confrontation plot involved a female attorney who was assigned a
pro bono case to defend an accused rapist. On her first jail
interview with him she suspects he is the man who raped her ten
years before.
He made a new entry: «In a therapy group a woman
encounters a man who, many years before, had been her teacher
and sexually exploited her.» Not bad. Great potential for literature,
Julius thought, though he knew it would never be written. There
were ethical issues: he`d need permission from Pam and Philip.
And he`d need, also, the passage of ten years, which he didn`t
have. But potential, too, for good therapy, thought Julius. He was
certain that something positive could come of this—if only he
could keep them both in the group and could bear the pain of
opening up old wounds.
Julius picked up Philip`s translation of the tale of the ship`s
passengers. He reread it several times, trying to understand its
meaning or relevance. But still he ended up shaking his head.
Philip offered it as comfort. But where was the comfort?
How Arthur Lived
_________________________
Even when there
is no
particular
provocation, I
always have an
anxious concern
that causes me
to see and look
for dangers
when none
exist; for me
it magnifies to
infinity the
tiniest
vexation and
makes
association
with people
most difficult.
_________________________
After obtaining his doctorate, Arthur lived in Berlin, briefly in
Dresden, Munich, and Mannheim, and then, fleeing a cholera
epidemic, settled, for the last thirty years of his life, in Frankfurt,
which he never left aside from one–day excursions. He had no paid
employment, lived in rented rooms, never had a home, hearth,
wife, family, intimate friendships. He had no social circle, no close
acquaintances, and no sense of community—in fact he was often
the subject of local ridicule. Until the very last few years of his life
he had no audience, readership, or income from his writings. Since
he had so few relationships, his meager correspondence consisted
primarily of business matters.
Despite his lack of friends, we nonetheless know more about
his personal life than that of most philosophers because he was
astonishingly personal in his philosophical writings. For example,
in the opening paragraphs of the introduction to his major
work,The World as Will and Representation, he strikes an
unusually personal note for a philosophic treatise. His pure and
clear prose makes it immediately evident that he desires to
communicate personally with the reader. First he instructs the
reader how to read his book, starting with a plea to read the book
twice—and to do so with much patience. Next he urges the reader
to first read his previous book,On the Fourfold Root of Sufficient
Reason, which serves as an introduction to this book and assures
the reader that he will feel much gratitude toward him for his
advice. He then states that the reader will profit even more if he is
familiar with the magnificent work of Kant and the divine Plato.
He notes that he has, however, discovered grave errors in Kant,
which he discusses in an appendix (which should also be read
first), and lastly notes that those readers familiar with the
Upanishads will be prepared best of all to comprehend his book.
And, finally, he remarks (quite correctly) that the reader must be
growing angry and impatient with his presumptuous, immodest,
and time–consuming requests. How odd that this most personal of
philosophic writers should have lived so impersonally.
In addition to personal references inserted into his work,
Schopenhauer reveals much about himself in an autobiographical
document with a title written in Greek, (About
Myself), a manuscript shrouded in mystery and controversy whose
strange story goes like this:
Late in his life there gathered around Arthur a very small
circle of enthusiasts, or «evangelists,” whom he tolerated but
neither respected nor liked. These acquaintances often heard him
speak of «About Myself,” an autobiographical journal in which he
had been jotting observations about himself for the previous thirty
years. Yet after his death something strange happened: «About
Myself» was nowhere to be found. After searching in vain,
Schopenhauer`s followers confronted Wilhelm Gwinner, the
executor of Schopenhauer`s will, about the missing document.
Gwinner informed them that «About Myself» no longer existed; as
Schopenhauer had instructed him he had burned it immediately
after his death.
