The Schopenhauer Cure(28)
Julius involuntarily flinched and hoped it had not been visible. Like most therapists, he hated that question—the “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” question. He had seen it coming.
“Gill, you’re not going to like my answer. But here it is. I can’t tell you what to do: that’s your job, your decision, not mine. One reason you’re here in this group is to learn to trust your own judgment. Another reason is that everything I know about Rose and your marriage has come to me through you. And you can’t avoid giving me biased information. What I can do is help you focus on how you contribute to your life predicament. We can’t understand or change Rose; it’s you—your feelings, your behavior—that’s what counts here because that’s what you can change.”
The group fell silent. Julius was right; Gill did not like that answer. Neither did the other members.
Rebecca, who had taken out two barrettes and was flouncing her long black hair before replacing them, broke the silence by turning to Philip. “You’re new here and don’t know the backstory that the rest of us know. But sometimes from the mouth of newborn babes….”
Philip sat silent. It was unclear whether he had even heard Rebecca.
“Yeah, you have a take on this, Philip?” said Tony, in what was, for him, an unusually gentle tone. Tony was a swarthy man with deep acne scars on his cheeks and a lean, graceful athletic body exhibited to good advantage in his black San Francisco Giants T-shirt and tight jeans.
“I have an observation and a piece of advice,” said Philip, hands folded, head tilted back, and eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Nietzsche once wrote that a major difference between man and the cow was that the cow knew how to exist, how to live without angst—that is, fear—in the blessed now, unburdened by the past and unaware of the terrors of the future. But we unfortunate humans are so haunted by the past and future that we can only saunter briefly in the now. Do you know why we so yearn for the golden days of childhood? Nietzsche tells us it’s because those childhood days were the carefree days, days free of care, days before we were weighted down by leaden, painful memories, by the debris of the past. Allow me to make one marginal note: I refer to a Nietzsche essay, but this thought was not original—in this, as in so much else, he looted the works of Schopenhauer.”
He paused. A loud silence rang out in the group. Julius squirmed in his chair, thinking, Oh shit, I must have been out of my fucking mind to bring this guy here. This is the goddamnedest, most bizarre way I’ve ever seen a patient come into a group.
Bonnie broke the silence. Turning her gaze squarely upon him, she said, “That’s fascinating, Philip. I know I keep yearning for my childhood, but I never understood it that way, that childhood feels free and golden because there’s no past to weigh you down. Thanks, I’m going to remember that.”
“Me too. Interesting stuff,” said Gill. “But you said you had advice for me?”
“Yes, here’s my advice.” Philip spoke evenly, softly, still making no eye contact. “Your wife is one of those people who is particularly unable to live in the present because she is so heavily laden with the freight of the past. She is a sinking ship. She’s going down. My advice to you is to jump overboard and start swimming. She’ll produce a powerful wake when she goes under, so I urge you to swim away as fast and as hard as you can.”
Silence. The group seemed stunned.
“Hey, no one is going to accuse you,” said Gill, “of pulling your punches. I asked a question. You gave an answer. I appreciate that. A lot. Welcome to the group. Any other comments you got—I want to hear them.”
“Well,” said Philip, still looking upward, “in that case let me add one additional thought. Kierkegaard described some individuals as being in ‘double despair,’ that is, they are in despair but too self-deceived to know even that they are in despair. I think you may be in double despair. Here’s what I mean: most of my own suffering is a result of my being driven by desires, and then, once I satisfy a desire, I enjoy a moment of satiation, which soon is transformed into boredom, which is then interrupted by another desire springing up. Schopenhauer felt this was the universal human condition—wanting, momentary satiation, boredom, further wanting.
“Back to you—I question whether you’ve yet explored this cycle of endless desires within yourself. Perhaps you’ve been so preoccupied with your wife’s wishes it’s kept you from becoming acquainted with your own desires? Isn’t that why others here were applauding you today? Wasn’t it because you were finally refusing to be defined by her wishes? In other words, I’m asking whether your work on yourself has been delayed or derailed by your preoccupation with your wife’s wishes.”
Gill listened, mouth gaping, gaze fixed on Philip. “That’s deep. I know there’s something deep and important in what you’re saying—in this double despair idea—but I’m not getting it all.”
All eyes were now on Philip, who continued to have eyes only for the ceiling. “Philip,” said Rebecca, now finished with replacing her barrettes, “weren’t you saying that Gill’s personal work won’t really begin until he liberates himself from his wife?”
“Or,” Tony said, “that his involvement with her prevents him from knowing how fucked-up he really is? Hell, I know this is true for me and the way I relate to my work—I been thinking this past week that I’m so busy being ashamed of being a carpenter—being blue-collar, being low-income, being looked down on—that I never get around to thinking about the real shit I should be dealing with.”