The Schopenhauer Cure(66)

Julius winced. Good God! Where was Philip going—was he heading in the direction of revealing Pam’s preferences? Big trouble ahead.

Before he could head Philip off, Pam shot out, “You are truly disgusting. Repulsive.” Pam leaned forward as if preparing to rise from her chair and leave.

Bonnie put her hand on Pam’s arm to detain her and said to Philip, “I’m with Pam on this one. Philip, are you crazy? Why on earth would you brag about those things?”

“Yeah,” said Gill, “I just don’t get you. Look, here you are under blistering attack—I mean I’m wincing for you, man. I could not face what you’re facing. But what do you do? You throw gasoline on the fire and you say, ‘Burn me some more.’ No offense, Philip, but, shit, how can you do that?”

“Yeah, that’s what I see too,” said Stuart. “If I were in your situation, I’d want to put myself in the best possible light—not give the enemy more ammunition.”

Julius tried to soothe the waters. “Philip, what have you been feeling the last few minutes?”

“Well, I had something important to say about that list and I said it—so naturally I feel entirely satisfied with the course of events.”

Julius persevered. In his most gentle voice, he said, “Several people responded to you, Philip. What are you feeling about that?”

“That’s where I don’t go, Julius. That way lies despair. Better, far better, for me to keep my own counsel.”

Julius pulled out another device from his grab bag—that venerable but reliable strategy of conditional voice. “Philip, try a thought experiment. Philosophers do that everyday. I understand your wish to retain your equanimity, but humor me for a moment and try to imagine that you were going to have feelings about others’ responses today. W hat might they be?”

Philip considered Julius’s question, smiled slightly, and nodded his head, perhaps as a token of admiration for the ingenuity of Julius’s ploy.

“An experiment? Fair enough. If I were to have had feelings, I would have felt frightened by the ferocity of Pam’s interruption. I am not unaware that she wishes to do me grievous harm.”

Pam started to interject, but Julius immediately signaled her to be silent and allow Philip to continue.

“Then Bonnie inquired about the point of my bragging, and then Gill and Stuart asked about why I was attempting to immolate myself.”

“Immo what?” asked Tony.

Pam opened her mouth to respond, but Philip instantaneously said, “Immolate—to sacrifice oneself by fire.”

“Okay, you’re partway there,” Julius persisted. “You’ve accurately described what happened—what Bonnie, Gill, and Stuart said. Now try to continue with the experiment—if you were going to have feelings about their comments.”

“Right, I’ve gotten off track. No doubt you would conclude my unconscious is making an appearance.”

Julius nodded. “Go on, Philip.”

“I would feel entirely misunderstood. I would say to Pam, ‘I wasn’t trying to make it okay.’ To Bonnie, I’d say, ‘Bragging was the last thing in my mind.’ To Gill and Stuart, I’d say, ‘Thank you for the warning, but I was not attempting to injure myself.’”

“Okay, now we know what you weren’t doing. So tell us what you were doing? I’m bewildered,” said Bonnie.

“I was simply setting the record straight. Following the dictates of reason. Nothing less, nothing more.”

The group lapsed into that state of mind that always ensued from an interaction with Philip. He was so rational, so imperially above the strife of everyday discourse. Everyone looked down, bewildered, disoriented. Tony shook his head.

“I comprehend every point you made,” said Julius, “except the last one—that last phrase—‘nothing less, nothing more.’ That I cannot buy. Why volunteer that particular aspect of the truth now, today, at this juncture, in your relationship with us? You were eager to do it. You couldn’t wait. I could feel your pressure to get it out. Despite the obvious negative consequences pointed out by the group, you were determined to jump in immediately today. Let’s try to figure out why. What was the payoff for you?”

“That’s not hard,” responded Philip. “I know exactly why I said it.”

Silence. Everyone waited.

“I’m getting pissed,” said Tony. “Philip, you’ve got us hanging; you do this all the time. Do we have to beg you for the next sentence?”

“Sorry?” asked Philip, his face in a puzzled scrunch.

“You’ve got us all waiting to hear why you said it,” said Bonnie. “Are you being deliberately inscrutable here?”

“Perhaps you think we don’t want to know, that we have no curiosity about what you’re going to say,” suggested Rebecca.

“It’s none of these,” said Philip. “It’s got nothing to do with you. It just happens that my focus fades and I turn inward.”

“This sounds important,” said Julius. “I think there’s a reason for that—and it involves your interactions with the group. If you truly believe that your behavior is capricious, something like rain that just happens, then you’re assuming a helpless stance. There is a reason you periodically avoid us and turn inward: I think it’s because some anxiety has welled up in you. In this instance your loss of focus had to do with how you opened the meeting. Can you pursue that?”