Ирвин Ялом - The Schopenhauer Cure Страница 7

to the blackboard scribe to write K–a–n–t.) We spent two hours on him last week?

Kant, the greatest, along with Plato, of all the world`s philosophers. I give you my

word: Kant will be on the final. Ah ha, there`s the ticket...I see stirrings of life,

movement, one or two eyes opening. A pen making contact with paper.

So where was I? Ah, yes. The gooseherd. Fichte was next tendered a position

as a private tutor in Warsaw and, penniless, walked all the way only to have the job

denied him when he arrived. Since he was only a few hundred miles from

Königsberg, the home of Kant, he decided to walk there to meet the master in person.

After two months he arrived at Königsberg and, audaciously, knocked on Kant`s door

but was not granted an audience. Kant was a creature of habit and not inclined to

receive unknown visitors. Last week I described to you the regularity of his

schedule—so exact that the townspeople could set their watches by seeing him on his

daily walk.

Fichte assumed he was refused entry because he had no letters of

recommendation and decided to write his own in order to gain an audience with Kant.

In an extraordinary burst of creative energy he wrote his first manuscript, the

renownedCritique of All Revelation, which applied Kant`s views on ethics and duty to

the interpretation of religion. Kant was so impressed with the work that he not only

agreed to meet with Fichte but encouraged its publication.

Because of some curious mishap, probably a marketing ploy of the publisher,

theCritique appeared anonymously. The work was so brilliant that critics and the

reading public mistook it for a new work by Kant himself. Ultimately, Kant was

forced to make a public statement that it was not he who was the author of this

excellent manuscript but a very talented young man named Fichte. Kant`s praise

ensured Fichte`s future in philosophy, and a year and a half thereafter he was offered

a professorship at the University of Jena.

«That,” Philip looked up from his notes with an ecstatic look on his face and then

jabbed the air with an awkward show of enthusiasm, «that is what I call a debut!» No

students looked up or gave a sign of registering Philip`s brief awkward display of

enthusiasm. If he felt discouraged by his audience`s unresponsiveness, Philip did not

show it and, unperturbed, continued:

And now consider something closer to your hearts—athletic debuts. Who can forget

the debut of Chris Evert, Tracy Austin, or Michael Chang, who won grand–slam

professional tennis tournaments at fifteen or sixteen? Or the teenaged chess prodigies

Bobby Fischer or Paul Morphy? Or think of JosГ© Raoul Capablanca, who won the

chess championship of Cuba at the age of eleven.

Finally, I want to turn to a literary debut—the most brilliant literary debut of all

time, a man in his midtwenties who blazed onto the literary landscape with a

magnificent novel…

Here, Philip stopped in order to build the suspense and looked up, his countenance

shining with confidence. He felt assured of what he was doing—that was apparent. Julius

watched in disbelief. What was Philip expecting to find? The students on the edge of their

seats, trembling with curiosity, each murmuring, «Who was this literary prodigy?»

Julius, in his fifth–row seat, swiveled his head to survey the auditorium: glazed

eyes everywhere, students slumped in chairs, doo–dling, poring over newspapers,

crossword puzzles. To the left, a student stretched out asleep over two chairs. To the

right, two students at the end of his row embraced in a long kiss. In the row directly in

front of him, two boys elbowed each other as they leered upward, toward the back of the

room. Despite his curiosity, Julius did not turn to follow their gaze—probably they were

staring up some woman`s skirt—and turned his attention back to Philip.

And who was the prodigy?(Philip droned on.) His name was Thomas Mann. When he

was your age, yes, your age, he began writing a masterpiece, a glorious novel

calledBuddenbrooks published when he was only twenty–six years old. Thomas

Mann, as I hope and pray you know, went on to become a towering figure in the

twentieth–century world of letters and was awarded the Nobel Prize for

Literature.»(Here Philip spelled M–a–n–nand B–u–d–d–e–n-

b–r–o–o–k–sto his blackboard scribe.) Buddenbrooks, published in 1901, traced the life

of one family, a German burgher family, through four generations and all the

associated vicissitudes of the life cycle.

Now what does this have to do with philosophy and with the real subject of

today`s lecture? As I promised, I have strayed a bit but only in the service of

returning to the core with greater vigor.

