him heavily. In 1837 he was awarded first prize for an essay on the
freedom of the will in a competition sponsored by the Royal
Norwegian Society for Learning. Schopenhauer showed a childlike
delight in the prize (it was his very first honor) and greatly vexed
the Norwegian consul in Frankfurt by impatiently clamoring for
his medal. However, the very next year, his essay on the basis of
morality submitted to a competition sponsored by the Royal
Danish Society for Learning met a different fate. Though the
argument of his essay was excellent and though it was the only
essay submitted, the judges refused to award him the prize because
of his intemperate remarks about Hegel. The judges commented,
«We cannot pass over in silence the fact that several outstanding
philosophers of the modern age are referred to in so improper a
manner as to cause serious and just offense.»
Over the years many have agreed entirely with
Schopenhauer`s opinion that Hegel`s prose is unnecessarily
obfuscating. In fact, he is so difficult to read that an old joke
circulating around philosophy departments is that the most vexing
and awesome philosophical question is not «does life have
meaning?» or «what is consciousness?» but «who will teach Hegel
this year?» Still, the level, the vehemence of Schopenhauer`s rage
set him apart from all other critics.
The more his work was neglected, the shriller he became,
which, in turn, caused further neglect and, for many, made him an
object of mockery. Yet, despite his anxiety and loneliness,
Schopenhauer survived and continued to exhibit all the outward
signs of personal self–sufficiency. And he persevered in his work,
remaining a productive scholar until the end of his life. He never
lost faith in himself. He compared himself to a young oak tree who
looked as ordinary and unimportant as other plants. «But let him
alone: he will not die. Time will come and bring those who know
how to value him.» He predicted his genius would ultimately have
a great influence upon future generations of thinkers. And he was
right; all that he predicted has come to pass.
34
_________________________
Seen from the
standpoint of
youth, life is
an endlessly
long future;
from that of
old age it
resembles a
very brief
past. When we
sail away,
objects on the
shore become
ever smaller
and more
difficult to
recognize and
distinguish;
so, too, is it
with our past
years with all
their events
and activities.
_________________________
As time raced by, Julius looked forward with increasing
anticipation to the weekly group meeting. Perhaps his experiences
in the group were more poignant because the weeks of his «one
good year» were running out. But it was not just the events of the
group; everything in his life, large and small, appeared more tender
and vivid. Of course, his weeks hadalways been numbered, but the
numbers had seemed so large, so stretched into a forever future,
that he had never confronted the end of weeks.
Visible endings always cause us to brake. Readers zip
through the thousand pages ofThe Brothers Karamazov until there
are only a dozen remaining pages, and then they suddenly
decelerate, savoring each paragraph slowly, sucking the nectar
from each phrase, each word. Scarcity of days caused Julius to
treasure time; more and more he fell into astonished contemplation
of the miraculous flow of everyday events.
Recently, he had read a piece by an entomologist who
explored the cosmos existing in a roped–off, two–by–two piece of
turf. Digging deeply, he described his sense of awe at the dynamic,
teeming world of predators and prey, nematodes, millipedes,
springtails, armor–plated beetles, and spiderlings. If perspective is
attuned, attention rapt, and knowledge vast, then one enters
everydayness in a perpetual state of wonderment.
So it was for Julius in the group. His fears about the
recurrence of his melanoma had receded, and his panics grew less
frequent. Perhaps his greater comfort stemmed from taking his
doctor`s estimate of «one good year» too literally, almost as a
guarantee. More likely, though, his mode of life was the active
emollient. Following Zarathustra`s path, he had shared his
ripeness, transcended himself by reaching out to others, and lived
in a manner that he would be willing to repeat perpetually
throughout eternity.
He had always remained curious about the direction the
therapy groups would take the following week. Now, with his last
good year visibly shrinking, all feelings were intensified: his
curiosity had evolved into an eager childlike anticipation of the
