Hannibal Lecter and Philosophy (Popular Culture and Philosophy)

by Joseph Westfall

  Of course, rather than go to anyone in law enforcement with that information, Franklyn goes to Dr. Lecter—a questionable move, particularly given the confidentiality that is supposed to exist between them. Dr. Lecter, of course, fails to respect that confidentiality in this case, but there are two considerations that might clear him of any ethical wrongdoing. First, Dr. Lecter is ethically bound to do what he can to prevent future harms—including those that might be committed by associates of his patients. As Margot Verger notes, if she were to tell him that she was planning a murder, Dr. Lecter would be ethically bound to inform the police. Dr. Lecter is protected, secondly, because although he passes on information about Tobias to his associates in the FBI, he refrains from identifying Franklyn as the source of the information. This is an ethical tightrope to walk, but Dr. Lecter seems to stay on the right side of it. In fact, by the time he informs the FBI, Dr. Lecter has already met and dined with Tobias himself, and gotten a confession of their shared interests from him. Going and meeting with Tobias is about the most questionable act Dr. Lecter committed in this series of events—at least until he killed Franklyn.

  The point is simply that the psychiatrist’s authority to make decisions on behalf of her patients is essentially an extension of the non-professional’s duty to prevent anyone from harming others or themselves. The added authority of the psychiatrist is based on her expertise and the trust that has been placed in her by other professionals, by the client, and by society more generally.

  Am I Your Psychiatrist?

  The story of Hannibal is the story of a friendship, of sorts. The relationship between Will Graham and Dr. Lecter has passed through roughly four stages. In the first stage, they were simply trying to get a feel for one another, attempting to establish in their own minds who the other person was and what relationship they had with each other. This early stage is bound solely by those ethical rules which govern all of our interactions with strangers. In the second stage, Will acts as Dr. Lecter’s patient and believes himself to be such, more or less, while Dr. Lecter views Will more as a friend or potential friend. Here we have moved past the ethics of strangers, but have yet to establish what will take its place. Because Will is not an official patient, Dr. Lecter is not bound by professional ethics regarding him. At the same time, they have yet to establish anything like a real friendship, so their obligations to one another are not bound by that sort of code. If anything, their code consists of the explicit promises asked for by one and given by the other—such as Dr. Lecter’s promise that anything he published based on his interactions with Will would be published posthumously. In the third stage, Will officially becomes Dr. Lecter’s patient. Now their interactions are ruled explicitly by the psychiatric code of ethics. That stage is brief, however. It soon evolves into (something like) a friendship. Each of these shifts between stages is defined by a shift in the relative power of the two men—first, establishing that Dr. Lecter is the more powerful of the two, to Will subverting that stance by actually becoming Dr. Lecter’s patient (thus binding him to the psychiatric ethic), to what ultimately becomes a relationship between equals on the same path—though with the acknowledgment that Dr. Lecter is further down the path than Will.

  Although it has many of the trappings of friendship, their relationship never quite manages to be one, largely because the two men never actually trust one another. Each display of something like trust is a further manipulation, a baiting of the hook, intended to lure one of them where the other wants him to go. The closest they come, and can probably ever come, to friendship is their doctor-patient relationship.

  6

  The Psychiatrist as Sociopathic God

  DERRICK L. HASSERT

  HANNIBAL LECTER, M.D. After so many years, we continue to seek out the good doctor. In the persona of Dr. Hannibal Lecter there is much to admire and much that attracts: gourmet, skilled artist, cultural connoisseur, learned psychiatrist. And prolific serial killer, of course. Perhaps that last characteristic strikes you as the least admirable . . . perhaps not (I’m not here to judge). In his various incarnations, Dr. Lecter also enjoys chatting with his “protégés”—or victims, depending on mood, circumstance, or perspective—about the Big Questions concerning the nature of God, the nature of humanity, and the nature of evil. When probing Clarice Starling’s understanding of the essence of her criminal prey in Jonathan Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs, Dr. Lecter suggests a specific perspective on how to address such topics: “Of each particular thing ask: What is it in itself? What is its nature? What does he do, this man you seek?”

