like to rise again, they would shake their heads." He cites

  similar utterances by Plato, Socrates, and Voltaire.

  In addition to his rational arguments, Schopenhauer

  proffers one that borders on mysticism. He flirts with (but

  does not marry) a form of immortality. In his view, our

  inner nature is indestructible because we are but a

  manifestation of the life force, the will, the thing-in-itself which persists eternally. Hence, death is not true

  annihilation; when our insignificant life is over, we shall

  rejoin the primal life force that lies outside of time.

  The idea of rejoining the life force after death

  apparently offered relief to Schopenhauer and to many of

  his readers (for example, Thomas Mann and his fictional

  protagonist Thomas Buddenbrooks), but because it does not

  include a continued personal self, strikes many as offering

  only chilly comfort. (Even the comfort experienced by

  Thomas Buddenbrooks is short-lived and evaporates a few

  pages later.) A dialogue that Schopenhauer composed

  between two Hellenic philosophers raises the question of

  just how much comfort Schopenhauer drew from these

  beliefs. In this conversation, Philalethes attempts to

  persuade Thrasymachos (a thoroughgoing skeptic) that

  death holds no terror because of the individual's

  indestructible essence. Each philosopher argues so lucidly

  and so powerfully that the reader cannot be sure where the

  author's sentiments lay. At the end the skeptic,

  Thrasymachos, is unconvinced and is given the final words.

  Philalethes: "When you say I, I, I want to exist, it is not

  you alone that says this. Everything says it, absolutely

  everything that has the faintest trace of consciousness.

  It is the cry not of the individual but of existence

  itself.... only thoroughly recognize what you are and

  what your existence really is, namely, the universal will

  to live, and the whole question will seem to you

  childish and most ridiculous."

  Thrasymachos: You're childish yourself and most

  ridiculous, like all philosophers, and if a man of my age

  lets himself in for a quarter hour's talk with such fools

  it is only because it amuses me and passes the time. I've

  more important business to attend to, so goodbye.

  Schopenhauer had one further method of keeping

  death-anxiety at bay: death-anxiety is least where self-realization is most. If his position based on universal

  oneness appears anemic to some, there is little doubt about

  the robustness of this last defense. Clinicians who work

  with dying patients have made the observation that death-anxiety is greater in those who feel they have lived an

  unfulfilled life. A sense of fulfillment, at "consummating

  one's life," as Nietzsche put it, diminishes death-anxiety.

  And Schopenhauer? Did he live rightly and

  meaningfully? Fulfill his mission? He had absolutely no

  doubt about that. Consider his final entry in his

  autobiographical notes.

  I have always hoped to die easily, for whoever has been

  lonely all his life will be a better judge than others of

  this solitary business. Instead of going out amid the

  tomfooleries and buffooneries that are calculated for the

  pitiable capacities of human bipeds, I shall end happily

  conscious of returning to the place whence I

  started...and of having fulfilled my mission.

  And the same sentiment--the pride of having

  pursued his own creative path--appears in a short verse, his

  authorial finale, the very last lines of his final book.

  I now stand weary at the end of the road

  The jaded brow can hardly bear the laurel

  And yet I gladly see what I have done

  Ever undaunted by what others say.

  When his last book, Parerga and Paralipomena, was

  published, he said, "I am deeply glad to see the birth of my

  last child. I feel as if a load that I have borne since my

  twenty-fourth year has been lifted from my shoulders. No

  one can imagine what that means."

  On the morning of the twenty-first of September

  1860 Schopenhauer's housekeeper prepared his breakfast,

  tidied up the kitchen, opened the windows, and left to run

  errands, leaving Schopenhauer, who had already had his

  cold wash, sitting and reading on the sofa in his living

  room, a large airy, simply furnished room. On the floor by

  the sofa lay a black bearskin rug upon which sat Atman, his

  beloved poodle. A large oil painting of Goethe hung

  directly over the sofa, and several portraits of dogs,

  Shakespeare, Claudius, and daguerreo-types of himself

  hung elsewhere in the room. On the writing desk stood a

  bust of Kant. In one corner a table held a bust of Christoph

  Wieland, the philosopher who had encouraged the young

  Schopenhauer to study philosophy, and in another corner

  stood his revered gold-plated statue of the Buddha.

