Ирвин Ялом - The Schopenhauer Cure

opportunity to live our life again and again in precisely the

same manner.»

«How did that relieve you?» asked Philip.

«I looked at my life and felt that I had lived it right—

no regrets frominside though, of course, I hated theoutside

events that took my wife from me. It helped me decide how

I should live my remaining days: I should continue doing

exactly what had always offered me satisfaction and

meaning.»

«I didn`t know that about you and Nietzsche, Julius,”

said Pam. «It makes me feel even closer to you

becauseZarathustra, melodramatic as it is, remains one of

my absolutely favorite books. And I`ll tell you my favorite

quote from it. It`s when Zarathustra says, ‘Was that life?

Well, then, once again!` I love people who embrace life and

get turned off by those who shrink away from it—I`m

thinking of Vijay in India. Next ad I run in a personal

column maybe I`ll post that Nietzsche quote and the

Schopenhauer tombstone quote side–by–side and ask

respondents to choose between them. That would winnow

out the nay–sayers.

«I have another thought I want to share.» Pam turned

to face Philip. «I guess it`s obvious that after the last

meeting I thought about you a lot. I`m teaching a course on

biography, and in my reading last week I ran across an

amazing passage in Erik Erikson`s biography of Martin

Luther. It goes something like this:‘Luther elevated his own

neurosis to that of a universal patient–hood and then tried

to solve for the world what he could not solve for himself.` I

believe that Schopenhauer, like Luther, seriously fell into

this error and that you`ve followed his lead.»

«Perhaps,” responded Philip in a conciliatory

fashion, «neurosis is a social construct, and we may need a

different kind of therapy and a different kind of philosophy

for different temperaments—one approach for those who

are replenished by closeness to others and another approach

for those who choose the life of the mind. Consider, for

example, the large numbers who are drawn to Buddhist

meditation retreats.»

«That remind me of something I`ve been meaning to

say to you, Philip,” said Bonnie. «I think your view of

Buddhism misses something. I`ve attended Buddhist

retreats where the focus has been directed outwards—on

loving kindness and connectivity—not on solitude. A good

Buddhist can be active, in the world, even politically

active—all in the service of loving others.»

«So it`s becoming clearer,” said Julius, «that your

selectivity error involves human relationships. To give

another example: you`ve cited the views about death or

solitude of several philosophers but never speak of what

these same philosophers—and I`m thinking of the Greek

philosophers—have said about the joys ofphilia, of

friendship. I remember one of my own supervisors quoting

me a passage from Epicurus saying that friendship was the

most important ingredient for a happy life and that eating

without a close friend was living the life of a lion or a wolf.

And Aristotle`s definition of a friend—one who promotes

the better and the sounder in the other—comes close to my

idea of the ideal therapist.»

«Philip,” Julius asked, «how is this all feeling today?

Are we laying too much on you at once?»

«I`m tempted to defend myself by pointing out that

not one of the great philosophers ever married, except

Montaigne, who remained so disinterested in his family

that he was unsure how many children he had. But, with

only one remaining meeting, what`s the point? It`s hard to

listen constructively when my entire course, everything I

plan to do as a counselor, is under attack.»

«Speaking for myself, that`s not true. There`s a great

deal you can contribute, much that youhave contributed to

the members here. Right?» Julius scanned the group.

After lots of strenuous head–nodding affirmation for

Philip, Julius continued: «But, if you`re to be a counselor,

youmust enter the social world. I want to remind you that

many, I would betmost, of those who will consult you in

your practice will need help in their interpersonal

relationships, and if you want to support yourself as a

therapist, youmust become an expert in these matters—

there`s no other way. Just take a look around the group:

everyone here entered because of conflicted relationships.

Pam came in because of problems with the men in her life,

Rebecca because of the way her looks influenced her

relations with others, Tony because of a mutually

destructive relationship with Lizzy and his frequent fights

with other men, and so on for everyone.»

