The Schopenhauer Cure(85)
Julius never had a chance to reply. Pam glared at Philip and barked a response: “Right here we have a perfect illustration of why your desire to be a counselor is a monstrous joke. We’re in the midst of tender feelings, and what matters most, what only matters to you, is accuracy of attribution. You think Schopenhauer once said something vaguely similar. Big fucking deal!”
Philip closed his eyes and began reciting: “‘A man finds himself, to his great astonishment, suddenly existing after thousands and thousands of years of non-existence; he lives for a little while; and then, again, comes an equally long period when he must exist no more.’ I’ve committed a great deal of Schopenhauer to memory: third paragraph of his essay ‘Additional Remarks on the Doctrine of the Vanity of Existence.’ Is that vague enough for you?”
“Children, children, you two quit that,” said Bonnie, in a high-pitched voice.
“You’re getting loose, Bonnie. I like it,” said Tony.
“Other feelings, anybody?” asked Julius.
“I don’t want to get caught in this crossfire. Some big cannons being wheeled out,” said Gill.
“Yeah,” said Stuart, “neither of them can resist the opportunity for a jab. Philip’s got to comment on someone else using Schopenhauer’s phrase, and Pam can’t resist the opportunity to call Philip a monstrous joke.”
“I didn’t say he was a monstrous joke. I said…”
“Get off it, Pam, you’re nitpicking. You know what I meant.” Stuart held his ground. “And anyway that blowup about Nabokov—that was out of line, Pam. You bad-mouth his hero, and then you praise someone else who borrows Schopenhauer’s words. What’s so wrong with Philip setting you straight? What’s the big crime with his pointing out Schopenhauer’s priority?”
“I gotta say something,” said Tony. “As usual I don’t know who these dudes are—at least not Nabo…Nobo?
“Nabokov,” said Pam, in the soft voice she reserved for Tony. “He’s a great Russian writer. You may have heard of his novel Lolita.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Well, in this kind of talk I get into a vicious circle—not knowing makes me feel stupid, then I clam up, and then I feel more stupid. I’ve got to keep trying to break that pattern by speaking out.” He turned to Julius: “So to answer your question about feelings, that’s one feeling—stupid. Another is that for one instant, when he said, ‘Is that vague enough for you?’ I got a glimpse of Philip’s teeth—and they’re sharp teeth, real sharp. And some other feelings toward Pam,” Tony turned to face her, “Pam, you’re my girl—I really dig you, but I’ll tell you something: I sure don’t want to get on your bad side.”
“I hear you,” said Pam.
“And, and…” said Tony, “I forgot the most important thing I was going to say—that this whole argument has gotten us off the track. We were talking about how we might be protecting or avoiding you, Julius. Then with Pam and Philip we got off the topic quick. So aren’t we avoiding you again?”
“You know, I don’t feel that now. When we work as intimately as we’re doing now, we never stay on a single trail. The stream of thought keeps overflowing into new channels. And, incidentally,” Julius turned to Philip, “I use that term—intimately—quite deliberately. I think your anger—which we see breaking through here for the first time—is truly a sign of intimacy. I think you care enough about Pam to be angry at her.”
Julius knew Philip would not answer on his own and nudged him. “Philip?”
Shaking his head, Philip replied, “I don’t know how to assess your hypothesis. But there is something else I want to say. I confess that, like Pam, I also have been looking for comforting or at least relevant things to say to you. I have followed Schopenhauer’s practice of ending each day reading from the works of Epictetus or from the Upanishads.” Philip glanced in Tony’s direction. “Epictetus was a Roman philosopher of the second century, and the Upanishads are an ancient sacred Hindu text. The other night I read a passage from Epictetus that I thought would be of value, and I’ve made copies of it. I’ve translated it loosely from the Latin into current vernacular.” Philip reached into his briefcase, handed out copies to each member, and then, eyes closed, recited the passage from memory.
When, on a sea voyage, the ship is brought to anchor, you go out to fetch water and gather a few roots and shells by the way. But you always need to keep your mind fixed on the ship, and constantly to look around, lest at any time the master of the ship call, and you must heed that call and cast away all those things, lest you be treated like the sheep that are bound and thrown into the hold.
So it is with human life also. And if there be available wife and children instead of shells and roots, nothing should hinder us from taking them. But if the master call, run to the ship, forsaking all those things, and without looking behind. And if thou be in old age, go not far from the ship at any time, lest the master should call, and thou be not ready.
Philip ended and held out his arms as though to say, “There it is.”
The group studied the passage. They were bewildered. Stuart broke the silence, “I’m trying, but, Philip, I don’t get it. What’s the value of this for Julius? Or for us?”