The Schopenhauer Cure (35 page)

"Julius," said Pam, "you've been on my mind ever since you

told me about your melanoma. There is something to what I'm

being told about my being tough on men, but you're the main

exception--you are the dearest man I've ever known. And yes, I
do feel protective of you. I felt it when Philip put you on the spot. I thought--and still think--it was callous and insensitive of him.

And the question of whether I'm more conscious of my own

death--well, that may be there, but I'm not aware of it. I can tell you that I'm on the lookout for consolatory things I might say to you. Last night I read something interesting, a passage in

Nabokov's memoir, Speak, Memory, which described life as a spark between two identical pools of darkness, the darkness before we were born and the darkness after we die. And how odd it is that we have so much concern about the latter and so little about the former. I somehow found this enormously reassuring and

immediately tagged it to give to you."

"That's a gift, Pam. Thank you. That's an extraordinary

thought. And it is a reassuring thought, though I'm not quite sure why. I'm more comfortable with that first pool, before birth--it seems friendlier--perhaps I imbue it with promise, the potential of things to come."

"That thought," said Philip, "was also reassuring to

Schopenhauer, from whom, incidentally, Nabokov undoubtedly

lifted it. Schopenhauer said that after death we will be what we were before our birth and then proceeded to prove the impossibility of there being more than one kind of nothingness."

Julius never had a chance to reply. Pam glared at Philip and

barked a response: "Right here we have a perfect illustration of why your desire to be a counselor is a monstrous joke. We're in the midst of tender feelings, and what matters most, what only matters to you, is accuracy of attribution. You think Schopenhauer once said something vaguely similar. Big fucking deal!"

Philip closed his eyes and began reciting: "'A man finds

himself, to his great astonishment, suddenly existing after

thousands and thousands of years of nonexistence; he lives for a little while; and then, again, comes an equally long period when he must exist no more.' I've committed a great deal of Schopenhauer to memory: third paragraph of his essay 'Additional Remarks on the Doctrine of the Vanity of Existence.' Is that vague enough for you?"

"Children, children, you two quit that," said Bonnie, in a

high-pitched voice.

"You're getting loose, Bonnie. I like it," said Tony.

"Other feelings, anybody?" asked Julius.

"I don't want to get caught in this crossfire. Some big cannons being wheeled out," said Gill.

"Yeah," said Stuart, "neither of them can resist the

opportunity for a jab. Philip's got to comment on someone else using Schopenhauer's phrase, and Pam can't resist the opportunity to call Philip a monstrous joke."

"I didn't say he was a monstrous joke. I said..."

"Get off it, Pam, you're nitpicking. You know what I

meant." Stuart held his ground. "And anyway that blowup about

Nabokov--that was out of line, Pam. You bad-mouth his hero, and then you praise someone else who borrows Schopenhauer's words.

What's so wrong with Philip setting you straight? What's the big crime with his pointing out Schopenhauer's priority?"

"I gotta say something," said Tony. "As usual I don't know

who these dudes are--at least not Nabo...Nobo?

"Nabokov," said Pam, in the soft voice she reserved for

Tony. "He's a great Russian writer. You may have heard of his

novel Lolita. "

"Yeah, I saw that. Well, in this kind of talk I get into a

vicious circle--not knowing makes me feel stupid, then I clam up, and then I feel more stupid. I've got to keep trying to break that pattern by speaking out." He turned to Julius: "So to answer your question about feelings, that's one feeling--stupid. Another is that for one instant, when he said, 'Is that vague enough for you?' I got a glimpse of Philip's teeth--and they're sharp teeth, real sharp.

And some other feelings toward Pam," Tony turned to face her,

"Pam, you're my girl--I really dig you, but I'll tell you

something: I sure don't want to get on your bad side. "

"I hear you," said Pam.

"And, and..." said Tony, "I forgot the most important thing

I was going to say--that this whole argument has gotten us off the track. We were talking about how we might be protecting or

avoiding you, Julius. Then with Pam and Philip we got off the

topic quick. So aren't we avoiding you again?"

"You know, I don't feel that now. When we work as

intimately as we're doing now, we never stay on a single trail. The stream of thought keeps overflowing into new channels. And,

incidentally," Julius turned to Philip, "I use that term--

intimately--quite deliberately. I think your anger--which we see breaking through here for the first time--is truly a sign of

intimacy. I think you care enough about Pam to be angry at her."

Julius knew Philip would not answer on his own and nudged

him. "Philip?"

Shaking his head, Philip replied, "I don't know how to

assess your hypothesis. But there is something else I want to say. I confess that, like Pam, I also have been looking for comforting or at least relevant things to say to you. I have followed

Schopenhauer's practice of ending each day reading from the

works of Epictetus or from the Upanishads." Philip glanced in

Tony's direction. "Epictetus was a Roman philosopher of the

second century, and the Upanishads are an ancient sacred Hindu text. The other night I read a passage from Epictetus that I thought would be of value, and I've made copies of it. I've translated it loosely from the Latin into current vernacular." Philip reached into his briefcase, handed out copies to each member, and then, eyes closed, recited the passage from memory.

When, on a sea voyage, the ship is brought to anchor, you go

out to fetch water and gather a few roots and shells by the way.

