The Schopenhauer Cure(73)
“Giving way neither to love nor to hate is one half of world wisdom: to say nothing and believe nothing, the other half.”
“Distrust is the mother of safety” (a French proverb, cited approvingly).
“To forget at any time the bad traits of a man’s character is like throwing away hard-earned money. We must protect ourselves from foolish familiarity and foolish friendship.”
“The only way to attain superiority in dealing with men is to let it be seen you are independent of them.”
“To disregard is to win regard.”
“If we really think highly of a person we should conceal it from him like a crime.”
“Better to let men be what they are than to take them for what they are not.”
“We must never show anger and hatred except in our actions…. it is only the cold-blooded animals that are poisonous.”
“By being polite and friendly, you can make people pliable and obliging: hence politeness is to human nature what warmth is to wax.”
26
* * *
There are few ways by which you can make more certain of putting people into a good humor than by telling them of some trouble that has recently befallen you, or by disclosing some personal weakness of yours.
* * *
At the next meeting Gill plunked himself down, his huge frame testing the limits of his chair, waited until everyone arrived, and started the meeting. “If no one else has something, I want to continue with the ‘secrets’ exercise.”
“Let me insert a cautionary note here,” said Julius. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to make this a prescribed exercise. I do believe that folks do better in the group when they reveal themselves fully, but it’s important to move at our own pace and not feel pressured by any exercise to open up.”
“I hear you,” answered Gill, “but I don’t feel pressured. I want to talk about this, and I also don’t want to leave Rebecca and Stuart hanging out there alone. That okay?”
After noting the nods in the group, Gill continued: “My secret goes back to when I was thirteen. I was a virgin, barely into puberty, covered with acne, and Aunt Valerie, my father’s youngest sister…she was late twenties or early thirties…used to stay with us from time to time—she was between jobs a lot. We got along great, played around a lot when my folks were out—wrestling, tickling, card games. Then one time, when I cheated at strip poker and got her naked, things got real sexual—no longer tickling but some serious feeling up. I was inexperienced and hormone-hot and didn’t know exactly what was going on, but when she said to ‘stick it in,’ I said ‘yes, ma’am’ and followed instructions. After that we did it anytime we could until a couple of months later when my folks came home early and caught us red-handed, flat out in the act—what’s that called…flagrant…flagrant something?”
Gill looked toward Philip, who opened his mouth to answer but was preempted by Pam, who said with lightning speed, “Flagrante delicto.”
“Wow, fast…I forgot we have two professors here,” murmured Gill, who continued his account: “Well, the whole thing kind of messed up the family. My dad didn’t get too hot under the collar about it, but my mother was livid and Aunt Val didn’t stay with us anymore, and my mother was furious with Dad for continuing to be friendly to her.”
Gill stopped, looked around, and then added, “I can understand why my mother was upset, but, still, it was as much my fault as Aunt Val’s.”
“Your fault—at thirteen? Come on!” said Bonnie. Others—Stuart, Tony, Rebecca—nodded in agreement.
Before Gill could respond, Pam said, “I’ve got a response, Gill. Maybe not what you’re expecting but something I’ve been holding back, something I wanted to say to you even before I left on my trip. I don’t know how to put it tactfully, Gill, so I’m not going to try—just going to cut loose. Bottom line is that your story doesn’t move me one bit, and, in most ways, you just don’t move me. Even though you say you’re revealing yourself like Rebecca and Stuart did, I don’t experience you as being personal.
“I know that you’re committed to the group,” Pam continued. “You seem to work hard, you take a lot of responsibility for taking care of others, and, if someone runs out, it’s usually you that runs to get them back. You seem to reveal yourself, but you don’t—it’s an illusion—you stay hidden. Yes, that’s what you are—hidden, hidden, hidden. Your story about your aunt is so typical of what I mean. It seems personal, but it’s not. It’s a trick because it’s not your story, it’s your Aunt Val’s story, and of course everyone is going to jump in and say, ‘But you were just a child, you were thirteen, you were the victim.’ What else could they say? And your stories about your marriage have always been about Rose, never about you. And they always get exactly the same response from us, ‘Why do you put up with that shit!’
“When I was meditating in India—bored out of my gourd—I thought a lot about this group. You can’t believe how much. And I thought about each person here. Except for you, Gill. I hate to say this, but I just didn’t think about you. When you talk, I never know who you’re talking to—maybe the walls, or the floor, but I never experience you as speaking personally to me.”