Yet a short time later the same Wilhelm Gwinner wrote the
first biography of Arthur Schopenhauer, and in it Schopenhauer`s
evangelists insisted they recognized sections of the «About
Myself» document either in direct quotes or in paraphrase. Had
Gwinner copied the manuscript before burning it? Or not burned it
all and instead plundered it for use in his biography? Controversy
swirled for decades, and ultimately another Schopenhauer scholar
reconstituted the document from Gwinner`s book and from other
of Schopenhauer`s writings and published the forty–seven–page at the end of the four–volumeNachschlass
(Manuscript Remains). «About Me» is an odd reading experience
because each paragraph is followed by a description of its
Byzantine provenance, often longer than the text itself.
Why was it that Arthur Schopenhauer never had a job? The
story of Arthur`s kamikaze strategy for obtaining a position at the
university is another one of those quirky anecdotes included in
every biographical account of Schopenhauer`s life. In 1820, at the
age of thirty–two, he was offered his first teaching job, a
temporary, very low–salaried position (Privatdozent) to teach
philosophy at the University of Berlin. What did he do but
immediately and deliberately schedule his lecture course (titled
«The Essence of the World») at the exact same hour as the course
offered by Georg Wilhelm Hegel, the departmental chairman and
the most renowned philosopher of the day?
Two hundred eager students crammed into Hegel`s course,
whereas only five came to hear Schopenhauer describe himself as
an avenger who had come to liberate post–Kantian philosophy
from the empty paradoxes and the corrupting and obscure language
of contemporary philosophy. It was no secret that Schopenhauer`s
target was Hegel and Hegel`s predecessor, Fichte (remember, the
philosopher who had begun life as a gooseherd and walked across
all of Europe in order to meet Kant). Obviously, none of this
endeared the young Schopenhauer to Hegel or to the other faculty
members, and when no students at all materialized for
Schopenhauer`s course the following semester his brief and
reckless academic career was over: he never again gave a public
lecture.
In his thirty years at Frankfurt until his death in 1860,
Schopenhauer adhered to a regular daily schedule, almost as
precise as Kant`s daily routine. His day began with three hours of
writing followed by a hour, sometimes two, of playing the flute.
He swam daily in the cold Main River, rarely missing a day even
in the midst of winter. He always lunched at the same club, the
Englisher Hof, dressed in tails and white tie, a costume that was
high fashion in his youth but conspicuously out of style in mid–nineteenth century Frankfurt. It was to his luncheon club that any
curious person wanting to meet the odd and querulous philosopher
would go.
Anecdotes about Schopenhauer at the Englisher Hof abound:
his enormous appetite, often consuming food for two (when
someone remarked upon this, he replied that he also thought for
two), his paying for two lunches to ensure no one sat next to him,
his gruff but penetrating conversation, his frequent outbursts of
temper, his blacklist of individuals to whom he refused to speak,
his tendency to discuss inappropriate shocking topics—for
example, praising the new scientific discovery that allowed him to
avoid venereal infection by dipping his penis after intercourse into
a dilute solution of bleaching powder.
Though he enjoyed serious conversation, he rarely found
dining companions he deemed worthy of his time. For some time,
he regularly placed a gold piece on the table when he sat down and
removed it when he left. One of the military officers that usually
lunched at the same table once asked him about the purpose of this
exercise. Schopenhauer replied that he would donate the gold piece
for the poor the day that he heard officers have a serious
conversation that did not entirely revolve around their horses,
dogs, or women. During his meal he would address his poodle,
Atman, as «You, Sir,” and if Atman misbehaved he redressed him
by calling him «You Human!»
Many anecdotes of his sharp wit are told. Once a diner asked
him a question to which he simply responded, «I don`t know.» The
young man commented, «Well, well, I thought you, a great sage,
knew everything!» Schopenhauer replied, «No, knowledge is
limited, only stupidity is unlimited!» A query to Schopenhauer
from or about women or marriage elicited without fail an acerbic
response. He was once forced to endure the company of a very
talkative woman, who described in detail the misery of her
marriage. He listened patiently, but when she asked if he
understood her, he replied, «No, but I do understand your
husband.»
In another reported exchange he was asked if he would
marry.
«I have no intention to get married because it would only
cause me worries.»
