Ирвин Ялом - The Schopenhauer Cure
persistence of consciousness, what possible solace could I draw from that? By the same
token, I get little comfort from knowing that my bodily molecules will be dispersed into
space and that ultimately my DNA will end up being a part of some other life–form.»
«I`d like us to read together his essays on death and on the indestructibility of
being. If we did, I`m certain—”
«Not now, Philip. At the moment I`m not as much interested in death as I am in
living the rest of my life as fully as possible—that`s where I am.»
«Death is always there, the horizon of all these concerns. Socrates said it most
clearly, вЂto learn to live well, one must first learn to die well.` Or Seneca, вЂNo man enjoys
the true taste of life but he who is willing and ready to quit it.`”
«Yes, yes, I know these homilies, and maybe in the abstract they are true. And I
have no quarrel with incorporating the wisdom of philosophy into psychotherapy. I`m all
for it. And I also know that Schopenhauer has served you well in many ways. But not in
all ways: there`s a possibility that you may need some remedial work. And that`s where
the group comes in. I look forward to seeing you here for your first meeting next Monday
at four–thirty.»
10
The Happiest
Years of
Arthur`s life
_________________________
Justbecause the terrible
activity of the genital system
still slumbers, while that of
the brain already has its full
briskness, childhood is the
time of innocence and
happiness, the paradise of
life, the lost Eden, on which
we look back longingly through
the whole remaining course of
our life.
_________________________
When Arthur turned nine, his father decided the time had come to take over the direction
of his son`s education. His first step was to deposit him for two years in Le Havre at the
home of a business partner, Gregories de Blesimaire. There, Arthur was to learn French,
social graces, and, as Heinrich put it, «become read in the books of the world.»
Expelled from home, separated from his parents at the age of nine? How many
children have regarded such exile as a catastrophic life event? Yet, later in life, Arthur
described these two years as «by far the happiest part of his childhood.»
Something important happened in Le Havre: perhaps for the only time in his life
Arthur felt nurtured and enjoyed life. For many years afterward he cherished the memory
of the convivial Blesimaires, with whom he found something resembling parental love.
His letters to his parents were so full of praise for them that his mother felt compelled to
remind him of his father`s virtues and largesse. «Remember how your father permits you
to buy that ivory flute for one louis–d`or.»
Another important event took place during his sojourn in Le Havre. Arthur found a
friend—one of the very few of his entire life. Anthime, the Blesimaire son, was the same
age as Arthur. The two boys became close in Le Havre and exchanged a few letters after
Arthur returned to Hamburg.
Years later as young men of twenty they met once again and on a few occasions
went out together searching for amorous adventures. Then their paths and their interests
diverged. Anthime became a businessman and disappeared from Arthur`s life until thirty
years later when they had a brief correspondence in which Arthur sought some financial
advice. When Anthime responded with an offer to manage his portfolio for a fee, Arthur
abruptly ended the correspondence. By that time he suspected everyone and trusted no
one. He put Anthime`s letter aside after jotting on the back of the envelope a cynical
aphorism from Gracian (a Spanish philosopher much admired by his father): «Make one`s
entry into another`s affair in order to leave with one`s own.»
Arthur and Anthime had one final meeting ten years later—an awkward encounter
during which they found little to say to one another. Arthur described his old friend as
«an unbearable old man» and wrote in his journal that the «feeling of two friends meeting
after a generation of absence will be one of great disappointment with the whole of life.»
Another incident marked Arthur`s stay in Le Havre: he was introduced to death. A
childhood playmate in Hamburg, Gottfried Janish, died while Arthur was living in Le
Havre. Though Arthur seemed undemonstrative and said that he never again thought of
Gottfried, it is apparent that he never truly forgot his dead playmate, nor the shock of his
first acquaintance with mortality, because thirty years later he described a dream in his
journal: «I found myself in a country unknown to me, a group of men stood on a field,
and among them a slim, tall, adult man who, I do not know how, had been made known
to me as Gottfried Janish, and he welcomed me.»