Julius heard rustling in the auditorium and the sound of footsteps. The two

elbowing voyeurs directly in front of Julius noisily collected their belongings and left the

hall. The embracing students at the end of the row had departed, and even the student

assigned to the blackboard had vanished.

Philip continued:

To me, the most remarkable passages inBuddenbrooks come late in the novel as the

protagonist, the paterfamilias, old Thomas Buddenbrooks, approaches death. One is

astounded by a writer in his early twenties having such insight and such sensibility to

issues concerned with the end of life.(A faint smile played on his lips as Philip held

up the dog–eared book.) I recommend these pages to anyone intending to die.

Julius heard the strike of matches as two students lit cigarettes while exiting the

auditorium.

When death came to claim him, Thomas Buddenbrooks was bewildered and

overcome by despair. None of his belief systems offered him comfort—neither his

religious views which had long before failed to satisfy his metaphysical needs, nor his

worldly skepticism and materialistic Darwinian leaning. Nothing, in Mann`s words,

was able to offer the dying man «in the near and penetrating eye of death a single

hour of calm.»

Here, Philip looked up. «What happened next is of great importance and it is here

that I begin to close in on the designated subject of our lecture tonight.»

In the midst of his desperation Thomas Buddenbrooks chanced to draw from his

bookcase an inexpensive, poorly sewn volume of philosophy bought at a used book

stand years before. He began to read and was immediately soothed. He marveled by

how, as Mann put it, «a master–mind could lay hold of this cruel mocking thing called

life.»

The extraordinary clarity of vision in the volume of philosophy enthralled the

dying man, and hours passed without his looking up from his reading. Then he came

upon a chapter titled «On Death, and Its Relation to Our Personal Immortality» and,

intoxicated by the words, read on as though he were reading for his very life. When

he finished, Thomas Buddenbrooks was a man transformed, a man who had found the

comfort and peace that had eluded him.

What was it that the dying man discovered?(At this point Philip suddenly

adopted an oracular voice.) Now listen well, Julius Hertzfeld, because this may be

useful for life`s final examination....

Shocked at being directly addressed in a public lecture, Julius bolted upright in his

seat. He glanced nervously about him and saw, to his astonishment, that the auditorium

was empty: everyone, even the two homeless men, had left.

But Philip, unperturbed by his vanished audience, calmly continued:

I`ll read a passage fromBuddenbrooks. (He opened a tattered paperback copy of the

book.) «Your assignment is to read the novel, especially part nine, with great care. It

will prove invaluable to you—far more valuable than attempting to extract meaning

from patients` reminiscences of long ago.

Have I hoped to live on in my son? In a personality yet more feeble, flickering, and

timorous than my own? Blind, childish folly! What can my son do for me? Where

shall I be when I am dead? Ah, it is so brilliantly clear. I shall be in all those who

have ever, do ever, or ever shall say «I»—especially, however, in all those who say it

most fully, potently, and gladly!...Have I ever hated life—pure, strong, relentless

life? Folly and misconception! I have but hated myself because I could not bear it. I

love you all, you blessed, and soon, soon, I shall cease to be cut off from you by all

the narrow bonds of myself; soon that in me which loves you will be free and be in

and with you—in and with you all.

Philip closed the novel and returned to his notes.

Now who was the author of the volume which so transformed Thomas

Buddenbrooks? Mann does not reveal his name in the novel, but forty years later he

wrote a magnificent essay which stated that Arthur Schopenhauer was the author of

the volume. Mann then proceeds to describe how, at the age of twenty–three, he first

experienced the great joy of reading Schopenhauer. He was not only entranced by the

ring of Schopenhauer`s words, which he describes as «so perfectly consistently clear,

so rounded, its presentation and language so powerful, so elegant, so unerringly

apposite, so passionately brilliant, so magnificently and blithely severe—like never

any other in the history of German philosophy,” but by the essence of

Schopenhauerian thought, which he describes as «emotional, breathtaking, playing

between violent contrasts, between instinct and mind, passion and redemption.» Then

and there Mann resolved that discovering Schopenhauer was too precious an

experience to keep to himself and straightaway used it creatively by offering the

philosopher to his suffering hero.