«And why would that would be the case?»
«I would be jealous, because my wife would cheat on
me.»
«Why are you so sure of that?»
«Because I would deserve it.»
«Why is that?»
«Because I would have married.»
He also had sharp words to say about physicians, once
remarking that doctors have two different handwritings: a barely
legible one for prescriptions and a clear and proper one for their
bills.
A writer who visited the fifty–eight–year–old Schopenhauer
at lunch in 1846 described him thus:
Well built...invariably well dressed but an outmoded
cut...medium height with short silvery hair...amused and
exceedingly intelligent blue–flecked eyes...displayed an
introverted and, when he spoke, almost baroque nature,
whereby he daily supplied considerable material to the cheap
satire of...the table company. Thus, this often comically
disgruntled, but in fact harmless and good–naturedly gruff,
table companion became the butt of the jokes of insignificant
men who would regularly—though admittedly not ill–meaningly—make fun of him.
After lunch Schopenhauer habitually took a long walk, often
carrying on an audible monologue or a conversation with his dog
which elicited jeers from children. He spent evenings reading alone
in his rooms, never receiving visitors. There is no evidence of
romantic relationships during his years in Frankfurt, and in 1831,
at the age of forty–three, he wrote in «About Me,” «The risk of
living without work on a small income can be undertaken only in
celibacy.»
He never saw his mother after their break when he was
thirty–one, but twelve years later, in 1813, they began to exchange
a few business–related letters until her death in 1835. Once when
he was ill, his mother wrote a rare personal comment: «Two
months in your room without seeing a single person, that is not
good, my son, and saddens me. A man cannot and should not
isolate himself in that manner.»
Occasional letters passed back and forth between Arthur and
his sister, Adele, in which she again and again tried to move closer
to her brother, all the while offering reassurances that she would
never make demands on him. But he repeatedly backed away.
Adele, who never married, lived in great despair. When he told her
of moving from Berlin to escape cholera, she wrote back that she
would have welcomed getting the cholera which would have put an
end to her misery. But Arthur pulled away even farther, absolutely
refusing to be drawn into her life and her depression. After Arthur
left home, they saw each other only once, in 1840, in a brief and
unsatisfactory meeting, and Adele died nine years later.
Money was a continual source of concern throughout
Schopenhauer`s life. His mother left her small estate to Adele, and
Adele died with virtually no remaining estate. He tried, in vain, to
get a job as a translator, and until the very last years of his life his
books neither sold nor were reviewed by the press.
In short, Arthur lived without any of the comforts or rewards
that his culture held so necessary to equilibrium, even to survival.
How did he do it? What price did he pay? These, as we shall see,
were the secrets he confided to «About Me.»
_________________________
The monuments,
the ideas left
behind by
beings like me
are my greatest
pleasure in
life. Without
books I would
long ago have
been in
despair.
_________________________
Julius entered the group room the following week to an odd scene.
The members, sprawled in their seats, were intently studying
Philip`s parable. Stuart had placed his copy on a clipboard and
underlined as he read. Having forgotten his copy, Tony was
reading over Pam`s shoulder.
Rebecca, with a hint of exasperation in her voice, began the
meeting: «I`ve read this with due diligence.» She held up Philip`s
handout, then folded it and put it in her purse. «I`ve given it
enough time, Philip, in fact, too much time, and now I`d like you
to disclose the relevance of this text to me or the group or Julius.»
«I think it would be a richer exercise if the class discussed it
first,” responded Philip.
«Class? That`s what this feels like—a class assignment. Is
this the way you do counseling, Philip? she asked, snapping her
purse shut. «Like a teacher in a classroom? This is not why I`m
here; I came for treatment, not for adult education.»
Philip took no note of Rebecca`s huffiness. «At best there
exists only a vague boundary between education and therapy. The
Greeks—Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics and Epicureans—all
believed that education and reason were the tools needed to combat
human suffering. Most philosophical counselors consider
education to be the foundation of therapy. Almost all ascribe to
