The Schopenhauer Cure(58)
“Sounds mechanical. Not quite human,” replied Tony.
“What truly felt inhuman was the time when I allowed my estimation of my value to bob up and down like a cork according to the regard flowing from inconsequential others.”
Julius stared at Philip’s lips. What a marvel they were. How exactly they mirrored Philip’s calm composure, how steadfast, how unquavering, as they shaped each passing word into the same perfect roundness of pitch and tone. And it was easy to empathize with Tony’s escalating desire to ruffle Philip. But knowing Tony’s impulsivity might quickly escalate, Julius decided it was time to steer the discussion into a more benign direction. It was not time to confront Philip; this was only his fourth meeting.
“Philip, earlier in your comments to Bonnie you said that your aim was to be helpful to her. And you’ve also given counsel to others here—Gill, Rebecca. Can you say more about why you do that? It seems to me there is something in your desire to counsel that goes beyond a day job. After all, there’s no financial incentive in offering your help to others here.”
“I try always to keep in mind that we are all sentenced to an existence filled with inescapable misery—an existence which none of us would choose if we knew the facts ahead of time. In that sense we are all, as Schopenhauer put it, fellow sufferers, and we stand in need of tolerance and love from our neighbors in life.”
“Schopenhauer again! Philip, I hear too damn much about Schopenhauer—whoever he is—and too damn little about you.” Tony spoke calmly, as though imitating Philip’s measured tone, yet his breathing was shallow and rapid. Generally, confrontation came easily to Tony; at the time he began therapy scarcely a week passed without a physical contretemps in a bar, in traffic, at work, or on the basketball court. Though not a large man, he was fearless in confrontation; except for one situation—a clash of ideas with an educated articulate bully, someone exactly like Philip.
Philip gave no sign he intended to respond to Tony. Julius broke the silence. “Tony, you seem deep in thought. What’s running through your mind?
“I was thinking about what Bonnie said earlier in the meeting about missing Pam. Me, too. I been missing her today.”
Julius was not surprised. Tony had become accustomed to Pam’s tutelage and protection. The two of them had had struck up an odd-couple relationship—the English professor and the tattooed primitive. Using an oblique approach, Julius said, “Tony, I imagine it’s not easy for you to say, ‘Schopenhauer, whoever that is.’”
“Well, we’re here to tell the truth,” Tony responded.
“Right on, Tony,” said Gill, “and, I’ll fess up too: I don’t know who Schopenhauer is.”
“All I know,” noted Stuart, “is that he’s a famous philosopher. German, pessimistic. Was he nineteenth century?”
“Yes, he died in 1860, in Frankfurt,” said Philip, “and, as for pessimism, I prefer to think of it as realism. And, Tony, it may be true I speak of Schopenhauer overly often, but I have good reason to do so.” Tony seemed shocked that Philip had addressed him personally. Even so, Philip still made no eye contact. No longer staring at the ceiling, he looked out the window, as if intrigued by something in the garden.
Philip continued: “First, to know Schopenhauer is to know me. We are inseparable, twin-brained. Secondly, he has been my therapist and has offered me invaluable help. I have internalized him—of course I mean his ideas—as many of you have done with Dr. Hertzfeld. Wait—I mean Julius.” Philip smiled faintly as he glanced at Julius—his first moment of levity in the group. “Last, I harbor a hope that some of Schopenhauer’s sentiments will be of benefit to you as they have been to me.”
Julius, glancing at his watch, broke the silence that had followed Philip’s remark. “It’s been a rich meeting, the kind of meeting I hate to bring to an end, but time’s up today.”
“Rich? What am I missing?” muttered Tony, as he stood and started toward the door.
20
Foreshadowings of Pessimism
* * *
The cheerfulness and buoyancy of our youth are due partly to the fact that we are climbing the hill of life and do not see death that lies at the foot of the other side.
* * *
Early in their training therapists are taught to focus upon patients’ responsibility for their life dilemmas. Mature therapists never accept at face value their patients’ accounts of mistreatment by others. Instead, therapists understand that to some extent individuals are cocreators of their social environment and that relationships are always reciprocal. But what about the relationship between young Arthur Schopenhauer and his parents? Surely its nature was primarily determined by Johanna and Heinrich, Arthur’s creators and shapers; they were, after all, the adults.
And yet Arthur’s contribution cannot be overlooked: there was something primal, inbuilt, tenacious in Arthur’s temperament which, even as a child, elicited certain responses from Johanna and from others. Arthur habitually failed to inspire loving, generous, and joyful responses; instead almost everyone responded to him critically and defensively.
Perhaps the template was set during Johanna’s tempestuous pregnancy. Or perhaps genetic endowment played the major role in Arthur’s development. The Schopenhauer lineage teemed with evidence of psychological disturbance. For many years before he committed suicide, Arthur’s father was chronically depressed, anxious, stubborn, distant, and unable to enjoy life. His father’s mother was violent, unstable, and eventually required institutionalization. Of his father’s three brothers, one was born severely retarded, and another, according to a biographer, died at age thirty-four “half mad through excesses, in a corner with wicked people.”