The Schopenhauer Cure(17)

And not only Thomas Mann but many other great minds acknowledged their debt to Arthur Schopenhauer. Tolstoy called Schopenhauer the “genius par excellence among men.” To Richard Wagner he was a “gift from Heaven.” Nietzsche said his life was never the same after purchasing a tattered volume of Schopenhauer in a used-book store in Leipzig and, as he put it, “letting that dynamic, dismal genius work on my mind.” Schopenhauer forever changed the intellectual map of the Western world, and without him we would have had a very different and weaker Freud, Nietzsche, Hardy, Wittgenstein, Beckett, Ibsen, Conrad.



Philip pulled out a pocketwatch, studied it for a moment, and then, with great solemnity:

Here concludes my introduction to Schopenhauer. His philosophy has such breadth and depth it defies a short summary. Hence I have chosen to pique your curiosity in the hope that you will read the sixty-page chapter in your text carefully. I prefer to devote the last twenty minutes of this lecture to audience questions and discussion. Are there questions from the audience, Dr. Hertzfeld?



Unnerved by Philip’s tone, Julius once again scanned the empty auditorium and then softly said, “Philip, I wonder if you’re aware that your audience has departed?”

“What audience? Them? Those so-called students?” Philip flicked his wrist in a disparaging manner to convey that they were beneath his notice, that neither their arrival nor their departure made the slightest difference to him. “You, Dr. Hertzfeld, are my audience today. I intended my lecture for you alone,” said Philip, who in no way seemed discomfited by holding a conversation with someone thirty feet away in a cavernous deserted auditorium.

“All right, I’ll bite. Why am I your audience today?”

“Think about it, Dr. Hertzfeld…”

“I’d prefer you’d call me Julius. If I refer to you as Philip, and I’m assuming that’s okay with you, then it’s only right that you call me Julius. Ah, déjà vu all over again—how clearly I recall saying so very very long ago, ‘Call me Julius, please—we’re not strangers.’”

“I am not on a first-name basis with my clients because I am their professional consultant, not their friend. But, as you wish, Julius it is. I’ll start again. You inquire why you alone are my intended audience. My answer is that I am merely responding to your request for help. Think about it, Julius, you came to see me with a request for an interview and embedded in that request were other requests.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Let me expand upon this matter. First, there was a tone of urgency in your voice. It was particularly important to you that I meet with you. Obviously, your request did not arise from simple curiosity about how I was doing. No, you wanted something else. You mentioned that your health was imperiled, and, in a sixty-five-year-old man, that means you must be confronting your death. Hence, I could only assume that you were frightened and searching for some kind of consolation. My lecture today is my response to your request.”

“An oblique response, Philip.”

“No more oblique than your request, Julius.”

“Touché! But, as I recall, you’ve never minded obliquity.”

“And I’m comfortable with it now. You made a request for help, and I responded by introducing you to the man who, of all men, can be most helpful to you.”

“And so your intent was to offer me solace by describing how Mann’s dying Buddenbrooks received comfort from Schopenhauer?”

“Precisely. And I offered that to you only as an appetizer, a sampler of what is to come. There is a great deal that I, as your guide to Schopenhauer, can offer you, and I would like to make a proposal.”

“A proposal? Philip, you continue to surprise. My curiosity is piqued.”

“I’ve completed my course work in a counseling program and all other requirements to obtain a state counseling license, except that I need two hundred more hours of professional supervision. I can continue practicing as a clinical philosopher—that field is not regulated by the state—but a counselor’s license would offer me a number of advantages, including the ability to buy malpractice insurance and to market myself more effectively. Unlike Schopenhauer, I have neither an independent source of financial support nor any secure academic support—you’ve seen with your own eyes the disinterest in philosophy displayed by the clods who attend this pigsty of a university.”

“Philip, why must we shout to one another? The lecture is over. Would you mind taking a seat and continuing this discussion more informally.”

“Of course.” Philip collected his lecture notes, stuffed them into his briefcase, and eased into a seat in the front row. Though they were closer, four rows of seats still separated them, and Philip was forced to swivel his neck awkwardly to see Julius.

“So, am I correct in assuming that you propose a swap—I supervise you and you teach me about Schopenhauer?” Julius now asked in a low voice.

“Right!” Philip turned his head but not enough to make eye contact.

“And you’ve given thought to the precise mechanics of our arrangement?”

“I’ve given much thought to it. In fact, Dr. Hertzfeld…”

“Julius.”

“Yes, yes—Julius. What I was going to say is that I’d been considering the idea of calling you for several weeks to try to arrange supervision but kept putting it off, primarily for financial reasons. So I was startled by the remarkable coincidence of your call. As for mechanics, I suggest meeting weekly and splitting our hour: half the time you provide expert advice about my patients, and half the time I am your guide to Schopenhauer.”