  A short time later his physician, making regular

  rounds, entered the room and found him leaning on his

  back in the corner of the sofa. A "lung stroke" (pulmonary

  embolus) had taken him painlessly out of this world. His

  face was not disfigured and showed no evidence of the

  throes of death.

  His funeral on a rainy day was more disagreeable

  than most due to the odor of rotting flesh in the small

  closed mortuary. Ten years earlier Schopenhauer had left

  explicit instructions that his body not be buried directly but left in the mortuary for at least five days until decay

  began--perhaps a final gesture of misanthropy or because

  of a fear of suspended animation. Soon the mortuary was so

  close and the air so foul that several of the assembled

  people had to leave the room during a long pompous

  obituary by his executor, Wilhelm Gwinner, who began

  with the words:

  This man who lived among us a lifetime, and who

  nevertheless stayed a stranger amongst us, commands

  rare feelings. Nobody is standing here who belongs to

  him through the bond of blood; isolated as he lived, he

  died.

  Schopenhauer's tomb was covered with a heavy

  plate of Belgian granite. His will had requested that only

  his name, Arthur Schopenhauer, appear on his tombstone--

  "nothing more, no date, no year, no syllable."

  The man lying under this modest tombstone wanted

  his work to speak for him.

  42

  Three Years Later

  _________________________

  Mankindhas

  learned a

  few things

  from me

  which it

  will never

  forget.

  _________________________

  The late-afternoon sun streamed through the large open

  sliding windows of the Cafe Florio. Arias from The Barber

  of Seville flowed from the antique jukebox accompanied by the hissing of an expresso machine steaming milk for

  cappuccinos.

  Pam, Philip, and Tony sat at the same window table

  they had been using for their weekly coffee meeting since

  Julius's death. Others in the group had joined them for the
/>
  first year, but for the past two years only the three of them

  had met. Philip halted their conversation to listen to an aria and hum along with it. "'Una voce poco fa,' one of my

  favorites," he said, when they resumed their conversation.

  Tony showed them his diploma from his community

  college program. Philip announced he was now playing

  chess two evenings a week at the San Francisco Chess

  Club--the first time he had played opponents face-to-face

  since his father's death. Pam spoke of her mellow

  relationship with her new man, a Milton scholar, and also

  of her Sunday attendances at the Buddhist services at Green

  Gulch in Marin.

  She glanced at her watch. "And now, it's showtime

  for you guys." She looked them over. "Handsome dudes,

  you two. You both look great, but, Philip, that jacket," she

  shook her head, "it has got to go--uncool--corduroy is

  dead, twenty years passe, those elbow patches too. Next

  week we go shopping." She looked at their faces. "You're

  going to do great. If you get nervous, Philip, remember the

  chairs. Remember Julius loved you both. And I do, too."

  She planted a kiss on each of their foreheads, left a twenty—

  dollar bill on the table, saying, "Special day, my treat," and walked out.

  An hour later seven members filed into Philip's

  office for their first group meeting and warily sat down in

  Julius's chairs. Philip had wept twice as an adult: once

  during that last meeting of Julius's therapy group and again

  upon learning that Julius had bequeathed him these nine

  chairs.

  "So," Philip began, "welcome to our group. We've

  tried to orient you to the group procedures during our

  screening session with each of you. Now it's time to

  begin."

  "That's it. Just like that? No further instructions?"

  said Jason, a short, wiry middle-aged man wearing a tight

  black Nike T-shirt.

  "I remember how scared I was in my first group

  therapy session," said Tony, who leaned forward in his

  seat. He was neatly dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt,

  khaki trousers, and brown loafers.

