The Schopenhauer Cure

by Irvin D. Yalom

  ejaculating inside the woman. And once that happened I had a brief respite from my compulsion, but soon--sometimes only hours

  later--I felt the call to prowl again. Sometimes I had two or three women in a day. I was desperate. I wanted to get my mind out of the trough, to think about other things, to touch some of the great minds of the past. I was educated in chemistry then, but I yearned for real wisdom. I sought help, the best and most expensive

  available, and met with Julius weekly, sometimes twice weekly, for three years, without benefit."

  Philip paused. The group stirred. Julius asked, "How is this

  going for you, Philip? Can you go farther, or is it enough for one day?"

  "I'm fine," replied Philip.

  "With your closed eyes it's hard to read you," said Bonnie.

  "I'm wondering if you keep them closed because you fear

  disapproval."

  "No, I close my eyes to look within and collect my thoughts.

  And surely I've made it clear that only my own approval matters to me."

  Again there settled onto the group that strange otherworldly

  sense of Philip's untouchability. Tony tried to dispel it by

  whispering loudly, "Nice try, Bonnie."

  Without opening his eyes, Philip continued. "Not too long

  after I gave up therapy with Julius, I inherited a fair sum of money from the maturation of a trust account my father had set up for me.

  The money enabled me to leave my profession as a chemist and

  devote myself to reading all of Western philosophy--in part

  because of my enduring interest in that field, but primarily because I believed that somewhere in the collective wisdom of the world's great thinkers I would find a cure for my condition. I felt at home in philosophy and soon realized that I had found my true calling. I applied and was accepted in the philosophy doctoral program at Columbia. It was at that time that Pam had the misfortune of

  crossing my path."

  Philip, eyes still closed, paused and inhaled deeply. All eyes were on him except for furtive glances toward Pam, who stared at the floor.

  "As time went by I chose to concentrate my attention on the

  trinity of truly great philosophers: Plato, Kant, and Schopenhauer.

  But, in the final analysis, it was only Schopenhauer who offered me help. Not only were his words pure gold for me, but I sensed a strong affinity with his person. As a rational being I cannot accept the idea of reincarnation in its vulgar sense, but if I had lived before it would have been as Arthur Schopenhauer. Simply knowing of

  his existence has tempered the ache of my isolation.

  "After reading and rereading his work for several years, I

  found that I had overcome my sexual problems. By the time I

  received my doctorate, my father's bequest was exhausted and I needed to earn a living. I taught at a few places around the country and a few years ago moved back to San Francisco to accept a

  position at Coastal University. Eventually I lost interest in teaching because I never found students worthy of me or my subject, and then, about three years ago, it occurred to me that, since

  philosophy had healed me, I might be able to use philosophy to heal others. I enrolled in and completed a counseling curriculum and then began a small clinical practice. And that brings me to the present."

  "Julius was useless to you," said Pam, "yet you contacted

  him again. Why?"

  "I didn't. He contacted me."

  Pam muttered, "Oh, yeah, right out of the blue Julius

  contacted you ?"

  "No, no, Pam," said Bonnie, "that part is true; Julius

  confirmed it when you were away. I can't fill you in on it because I've never really understood it myself."

  "Right, let me come in here," said Julius. "I'll reconstruct it as best I can. The first few days after receiving the bad news from my doctor I was staggered and tried to find a way to come to terms with having a lethal cancer. One evening I got into a very morose mood as I thought about the meaning of my life. I got to thinking about being destined to slip into nothingness and remaining there forever. And that being so, then what difference did anyone or any activity make?

  "I can't remember the whole chain of my morbid thinking,

  but I knew I had to clutch some kind of meaning or I would drown on dry land, then and there. As I surveyed my life, I realized that I had experienced meaning--and that it always involved stepping outside of myself, helping others to live and to fulfill themselves.

  More clearly than ever before I realized the centrality of my work as a therapist and then I thought for hours about those I had helped; all my patients, old and new, paraded through my imagination.

  "Many I knew I had helped but had I had an enduring impact on their lives? That was the question that plagued me. I think I told the rest of group before Pam returned that I had to know the

  answer to this question so badly I decided to contact some of my old patients to find out whether I had truly made a difference.

  Seems crazy, I know.

  "Then, while browsing through the charts of my long-ago

  patients, I also began thinking of those I had failed to help. What had happened to them ? I wondered. Could I have done more? And then the thought, the wishful thought, arose that maybe some of my failures were late bloomers, maybe they had gotten some

  delayed benefit from our work together. Then my eye fell upon

  Philip's chart, and I remember saying to myself, 'If you want

  failure, there is failure--there is someone you really didn't help--

  you couldn't make even a dent in his problems.' From that moment on, I had an irresistible impulse to contact Philip and find out what happened to him, to see if, in some way, I had been useful to him after all."

  "So that's how it came about that you called him," said Pam.

  "But how did it come about that he entered the group?"

  "You want to pick it up from here, Philip?" said Julius.

  "I believe it would be a richer exercise if you continued,"

  said Philip with the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.

