Ирвин Ялом - The Schopenhauer Cure

• Название: The Schopenhauer Cure
• Автор: Ирвин Ялом
• Жанр: Психология

---

bizarre, irrational things.

But this particular morning he was entirely confused about how much he had slept.

The kitten–cat couplet must have emerged from the dream realm, but his other nocturnal

thoughts fell into a no–man`s–land, with neither the clarity and purposefulness of full–fledged consciousness nor the quirky caprice of dream thoughts.

Julius sat in bed, reviewing the couplet with his eyes closed, following the

instructions he offered patients to facilitate the recall of nighttime fantasies, hypnagogic

images, and dreams. The poem was pointed at those who loved kittens but not their

coming to age as cats. But what did that have to do with him? He loved kittens and cats

alike, had loved the two adult cats in his father`s store, loved their kittens and their

kittens` kittens, and couldn`t understand why the couplet lodged in his mind in such

tiresome fashion.

On second thought, perhaps the verse was a grim reminder of how, all his life, he

had embraced the wrong myth: namely, that everything about Julius Hertzfeld—his

fortune, stature, glory—was spiraling upward, and that life would always get better and

better. Of course, now he realized that the reverse was true—that the couplet had it

right—that the golden age came first, that his innocent, kittenly beginnings, the

playfulness, the hide–and–seek, the capture–the–flag games, and the building of forts out

of the empty liquor boxes in his father`s store, while unburdened by guilt, guile,

knowledge, or duty, was the very best time of life and that as the days and years passed,

the intensity of his flame dimmed, and existence grew inexorably more grim. The very

worst was saved for last. He recalled Philip`s words about childhood in the last meeting.

No doubt about it: Nietzsche and Schopenhauer had that part right.

Julius nodded his head sadly. It was true he had never truly savored the moment,

never grasped the present, never said to himself, «This is it, this time, this day—this is

what I want! These are the good old days, right now. Let me remain in this moment, let

me take root in this place for all time.» No, he had always believed that the juiciest meat

of life was yet to be found and had always coveted the future—the time of being older,

smarter, bigger, richer. And then came the upheaval, the time of the great reversal, the

sudden and cataclysmic deidealization of the future, and the beginning of the aching

yearning for what used to be.

When was that reversal? When did nostalgia replace the golden promise of

tomorrow? Not in college, where Julius considered everything as prelude (and obstacle)

to that grand prize: admission to medical school. Not in medical school, where, in his first

years, he yearned to be out of the classrooms and onto the wards as a clinical clerk, with

white jacket and stethoscope hanging out of pocket or slung casually about his neck like a

steel–and–rubber shawl. Not in the clerkships of his third and fourth medical school years,

when he finally took his place on the wards. There he yearned for more authority—to be

important, to make vital clinical decisions, to save lives, to dress in blue scrubs and

careen a patient on a gurney down the corridor to the OR to perform emergency trauma

surgery. Not even when he became chief resident in psychiatry, peeked behind the curtain

of shamanism, and was stunned at the limits and uncertainty of his chosen profession.

Without doubt Julius`s chronic and persistent unwillingness to grasp the present

had played havoc with his marriage. Though he had loved Miriam from the moment he

laid eyes on her in the tenth grade, he simultaneously resented her as an obstacle blocking

him from the multitude of women he felt entitled to enjoy. He had never completely

acknowledged that his mate–search was over or that his freedom to follow his lust was in

the slightest way curtailed. When his internship began he found that the house staff

sleeping quarters were immediately adjacent to the nursing school dorm brimming with

nubile young nurses who adored doctors. It was a veritable candy store, and he stuffed

himself with a rainbow of flavors.

It was only after Miriam`s death that the reversal must have occurred. In the ten

years since the car crash took her from him, he had cherished her more than while she

was alive. Julius sometimes heaved with despair when he thought of how his lush

contentment with Miriam, the true idyllic soaring moments of life, had come and gone

without his fully grasping them. Even now, after a decade, he could not speak her name

quickly but had to pause after each syllable. He knew also that no other woman would

ever really matter to him. Several women temporarily dispelled his loneliness, but it

didn`t take long for him, and for them, to realize they would never replace Miriam. More

recently, his loneliness was attenuated by a large circle of male friends, several of whom

belonged to his psychiatric support group, and by his two children. For the past few years

he had taken all his vacationsen famille with his two children and five grandchildren.

