much that I overlooked her pathology—maybe that`s why I
couldn`t help her with her obsession about John.
Julius turned on his computer and opened a file titled, «Short
Story Plots»—a file which contained the great unfulfilled project in
his life: to be a real writer. He was a good, contributing
professional writer (he had published two books and a hundred
articles in the psychiatric literature), but Julius yearned to write
literature and for decades had collected plots for short stories from
his imagination and his practice. Though he had started several, he
never found the time, nor the courage, to finish and submit a story
for publication.
Scrolling down the lists of plots he clicked on «Victims
confront their enemy» and read two of his ideas. The first
confrontation took place on a posh ship cruising off the Turkish
coast. A psychiatrist enters the ship`s casino and there across the
smoke–filled room sees an ex–patient, a con man who had once
swindled him out of seventy–five thousand dollars. The second
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?
31
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