  "I didn't say anything about being scared," replied

  Jason. "I'm referring to the lack of guidance."

  "Well, what would help get you started?" asked

  Tony.

  "Info. That's what makes the world go round now.

  This is supposed to be a philosophical consultation group--

  are both of you philosophers?"

  "I'm a philosopher," said Philip, "with a doctorate

  from Columbia, and Tony, my coleader, is a counseling

  student."

  "A student? I don't get it. How will you two operate

  here?" shot back Jason.

  "Well," answered Tony, "Philip will bring in helpful

  ideas from his knowledge of philosophy, and me, well, I'm

  here to learn and to pitch in any way I can--I'm more of an

  expert in emotional accessibility. Right, partner?"

  Philip nodded.

  "Emotional accessibility? Am I supposed to know

  what that means?" asked Jason.

  "Jason," interrupted another member, "my name is

  Marsha, and I want to point out that this is about the fifth

  challenging thing you've said in the first five minutes of

  our group."

  "And?"

  "And you're the kind of macho-exhibitionistic guy I

  have a lot of trouble with."

  "And you're the kind of Miss Prissy who gives me a

  major pain in the ass."

  "Wait, wait, let's freeze the action for a moment,"

  said Tony, "and get some feedback on our first five minutes

  from the other members here. First, I want to say something

  to you, Jason, and to you, Marsha--something that Philip

  and I learned from Julius, our teacher. Now, I'm sure you

  two feel like this is a stormy beginning but I've got a

  hunch, a very strong hunch, that by the end of this group,

  each of you are going to prove very valuable to the other.

  Right, Philip?"

  "Right you are, partner."

  Notes

  "Every breath we draw wards...": Arthur

  Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation, trans.

  E. F. J. Payne, 2 vols. (New York: Dover Publications,

  1969), vol. 1., p. 311 / SS 57

  "Ecstasy in the act of copulation...": Arthur

  Schopenhauer, Manuscript Remains in Four Volumes, ed.

  Arthur Hubscher, trans. E. F. J. Payne (Oxford: Berg

  Publishers, 1988-90), vol. 3. p. 262 / SS 111

  "Life is a miserable thing...": Eduard Grisebach,

  ed., Schopenhauer's Gesprache und Selbstgesprache

  (Berlin: E. Hofmann, 1898), p. 3

  "Talent is like a marksman...": Schopenhauer, World as

  Will, vol. 2, p. 391 / chap. 31, "On Genius."

  "No one helped me,...": Rudiger Safranski, Schopenhauer

  and the Wild Years of Philosophy, trans. Ewald Osers

  (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991), p. 11.

  "A happy life is impossible...": Arthur

  Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, trans. E. F. J.

  Payne, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000), vol. 2, p.

  322 / SS 172a.

  "The solid foundations of our view...": Ibid., vol. 1, p. 478

  / chap. 6, "On the Different Periods of Life."

  "Splendor, rank, and title exercise...":

  Safranski, Schopenhauer, p. 14.

  "I no more pretended ardent love...": Ibid., p. 13

  "If we look at life in its small details...": T. Bailey

  Saunders, trans., Complete Essays of Schopenhauer: Seven

  Books in One Volume (New York: Wiley, 1942), book 5, p.

  24. See also Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena,

  vol. 2, p. 290 / SS 147a.

  "in the near and penetrating eye of death...": Thomas

  Mann, Buddenbrooks, trans. H. T. Lowe-Porter (New York: Vintage Books, 1952), p. 509

  "A master-mind could lay hold...": Ibid., p. 510

  "Have I hoped to live on...": Ibid., p. 513

  "so perfectly consistently clear...": Thomas Mann, Essays

  of Three Decades, trans. H. T. Lowe-Porter (New York:

  Alfred A. Knopf, 1947), p. 373

  "emotional, breathtaking, playing between violent

  contrasts...": Ibid., p. 373.

