The Schopenhauer Cure(114)
“So,” Julius continued, “I want to go on record as saying that your feat is remarkable: the techniques by which you controlled your runaway drives worked—better than anything I offered, even though I gave it my best shot.”
“I’ve never thought otherwise,” said Philip.
“But, here’s a question, Philip, is there a possibility your methods are now superannuated?”
“Super…what?” asked Tony.
“Superannuated,” whispered Philip, who was sitting next to Tony—super (Latin for beyond) plus annus (years)—in other words, outmoded, obsolete.”
Tony nodded thanks.
“The other day,” Julius continued, “when I was wondering how to bring this home to you, an image came to mind. Imagine an ancient city that built a high wall to protect it from the wild torrents of an adjacent river. Centuries later, though the river had long dried up, the city still invested considerable resources in maintaining that wall.”
“You mean,” said Tony, “continuing to use some solution even when the problem had gone away—like wearing a bandage long after the cut had healed.”
“Precisely,” said Julius. “Maybe the bandage is a better metaphor—right to the point.”
“I don’t agree,” Philip addressed both Julius and Tony, “that my wound is healed or that containment is no longer necessary. For proof one need only look at my extreme discomfort levels in this group.”
“That’s not a good measure,” said Julius. “You’ve had little experience with intimacy, with expressing feelings directly, with getting feedback and disclosing yourself. This is new for you; you’ve been in seclusion for years, and I toss you into this high-powered group. Of course that’s going to feel uncomfortable. But what I’m really referring to is the overt problem, the sexual compulsion—and perhaps that’s gone. You’re older, been through a lot, maybe you’ve entered the land of gonadal tranquillity. Nice place, good sunny climate. I’ve dwelled there comfortably for many years.”
“I would say,” Tony added, “that Schopenhauer has cured you, but now you need to be saved from the Schopenhauer cure.”
Philip opened his mouth to respond but then closed it and pondered Tony’s statement.
“Another thing,” Julius added, “when you think about your stress in the group, don’t forget the heavy-duty pain and guilt you’ve faced here as a result of a chance encounter with a person from your past.”
“I’ve heard nothing about guilt from Philip,” said Pam.
Philip responded instantly, facing Pam. “If I had known then what I know now about the years of pain you’ve suffered, I would never have done what I did. As I said before, you were unlucky to have crossed my path. The person I was then did not think of consequences. Automatic pilot—that person was on automatic pilot.”
Pam nodded and caught his glance. Philip held it for a moment and then turned his attention back to Julius. “I grasp your point about the magnitude of the interpersonal stress in this group, but I insist that is only part of the picture. And it is here that our basic orientations are at odds. I agree there is stress in relationships with other beings. And possibly reward as well—I’ll grant you that last point though I myself have never known it. Nonetheless, I’m convinced that in the very state of existing there is tragedy and suffering. Permit me to cite Schopenhauer for only two minutes.”
Without waiting for a response, Philip, staring upward, began reciting:
In the first place a man never is happy but spends his whole life in striving after something which he thinks will make him so; he seldom attains his goal and, when he does it is only to be disappointed: he is mostly shipwrecked in the end, and comes into harbor with masts and riggings gone. And then it is all one whether he has been happy or miserable; for his life was never anything more than a present moment, always vanishing; and now it is over.
After a long silence Rebecca said, “That sends shivers up my back.”
“I know what you mean,” said Bonnie.
“I know I’m sounding like an uptight English professor,” said Pam, addressing the entire group, “but I urge you, don’t be misled by rhetoric. That quote adds nothing of substance to what Philip has been saying all along; it only says it more persuasively. Schopenhauer was a brilliant stylist and wrote the best prose of any philosopher. Except for Nietzsche, of course—no one wrote better than Nietzsche.”
“Philip, I want to respond to your comment about our basic orientations,” said Julius. “I don’t believe we’re as far apart as you think. I don’t disagree with much that you and Schopenhauer have said about the tragedy of the human condition. Where you go east and I go west is when we turn to the question of what to do about it. How shall we live? How to face our mortality? How to live with the knowledge that we are simply life-forms, thrown into an indifferent universe, with no preordained purpose?
“As you know,” Julius continued, “though I’m more interested in philosophy than most therapists, I’m no expert. Yet, I’m aware of other bold thinkers who have not flinched from these raw facts of life and who have arrived at entirely different solutions than Schopenhauer. I’m thinking particularly of Camus, Sartre, and Nietzsche, who all advocate life engagement rather than Schopenhauer’s pessimistic resignation. The one I know best is Nietzsche. You know, when I first received my diagnosis and was in a state of panic, I opened Thus Spoke Zarathustra and was both calmed and inspired—especially by his life-celebratory comment that we should live life in such a manner that we’d say yes if we were offered the opportunity to live our life again and again in precisely the same manner.”