The Schopenhauer Cure

hold back. He was stunned by Philip`s brusqueness, but he wasn`t there to give Philip

advice. What he wanted was Philip`s honest version of their work together, and the less

Julius said about his state of mind, the better. If Philip knew about his despair, his search

for meaning, his longing to have played some enduring instrumental role in Philip`s life,

he might, out of a sense of charity, give him just the affirmation he wanted. Or, perhaps,

because of his contrariness, Philip might do just the opposite.

«Well, let me start by thanking you for humoring me and agreeing to meet. Here`s

what I want: first, your view of our work together—how it helped and how it didn`t—

and, second—and this is a tall order—I`d like very much to get a full briefing about your

life since we last met. I always like to hear the end of stories.»

If surprised by this request, Philip gave no sign but sat silently for a few moments,

eyes closed, the fingertips of his two hands touching. In a carefully measured pace, he

began. «The story`s not at an end yet—in fact my life has had such a remarkable turn in

the last few years that I feel it`s just now beginning. But I`ll maintain a strict chronology

and start with my therapy. Overall, I`d have to say that my therapy with you was a

complete failure. A time–consuming and expensive failure. I think I did my job as a

patient. As far as I can recall, I was fully cooperative, worked hard, came regularly, paid

my bills, remembered dreams, followed any leads you offered. Would you agree?»

«Agree that you were a cooperative patient? Absolutely. I`d even say more. I

remember you as a dedicated patient.»

Looking again at the ceiling, Philip nodded and continued: «As I recall, I saw you

for three full years. And much of that time we met twice a week. That`s a lot of hours—at

least two hundred. About twenty thousand dollars.»

Julius almost leaped in. Whenever a patient made a statement like that, his reflex

was to reply «a drop in the bucket.» And then point out that the issues being worked on in

therapy had been problematic for so much of the patient`s life that one could hardly

expect them to yield quickly. He often added a personal note—that his first course of

therapy, an analysis during his training, had been five times a week for three years—a

total of over seven hundred hours. But Philip was not his patient now, and he was not

there to persuade Philip of anything. He was there to listen. He bit his lips in silence.

Philip continued. «When I started with you I was at the nadir of my existence; ‘in

the trough` might be more apt. Working as a chemist and developing new ways to kill

insects, I was bored with my career, bored with my life, bored with everything except

reading philosophy and pondering the great riddles of history. But the reason I came to

you was my sexual behavior. You remember that, of course?»

Julius nodded.

«I was out of control. All I wanted was sex. I was obsessed with it. I was insatiable.

I shudder to think of the way I was, the life I led. I attempted to seduce as many women

as possible. After coitus I had a brief respite from the compulsion, but in a short while my

desire took over again.»

Julius suppressed a smile at Philip`s use ofcoitus —he remembered now the

strange paradox of Philip wallowing in carnality but eschewing all four–letter words.

«It was only in that brief period—immediately after coitus,” Philip continued, «that

I was able to live fully, harmoniously—that was when I could connect with the great

minds of the past.»

«I remember you and your Aristarchus and Zeno.»

«Yes, those and many others since, but the respites, the compulsion–free times,

were all too brief. Now I`m liberated. Now I dwell in a higher realm all the time. But let

me continue to review my therapy with you. Isn`t that your primary request?»

Julius nodded.

«I remember being very attached to our therapy. It became another compulsion, but

unfortunately it didn`t replace the sexual compulsion but merely coexisted with it. I

remember anticipating each hour with eagerness and yet ending with disappointment. It`s

difficult to remember much of what we did—I think we strove to understand my

compulsion from the standpoint of my life history. Figuring it out—we always tried to

figure it out. Yet every solution seemed suspect to me. No hypothesis was well–argued or

well–grounded, and, worse, not one had the slightest impact on my compulsion.

«And itwas a compulsion. I knew that. And I knew that I had to stop cold turkey. It

took me a long time, but eventually I realized you didn`t know how to help me and I lost

faith in our work together. I recall that you spent inordinate amounts of time exploring

my relationships—with others and especially with you. That never made sense to me. It

didn`t then. It still doesn`t. As time went by, it became painful to meet with you, painful

to keep on exploring our relationship as though it were real or enduring or anything other

than what it truly was:a purchase of service. ” Philip stopped and looked at Julius with

his palms up as though to say, «You wanted it straight—there it is.»

Julius was stunned. Someone else`s voice answered for him: «That`s straight, all

right. Thanks, Philip. Now, the rest of your story. What`s happened to you since?»

Philip placed his palms together, rested his chin on his fingertips, stared up at the

ceiling to collect his thoughts, and continued. «Well, let`s see. I`ll start with work. My

expertise in developing hormonal agents to block insect reproduction had important

implications for the company, and my salary escalated. But I grew profoundly bored with

chemistry. Then, at age thirty, one of my father`s trust funds matured and was turned over

to me. It was a gift of freedom. I had enough to live on for several years, and I canceled

my subscriptions to the chemistry journals, dropped out of the work force, and turned my

attention to what I really wanted in life—the pursuit of wisdom.

«I was still miserable, still anxious, still sexually driven. I tried other therapists, but

none helped me any more than you had. One therapist, who had studied with Jung,

suggested I needed more than psychological therapy. He said that for an addict like me

the best hope for release was a spiritual conversion. His suggestion led me to religious

philosophy—especially the ideas and practices of the Far East—they were the only ones

that made any sense. All other religious systems failed to explore the fundamental

philosophical questions but instead used God as a method of avoiding true philosophical

analysis. I even put in a few weeks at meditation retreats. That was not without interest. It

didn`t halt the obsession, but nonetheless I had a feeling that there was something

important there. I just wasn`t yet ready for it.

«Meanwhile, except for the interlude of forced chastity in the ashram, and even

there I managed to find a few sliding doors, I continued the sexual hunt. As before, I had

sex with a lot of women, by the dozens, by the hundreds. Sometimes two a day,

anywhere, anytime I could find them—the same as when I was seeing you. Sex once,

occasionally twice, with a woman and then moving on. Never exciting after that; you

know the old saying: ‘You can only have sex for the first time with the same girl once.`”

Philip lifted his chin from his fingertips and turned to Julius.

«That last comment was meant to be humor, Dr. Hertzfeld. I remember you once