Arthur had little difficulty interpreting the dream. At that time he was living in
Berlin in the midst of a cholera epidemic. The dream image of a reunion with Gottfried
could only mean one thing: a warning of approaching death. Consequently, Arthur
decided to escape death by immediately leaving Berlin. He chose to move to Frankfurt,
where he was to live the last thirty years of his life, largely because he thought it to be
cholera–proof.
11
Philip`s First
Meeting
_________________________
Thegreatest wisdom is to make
the enjoyment of the present
the supreme object of life
because that is the only
reality, all else being the
play of thought. But we could
just as well call it our
greatest folly because that
which exists only a moment and
vanishes as a dream can never
be worth a serious effort.
_________________________
Philip arrived fifteen minutes early for his first group therapy meeting wearing the same
clothes as in his two previous encounters with Julius: the wrinkled, faded checkered shirt,
khaki pants, and corduroy jacket. Marveling at Philip`s consistent indifference to clothes,
office furnishings, his student audience, or, seemingly, anyone with whom he interacted,
Julius once again began to question his decision to invite Philip into the group. Was it
sound professional judgment, or was his chutzpah raising its ugly head again?
Chutzpah: raw nervy brashness.Chutzpah: best defined by the renowned story of
the boy who murdered his parents and then pleaded for mercy from the court on the
grounds that he was an orphan.Chutzpah often entered Julius`s mind when he reflected
upon his approach to life. Perhaps he had been imbued with chutzpah from the start, but
he first consciously embraced it in the autumn of his fifteenth year when his family
relocated from the Bronx to Washington, D.C. His father, who had had a financial
setback, moved the family into a small row house on Farragut Street in northwest
Washington. The nature of his father`s financial difficulties was off limits to any inquiry,
but Julius was convinced that it had something to do with Aqueduct racetrack and She`s
All That, a horse he owned with Vic Vicello, one of his poker cronies. Vic was an elusive
figure who wore a pink handkerchief in his yellow sports jacket and took care never to
enter their home if his mother was present.
His father`s new job was managing a liquor store owned by a cousin felled at forty–five by a coronary, that dark enemy which had either maimed or killed a whole
generation of fifty–year–old male Ashkenazi Jews raised on sour cream and fat–flaked
brisket. His dad hated his new job, but it kept the family solvent; not only did it pay well,
but its long hours kept Dad away from Laurel and Pimlico, the local racetracks.
On Julius`s first day of school at Roosevelt High in September 1955, he made a
momentous decision: he would redo himself. He was unknown in Washington, a free soul
unencumbered by the past. His past three years at P.S. 1126, his Bronx junior high
school, were nothing to be proud of. Gambling had been so much more interesting than
other school activities that he spent every afternoon at the bowling alley lining up
challenge games betting on himself or on his partner, Marty Geller—he of the great left–handed hook. He also ran a small bookie operation, where he offered ten–to–one odds to
anyone picking any three baseball players to get six hits among them on any given day.
No matter who the pigeons picked—Mantle, Kaline, Aaron, Vernon, or Stan (the Man)
Musial—they rarely won, at best once in twenty to thirty bets. Julius ran with like–minded punks, developed the aura of a tough street fighter in order to intimidate would–be welchers, dumbed himself down in class to remain cool, and cut many a school
afternoon to watch Mantle patrol the Yankee Stadium center field.
Everything changed the day he and his parents were called into the principal`s
office and confronted with his bookie ledger–book, for which he had been frantically
searching the previous couple of days. Though punishment was meted out—no evenings
out for the remaining two months of the school year, no bowling alley, no trips to Yankee
Stadium, no after–school sports, no allowance—Julius could see his father`s heart wasn`t
in it: he was entirely intrigued by the details of Julius`s three–player, six–hit caper. Still,
Julius had admired the principal, and falling from his grace was such a wake–up call that
he attempted to reclaim himself. But it was too little, too late; the best he could do was to
move his grades up to low Bs. It wasn`t possible to form new friendships—he was role–locked, and no one could relate to the new boy Julius had decided to become.
