The Schopenhauer Cure

by Irvin D. Yalom

  "Like, how about doing both at the same time--looking at him and giving a good answer?"

  "I prefer to search my own mind. Meeting the gaze of the other distracts me from searching for the answer the other might wish to hear."

  Silence prevailed while Tony and the others mulled Philip's response.

  Stuart then posed another question: "Well, let me ask you, Philip, all that discussion about Rebecca's preening for you--how did that make you feel?"

  "You know," Rebecca's eyes showed fire, "I am really beginning to resent this, Stuart...it's as though Bonnie's fantasy has now passed into the books as gospel."

  Stuart refused to be diverted. "Okay, okay. Delete that question. Philip, I'll ask you this: how did you feel about all the discussion about you the last meeting?"

  "The discussion was of great interest, and I am unflaggingly attentive."

  Philip looked at Stuart and continued, "But I have no emotional responses if that's your inquiry."

  "None? That doesn't seem possible," replied Stuart.

  "Before beginning the group I read Julius's book on group therapy and was well prepared for the events of these meetings. I expected certain things to happen: that I would be an object of curiosity, that some would welcome me and some not, that the established hierarchy of power would be unsettled by my entrance, that the women might look favorably upon me and the men unfavorably, that the more central members might resent my appearance while the less influential ones might be protective of me. Anticipating these things has resulted in my viewing the events in the group dispassionately."

  Stuart, as Tony before him, was stunned by Philip's response and lapsed into silence as he digested Philip's words.

  Julius said, "I've a bit of a dilemma..." He waited a moment. "On the one hand," he continued, "I feel it's important to follow up this discussion with Philip, but I'm also concerned about Rebecca. Where are you, Rebecca? You look distressed, and I know you've been trying to get in."

  "I'm feeling a little bruised today and shut out, ignored. By Bonnie, by Stuart."

  "Keep going."

  "There's a lot of negative stuff coming my way--about being self-centered, not being interested in woman friends, about posturing for Philip. It stings. And I resent it."

  "I know what that's like," said Julius. "I have those same knee-jerk reactions to criticism. But let me tell you what I've learned to do. The real trick is to think of feedback as a gift, but first you must decide whether it's accurate. The way I proceed is to check in with myself and ask whether it clicks with my own experience of myself. Does any part, even a tad of it, even five percent, ring true?

  I try to recall if people in the past had given me this feedback before. I think about other people with whom I can check it out. I wonder if someone is honing in on one of my blind spots, something they see that I do not. Can you try this?"

  "That's not easy, Julius. I feel tight about it." Rebecca clasped her hand to her sternum. "Right here."

  "Give that tightness a voice. What's it saying?"

  "It's saying, 'How will I look?' It's shame. It's being found out. This business about people noticing my playing with my hair. Makes me cringe, makes me want to say, 'It's none of your fucking business--it's my hair--I'll do what I want with it.'"

  In his most teacherly voice Julius responded, "Years ago there was a therapist named Fritz Perls who started a school called gestalt therapy. You don't hear much about him nowadays, but, anyway, he did a lot of focusing on the body--you know, 'Look what your left hand is doing right now,' or 'I see you stroking your beard a lot.' He'd ask patients to exaggerate the movement: 'Keep making a tighter fist with your left hand,' or 'Keep stroking that beard more and more vigorously and stay aware of what gets evoked.'

  "I always felt there was a lot to Perls's approach because so much of our unconscious is expressed through body movements that lie out of our own awareness. But I've never made much use of it in therapy. The reason? Exactly because of what's happening now, Rebecca. We often get defensive when others spot us doing things of which we are unaware. So I understand how uncomfortable you feel, but even so, can you stay with it and try to learn if there's something of value in the feedback?"

  "In other words, you're saying 'be mature.' I'll try." Rebecca sat up straight, took a breath, and with a determined demeanor began, "First, it is true that I like attention and that I first came to therapy upset about my aging and about no longer being stared at by men. So I may have been preening for Philip but not consciously." She turned back to the group. "So, mea culpa. I like to be admired, I like to be loved and adored, I like love."

  "Plato," Philip interjected, "observed that love is in the one who loves, not in the one who is loved."

  "Love is in the one who loves not in the one who is loved--That's a great quote, Philip," Rebecca said, flashing a smile. "You see, that's what I like about you. Comments just like that. They open my eyes. I find you interesting.

  Attractive too."

  Rebecca turned to the group. "Does that mean I want to have an affair with him? Nope! The last affair I had just about did my marriage in, and I'm not shopping for trouble."

  "So Philip," said Tony, "you have feelings about what Rebecca just said?"

  "I said before that my goal in life is to will as little as possible and to know as much as possible. Love, passion, seduction--these are powerful sentiments, part of our hardwiring to perpetuate our species and, as Rebecca has just made clear, they may operate unconsciously. But, all in all, these activities serve to derail reason and interfere with my scholarly pursuits, and I want nothing to do with them."

  "Every time I ask you something, you give me an answer that's hard to argue with. But you never answer my question," said Tony.

  "I think he answered it," said Rebecca. "He made it clear that he does not want any emotional involvement, that he wants to stay free and clearheaded. I think Julius has made the same point--that's why there's a taboo against romantic involvement in the group."

  "What taboo?" Tony addressed Julius. "I never heard that rule said out loud."

