The Schopenhauer Cure(76)

“I like this group,” Gill said. “These are the most important people in my life. I’ve never been a real member of anything before. I was afraid I’d lose my place, lose any credibility—exactly like what’s happening now. Right now. People hate drunks…the group will want to boot me out…you’ll tell me to go to AA. The group will judge me, not help me.”

That was exactly the cue Julius had been waiting for. He moved quickly.

“Gill, look around the room—tell me, who are the judges here?”

“Everyone’s a judge.”

“All identically? I doubt it. Try to discriminate. Look around the group. Who are the main judges?”

Gill kept his gaze on Julius. “Well, Tony can come down on you pretty hard, but no, not on this—he likes his booze, too. That what you want?”

Julius nodded encouragement.

“Bonnie?” Gill continued to speak directly to Julius. “No, she’s no judge—except of herself and, once in a while, of Rebecca—she’s always gentle with me. Stuart, well, he’s one of the judges; he definitely has a self-righteous streak. Pretty goody-goody sometimes. And Rebecca, for sure—I hear a lot of directives: be like me, be sure, be thorough, be dressed right, be washed, be neat. That why I felt released when Rebecca and Stuart showed so much vulnerability: that made it possible for me to open up. And Pam—she’s the judge. Chief justice. No doubt about it. I know she thinks I’m weak, unfair to Rose, you name it, everything about me is wrong. I don’t have much hope of pleasing her—in fact, I don’t have any hope.” He halted. “Guess that’s it,” he said, scanning the group. “Oh yes, Philip.” He spoke to Philip directly, unlike the other members. “Let’s see…I don’t think of you judging me, but I’m not sure if that’s entirely a compliment. It’s more that you wouldn’t get close enough or involved enough with me even to bother judging me.”

Julius was well pleased. He had defused the nonconstructive moan of betrayal and the punitive grilling of Gill. It was a matter of timing; sooner or later the details of his alcoholism would be aired, but not at this moment and in this manner.

What’s more, Julius’s focus on horizontal disclosure had yielded a bonus—Gill’s ten-minute gutsy go-round was a bonanza of data—enough there to fuel a couple of good sessions.

Turning to the group, Julius said, “Reactions anyone?”

There was hesitation—not, he imagined, because there was so little to say but too much. The agenda groaned with its own weight: the members had to have reactions to Gill’s confession, to his alcoholism, and his sudden toughness in the last few minutes. He waited expectantly. Good stuff was on its way.

He noted that Philip was looking at him, and, for a moment, their gazes met—that was unusual. Perhaps, Julius thought, Philip was signaling his appreciation of the finesse with which he had conducted this meeting. Or perhaps Philip was pondering Gill’s feedback to him. Julius decided to inquire and nodded at Philip. No response. So he said, “Philip, your feelings so far about this meeting?”

“I’ve been wondering whether you were going to participate.”

“Participate?” Julius was astounded. “I’ve been wondering if I were too active, too directive today.”

“I meant participate in the sharing of secrets,” said Philip.

Will the time ever come, Julius thought, when Philip will say something even vaguely predictable? “Philip, I’m not evading your question, but there are some pressing loose ends here.” He turned to Gill: “I’m concerned about where you are now.”

“I’m on overload. My only issue is whether you’ll allow me to stay in the group as an alcoholic,” said Gill, whose forehead glistened with perspiration.

“Sounds like this is the time you need us most. I wonder, though, if your bringing it up today indicates that you’re gathering resolve to do something about it. Perhaps entering a recovery program?”

“Yep. After this meeting, I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. I may need to call you for an individual session. Okay?”

“Of course—as many as you’ll need.” Julius’s policy was to honor requests for individual sessions with the proviso that members share the details of those sessions at the following group meeting.

Julius turned back to Philip. “Back to your question. There’s an old therapist trick which provides a graceful evasion of embarrassing questions, and that is to reply, ‘I wonder, why are you asking that question?’ Well, I am going to ask you that, but I’m not going to evade you. Instead I’ll offer you a proposition: I promise to answer your question fully if you agree first to explore your motivations for asking it. Do we have a deal?”

Philip hesitated, then responded. “Fair enough. My motivation for the question is not complicated. I want to understand your approach to counseling and, if possible, integrate any parts that might improve my own counseling practice. I work very differently from you: I don’t offer an emotional relationship—I’m not there to love my client. Instead I am an intellectual guide. I offer my clients instruction in thinking more clearly and living in accord with reason. Now, perhaps belatedly, I’m beginning to understand what you’re aiming for—a Buber-like I-thou encounter…”