Lear takes a subtly radical position in Wisdom Won from Illness, arguing that psychoanalysis is not merely a venture one undertakes in the hope of relieving suffering (of achieving a level of contentment, of escaping symptoms of depression and anxiety), but in the hope of living well. This is one of the poignant qualities of this collection of essays: it asks more of humans than that they be content; it asks that humans not only live happily, but excellently. And it doesn’t merely hope for humans to do this, it expects it of them, and shows in clinical vignettes drawn from Lear’s private practice that the human need for truth—to understand ourselves and the world in which we live, and to be able to consciously marshal our unconscious life for our own development—is overwhelmingly powerful. Lear, like all great teachers, has the remarkable ability to remind us of this truth, even when this truth has gone out of fashion. Such a grand expectation for human life belongs, traditionally, to philosophy, not to psychoanalysis, but in Lear’s hands psychoanalysis is unique in that it can do the healing work of medicine and the enlightening work of philosophy.