Ирвин Ялом - The Schopenhauer Cure

do what his father would have done: honor his pledge.

He wrote of his decision, «I continued to hold my position with my merchant

patron, partly because my excessive grief had broken the energy of my spirit, partly

because I would have had a guilty conscience were I to rescind my father`s decision so

soon after his death.»

If Arthur felt immobilized and duty–bound after his father`s suicide, his mother had

no such inclinations. With the speed of a whirlwind she changed her entire life. In a letter

to the seventeen–year–old Arthur she wrote: «Your character is so completely different

from mine: you are by nature undecided, I myself am too fast, too resolute.» After a few

months of widowhood she sold the Schopenhauer mansion, liquidated the venerable

family business, and moved away from Hamburg. She boasted to Arthur, «I will always

choose the most exciting option. Consider my choice of residence: instead of moving to

my hometown, back to my friends and relatives, like every other woman would have

done in my stead, I chose Weimar, which was almost unknown to me.»

Why Weimar? Johanna was ambitious and yearned to be close to the epicenter of

German culture. Supremely confident of her social abilities, she knew she could make

good things happen, and, indeed, within months she had created an extraordinary new life

for herself: she established the liveliest salon of Weimar and developed a close friendship

with Goethe and many other leading writers and artists. Soon she began a career, first as a

successful writer of travel journals chronicling the Schopenhauer family`s tour and a trip

to southern France; then, with Goethe`s urging, she turned to fiction and wrote a series of

romantic novels. She was one of the first truly liberated women and was Germany`s first

woman to earn her living as a writer. For the next decade Johanna Schopenhauer became

a renowned novelist, the Danielle Steel of nineteenth–century Germany, and for decades

Arthur Schopenhauer was known only as «Johanna Schopenhauer`s son.» In the late

1820s Johanna`s complete works were published in a twenty–volume edition.

Though history (based greatly on Arthur`s scathing criticism of his mother) has

generally presented Johanna as narcissistic and uncaring, there is no doubt that she, and

only she, liberated Arthur from his servitude and started him on his way to philosophy.

The instrument of delivery was a fateful letter she wrote to Arthur in April 1807, two

years after his father`s suicide.

Dear Arthur,

The serious and calm tone of your March 28th letter, flowing from your mind into my

mind, woke me up and revealed that you might be on your way to totally missing

your vocation! That is why I have to do each and every thing to save you, however

possible; I know what it means to live a life repugnant to one`s soul; and if it is

possible, I will spare you, my dear son, this misery. Oh, dear dear Arthur, why was it

that my voice counted so little; what you want now, was in fact then my warmest

wish; how hard I strove to make it happen, despite everything one said against me....

if you do not wish to be taken into the honourable Philistine order, I, my dear Arthur,

truly don`t want to put any obstacle into your way; it is just you who have to seek

your own way and choose it. Then I will advise and help, where and how I can. First

try to come to peace with yourself…remember you must choose studies that promise

you a good salary, not only because it is the only way you can live, for you will never

be rich enough to live from your inheritance alone. If you have made your choice, tell

me so, but you have to take this decision on your own.... If you feel the strength and

heart to do this, I will willingly give you my hand. But just don`t imagine life as a

complete learned man to be too delightful. I now see it around me, dear Arthur. It is a

tiring, troublesome life full of work; only the delight in doing it gives it its charm.

One doesn`t get rich with it; as a writer, one acquires with difficulty what one needs

for survival.... To make your life as a writer you have to be able to produce

something excellent.... now, more than ever, there is a need of brilliant heads. Arthur,

think about it carefully, and choose, but then stay firm; let your perseverance never

fail, and you will safely achieve your goal. Choose what you want...but with tears in

my eyes I implore you: do not cheat on yourself. Treat yourself seriously and

honestly. The welfare of your life is at stake, as well as the happiness of my old days;

because only you and Adele can hopefully replace my lost youth. I couldn`t bear it to

know that you are unhappy, especially if I had to blame myself for having let this

great misfortune happen to you out of my too large pliability. You see, dear Arthur,

that I dearly love you, and that I want to help you in everything. Reward me by your

confidence and by, having once made up your mind, following my advice in fulfilling

your choice. And don`t hurt me by rebelliousness. You know that I am not stubborn. I

know how to give way by arguments, and I will never demand anything from you I

won`t be able to support by arguments....

Adieu, dear Arthur, the post is urgent and my fingers hurt. Bear in mind all I

send and write to you, and answer soon.

Your mother

J. Schopenhauer

In his old age Arthur wrote, «When I finished reading this letter I shed a flood of

tears.» By return mail he opted for liberation from his apprenticeship, and Johanna

responded, «That you have so quickly come to a decision, against your wont, would

disquiet me in anyone else. I should fear rashness; with you it reassures me, I regard it as

the power of your innermost desires that drives you.`

Johanna wasted no time; she notified Arthur`s merchant patron and his landlord

that Arthur was leaving Hamburg, she organized his move and arranged for him to attend

a gymnasium in Gotha, fifty kilometers from his mother`s home in Weimar.