Julius hesitated, then decided to include all the

members. «Gill entered because of marital conflict. Stuart

because his wife was threatening to leave him, Bonnie

because of loneliness and problems with her daughter and

ex–husband. You see what I mean, relationships cannot be

ignored. And, don`t forget, that`s the very reason I insisted

you enter the group before offering you supervision.»

«Perhaps there`s no hope for me. My slate of

relationships, past and present, is blank. Not with family,

not with friends, not with lovers. I treasure my solitude, but

the extent of it would, I think, be shocking to you.»

«A couple times after group,” said Tony, «I`ve asked

if you wanted to have a bite together. You always refused,

and I figured it was because you had other plans.»

«I haven`t had a meal with anyone for twelve years.

Maybe an occasional rushed sandwich lunch, but not a real

meal. You`re right, Julius, I guess Epicurus would say I

live the life of a wolf. A few weeks ago after that meeting

when I got so upset, one of the thoughts that circled in my

mind was that the mansion of thought I had built for my life

was unheated. The group is warm. This room is warm but

my living places are arctic cold. And as for love, it`s

absolutely alien to me.»

«All those women, hundreds of them, you told us,”

said Tony, «there must have been some love going around.

You must have felt it. Some of them must have loved you.»

«That was long ago. If any had love for me, I made

sure to avoid them. And even if they felt love, it was not

love, for me, the real me—it was love for my act, my

technique.»

«What`s the real you?» asked Julius.

Philip`s voice grew deadly serious. «Remember what

I did for a job when we first met? I was an exterminator—a

clever chemist who invented ways to kill insects, or to

render them infertile, by using their own hormones. How`s

that for irony? The killer with the hormone gun.»

«So the real you is?» Julius persisted.

Philip looked directly into Julius`s eyes: «A monster.

A predator. Alone. An insect killer.» His eyes filled with

tears. «Full of blind rage. An untouchable. No one who has

known me has loved me. Ever. No onecould love me.»

Suddenly, Pam rose and walked toward Philip. She

signaled Tony to change seats with her and, sitting down

next to Philip, took his hand in hers, and said in a soft

voice, «Icould have loved you, Philip. You were the most

beautiful, the most magnificent man I had ever seen. I

called and wrote you for weeks after you refused to see me

again. I could have loved you, but you polluted—”

«Shhh.» Julius reached over and touched Pam on the

shoulder to silence her. «No, Pam, don`t go there. Stay with

the first part, say it again.»

«I could have loved you.»

«And you were the...” prompted Julius.

«And you were the most beautiful man I had ever

seen.»

«Again,” whispered Julius.

Still holding Philip`s hand and seeing his tears flow

freely, Pam repeated, «I could have loved you, Philip. You

were the most beautiful man...”

At this Philip, with his hands to his face, rose and

bolted from the room.

Tony immediately headed to the door. «That`s my

cue.»

Julius, grunting as he too rose, stopped Tony. «No,

Tony, this one`s on me.» He strode out and saw Philip at

the end of the hall facing the wall, head resting on his

forearm, sobbing. He put his arm around Philip`s shoulder

and said, «It`s good to let it all out, but we must go back.»

Philip, sobbing more loudly and heaving as he tried

to catch his breath, shook his head vigorously.

«You must go back, my boy. This is what you came

for, this very moment, and you mustn`t squander it. You`ve

worked well today—exactly the way you have to work to

become a therapist. Only a couple of minutes left in the

meeting. Just come back with me and sit in the room with

the others. I`ll watch out for you.»

Philip reached around and briefly, just for a moment,

put his hand atop Julius`s hand, then raised himself erect

and walked alongside Julius back to the group. As Philip

sat down, Pam touched his arm to comfort him, and Gill,

sitting on the other side, clasped his shoulder.

«How areyou doing, Julius?» asked Bonnie. «You

look tired.»

«I`m feeling wonderful in my head, I`m so swept

away, so admiring of the work this group has done—I`m so

glad to have been a part of this. Physically, yes, I have to

admit I am ailing, and weary. But I have more than enough

juice left for our last meeting next week.»

«Julius,” said Bonnie, «okay to bring a ceremonial

cake for our last meeting?»

