second novel, Die Klasse, there is a noticeable shift towards an active search for the self. Despite the paralyzing fear of losing his profession, his wife, or his sanity, the teacher Blau tries to defy his fate. Primitive as his attempts to take control are, they represent a shift from Franz Polzer’s passivity. The moment when Blau indirectly causes the suicide of one of his pupils can then be seen as a punishment for such audacity—for actively existing. The reaction is indeed a fall into feelings of utter emptiness, where the overwhelmed Blau concentrates only on endless calculations, i.e., on exact science, where there is no room for an authentic personality. Blau becomes that dead baby that dare not express itself. Symbolically, the real culprit is his friend Modlizki, who—himself trapped in a stance of indifference—represents antilibidinous tendencies. It is only the courage to experience love towards his pupils that can turn the situation around and outline an optimistic future, consisting in the rediscovery of Blau’s personality.

5. The Roots

The manifestations of a distorted perception of one’s own identity, which stems from the inability to establish deep interpersonal relationships, are the central problem of most of the works of Ernst Weiß, Ludwig Winder, and Hermann Ungar. In conclusion, the question arises of where these conditions stem from in the individual novels. The tendency to relate the characters’ disturbed identities to their childhood is clear. In Weiß’s work, there is a gradual shift of attention from the characters of mothers to those of fathers. In his debut, Die Galeere, the father is a rather peripheral element that hardly intervenes in the plot, while the far more prominent mother–son relationship is burdened by the mother’s expectations and demands on her son’s life (Hinze 1990, p. 162). Although mothers remain problematic in Weiß’s later works (Längle 1981, p. 79), the focus shifts towards fathers. They are mostly cold and strict, or, as in Der Verführer, not very interested in their sons, who, then, carry into their lives a distrust of love, the consequences of which have been mentioned above.

In Winder’s novels, the conflict between fathers and sons is central (Gassmann 2002). Probably the most prominent portrayal of a father’s crime against his son is found in Die jüdische Orgel. The Talmudist Wolf views his son only as an extended limb, which he holds up to God. When the son fails to live up to expectations and shows his own needs, he is punished and shamed until his psyche is irreparably broken. The servant in the novel Der Kammerdiener treats his son in a similar way. Here, the master is always preferred to the son, whom the father publicly humiliates. Fathers also appear as negative characters in the novels Die nachgeholten Freuden and Dr. Muff.14 However, even mothers are usually not supportive of their sons: either they are too weak to protect them from the father’s tyranny, or they show no interest in the family in general. “Die Mutter liebt ihr Kind nicht” (The mother does not love her child, Winder 1931, p. 138), the narrator in Dr. Muff states dryly, and a similar comment could be made in most of his novels. The son, then, goes out into the world without a sense of support, left to fend for himself.

Ungar’s Franz Polzer had to face an “übermächtige[n] Vater, der den Sohn an der Ausbildung einer Identität hinderte” (omnipotent father who prevented his son from forming an identity, Gauss 1991, p. 87). After the death of his deeply religious mother, Franz was often beaten and humiliated by his father with the assistance of his stepmother. The result of such a traumatic childhood is an emotional numbness where even the sight of his father’s coffin makes no impression on the son (Ungar 2001, p. 24). The childhood of the teacher Blau in Die Klasse is only sketched out, and the father is depicted here as a weak man, constantly at the mercy of his superior. His relationship with his son is not mentioned, but this in itself is a signal: when he recalls his father, weakness and helplessness are the only sensations Blau feels.

6. Conclusions

“Franta wußte, daß er mit dem Russen nicht allein bleiben dürfe, sonst würde er von ihm erschlagen” (Franta knew that he must not stay alone with the Russian, otherwise he would be murdered by him, Weiß 1982b, p. 102). This is how the protagonist’s relationship with his new friend is depicted in the short story Franta Zlin, which was quoted in the introduction of this paper. As is usual in the works of Ernst Weiß, the fear of the destructiveness of interpersonal relationships proves to be justified. Franta is killed and robbed by his acquaintance. In this article, I have tried to show that Weiß’s perception of interpersonal relationships as a threat to one’s own identity is not an isolated phenomenon among Prague German authors and to demonstrate it in the works of two other authors: Ludwig Winder and Hermann Ungar. The various manifestations of a disturbed perception of relationships have been outlined based on the characteristics described in the works of psychoanalysts related to the object relations theory, especially Ronald Fairbairn, Harry Guntrip, and Ralph Klein. The latter divided Guntrip’s nine characteristics into three clusters, which became the basis for the three chapters of this article. My aim was not to prove that the characters in the novels analyzed exhibit features of a particular disorder, but that all three authors concentrate on a similar type of dilemma, one usually attributed to Franz Kafka.15 While their characters differ in many ways and choose different defenses, they share the same basic problem: love is perceived as being destructive to the beloved object, so that the constriction one must impose upon oneself amounts to a feeling of enslavement.