But you always need to keep your mind fixed on the ship, and

constantly to look around, lest at any time the master of the

ship call, and you must heed that call and cast away all those things, lest you be treated like the sheep that are bound and

thrown into the hold.

So it is with human life also. And if there be available

wife and children instead of shells and roots, nothing should

hinder us from taking them. But if the master call, run to the ship, forsaking all those things, and without looking behind.

And if thou be in old age, go not far from the ship at any time, lest the master should call, and thou be not ready.

Philip ended and held out his arms as though to say, "There

it is."

The group studied the passage. They were bewildered. Stuart

broke the silence, "I'm trying, but, Philip, I don't get it. What's the value of this for Julius? Or for us?"

Julius pointed to his watch. "Sorry to say we're out of time.

But let me be teacherly and make one point. I often view a

statement or act from two different points of view--from

its content and from its process --and by process I mean what it tells us about the nature of the relationship between the parties involved. Like you, Stuart, I don't immediately understand the content of Philip's message: I've got to study it, and maybe the content can be a topic in another meeting. But I know something about the process. What I know, Philip, is that you, like Pam, were thinking about me, wanted to give me a gift, and you went to some lengths to do it: you memorized the passage and you made copies.

And the meaning of that? It's got to reflect your caring about me.

And what do I feel about it? I'm touched, I appreciate it, and I look forward to the time when you can express your caring in your own words."

30

_________________________

Life
can

be

compared to a

piece

of

embroidered

material

of

which, everyone

in

the

first

half

of

his

time, comes to

see

the

top

side,

but

in

the

second

half,

the

reverse

side.

The latter is

not

so

beautiful, but

is

more

instructive

because

it

enables one to

see

how

the

threads

are

connected

together.

_________________________

When the group left, Julius watched them walk down his front

stairs to the street. Rather than peel off singly to their parked cars, they continued in a clump, undoubtedly on their way to the coffee shop. Oh, how he would have liked to grab his windbreaker and go flying down the stairs to join them. But that was another day, another life, another pair of legs, he thought, as he crept down the hall heading toward his office computer to enter his notes on the meeting. Suddenly, he changed his mind, walked back into the

group room, took out his pipe, and enjoyed the aroma of rich

Turkish tobacco. He had no particular purpose other than simply to bask for a few minutes more in the embers of the group session.

This meeting, like the last three or four, had been riveting.

His thoughts drifted back to the groups of breast cancer patients he had led so long ago. How often had those members described a

golden period once they overcame the panic of realizing that they were truly going to die. Some said living with cancer had made them wiser, more self-realized, while others had reordered their priorities in life, grown stronger, learned to say no to activities they no longer valued and yes to things that really mattered--such as loving their family and friends, observing the beauty about them, savoring the changing seasons. But what a pity, so many had

lamented, that it was only after their bodies were riddled with cancer that they had learned how to live.

These changes were so dramatic--indeed one patient had

proclaimed, "Cancer cures psychoneurosis"--that on a couple of occasions Julius impishly described only the psychological

changes to a class of students and then asked them to guess what kind of therapy was involved. How shocked students were to learn it was not therapy or medication but a confrontation with death that had made the difference. He owed a lot to those patients. What a model they were for him in his time of need. What a pity he

couldn't tell them. Live right, he reminded himself, and have faith that good things will flow from you even if you never learn of them.

And how are you doing with your cancer? he asked himself.

I know a lot about the panic phase which, thank God, I'm now

coming out of even though there are still those 3A.M. times when panic grips with a nameless terror that yields to no reasoning or rhetoric--it yields to nothing except Valium, the light of breaking dawn, or a soothing hot-tub soak.

But have I changed or grown wiser? he wondered. Had my

golden period? Maybe I'm closer to my feelings--maybe that's

growth. I think, no,
I know
I've become a better therapist--grown more sensitive ears. Yes, definitely I'm a different therapist.

Before my melanoma I would never have said that I was in love

with the group. I would never have dreamed of revealing such

intimate details of my life--Miriam's death, my sexual

opportunism. And my irresistible compulsion to confess to the

group today--Julius shook his head in amazement--

that's
something to wonder about, he thought. I feel a push to go against the grain, against my training, my own teaching.

One thing for sure, they did
not
want to hear me. Talk about resistance! They wanted no part of my blemishes or my darkness.

But, once I put it out, some interesting stuff emerged. Tony was something else! Acted like a skilled therapist--inquiring whether I was satisfied with the group's response, trying to normalize my behavior, pressing about "why now." Terrific stuff. I could almost imagine him leading the group after I'm gone--that would be

something--a college dropout therapist with jail time in his past.

And others--Gill, Stuart, Pam--stepped up, took care of me, and kept the group focused. Jung had other things in mind when he

said that only the wounded healer can truly heal, but maybe honing the patients' therapeutic skills is a good enough justification for therapists to reveal their wounds.

Julius moseyed down the hall to his office and continued

thinking about the meeting. And Gill--did he show up today!

Calling Pam "the chief justice" was terrific--and accurate. I have to help Pam integrate that feedback. Here's a case when Gill's vision is sharper than mine. For a long time I've liked Pam so much that I overlooked her pathology--maybe that's why I