Young Arthur's travel diary reveals the man he would become. There, the teenaged Arthur demonstrates a precocious ability to distance himself and view things from a cosmic perspective. In describing a portrait of a Dutch admiral he says, "Next to the picture were the symbols of his life's story: his sword, the beaker, the chain of honor which he wore, and finally the bullet which made all these useless to him."
As a mature philosopher Schopenhauer took pride in his ability to assume an objective perspective, or, as he put it, "viewing the world through the wrong end of the telescope." The appeal of viewing the world from above is already found in his early comments about mountain climbing. At sixteen he wrote, "I find that a panorama from a high mountain enormously contributes to the broadening of concepts.... all small objects disappear and only what is big retains its shape."
There is a powerful foreshadowing here of the adult Schopenhauer. He would continue to develop the cosmic perspective that allowed him as a mature philosopher to experience the world as if from a great distance--not only physically and conceptually but temporally. At an early age he intuitively apprehended the perspective of Spinoza's "sub species aeteritatis," to see the world and its events from the perspective of eternity. The human condition, Arthur concluded, could be best understood not from being a part of but apart from it. As an adolescent he wrote presciently of his future lofty isolation.
Philosophy is a high mountain road...an isolated road and becomes even more desolate the higher we ascend. Whoever pursues this path should show no fear but must leave everything behind and confidently make his own way in the wintry snow.... He soon sees the world beneath him; its sandy beaches and morasses vanish from his view, its uneven spots are leveled out, its jarring sounds no longer reach his ear. And its roundness is revealed to him. He himself is always in the pure cool mountain air and beholds the sun when all below is still engulfed in dead of night.
But there is more than a pull toward the heights motivating Schopenhauer; there are pushes from below. Two other traits are also evident in the young Arthur: a deep misanthropy coupled with a relentless pessimism. If there was something about heights, distant vistas, and the cosmic perspective that lured Arthur, then, too, there was much evidence that he was repelled by closeness to others. One day after descending from the crystal-clear sunrise on a mountaintop and reentering the human world in a chalet at the mountain base he reported: "We entered a room of carousing servants.... It was unbearable: their animalistic warmth gave off a glowing heat."
Contemptuous, mocking observations of others fill his travel diaries. Of a Protestant service he wrote: "The strident singing of the multitude made my ears ache, and an individual with bleating mouth wide open repeatedly made me laugh." Of a Jewish service: "Two little boys standing next to me made me lose my countenance because at the wide-mouthed roulade with their heads flung back, they always seemed to be yelling at me." A group of English aristocrats "looked like peasant wenches in disguise." The king of England "is a handsome old man but the queen is ugly without any bearing." The emperor and empress of Austria "both wore exceedingly modest clothes. He is a gaunt man whose markedly stupidly face would lead one to guess a tailor rather than an emperor."
A school chum aware of Arthur's misanthropic trend wrote Arthur in England: "I am sorry that your stay in England has induced you to hate the entire nation. "
This mocking, irreverent young lad would develop into the bitter, angry man who habitually referred to all humans as "bipeds," and would agree with Thomas a Kempis, "Every time I went out among men I came back less human."
Did these traits impede Arthur's goal to be the "clear eye of the world?"
The young Arthur foresaw the problem and wrote a memo to his older self: "Be sure your objective judgments are not for the most part concealed subjective ones." Yet, as we shall see, despite his resolve, despite his self-discipline, Arthur was often unable to heed his own youthful, excellent advice.
21
_________________________
Heis a happy man who can
once and for all avoid
having to do with a great
many
of
his
fellow
creatures.
_________________________
At the onset of the following meeting, just as Bonnie was asking Julius whether Pam was back from her trip, Pam opened the door, spread her arms, and loudly called out, "Da Dumm!" Everyone, save Philip, stood and greeted her. In her unique loving fashion she went around the circle, looked into each person's eyes, hugged them, kissed Rebecca and Bonnie, tousled Tony's hair, and, when she got to Julius, held him for a long while and whispered, "Thank you for being so honest on the phone. I'm devastated, so so sorry, so worried about you." Julius looked at Pam. Her familiar, smiling face conveyed courage and radiant energy.