  "letting that dynamic, dismal genius work...": Ronald

  Hayman, Nietzsche: A Critical Life (New York: Penguin, 1982), p. 72

  "Religion has everything on its side...":

  Schopenhauer, World as Will, vol. 2, p. 166 / chap. 17, "On Man's Need for Metaphysics."

  "Could we foresee it...": Saunders, Complete Essays, book 5, p. 3. See also Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena,

  vol. 2, p. 298 / SS 155a.

  "In endless space countless luminous spheres...":

  Schopenhauer, World as Will, vol. 2, p. 3 / chap. 1, "On the Fundamental View of Idealism."

  "Just because the terrible activity...": Ibid., vol. 2, p. 394 /

  chap. 31, "On Genius."

  "by far the happiest part...": Safranski, Schopenhauer, p. 26

  "Remember how your father permits...": Ibid., p. 29

  "feeling of two friends meeting...": Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, vol. 2, p. 299 / SS 156

  "I found myself in a country unknown to me...":

  Safranski, Schopenhauer, p. 280

  "The greatest wisdom is to m
ake...":

  Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, vol. 2, p. 284 /

  SS 143.

  "The kings left their crowns and scepters behind...":

  Safranski, Shopenhauer, p. 44.

  "put aside all these authors for a while...": Ibid., p. 37

  "In my seventeenth year...": Ibid., p. 41

  "This world is supposed to have been made...": Ibid., 58

  "When, at the end of their lives...": Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, vol. 2, p. 285 / SS 145

  "A person of high, rare mental gifts...":

  Schopenhauer, World as Will, vol. 2, p. 388 / chap. 31, "On Genius."

  "Noble, excellent spirit to whom I owe everything...":

  Safranski, Shopenhauer, p. 278.

  "Dancing and riding do not make..." and other quotations

  from Heinrich's letters: Ibid., pp. 52-53

  "I know too well how little you had...": Ibid., p. 81

  "I continued to hold my position...": Ibid., p. 55

  "Your character...": Arthur Schopenhauer. Johanna

  Schopenhauer to Arthur Schopenhauer (April 28, 1807).

  In Der Briefwechsel Arthur Schopenhauer Hrsg. v. Carl

  Gebbart Drei Bande. Erste Band (1799) Munchen: R. Piper & Co. p.129ff. Trans. by Felix Reuter and Irvin Yalom.

  "I will always choose the most exciting option...": Der

  Briefwechsel Arthur Schopenhauers. Herausgegeben von

  Carl Gebhardt. Erster Band (1799-1849). Munich: R.

  Piper, 1929. Aus: Arthur Schopenhauer: Samtliche Werke.

  Herausgegeben von Dr. Paul Deussen. Vierzehnter Band.

  Erstes und zweites Tausend. Munich: R. Piper, 1929. pp.

  129ff. Nr.71. Correspondence, Gebhardt and Hubscher,

  eds. Letter from Johanna Schopenhauer, April 28, 1807,

  trans. by Felix Reuter and Irvin Yalom.

  "The serious and calm tone...": Ibid.,

  That you have so quickly come to a decision...":

  Safranski, Schopenhauer, p. 84

  "It is noteworthy and remarkable to see...":

  Schopenhauer, World as Will, vol. 1, p. 85 / SS 16.

  "Only the male intellect...": Schopenhauer, Parerga and

  Paralipomena, vol. 2, p. 619 / SS 369

  "Your eternal quibbles, your laments...":

  Safranski, Schopenhauer, pp. 92, 94.

  "I know women. They regard marriage only...": Arthur

  Schopenhauer: Gesprache. Hrsg. v. Arthur Hubscher,

  Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt 1971, p.152. Trans. by Felix Reuter

  and Irvin Yalom.

  "Mark now on what footing...": Safranski, p. 94

  "Fourfold root? No doubt this...": Ibid., p. 169

  "The door which you slammed so noisily...": Paul Deusen,