As a consequence of this episode, the latter–day Julius had an exquisite sensitivity
to the phenomenon of «role–lock»: how often had he seen group therapy patients change
dramatically but continue to be perceived as the same person by the other group
members. Happens also in families. Many of his improved patients had a hell of a time
when visiting their parents: they had to guard against being sucked back into their old
family role and had to expend considerable energy persuading parents and siblings that
they were indeed changed.
Julius`s great experiment with reinvention commenced with his family`s move. On
that first day of school in Washington, D.C., a balmy Indian summer September day,
Julius crunched through the fallen sycamore leaves and strode into the front door of
Roosevelt High, searching for a master strategy to make himself over. Noticing the
broadsides posted outside the auditorium advertising the candidates for class president,
Julius had an inspired thought, and even before he learned the location of the boys` room
he had posted his name for the election.
The election bid was a long shot, beyond long shot—longer odds than betting on
the tightfisted Clark Griffith`s inept Washington Senators to climb out of last place. He
knew nothing about Roosevelt High and had yet to meet a single classmate. Would the
old Julius from the Bronx have run for office? Not in a thousand years. But that was the
point; precisely for this reason, the new Julius took the plunge. What was the worst that
could happen? His name would be out there, and all would recognize Julius Hertzfeld as
a force, a potential leader, a boy to be reckoned with. What`s more, he loved the action.
Of course, his opponents would dismiss him as a bad joke, a gnat, an unknown
know–nothing. Expecting such criticism, Julius readied himself and prepared a riff about
the ability of a newcomer to see fault lines invisible to those living too close to the
corruption. He had the gift of gab, honed by long hours in the bowling alley of wheedling
and cajoling suckers into match games. The new Julius had nothing to lose and fearlessly
strolled up to clusters of students to announce, «Hi, I`m Julius, the new kid on the block,
and I hope you`ll support me in election for class president. I don`t know crap about
school politics, but, you know, sometimes a fresh look is the best look. Besides, I`m
absolutely independent—don`t belong to any cliques because I don`t know anybody.»
As things turned out, not only did Julius recreate himself, but he damn near won
the election. With a football team that had lost eighteen straight games and a basketball
team almost as hapless, Roosevelt High was demoralized. The two other candidates were
vulnerable: Catherine Shumann, the brainy daughter of the diminutive long–faced
minister who led the prayer before each school assembly, was prissy and unpopular, and
Richard Heishman, the handsome, red–haired, red–necked football halfback, had a great
many enemies. Julius rode the crest of a robust protest vote. In addition, to his great
surprise, he immediately was embraced vigorously by virtually all the Jewish students,
about 30 percent of the student body, who had heretofore kept a low, apolitical profile.
They loved him, the love of the timid, hesitant, make–no–waves Mason–Dixon Yid for the
gutsy, brash New York Jew.
That election was the turning point of Julius`s life. So much reinforcement did he
receive for his brazenness that he rebuilt his whole identity on the foundation of raw
chutzpah. The three Jewish high school fraternities vied for him; he was perceived as
having both guts and that ever so elusive holy grail of adolescence, «personality.» Soon
he was surrounded by kids at lunch in the cafeteria and was often spotted walking hand in
hand after school with the lovely Miriam Kaye, the editor of the school newspaper and
the one student smart enough to challenge Catherine Schumann for valedictorian. He and
Miriam were soon inseparable. She introduced him to art and aesthetic sensibility; he was
never to make her appreciate the high drama of bowling or baseball.
Yes, chutzpah had taken him a long way. He cultivated it, took great pride in it,
and, in later life, beamed when he heard himself referred to as an original, a maverick, the
therapist who had the guts to take on the cases that had defeated others. But chutzpah had
its dark side—grandiosity. More than once Julius had erred by attempting to do more
than could be done, by asking patients to make more change than was constitutionally
possible for them, by putting patients through a long and, ultimately, unrewarding course
of therapy.
So was it compassion or sheer clinical tenacity that led Julius to think he could yet
reclaim Philip? Or was it grandiose chutzpah? He truly did not know. As he led Philip to
the group therapy room, Julius took a long look at his reluctant patient. With his straight
light brown hair combed straight back without a part, his skin stretched tight across his
high cheekbones, his eyes wary, his step heavy, Philip looked as though he were being