"Welcome back, Pam," he said. "God, it's good to see you here. We missed you. I missed you."
Then, when Pam's glance fell on Philip, darkness descended. Her smile and the cheery crinkles around her eyes vanished. Thinking she was jarred by the presence of a stranger in the group, Julius quickly offered an introduction, "Pam, this is our new member, Philip Slate."
"Oh, it's Slate?" said Pam, pointedly not looking at Philip. "Not Philip Sleaze? Or Slimeball? She glanced at the door. "Julius, I don't know if I can stay in the room with this asshole!"
The stunned group members looked back and forth from the agitated Pam to the entirely silent Philip. Julius stepped in. "Fill us in, Pam. Please sit."
As Tony pulled another chair into the group, Pam said, "Not next to him."
(The empty seat was next to Philip.) Rebecca immediately stood and guided Pam to her seat.
After a brief silence, Tony said, "What's going on, Pam?"
"God, I can't believe this--is this some monstrous joke? This is the last thing in the world I wanted. Never wanted to see this rodent again."
"What is going on?" asked Stuart. "What about you, Philip? Say something.
What's going on?"
Philip remained silent and shook his head slightly. But his face, now flushed, said volumes. Julius noted to himself that Philip had a functioning autonomic nervous system after all.
"Try to talk, Pam," urged Tony. "You're among friends."
"Of all the men I've ever known, this creature has treated me the worst.
And to come home to my therapy group and find him sitting here--it's beyond belief. I feel like bawling or screaming, but I won't--not with him here." Lapsing into silence, Pam looked down, slowly shaking her head.
"Julius," said Rebecca, "I'm getting tense. This is not good for me. Come on, what's going on?"
"Obviously, there's been a former life between Pam and Philip, and, I assure you, that comes as a total surprise to me."
After a short silence, Pam looked at Julius and said, "I've been thinking so much about this group. I've been so eager to come back here, been rehearsing what I would tell you about my trip. But, Julius, I'm sorry, I don't think I can do this. I don't want to stay."
She stood and turned toward the door. Tony jumped up and took her hand.
"Pam, please. You can't just leave. You've done so much for me. Here, I'll sit next to you. You want me to take him out?" Pam smiled faintly and let Tony lead her back to her seat. Gill changed chairs to open the adjoining seat for Tony.
"I'm with Tony. I want to help," said Julius. "We all do. But you've got to let us help you, Pam. Obviously, there's been history, bad history, between you and Philip. Tell us, talk about it--otherwise our hands are tied."
Pam nodded slowly, closed her eyes and opened her mouth, but no words came. Then she stood and walked to the window, rested her forehead against the pane, and waved off Tony, who had started toward her. She turned, took a couple of deep breaths, and began speaking in a disembodied voice: "About fifteen years ago, my girlfriend Molly and I wanted to have a New York experience. Molly had lived next door to me since childhood and was
my best friend. We had just finished our freshman year at Amherst and enrolled together for summer classes at Columbia. One of our two courses was on the pre-Socratic philosophers, and guess who was the TA?"
"TA?" asked Tony.
"Teaching assistant," interjected Philip softly but instantaneously, speaking for the first time in the session. "The TA is a graduate student who assists the professor by leading small discussion groups, reading papers, grading exams."
Pam seemed staggered by Philip's unexpected comment.
Tony answered her unspoken question: "Philip's the official answer man here. Put out a question and he answers it. Sorry, once you got started, I should have kept my mouth shut. Go on. Can you join us here in the circle?"
