spring into action and project an image of Philip upon a ghostly screen in his visual
cortex. He found it chilling to think of harboring a microscopic robotic projectionist in
his brain.
But even more intriguing was the riddle of why he chose to revisit Philip. Of all his
old patients, why choose Philip to lift out of deep memory storage? Was it simply
because his therapy had been so dismally unsuccessful? Surely there was more to it than
that. After all, there were many other patients he had not helped. But most of the faces
and names of the failures had vanished without a trace. Maybe it was because most of his
failures had dropped out of therapy quickly; Philip was an unusual failure in that he had
continued to come. God, how he continued! For three frustrating years he never a missed
session. Never late, not one minute—too cheap to waste any paid time. And then one day,
without warning, a simple and irrevocable announcement at the end of an hour that this
was his last session.
Even when Philip terminated, Julius had still regarded him as treatable; but then,
he always erred in the direction of thinking everyone was treatable. Why did he fail?
Philip was serious about working on his problems; he was challenging, smart, with
intelligence to burn. But thoroughly unlikable. Julius rarely accepted a patient he
disliked, but he knew there was nothing personal in his dislike of Philip:anyone would
dislike him. Consider his lifelong lack of friends.
Though he may have disliked Philip, heloved the intellectual riddle Philip
presented. His chief complaint («Why can`t I do what I really want to do?») was an
enticing example of will–paralysis. Though the therapy may not have been useful for
Philip, it was marvelously facilitative for Julius`s writing, and many ideas emerging from
the sessions found their way into his celebrated article «The Therapist and the Will» and
into his bookWishing, Willing, and Acting. The thought flashed though his mind that
perhaps he had exploited Philip. Perhaps now, with his heightened sense of connectivity,
he might redeem himself, might yet accomplish what he had failed to do before.
Four–thirty–one Union was a modest stucco two–story corner building. In the
vestibule Julius saw on the directory Philip`s name: «Philip Slate Ph.D. Philosophical
Counseling.» Philosophical counseling? What the hell is that? Next, Julius snorted, it`ll
be barbers offering tonsorial therapy and greengrocers advertising legume counseling. He
ascended the stairs and pressed the bell.
A buzz sounded as the door lock clicked open, and Julius entered a tiny bare–walled waiting room furnished only with an uninviting black vinyl loveseat. A few feet
away, in the doorway to his office, Philip stood and, without approaching, beckoned
Julius to enter. No handshake was offered.
Julius checked Philip`s appearance against his memory. Pretty close match. Not
much change in the past twenty–five years except for some soft wrinkles about the eyes
and slight flabbiness in the neck. His light brown hair still combed straight back, those
green eyes still intense, still averted. Julius recalled how rarely their gaze had met in all
their years together. Philip reminded him of one of those supremely self–sufficient kids in
class who sat in lectures and never took notes, while he and everyone else hustled to jot
down every fact that might make an appearance on an exam.
Entering Philip`s office, Julius considered a wisecrack about the Spartan
furnishings—a scuffed cluttered desk, two uncomfortable–looking, nonmatching chairs,
and a wall adorned only with a diploma. But he thought better of it, sat in the chair Philip
indicated, played it straight, and waited for Philip`s lead.
«Well, it has been a long time. Really long.» Philip spoke in a formal, professional
voice and gave no sign of nervousness about taking charge of the interview and thereby
switching roles with his old therapist.
«Twenty–two. I just looked over my records.»
«And why now, Dr. Hertzfeld?»
«Does this mean we`ve finished the small talk?» No, no! Julius chided himself. Cut
it out! He remembered that Philip had no sense of humor.
Philip seemed unperturbed. «Basic interview technique, Dr. Hertzfeld. You know
the routine. Establish the frame. We`ve already set the place, the time—I offer a sixty–minute session, incidentally, not the fifty–minute psych hour—and the fees, or lack
thereof. So, next step is to move to purpose and goals. I`m trying to be at your service,
Dr. Hertzfeld, to make this session as efficient as possible for you.»
«All right, Philip. I appreciate it. Your вЂwhy now?` is never a bad question—I use
it all the time. Focuses the session. Gets us right down to business. As I told you on the
phone, some health problems, significant health problems, have resulted in my wanting to
look back, appraise things, evaluate my work with patients. Perhaps it`s my age—a
summing up. I believe when you reach sixty–five you`ll understand why.»
«I`ll have to take your word on that summing–up process. The reason for your wish
to see me or any of your clients again is not immediately apparent to me, and I experience
no inclinations in that direction. My clients pay me a fee, and, in return, I give them my
expert counsel. Our transaction ends. When we part, they feel they got good value, I feel I
gave them full measure. I can`t possibly imagine wanting to revisit them in the future.
But, I am at your service. Where to start?»
Julius characteristically held little back in interviews. That was one of his
strengths—people trusted him to be a straight shooter. But today he forced himself to
hold back. He was stunned by Philip`s brusqueness, but he wasn`t there to give Philip
advice. What he wanted was Philip`s honest version of their work together, and the less
Julius said about his state of mind, the better. If Philip knew about his despair, his search
for meaning, his longing to have played some enduring instrumental role in Philip`s life,
he might, out of a sense of charity, give him just the affirmation he wanted. Or, perhaps,
because of his contrariness, Philip might do just the opposite.
«Well, let me start by thanking you for humoring me and agreeing to meet. Here`s
what I want: first, your view of our work together—how it helped and how it didn`t—
and, second—and this is a tall order—I`d like very much to get a full briefing about your
life since we last met. I always like to hear the end of stories.»
If surprised by this request, Philip gave no sign but sat silently for a few moments,
eyes closed, the fingertips of his two hands touching. In a carefully measured pace, he
began. «The story`s not at an end yet—in fact my life has had such a remarkable turn in
the last few years that I feel it`s just now beginning. But I`ll maintain a strict chronology
and start with my therapy. Overall, I`d have to say that my therapy with you was a
complete failure. A time–consuming and expensive failure. I think I did my job as a
patient. As far as I can recall, I was fully cooperative, worked hard, came regularly, paid
my bills, remembered dreams, followed any leads you offered. Would you agree?»
«Agree that you were a cooperative patient? Absolutely. I`d even say more. I
remember you as a dedicated patient.»
Looking again at the ceiling, Philip nodded and continued: «As I recall, I saw you
for three full years. And much of that time we met twice a week. That`s a lot of hours—at
least two hundred. About twenty thousand dollars.»
Julius almost leaped in. Whenever a patient made a statement like that, his reflex
was to reply «a drop in the bucket.» And then point out that the issues being worked on in