The Schopenhauer Cure

  during a meeting which began with Rebecca and Bonnie both

  telling Pam that she had changed--for the worse--since Philip had entered the group. All the sweet, loving, generous parts of her had disappeared from sight, and, though her anger was not as vicious as in her first confrontation with him, still, Bonnie said, it was always present and had frozen into something hard and relentless.

  "I've seen Philip change a great deal in the past few

  months," said Rebecca, "but you're so stuck--just like you were with John and Earl. Do you want to hold on to your rage forever?"

  Others pointed out that Philip had been polite, that he had

  responded fully to every one of Pam's inquiries, even to those laced with sarcasm.

  "Be polite," said Pam, "then you will be able to manipulate

  others. Just like you can work wax only after you have warmed it."

  "What?" asked Stuart. Others members looked quizzical.

  "I'm just quoting Philip's mentor. That's one of

  Schopenhauer's choice tidbits of advice--and that's what I think of Philip's politeness. I never mentioned it here, but when I first considered grad school I considered working on Schopenhauer.

  But after several weeks of studying his work and his life, I grew to despise the man so much I dropped the idea."

  "So, you identify Philip with Schopenhauer?" said Bonnie.

  "Identify? Philip is Schopenhauer--twin-brained, the living embodiment of that wretched man. I could tell you things about his philosophy and life that would curdle your blood. And, yes, I do believe Philip manipulates instead of relating--and I'll tell you this: it gives me the shivers to think of him indoctrinating others with Schopenhauer's life-hating doctrine."

  "Will you ever see Philip as he is now?" said Stuart. "He's

  not the same person you knew fifteen years ago. That incident

  between you distorts everything; you can't get past it, and you can't forgive him."

  "That 'incident'? You make it sound like a hangnail. It's

  more than an incident. As for forgiving, don't you think some

  things exist that are not forgivable?"

  "Because you are unforgiving does not mean that things are

  unforgivable," said Philip in a voice uncharacteristically charged with emotion. "Many years ago you and I made a short-term social contract. We offered each other sexual excitement and release. I fulfilled my part of it. I made sure you were sexually gratified, and I did not feel I had further obligation. The truth is that I got something and you got something. I had sexual pleasure and

  release, and so did you. I owe you nothing. I explicitly stated in our conversation following that event that I had a pleasurable evening but did not wish to continue our relationship. How could I have been clearer?"

  "I'm not talking about clarity," Pam shot back, "I'm talking

  about charity--love, caritas, concern for others."

  "You insist that I share your worldview, that I experience

  life the same way as you."

  "I only wish you had shared the pain, suffered as I did."

  "In that case I have good news for you. You will be pleased

  to know that after that incident your friend Molly wrote a letter condemning me to every member of my department as well as to

  the university president, provost, and the faculty senate. Despite my receiving a doctorate with distinction and despite my excellent student evaluations, which incidentally included one from you, not one member of the faculty was willing to write me a letter of

  support or assist me in any way to find a position. Hence I was never able to get a decent teaching position and for the past years have struggled as a vagabond lecturer at a series of unworthy third-rate schools."

  Stuart, working hard on developing his empathic sense,

  responded, "So you must feel you've served your time and that

  society exacted a heavy price."

  Philip, surprised, raised his eyes to look at Stuart. He

  nodded. "Not as heavy as the one I exacted from myself."

  Philip, exhausted, slumped back in his chair. After a few

  moments, eyes turned to Pam, who, unappeased, addressed the

  whole group: "Don't you get that I'm not talking about a single past criminal act. I'm talking about an ongoing way of being in the world. Weren't you all chilled just now when Philip described his behavior in our act of love as his 'obligations to our social

  contract'? And what about his comments that, despite three years with Julius, he felt understood for the 'first time' only when he read Schopenhauer. You all know Julius. Can you believe that after three years Julius did not understand him?"

  The group remained silent. After several moments Pam

  turned to Philip. "You want to know the reason you felt understood by Schopenhauer and not Julius? I'll tell you why: because

  Schopenhauer is dead, dead over one hundred and forty years, and Julius is alive. And you don't know how to relate to the living."

  Philip did not look as though he would respond, and

  Rebecca rushed in, "Pam, you're being vicious. What will it take to appease you?"

  "Philip's not evil, Pam," said Bonnie, "he's broken. Can't

  you see that? Don't you know the difference?"

  Pam shook her head and said, "I can't go any farther today."

  After a palpably uncomfortable silence Tony, who had been

  uncharacteristically quiet, intervened. "Philip, I'm not pulling a rescue here, but I've been wondering something. Have you had any follow-up feelings to Julius's telling us a few months ago about his sexual stuff after his wife died?"