  According to Lecter and the philosophy that serves as the foundation for his question, intrinsic nature is revealed through outward action. Going back as far as Aristotle, it has been argued that we know who or what someone is by their capacities: watch what they do over time and we’ll see their nature open up before us. Watching Clarice Starling, we come to know her honesty and her devotion to principle as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. When considering Hannibal Lecter, we could ponder Starling’s pointed question to the doctor: “Are you strong enough to point that high-powered perception at yourself? What about it? Why don’t you . . . look at yourself and write down what you see?” (Demme, Silence). Using the lens that the psychiatrist himself recommends, perhaps we can gain a better understanding of the nature of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

  Typhoid and Swans

  In the novel Red Dragon, Dr. Lecter writes to Will Graham concerning Graham’s taking of a criminal’s life and the emotional turmoil resulting from that deed, noting that “it wasn’t the act that got you down, was it? Really, didn’t you feel so bad because killing him felt so good? Think about it, but don’t worry about it. Why shouldn’t it feel good? It must feel good to God—He does it all the time, and are we not made in His image?” (Harris, Dragon, p. 259). The novel Hannibal provides a broader context for Dr. Lecter’s theological speculations, specifically the cannibalistic murder of his beloved sister Mischa by Nazi collaborators. Our moral compass quickly points to “Evil” when thinking about such an act. But why? According to Augustine of Hippo, evil is simply the destruction, corruption, or removal of a preexisting good. Based on this understanding, the wanton murder of a child is arguably the epitome of an evil act: what makes the death of a child so disturbing to the human mind is the destruction of all the potential and possibility inherent in that life, the countless futures brought to a conclusive and premature end, like a thousand deaths occurring all at once. Lecter prayed fervently that he would see his little sister again, but the only answer to his request was seeing his sister’s baby teeth in the pit of a latrine. “Since this partial answer to his prayer, Hannibal Lecter had not been bothered by any considerations of deity, other than to recognize how his own predations paled beside those of God, who is in irony matchless, and in wanton malice beyond measure” (Harris, Hannibal, p. 256).

  Since God arguably could have stopped this evil but did not, Lecter considers Him complicit in the act. Lecter deduces his understanding of God’s character by witnessing what he understands to be His works. How Dr. Lecter views God is also reflected in his relationships with others; how he relates to others tells us a bit more about his character. Lecter sees God as a Being who allows capricious and unmerited suffering, most importantly, the death of an innocent child at the hands of those who embodied evil. Young Hannibal’s initial acts of cannibalism were focused on consuming those deemed unworthy of the lives given them, rooted in vengeance and aimed quite clearly at those guilty of a heinous crime. Thereafter, by extension and whenever possible, Lecter preferred to “eat the rude . . . ‘Free-range rude’ ” (Harris, Hannibal, p. 87). In his television embodiment, Dr. Lecter keeps a rolodex of the names of those who’ve slighted him next to his recipe box. In the film Red Dragon, he serves a subpar flutist to the symphony board. And there is the infamous demise of the diligent census taker, of course. Clarice observes that Lecter may see himself as doing a societal service by removing such
objectionable elements from the midst of humanity. Where God failed in rooting out the weeds, Hannibal would not.

  However, the “eat the rude” principle doesn’t prevent Lecter from murdering those that happen to impede his freedom or tourists and curators whose identities he may find useful. Lecter may view these actions not as murder, but as necessitated killing, actions indispensable to his survival. Lecter places his own impulses and concerns above the rights and freedom of others, just as God placed His own inscrutable desires above the life of Lecter’s sister. Lecter’s actions can be viewed as imitations of his own nuanced concept of God, a Being possessing the properties of both good and evil. Unlike the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, Hannibal Lecter doesn’t pronounce God dead—just incorrectly conceptualized. For those that Lecter views as having a potentially discerning nature such as his own or having traits he admires, he provides guidance and counsel. For those who stand in his way or transgress his tenets, he provides ruthless dispatch. Lecter seeks to emulate God as he understands Him. As Lecter remarks to Starling in the novel The Silence of the Lambs, “Typhoid and swans—it all comes from the same place” (Harris, Silence, p. 19). Lecter is both angry at God for allowing evil and yet seemingly eager to emulate His work, much like the traditional characterization of Lucifer. As we all know, this literary Lucifer of ours becomes a psychiatrist. Now imagine your mental health in the hands of a psychiatrist with a God-complex, where God’s perceived character is not centered on forgiveness, benevolence, or love, but instead embraces good (and perhaps the beautiful over the good), evil, and capricious whim.

