The Schopenhauer Cure

by Irvin D. Yalom

  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