And not only Thomas Mann but many other great minds acknowledged their

debt to Arthur Schopenhauer. Tolstoy called Schopenhauer the «genius par excellence

among men.» To Richard Wagner he was a «gift from Heaven.» Nietzsche said his

life was never the same after purchasing a tattered volume of Schopenhauer in a used–book store in Leipzig and, as he put it, «letting that dynamic, dismal genius work on

my mind.» Schopenhauer forever changed the intellectual map of the Western world,

and without him we would have had a very different and weaker Freud, Nietzsche,

Hardy, Wittgenstein, Beckett, Ibsen, Conrad.

Philip pulled out a pocketwatch, studied it for a moment, and then, with great

solemnity:

Here concludes my introduction to Schopenhauer. His philosophy has such breadth

and depth it defies a short summary. Hence I have chosen to pique your curiosity in

the hope that you will read the sixty–page chapter in your text carefully. I prefer to

devote the last twenty minutes of this lecture to audience questions and discussion.

Are there questions from the audience, Dr. Hertzfeld?

Unnerved by Philip`s tone, Julius once again scanned the empty auditorium and

then softly said, «Philip, I wonder if you`re aware that your audience has departed?»

«What audience? Them? Those so–called students?» Philip flicked his wrist in a

disparaging manner to convey that they were beneath his notice, that neither their arrival

nor their departure made the slightest difference to him. «You, Dr. Hertzfeld, are my

audience today. I intended my lecture for you alone,” said Philip, who in no way seemed

discomfited by holding a conversation with someone thirty feet away in a cavernous

deserted auditorium.

«All right, I`ll bite. Why am I your audience today?»

«Think about it, Dr. Hertzfeld...”

«I`d prefer you`d call me Julius. If I refer to you as Philip, and I`m assuming that`s

okay with you, then it`s only right that you call me Julius. Ah, dГ©jГ vu all over again—

how clearly I recall saying so very very long ago, ‘Call me Julius, please—we`re not

strangers.`”

«I am not on a first–name basis with my clients because I am their professional

consultant, not their friend. But, as you wish, Julius it is. I`ll start again. You inquire why

you alone are my intended audience. My answer is that I am merely responding to your

request for help. Think about it, Julius, you came to see me with a request for an

interview and embedded in that request were other requests.»

«Oh?»

«Yes. Let me expand upon this matter. First, there was a tone of urgency in your

voice. It was particularly important to you that I meet with you. Obviously, your request

did not arise from simple curiosity about how I was doing. No, you wanted something

else. You mentioned that your health was imperiled, and, in a sixty–five–year–old man,

that means you must be confronting your death. Hence, I could only assume that you

were frightened and searching for some kind of consolation. My lecture today is my

response to your request.»

«An oblique response, Philip.»

«No more oblique than your request, Julius.»

«TouchГ©! But, as I recall, you`ve never minded obliquity.»

«And I`m comfortable with it now. You made a request for help, and I responded

by introducing you to the man who, of all men, can be most helpful to you.»

«And so your intent was to offer me solace by describing how Mann`s dying

Buddenbrooks received comfort from Schopenhauer?»

«Precisely. And I offered that to you only as an appetizer, a sampler of what is to

come. There is a great deal that I, as your guide to Schopenhauer, can offer you, and I

would like to make a proposal.»

«A proposal? Philip, you continue to surprise. My curiosity is piqued.»

«I`ve completed my course work in a counseling program and all other

requirements to obtain a state counseling license, except that I need two hundred more

hours of professional supervision. I can continue practicing as a clinical philosopher—

that field is not regulated by the state—but a counselor`s license would offer me a

number of advantages, including the ability to buy malpractice insurance and to market

myself more effectively. Unlike Schopenhauer, I have neither an independent source of

financial support nor any secure academic support—you`ve seen with your own eyes the

disinterest in philosophy displayed by the clods who attend this pigsty of a university.»

«Philip, why must we shout to one another? The lecture is over. Would you mind

taking a seat and continuing this discussion more informally.»

«Of course.» Philip collected his lecture notes, stuffed them into his briefcase, and

eased into a seat in the front row. Though they were closer, four rows of seats still

separated them, and Philip was forced to swivel his neck awkwardly to see Julius.

«So, am I correct in assuming that you propose a swap—I supervise you and you

teach me about Schopenhauer?» Julius now asked in a low voice.

«Right!» Philip turned his head but not enough to make eye contact.