  Julius quickly filled the group in on the subsequent events:

  Philip's appraisal that his therapy had been without value and that Schopenhauer had been his real therapist, the e-mail invitation to the lecture, Philip's request for supervision...

  "I don't get it, Philip," interrupted Tony. "If you didn't get anything from Julius in therapy, then why in hell would you want his supervision?"

  "Julius posed that exact question, several times," said Philip.

  "My answer is that even though he didn't help me, I could still appreciate his superior skills. Perhaps I was a recalcitrant, resistive patient, or perhaps my particular type of problem would not yield to his particular approach."

  "Okay, got it," said Tony. "I interrupted you, Julius."

  "I'm about finished. I agreed to become his supervisor with

  one condition: that he first spend six months in my therapy group."

  "I don't think you've ever explained why you made that

  condition," said Rebecca.

  "I observed the way he related to me and to his students and

  told him that his impersonal and uncaring manner would interfere with his becoming a good therapist. Is that your view of it, Philip?"

  "Your precise words to me were: 'How can you be a

  therapist when you don't know what the fuck is going on between you and other people?'"

  "Bingo," said Pam.

  "Sounds like Julius, all right," said Bonnie.

  "Sounds like Julius when his buttons are being pushed," said

  Stuart. "Were you pushing his buttons?"

  "Not intentionally," replied Philip.

  "I'm still not clear, Julius," said Rebecca. "I understand why you called Philip, and why you advised him to get group therapy.

  But why did you put
him in your group or agree to supervise him?

  You have plenty on your plate now. Why take on this additional task?"

  "You guys are tough today. That's the big question and I'm

  not sure I can answer it, but it's got something to do with

  redemption and setting things right."

  "I know a lot of this discussion was to fill me in and I

  appreciate that, "said Pam. "I have just one more query. You said Philip twice offered you comfort--or tried to. I still haven't heard about the first time."

  "Right, we started toward there but never got to it," Julius

  responded. "I attended one of Philip's lectures and gradually

  understood that he had constructed it specifically to offer me some help. He discussed at length a passage from a novel in which a dying man obtained much consolation from reading a passage by

  Schopenhauer."

  "Which novel?" asked Pam.

  "Buddenbrooks, " replied Julius.

  "And it wasn't helpful? Why not?" asked Bonnie.

  "For several reasons. First Philip's mode of giving me

  comfort was very indirect--much like the way he just presented the passage by Epictetus..."

  "Julius," said Tony, "I'm not being a smart ass, but wouldn't

  it be better to speak directly to Philip--and guess who I learned this from?"

  "Thanks, Tony--you are one hundred percent right." Julius

  turned to face Philip. "Your mode of offering me counsel in the course of a lecture was off-putting--so indirect and so public. And so unexpected because we had just spent an hour in private face-to-face talk in which you seemed utterly indifferent to my condition.

  That was one thing. And the other was the actual content. I can't repeat the passage here--I don't have your photographic

  memory--but essentially it described a dying patriarch having an epiphany in which the boundaries dissolved between himself and others. As a result he was comforted by the unity of all life and the idea that after death he would return to the life force whence he came and hence retain his connectedness with all living things.

  That about right?" Julius looked at Philip, who nodded.

  "Well, as I tried to tell you before, Philip, that idea offers me no comfort--zero. If my own consciousness is extinguished, then it matters little to me that my life energy or my bodily molecules or my DNA persists in deep space. And if connectivity is the quest, then I'd rather do it in person, in the flesh. So"--he turned and scanned the group and then faced Pam--"that was the first

  consolation Philip offered, and the parable in your hands is the second."

  After a brief silence Julius added, "I'm feeling I've been

  doing too much talking today. How are you all responding to

  what's been happening so far?"

  "I'm interested," said Rebecca.

  "Yeah," said Bonnie.

  "This is some pretty high-level stuff going on," said Tony,

  "but I'm staying with it."

  "I'm aware," noted Stuart, "of ongoing tension here."

  "Tension between...?" asked Tony.

  "Between Pam and Philip, of course."

  "And lots between Julius and Philip," added Gill, again

  taking up Philip's cause. "I'm wondering, Philip, do you feel

  listened to? Do you feel your contributions get the consideration they merit?"

  "It seems to me, that...that...well..." Philip was unusually

  tentative but soon regained his characteristic fluency. "Isn't it precipitous to dismiss so quickly--"

  "Who are you talking to?" asked Tony.

  "Right," answered Philip. "Julius, isn't it precipitous to

  dismiss so quickly a concept that has offered consolation to much of humanity for millennia? It is Epictetus's idea, and

  Schopenhauer's as well, that excessive attachment either to

  material goods, to other individuals, or even attachment to the concept of 'I' is the major source of human suffering. And doesn't it follow that such suffering can be ameliorated by avoiding the attachment? Indeed, these ideas are at the very heart of the

  Buddha's teaching as well."

  "That's a good point, Philip, and I will take it to heart. What I hear you saying is that you're giving me good stuff which I

  dismiss out of hand--and that leaves you feeling unvalued.

  Right?"