But all these thoughts and reminiscences had been only nocturnal trailers and short

subjects—the main feature of the night`s mentation had been a rehearsal of the speech he

would deliver to the therapy group later that afternoon.

He had already gone public about his cancer to many of his friends and his

individual therapy patients, yet, curiously, he was painfully preoccupied with his «coming

out» in the group. Julius thought it had something to do with his being in love with his

therapy group. For twenty–five years he had looked forward eagerly to every meeting.

The group was more than a clump of people; it had a life of its own, an enduring

personality. Though none of the original members (except, of course, he himself) was

still in the group, it had a stable persisting self, a core culture (in the jargon, a unique set

of «norms»—unwritten rules) that seemed immortal. No one member could recite the

group norms, but everyone could agree whether a certain piece of behavior was

appropriate or inappropriate.

The group demanded more energy than any other event of his week, and Julius had

labored mightily to keep it afloat. A venerable mercy ship, it had transported a horde of

tormented people into safer, happier harbors. How many? Well, since the average stay

was between two and three years, Julius figured at least a hundred passengers. From time

to time, memories of departed members wafted through his mind, snippets of an

interchange, a fleeting visual image of a face or incident. Sad to think that these wisps of

memory were all that remained of rich vibrant times, of events bursting with so much

life, meaning, and poignancy.

Many years ago Julius had experimented with videotaping the group and playing

back some particularly problematic interchanges at the next meeting. These old tapes

were in an archaic format no longer compatible with contemporary video playback

equipment. Sometimes he fancied retrieving them from his basement storage room,

having them converted, and bringing departed patients back to life again. But he never

did; he couldn`t bear exposing himself to proof of the illusory nature of life, how it was

warehoused on shiny tape and how quickly the present moment and every moment to

come will fade into the nothingness of electromagnetic wavelets.

Groups require time to develop stability and trust. Often a new group will spin off

members who are unable, for reasons of either motivation or ability, to engage in the

group task (that is, interacting with other members and analyzing that interaction). Then

it may go through weeks of uneasy conflict as members jockey for position of power,

centrality, and influence, but eventually, as trust develops, the healing atmosphere grows

in strength. His colleague, Scott, had once likened a therapy group to a bridge built in

battle. Many casualties (that is, dropouts) had to be taken during the early formative

stage, but once the bridge was built it conveyed many people—the remaining original

members and all those who subsequently joined the group—to a better place.

Julius had written professional articles about the various ways that therapy groups

helped patients, but he always had difficulty in finding the language to describe the truly

crucial ingredient: the group`s healing ambience. In one article he likened it to

dermatological treatments of severe skin lesions in which the patient was immersed into

soothing oatmeal baths.

One of the major side benefits of leading a group—a fact never stated in the

professional literature—is that a potent therapy group often heals the therapist as well as

the patients. Though Julius had often experienced personal relief after a meeting, he

never was certain of the precise mechanism. Was it simply a result of forgetting himself

for ninety minutes, or of the altruistic act of therapy, or of enjoying his own expertise,

feeling proud of his abilities, and enjoying the high regard of others? All of the above?

Julius gave up trying to be precise and for the past few years accepted the folksy

explanation of simply dipping into the healing waters of the group.

Going public with his melanoma to his therapy group seemed a momentous act. It

was one thing, he thought, to be open with family, friends, and all the other folks residing

backstage, but quite another to unmask himself to his primary audience, to that select

group for whom he had been healer, doctor, priest, and shaman. It was an irreversible

step, an admission that he was superannuated, a public confession that his life no longer

spiraled upward toward a bigger, brighter future.

Julius had been thinking a good bit of the missing member, Pam, now traveling

and not due to return for a month. He regretted she would not be there today for his

disclosure. For him, she was the key member of the group, always a comforting, healing

presence for others—and for him as well. And he felt chagrined by the fact that the group

had not been able to help with her extreme rage and obsessional thinking about her

husband and an ex–lover and that Pam, in desperation, had sought help at a Buddhist

meditation retreat in India.

