lonely all his life will be a better judge than others of
this solitary business. Instead of going out amid the
tomfooleries and buffooneries that are calculated for the
pitiable capacities of human bipeds, I shall end happily
conscious of returning to the place whence I
started...and of having fulfilled my mission.
And the same sentiment—the pride of having
pursued his own creative path—appears in a short verse, his
authorial finale, the very last lines of his final book.
I now stand weary at the end of the road
The jaded brow can hardly bear the laurel
And yet I gladly see what I have done
Ever undaunted by what others say.
When his last book,Parerga and Paralipomena, was
published, he said, «I am deeply glad to see the birth of my
last child. I feel as if a load that I have borne since my
twenty–fourth year has been lifted from my shoulders. No
one can imagine what that means.»
On the morning of the twenty–first of September
1860 Schopenhauer`s housekeeper prepared his breakfast,
tidied up the kitchen, opened the windows, and left to run
errands, leaving Schopenhauer, who had already had his
cold wash, sitting and reading on the sofa in his living
room, a large airy, simply furnished room. On the floor by
the sofa lay a black bearskin rug upon which sat Atman, his
beloved poodle. A large oil painting of Goethe hung
directly over the sofa, and several portraits of dogs,
Shakespeare, Claudius, and daguerreo–types of himself
hung elsewhere in the room. On the writing desk stood a
bust of Kant. In one corner a table held a bust of Christoph
Wieland, the philosopher who had encouraged the young
Schopenhauer to study philosophy, and in another corner
stood his revered gold–plated statue of the Buddha.
A short time later his physician, making regular
rounds, entered the room and found him leaning on his
back in the corner of the sofa. A «lung stroke» (pulmonary
embolus) had taken him painlessly out of this world. His
face was not disfigured and showed no evidence of the
throes of death.
His funeral on a rainy day was more disagreeable
than most due to the odor of rotting flesh in the small
closed mortuary. Ten years earlier Schopenhauer had left
explicit instructions that his body not be buried directly but
left in the mortuary for at least five days until decay
began—perhaps a final gesture of misanthropy or because
of a fear of suspended animation. Soon the mortuary was so
close and the air so foul that several of the assembled
people had to leave the room during a long pompous
obituary by his executor, Wilhelm Gwinner, who began
with the words:
This man who lived among us a lifetime, and who
nevertheless stayed a stranger amongst us, commands
rare feelings. Nobody is standing here who belongs to
him through the bond of blood; isolated as he lived, he
died.
Schopenhauer`s tomb was covered with a heavy
plate of Belgian granite. His will had requested that only
his name, Arthur Schopenhauer, appear on his tombstone—
«nothing more, no date, no year, no syllable.»
The man lying under this modest tombstone wanted
his work to speak for him.
42
Three Years Later
_________________________
Mankindhas
learned a
few things
from me
which it
will never
forget.
_________________________
The late–afternoon sun streamed through the large open
sliding windows of the CafГ© Florio. Arias fromThe Barber
of Seville flowed from the antique jukebox accompanied by
the hissing of an expresso machine steaming milk for
cappuccinos.
Pam, Philip, and Tony sat at the same window table
they had been using for their weekly coffee meeting since
Julius`s death. Others in the group had joined them for the
first year, but for the past two years only the three of them
had met. Philip halted their conversation to listen to an aria
and hum along with it. «вЂUna voce poco fa,`one of my
favorites,” he said, when they resumed their conversation.
Tony showed them his diploma from his community
college program. Philip announced he was now playing
chess two evenings a week at the San Francisco Chess
Club—the first time he had played opponents face–to–face
since his father`s death. Pam spoke of her mellow
relationship with her new man, a Milton scholar, and also
of her Sunday attendances at the Buddhist services at Green
Gulch in Marin.
She glanced at her watch. «And now, it`s showtime
for you guys.» She looked them over. «Handsome dudes,
you two. You both look great, but, Philip, that jacket,” she
shook her head, «it has got to go—uncool—corduroy is
dead, twenty years passГ©, those elbow patches too. Next
week we go shopping.» She looked at their faces. «You`re
going to do great. If you get nervous, Philip, remember the
chairs. Remember Julius loved you both. And I do, too.»
She planted a kiss on each of their foreheads, left a twenty–dollar bill on the table, saying, «Special day, my treat,” and
walked out.
An hour later seven members filed into Philip`s
office for their first group meeting and warily sat down in
Julius`s chairs. Philip had wept twice as an adult: once
during that last meeting of Julius`s therapy group and again
upon learning that Julius had bequeathed him these nine
chairs.
«So,” Philip began, «welcome to our group. We`ve
tried to orient you to the group procedures during our
screening session with each of you. Now it`s time to
begin.»
«That`s it. Just like that? No further instructions?»
said Jason, a short, wiry middle–aged man wearing a tight
black Nike T–shirt.
«I remember how scared I was in my first group
therapy session,” said Tony, who leaned forward in his
seat. He was neatly dressed in a white short–sleeved shirt,
khaki trousers, and brown loafers.
«I didn`t say anything about being scared,” replied
Jason. «I`m referring to the lack of guidance.»
«Well, what would help get you started?» asked
Tony.
«Info. That`s what makes the world go round now.
This is supposed to be a philosophical consultation group—
are both of you philosophers?»
«I`m a philosopher,” said Philip, «with a doctorate
from Columbia, and Tony, my coleader, is a counseling
student.»
«A student? I don`t get it. How will you two operate
here?» shot back Jason.
«Well,” answered Tony, «Philip will bring in helpful
ideas from his knowledge of philosophy, and me, well, I`m
here to learn and to pitch in any way I can—I`m more of an
expert in emotional accessibility. Right, partner?»
Philip nodded.
«Emotional accessibility? Am I supposed to know
what that means?» asked Jason.
«Jason,” interrupted another member, «my name is
Marsha, and I want to point out that this is about the fifth
challenging thing you`ve said in the first five minutes of
our group.»
«And?»
«And you`re the kind of macho–exhibitionistic guy I
have a lot of trouble with.»
«And you`re the kind of Miss Prissy who gives me a
major pain in the ass.»
«Wait, wait, let`s freeze the action for a moment,”
said Tony, «and get some feedback on our first five minutes
from the other members here. First, I want to say something
to you, Jason, and to you, Marsha—something that Philip
and I learned from Julius, our teacher. Now, I`m sure you
two feel like this is a stormy beginning but I`ve got a
hunch, a very strong hunch, that by the end of this group,