Pam nodded, went back to her seat, closed her eyes again, and continued: "So fifteen years ago I was at Columbia summer school with Molly, and this man, this creature, sitting here was our TA. My friend Molly was in a bad place: she had just broken up with her long-term boyfriend. And no sooner did the course begin than this...this excuse for a man"--she nodded toward Philip--"starts hitting on her. Remember that we were only eighteen, and he was the teacher--
oh, a real professor showed up for two formal lectures a week, but the TA was really in charge of the course, including our grades. He was slick. And Molly was vulnerable. She fell for him and for about a week was in a state of bliss. Then one Saturday afternoon, he phones me and asks me to meet with him about an exam essay I had written. He was smooth and ruthless. And I was just stupid enough to be manipulated, and next thing I knew I was naked on the sofa in his office. I was an eighteen-year old virgin. And he was into rough sex. And he did it again to me a couple of days later, and then the pig dropped me, wouldn't even look at me, didn't seem to recognize me, and, worst of all, offered no explanation for dropping me. And I was too scared to ask--he had the power--he did the grading.
That was my introduction to the bright wonderful world of sex. I was devastated, so enraged, so ashamed...and...worst of all, so guilty about betraying Molly. And my view of myself as an attractive woman took a nosedive."
"Oh, Pam," said Bonnie shaking her head slowly. "No wonder you're in shock now."
"Wait, wait. You haven't heard the worst about this monster." Pam was revved up. Julius glanced around the room. Everyone was leaning forward, fixated on Pam, except of course Philip, whose eyes were closed and who looked as though he were in a trance.
"He and Molly were a couple for another two weeks and then he dropped her, just told her he was no longer having fun with her and was going to move on.
That was it. Inhuman. Can you believe a teacher saying that to a young student?
He refused to say any more or even help her move the things she had left at his flat. His parting gesture was to give her a list of the thirteen women he had screwed that month, many of them in the class. My name was at the top of the list."
"He didn't give her that list," Philip said, eyes still closed. "She found it when burglarizing his living space."
"What sort of depraved creature would even write such a list?" Pam shot back.
Again in a disembodied voice, Philip responded, "The male hardwiring directs them to spread their seed. He was neither the first nor the last to take an inventory of the fields he had plowed and planted."
Pam turned her palms up to the group, shook her head, and muttered, "You see," as if to indicate the bizarreness of this particular life-form. Ignoring Philip, she continued: "There was pain and destruction. Molly suffered tremendously, and it was a long long time before she trusted another man. And she never trusted me again. That was the end of our friendship. She never forgave my betrayal. It was a terrible loss for me and, I think, for her as well. We've tried to pick it up--
even now we e-mail occasionally, keeping each other informed of major life events--but she's never, ever, been willing to discuss that summer with me."
After a long silence, perhaps the longest the group ever sat through, Julius spoke: "Pam, how awful to have been broken like that at eighteen. The fact that you never spoke of this to me or the group confirms the severity of the trauma.
And to have lost a lifelong friend in that way! That's truly awful. But let me say something else. It's good you stayed today. It's good you talked about it. I know you're going to hate my saying this, but perhaps it's not a bad thing for you that Philip is here. Maybe there is some work, some healing that can be done. For both of you."
"You're right, Julius--I do hate your saying that, and, even more, I hate having to look at this insect again. And here he is in my own cozy group. I feel defiled."
Julius's head spun. Too many thoughts clamored for his attention. How much could Philip bear? Even he had to have a breaking point. How much longer before he would walk out of the room, never to return? And, as he imagined Philip's departure, he contemplated its consequences--on Philip but primarily on Pam: she mattered far more to him. Pam was a great-souled lady, and he was committed to helping her find a better future. Would she be well served by Philip's departure? Perhaps she'd have some measure of revenge--but what a pyrrhic victory! If I could find a way, Julius thought, to help Pam reach forgiveness for Philip, it would heal her--and perhaps Philip as well.