  You Know What You Look Like to Me . . . ?

  Like other branches of medicine, psychiatry is directive. A diagnosis is made and a treatment is prescribed with the goal of restoring psychological health. For those unsuitable for psychotherapy (such as people suffering from psychosis), various medications are often employed in order to restore the functioning of the rational mind. However, it has been argued that psychotherapy has the ethical advantage over drugs because the process respects and attempts to increase the independence of the patient. Nevertheless, even psychotherapy when improperly applied can result in psychological harm. Like other physicians, psychiatrists generally follow the old adage of primum non nocere: First, do no harm. As we’ve seen through his professional practice, Hannibal Lecter, M.D., may have a unique interpretation of that classic admonition and may view “psychological health” a bit differently than most of his colleagues.

  In surprisingly brief interactions, Dr. Lecter sizes up an individual and determines the essence of what is before him. What can be observed speaks to nature, nature speaks to inherent potential, and potential informs what can ultimately be achieved in the progress of a patient. From this perspective, Lecter—like most psychotherapists—decides upon a telos or goal to which the therapy should point given the potential of the patient. When we look at an acorn and consider planting it in the ground we know we won’t be getting pumpkins, because it isn’t in the nature of the acorn to have the potential to make pumpkins. Likewise, regardless of how it’s treated, a kitten will never grow up to be a Great Dane. Through his transitory yet careful observations, Hannibal Lecter can tell whether he’s dealing with a common insect or with a caterpillar possessing the potential for becoming a butterfly (or a Death’s-head moth). From a few pieces of behavioral evidence Lecter can deduce Clarice Starling’s history and her character. Depending on the nature of the individual, Lecter’s interventions can take rather unique paths based on what he sees as the possible ends. In the television series, Dr. Lecter has a pattern of encouraging patients with unstable minds to engage in homicidal behavior, seemingly as long as the murders are creative and aesthetically pleasing. Rather than navigating patients away from these endeavors, Lecter sees such behaviors as an unfolding or evolution of their natures and a realization of the inherent potential he sees within them. With some individuals even more radical therapeutic approaches are deemed necessary.

  Show Me How You Smile . . .

  Mason Verger is an exceptionally despicable character—even when compared with the exploits of a cannibalistic psychiatrist—a pedophile who uses the tears of children to flavor his beverages. When Dr. Lecter visits Mason’s home as his court-ordered therapist, Mr. Verger seeks to entangle his psychiatrist in unprofessional behavior with the hopes of blackmail. While Mason shows Lecter the techniques of autoerotic asphyxiation and implements of torture, Lecter shares some apparently agreeable pharmaceuticals with his patient. While in a highly suggestible state, Verger is handed a shard of broken mirror and Dr. Lecter’s prescription is that Mason peel off his face.

  Why the disfigurement? The film Hannibal provides some clarifying dialogue: “Show me how you smile,” he instructs Verger, “to gain the confidence of a child.” From a very early age, children know that changing the outside of a living thing does not alter its nature: put a convincing cat suit on a dog and children know it still remains a dog. Slowly alter the outside of an imaginary creature and children know it remains the same in essence as it was before the alterations. However, children—and the rest of us—make initial classifications and judgments about character or nature based on physical first impressions. If I were to put on a police officer’s uniform people would naturally deduce that I was a police officer—until someone asked me to do the job that goes with the uniform. A picture of the small canine in the convincing cat suit would probably be enough to lead people to believe they were looking at a cat. We are habitually drawn in by appearances and frequently learn too late that people and situations are not what they first seem. Lecter understands these facts about human psychology: sticking around to see Mason Verger’s nature revealed through action would not be pleasant.