Arthur`s chains were broken.

Pam in India

_________________________

Itis noteworthy and remarkable

to see how man, besides his

life in the concrete, always

lives a second life in the

abstract...(where) in the sphere

of calm deliberation, what

previously possessed him

completely and moved him

intensely appears to him cold,

colorless, and distant: he is

a mere spectator and observer.

_________________________

As the Bombay–Igatpuri train slowed for a stop at a small village, Pam heard the clangs

of ceremonial cymbals and peered through the grimy train window. A dark–eyed boy of

about ten or eleven, pointing to her window, ran alongside holding aloft a raised rag and

yellow plastic water pail. Since she had arrived in India two weeks ago, Pam had been

shaking her head no. No to sightseeing guides, shoe shines, freshly squeezed tangerine

juice, sari cloth, Nike tennis shoes, money exchange. No to beggars and no to numerous

sexual invitations, sometimes offered frankly, sometimes discreetly by winking, raising

eyebrows, licking lips, and flicking tongues. And, finally, she thought, someone has

actually offered me something I need. She vigorously nodded yes, yes to the young

window washer, who responded with a huge toothy grin. Delighted with Pam`s patronage

and audience, he washed the pane with long theatrical flourishes.

Paying him generously and shooing him away as he lingered to stare at her, Pam

settled back and watched a procession of villagers snake their way down a dusty street

following a priest clad in billowing scarlet trousers and yellow shawl. Their destination

was the center of the town square and a large papier–mГўchГ© statue of Lord Ganesha, a

short plump Buddha–like body bearing an elephant`s head. Everyone—the priest, the men

dressed in gleaming white, and the women robed in saffron and magenta—carried small

Ganesha statues. Young girls scattered handfuls of flowers, and pairs of adolescent boys

carried poles holding metal burners emitting clouds of incense. Amid the clash of

cymbals and the roll of drums, everyone chanted, «Ganapathi bappa Moraya, Purchya

varshi laukariya.»

«Pardon me, can you tell me what they`re chanting?» Pam turned to the copper–skinned man sitting opposite her sipping tea, the only other passenger sharing the

compartment. He was a delicate win–some man dressed in a loose white cotton shirt and

trousers. At the sound of Pam`s voice he swallowed the wrong way and coughed

furiously. Her question delighted him since he had been attempting, in vain, since the

train commenced in Bombay to strike up a conversation with the handsome woman

sitting across from him. After a vigorous cough he replied, with a squeak, «My apologies,

madam. Physiology is not always at one`s command. What the people here, and

throughout all of India today, are saying is ‘Beloved Ganapati, lord of Moraya, come

again early next year.`”

«Ganapati?»

«Yes, very confusing, I know. Perhaps you know him by his more common name,

Ganesha. He has many other names, as well, for example, Vighnesvara, Vinayaka,

Gajanana.»

«And this parade?»

«The beginning of the ten–day festival of Ganesha. Perhaps you may be fortunate

enough to be in Bombay next week at the end of the festival and witness the entire

population of the city walk into the ocean and immerse their Ganesha statues in incoming

waves.»

«Oh, and that? A moon? Or sun?» Pam pointed to four children carrying a large

yellow papier–mГўchГ© globe.

Vijay purred to himself. He welcomed the questions and hoped the train stop

would be long and that this conversation would go on and on. Such voluptuous women

were common in American movies, but never before had he had the good fortune to

speak to one. This woman`s grace and pale beauty stirred his imagination. She seemed to

have stepped out of the ancient erotic carvings of the Kama Sutra. And where might this

encounter lead? he wondered. Could this be the life–changing event for which he had

long sought? He was free, his garment factory had, by Indian standards, made him

wealthy. His teenaged fiancГ©e died of tuberculosis two years ago, and, until his parents

selected a new bride, he was unencumbered.

«Ah, it is a moon the children hold. They carry it to honor an old legend. First, you

must know that Lord Ganesha was renowned for his appetite. Note his ample belly. He

was once invited for a feast and stuffed himself with desert pastries called laddoos. Have

you eaten laddoos?»

Pam shook her head, fearing that he might produce one from his valise. A close

friend had contracted hepatitis from a tea shop in India, and thus far she had heeded her

physician`s advice to eat nothing but four–star–hotel food. When away from the hotel she

had limited herself to food she could peel—mainly tangerines, hard–boiled eggs, and

peanuts.

«My mother made wonderful coconut almond laddoos,” Vijay continued.

«Essentially, they are fried flour balls with a sweet cardamom syrup—that sounds

prosaic, but you must believe me when I say they are far more than the sum of their