Julius almost flinched when the buzzword forgiveness passed through his mind. Of all the various recent movements swirling through the field of therapy, the hullabaloo around "forgiveness" annoyed him the most. He, like every experienced therapist, had always worked with patients who could not let things go, who nurtured grudges, who could find no peace--and he had always used a wide variety of methods to help his patients "forgive"--that is, detach from their anger and resentment. In fact, every experienced therapist had an arsenal of "letting-go" techniques they often used in therapy. But the simplistic and canny "forgiveness" industry had magnified, elevated, and marketed this one single aspect of therapy into the whole shebang and presented it as though it were something entirely novel. And the ploy had garnered respectability by implicitly melding with the current social and political forgiveness climate addressing a range of such offenses as genocide, slavery, and colonial exploitation. Even the Pope had recently begged forgiveness for the Crusaders' thirteenth-century sacking of Constantinople.
And if Philip bolted, how would he, as the group therapist, feel? Julius was resolved not to abandon Philip, yet it was difficult to locate any compassion toward him. Forty years before, as a young student, he had heard a lecture by Erich Fromm citing Terence's epigram written over two thousand years ago: "I am human, and nothing human is alien to me." Fromm had stressed that the good therapist had to be willing to enter into his own darkness and identify with all of the patient's fantasies and impulses. Julius tried that on. So, Philip had made a list of women he had laid? Hadn't he done that himself when he was younger? Sure he had. And so had many men with whom he'd discussed this matter.
And he reminded himself that he had a responsibility to Philip--and to Philip's future clients. He had invited Philip to become a patient and a student.
Like it or not, Philip was going to be seeing many clients in the future, and to forsake him now was bad therapy, bad teaching, bad modeling--and immoral to boot.
With these considerations in mind, Julius pondered what to say. He began to formulate a statement beginning with his familiar, I have a real dilemma: on the one hand...and on the other ...But this moment was too loaded for any stock tactics. Finally, he said, "Philip, in your responses to Pam today you referred to yourself in the third person: you didn't say 'I,' you said, 'he.' You said, ' He didn't give her that list.' I wonder, could you have been implying that you're a different person now from the man you were then?"
Philip opened his eyes and faced Julius. A rare locking of gazes. Was there gratitude in that gaze?
"It's been known for a long time," Philip said, "that the cells of the body age, die, and are replaced at regular intervals. Until a few years ago it was thought that it was only the brain cells that persisted all of one'
s life--and, of course, in women, the ova. But research has now demonstrated that neural cells, too, die, and new neurons are continuously being generated, including the cells forming the architecture of my cerebral cortex, my mind. I think it can fairly be said that not one cell in me now existed in the man bearing my name fifteen years ago."
"So, Judge, it wasn't me," Tony snarled. "Honest. Ah ain't guilty; somebody else, some other brain cells, did the job before ah even got there."
"Hey, that's not fair, Tony," said Rebecca. "All of us want to support Pam, but there's got to be a better way than 'let's get Philip.' What do you want him to do?"
"Shit, for starters how about a simple 'I'm sorry.'" Tony turned to Philip.
"How hard would that be? Would it break your cheeks to say that?"
"I got something to say to both of you," said Stuart. "You first, Philip. I keep current on the latest in brain research, and I want to say your facts about cell regeneration are off. There is some recent research showing that bone marrow stem cells transplanted in another individual can end up as neurons in some select areas of the brain, for example, the hippocampus and the Purkinje cells of the cerebellum, but there is no evidence of new neurons forming in the cerebral cortex."
"I stand corrected," said Philip. "I'd appreciate some literature references, please. Could you e-mail them?" Philip drew a card out of his wallet and handed it to Stuart, who pocketed the card without examining it.
"And, Tony," Stuart continued, "you know I'm not against you. I enjoy your no-bullshit directness and irreverence, but I agree with Rebecca: I think you're being too rough--and a little unreal. When I first joined the group you were doing weekend jail equivalent time on the highway cleanup patrols for a sexual assault charge."
"No, it was battery. The sexual assault charge was bullshit, and Lizzy dropped it. And the battery charge was phony, too. But your point?"
The Schopenhauer Cure Page 19