  Per Lecter’s request, Mason smiles for the doctor. “Ah, I see how you do it,” Hannibal comments, and then recommends Mason peel off his face. As the patient is removing his own flesh, Lecter notes that the smile is still evident and advises Mason to “try again.” More flesh is removed. “No, I’m afraid not” (Scott, Hannibal). Still more is sliced away. Once Mason’s disfigurement is complete, Lecter breaks Mason’s neck with the asphyxiation noose, leaving him paralyzed. With these actions, Lecter takes from Mason both his ability to draw children close through smiles and deception as well as his ability to physically dominate his victims. Dr. Lecter doesn’t attempt to alter Mason’s character through therapy. Instead, Lecter helps to create an appearance that matches essence, making it easier for children to discern the monster in their midst. In a tale such as The Hunchback of Notre Dame, assuming Quasimodo to be a monster because of his superficial form is an element of tragedy, whereas in this instance it is—from Dr. Lecter’s perspective—the most appropriate and ironic form of therapy.

  I’m Your Psychiatrist . . . I Am a Source of Stability and Clarity, Franklyn. I’m Not Your Friend.

  Suffering from the general “neurotic” symptoms of anxiety and depression and apparently not possessing a mind that could be molded to murder, the television patient Franklyn Froideveaux appears rather average (Hannibal, Season 1, “Sorbet”). The name Franklyn Froideveaux pays homage to the Benjamin Raspail character from The Silence of the Lambs, a combination of Benjamin Franklin and Froideveaux, a street parallel to Raspail in Paris. Given their similar fates, Lecter’s film epitaph for Raspail might be appropriate here as well: “Best thing for him actually, his therapy was going nowhere” (Demme, Silence).

  As his treatment with Dr. Lecter progresses, Franklyn appears happier, improved from the despondent individual initially encountered. He also appears to be copying what he knows of the lifestyle and interests of his psychiatrist, popping up at the opera when the doctor is in attendance, professing a love for fine cheeses during session, and wearing outfits that could have been pulled from Hannibal’s closet. By asserting that they share many of the same interests, Franklyn hopes to raise his standing with Lecter in expectation that his psychiatrist will also become his friend. In his l
onging for friendship, Franklyn is no different from the majority of the human race. Without friends, Aristotle notes, no one would want to live. Indeed, Franklyn is not unlike Hannibal, who also longs for such closeness and understanding. While Dr. Lecter may seem transcendent and godlike in so many respects, Hannibal cannot find complete satisfaction in solitude. (Perhaps we should keep in mind that in Christian theology even God the Father has the eternal company of the Son and the Holy Ghost.) By nature, humans are both rational and social animals, with an instinctual desire for intellectual and emotional relatedness. We desire not just physical proximity to another, but mental nearness as well. For Aristotle, the highest form of friendship, a perfect or ideal friendship, flows from two individuals finding the same things—the same character—in one another.1 While Franklyn wants Dr. Lecter to see him as an equal, it is perhaps too clear to Hannibal that Franklyn’s imitation is superficial flattery.

  Given that Franklyn desperately wants an intimacy for which Hannibal has no desire, the doctor decides to terminate Franklyn (as a patient—although circumstances later require Lecter to terminate him literally) and refer him to another therapist. As we know from the television series, Dr. Lecter is already quite busy therapeutically “helping” Will Graham blossom into something more like himself, viewing Will as his potential partner in a true kinship of equals. Here we see reflections of the relationship between Clarice and Lecter in the last act of the novel Hannibal. However, in his relationship with Will Graham, Dr. Lecter’s behavior indicates that he doesn’t necessarily believe Graham to be his equal at the onset: Hannibal is not content to accept Will as he is. Instead, Lecter must first embark on a systematic psychological and pharmacological program to transform Will, raising him to Hannibal’s level. Dr. Lecter’s unorthodox therapy includes framing Will for his own crimes and attempting to convince Will that murder is within his nature, as it is in Hannibal’s. If Will truly embraced this belief, perhaps Lecter could reveal his true character to Will. Perhaps then Graham would indeed be Lecter’s equal, with perfect friendship a possibility.