The primary defense mechanism is the inward turn of the libido to internalized objects, the escape into fantasies, seclusion, and a disturbed sexuality. This independence becomes a source of pride because it is perceived as a strength by the characters. Detachment, for them, is an achievement, a triumph of will over seduction that gives a sense of control. It also, however, causes feelings of weakened identity, emptiness, and insecurity associated with the absence of valuable relationships and trust in others. The dilemma of the tragic hero of the short story Franta Zlin can thus be found in symbolic form in many other works by these authors.

Only a minority of characters manage to overcome these difficulties. Sometimes an apparent triumph turns out to be a mere confirmation of the initial conviction (Weiß: Der Verführer); other times, the shift remains at the level of theory (Winder: Der Kammerdiener). Several characters end tragically (Winder: Dr. Muff; Weiß: Die Galeere), or the ending remains ambiguous (Ungar: Die Verstümmelten; Winder: Die jüdische Orgel). A real shift can only be observed in some works (Ungar: Die Klasse; Winder: Die nachgeholten Freuden), and even there its plausibility is questionable. Honorable mention must therefore be made of Weiß’s short story Marengo, which leaves the ending open, full of questions, without any claim to clear answers.

The reason for the centrality of this dilemma might be found in the family constellations of Prague’s Jewish authors, especially in their relationship to their fathers (Gassmann 2002), who are usually portrayed as assimilated, power- and prestige-adoring cosmopolitans for whom the sons were mere “end products” of their own journeys (Baum 1922, p. 198). Although the father–son relationship was not explored in detail by any of the authors apart from Franz Kafka, it seems obvious that the situation described is not conducive to building faith in interpersonal relationships. However, this is only partly true for authors born in Moravia. Ernst Weiß lost his father as a child and the relationship between his biography and his work remains a matter of dispute (Längle 1981, p. 83). There is not much information about Ludwig Winder’s relationship with his father, but his novel Die jüdische Orgel is often interpreted as a cleansing of the dark memories of the gloom of the Orthodox Jewish ghetto. Hermann Ungar’s relationship with his parents is not documented either, but he too grew up in the ghetto, and according to his friends, this experience was of crucial influence on his work (Sudhoff 1990, p. 83). Perhaps it is the different origin and uprootedness of Moravia-born Prague authors that resulted in an even greater emphasis on the fear for identity, already prominent among their contemporaries who were born in Prague, like Franz Kafka.

The feeling that they were “vom Vater geängstigt/von Müttern geopfert” (frightened by fathers/sacrificed by mothers, Toller 1920, p. 26) ranks these Prague German authors alongside many other writers of European Expressionism. However, the conflict between “Wille zur Beziehung” (will to relationship) and “Wille zur Macht” (will to power, Zanasi 1999, p. 94), prominent in Expressionism, is even more pronounced in these authors than in other groups. Certain motifs of Expressionist literature, such as the “Unfähigkeit, zu fühlen, Beziehungen zu andern herzustellen” (Inability to feel, to establish relationships with others, Sokel 1970, p. 151), or emotional parasitism without the capacity for reciprocity (Sokel 1970, p. 164), are explored more deeply in their works than elsewhere. This not only does justice to the scholars highlighting the special role of Prague German literature within the period (Krolop 1967, p. 47), but also offers hope for its renaissance. While we may be a century away from the period of Prague’s literary bloom, Guntrip (1969, p. 139) himself perceived an increase in what he described as schizoid dilemma in society, and he was not alone in this observation (See Riemann’s 1975 study). Today, in what is often seen as an age of alienation, the inability to love and escape one’s own world is a topic as relevant as ever.