  "I said nothing about feeling unvalued."

  "Not out loud. I'm intuiting that--it would be such a human

  response. I've a hunch if you will look inside you'll find it there."

  "Pam, you're rolling your eyes," said Rebecca. "Is this talk

  about attachment reminding you of your meditation retreat in

  India? Julius, Philip--both of you missed the postgroup coffee when Pam described her time at the ashram."

  "Yep, exactly," said Pam. "I had a bellyful of talk about the

  relinquishment of all attachments including the inane idea that we can sever our attachment to our personal ego. I ended up with

  strong feelings that it was all so life-negating. And that parable Philip handed out--what's the message? I mean, what kind of

  voyage, what kind of life, is it if you are so focused on the

  departure that you can't enjoy your surroundings and can't enjoy other people? And that's what I see in you, Philip." Pam turned to address him directly. "Your solution to your problems is a

  pseudosolution; it's no solution at all--it's something else--it's a relinquishment of life. You're not in life; you don't really listen to others, and when I hear you speak I don't feel I'm listening to a living, breathing person."

  "Pam," Gill sprang to Philip's defense, "talk about

  listening--I'm not sure you do much listening. Did you hear that he was miserable years ago? That he had overwhelming problems and impulses? That he did not respond to three full years of therapy with Julius? That he did what you just did last month--what any of us would do--seek another method? That he finally got help from a different approach--one which is no freakish New Age

  pseudosolution? And that now he's trying to offer something to Julius by using the approach that helped him?"

  The group was silenced by Gill's outburst. After a few

  moments Tony said, "Gill, you are something else today! Sticking it to my girl Pam--I don't like that, but, man, I sure do like the way you're talking here--hope it rubs off on your home life with Rose."

  "Philip," said Rebecca, "I want to apologize for being so

  dismissive earlier today. I want to say that I'm changing my mind about this...story by...by...Epihetus..."

  "Epictetus," said Philip in a softer tone.

  "Epictetus, thanks." Rebecca continued, "The more I think

  about it, this whole thing about attachment throws a light on some of my stuff. I think I am suffering from excessive attachment--not to things or possessions but to my looks. All my life I've had a free pass because of a pretty face--got lots of affirmation--prom

  queen, homecoming queen, beauty contests--and now that it's

  fading..."

  "Fading?" said Bonnie. "Just pass the faded remnants on to

  me."

  "Me, too, I'll trade you anytime and throw in all my

  jewelry...and kids, if I had any," said Pam.

  "I appreciate that. I really do. But it's all relative." Rebecca went on, "I am too attached. I am my face, and now that it's become less, I feel I am less. I'm having a lot of trouble giving up my free pass."

  "One of Schopenhauer's formulations that helped me," said

  Philip, "was the idea that relative happiness stems from three sources: what one is, what one has, and what one represents in the eyes of others. He urges that we focus only on the first and do not bank on the second and third--on having and our reputation --

  because we have no control over those two; they can, and will, be taken away from us--just as your inevitable aging is taking away your beauty
. In fact, 'having' has a reverse factor, he said-- what we have often starts to have us. "

  "Interesting, Philip. All three parts of that--what you are,

  have, and stand for in the eyes of others--hits home for me. I've lived too much of my life for that last part--what others will think of me. Let me confess another secret: my magic perfume. I've

  never talked to anyone about this, but ever since I can remember I've daydreamed about manufacturing a perfume called Rebecca

  made up of my essence which lingers indefinitely and causes

  anyone who inhales it to think of my beauty."

  "Rebecca, you're taking so many more risks now. I love it,"

  said Pam.

  "Me too," said Stuart. "But let me tell you something that's

  never registered before. I like to look at you, but I'm realizing now that your good looks are a barrier to seeing or knowing you, maybe even as much of a barrier as when a woman is ugly or misshapen."

  "Wow, that's a shocker. Thanks, Stuart."

  "Rebecca, I want you to know," said Julius, "that I too am

  touched by your trusting us with your daydream about the

  perfume. It points out what a vicious circle you've set up. You confuse your beauty with your essence. And then what happens, as Stuart points out, is that others do not relate to your essence but to your beauty."

  "A vicious circle which leaves me doubting whether there's

  anything there. I'm still struck by your phrase the other week, Julius, 'the beautiful empty woman'--that's me in spades."

  "Except the vicious circle may be breaking down," said Gill.

  "I know I've seen more of you--that is, something deeper, in the last few weeks than in the whole previous year."

  "Yeah, me too," agreed Tony, "and, I'm being serious now,

  I want to say I'm really sorry about counting out money when you told us about that time in Las Vegas--I acted like a real jerk."

  "Apology noted and accepted," said Rebecca.

  "You've gotten a lot of feedback today, Rebecca," said

  Julius. "How're you feeling about it?"

  "I feel great--it's good. I feel people are treating me

  differently."

  "It's not us," said Tony, "it's you. Put real stuff in--get real stuff out!"

  "Put real stuff in--get real stuff out. I like that, Tony," said Rebecca. "Hey, you're getting good at this therapy business;