  Philip seemed grateful for the diversion. "What

  feelings should I have?"

  "I don't know about the ' should. ' I'm just asking what you did feel. Here's what I'm wondering: when you were first seeing him in therapy, would you have felt Julius understood you more if he revealed that he too had personal experience with sexual pressure?"

  Philip nodded. "That's an interesting question. The answer

  is, maybe, yes. It might have helped. I have no proof, but

  Schopenhauer's writings suggest that he had sexual feelings

  similar to mine in intensity and relentlessness. I believe that's why I felt so understood by him.

  "But there's something I've omitted in talking about my

  work with Julius, and I want to set the record straight. When I told him that his therapy had failed to be of value to me in any way, he confronted me with the same question raised in the group a little while ago: why would I want such an unhelpful therapist for a

  supervisor? His question helped me recall a couple of things from our therapy that stuck with me and had, in fact, proved useful."

  "Like what?" asked Tony.

  "When I described my typical routinized evening of sexual

  seduction--flirtation, pickup, dinner, sexual consummation--and asked him whether he was shocked or disgusted, he responded

  only that it seemed like an exceptionally boring evening. That response shocked me. It got me realizing how much I had

  arbitrarily infused my repetitive patterns with excitement."

  "And the other thing that stuck with you?" asked Tony.

  "Julius once asked what epitaph I might request for my

  tombstone. When I didn't come up with anything, he offered a

  suggestion: 'He fucked a lot.' And then he added that the same epitaph could serve for my dog as well."

  Some members whistled or smiled. Bonnie said, "That's

  mean, Julius."

  "No," Philip said, "it wasn't said in a mean way--he meant

  to shock me, to wake me up. And it did stick with me, and I think it played a role in my decision to change my life. But I guess I

  wanted to forget these incidents. Obviously, I don't like

  acknowledging that he's been helpful."

  "Do you know why?" asked Tony. br />
  "I've been thinking about it. Perhaps I feel competitive. If he wins, I lose. Perhaps I don't want to acknowledge that his

  approach to counseling, so different from mine, works. Perhaps I don't want to get too close to him. Perhaps she," Philip nodded toward Pam, "is right: I can't relate to a living person."

  "At least not easily," said Julius. "But you're getting closer."

  And so the group continued over the next several weeks: perfect attendance, hard productive work, and, aside from repeated

  anxious inquiries into Julius's health and the ongoing tension between Pam and Philip, the group felt trusting, intimate,

  optimistic, even serene. No one was prepared for the bombshell about to hit the group.

  35

  S

  e

  l

  f

  -

  T

  h

  e

  r

  a

  p

  y

  _________________________

  Whena man like

  me

  is

  born

  there

  remains

  only one thing

  to be desired

  from

  without--

  that throughout

  the

  whole

  of

  his life he can

  as

  much

  as

  possible

  be

  himself

  and

  live

  for

  his

  intellectual

  powers.

  _________________________

  More than anything else, the autobiographical "About Me" is a

  dazzling compendium of self-therapy strategies that helped

  Schopenhauer stay afloat psychologically. Though some strategies, devised in anxiety storms at 3A.M. and rapidly discarded at dawn, were fleeting and ineffective, others proved to be enduring

  bulwarks of support. Of these, the most potent was his unswerving lifelong belief in his genius.

  Even in my youth I noticed in myself that, whereas others

  strived for external possessions, I did not have to turn to such things because I carried within me a treasure infinitely more

  valuable than all external possessions; and the main thing was to enhance the treasure for which mental development and

  complete independence are the primary conditions.... Contrary

  to nature and the rights of man, I had to withdraw my powers

  from the advancement of my own well-being, in order to

  devote them to the service of mankind. My intellect belonged

  not to me but to the world.

  The burden of his genius, he said, made him more anxious

  and uneasy than he already was by virtue of his genetic makeup.

  For one thing, the sensibility of geniuses causes them to suffer more pain and anxiety. In fact, Schopenhauer persuades himself, there is a direct relationship between anxiety and intelligence.

  Hence, not only do geniuses have an obligation to use their gift for mankind, but, because they are meant to devote themselves

  entirely to the fulfilling of their mission, they were compelled to forego the many satisfactions (family, friends, home, accumulation of wealth) available to other humans.

  Again and again he calmed himself by reciting mantras

  based on the fact of his genius: "My life is heroic and not to be measured by the standards of Philistines, shopkeepers or ordinary men.... I must therefore not be depressed when I consider how I lack those things that are part of an individual's regular course of life.... therefore it cannot surprise me if my personal life seems incoherent and without any plan." Schopenhauer's belief in his genius served also to provide him with a perduring sense of life meaning: throughout his life he regarded himself as a missionary of truth to the human race.

