friends--the great thinkers whose books were personal
letters to him.
More fantasies came; his passion enveloped him and,
with a great whoosh, sucked him from the philosophers'
distant observing grandstand. He craved; he desired; he
wanted. And more than anything, he wanted to hold Pam's
face in his hands. Tight orderly connections between
thoughts loosened. He imagined a sea lion surrounded by a
harem of cows, then a yelping mongrel flinging himself
again and again against a steel link fence separating him
from a bitch in heat. He felt himself a brutish, club—
wielding caveman, grunting, warning off competitors. He
wanted to possess her, lick her, smell her. He thought of
Tony's muscular forearms, of Popeye gulping his spinach
and chucking the empty can behind him. He saw Tony
mounting her--her legs splayed, her arms encircling him.
That pussy should be his, his alone. She had no right to
defile it by offering it to Tony. Everything she did with
Tony sullied his memory of her, impoverished his
experience. He felt sick to his stomach. He was a biped.
Philip turned and walked along the marina, then
through Chrissy Field to the bay and along the edge of the
Pacific, where the calm surf and the timeless aroma of
ocean salt soothed him. He shivered and buttoned his
jacket. In the fading light of day, the cold Pacific wind
streamed through the Golden Gate and rushed by him, just
as the hours of his life would forever rush past without
warmth or pleasure. The wind presaged the frost of endless
days to come, arctic days of rising in the morning with no
hope of home, love, touch, joy. His mansion of pure
thought was unheated. How strange that he had never
before noticed. He continued walking but with the
glimmering knowledge that his house, his whole life, had
been built on foundations flimsy and false.
38
_________________________
Weshould
treat with
indulgence
every
human
folly,
failing,
and vice,
bearing in
mind that
what
we
have
before us
are simply
our
own
failings,
follies,
and vices.
_________________________
In the following meeting Philip shared neither his
frightening experiences nor his reasons for abruptly leaving
the previous meeting. Though he now participated more
actively in the group discussions, he always did so at his
own choosing and the members had learned that energy
invested in prying Philip open was energy wasted. Hence
they shifted their attention to Julius and inquired whether
he felt usurped by Philip's ending the meeting last week.
"Bittersweet," he replied. "The bitter part is being
replaced. Losing my influence and my role is symbolic of
all impending endings and renunciations. I had a bad night
after the last meeting. Everything feels bad at 3A.M. I had a
rush of sorrow at all the endings ahead of me: the ending of
the group, of my therapy with all my other patients, the
ending of my last good year. So, that's the bitter. The sweet
is my pride in you guys. And that includes you, Philip.
Pride in your growing independence. Therapists are like
parents. A good parent enables a child to gain enough
autonomy to leave home and function as an adult; in the
same way a good therapist's aim is to enable patients to
leave therapy."
"Lest there be a misunderstanding, I want to clarify
the record," Philip proclaimed. "It was not my intention to
usurp you last week. My actions were entirely self—
protective: I felt inexpressibly agitated by the discussion. I forced myself to remain till the end of the meeting, and
then I had to leave."
"I understand that, Philip, but my preoccupation with
endings is so strong now that I may see portents of endings
and replacement in benign situations. I'm also aware that,
tucked into your disclaimer, is some caring for me. For that
I thank you."
Philip bowed his head slightly.
Julius continued, "This agitation you describe sounds
important. Should we explore it? There are only five
meetings left; I urge you to take advantage of this group
while there's still time."
Though Philip silently shook his head as if to
indicate that exploration was not yet possible for him, he
was not destined to stay silent permanently. In the
following meetings Philip was inexorably drawn in.
Pam opened the next meeting by pertly addressing Gill:
"Apology time! I've been thinking about you and think I
owe you one...no, I know I owe you one."
"Say more." Gill was alert and curious.
"A few months ago I blasted you for never being
present, for being so absent and impersonal that I could not
bear to listen to you. Remember? That was pretty harsh
stuff--"
"Harsh, yes," interrupted Gill, "but necessary. It was
good medicine. It got me started on my path--do you
realize I haven't had a drink since that day?"
"Thanks, but that's not what I'm apologizing for--
it's what's happened since. You have changed: you've
been present; you've been more upfront and more straight with me than anyone else here, and yet I've just been too
self-absorbed to acknowledge you. For that I'm sorry."
Gill accepted the apology. "And what about the
feedback I've given you? Was any of it helpful?"
"Well, your term chief justice shook me up for days.
