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."
32
_________________________
Themonuments,
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 Leibniz's motto Caritas sapientis meaning 'wisdom and care.'"
Philip turned toward Tony. "Leibniz was a German philosopher of the seventeenth century."
"I'm finding this tedious and presumptuous," said Pam.
"Under the guise of helping Julius, you"--she raised her voice an octave--"Philip, I'm talking to you..." Philip, who had been
tranquilly staring upward, jerked upright and turned toward Pam.
"First, you pass out this sophomoric assignment and now try to control the group by coyly withholding your interpretation of the passage."
"Here you go once again trying to de-ball Philip," said Gill.
"For God sakes, Pam, he's a professional counselor. You don't
need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that he'll try to contribute to the group by drawing from his own expertise. Why begrudge
him everything?"
Pam opened her mouth to speak but closed it, seemingly at a
loss for words. She stared at Gill, who added: "You asked for
straight feedback, Pam. You got it. And no, I've not been drinking, if that's what you're thinking. I'm in my fourteenth day of
sobriety--I've been meeting with Julius twice a week--he's turned on the heat, tightened the screws, and got me going to an AA
meeting every day, seven days a week, fourteen meetings in
fourteen days. I didn't mention it last week because I wasn't sure I could stick it out."
All the members, save Philip, reacted strongly with nods and
congratulations. Bonnie told him she was proud of him. Even Pam managed a "good for you." Tony said, "Maybe I should join you."
He pointed to his bruised cheek. "My boozing leads to bruising."
"Philip, how about you? You got a response to Gill?" asked
Julius.
Philip shook his head. "He's already had a good bit of
support from others. He's sober, speaking out, gaining strength.
Sometimes more support is less."
"I like that motto of Leibnitz you cited, Caritas sapientis --
wisdom and care," said Julius. "But I urge you not to forget
the 'caritas' part. If Gill deserves support, why should you always be last in line? And, what's more, you've got unique information: who else but you can express your feelings about his coming to your defense and confronting Pam on your behalf?"
"Well said," responded Philip. "I have mixed feelings. I
liked Gill's support, and at the same time I'm wary of liking it.
Rely on others to do battle for you, and your own musculature will atrophy."
"Well, I'm going to reveal more of my ignorance," said
Tony, pointing to the handout. "This boat story, Philip--I really don't understand it. You told us last week you were going to give Julius something comforting, and yet this story about a boat and passengers--I mean, to put it bluntly, I don't know what the fuck gives here."
"Don't apologize," said Bonnie. "I told you, Tony, that you
almost always speak for me--I'm as confused as you are about this ship and gathering shells."
"Me too," said Stuart. "I don't get it."
"Let me help," said Pam. "After all, interpreting literature is how I earn a living. First step is to go from the concrete--that is, the ship, the shells, the sheep, and so on--to the abstract. In other words, ask yourself: what does this ship or voyage or harbor
represent?"
"I think the ship stands for death--or the journey toward
death," said Stuart, glancing at his clipboard.
"Okay," said Pam. "So, where do you go from there?"
"Seems to me," Stuart replied, "the main point is don't pay so much attention to details on shore that you'll miss the boat's sailing. "
"So," said Tony, "if you get too caught up in shore stuff--
even having a wife and kids--then the boat might sail without
you--in other words, you might miss your death. Big deal--is that such a catastrophe?"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right, Tony," said Rebecca, "I also
understood the boat to be death, but when you put it that way I see it doesn't make sense."
"Whatever," said Rebecca, "but this still doesn't feel like
therapy." She turned to Julius, "This is supposed to be for you. Do you find any comfort in this?"
"I'll repeat what I said last time to you last week, Philip.
What I get is the knowledge that you want to give me something to ease my ordeal. And also that you shy away from doing that
directly. Instead, you choose a less personal approach. Sets a future agenda, I think, for you to work on expressing your caring in a more personal way.
"As for the content," Julius continued, "I'm confused also,
but this is how I understand it: since the boat might sail at any time--that is, since death could call us at any point--we should avoid getting too attached to the things of the world. Perhaps it warns us that deep attachments would make dying more painful. Is this the message of consolation you're trying to give me, Philip?"
"I think," Pam interjected before Philip could answer, "that
it falls into place better if you think of the ship and the journey not as representing death but what we might call the authentic life. In other words, we live more authentically if we keep focused on the fundamental fact of sheer being, the miracle of existence itself. If we focus on "being," then we won't get so caught up in the
diversions of life, that is, the material objects on the island, that we lose sight of existence itself."
A brief silence. Heads turned toward Philip.
"Exactly," responded Philip with a hint of enthusiasm in his
tone. "My view exactly. The idea is that one has to beware of
losing oneself in life's distractions. Heidegger called it falling or being absorbed in the everydayness of life. Now, I know you can't abide Heidegger, Pam, but I don't believe his misguided politics should be permitted to deprive us of the gift of his philosophical insights. So, to paraphrase Heidegger, falling into everydayness results in one's becoming unfree--like the sheep.
"Like Pam," Philip continued, "I believe the parable warns
us against attachment and urges us to stay attuned to the miracle of being--not to worry about how things are but to be in a state of wonderment that things are --that things exist at all."
"Now I think I'm getting your meaning," said Bonnie, "but
it's cold, abstract. What comfort is there in that? For Julius, for anyone?"
"For me, there is comfort in the idea that my death informs
my life." Philip spoke with uncharacteristic fervor as he continued, "There is comfort
in the idea of not allowing my core being to be devoured by trivialities, by insignificant successes or failures, by what I possess, by concerns about popularity--who likes me, who doesn't. For me, there is comfort in the state of remaining free to appreciate the miracle of being."
"Your voice sounds energized," said Stuart, "but I also think
this seems steely and bloodless. It's cold consolation. Makes me shiver."
The members were puzzled. They sensed that Philip had
something of value to offer but, as usual, were confused by his bizarre manner.
After a brief silence Tony asked Julius, "Does this work for
you? I mean in terms of offering you something. Does it help you in some way?"
"It doesn't work for me, Tony. Yet, as I've said," he turned
toward Philip, "you're reaching out to give me something that
works for you. I'm aware, too, this is the second time you've
offered me something I've not been able to make use of, and that must be frustrating for you."
Philip nodded but remained silent.
"A second time! I don't recall another time," said Pam. "Did
it happen when I was away?"
Several heads shook no. No one else remembered a first
time, and Pam asked Julius, "Are there blanks that need to filled in here?"
"There's old history between Philip and me," said Julius. "A
lot of the puzzlement today could be removed by relating this
history. But I feel it's up to you, Philip. When you're ready."
"I'm willing for all to be discussed," said Philip. "You have
carte blanche."
"No, what I mean is, it's not for me to do that. To paraphrase your words, it would be a richer exercise if you would discuss it yourself. I think it's your call and your responsibility.?"
Philip tilted his head upward, closed his eyes, and, using the same tone and manner as when reciting a memorized passage,
began: "Twnety-five years ago I consulted Julius for what is now termed sexual addiction. I was predatory, I was driven, I was insatiable, I thought of little else. My whole being was caught up in the pursuit of women--new women, always new women, because
once I bedded a woman I rapidly lost interest in her. It was as though the epicenter of my existence was that moment of