The Schopenhauer Cure

by Irvin Yalom

  “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; maybe I should start counting out money. What are your fees?”

  Tony smiled broadly. “Since I’m on a roll, let me give you my guess, Julius, about why you went out of your way to work with Philip again. Maybe when you first saw Philip years ago you were closer to that state of mind you told us about last week—you know, having strong sex desires for other women.”

  Julius nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, here’s what I’m wondering: if you had issues similar to Philip’s—not the same but something in that ballpark—could that have gotten in the way of your therapy with him?”

  Julius sat up straight in his chair. Philip, too, straightened up. “You are sure catching my attention, Tony. Now I’m beginning to remember why therapists are hesitant to reveal themselves—I mean it doesn’t go away—what you reveal comes back to haunt you again and again.”

  “Sorry, Julius, I definitely didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. I really mean that. I’m not complaining; maybe I’m just stalling. Your observation is good—maybe it’s too good, too close, and I’m resisting a bit.” Julius paused and thought a moment. “Okay, here’s what comes up for me: I remember that I was surprised and dismayed that I hadn’t helped Philip. I should have helped him. When we began, I would have taken a big bet that I would have helped him a lot. I thought I had an inside track on helping him. I was sure that my own personal experience would grease the rails of therapy.”

  “Maybe,” said Tony. “Maybe that’s why you invited Philip into this group—give it another try, getting another chance. Right?”

  “You took the words out of my mouth,” said Julius. “I was just going to say that. This may be the reason why a few months ago when I was wondering about who I helped and who I didn’t, I got so fixated on Philip. In fact, when Philip came to mind I began to lose interest in contacting other patients.

  “Hey, look at the time. I hate to bring this meeting to an end, but we’ve got to stop. Good meeting—I know I’ve got a lot to think about—Tony, you opened up some things for me. Thanks.”

  “So,” said Tony with a grin, “am I excused from paying today?”

  “Blessed is he who gives,” said Julius. “But who knows?—keep on like this and that day may come.”

  After leaving the group room the members chattered on the outside steps of Julius’s home before dispersing. Only Tony and Pam headed toward the coffee shop.

  Pam was fixated on Philip. She was not mollified by Philip’s statement that she had been unlucky to have met him. Moreover, she hated his compliment on her interpretation of the parable and hated even more that she had enjoyed getting it. She worried that the group was swinging over to Philip—away from her, away from Julius.

  Tony felt elated—he voted himself the MVP—the meeting’s most valuable player; maybe he’d skip the bar scene tonight—try to read one of the books Pam had given him.

  Gill watched Pam and Tony walk down the street together. He (and Philip of course) were the only ones Pam had not hugged at the end of the meeting. Had he crossed her too much? Gill turned his attention to tomorrow’s wine-tasting event—one of Rose’s big nights. A group of Rose’s friends always got together at this time of the year for a sampling of the year’s best wines. How to negotiate that? Just swish the wine and spit it out? Pretty tough to pull that off. Or come right out with the truth? He thought of his AA sponsor: he knew how the conversation between them would go:

  Sponsor: Where’re your priorities? Skip the event, go to a meeting.

  Gill: But wine tasting is the reason these friends get together.

  Sponsor: Is it? Suggest another activity.

  Gill: Won’t work. They won’t do it.

  Sponsor: Then get new friends.

  Gill: Rose won’t like it.

  Sponsor: So?

  Rebecca said to herself: Real stuff in, real stuff out. Real stuff in, real stuff out. Must remember that. She smiled when she thought about Tony counting his money when she had talked about her flirtation with whoredom. Secretly she had gotten a kick out of that. Was it bad faith to accept an apology from him?

  Bonnie, as alwa
ys, hated to see the meeting come to an end. She was alive those ninety minutes. The rest of her life seemed so tepid. Why was that? Why must librarians lead dull lives? Then she thought about Philip’s statement about what you are, what you have, and what you represent to others. Intriguing!

  Stuart relished the meeting. He was entering full-bodied into the group. He repeated to himself the words he had said to Rebecca about how her looks served as a barrier to knowing her and that he had recently seen something deeper than her skin. That was good. That was good. And telling Philip that his cold kind of consolation had made him shiver. That was being more than a camera. And then there was the way he had pointed out the tension between Pam and Philip. No, no, that was camera stuff.

  On his walk home Philip struggled to avoid thinking of the meeting, but the events were too heady to screen out. In a few minutes he caved in and permitted his thoughts free rein. Old Epictetus had caught their attention. He always does. Then he imagined hands reaching out and faces turned toward him. Gill had become his champion—but not to be taken seriously. Gill wasn’t for him but instead was against Pam, trying to learn how to defend himself against her, and Rose, and all other women. Rebecca had liked what he had said. Her handsome face lingered briefly in his mind. And then he thought of Tony—the tattoos, the bruised cheek. He had never met anyone like him—a real primitive, but a primitive who is beginning to comprehend a world beyond everydayness. And Julius—was he losing his sharpness? How could he defend attachment while acknowledging his problems of overinvestment in Philip as a patient?

  Philip felt jittery, uncomfortable in his skin. He sensed that he was in danger of unraveling. Why had he told Pam that she was unlucky to have met him? Is that why she had spoken his name so often in the meeting—and demanded that he face her? His former debased self was hovering like a ghost. He sensed its presence, thirsting for life. Philip quieted his mind and slipped into a walking meditation.

  33

  Suffering, Rage, Perseverance