It hit home; it made me think. But the thing that sticks most
in my mind was when you said John refused to leave his
wife not because of cowardice but because he didn't want
to deal with my rage. That got to me, really got me thinking.
I couldn't get your words out of my mind. And you know
what? I decided you were dead right and John was right to
turn away from me. I lost him not because of his deficits but because of mine--he had had enough of me. A few days
ago I picked up the phone, called him, and said these things
to him."
"How'd he take it?"
"Very well--after he picked himself off the floor.
We ended up having a nice amiable talk: catching up,
discussing our courses, mutual students, talking about
doing some joint teaching. It was good. He told me I
sounded different."
"That's great news, Pam," said Julius. "Letting go of
anger is major progress. I agree you've too much
attachment to your hates. I wish we could take an internal
snapshot of this letting-go process for future reference--to
see exactly how you did it."
"It was all nonvolitional. I think your maxim-- strike
when the iron is cold! --had something to do with it. My feelings about John have cooled enough to step back and
permit rational thought."
/> "And what about" asked Rebecca, "your attachment
to your Philip-hatred?"
"I think you've never appreciated the monstrous
nature of his actions to me."
"Not true. I felt for you...I ached for you when you
first described it--an awful, awful experience. But fifteen
years? Usually things cool in fifteen years. What keeps this iron red-hot?"
"Last night--during a very light sleep--I was
thinking about my history with Philip and had this image of
reaching into my head and grabbing the entire awful cluster
of thoughts about him and smashing it on the floor. Then I
saw myself bending over, examining the fragments. I could
see his face, his seedy apartment, my soiled youth, my
disillusionment with academic life, I saw my lost friend
Molly--and as I looked at this heap of wreckage I knew
what had happened to me was just...just...unforgivable."
"I remember Philip saying that unforgiving and
unforgivable were two different things," said Stuart.
"Right, Philip?"
Philip nodded.
"Not sure I get that," said Tony.
"Unforgivable," said Philip, "keeps the responsibility
outside of oneself, whereas unforgiving places the
responsibility on one's own refusal to forgive."
Tony nodded. "The difference between taking the
responsibility for what you do or blaming it on someone
else?"
"Precisely," said Philip, "and, as I've heard Julius
say, therapy begins when blame ends and responsibility
emerges."
"Quoting Julius again, Philip, I like it," said Tony.
"You make my words sound better than I do," said
Julius. "And again I experience you drawing closer. I like
that."
Philip smiled almost imperceptibly. When it was
clear he was not planning to respond further, Julius
addressed Pam: "Pam, what are you feeling?"
"To be honest, I'm floored by how hard everyone
struggles to see change in Philip. He picks his nose, and
everyone oohs and aahs. It's a joke how his pompous and
trite remarks arouse such reverence." Mimicking Philip,
she said in a singsong cadence, "Therapy begins when
blame ends and responsibility emerges." Then, in a raised voice: "And what about your responsibility, Philip? Not a goddamn word about it except some bullshit about all your
brain cells changing and therefore it wasn't you who did
anything. No, you weren't there."
After an awkward silence, Rebecca said softly,
"Pam, I want to point out that you are able to forgive.
You've forgiven a lot of things. You said you forgave me
for my excursion into prostitution."
"No victim there--except you," responded Pam
quickly.
"And," continued Rebecca, "we've all taken note of
how you forgave Julius, instantly, for his indiscretions. You
forgave him without knowing or inquiring whether some of
his friends were injured by his actions."
Pam softened her voice. "His wife had just died. He
was in shock. Imagine losing someone you had loved since
high school. Give him a break."
Bonnie pitched in, "You forgave Stuart for his sexual
adventure with a troubled lady and even forgave Gill for
withholding his alcoholism from us for so long. You've
done a lot of forgiving. Why not Philip?"
Pam shook her head. "It's one thing to forgive
someone for an offense to someone else--quite another
thing when you're the victim."
The group listened sympathetically but nonetheless
continued. "And, Pam," said Rebecca, "I forgive you for
trying to make John leave his two young children."
"Me, too," said Gill. "And I'll eventually forgive you
for what you did with Tony here. How about you? Do you
forgive yourself for springing that 'confession day' and
dumping him in public?--that was humiliating."
"I've apologized publicly for not consulting with him
about the confession. I was guilty there of extreme
thoughtlessness."
Gill persisted, "There's something else, though: do
you forgive yourself for using Tony?"