  Loneliness was the demon that most plagued Schopenhauer,

  and he grew adept at constructing defenses against it. Of these, the most valuable was the conviction that he was master of his

  destiny--that he chose loneliness; loneliness did not choose him.

  When he was younger, he stated, he was inclined to be sociable, but thereafter: "I gradually acquired an eye for loneliness, became systematically unsociable and made up my mind to devote entirely to myself the rest of this fleeting life." "I am not," he reminded himself repeatedly, "in my native place and not among beings who are my equal."

  So the defenses against isolation were powerful and deep: he

  voluntarily chose isolation, other beings were unworthy of his company, his genius-based mission in life mandated isolation, the life of geniuses must be a "monodrama," and the personal life of a genius must serve one purpose: facilitating the intellectual life (hence, "the smaller the personal life, the safer, and thus the better").

  At times Schopenhauer groaned under the burden of his

  isolation. "Throughout my life I have felt terribly lonely and have always sighed from the depths of my heart, 'now give me a human being' but, alas in vain. I have remained in solitude but I can honestly and sincerely say it has not been my fault, for I have not shunned or turned away anyone who was a human being."

  Besides, he said, he was not really alone because--and here

  is another potent self-therapy strategy--he had his own circle of close friends: the great thinkers of the world.

  Only one such being was a contemporary, Goethe; most of

  the others were from antiquity, especially the Stoics, whom he quoted frequently. Almost every page of "About Me" contains

  some aphorism spawned by a great mind supporting his own

  convictions. Typical examples:

  The best aid for the mind is that which once for all breaks the tormenting bonds that ensnare the heart.--Ovid

  Whoever seeks peace and quiet should avoid women, the

  permanent source of trouble and dispute.--Petrarch

  It is impossible for anyone not to be perfectly happy who

  depends entirely upon himself and who possesses in himself all that he calls his.--Cicero

  A technique used by some leaders of therapy or personal

  growth groups is the "who am I?" exercise; members write seven answers to the question "who am I?" each on a different card, and then arrange the cards in order of importance. Next they are asked to turn over one card at a time, beginning with the most peripheral answer and to meditate upon what it would be like to let go of (that is, disidentify with) each answer until they get to the attributes of their core self.

  In an analogous manner, Schopenhauer tried on and

  discarded various self attributes until he arrived at what he

  considered his core self.

  When, at times, I felt unhappy it was because I took myself to be other than I was and then deplored that other person's

  misery and distress. For example, I took myself to be a lecturer who does not become a professor and has no one to hear his

  lectures; or to be one about whom this Philistine speaks ill or that scandal monger gossips; or to be the lover who is not

  listened to by the girl with whom he is infatuated; or to be the patient who is kept home by illness; or to be other persons

  afflicted with similar miseries. I have not been any of these; all this is the stuff from which the coat has been made which I

  wore for a short time and which I then discarded in exchange

  for another.

  But, then, who am I? I am the man who has written The World as Will and Representation which has given a solution to the great problem of existence which perhaps will render

  obsolete all previous solutions.... I am that man, and what

  could disturb him in the few years in which he has still to draw breath.

  A related soothing strategy was his conviction that sooner or

  later, p
robably after his death, his work would become known and would drastically alter the course of philosophic inquiry. He first began expressing this opinion early in life, and his belief in ultimate success never wavered. In this he was similar to both Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, two other independent and

  unappreciated thinkers who were entirely (and correctly)

  convinced that they would have posthumous fame.

  He eschewed any supernatural consolations, embracing only

  those based on a naturalistic worldview. For example, he believed that pain ensues from the error of assuming that many of life's exigencies are accidental and, hence, avoidable. Far better to realize the truth: that pain and suffering are inevitable, inescapable, and essential to life--"that nothing but the mere form in which it manifests itself depends on chance, and that our present suffering fills a place...which, without it, would be occupied by some other suffering. If such a reflection were to become a living conviction, it might produce a considerable degree of stoical equanimity."

  He urged us to live and experience life now rather than live for the "hope" of some future good. Two generations later

  Nietzsche would take up this call. He considered hope our greatest scourge and pilloried Plato, Socrates, and Christianity for focusing our attention away from the only life that we have and toward

  some future illusory world.

  36

  _________________________

  Whereare there

  any

  real

  monogamists? We

  all live for a

  time and, most

  of us, always,

  in

  polygamy.

  And since every

  man needs many

  women, there is

  nothing fairer

  than to make it

  incumbent upon

  him to provide

  for many women.

  This

  will

  reduce woman to

  her

  true

  and

  natural

  position as a

  subordinate

  being.

  _________________________

  Pam opened the next meeting. "I've got something to announce

  today."

  All heads turned toward her.