And so, heaving and churning with all these feelings, Julius entered the group

room at four–thirty that afternoon. The members were already seated and poring over

sheets of paper which were whisked out of sight when Julius entered.

Odd, he thought. Was he late? He took a quick look at his watch. Nope, four–thirty

on the dot. He put it out of mind and began the recitation of his prepared statement.

«Well, let`s get started. As you know, I never make a practice of starting the

meeting, but today`s an exception because there`s something I need to get off my chest,

something that`s hard for me to say. So here goes.

«About a month ago I learned that I have a serious, I`ll be frank, more than

serious—a life–threatening form of skin cancer, malignant melanoma. I thought I was in

good health; this turned up at a recent routine physical exam....»

Julius stopped. Something was off kilter: The members` facial expression and

nonverbal language weren`t right. Their posture was wrong. They should have been

turned toward him; focusing on him; instead no one fully faced him, no one met his gaze,

all eyes were averted, unfocused, except for Rebecca, who covertly studied the sheet of

paper in her lap.

«What`s happening?» asked Julius. «I feel like I`m not making contact. You all

seem preoccupied with something else today. And, Rebecca, what is it that you`re

reading?»

Rebecca immediately folded the paper, buried it in her purse, and avoided Julius`s

gaze. Everyone sat quietly until Tony broke the silence.

«Well, I gotta talk. I can`t talk for Rebecca but I`ll talk for myself. My problem

when you were speaking was that I already know what you`re going to tell us about

your...health. So it was hard to look at you and pretend I was hearing something new.

And yet I just couldn`t interrupt you to tell you that I knew it already.»

«How? What do you mean you knew what I was going to say? What in hell is

going on today?»

«Julius, I`m sorry, let me explain,” said Gill. «I mean, in a way I`m to blame. After

the last meeting I was still frazzled and not clear about when or whether to go home or

where to sleep that night. I really put pressure on everyone to come to the coffee shop,

where we continued the meeting.»

«Yeah? And?» Julius coaxed, moving his hand in a small circle as though

conducting an orchestra.

«Well, Philip told us what the score was. You know—about your health and about

the malignant myeloma—”

«Melanoma,” Philip softly interjected.

Gill glanced at the paper in his hand. «Right, melanoma. Thanks, Philip. Keep

doing that. I get mixed up.»

«Multiple myeloma is a cancer of the bone,” said Philip. «Melanoma is a cancer of

the skin, think of melanin, pigment, skin coloring—”

«So those sheets are...,” interrupted Julius, gesturing with his hands to invite Gill

or Philip to explain.

«Philip downloaded information about your medical condition and prepared a

summary, which he handed out just as we entered the room a few minutes ago.» Gill

extended his copy toward Julius, who saw the heading: Malignant Melanoma.

Staggered, Julius sat back in his chair. «I...uh...don`t know how to put it...I feel

preempted, I feel like I had a big news story to tell you and I`ve been scooped, scooped

on my own life story—or death story.» Turning and speaking directly to Philip, Julius

said, «Had you any guesses about how I`d feel about that?»

Philip remained impassive, neither replying nor looking at Julius.

«That`s not entirely fair, Julius,” said Rebecca, who removed her barrette, loosened

her long black hair, and twisted it into a coil on the top of her head. «He`s not at fault

here. First of all, Philip did not, in the worst way, want to go to the coffee shop after the

meeting. Said he didn`t socialize, said he had a class to prepare. We had to practically

drag him there.»

«Right.» Gill took over. «We talked mostly about me and my wife and where I

should sleep that night. Then, of course, we all asked Philip about why he was in therapy,

which is only natural—every new member gets asked that—and he told us about your

phone call to him which was prompted by your illness. That news jolted us, and we

couldn`t let it pass without pressing him to tell us what he knew. Looking back, I don`t

see how he could have withheld that from us.»

«Philip even asked,” Rebecca added, «whether it was kosher for the group to meet