"Using Tony?" said Pam. "I used Tony ? What are you talking about?"
"Seems like your whole relationship was one thing--
and a far more important thing--to him than to you. Seems
like you weren't relating so much to Tony but to others,
perhaps even to Philip, through Tony."
"Oh, Stuart's cockamamie idea--I've never bought
into that," said Pam.
"Used?" interjected Tony. "You think I was used?
No complaints here about that--I'm up for being used like
that any time."
"Come on, Tony," said Rebecca, "stop playing
games. Stop thinking with your little head."
"Little head?"
"Your cock!"
When Tony broke into a big lascivious smile,
Rebecca barked, "You bastard, you knew what I meant!
You just wanted to hear me talk dirty. Get serious, Tony,
we don't have much time left here. You can't really be
saying you weren't affected by what happened with Pam."
Tony stopped smiling, "Well, being suddenly
dumped felt...you know, thrown away. But I'm still
hoping."
"Tony," said Rebecca, "you've still got a lot of work
to do on relating to a woman. Quit begging--it's
demeaning. I hear you saying they can use you in any
goddamned way they want because there's only one thing
you want from them: to get laid. That's belittling
yourself--and them too."
"I didn't think I was using Tony," said Pam.
"Everything felt mutual to me. But, to be honest, at the time
I didn't reflect much. I just acted on automatic pilot."
"As did I, long ago. Automatic pilot," Philip said
softly.
Pam was startled. She looked at Philip for a few
seconds and then gazed downward.
"I have a query for you," said Philip.
When Pam did not look up, he added, "A query
for you, Pam."
Pam raised her head and faced him. Other members
exchanged glances.
"Twenty minutes ago you said ' disillusionment with
academic life.' And yet a few weeks ago you said that
when you applied to grad school, you seriously considered
philosophy, even working on Schopenhauer. If that is so,
then I put this question to you: could I have been that
disastrous a teacher? "
"I never said you were a bad teacher," replied Pam.
"You were one of the best teachers I've ever had."
Astonished, Philip stared hard at her.
"Talk about what you're feeling, Philip," urged
Julius.
When Philip refused to answer, Julius said, "You
remember everything, every word, Pam says. I think she
matters a great deal to you."
Philip remained silent.
Julius turned toward Pam. "I'm thinking about your
words--that Philip was one of the best teachers you ever
had. That must have compounded your sense of
disappointment and betrayal."
"Amen. Thanks, Julius, you're always there."
Stuart r
epeated her words, "One of the best teachers
you ever had! I'm absolutely floored by that. I'm floored by your saying something so...so generous, to Philip. That's a
huge step."
"Don't make too much of it," said Pam. "Julius hit
the nail on the head: if anything, his being a good teacher
made what he did even more egregious."
Tony, taking to heart Gill's comments about his
relationship with Pam, opened the next meeting by
addressing Pam directly. "This is...like awkward, but I
been holding something back. I want to say that I'm feeling
more bummed out about us than I've admitted. I haven't
done anything wrong to you--you and I were...uh
together...mutual about the sex, and yet now I'm the
person non grata--"
"Per sona non grata," whispered Philip gently.
"Persona non grata." Tony continued, "And I feel
I'm being punished. We're not close anymore, and I guess I
miss that. It seems like we were once friends, then lovers,
and now...it's like...in limbo...nothing...you avoid me.
And Gill's right: getting dumped in public was humiliating
as hell. Right now I get nothing from you--not getting laid,
not being friends."
"Oh Tony, I am so so sorry. I know. I made a
mistake--I--we--should never have done this. It's
awkward for me, too."
"So how about our going back to where we were
before?"
"Back to?"
"Just friends, that's all. Just hanging out after the
group, like all the others do here, except for my buddy,
Philip, who's coming around." Tony reached over and gave
Philip's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "You know,
talking about the group, your telling me about books, all
that stuff."
"That sounds adult," answered Pam. "And...it would
be a first for me--usually after an affair I make a clean
tumultuous break."
Bonnie volunteered, "I wonder, Pam, if you keep
your distance from Tony because you fear he will interpret
a friendly overture as a sexual invitation."
"Yeah, exactly--there is that--that's an important
part of it. Tony does get a bit single-minded."
"Well," said Gill, "there's an obvious remedy: just
clear the air. Be straight with him. Ambiguity makes things
worse. Couple of weeks ago I heard you raise the
possibility that maybe the two of you can get together later
The Schopenhauer Cure Page 34
