The Schopenhauer Cure(57)
“She’s raised some heavy stuff. Is it true I don’t relate to women? I want to say no. There’s my sister—I’m close to her, sort of—and a couple of other women attorneys in my office, but, Bonnie, you’re probably putting your finger on something—there’s definitely more charge, more excitement for me in relating to men.”
“I’m flashing on college,” said Bonnie, “and how I didn’t have many dates and how dismissed I felt when some girlfriend thought nothing of canceling out on me, at the last minute, if she got an invitation from a guy.”
“Yeah, I probably would have done that,” said Rebecca. “You’re right—men and dating, that was what it was all about. It made some sense then; now it doesn’t.”
Tony had been continuing to study Philip and approached him again. “Philip, you know, you’re like Rebecca in some ways. You preen, too, but you do it with snappy, deep-sounding slogans.”
“I believe your point, “said Philip with eyes closed in deep concentration, “is that my motivation in voicing observations is not what it seems to be: that it is instead self-serving, a form of preening in which, if I understand you, I attempt to evoke Rebecca’s and others’ interest and admiration. Is that correct?”
Julius felt on edge. No matter what he did, the focus kept going back to Philip. At least three conflicting desires fought for his attention: first, to protect Philip against too much confrontation, second, to prevent Philip’s impersonality from derailing the intimate discourse, and, third, to cheer Tony on in his efforts to knock Philip on his ass. But, all in all, he decided to stay on the sidelines for the time being because the group was handling the situation. In fact, something important had just happened: for the first time Philip was responding directly, even personally, to someone.
Tony nodded. “That’s about what I meant, except that it may be more than just interest or admiration. Try seduction.”
“Yes, that’s a good correction. It’s implied in your word preening and thus you suggest that my motivation parallels Rebecca’s, that is, I wish to seduce her. Well, that’s a substantial and reasonable hypothesis. Let’s see how to test it.”
Silence. No one responded, but Philip did not appear to be waiting for a response. After a moment of reflection with his eyes closed he pronounced, “Perhaps it is best to follow Dr. Hertzfeld’s procedure…”
“Call me Julius.”
“Ah, yes. So, to follow Julius’s procedure, I must first check whether Tony’s hypothesis is consonant with my inner experience.” Philip paused, shook his head. “I find no evidence for this. Many years ago I tore myself free from attachment to public opinion. I firmly believe that the happiest of men are those who seek for nothing so much as solitude. I speak of the divine Schopenhauer, of Nietzsche and Kant. Their point, and my point, is that the man of inner wealth wants nothing from the outside except the negative gift of undisturbed leisure which permits him to enjoy his wealth—that is, his intellectual faculties.
“In short, then, I conclude that my contributions do not stem from an attempt to seduce anyone or elevate myself in your eyes. Perhaps there are tatters of this desire left; I can only say I do not consciously experience it. I do recognize regret that I myself have only mastered the great thoughts, not contributed to them.”
In his decades of leading therapy groups Julius had experienced many silences, but the silence that followed Philip’s response was unlike any other. It was not the silence accompanying great emotion nor the silence signifying dependency, embarrassment, or bafflement. No, this silence was different, as though the group had stumbled upon a new species, a new life-form, perhaps a six-eyed salamander with feathered wings, and, with utmost caution and deliberateness, slowly circled it.
Rebecca was the first to respond, “To be so content, to need so little from others, never to crave the company of others—sounds pretty lonely, Philip.”
“On the contrary,” said Philip, “in the past, when I craved the company of others, asked for something which they would not, indeed could not, give—that was when I knew loneliness. I knew it very well. To need no person is never to be lonely. Blessed isolation is what I seek.”
“Yet you’re here,” said Stuart, “and take it from me—this group is the archenemy of isolation. Why expose yourself to this?”
“Every thinker must support his habit. Either they were fortunate enough to have had a university stipend like Kant or Hegel or independent means like Schopenhauer or a day job like Spinoza, who ground lenses for spectacles to support himself. I have chosen philosophical counseling as my day job, and this group experience is part of my certification experience.”
“That means, then,” said Stuart, “that you are engaging with us in this group, but your ultimate goal is to help others never to need such engagement.”
Philip paused and then nodded.
“Let me be sure I got you right,” said Tony. “If Rebecca digs you, comes on to you, turns on her charm, gives you her amazing killer smile, you’re saying it has no effect on you? Zero?”
“No, I didn’t say ‘no effect.’ I agree with Schopenhauer when he wrote that beauty is an open letter of recommendation predisposing the heart to favor the person who presents it. I find that an individual of great beauty is wondrous to behold. But I’m also saying that someone else’s opinion of me does not, must not, alter my opinion of myself.”