«Absolutely, bring any kind of carrot cake you

wish.»

But there was to be no formal farewell meeting. The

following day Julius was stricken by searing headaches.

Within a few hours he passed into a coma and died three

days later. At their usual Monday–afternoon time the group

gathered at the coffee shop and shared the ceremonial

carrot cake in silent grief.

Death Comes to Arthur Schopenhauer

_________________________

I can bear

the

thought

that in a

short time

worms will

eat away

my body

but the

idea of

philosophy

professors

nibbling

at my

philosophy

makes me

shudder.

_________________________

Schopenhauer faced death as he faced everything

throughout his life—with extreme lucidity. Never flinching

when staring directly at death, never succumbing to the

emollient of supernatural belief, he remained committed to

reason to the very end of his life. It is through reason, he

said, that we first discover our death: we observe the death

of others and, by analogy, realize that death must come to

us. And it is through reason that we reach the self–evident

conclusion that death is the cessation of consciousness and

the irreversible annihilation of the self.

There are two ways to confront death, he said: the

way of reason or the way of illusion and religion with its

hope of persistence of consciousness and cozy afterlife.

Hence, the fact and the fear of death is the progenitor of

deep thought and the mother of both philosophy and

religion.

Throughout his life Schopenhauer struggled with the

omnipresence of death. In his first book, written in his

twenties, he says: «The life of our bodies is only a

constantly prevented dying, an ever deferred death....

Every breath we draw wards off the death that constantly

impinges on us, in this way we struggle with it every

second.»

How did he depict death? Metaphors of death–confrontation abound in his work; we are sheep cavorting

in the pasture, and death is a butcher who capriciously

selects one of us and then another for slaughter. Or we are

like young children in a theater eager for the show to begin

and, fortunately, do not know what is going to happen to

us. Or we are sailors, energetically navigating our ships to

avoid rocks and whirlpools, all the while heading

unerringly to the great final catastrophic shipwreck.

His descriptions of the life cycle always portray an

inexorably despairing voyage.

What a difference there is between our beginning and

our end! The former in the frenzy of desire and the

ecstasy of sensual pleasure; the latter in the destruction

of all the organs and the musty odor of corpses. The

path from birth to death is always downhill as regards

well–being and the enjoyment of life; blissfully

dreaming childhood, lighthearted youth, toilsome

manhood, frail and often pitiable old age, the torture of

the last illness, and finally the agony of death. Does it

not look exactly like existence were a false step whose

consequences gradually become more and more

obvious?

Did he fear his own death? In his later years he

expressed a great calmness about dying. Whence his

tranquillity? If the fear of death is ubiquitous, if it haunts us

all our life, if death is so fearsome that vast numbers of

religions have emerged to contain it, how did the isolated

and secular Schopenhauer quell its terror for himself?

His methods were based on intellectual analysis of

the sources of death–anxiety. Do we dread death because it

is alien and unfamiliar? If so, he insists we are mistaken

because death is far more familiar than we generally think.

Not only have we a taste of death daily in our sleep or in

states of unconsciousness, but we have all passed through

an eternity of nonbeing before we existed.

Do we dread death because it is evil? (Consider the

gruesome iconography commonly depicting death.) Here

too he insists we are mistaken: «It is absurd to consider

nonexistence as an evil: for every evil, like every good,

presupposes existence and consciousness.... to have lost

what cannot be missed is obviously no evil.» And he asks

us to keep in mind that life is suffering, that it is an evil in

itself. That being so, how can losing an evil be an evil?

Death, he says, should be considered a blessing, a release

from the inexorable anguish of biped existence. «We

should welcome it as a desirable and happy event instead

of, as is usually the case, with fear and trembling.» Life

should be reviled for interrupting our blissful nonexistence,

and, in this context, he makes his controversial claim: «If

we knocked on the graves and asked the dead if they would

like to rise again, they would shake their heads.» He cites

similar utterances by Plato, Socrates, and Voltaire.

In addition to his rational arguments, Schopenhauer

proffers one that borders on mysticism. He flirts with (but

does not marry) a form of immortality. In his view, our