  "I've never put it just like that. The only ground rule you heard from me about relationships outside of the meetings is that there be no secrets and that if there are any encounters whatsoever outside the group sessions, the members involved must bring it up in the group. If not, if you keep secrets, it almost always gums up the work of the group and sabotages your own therapy. That's my only rule about outside encounters. But, Rebecca, let's not lose the thread of what's going on between you and Bonnie. Check into your feelings about her."

  "She's raised some heavy stuff. Is it true I don't relate to women? I want to say no. There's my sister--I'm close to her, sort of--and a couple of other women attorneys in my office, but, Bonnie, you're probably putting your finger on something--there's definitely more charge, more excitement for me in relating to men."

  "I'm flashing on college," said Bonnie, "and how I didn't have many dates and how dismissed I felt when some girlfriend thought nothing of canceling out on me, at the last minute, if she got an invitation from a guy."

  "Yeah, I probably would have done that," said Rebecca. "You're right--

  men and dating, that was what it was all about. It made some sense then; now it doesn't."

  Tony had been continuing to study Philip and approached him again.

  "Philip, you know, you're like Rebecca in some ways. You preen, too, but you do it with snappy, deep-sounding slogans."

  "I believe your point, "said Philip with eyes closed in deep concentration, "is that my motivation in voicing observations is not what it seems to be: that it is instead self-serving, a form of preening in which, if I understand you, I attempt to evoke Rebecca's and others' interest and admiration. Is that correct?"

  Julius felt on edge. No matter what he did, the focus kept going back to Philip. At least three conflicting desires fought for his attention: first, to protect Philip against too much confrontation, second, to prevent Phil
ip's impersonality from derailing the intimate discourse, and, third, to cheer Tony on in his efforts to knock Philip on his ass. But, all in all, he decided to stay on the sidelines for the time being because the group was handling the situation. In fact, something important had just happened: for the first time Philip was responding directly, even personally, to someone.

  Tony nodded. "That's about what I meant, except that it may be more than just interest or admiration. Try seduction."

  "Yes, that's a good correction. It's implied in your word preening and thus you suggest that my motivation parallels Rebecca's, that is, I wish to seduce her.

  Well, that's a substantial and reasonable hypothesis. Let's see how to test it."

  Silence. No one responded, but Philip did not appear to be waiting for a response. After a moment of reflection with his eyes closed he pronounced, "Perhaps it is best to follow Dr. Hertzfeld's procedure..."

  "Call me Julius."

  "Ah, yes. So, to follow Julius's procedure, I must first check whether Tony's hypothesis is consonant with my inner experience." Philip paused, shook his head. "I find no evidence for this. Many years ago I tore myself free from attachment to public opinion. I firmly believe that the happiest of men are those who seek for nothing so much as solitude. I speak of the divine Schopenhauer, of Nietzsche and Kant. Their point, and my point, is that the man of inner wealth wants nothing from the outside except the negative gift of undisturbed leisure which permits him to enjoy his wealth--that is, his intellectual faculties.

  "In short, then, I conclude that my contributions do not stem from an attempt to seduce anyone or elevate myself in your eyes. Perhaps there are tatters of this desire left; I can only say I do not consciously experience it. I do recognize regret that I myself have only mastered the great thoughts, not contributed to them."

  In his decades of leading therapy groups Julius had experienced many silences, but the silence that followed Philip's response was unlike any other. It was not the silence accompanying great emotion nor the silence signifying dependency, embarrassment, or bafflement. No, this silence was different, as though the group had stumbled upon a new species, a new life-form, perhaps a six-eyed salamander with feathered wings, and, with utmost caution and deliberateness, slowly circled it.

  Rebecca was the first to respond, "To be so content, to need so little from others, never to crave the company of others--sounds pretty lonely, Philip."

  "On the contrary," said Philip, "in the past, when I craved the company of others, asked for something which they would not, indeed could not, give--

  that was when I knew loneliness. I knew it very well. To need no person is never to be lonely. Blessed isolation is what I seek."

  "Yet you're here," said Stuart, "and take it from me--this group is the archenemy of isolation. Why expose yourself to this?"

  "Every thinker must support his habit. Either they were fortunate enough to have had a university stipend like Kant or Hegel or independent means like Schopenhauer or a day job like Spinoza, who ground lenses for spectacles to support himself. I have chosen philosophical counseling as my day job, and this group experience is part of my certification experience."

  "That means, then," said Stuart, "that you are engaging with us in this group, but your ultimate goal is to help others never to need such engagement."

  Philip paused and then nodded.

  "Let me be sure I got you right," said Tony. "If Rebecca digs you, comes on to you, turns on her charm, gives you her amazing killer smile, you're saying it has no effect on you? Zero?"

  "No, I didn't say 'no effect.' I agree with Schopenhauer when he wrote that beauty is an open letter of recommendation predisposing the heart to favor the person who presents it. I find that an individual of great beauty is wondrous to behold. But I'm also saying that someone else's opinion of me does not, must not, alter my opinion of myself."

  "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

  Foreshad

  owings

  of

  Pessimis

  m

  _________________________

  Thecheerfulness

  and
r />   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."

  Arthur's personality, set at an early age, endured with remarkable consistency his entire life. The letters from his parents to the adolescent Arthur contain many passages that indicate their growing concern about his disinterest in social amenities: For example, his mother wrote, "...little though I care for stiff etiquette, I like even less a rough, self-pleasing, nature and action.... You have more than a slight inclination that way." His father wrote, "I only wish you had learned to make yourself agreeable to people."